Nick saw Kitty coming towards him and sharply turned his back on her. He cursed himself for staying so long in one place, the place she knew he would go to. She reached him and stood at his side.
‘I came here to be alone,’ he said tersely.
‘No need to take that tone with me,’ Kitty replied loftily, ‘and don’t forget this is also my special place.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, truly humbled.
They were in the churchyard which stood high up between the Gannel and the village and was easily seen from the front of Kitty’s house. They were standing in front of her baby son’s well-kept grave. A posy of primroses, freshly picked and put there that morning in a little clay pot, gave it a poignant charm. Kitty read the name on the wooden memorial plaque as she always did. Then she linked her arm through Nick’s and moved in close to him. He clasped her mittened hand.
‘I’ve always cherished the dream that Jeremy would have grown up to be proud of you,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the little plaque. ‘Having no father to rear him, he would have needed a man to look up to.’
‘I’ll make sure he would have done,’ Nick said, and Kitty knew it was a promise. ‘What do you want with me, Kitty?’
‘I want to talk about Jenna – Isabel.’
‘I don’t.’
‘You must, but not here beside my baby’s resting place.’
They walked away slowly, arm in arm, out of the churchyard, away from the view of the sand dunes, sea, beach and the River Gannel. The village was buzzing with people, all talking about the tragic drownings. Kitty commiserated with those of her neighbours who talked to her, but having witnessed it, Nick felt sick to the gut and remained stonily silent. When they reached the other end of the village, dusk was falling and they were quite alone. Nick leaned against a granite stone stile. Kitty sat on the bottom step. Nick sighed. Now would come the lecture, and it came at once.
‘You’re angry with me because I stopped you from claiming your prize,’ Kitty began harshly.
‘I’m bloody angry with the way you went on about it. Anyone would think I was about to carry Isabel upstairs there and then. You know I wouldn’t do such a thing with Benjamin in the house.’
‘Don’t tell me you didn’t have something planned for a later date. When you turned up today you said you didn’t have to go back until tomorrow but now I’ve upset your little plan and you’re going off tonight.’
‘It’s none of your business! Isabel had just gone through a terrible experience and you really embarrassed her. That was bloody cruel! And I’ll have you know I don’t think of making love to her as a prize. She’s not a damned wrestling match! Isabel’s more to me than just some willing woman to be lain with.’ He had said his piece and felt better for it.
Kitty, however, had not finished with him. ‘I’m sorry for upsetting her, I didn’t know about the drownings then. I’m glad you think something more of her than I’ve supposed of you but it was a shock to come in and see the two of you like that. ’Tis a good job I came home early and put an end to your scheme or you would have ruined the poor maid’s life.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Nick said crossly, trying not to explode.
‘Do I have to remind you that Isabel is betrothed to another man and will be married to him in a few weeks’ time?’
‘What of it?’ Nick was acutely embarrassed and it cut him deep to have the beautiful moments with Isabel shattered and held up to criticism. What would have been a truly wonderful loving experience would have remained private between them, should have remained private. And what was Kitty talking about? Ruining Isabel’s life? By making love to her? He had made love to many women and had never been accused of ruining their lives. And Isabel wasn’t an innocent waiting for her wedding night… A tightly closed shutter sprang back in his mind. ‘The next thing you’ll be telling me is that she’s a virgin.’
‘She is,’ Kitty said firmly.
He looked at her. ‘Tell you that, did she?’
‘No, she knows what I do for a living but we’ve never talked about such things. I’ve got to know Isabel very well since you turned up with her in my house that day. Nick, where men are concerned Isabel is totally innocent,’ Kitty said emphatically, ‘and very loyal. If anything happened between you, she could never bring herself to marry Richard Grenville. You would leave her feeling she’d betrayed him and hankering after you. And you’re not about to offer her marriage, are you, Nick? Even if you did, think about it. What could you offer her? A life of wandering about, then when the babies came along setting her up in a poky little cottage somewhere and she rarely seeing you, thinking you probably resent her for curtailing your precious liberty. Is that the sort of life you would want for her? You’d be too proud to accept or borrow money from her, even to set yourself up in a business of some sort, and you wouldn’t allow her to spend her money on supporting you both, would you, Nick?’
