The following day the coroner from Marazion rode over to the church where the boy’s body had lain overnight and gave permission for it to be buried. Thomas Cole, a gambling acquaintance of Oliver’s, took very little time in deciding the only evidence he required was a positive identification of the deceased. This was given by Ted Trembath by means of the remnants of his brother’s clothes, and the beaten tin medallion Davey had always worn around his neck. Ted had made the medallion himself for Davey’s fifth birthday, and hanging it on a thin strip of leather, the boy had worn it with pride.
Except for a few maintenance men in the engine house on the mine surface, Wheal Ember closed for the afternoon of the funeral. Davey Trembath’s body was taken home after the coroner’s examination, his pathetically small coffin borne along on a bier pulled by two black ponies from the Ker-an-Mor stables, and three hundred men, women and children walked reverently in line behind the cortege.
Mrs Trembath insisted on walking the long twisting miles, supported by her remaining sons, to take Davey back to the church. Led by Faith Bray, the mourners filled the air with the harmonious sounds of Celtic voices. They sang hymn after hymn without pause or break, collecting other mourners along the way until the slowly moving procession reached the small church in Perranbarvah.
In deference to the ailing, grief-stricken mother the Reverend Ivey conducted a brief service. He tactfully made no comment on the manner of the boy’s death, only recalling to the small portion of mourners who could gain admittance inside the church, the boy’s devout Christian way of life, and comforting them with the knowledge that young Davey had exchanged his cross of suffering for a crown of joy.
Mrs Trembath sat stiff and upright, her face set like cold stone throughout the service. Davey had been her favourite son. His father had died in an explosion down the mine during the same hour Davey had struggled his way prematurely into the world. He had fought for his life over the first weeks and thereafter had been a sickly child. With three other sons well able to provide for the family, his mother had seen no reason for him to work underground and Davey had joined the bal-maidens on the surface until he was twelve.
But he had felt ashamed to be left ‘at grass’ while such younger boys worked and earned more underground, and by all accounts led more exciting lives. He had begged his mother to allow him to work underground too and finally she had relented while remaining fearful for his safety. Mrs Trembath had had no knowledge that Davey was joining Ted on the night of his death and she was never to forgive her eldest son for robbing her of her youngest.
Ted Trembath would never forgive himself either for allowing Davey to go with him on that fateful night. He searched without success in his pockets for his kerchief as tears streamed down his face as the mourners sang another Wesleyan hymn around the graveside.
‘Jesu, lover of my soul.
Let me to thy bosom fly,
While the gathering waters roll,
While the tempest still is high,
Till the storm of life is past,
Safe into the haven guide,
O receive my soul at last.’
It had been Davey’s favourite hymn. Ted reached for his mother but she would not part the hands she held tightly gripped together. Oliver had joined the family at the church door and Mrs Trembath had not replied to his offer of sympathy. Ted gave him a look near to hopelessness across the graveside and Oliver returned it with one of compassion while at the same time attempting to convey to the distraught miner that he shared in his guilt and shame.
The bell in the church tower knelled its mournful note as the coffin was lowered into the ground. People were suddenly jostled aside as Sir Martin Beswetherick unceremoniously shoved his way through to stand next to Oliver. Sir Martin took little notice of the remainder of the burial, mainly confining himself to casting lecherous glances at Rosina Pearce. A man of strictly Anglican concerns, he snorted at every few words that Matthias Renfree said as the young man gave a short address at the Reverend Ivey’s invitation.
It was a hot day and the mourners were uncomfortable in their black clothes. The sun gained in strength to burn through coats and shawls on the backs and shoulders of the people below. Mrs Trembath, her face still set in the same expressionless mask, threw a handful of dry earth on her son’s coffin, then stepping back tilted her head to look up at the golden-white rays. The new expression on her face suggested she thought the sun had insulted her by shining so.
Kerensa sat in a secluded corner of the gardens at the back of the Manor house, twisting her skirt between taut fingers. Dunstan lay at her feet, looking up at her every now and again with concern in his old brown eyes. He struggled clumsily to his feet when alerted by sounds from behind him. Kerensa thought it was Oliver returning from the funeral. It wasn’t. It was Clem Trenchard.
Rushing to her feet, she looked fearfully all around.
‘Clem! What are you doing here? Oliver… he may come back at any moment.’
Clem raised his hands to still her fears.
‘Don’t worry. I won’t stay long. I just had to see you, Kerensa.’
