Morwen didn’t want to leave her mother alone in the days leading up to the funeral, so she moved into Killigrew House that same evening, leaving Luke and Emma in the capable hands of Mrs Enders and the live-in tutor Ran had recently engaged for them. There was no question of the whole family leaving New World, and the children needed the security of having one parent still on hand.
And Ran had much to think about concerning the clayworks and the promises he’d made. Life had to go on, despite everything. At present the clayworkers were paid two shillings and sixpence a day for seven and a half hours work. By putting their wages up to three shillings a day, he knew he could be risking trouble with the Unions, but Killigrew Clay was still a privately-owned company, and he considered it worth the risk – providing the payments could be met.
He also knew damn well that since Harriet Pendragon had been ready to offer the same amount, she’d already have sounded out the Unions on that score. And he hadn’t been entirely reckless in stating that there were new avenues to follow regarding outlets for the clay.
Clay from the Killigrew pits had been transported to the Midlands potteries for some years now, and there were family connections between one of their old-established outlets and a newly-formed medicinal manufacturing firm. Ran had had approaches from them, showing interest in obtaining large supplies of the raw material for medicinal purposes, and he was exchanging letters with the owners keenly.
It was well known that the china clay properties had proved beneficial in many instances. Not least in the way that the clayers themselves habitually scooped up some of the untreated stuff, swearing that it cured all stomach ailments from dyspepsia to cramps. Though since the Lord only knew what other impurities there were in their self-treatments, it was a wonder they didn’t kill themselves in the process sometimes, Ran thought, with a grin.
He was still smiling, and taking a moment’s relief from the mass of paperwork in his study, when Mrs Enders tapped more sharply than usual on the door. When he invited her in, he could see at once that she was annoyed.
‘It’s that other clay person, Sir,’ she said sharply. ‘She’s come calling on you, and refuses to go away until she’s seen ’ee, no matter how often I tell ’er this is a house o’ mourning, and any respectable body knows that casual visitors aren’t welcome at this time. And as for the sight of ’er – well, words fail me!’
They obviously didn’t, and Ran’s eyes narrowed as she paused to draw breath. He knew very well there could only be one female clay person to bring this spark of defensive anger to his housekeeper’s face.
‘Slow down a minute, Mrs Enders, and tell me who it is. I presume there was a visiting card?’
She handed him the card without speaking, her lips tightly pursed, and Ran saw the expected name on it.
‘You won’t want to let her in, will you, Sir? And ’specially not in here, in your private business quarters,’ she said scathingly.
Ran kept his face straight at her quaint turn of phrase. God dammit, the woman knew very well that this was his study. There was no need to dress it up with fancy words… but she was right, all the same. There was no way he wanted Harriet Pendragon anywhere near his private domain. Morwen joined him here when it was necessary to discuss business affairs, but basically this was a man’s room, and he wanted no temptress of a woman inside it.
‘Show Mrs Pendragon into the drawing room,’ he said shortly, irked that he’d inadvertently thought of her that way. ‘I’ll see her briefly, since she’s come all this way.’
Mrs Enders sniffed. ‘It just shows the kind of person she is, having no more respect for the dead than to come bothering folk afore the dear man’s properly cold.’
‘Just leave it, Mrs Enders,’ Ran soothed her. ‘This isn’t Hal Tremayne’s own house, so we can at least be charitable about that. And if I ring the drawing room bell, you can bring us some tea. But not unless I do so,’ he added quickly, seeing her indignation rise again.
He didn’t see why he should practically apologize for offering tea to a visitor in his own house, but they both knew that this was no ordinary visitor. Mrs Enders read the newspapers and heard the gossip, and she would be well aware that the Pendragon woman still had her sights set squarely on Killigrew Clay.
Ran knew that Hal Tremayne’s death would only prove to be a slight hitch to her proceedings. But he’d hardly expected her to come calling before the man was even buried. He agreed with Mrs Enders totally on that score.
He got a shock when he entered the drawing room. Instead of her usual garish attire, Harriet was dressed in shimmering black, and it complemented her colouring so spectacularly that for a moment he was stunned. She gave a half-smile as if registering his thoughts exactly, and then she stepped forward, her hand outstretched.
Without thinking, Ran took the elegantly gloved fingers in his, and felt their warmth inside the soft silk fabric. Just as quickly, he pulled his hand away, and managed to resist wiping his hand down his jacket, as repulsed as if he had just held a slimy object in it.
