She hardly knew how they got out of Justin’s chambers, nor could she properly comprehend that a minor miracle must have taken place as she saw Walter and Justin talking quietly and sensibly together as they left. It was the one good thing to come out of this terrible day. But uppermost in her mind was what she had done to the one she loved most in all the world.
He held her arm so tightly she knew she’d be bruised as he strode to the stables where they’d left the gig. She had a job to keep up with him, but she was too proud to complain. Once they had reclaimed their vehicle, they travelled home in total silence, which gave Morwen far too much time to think. Such a silence was ominous, and she knew how tightly Ran’s anger was bottled up inside him. If it once spilled over, she didn’t dare think what he might do or say.
She couldn’t stop shaking. All those carefully planned negotiations for the good of Killigrew Clay had come to nothing, and she had been the one to ruin them by her stupidity and her reckless tongue. She wanted to weep, but she was too shocked to weep. It was one of the worst days of her life, and the future looked as bleak as on the day Ben died.
She stifled a sob in her throat then, knowing that this was the wrong thought to come into her mind at that moment. For the first time in her life she cursed the fact that her thoughts always reverted to the past when she least wanted them to. But when they had travelled several miles, the aggressive silence began to unnerve her.
‘Look, Ran, we can’t go on like this, and you know I’m sorry,’ she managed to say, as well as she could through her tightly clenched teeth. ‘You must know I never meant to hurt you! Please tell me you know that, at least!’
His voice was as sharp as steel. ‘I don’t know anything any more. I don’t know this bloody family, or the clay business, or the contrariness of women, including my own wife. I wish to God I’d never come here.’
‘You don’t mean that!’ she said through shaking lips.
‘Why wouldn’t I mean it?’ he snarled, and she was thankful they were on a lonely stretch of road now, where no one could hear the influential Ran Wainwright shouting like a common docker at his wife. ‘I wish I’d never set foot in this godforsaken country, and never set eyes on the Tremaynes or Killigrews, and that’s a fact. It’s caused me nothing but trouble ever since I got here.’
She gasped, wondering how he could say such things. As if he truly felt that all the years they had been together counted for nothing.
‘If that’s the way you feel, perhaps you’d best go back where you came from then, when Matt leaves next week,’ she said shrilly, her voice harsh with pain.
‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,’ he snapped.
Morwen stared straight ahead, unable to see the track for the tears blurring her eyes now. Had he really said those words? That he’d contemplated leaving her, and their children, and all that he’d built up here over the years? But she had virtually destroyed all that success today. She had taken away his power, which, in effect had emasculated him, and guilt rushed over her again.
‘Ran, you know how much I regret what happened back there. You know I never meant it to happen. Do I have to grovel on my knees before you’ll believe it?’
He glanced towards her then, and she was heartsick at the unyielding look in his eyes.
‘Oh, I believe it. But you’re just like the rest of your blundering family, Morwen. You rush in before you stop to think. And if I’m to stay here at all, I’m seriously wondering if it mightn’t be the best thing for me to buy you out of Killigrew Clay, if that’s the only way to stop your meddling.’
Her mouth dropped open at the sheer bloody gall of the man. She might have taken a crumb of comfort from the fact that he was as good as saying he didn’t intend leaving her, and it was only an idle threat… but she was more outraged by the very idea that he thought he could buy her out of Killigrew Clay. It was hers and Ben’s, and in the heart and soul of her, it always would be…
‘How dare you!’ she screamed. ‘I’ll never sell out to you or anyone else. You’d have to kill me before I let you have my shares—’
She stopped abruptly. They had reached an even lonelier stretch of road, and a faint summer drizzle had begun to turn the tracks to mud. There was a descending mist over the moors, and far below the cliffs alongside them, the sea was already blotted out by the greyness of the late afternoon.
And Morwen felt real fear, knowing her words had a ring of truth about them. He would have to kill her to gain two-thirds control of the clayworks, and he was angry enough to do it. He was strong and powerful… and what better place to do it than here and now, where no one would ever know…? It would only take a moment to push the flimsy gig over the cliffs, with her still inside it…
The full horror of her imaginative thoughts were too much for her, and without warning, she slid from her seat in a dead faint. As she did so, Ran reined in the horse furiously.
She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but she came around to find herself in her husband’s arms, with her face being slapped. And at once her worst fears were uppermost in her mind again.
‘Don’t kill me, you devil! Please don’t kill me,’ she shrieked. ‘You can have whatever you want—’
The slaps became sharper, stilling her frantic words, and bringing her glazed eyes back into focus.
‘For God’s sake, Morwen, nobody’s going to kill you. You fainted, that’s all. Pull yourself together, unless you’re planning to frighten the wits out of any passers-by. We’re nearly home.’
