Gyver Pengelly shambled his sweaty hulk into Gwithian. He’d just spent some time with Nellie in the hovel she lived in and been told Deborah Kempthorne wanted to see him. Pengelly was in an expansive mood; Nellie had been good to him, the wreck of The Bountiful had been good to him and a meeting with Miss Kempthorne probably meant yet more money was in the offing.
He passed Trevennor House at noon, whistling a local jig and stopping to give attention to one of his huge dirty boots, the signal he was to give to show that he had received the message. Deborah was watching discreetly for him from an upstairs window. She moved away and sent for her cloak and hat.
‘I’m going out, Edmund,’ she told her brother, who had just risen from bed. ‘I need a little fresh air to clear a headache before Nick arrives.’
‘Mind how you go,’ Edmund returned breezily. ‘And if you see any of the villagers, Debs, try being civil to them. We won’t make much of an impression if you keep your nose stuck up in the air all the time.’ Deborah left the house on heavy feet and a loud, ‘Huh!’
She met Pengelly at the appointed place, a lonely piece of dirt track, turning off to the left several yards further up the village street. The ground was wetter and more slippery than she thought it would be. She’d muddied her cloak and was in a foul mood.
‘Why have you taken so long to see me!’ she went straight in on the attack. ‘I told that stupid girl to give you a message days ago.’ Deborah was a little afraid of Gyver Pengelly and always used this aggressive tactic with him to disguise it and keep the upper hand.
‘Sorry, miss,’ Pengelly said, sounding anything but sorry. He knew the Kempthorne woman was likely to need him more than he did her and he held no respect for class, particularly pretenders to the title. ‘So, what is it yer wantin’?’
‘Do you want to earn some money?’
‘Course I bleddy do! I ain’t daft.’
‘A lot of money.’
Pengelly ruffled his bush of a beard. ‘Wantin’ somebody else dead, are ’ee?’
Deborah glanced around to make sure they were quite alone. If anyone happened along she would scream and accuse Pengelly of dragging her here and molesting her for money. She had the evidence of muddy clothing to prove it. ‘I’m worried about that girl, Nellie. She’s a moron. She could spell trouble for us, talk about the real reason Isabel Hampton’s coach went off the road.’
‘No, not Nellie. She’s a mite soft in the head but she went say nothin’. She only talks to folk I says she can.’
‘She spoke to my brother last week and I’ve seen her talking to the village cats. Someone might overhear her saying something incriminating. And she spends a lot of time with that curate’s sugar-sweet wife. I want you to get rid of her, Pengelly.’
‘Get rid of Nellie!’ he roared. ‘I couldn’t do that. I can use that maid, she went say nothin’. There’s no evidence the coach went off delib’rate, I moved the rocks away.’
‘We cannot afford to take the risk. If Nellie talks, there could be a noose round your neck and possibly mine. This way everything will be tidied up and we can get on with our lives and need never see one another again.’
Pengelly shook his head wildly. ‘No, anybody, but not Nellie.’
Deborah pursed her thin cruel lips, raised her sagging chin and challenged him. ‘Not even for one hundred guineas?’
‘What?’
‘One hundred guineas, Pengelly. Think of it. You’d have to plunder a lot of wrecks to make that much money. You could go away and start a new life somewhere. Get yourself a new wife and buy a lot of pretty girls… and I can always get someone else to do it for me.’
Pengelly licked his swollen blue lips. ‘All right,’ he snarled. ‘But I’ll do it my way. I won’t have her sufferin’.’
‘You surprise me, Pengelly, I didn’t think you cared about anyone but yourself.’
For the last ten days Nick had been fitting the pair of coach horses he was training to pull the Bassets’ four-wheeled chaise with all the different pieces of harness needed to get the animals used to the feel of them. Both the healthy black horses were about five years old and had been broken in for riding. Nick had ridden them before starting their training to get used to them and give them a chance to trust him. One horse, a quiet gelding with big open feet and what Nick termed ‘a good shoulder’, was ready to be introduced to the breaking-in cart, an ordinary cart fitted with extension shafts. For this the horse would wear a breast collar. Nick put it on slowly, talking to the horse all the time to retain its trust. When all was ready, the groom held the horse’s head while Nick mounted the cart.