He was furious at his own reaction, but he mistrusted this woman completely, and he wanted nothing to do with her. Before she could speak, he spoke coldly.
‘This is an unhappy time for my family, Ma’am, as I’m sure you’re very well aware, and since there is nothing that you and I have to say to one another, I’ll ask you to be quick in explaining your reason for being here. I can give you five minutes only.’.
He was being ungracious, and he knew it. But now that he had recovered from the first shock of seeing her, he was outraged by her appearance. If it was a pretence at mourning, it was cruel and mocking, and he was only thankful that Morwen wasn’t here to see it. If it was unintentional, then he could only wonder at the woman’s bad taste and lack of sensitivity.
‘I came to offer my condolences,’ she said sweetly. ‘I know what a shock your father-in-law’s death must have been, and I’m prepared to suspend all our negotiations for the time being, Mr Wainwright.’
The gall of the woman took his breath away.
‘We do not have any negotiations, Madam,’ he snapped. ‘Please understand that Killigrew Clay is not for sale, and never will be as long as I draw breath.’
‘I daresay Hal Tremayne said much the same,’ Harriet said coolly, ‘but the worry of it all killed him in the end, and it would be a pity to see a strong and virile man go the same way as these old ones. I saw it happen to my late husband, and I would hate to see it happen to you.’
He didn’t miss the way her pale eyes flicked over him now, as keenly and insolently as a rake assessed a streetwoman. Ran had never met a woman like this before, but he’d be damned if he’d let himself be unnerved by this blatantly obvious approach.
‘I think you forget yourself, Madam,’ he snapped. ‘I would also suggest it was yourself who killed off your late husband, not the worry of the business—’
Harriet threw back her head and laughed, not in the least put out by his insult. Her eyes sparkled with the thrill of the chase, and her cheeks were flushed with a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
‘You do me credit, Mr Wainwright, and I take that as a compliment,’ she said, as provocative as ever.
‘It wasn’t meant to be any such thing, and you know it. Your five minutes are now up, and please don’t come back here again. We have nothing more to say to one another.’
Before he guessed what she was about, she came to stand close beside him in a cloud of perfume. The scent of her seemed to envelop him for a moment. He hadn’t asked her to sit down, but such lack of gentility didn’t seem to bother her. She was nothing but a she-devil, Ran thought furiously.
‘Oh, but we have, Sir,’ she said sensually. ‘I have many more things I want to say to you, but they can wait, since this is obviously not the time. But make no mistake about it. Our time will come, and we will definitely meet again.’
‘I begin to think you have a hearing problem,’ Ran snapped. ‘Killigrew Clay is not for sale. I cannot make it any clearer than that.’
She turned away from him with a rustle of skirts. She moved towards the door, a seductive smile on her lips. She caressed the handle for a moment with those silk-clad fingers, and her voice oozed sexuality.
‘Nor you can, my dear Mr Wainwright, but perhaps it’s not Killigrew Clay that I want the most.’
Ran stared at the door for a good few minutes after she had gone, still enveloped in heady perfume. She couldn’t have made it plainer that she wanted him. She was as blatant as a whore, but far more dangerous. For this was no streetwoman, this was a highly intelligent, highly desirable, rich bitch…
His feet suddenly moved as if they were on springs. He marched towards the door that Harriet Pendragon had so quietly closed behind her, and wrenched it open. He left it open, hoping the air would dispel the smell of her, and went roaring along the passageway, uncaring who heard him.
‘Mrs Enders, if that woman ever comes near this house again, you are not to let her in, is that clear?’
The housekeeper came out of another room, startled by this display of anger.
‘I never wanted to let her in in the first place, Mr Wainwright,’ she said indignantly.
He was still bellowing, as if he needed the twanging sound of his own voice to clear the air. ‘I know, and I’m sorry I told you different. But in future, she is not to be admitted here. I do not want my wife to be bothered by her, and neither of us will be at home to Mrs Pendragon in future. Is that quite clear?’
‘It surely is, Sir,’ Mrs Enders said with alacrity.
Ran went striding back to his study, slamming the door behind him, and wondering just why the devil he was so out of sorts, when he sure as hell meant every word he said. And he was glad that he’d never offered her any tea. The last thing he wanted was to remember that he’d ever shared a kind of tête-à-tête with the Pendragon woman.