She looked thinner and paler than he had ever seen her before. A little girl lost in the storm of life, like the words of the hymn, and Clem loved her. He loved her more than ever and wanted to hold her, to tell her everything would be all right. He fought back a mounting desire to take her in his arms and do just that.
‘Have you been crying?’ he asked instead, looking at her closely.
Kerensa ran a trembling finger under each damp eye. ‘Just a little. Did you go to the funeral, Clem?’
‘Yes. I joined the procession on the road to Perranbarvah. I overheard the Reverend Ivey offering Sir Oliver and Sir Martin Beswetherick a glass of port so I hurried over to see you.’ He moved closer to her and took Kerensa’s hand. ‘How are you, Kerensa? I mean, really?’
Dunstan growled jealously and sidled forward between them.
‘I have everything I need, Clem,’ Kerensa answered him quietly. ‘You must not think of me now, but make a new life for yourself.’
‘I doubt if I can ever do that,’ he said softly.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She gripped the hand holding hers. ‘I feel so terrible about what I’ve done to you. I can never ask you to forgive me. You look different, so unhappy, and I blame myself for putting you through this misery.’
‘That doesn’t matter, my love. I don’t blame you, tis his fault! That, that…’ Clem could not say the bitter words emblazoned on his heart. ‘What I want to know, my love, is if he ill-treats you?’
Kerensa wanted to look away but could not. She knew Clem wanted to hear that Oliver was cruel to her, that then he would almost certainly plead with her to run away with him. But even a lie told to be kind would bring terrible consequences for Clem if he challenged Oliver in any way.
‘Oliver demands his own way in most things, but he doesn’t ill-treat me,’ she said wearily, torn inside by the disappointment on Clem’s face as she destroyed this forlorn straw he had clutched at. ‘Not at all. Please, Clem, you must go. If he comes back and finds you here…’
He sighed deeply and jerked up his head to hide the hopeless tears that had sprung to his eyes.
‘If that’s what you want, Kerensa, I’ll go now,’ he said, persuaded only by the fearfulness she harboured for him and the entreating look in her eyes. ‘But if ever you need me, send Alice for me and I’ll come straight away.’ He kissed her hand and Kerensa’s heart missed a beat, but when he reached out to hold her she pulled away.
‘Please don’t, Clem. I’m another man’s wife now. You must forget me.’
‘I’ll never do that,’ he told her vehemently, kissing her hand again, ‘as long as you love me I’ll have a reason to carry on.’
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and this time she did not stop Clem taking her into his arms. She held on to him closely and he buried his face in to her neck, gently caressing her hair.
‘Kerensa!’ Alice Ford came running towards them. ‘Sir Oliver… he’s riding up the carriageway now.’
Clem reluctantly let Kerensa go. It was not easy to relinquish the warm soft body he had not held for so many weeks. He had no care for Alice’s presence as he took the liberty of brushing his lips against those of the girl he loved so much.
‘Hurry, Clem,’ Alice implored him, ‘you must leave, and pray to God no one saw you come here. Don’t worry about Kerensa, I’ll look after her.’
‘I’ll hold you to that, Alice Ford,’ he said grimly. He turned quickly and left the two girls alone.
Oliver slammed every door he passed through until he reached Kerensa in the pleasant surroundings of the sitting room that once had been his mother’s and was now claimed by his wife for her own. Kerensa looked at him from her armchair in surprise. He had never before entered the room while she was there and his presence was unexpected. She was momentarily fearful that he knew Clem had visited her in the garden but he only glared irritably back at her.
‘What a bloody awful afternoon!’ he declared, tossing his tricorn hat to land expertly on the table next to the tray from which Alice was serving tea. Dropping down heavily in the armchair opposite Kerensa, he added moodily, ‘Is there any chance of getting something to eat?’
‘I’ll see to it right away, m’lady,’ Alice said at once. Like Ruth and Esther King, whenever possible she addressed her mistress rather than her master.
Once she left the room Oliver’s eyes darted back to Kerensa.
With a dismissive wave of his hand at the tea tray he said stiffly, ‘Get me a large brandy, will you?’
It was an order, not a request, and it angered Kerensa.
She snapped back, ‘Have you never heard of the word “please”?’
Carefully, and deliberately slowly, Oliver placed the tips of his fingers together and studied them as though he’d never seen them before.
‘Please… my dear.’
Kerensa knew the courtesy was not meant. She inwardly fumed and took her time to fetch a bottle of brandy and a glass from his study. She kept her back to him as she poured out a small measure, and did not look at him as she held out the glass.
