Isabel had left the house at Crantock a few times now. Avoiding all signs of other people, she had wandered across the nearby beach and over the dunes that gave the house such a dramatic backdrop. She usually ended up on the cliff and would stand and gaze longingly into the distance, back the way she had come into Crantock, hoping to see a tall sandy-haired man striding confidently towards her, but Nick never appeared.
Yesterday she had walked to the Gannel, just a short distance. She’d been unable to go far on the beach because the tide was fully in, so she’d backtracked and mounted the high sand dunes. Trudging through them somewhat dejectedly she took her time getting onto the cliff and moved sluggishly on to Polly Joke, looking out for the scraggy cattle that came to drink from the stream that ran to the sea.
Everything seemed to run to the sea, Isabel thought as cold sea breezes ruffled her hair, but why? To challenge its unforgiving mastery? Happy to be an infinitesimal part of its majestic vastness? To be wild and free, to roam at will? On her way here she had made a wide detour to avoid the cliff’s edge where she had stood with Nick watching the surf and tide bombarding Crantock’s beach. That had been a special moment. It would have made her feel acutely lonely to be there without him. Yet what did that matter? Wherever she was on this wild rugged coastline, close to the sea that raged its way into the deserted little cove today, she thought of Nick.
She scrambled back up on the cliff and searched every rocky exposed headland, every part of the twisting path she had trodden with him, but as before there was no sign of him. The journey they had made together had taken place only a few short weeks ago, but it seemed like a lifetime now and she could hardly bear to go on looking for him.
‘Wishing he was here won’t make it happen any quicker,’ Benjamin said, smiling kindly at her glum expression, which was in startling contrast to the health and vigour her walks had given her face. He moved his hand carefully to brush the back of one of Isabel’s.
She delicately touched his hand with her fingertips. ‘But it’s nearly a week since we got his letter, Ben. He said he would be here soon. Something must have happened. Something must have gone wrong.’ Ben took his hand away and she got up to pace his room.
‘Don’t worry so much, Jenna. Nick will be here by and by. You can trust him, you know that.’
Isabel stopped to stare out of the window, her mouth in a tight line.
‘Is she sulking again?’ Kitty asked her brother as she popped her head around the doorway.
‘She is,’ Benjamin answered, grinning.
‘Right, miss! Benjamin will be all right on his own for a little while. You put this cloak on. I’m taking you up to the village. A change of scene will do you good and give you something else to think about.’
‘I only want to know what’s going on,’ Isabel said, somewhat moodily, after they had secured the house and left Talland roaming about close by. ‘I want to know whether I’m in danger or not, that’s all.’
‘Is that so?’ Kitty replied, sounding unconvinced. ‘Never mind that now. Spring is in the air, ’tis a lovely day. Make the most of it.’
Isabel enjoyed the walk up the steep muddy track that led into the heart of Crantock. She had always been used to lots of people around her, servants, Phoebe, Ginny, and those she’d socialized with. It was quite different to be in the company of just two people and a free-spirited dog, although she admitted it gave her plenty of time to think about Nick and daydream.
She looked with interest at the cottages and shops as she and Kitty went along and watched a farrier putting a new shoe on a horse until Kitty pulled her on. She was fascinated by all the different sights, sounds and smells and lapped them up, knowing they would have meant nothing to her in what she now thought of as her ‘old life’. She laughed at a gaggle of honking geese following a small girl and boy with dirty little faces but was offended by two rough-looking sailors whom Kitty saw off with a hurl of verbal abuse. She apologized to Isabel, explaining it was one of the things she had to put up with when people knew of her profession.
Isabel chatted briefly to a young mother working at a hand loom in the doorway of her cottage with her many small children playing about her feet. The weaver said she liked to work there for the better light and the opportunity it gave her to talk to folk who passed by. Isabel couldn’t stay long in any one place, it was too risky, and reluctantly moved on. Another woman was making besoms from broom twigs in the fresh air and Isabel could smell beer brewing in every other cottage.
Some of the people they passed on their way blatantly shunned them while others gave Kitty and her ‘friend’ a cheery greeting, including a stout woman who looked as though she would be attractive to the eye if she hadn’t been wearing such severe clothes and a concealing hood.