Nick listened attentively to every word that Kitty said, grim-faced, stiff-backed, with a mounting gloom. He stared at the night-blue sky, clear and cloudless, and for the first time he didn’t feel free, comfortably, soulfully free, free to light up the world and leave it by morning like the pale yellow moon. There was no golden glow round the moon this evening, just a thick black circle.
‘Isabel’s a lady. She’s used to a totally different world than we are. She’s been born and bred to marry into her own kind and would not thank you for dragging her down. She talks of wanting to leave her old way of life behind when this trouble with the Kempthornes is over but her recent ordeals have blinded her to her good sense. Life is different and rather exciting despite the dangers, and like so many women who’ve come across you, Nick Nancarrow, she’s fascinated by your good looks and strong character.’ Kitty was out of breath and drew in the cool evening air. ‘I believe ’twas a good thing I nipped things in the bud before they went too far between you. I’m very fond of Isabel, Nick. I don’t want to see her hurt.’
It was a long time before he spoke. His voice was lost and sad. ‘I’ve had women of Isabel’s class before, they meant nothing to me and I was no more than a distraction to them. But I feel different about Isabel. She’s different to any woman I’ve ever met… I should have known she had never lain with anyone before. I should have known Isabel’s not a liar. It accounts for…’
‘For?’ Kitty could just see his face, it was easy to read. ‘I see, so it nearly happened before.’
Nick stood up straight and paced the dew-covered grass in front of Kitty. He stopped and faced her. ‘Just before we arrived at your house, Kitty. She shook me off, quite forcibly. Poor sweet Isabel. I offended her, I must have frightened her so much, yet she forgave me…’
Kitty got up from the cold stone and rubbed at her cloak. ‘I know there’s a special feeling between you and her, Nick. ’Tis only natural after what you’ve been through together.’ She was sorry for him. What could she offer him? ‘When things get back to normal, when Isabel’s fiancé arrives and she gets married, perhaps you can keep some sort of friendship going.’
‘Like training her coach horses?’ He sounded bitter.
Kitty wound her arm round his. ‘You will keep things on a proper footing from now on, Nick?’
‘Aye,’ he consented wearily, kicking the lowest step of the stile.
‘We’d better get back to her and Benjamin before it gets dark. She must be awful upset, what with the drownings and you going off suddenly and me following you. We don’t want her worrying about us. You are coming back?’
‘I have to, for a little while. There’s no doubt Isabel’s in mortal danger from the Kempthornes. We have to decide what to do next, where’s the safest place for her to stay.’ His mind flew to Trevennor House, to the loathesome couple who held sway over it now, to Deborah’s darkened face as he’d told her he would not be seeing her that evening. He thought of the contrast in her and her innocent honest cousin. He thought of the elderly gentleman on his deathbed. He whispered to the memory, ‘You had no idea what you asked me to do, Laurence…’
Under that same pale moon, Edmund and Deborah Kempthorne were walking the short distance home from the parsonage. Although she had sulked all day because Nick would not be with her tonight, Deborah was aglow inside, having confided in Charlotte Thomas of her future wedding plans. The two women had discussed gowns and marriage duties and even nurseries, but Charlotte hadn’t seemed enthusiastic and Deborah knew it was not just from the shock of her near death at the hands of Gyver Pengelly. Deborah hadn’t cared much, she liked to gloat over the identity of her bridegroom, knowing every woman in the parish would wish to take her place, and if she had bored the parson’s wife, that pleased her too – anything to make her life uncomfortable if Edmund was being spurned.
Edmund had been bored all evening. Deborah had inveigled the invitation and he had consented to attend in order to maintain their status in the village and in the hope of getting near Charlotte again. He had kept up the chit-chat with Perran Thomas, who seemed to have no more desire to have his company than Edmund did his, while Deborah had monopolized the attractive curate’s wife. He was glad when it was time to leave and he could go to Mary Ellen.