A week after Hal Tremayne’s death, in a sad drizzle of warm rain, a cortège of carriages left Killigrew House to wind its way up the hills towards the clayworks on the high moors. From there, only one black-ribboned, horse-drawn carriage would continue towards Penwithick Church with its burden, while the walkers followed behind. Hal Tremayne would travel in style on his last journey. By then, his family had all made their personal goodbyes, and his wife, looking smaller than ever in her black mourning, had shed all her tears in private.
‘I still can’t believe I’m here, like this, when a week ago Daddy was alive and well,’ Morwen mumbled, in an attack of nervous panic as she walked with her husband behind her mother and her three tall brothers.
Thank God Matt had been here, Morwen thought fervently, knowing how doubly cruel it would have been for Bess had he been far away in California at this time.
She herself was flanked by Ran and Walter, and behind them came Albert, Justin and Charlotte, with Annie and the twin girls, and Cathy Askhew Tremayne. Venetia had stayed in Ireland with Bradley, and Freddie had come home alone, so soon after he had left. None of the smaller grandchildren were attending the burial, and Walter and Cathy’s baby was being cared for by Jane Askhew.
Even now, on such a day, Morwen couldn’t escape the intervention of Miss ‘Finelady’ Jane, she thought, even while she despised herself for thinking it.
But at least it took her mind off the finality of this walk, skirting Hal’s beloved clayworks that were closed for the afternoon, and where so many clayers fell into step behind them; past the little cottage where the Tremaynes had once lived; through the churchyard where Celia Penry and Ben Killigrew were buried; and Sam and Dora too; to pause at last, while the oak coffin carrying Hal Tremayne was carried reverently into the church, and the family and close friends followed it inside.
The rain had stopped before the burying was over, and by then there was an undeniable sense of relief among them all. They had done the right and proper thing by Hal Tremayne, and for those that were left, lives had to go forward. One of his own favourite sayings was that the past was a distant country.
The family and friends, and a few of the older clayers who had worked so long with Hal, gathered at Killigrew House. Bess presided over the eats and beverages with Mrs Horn, and took umbrage at anyone too afraid to mention Hal’s name.
‘I don’t want sad faces around me,’ Bess declared. ‘Hal wouldn’t have wanted it, and I prefer to think of today as a celebration of his life, not a wake. Mourning’s best done in private, and that’s what I aim to do, so you’ll all oblige me by remembering the good times you all had with un.’
‘She’s a perishing marvel,’ Jack muttered to anyone who would listen. ‘I never thought she’d be so strong.’
Both he and Freddie seemed to have been knocked sideways by the news, Morwen thought. But then, neither of them had been close enough at hand to hear the news on the day, and both were feeling unnecessarily guilty because of it.
Walter was handing round sandwiches, doing women’s work and looking no less of a man for it. He obviously needed to do something with his hands, Morwen thought, and one look at Charlotte’s blotchy face and trembling hands proved that she’d have been little use at the task. Morwen tucked her hand through her daughter’s arm, feeling how tense it was.
‘Try not to take it so hard, love,’ she said softly. ‘I know you’re feeling sad, but Grandad Hal wouldn’t want to see a gloomy face, and we must try to keep smiling for Grandma Bess’s sake.’
‘How can she be so cheerful?’ Charlotte said in a choked voice. ‘If I’d just lost my husband, I wouldn’t be able to laugh and joke with those awful clayworker fellows.’
Morwen sighed. ‘We all deal with grief in our own ways, darling, and this is Grandma Bess’s way. Believe me, it’s no lack of feeling for your Grandad. Those two – well, they were like—’ she searched for the right words and couldn’t find them – ‘like twin souls,’ she finished lamely. ‘And there will be times enough when Mammie will miss him dreadfully. She needs this breathing space from all the loneliness ahead of her, Charlotte, so don’t be disapproving.’
Charlotte went even redder and blotchier, and she looked shamefaced.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I just didn’t understand. Will she have noticed, do you think?’
‘I’m sure she won’t. But why don’t you go and have a few words with her?’
‘I can’t!’ Charlotte said in a panic. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say!’
‘But she’ll know,’ Morwen said, giving the girl a gentle nudge in Bess’s direction. ‘Just be there, Charlotte, and leave the rest to her.’