Oliver swirled the fiery liquid around in the glass as he waited for her to sit down, then draining it in one toss of his head, held it out to her again.
‘Another, if you please.’ He scrutinised the second measure of brandy at his leisure, sipped it and sighed deeply. ‘That’s better,’ he said maliciously. ‘At last.’
Where Oliver was of a mind to upset her, Kerensa was equally determined in not allowing him the privilege of showing him he’d succeeded. She sat down again, sipping slowly from her cup until her anger abated.
‘How were Mrs Trembath, Ted and the others?’ she asked in a quiet voice.
The question brought a slightly wondering look to his face before he answered it; he marvelled at the way she had spoken, as if she had many years’ experience of entertaining nobility itself to tea.
‘They were distraught,’ he told her. ‘I don’t think that she will ever come to terms with the boy’s death. Nor Ted. He’s taken to haunting the cliff overlooking the Cove these days.’
‘I wish things were different, then people wouldn’t have to resort to smuggling. Then this… the tragedy would never have happened.’
‘Men indulge in freetrading for more reasons than that they happen to be poor, Kerensa. There’s greed, excitement, comradeship to be found. Not to mention the pleasure of cheating a greedy government of its exorbitant taxes.’
‘Why do you do it, Oliver?’ Kerensa looked down into her teacup as she spoke. She knew full well of his involvement in much of the smuggling around the Mount’s Bay coastline but had not talked of it to him before. She wondered, as he hesitated, had she spoken unwisely?
Oliver sank himself deeper into the armchair, his long legs stretched out across the room, and said simply, ‘Because I want to. My ventures are well supervised, quicker and safer if there’s no treachery afoot, and I allow violence of no kind. It’s not unknown for a whole village to be slaughtered to keep secret the identity of smugglers who are little more than murderous thugs.’
Kerensa shuddered at this. She’d had no idea such a thing had ever occurred and realised how sheltered and secure her life had been in Trelynne Cove. She thought of her grandfather and wondered if he had ever used violence in such a way.
Alice entered with a tray of dainty cakes, wedges of pork and ale pie, thinly cut bread and butter, and fruit. She had to walk around Oliver’s long legs to put the tray down on the table, but on the way out she left the room by skirting round the back of Kerensa’s chair.
‘That girl,’ Oliver said, waving his brandy glass towards the door, ‘she’s got plenty of spirit. I like her. I hear Clem Trenchard has taken to hanging about her now. Did you know?’
Kerensa coloured and looked out of the window. ‘No, I did not,’ she said drily.
Oliver enjoyed these games of cat and mouse he frequently played with her. He enjoyed the way he could change her youthful expression from curiosity to delight, from hurt to relief or vice versa, by just one carefully chosen remark. If Kerensa chose to laugh at him with her maid, it didn’t hurt to keep her in her place.
He studied her profile. She was as beautiful from this angle as she was face on and he resolved to have portraits painted of her one day from all angles. Oliver became serious as he thought about the reason why she had turned her face away from him – the mention of Clem Trenchard. Did she still yearn for him? What went on inside that lovely young head of hers? Would he be able to probe that deeply? Perhaps not, but then it didn’t really matter… did it?
As the sun continued its journey upwards through the sky, the shadows in the room deepened. Kerensa watched the last chink of sunlight disappear from the corner of the window.
‘Nathan says the tawny owl can be released tonight,’ she said conversationally. ‘Apparently it wasn’t too badly hurt after all.’
He wasn’t listening to her. And he had forgotten all about the harrowing funeral as he remembered how soft her body was against his, how tightly she closed her eyes and clung to his neck when they came together. He watched her mouth moving as she spoke and with a fierce urgency wanted to kiss it, to smother her words, to feel the soft sensation of her warm lips. He quenched his immediate desire, deciding to wait until later and increase the pleasure to be taken at his leisure.
‘Oliver?’
‘Mmm?’
A puzzled frown had appeared above her eyes at his silence.
‘I… I was saying, it’s a good thing the tawny owl is well again.’
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed with her.
Kerensa was confused. She thought she recognised the look in his dark eyes, but in her naivety she wasn’t sure.
He changed the subject suddenly. ‘So what were you doing holding one of Samuel Drannock’s brats the other day?’
‘Oh, you mean little Jack. He was fretting so I offered to take him from his mother for a while. She had Charles to see to.’
‘I noticed she will be in childbed again quite soon. The Drannocks will be as good at breeding as the Kings.’