Deborah suddenly gasped. A man was sprawled in a drunken heap in front of the gate to Trevennor House. It was Gyver Pengelly. He was splattered with mud and horse dung from a passing cart and his own vomit. He sensed someone was there and heaved himself to a sitting position. On seeing the Kempthornes, he filled the night air with obscenities, shouting at them to give him money for ale.
Deborah hastily looked up and down the village. No one else was about and she told Edmund to ignore the brute and hurry inside. Pengelly was furious.
‘Yer not too proud t’talk to the likes of me when yer wants some dirty work done, woman!’ he bawled, trying to get to his feet but falling back in a heap.
‘What’s he talking about?’ Edmund asked, unafraid of Pengelly in his drunken state and curious enough to forget Mary Ellen for the moment.
‘Take no notice of him, Edmund,’ Deborah replied crossly. ‘The man is drunk and an imbecile. Come, we will go in by the servants’ entrance.’
‘Where’s Nancarrow tonight then, eh? With his other woman?’
Deborah went rigid, her face worked instantly from outrage to livid jealousy. She kicked Pengelly viciously on the shin.
‘What do you mean by other woman?’ she screamed at the top of her voice.
‘The ’an’some lookin’ woman I’ve seen un with,’ Pengelly leered. ‘Saw ’er meself only yes’day. A piece o’ quality if ever I saw one too.’
‘What woman?’ Deborah shrieked, shaking alarmingly.
‘For goodness sake, Deborah!’ Edmund shouted at his sister. ‘Can’t you see he’s only taunting you? How many ladies do you think Nancarrow’s courting? He told you he’s busy at Tehidy tonight and that should be good enough for you. Get inside the house at once and I’ll get rid of this man. And be quiet, you’ll wake up the whole village.’
Deborah could see Edmund was about to throw a bigger temper than she had. Still shaking with outrage, she stalked into the house without another word. Edmund’s anger had caught Pengelly’s attention. He looked up at the young gentleman through blinking eyes. Edmund threw some coins at him.
‘Get to your feet,’ he said icily, confident he had paid for Pengelly’s co-operation. Any information he might gain would be useful to get rid of the fortune-hunting Nick Nancarrow when the time was right. ‘If Nancarrow has another woman, you can tell me all about her and I’ll be the one to deal with it.’
When Pengelly had got up, Edmund forgot his new kid gloves and pushed the shaking hulk up the road. He was not going to hold the conversation outside his own front door.
The road was hard and dry the next morning and Nick concentrated on the clip-clop of the horse Deborah had authorized for his use from the Trevennor stables. He had ridden through Portreath and was on the road near the coast at Reskajeage Downs. Before returning to his work at Tehidy, he was going to call on Charlie Chiverton.
The night before in Kitty’s kitchen, he and Kitty had agreed that Isabel should remain where she was. Isabel had listened silently to the discussion. Her face had paled when Nick had told her he would be leaving almost immediately, but she had said nothing and kept her eyes on the table as her two companions settled her immediate future.
‘There’s no reason why folk round here should think she’s anyone but who I said she is,’ Kitty had insisted, glancing uneasily at Isabel’s bowed head. She had never seen her so dejected. ‘There’s no reason why they should think Miss Isabel Hampton is still alive either.’
‘What about Gyver Pengelly?’ Nick asked. ‘He’s seen Isabel twice and he was almost certainly responsible for the coach accident. He was the one who said he saw her body and he knows that’s a lie.’
‘But even if he puts two and two together, and that’s unlikely with his dumb brain, he can’t admit it, he daren’t talk about it. He would be hanged for being involved in the deaths of Phoebe Antiss and her companions. You haven’t got time to take Isabel anywhere else, Nick, and you can’t keep making up stories about who she is. Her fiancé will be home in two weeks. I think she’ll be quite safe here, specially if she stays close to the house and keeps Benjamin company, and you keep an eye on the Kempthornes during that time.’
‘Is that agreeable to you, Isabel?’ Nick asked softly.
Isabel raised her head and said numbly, ‘Perfectly.’
‘Right then,’ Nick said, getting up to go. ‘I’ll get Charlie to pass on a letter to you in a week’s time.’