‘She’s a Methodist,’ Kitty explained as they went on, making sure no one held them up for a long conversation. ‘There’s a few of them hereabouts. She always has a word for me even though she’s condemned my manner of living to my face. I admire her for that.’
Isabel looked after the woman with mixed feelings. ‘The people I used to mix with wouldn’t even speak to one of them.’’
‘Why’s that then?’
Isabel was careful to drop her voice. ‘The incumbent of my parish says they are nought but a sect. They have taken too many ideas upon themselves and criticize the Church openly. They’re beginning to influence the people so much that some are beginning not to attend their parish churches and would rather pack themselves into the mean meeting houses the Methodists are building all over the county.’
Kitty sniffed as she picked up her skirts above her ankles to avoid soiling the hems on a muddy patch. ‘Sounds like nothing but prejudice to me. They seem all right; well, most of them. Course there’s always some who go too far and spoil whatever others are trying to do. ’Tis reckoned they put their money where their mouth is where Christianity and charity are concerned. Anyway, John Wesley is an Anglican clergyman himself, so I’ve heard.’
‘He ought to know better,’ Isabel said stiffly. ‘And Methodists aren’t the only ones to be charitable.’
Kitty could not help laughing. ‘Are you so sure you’re not prejudiced yourself, Jenna? Perhaps you should keep your judgement on him until you’ve heard him preach. He comes to Cornwall nearly every year. We could go together, might be interesting.’
‘I do believe you’re teasing me,’ Isabel returned, ‘and suddenly I feel rather ashamed. I’ve just remembered Mundy Cottle’s a Methodist and she’s a wonderful woman. Nick teased me about her too.’
‘I think it’s about time I had someone I can trust to be quiet to come down to the house and speak to Benjamin. He can’t make up his mind about God and spiritual matters if he never hears about them,’ Kitty said thoughtfully.
As they walked, Isabel was thoughtful too. If Kitty considered it was safe for her to walk through the village, she thought she might venture further along the cliffs when out alone, retrace more of the steps she had taken with Nick.
‘’Tis difficult for you, isn’t it?’ Kitty said shrewdly. ‘Being forced to live a different way of life to what you’re used to. You probably don’t know whether you’re coming or going.’
‘It hasn’t been easy but I’ve enjoyed much more than I’ve hated. It’s the way I think and feel that’s so puzzling and strange. I feel almost elated one moment and very low the next. Oh, look at that!’ They had come to the centre of the village where a holy well with a conical stone roof stood.
‘The holy well? Have you never seen one before? The village actually boasts two wells, we passed the other one on the way up from the house. ’Tis called St Ambrusca’s well, I’ll show it to you on the way back.’
‘No, Kitty, the holy well is interesting but I was referring to the man in the stocks close beside it. Phoebe Antiss once had a little pet monkey and he looks just like it. I wonder what his crime was.’ Kitty viewed the scrunched-up figure of the old man sitting on a bench, his body draped over where his legs filled two of the six holes of the heavy stocks.
‘Jack Rejerrah? Thieving, not paying his debts and drunkenness are the usual reasons he’s in there. The other day he was put in for swearing and relieving himself in front of a lady whose carriage was held up in the mud while passing through the village.’ Jack Rejerrah was spattered with wet mud, a trickle of blood was on his bristly chin where a stone had been thrown at him. There were several stones at the foot of the stocks. He was fast asleep and snoring with a loud bronchial wheeze.
‘It looks like he’s been in there for a long time.’
‘Spends most of his life in there. You get so you don’t notice it any more. Don’t worry, the parish constable will probably let him out soon.’
‘Good day to ’ee, Miss Kitty.’
A deep rough voice from behind them made Isabel start and a sharp twist of dread clutched the core of her stomach. She recognized that voice. The women turned round together.
‘What do you want?’ Kitty asked hostilely as she reached for Isabel’s hand.
‘Only want t’wish ’ee both a good day,’ Gyver Pengelly boomed, his oily mouth distorted in a snarl. ‘You an’ yer friend. No law ’gainst it, is there? Only tryin’ to be civil.’ He was leering at Isabel who instinctively backed away, taking Kitty with her. ‘Who’s yer friend then? Seen ’er afore somewheres.’ Pengelly licked his fat wet lips.