He wasn’t tender with her, but he didn’t seem quite so angry any more, either. His voice was rough, and as he held her tightly to try and stop her shaking, she sobbed silently against him.
‘Oh Ran, please don’t hate me for what I’ve done.’
She could tell he was making an effort to stay calm and in control. ‘I don’t hate you. But who’s this devil that you thought was going to kill you?’
She said nothing, and his voice became incredulous.
‘Dear God, Morwen, you surely didn’t think I’d do such a thing? What sort of a bloody maniac do you take me for?’
She couldn’t speak for a moment, and when she did her voice was husky with remorse. ‘One who had every right to take revenge on a stupid woman.’
‘Revenge isn’t a word that belongs between us, honey,’ he said. ‘The fact is that I still own Prosper Barrows and its income, and providing we get as good a deal as I hope from the northern folk, we shan’t need any of Harriet Pendragon’s bloodsucking money. We probably never did.’
‘What? Then why—’
‘It was more a way of getting her to sign away any interest in Killigrew Clay than anything else. Anyway, what’s done is done, and there’s no use fretting over it.’
She was still too shaky to feel real relief at his words. No matter what he said, she knew she’d publicly shamed him. It just proved to her how big a man he really was, to be so magnanimous. She wanted to tell him so, and to say how much she loved him, but for once the words wouldn’t come.
‘Let’s go home,’ she whispered instead.
There was an uneasy peace between them during the next days. Each made an effort to be sociable in company, especially when Freddie came to say goodbye on his return to Ireland, taking with him a long and newsy letter to Bradley from his mother.
But the time was fast approaching when Matt, Louisa, Cresswell and Primmy would leave for America, and Morwen viewed the day with dread. She had lost Matt to that far-off land many years ago, but she had never thought to lose her darling Primmy in the same way, and the thought of never seeing her again had suddenly begun to overwhelm her.
Matt was firmly entrenched in his new life now; her brother Sam had died so long ago his face didn’t even come to her clearly any more; her Daddy had gone; the young ones all had their own lives and their independence; and Primmy was leaving her.
It seemed as if all her family was disintegrating, as if the gods or fate were decreeing that Morwen Tremayne had had enough good fortune in her life, and now she had to pay.
She tried desperately to put the uneasy thought out of her mind, and to hug Primmy tightly as they finally stood on the Falmouth quayside where the ship awaited its final passengers.
‘Promise me you’ll write often, my darling, and tell me everything,’ she said to her girl, trying not to betray how unhappy she felt.
‘I promise, Mammie,’ Primmy said, and Morwen could see she was near to breaking down too. They held one another mutely, and then Primmy whispered in her ear the sweetest words Morwen could wish to hear.
‘I do love you, Mammie, and I wanted to tell you that you’ve been the best mother in the world to me.’
The ship’s hooter sounded, and the time for farewells was over. They had all come to see the family depart, and Morwen linked arms with her mother now, knowing this would be a bad time for her. She and the children were to spend the rest of the day with Bess, to soften the blow. And she didn’t admit to herself that it served two purposes, for she and Ran wouldn’t have to spend more time in false politeness with one another.
She discovered that Cathy had the same idea of taking little Theo to his great-grandmother’s house, while Ran and Walter went back to the clayworks together. It irked Morwen a little, to know that Cathy had had the same idea, even though it was a kindly and loving thing to do, but she pushed aside any antagonism when Cathy confided in her how glad she was that Walter and Justin had forgotten their differences now.
‘Walter was so unhappy about it, Granny Morwen,’ Cathy said shyly, using the new name she called her on Theo’s behalf now. ‘But the other night Justin came to the house and we had a long talk and a meal together, and it was so good to see them being brothers again.’
It was the best news Morwen could have heard, and in acknowledging it, she silently forgave Cathy everything. Guiltily, she knew her only antagonism towards this lovely girl was because she was the daughter of Jane and Tom Askhew.
Everyone in her family had disliked the brash Yorkshire newspaperman when he first came to Cornwall… but Morwen’s feelings went deeper than that, and it was not on account of Tom that they were disturbed.
It was that ridiculous long ago name she had bestowed on Jane, when she had been so convinced that she and Ben Killigrew were attracted to one another. Miss ‘Finelady’ Jane… and it was high time she put such adolescent nonsense behind her. They were both grandmothers now, for heaven’s sake, and both of them had a stake in this bouncing baby boy with the blue Tremayne eyes and the engaging smile.
And his cousins simply adored him. When they were all safely back at her mother’s house, Bess had dried her eyes and resumed her usual stoical manner, ordering tea for the women and lemonade for the children. And Luke and Emma played with Theo, delighting in his chuckles as they tickled him and encouraged his vigorous kicking on his play-rug.