He tapped the gelding’s rump with the whip and the next stage of training began. The horse began trotting without hesitation, it did not buck and seemed not at all nervous. After a short, well-paced walk round the paddock, followed by another longer one, Nick proclaimed the horse a ‘natural’ who would perform efficiently. He unharnessed it and led it back to the stables, making sure it was settled with a stable boy before making his way to the feed barn. The groom had got there before him and was sitting on a bale of hay. Nick sat on the next one.
As though on cue a chirpy kitchen maid appeared with their crib. She lingered about, trying to engage Nick in chit-chat but he didn’t seem to notice. He pushed stray sandy hair away from his eyes and looked appreciatively at the food set on a pewter tray.
‘A nice piece of horseflesh that gelding is, Sid,’ he said, when the maid had gone back to her work. ‘I reckon he’ll be one of the best I’ve ever trained. ’Tis a good place to work, here. The Bassets, even though they’re still in mourning, look after their craftsmen.’
‘Aye, ’tis five months since Mr Francis died. Shame he never saw the alterations he wanted done to the mansion and the grounds finished first. We’ve lost a lot of gentry lately, all good men, what with yer Mister Trevennor. Never knew him meself.’
Sid was a freckled-faced man with a long bent nose and weak chin which refused to grow a beard. A year younger than Nick, he looked up to him because of his expertise with the horses. Horses were his usual topic of conversation followed closely by women and his latest conquest.
‘Course, Laurence Trevennor was not as grand as the Bassets,’ Nick said, ‘but he was one of the finest men I’ve ever known. His successors are a right bloody pair, not that they plan to live at the house for long. You’re lucky Mr Basset’s got a son to carry on with his plans, Sid.’
‘Aye, s’pose so.’ Sid quaffed at an ale jug he had secreted behind the bale. He passed it on to Nick and brought up his second favourite subject.
‘That there maid who brung our crib don’t half fancy you. You’m all right there I’d reckon, Nick.’
‘Not me, Sid. ’Tis you she’s got her eye on,’ Nick replied with a grin.
‘Naw!’ Sid exclaimed, spraying his shirt and waistcoat with ale. ‘I’ve worked here nigh on twelve year from a stable boy and she’s never given me as much as a second look, no matter what bait I dangle before her. ’Tis a fine looking stallion she d’see in you. She’s looking fur a stud.’ Sid leaned over and elbowed Nick with a wicked smile. ‘Give it to her, will ’ee?’
Nick thought about it while eating a mouthful of fresh crusty bread, then answered slowly, ‘No, I don’t think I will.’
‘What? Give up a chance like that? With all that bosom hanging out just fur thee? Yourn damned lucky you’ve got the looks to be so choosy.’ Sid eyed Nick suspiciously. You’re a funny bugger, you are, Nick Nancarrow. I know you don’t prefer the company of men lest I wouldn’t be sitting so close to you. You ain’t married, I’ve asked ’ee. Got a sweetheart somewhere, have ’ee?’
Nick thought about this too while swigging from the ale jug. He pulled a long straw out of the hay bale and wound it round his finger. Finally, after keeping Sid on tenterhooks, he said softly, ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Sid did not think much of this answer and slapped his knee hard. ‘What sort of an answer is that, boy! Good-looking man like you oughta know if he has one or no. I ruddy well would and whether she was good t’lie with.’ Then Sid nodded his greasy head and looked knowingly. You have, haven’t you? And she’s given you a bit of trouble, eh?’
‘Not a little trouble, Sid, a good deal of it. But she’s not my sweetheart.’
‘She worth it?’