‘None of your business.’
Pengelly was holding a gin bottle round the neck. He took the last swig and threw it away. He looked bruised and battered and had obviously been in a fight.
Kitty pulled Isabel further away. She was worried. Gyver Pengelly had seen Isabel up on the cliffs with Nick and he was greatly interested in her. She fervently hoped there would be no trouble and damned herself for bringing Isabel this far from the house.
Pengelly was not going to give up. He went round the back of Kitty and paced alongside Isabel. ‘What’s yer name then, me ’an’some?’
‘I don’t have one,’ Isabel retorted, trying to control her trembling.
‘Huh! Everybody’s gotta name.’ He stared at Isabel’s stricken face and she winced when he gave a tremendous roar. ‘I mind ’ee now! Yer Nancarrow’s woman! Well, yer name went be Nancarrow, I can count on that. That swine went never git married.’
Kitty thrust Isabel round to her other side and walked faster. She was heading them towards the farrier’s shop where she might be able to grab a hammer and beat Pengelly off if necessary.
‘Get away from us, Pengelly! We don’t want your company.’
Isabel looked round Kitty at Pengelly, as if she wanted to challenge him. Kitty held her arm tighter. ‘Get ready to run!’ she hissed.
‘What’s that?’ Pengelly bellowed. ‘Planning to run away from me? Not yet, you don’t.’
He edged in closer to Kitty, forcing the two women to veer round in a wide circle until they found themselves back at the stocks. With brute force he suddenly tore Kitty away from Isabel and threw her aside to land across Jack Rejerrah.
‘Now, my pretty little thing, ’tes jus’ you ’n’ me.’
He expected Isabel to scream and try to run away but she stood her ground and folded her arms. To be scared when she herself was threatened was one thing but to harm her friend and the unfortunate old man in the stocks…
‘How dare you treat her like that! Don’t you come near me, not one little step, or you’ll be sorry you were ever born!’ Fury gave her courage even though this brute made her skin crawl with revulsion and fear. At that moment she was almost as glacially calm as she looked.
A crowd of curious onlookers had formed, drawn by the shouting, but Isabel doubted if any man among them would come forward to face up to Gyver Pengelly on her behalf. He leered in anticipation.
‘Now I’ll know what those lovely red lips Nancarrow kisses tastes like.’
Isabel choked back the bile rising in her throat and braced herself. As his massive hands reached for her shoulders, she brought a knee up sharply in his groin. He let out a mighty howl and bent double, whereupon Isabel locked her fists together and smashed them down on the back of his neck. He hit the dirt on his knees at her feet. Isabel jumped back, rubbing her bruised hands. Kitty had scrambled to her feet and watched the felling of Gyver Pengelly with open-mouthed astonishment. Then she leapt forward and gave him a vicious kick in the backside which sent him sprawling on his face.
‘Where on earth did you learn to do that?’ she asked Isabel incredulously, the excited tremor in her voice pronounced.
‘Aye, you gave un what he’s deserved for a long time, maid,’ a woman said from the cheering crowd.
‘I… I saw two stable boys fighting many years ago, one did it to the other and it… just came naturally to me,’ Isabel gasped, hardly able to believe herself what she’d done. She was cradling her painful hands and trembling all over.
‘By the look of un someone worked un over afore he came into the village today,’ a man laughed.
The Methodist woman came forward and placed a comforting arm round Isabel’s shoulder. ‘’Twas just like David the shepherd boy bringing down Goliath. Do you know the account from the Bible, m’dear?’
‘Yes… but I’m glad I don’t have to cut off his head.’
‘Would serve the bugger right,’ the shoe repairer put in with relish.
‘Now, now, brother,’ the Methodist woman scolded. ‘Let’s hear none of that sort of talk. We’re all the Lord’s children, even him.’
‘Devil’s child more like,’ someone else muttered.
Pengelly groaned, tried to get up but slumped down again with his giant paws massaging the back of his neck. T0o much alcohol and the beatings he’d got in Gwithian the day before had taken their toll.