Kerensa recalled Mrs Tregonning’s similar remark. ‘How many children have they got, I wonder?’
‘Five or six at least,’ Oliver said, picking up a wedge of the pork and ale pie and breaking it slowly in two. ‘Like children… babies, do you, Kerensa?’
‘Oh, yes, very much so.’
‘Good.’ Without taking his eyes from her face, Oliver bit into one half of the wedge of pie and chewed it slowly, leaving Kerensa in no doubt what he had in mind.
Morley and Florrie Trenchard were more than relieved when Clem took to walking Alice Ford back to the Manor from the regular Bible classes held at Jeb Bray’s cottage. They had been deeply worried about the effect on their elder son when Kerensa Trelynne married Sir Oliver. They knew how shaken Clem had been when the girl whom they had come to love themselves had actually gone through with the marriage.
Morley had remonstrated many times with Clem over his moroseness and lackadaisical attitude to his work on the farm. Spending time with the cheery Alice meant he no longer hung restlessly about the farmyard or vanished with Charity his dog for long secretive hours. Perhaps now his parents’ prayers were answered and Clem would be bringing a bride home to Trecath-en Farm after all.
Alice was excited that it was her Clem sought to sit next to in the miner’s cottage, and unlike Matthias Renfree, was unaware he paid attention to nothing or no one while there. She delighted in his company at other times and didn’t seem to notice when he was quiet and sullen.
Clem spoke little unless it was to ask questions about Kerensa. Other matters held small interest for him.
‘Does Kerensa mind not going to the Bible meetings any more?’ Clem asked. He and Alice were strolling side by side in the evening sunshine, following the path running in twists and turns beside a narrow tinkling river on Trecath-en pasture land.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Alice replied, pulling off the heads of long grasses as they moved along, ‘she gets on so well with the Reverend Ivey anyway. He’s such a sweet old soul, isn’t he? Besides, whichever way you look at it, we worship the same God, don’t we.’
‘Does she see much of the Reverend, then?’
‘Usually once a week.’
‘At the Parsonage or the Manor?’
‘Depends.’ Alice went on gaily answering his questions. She was always more pleased when Clem was talking instead of having to draw him out of one of his prolonged silences. ‘It’s been at the Manor since young Davey Trembath’s funeral, she’s been rather upset by that.’
‘Is she all right?’ he asked quickly.
‘Oh, yes. I think she’s just waiting for things to settle down a bit, then she’ll be out and about again.’
‘She looked so pale when I saw her last.’
‘Well, it may be she’s pregnant, Clem.’
‘What!’ he exclaimed at the thoughtless remark, his arms held in mid-air in the act of throwing a stick for Charity. ‘Is she?’ he demanded, with an anguished look at Alice.
‘No, I don’t think so. Forget I mentioned it, it was silly to say such a thing,’ Alice said meekly. Then wisely changing the subject she asked, ‘How’s your family keeping, Clem?’
‘They’re well enough,’ he said moodily, finally throwing the stick for the impatient dog.
‘And Kenver? I’ve never met your brother, he sounds very nice.’
‘He is, but what makes you say that?’ Clem said, ignoring her hint to be invited to his home.
‘Kerensa told me about him,’ she replied, ‘she sounds very fond of him by the way she spoke of him.’
Clem sighed heavily as he searched about for another stick to throw.
‘That’s another tragedy that happened when Kerensa married that man,’ he said angrily. ‘Kenver adored her. She’d spend hours sitting on his bed talking to him. I believe he misses her as much as I do.’ He hurled a stick away with great force. ‘Kerensa shouldn’t have had to change anything if she didn’t want to!’
‘A good wife follows her husband, though, Clem,’ Alice said pointedly to his face, then turned away to watch Charity come bounding back. She added in a small voice, ‘I know I would.’
For the first time Clem looked critically at Alice Ford. She had none of Kerensa’s grace and beauty, nor the ethereal quality to be found in Rosina Pearce, nor even the clear skin of the King sisters. But her hair was full of shining bouncing curls and if a man troubled himself to give her a second look he could find other becoming things about her. Her eyes were hazel brown, a shade lighter than her hair, her mouth pink and inviting, and her young body moulded into generous curves. Alice was sweet and honest, and with a start Clem realised he actually did enjoy being with her.