Nick had spent the night lying awake in a farmer’s barn where he had obtained permission to stall his horse. He had gone over the days and nights spent on the cliffs with Isabel and over every minute spent in the boathouse in Penpol Creek. At dawn he had saddled up and left, his face drawn, his life suddenly feeling empty, and the thought of seeing Deborah Kempthorne again even more repugnant. He couldn’t bear the thought of her cloying arms contaminating his neck and her cruel lips seeking his after kissing Isabel. But after he’d seen Charlie and done his day’s work, for Isabel’s sake, he’d have to endure it again.
Charlie Chiverton was up as early as Nick. Outside his clifftop home he stretched and yawned, cleaned his worn teeth with the side of a dirty finger and threw oats into the pot of water boiling over the outdoor fire for his breakfast. He rubbed his work-blackened hands in the fresh crisp air and screwed his bloodhound face at the sky to see what the weather would be like that day.
‘A good day, cloud building up and rain by night, quite cold, I d’reckon,’ he said to himself.
He broke off a piece of the outer rim of an abandoned wagon wheel he had found on the road and pulled out some of the spokes to encourage his fire. Then he wedged the remains of the wheel into his pile of firewood, marvelling at what some folk were careless enough to throw away.
He was sitting down on the bottom step of his shack with his bowl of porridge when he was brought back to his feet. He put his breakfast aside. Gyver Pengelly was striding towards him.
‘An’what can I do fur thee, Gyver?’ he said bluntly.
‘Got a brew goin’, ’ave ’ee, Charlie? ’Tes bloody damned cold an’ I’m sure I can smell a kettle of tay,’ Pengelly answered, squinting through his beaten face. There was dried blood on his black beard and even though Charlie wasn’t given to cleanliness, he had never smelled anyone so foul before.
‘’Elp yerself,’ Charlie said, sitting down with his porridge again. He passed Pengelly the wooden bowl that had been his wife’s. There’s oats in the pot.’
‘Very civil of ’ee,’ Pengelly muttered, helping himself to tea and porridge.
‘What’s brings you along ’ere then?’
‘Oh, jus’ out fur a bit of a walk.’
‘You look like you’ve been through all the wars of the world.’
‘Huh! ’Twas nothin’. I’ll get my own back soon enough.’
‘Bin doin’ a spot of wrastling, so I’ve ’eard.’
Pengelly made a howling noise. ‘I’ll get that bastard an’ all!’
‘Nick knows ’ow to watch ’is back.’
‘Well, we’ll just ’ave t’see about that, won’t we? Where’s ’e to now?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Not with the wealthy bitch from Gwithian, I knaw that much.’
‘Then you know more than me.’
Pengelly poured the dregs of the watery porridge down his throat, wiped his beard with the back of his hand and dropped the bowl down with a clatter. He looked at Charlie with a glint of amusement, paused over his mug of tea, grinned, then drank it down in one gulp with a mighty belch.
Charlie watched him carefully, fully alert even though he appeared quite relaxed.
Pengelly threw his mug so it hit the bowl. ‘Tell me, Chiverton, do ’ee think p’raps Nancarrow was spendin’ the night with that sharp-faced ’Ampton woman, though I must say she’s a pretty wench in ordinary garb.’
Charlie made a mental note that his knife was readily to hand in his belt. He looked perplexed.
‘’Ampton woman, Gyver?’
‘You d’knaw the one I’m talkin’ about. The lady from Trurah who was s’posed to ’ave died in that coach smash back-along. Old man Trevennor’s hoity-toity niece.’
‘You been on the grog, Gyver?’
Pengelly smirked and spat. ‘I reckon you know what I’m talkin’ about. I said I saw ’er body down the cliffs but I lied. Miss Deb’rah Kem’thorne paid me well to get t’ridst of she. All the rest on the coach died but I never got round to seeing if she was dead. When word got round she must’ve gone over the cliff cus bits of her dress was found on the gorse, that’s what I thought too an’ that’s why I said I saw ’er body, but of course there was no body.’
‘Go on, Gyver, it seems you ’ave a story you want to tell,’ Charlie said quietly.