Another man, a miner by his clothes, stepped between Isabel and Gyver Pengelly. ‘Nothin’ good went into creatin’ ’im,’ he said harshly. Well done, maid. You’ve put us men to shame but if any of you others are with me we’ll drive un out of the village.’
Cries of agreement sang out and the miner nodded in satisfaction. ‘You women all go on ’ome or be about your business, and you, Kitty, get yer friend ’ere off ’ome too.’
Kitty was grateful to the miner. She led Isabel quickly away from the crowd before any awkward questions could be asked. As they walked back to her house, they heard Gyver Pengelly bellowing amidst the shouts of the men, about ten brave souls in number, as he was driven out of Crantock in the opposite direction. Jack Rejerrah had not stirred during the commotion and slept on peacefully.
‘Did I let my real voice slip through?’ Isabel asked, a worried frown creasing her forehead.
‘No, but folk can tell a cut above the rest. They’ll probably think you’ve got some airs and graces from working as a lady’s maid. I can’t wait to tell Nick about this,’ Kitty said, breathless with excitement. ‘Gyver Pengelly has terrorized the North Cliffs for years.’
‘I hope he doesn’t come looking for revenge,’ Isabel said nervously.
‘He won’t dare show his damned ugly face around here for a long time to come,’ Kitty laughed.
‘But he’ll be thinking about me after what I did to him. If he gets too curious it could lead to someone realizing or finding out who I really am.’ Isabel felt strangely elated now the immediate danger was over but she put her remarks to Kitty with an edge of fear in her heart.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Pengelly’s far too stupid to work it out by himself.’ Kitty sounded light-hearted as she led the way into the security of her house but for a moment her face was coated in doubt. She hoped Nick would not be much longer in coming back.
In the spacious sheltered garden at the back of Trevennor House, Edmund Kempthorne had got the servants to put out two comfortable chairs. He was lounging back next to Mary Ellen as they fondly watched Morenwyn playing quietly with her family of dolls on a thick rug on the lawn. At that moment Edmund was perfectly serene. There was nothing to tell of his daughter’s fall down the stairs except for the bandage swathing the top of her pretty head. His sudden heroics over Gyver Pengelly had pulled Mary Ellen out of her nervous stupor about Morenwyn’s accident and she had come to him with her usual vigour. People in the village were saying that Gyver Pengelly would be too ashamed to show his face in Gwithian for weeks and by that time Edmund intended that he and his family would be living at Truro. Anyway, even if Pengelly did turn up, Edmund had no inclination to wander the village, with Nellie gone and no opportunity forthcoming from the parsonage.
Deborah Kempthorne was watching the cosy little scene out in the mild weather from inside the house. Every time her brother raised the hand of his mistress to his lips, her hard features tightened. Every time her niece’s happy piping little voice reached her ears, she snorted angrily.
Deborah was furious at Pengelly’s botched attempt to despatch Nellie and she couldn’t take part in the hero-worship Edmund was getting from Mary Ellen, and to a lesser degree even from Mrs Christopher and the other servants. The servants were very fond of Nellie and Charlotte Thomas and hated Gyver Pengelly. They were rather proud that their new master, who was nowhere as demanding and bad-tempered as their hated mistress, had saved the two women by beating off the vile brute. Deborah had always wanted things to go well for Edmund but she was jealous of his popularity. The only bright spark to come out of the incident over Nellie was her being packed off somewhere, already apparently forgetting about her ‘friendship’ with Gyver Pengelly. At least Deborah didn’t have to worry any more about the simple-minded woman saying something that would incriminate her in the Antiss coach tragedy.
Morenwyn left the rug and went to her parents. Edmund lifted her onto his lap. Deborah scowled as he and Mary Ellen made a fuss of her and made her chuckle happily. Edmund would be calling for the nursemaid soon to take Morenwyn upstairs for a nap while he and Mary Ellen snuggled down in another room.
Deborah hated the cosy domestic scene. What a pity the brat hadn’t died in that fall! She went to her dressing table and stared at her reflection in the glass. With Nellie out of the way, she could now turn her attention to getting rid of that harlot outside and her obnoxious spawn.