Alice was the closest person to Kerensa now and she readily chatted about her and the new life they shared in the Manor, and although it usually annoyed him to have to sift through all she said to get the information he wanted in the first place, there had been the odd moment when her cheerfulness had made him smile. Meeting her gave him a reason to carry on, it gave him something positive to cling to in his miserable existence. He knew he should be grateful to her for this small measure of comfort; he received none from anybody else. His mother and grandmother said it was ‘time he pulled himself together’, his father was at the end of his patience with him. Matthias Renfree didn’t know what to say to him any more. The rest of the parish had lost interest in him and speculated only on how the Pengarron marriage was working out and how soon an heir would be born. Only Alice Ford tried to understand how he felt, how he suffered, and was willing to befriend him in the way he desired at the moment.
Clem threw Charity’s stick again and on impulse held out his hand to Alice. Shyly she held out hers in return and Clem took a step towards her to claim it. Her hand was warm and alive and its touch brought back feeling to his body, sensations he’d not felt for many weeks.
They walked on, hand in hand, to the shade of a clump of elm trees.
‘It’ll be getting dark soon,’ Alice said, ‘we should be making our way back.’
But Clem didn’t want to go back yet, back to the cosy farmhouse where the rest of his family were contentedly getting on with their own lives. It was in too stark a contrast to his belief that life was not worth living. This was one of the few times he didn’t want to be alone, and Alice was the best company he had had for many weeks.
‘Not yet, let’s sit down here for a while,’ he said persuasively.
‘The ground’ll be getting damp,’ she said doubtfully.
Clem took off his jacket and laid it out on the ground.
‘Just for a little while… please, Alice,’ he appealed.
With a bright smile, she said, ‘All right, Clem.’
She made herself comfortable and he sat down beside her.
‘I don’t want to go back yet,’ he said quietly, looking up at the bunches of leaf-like fruits on the branches overhead. ‘Not for ages.’
He put his arm around her shoulders and Alice gingerly leaned against him. Neither felt the need to speak. Alice watched the sky quickly darken, with a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach now that Clem was taking an interest in her at last. For him it felt good to hold someone, someone warm and soft, vital and alive. He took Alice’s hand and held it against his cheek and she snuggled in closer to him. A choir of tinkling water, chirping birds, and a breeze rustling through the trees, lulled them into a sense of peacefulness.
Alice turned inside Clem’s arm to see if he’d fallen asleep. He met her eyes and rubbed the hand he was holding against her cheek then brought it back to his.
‘We’ll have to go soon, Clem.’
‘When are you expected back?’
‘I have no duties tonight. They are away at Sir Martin’s, but Ruth and Esther will wonder where I am if I’m not back soon.’
‘Five more minutes won’t make much difference,’ he said, placing his hand under her chin, very gently. He looked at her for a moment then kissed her with the lightest of pressure. The response from her lips was immediate and he pulled her into the circle of his arms. Alice moved against his body as she slid her arms, one behind his back, the other around his neck. Her movements brought his body to life with a shudder, every nerve quickening in exquisite pain.
Clem had thought this could not happen to him, not now. He wanted to kiss and hold Alice, he wanted her warmth, her nearness, he wanted her to bring life itself to his body, he wanted to drain her of her spirit and make him whole again. He had no power to stop the overwhelming force of his great need as he held her so tightly in his arms.
Alice panicked and tried to break free, but he soothed her with softly spoken words as he eased her down beneath him, misleading her with kisses of exaggerated lightness. His fingers found the laces of her stays and he pulled roughly at them.
‘Don’t, Clem,’ she gasped between his kisses, ‘let me get up.’
He didn’t seem to hear her. His breathing came in short bursts, his mouth forcing hers open, passion overcoming his more sensitive feelings.
Alice struggled violently. ‘No, Clem! No!’ she cried out in fear. ‘Not like this… please!’
Removing his hand from her bare flesh, he gave a cry of deep anguish.
‘I’m sorry, Alice,’ he moaned, ‘forgive me. It’s just that… I want you so much. Do you understand?’
‘Oh, Clem,’ she said softly, love and pity chasing away her fears. She reached up and brushed the strands of damp fair hair away from his forehead. ‘I do understand what you’ve been going through. But I can’t be Kerensa. She’s lost to you forever. Just give me the chance and I will make you happy. Just let me try, Clem. Please let me try.’
He knew she would be willing now. It was almost dark. He could pretend in the dark. Pretend her hair was auburn red and curled under on her shoulders. Pretend her body was smaller, daintier, softer. Pretend she was finally his…
Alice raised her head to meet his next kiss, blissfully unaware, that Clem was making love to Kerensa Pengarron.