‘Aye, she’s worth the trouble,’ Nick said to the barn floor. He hadn’t thought so at first. When he’d pulled Isabel’s inert body round to him he would rather have had any other task in the world than the one given him by Laurence Trevennor. He would never have believed then just how much Isabel was to change.
He didn’t need Sid’s probing questions to be brought to thinking about her. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Not just because he had the task of finding out if her life was at risk. He found he was continually going over every moment he had spent with her since he had discovered her at the coach crash until the noncommittal farewell he’d given to her at Crantock. There were moments when he longed to hurry back there to see what she was doing, how she was behaving, how well she was getting on with Kitty and Benjamin. But for now she was safe while he kept an eye on the Kempthornes… and every day that passed was one closer to Richard Grenville coming home and then Isabel could be put into his hands.
No matter how his thoughts of Isabel ran, they always ended up with remorse over his insensitivity. He’d thought about it often and why he’d acted that way in the cove, why he had not simply taken her into his arms and kissed her lovingly and seen if anything would have progressed from it. He had not wanted to be seen to be romantic, loving, making some kind of commitment to her, but few women liked being suddenly manhandled in any situation. No wonder Isabel had been so horrified at his actions. He wanted to make it up to her, to tell her he was sorry.
The harsh call of a peacock proudly strutting its way around Tehidy’s subtropical garden brought Nick back to the present. Sid was waiting for him to go on but he forced Isabel’s lovely face from his mind and talked of the horses.
‘The first gelding will be easier to put through his paces but the other will be a good puller, I reckon. I’ll tether it to a tree and encourage it to pull away until it’s had enough of it. That’ll put paid to it pulling the wrong way and putting the pair of ’em out of balance.’
Sid was impressed. ‘Would never have thought of that meself. Something like that could keep a carriage under control and stop a nasty accident like the one at Deadman’s Cove. Four dead, from Truro, I believe. Ever hear what happened to the horses, Nick?’
‘They broke free and were all rounded up eventually and taken safely back to the Antiss stables in Truro.’
‘Thank God for that. Hate to hear of good horseflesh going to waste.’
‘Aye, me too.’ Nick ate his crib and wondered what Sid would say if he knew he had been there at the scene of the Antiss coach crash.
‘You going over to Gwithian again later on then, Nick?’
‘I might.’
‘On that mare loaned ’ee from the Trevennor stables?’
‘I might.’
‘I reckon you got some woman over there.’
‘Just one I’m doing business with.’
Sid guffawed and slapped Nick heartily on the back, making the neck of the ale jug he was about to put into his mouth knock against his teeth.
‘Well, boy, when you’ve finished doing business with this woman, send her over to me!’
Nick pressed his fingers to his bruised lips. ‘Steady on, Sid. I might need these lips for kissing. Seriously though, I’m teaching a lady to ride, and believe me, you wouldn’t want anything to do with this one.’
‘Oh? A lady, eh? From what stables?’
‘The lady or the horse?’
‘The horse, you fool. But what’s the lady like anyway?’
‘’Tis a horse from Laurence Trevennor’s stables and the lady is his niece.’
‘Not the one who died?’
‘Sid, are you ruddy mazed? I’ve yet to teach a ghost to ride side-saddle. She’s Miss Deborah Kempthorne who used to live at St Ives.’
‘She paying you well?’
‘Aye,’ Nick replied, but he had not received a single penny so far.
‘She a good learner then?’
‘Ruddy useless. If you ask me she scares the horses.’
‘She’s pretty? Old? Young?’
Nick knew what Sid was leading up to. He snorted. ‘She’s plain-faced, cruel-hearted and built like a cart horse. Definitely not my sort of woman.’
Sid chuckled and made a lecherous gesture. ‘They’re all the same lying down.’
‘No, they’re not!’ Nick blurted out, not liking that last remark. It brought a terrible sight to mind.