She stood near the open windows of the drawing room, watching her girl move purposefully towards her grandmother, and saw at once how Bess turned and hugged her and put her at her ease. Morwen couldn’t see what was said from here. But Bess, who was frequently tongue-tied in making conversation with folk, had obviously found a strength and a dignity today that was all the more remarkable because of the occasion.
It was just as if Hal was still with her, guiding her, helping her, as he’d always done. As if she was drawing on some unknown strength… the curtains blew inwards with a little whispering sound at that moment, but the breeze that blew them was a warm one, and Morwen’s eyes momentarily glazed as thoughts of her brother Sam unexpectedly entered her head.
She didn’t consciously think of him a lot nowadays, but she had felt a sliver of comfort at knowing that Hal was with him now, somewhere in that great beyond. And the feeling was very strong in her soul at that moment.
‘Dreaming, dar?’ she heard Ran’s quiet voice beside her, and she turned to him gladly. There was a limit to how much time a person wanted to spend in speculating about that misty other world, and Ran was her solid, flesh and blood husband. She clung to his arm.
‘I was, but I’m back now,’ she said. ‘Daddy always said it was foolish to live in the past, when there’s so much future ahead of us.’
‘He was right,’ her brother Freddie said alongside them. ‘Trouble is, our Morwen, none on us knows how much future we have, do we?’
‘Oh, why did you have to say that?’ she said crossly. ‘I don’t want to think like that today, when we’re all trying to keep up one another’s spirits for Mammie’s sake!’
‘Mammie’s fine right now. But ’tis tonight that she’ll be fretting, and all the other nights that she’s alone.’
‘You’re staying on here a couple of days more, aren’t you, Freddie?’ Morwen said quickly. ‘You won’t go back to Hocking Hall? I know Matt feels the need to be there alone.’
Suddenly, Morwen knew how desperately she wanted to return to her own home with her husband and their young children. From the day of her father’s death, she had stayed with her mother at Killigrew House, but she had found it more emotional than she had expected to be in the house where she’d spent so much of her married life with Ben Killigrew.
She was thankful when Freddie came home, but Matt hadn’t wanted to move out of his temporary home at all. After all these years in America, he was oddly apart from the rest of them now, Morwen thought sadly.
‘Don’t fret, our Morwen,’ Freddie said. ‘I’ll see that Mammie’s not left brooding for the next week.’
And after that? How would Bess feel then? Especially when two of her sons left her for foreign parts again.
But Morwen wouldn’t think so far ahead. It did nobody any good.
‘And I’ll be glad to have my wife home again,’ Ran said. It seemed ages since he’d said anything half so warming to her. Things had been much calmer though, and he’d stopped his heavy drinking. But he’d been oddly restrained on the days he’d come to Killigrew House during the last week, as if wanting to tell her something, then deciding against it. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was there.
And although some might think this an odd occasion for Ran to make such a loving comment, she knew her daddy wouldn’t have objected. The belief in an honest love between a man and his wife was one of Hal Tremayne’s best qualities. Morwen felt as if her mouth was able to smile for the first time on this sad day, and she knew Hal would never begrudge her this special glow in her heart.
She saw Justin move towards Bess and kiss her cheek. He was evidently about to leave, though he had a few words to say to his grandmother first. Bess nodded, her face crumpling a little. Dear God, surely Justin knew better than to squash her buoyant mood with a few ill chosen words? Morwen thought, with a stab of anger. But then she saw that Bess was smiling again, and hugging Justin tightly.
It took quite a while for him to make his farewells to members of the family and old friends, but as soon as he reached her side, she tackled him.
‘What did you say to Mammie earlier? You didn’t upset her, did you?’ she said bluntly.
‘Give me more credit than that, Mother,’ he said, reverting to his formal name for her. ‘I reminded her that Grandad’s will is in a safety deposit box at my chambers. It was drawn up long ago when Richard Carrick was his lawyer, and then put in Daniel Gorran’s chambers. I’ve told her I’m ready to bring it here for the reading whenever it’s convenient for everyone to be together again.’
Morwen felt her heart lurch. No matter what the thought of an inheritance might be, she hated this reminder of a person’s dying. When old Charles Killigrew had died, leaving a bequest to her, it had caused such an uproar… though she couldn’t think that her daddy would cause any ructions. It would all be straightforward, and if she had ever given it any thought, she had simply assumed that everything was left to Bess, and rightly so. But Justin’s words made her uneasy.
