FOR FIVE DAYS, and many night hours, David and Alice, with spasmodic help from Percy, worked hard to thoroughly clean the Trethevy rectory and make it ready for the arrival of the bulk of their possessions from Herefordshire.
At the end of each working day brother and sister spent uncomfortable nights sleeping on hard beds in their respective rooms, having only a couple of blankets with which to cover themselves.
When their belongings eventually arrived and were placed in the spaces they were to occupy, and they had sufficient bedding to keep themselves warm, they awoke next morning with more optimism than they had been able to muster since their arrival in Cornwall.
Aware that the state in which they found their new home meant that David had needed to put off the work he was so eager to begin in this, his first parish, she said to him during breakfast, ‘Didn’t you have an invitation to visit Reverend Carter at his school in Devon any time this week? Why don’t you go there today? It would do you good to talk to someone who is able to tell you things you need to know about the parish.’
The school where the Tintagel cleric taught, St Dominic’s, was a small minor public school near Tavistock, some thirty-five miles away. In order to have a full day with him David would need to spend two nights there.
‘According to Percy, Reverend Carter has not spent enough time in the parish to learn anything about Tintagel, he has probably never even heard of Trethevy, and it’s hardly surprising. If Percy is to be believed no one has preached here for more than fifty years, at least.’
‘You should not accept everything Percy tells you, David. He enjoys gossiping – especially passing on gossip of a depressive nature. I doubt if he has even met Reverend Carter. Anyway, once you’ve spoken to him you can come back and meet with the Tintagel churchwardens. They will no doubt be very pleased to know there is a clergyman resident in the parish once again.’
‘You are probably right,’ agreed her brother. ‘They must find things difficult with Carter away from the parish for so much of the time. As for Percy, he does seem to delight in passing on depressing news. Earlier this morning he found ghoulish delight in telling me about the number of ships wrecked along this part of the coast and of the hundreds of sailors drowned. There are apparently some particularly dangerous rocks at the foot of cliffs not far from here.’
‘Well, forget about such gloomy things for a couple of days. It will do you good to be out in the fresh air, speaking to someone other than me and a melancholy old man.’
When David had set off for Tavistock, Alice turned to Percy who had harnessed the pony to the trap for her brother. ‘Ever since we arrived at Trethevy my brother has been working hard getting the house fit to live in. Now, while he is away, we will make a start on the thing that is closest to his heart – the church. Find a small ladder and bring a bucket of water, Percy. We will see how much we can get done before he returns.’
Alice’s words and the briskness of her manner dismayed Percy. Having seen the parson off the premises he had intended finding a quiet corner of the garden, somewhere out of the wind in which to enjoy a pipe and contemplate a leisurely day, with the possibility of a visit to an ale house at the end of it.
‘I don’t know as I’ve got time to do that, there’s things need doing in the garden!’
His protest was in vain. ‘Whatever you have to do there is not going to go away, you can do it another day,’ Alice declared, firmly. ‘Having a church of his own has been my brother’s dream for as long as I can remember. Instead, he has walked into a nightmare. I intend doing everything in my power to give him back his dream – and you are going to help me.’
Percy had not known Alice for very long, but it was time enough for him to recognise that she was strong-willed – far more so than her brother. He put aside any thought of enjoying an easy day in the parson’s absence.
‘What’s a bloody woman doing messing around in my barn?’
The bellowed question, directed at Alice by the large, black-bearded man who occupied much of the space in the narrow doorway of St Piran’s church so startled Alice that she dropped the bucket of water she was holding and almost lost the precarious balance she had on the fourth rung of the rustic ladder on which she was standing.
Descending to the slate-stone floor and stung by the angry stranger’s rudeness, she responded heatedly in kind. ‘This bloody woman would have been considerably bloodier had I lost my footing and fallen off the ladder! As to what I was doing … I was clearing up the mess in a house of God, made by some bloody farmer.’
Glaring at the man, she demanded, ‘Would that be you?’
Taken aback by Alice’s spirited reply, the man in the doorway opened and closed his mouth two or three times before replying, his tone somewhat less belligerent than before. ‘This place hasn’t been a church for as long as anyone can remember. I rent it for my animals.’
‘I think I’m right in saying that the church has been in the family of a Mr Batten for a great many years and that you haven’t paid a penny in rent since he inherited the estate from his father five years ago. Now he has given the building back to the Church and my brother has been appointed rector in charge of it. As it would seem it is you who are responsible for the disgusting state of the place you can take the bucket to fetch more water – and if you have nothing else to do you can help clean up in here.’
For some moments Alice thought she might have pushed the man too far as the face above the beard grew darker and his barrel-chest swelled until it seemed he was in danger of bursting the buttons of his waistcoat.
The anticipated explosion never occurred. Turning suddenly on his heel, the irate man left the doorway and strode stiffly away along the overgrown church path.
From a shadowed corner of the church interior, where he had been attacking the rust on a heavy iron latch removed from the stout entrance door, the noisy exhalation of breath from Percy was a combination of relief and admiration.
Breaking into a chuckle he said, ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day when Eval Moyle was backed down – and by a woman! Miss Alice, you’ve done what no man hereabouts has ever been able to do, and there’s never been a shortage of them as have wanted to.’
Still chuckling, he added, ‘Not only that, for a moment or two I thought he might even have picked up the bucket and helped you clean up!’
‘Are you telling me everyone is frightened of him? Why? He’s nothing more than a blustering big bully.’
‘Oh no, he’s more than that, Missie! Eval Moyle was Cornwall’s champion wrestler for nigh on ten years until men stopped challenging him after he left young Tristan Pethick crippled for life. He has a farm along the lane from here. It actually belongs to Eval and his brother, but neither are much good at farming and although they still live there together the brother has needed to find work on another farm so they have enough to live on. But you’re right about him not paying rent on this place for years. It’s because no one’s dared ask him for it – not even the Battens, and they’re as powerful a family as any hereabouts.’
‘Well he doesn’t frighten me,’ Alice declared, but her bravado belied her innermost feelings. She was a positive young woman who was not afraid of speaking her mind, but she rarely quarrelled outright with anyone and could not remember when she had ever before been angry enough to speak to anyone as she had to Eval Moyle, using language that would have deeply shocked her brother.
With reaction beginning to set in, she said, ‘I’m going to the rectory to make us a cup of tea. It’s a pity Reverend Kilpeck is away today. He needs to be warned about Mr Moyle. While I’m gone will you refill my bucket please, Percy?’
Showing newly-found deference, Percy said, ‘Of course, and I’ll have a go at scrubbing that wall for ’ee too, it’s not work the likes of you should be doing. But I don’t think you’ll need to say too much to the parson about Eval Moyle, he’ll hear of him soon enough.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alice demanded.
‘Well, Eval is preacher in a chapel in Tintagel that attracts more folks on a Sunday than the church ever has.’
‘You surprise me, Percy. The very last thing I would have suspected Mr Moyle of being is a Christian preacher, even a dissenting preacher!’
‘Well, Eval was brought up a Methodist but when he wanted to become a preacher they would have none of it, so he ups and leaves them and took up with the “Ranters”.’
‘That’s right. They call themselves Primitive Methodists, or some such, but them as don’t belong call ’em “Ranters”, on account of the shouting and hollering that goes on when they have one of their services – meetings that sometimes go on right through the night and keep anyone who lives nearby awake with their goings-on. There’s no doubt at all they’ll have enough of Eval before very long, but they seem to be suiting each other for the moment.’
‘Thank you for telling me, Percy, that’s something else I will have to tell my brother when he comes home. I can see there is going to be a whole lot more to living at Trethevy than just preaching to his parishioners!’