Deborah was nervous of horses and Nick was well aware that her proposition that he teach her to ride was a ruse to get closer to him. He’d never forget the first lesson. It had been a dreadful experience for him. She’d made him call at the house for her and made a great show of it in front of the servants. Mrs Christopher hadn’t been too surprised when Nick had gone to Trevennor House after Laurence’s funeral but her face was agog at the sight of him leading the new lady of the house out to the stable yard with her clinging to his arm, saying Nick this and Nick that, and he apparently hanging on to her every word. He wished he could have a quiet word with the housekeeper and tell her what he was up to.
His heart had sunk when Deborah dismissed the two stable boys. Without their help, actually getting Deborah onto the horse, a gentle, mature mare, and the largest horse in the stables, had been a most difficult manoeuvre.
When they were finally trotting through the village, he having to lead the mare by the reins because Deborah insisted she hadn’t the confidence yet, they had passed Denny Rowe sitting up in a hedgerow near his home, as was his habit, to watch the village life pass him by and to sneak a quiet pipe of tobacco when Meena was busy and unlikely to catch him at it. Nick had wanted the ground to swallow him up. Denny had merely nodded at him and doffed his cap to Deborah. Deborah wouldn’t usually have replied but she called back a loud ‘Good day to you’, seeming to want everyone to know she was abroad that day. Nick was glad the Rowes’ cottage was not near the heart of the village and resolved he would never ride that way with his pupil again.
Thankfully Deborah was too nervous to ride for long but things had been worse for Nick when they got back. She had pretended to fall to the ground when he’d helped her down from the horse and she’d told him to help her into a stall so she could sit awhile.
‘Just so I can return to the house in a calm state,’ she had said in a deliberately shaken voice as she’d lowered herself none too gracefully onto a stool. ‘I don’t want Mrs Christopher to worry about me.’
Privately Nick thought Mrs Christopher couldn’t have cared less about Deborah but she’d have plenty to think about if he was forced to linger in the stable with the woman.
‘You did quite well for a first time, Miss Kempthorne,’ he said. You will have to try to trust the mare. I’ve known Belle for years and she’s never thrown anyone. A horse can tell when its rider is nervous of it. I understand Miss Isabel Hampton rode Belle often and she had no trouble with her,’ he added, hoping to gauge something of how Deborah felt about her cousin.
Deborah’s face stiffened and she smoothed down her riding skirt with taut fingers but she looked up at Nick from her ridiculously feathered hat with what she probably thought was a soft smile. ‘Everyone is different, Nick. I’m sure I shall do better next time. You will have to be patient with me.’
She did no better the next time nor the one after that. All she succeeded in doing was getting Nick anywhere she could alone and, by the scowls he was receiving from some of the villagers, folk who were his friends and who had once trusted him, ruining his reputation for integrity.
Nick knew he’d find out nothing of what he needed to know from Edmund Kempthorne. Edmund had invited him to play cards and Nick had lost all the money he’d had with him; Edmund was a skilful cheater and just as skilful at keeping his thoughts to himself. Nick was still hoping the riding lessons would prove useful in getting information out of Deborah but he didn’t want to get too close to her, that could mean unwanted complications. Isabel had told him she was an accomplished horsewoman and he wished it was possible to ride with her instead. The thought of holding and kissing Deborah, which he knew she was angling for, was most uninviting, but kissing Isabel’s soft lips… and he had missed the opportunity.
Sid had been watching him while stuffing food into his mouth. You’re off again,’ he said, after the last swallow. ‘Don’t even blink an eyelid.’
‘Eh?’
‘You’re thinking. Off in a world of your own. Got something on your mind, have ’ee?’
‘That’s right, Sid. ’Tis time to get back to work.’ Impatiently he made for the stall of the second gelding. The sooner the task Laurence Trevennor had set him was over and Isabel came back from the ‘dead’ and got married, the sooner he could get on with his old life again, living free and easy and unhampered. He would dally no longer. After his work here was finished for the day, he would somehow force the Kempthornes’ hand.