‘So when did Mammie say?’ she said quickly.
‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ Justin said. ‘I think Jack and Annie are planning to stay the night, so it will save them another trip over from Truro.’
‘That’s a sensible idea. Justin—’ she hesitated, wondering if she dare ask the question brimming on her lips. But there was no need. He leaned forward to kiss her before leaving, and answered it for her.
‘No, I wouldn’t tell you what’s in the will, even if I could, and the simple fact is, I don’t know. Richard Carrick always considered a will to be a private document between himself and his client, and Daniel respected that. I don’t even know if he was aware of what’s in it. I certainly don’t. But now I have the key to the safety deposit box, and I’ll open it in the morning to read through before bringing it here. Until then, you’ll just have to contain your curiosity.’
He spoke lightly to take the sting out of his words, but a shadow passed over Morwen’s face as he left the house. She couldn’t imagine why her daddy’s will should be kept a secret from Justin of all people. He’d been an employee in the accountancy and legal firm for so long, then Daniel’s trusted partner, and now its head. Though, Ben had once told her that Richard Carrick was a strictly old-fashioned lawyer, guarding his clients’ wishes as if they were the Crown Jewels, which probably explained things, she thought vaguely.
It also gave her a disagreeable reminder of how much the lives of a narrow community were intertwined, since Carrick was Jane Askhew’s father… Miss ‘Finelady’ Jane, whom she had imagined Ben to be so much in love with at one time. She pushed the thought aside, knowing it had no place in her life now, but the secrecy of the will didn’t rest easy on her mind, and it put an air of mystery into its reading. And she fervently hoped there would be no shocks forthcoming.
But tonight, she was going home to New World with Ran. She was longing to see the children again, to be free of gloomy thoughts and the oppressive atmosphere of Killigrew House, despite the false cheerfulness of her mother. Even that was starting to get on her nerves now. She wanted normality. She wanted children’s chatter and laughter. She wanted love.
She felt her face grow hot, knowing it was the wrong time to be having such thoughts. But it had happened in her life before, and it hadn’t seemed wrong. To be able to briefly dispel the bad times by the warmth of loving arms around her, and the caress of a loved one’s hands, was surely to be heaven blessed. It had never seemed wrong before, and it didn’t seem wrong now.
Folk who were far more sophisticated than herself might think so, Morwen conceded. Folk who felt the need to go about with long, black faces, and brood upon the passing of friend or relative as if the end of the world had come. So it had, for a time. But Morwen knew in her soul that those who were parted would meet again, and it was surely not an affront to God to rejoice in a person’s lifetime span, instead of incessantly grieving.
She gave a small shiver, hugging her husband’s arm as they rode home in their carriage towards New World. The sun was dying into the horizon now, turning the sea to a sheet of flame, and spreading its reddish glow across the early evening sky and the moors, with the promise of a good day tomorrow. The summer rain that had fallen so softly that morning had put vigorous new life into the dry moors, and tomorrow there would be new blossom bursting forth.
To Morwen, it seemed oddly symbolic, and she never questioned her reasons for feeling that way. For didn’t she know that no God worthy of His salt would put such a promise into a day, unless He wanted his people to be happy.
‘Are you sad, dar?’ Ran said gently, mistaking her soft sigh. She leaned her head against him as the sight of their house came into view, solid and welcoming.
‘I’m only sad for the times that I won’t see Daddy any more,’ she said honestly. ‘But I’m not sad at remembering the life that he had, and I’ll always be grateful for the love that he and Mammie gave to us all. I know he wouldn’t want me to grieve for him unduly, and so I won’t. He always wanted to see me smile, because he said it made his day shine brighter.’
Ran leaned across and kissed her mouth. ‘I know he did, and who could wonder at it, with such a smile as yours, my dear Mrs Wainwright.’
‘Are you flirting with me, sir?’ she whispered, after a moments’ hesitation.
‘I don’t know. Am I? Is it permitted?’ he asked cautiously, unsure of her mood.
‘Oh, I think it is,’ she said, as breathless as a young girl. ‘I think Daddy would be pleased to know that we still love one another so much, even after all this time. And we do, don’t we, Ran?’
‘We do,’ he said, as solemnly as if it was a marriage vow. ‘And we always will, my honey.’