‘Last night I was talkin’ to Mr Edmund Kem’thorne. We talked about the wench I saw with Nancarrow up on the cliffs near Portreath the mornin’ after the coach wus wrecked. A tall woman, with soft brown ’air and a pleasing shape who talks well. Like the woman I saw with Nancarrow’s whore at Crantock. Where else would Nancarrow suddenly get a woman from unless ’e ’ad rescued ’er from that fine gentry coach, does thee think, Charlie?’
Charlie put down his bowl and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Even if what you say is true, ’tes no concern of mine.’
‘Aw, I reckon you could tell me a thing or two about it.’
Charlie looked at the stinking hulk coldly. ‘And what if I can?’
Pengelly rasped on his beard with one paw, and grinned. ‘I ’aven’t come ’ere after information, Chiverton.’
‘Aye, I know that.’
The air was electric between them. Pengelly’s hand went inside his waistcoat but Charlie got his knife out first. ‘I wouldn’t if I were you, Gyver. This knife ’as been sharpened on men’s windpipes.’
Pengelly got clumsily to his feet and faced Charlie as he stood on the step. ‘Now you wouldn’t want to cut up an old friend, would you, Charlie?’
‘You’re friend to no one, Pengelly.’
‘What do you think you’re going to do, pointing that knife at me?’ Pengelly laughed nervously.
‘Get a bit of information out of you, Pengelly, if you don’t want to feel the sharpness of it. Did Kempthorne pay you to kill me?’
‘Now, Charlie, there’s no need to talk like that.’
‘’E did, you ruddy swine. What’s Kempthorne up to now?’
‘How should I knaw?’ Pengelly growled.
‘You can’t work out anythin’ by yerself, can you, Pengelly! Kempthorne wants the ’Ampton woman to remain dead and wants any witnesses out of the way who can say diff’rent. I suppose ’e intended to send you on to Crantock after you’d finished with me. He’s not the sort who could stomach doin’ away with someone ’imself. Am I right?’
Pengelly’s blotchy fearful eyes narrowed and he shouted a profanity. Then he turned his head and vomited over the fire. Charlie came down the steps and stood cautiously at his side, waiting for him to finish. But while he was still spewing, Pengelly whipped out his knife and lunged at the hand Charlie held his knife in. Charlie cried out as Pengelly’s blade made a long inch-deep cut above his wrist and his own knife fell out of his grasp. Pengelly went in for the kill but Charlie hurled himself backwards and fell at the foot of the steps.
Pengelly stood over him and laughter roared from his belly. ‘Not quick enough fur me that time, Chiverton.’ He wiped his hairy chin. ‘And do forgive me awful manners.’
Charlie’s eyes bored into Pengelly’s while he pulled off his neckerchief and wound it round his slashed arm.
‘Not much point in doin’ that,’ Pengelly boomed. ‘I’m gonna give thee a few cuts to join un.’
‘You’re not man enough,’ Charlie spat.
‘Well, I’ll just see ’ow loud you can squeal.’
Charlie was counting on the fact that Pengelly would want to torture him to death rather than despatch him with one swift throw of the knife. He read the human hulk right. Pengelly came at him with the knife tight in his fist ready to plunge into his gut. Charlie held his breath and waited. When Pengelly was bending forward close to him, the knife an inch away from his vitals, Charlie brought his two feet up into Pengelly’s huge middle and thrust him away.
Pengelly staggered back. He kept hold of his knife but a moment later he was howling and gagging on his own blood. He had fallen back onto one of the strong wooden spokes of the wagon wheel and it had entered deep into his back.
Charlie flung himself to his feet and knocked the knife from Pengelly’s hand. ‘Looks like I’ve got the advantage now, Gyver,’ he said, friendly like, but with a grim face.
Pengelly struggled to get off the spoke. It wasn’t a pleasant noise that reached Charlie’s ears. ‘Help… me,’ Pengelly pleaded.
‘Yes, I’ll help you. It’ll be a pleasure. This is for the folk on the coach and the danger you’ve put Miss Isabel Hampton in.’
With that Charlie’s face looked like a friendly puppy’s, but it betrayed his intentions. Pengelly’s eyes grew to twice their size as slowly Charlie raised his foot. Pengelly howled in terror. Then Charlie put his foot on Pengelly’s chest and plunged it forward.