‘Was I ever as small as this, Mammie?’ Emma said once, flushed with pleasure at the baby’s antics.
‘You were, my lamb,’ Morwen smiled. ‘And so were Luke and Bradley, believe it or not!’
‘Can we have a baby of our own one day, Mammie?’ she said next, her eyes full of hope, and Morwen felt her cheeks flood with colour to match her daughter’s.
It wasn’t so much for the unlikelihood and undesirability of it happening, it was because she and Ran were no longer on intimate terms to produce it. Nobody knew it but themselves, and the servants could make what they would of separate rooms. But Morwen knew it, and it hurt her beyond words to know that their politeness didn’t yet extend to the marriage bed.
‘I think I’ve had enough babbies of my own, darling,’ she said lightly. ‘You just enjoy sharing little Theo.’
‘She can share him any time she likes, Granny Morwen. She’s a proper little mother,’ Cathy said, laughing, and the awkward moment passed.
But she was obviously in her husband’s confidence, because while the children were all occupied, she spoke quietly to Morwen.
‘When does Ran expect his northern visitors?’
Morwen’s heart jolted. In the sadness of the American family’s departure, which was how she was steeling herself to think of them now, she had virtually forgotten all about Ran’s important meeting. She thought quickly.
‘The day after tomorrow. They’re staying in Bodmin, but they’ll be making an extensive visit to the clayworks, and if all is well they’ll come to New World to go through the details of supplies and transport with Ran.’
She mentally crossed her fingers as she spoke. This deal was very important to her husband, especially after all the other bad business with Harriet Pendragon. And presumably the representative of the medical manufacturers, would expect to be offered an evening’s hospitality by Randall Wainwright and his wife. But this arrangement left out the third partner.
‘Cathy, will you and Walter come to dine with us while they’re here? Ran will arrange the time and date. Will your mother sit with Theo for the evening?’
God, what was wrong with her, that she still couldn’t be comfortable with the woman’s name!
‘I’m sure she will. And thank you. That will please Walter. Will you ask Justin as well, seeing that he handles the legal side of things?’
‘Of course.’
But to her chagrin, Morwen knew that it had been left to this golden girl to remind her of her obligations, whether it was tactful or merely taking an interest. And when the moment came to suggest it all to Ran, she unashamedly took the credit for thinking of it, and was rewarded by his thanks. She knew it was pathetic to be so grateful for a warm word from him, however grudgingly given, but that was the way it was. She also took an absurdly superstitious grain of hope from the fact that Mr Bradley Stokes had the same name as one of their own sons.
On the appointed day of the visit from Stokes & Keighley to the clayworks, Morwen was decidedly nervous. Ran was short and snappy, and she couldn’t honestly blame him. It was a matter of pride and prestige to him to secure this large order for the china clay. The autumn despatches were approaching, and if they could secure an important new client, it would do so much for the security of everyone who worked at Killigrew Clay. She prayed that it would all go well. And even more than the good of the clayworks, she prayed for Ran’s own self-respect to be restored in the process.
The representatives were already housed in an hotel in Bodmin, and had sent word that they would meet Ran and Walter this morning. There were three of them, and Morwen had already adjusted her dining invitation to accommodate them all. They would be quite a large party in the end, but perhaps that was no bad thing, she thought. Temperaments would surely be held in check in such company.
As Ran was about to leave the house, she deliberately kissed him in front of the housekeeper and the children, knowing he could hardly make some snide comment about this show of affection. But she thought sadly that they had come to a sorry state if she could even think such a thing.
She spoke softly to him, her eyes large and unblinking.
‘I’ll be thinking of you all day, dar, and wishing you all the luck in the world.’
‘I hope I shan’t need your Cornish luck,’ he said briefly. ‘I hope the quality of the clay alone will swing the tide in our direction.’
She bit her lips. Couldn’t he even be soft with her now, when she knew how anxious he was, despite his brave words? But it seemed he could not, and he disentangled her arms from around his neck, and kissed his children with more warmth than he spared for his wife.
That afternoon, when their lessons were over, she decided they would go to the beach again. It was too glorious a summer’s day for staying indoors, and time spent with her children was a kind of panacea these days. Besides, watching the rippling, silvery-tipped waves, she could imagine that Primmy’s ship wasn’t so far away after all.
By now, she could only think of it as Primmy’s ship… and as if Emma followed her train of thoughts with uncanny accuracy, she felt her small daughter’s hand creep into hers as they sat idly on a rock, while Luke skimmed pebbles into the sea.
‘Will we ever see Primmy again, Mammie?’ she said sorrowfully.
Morwen didn’t like lying to her children, and she had always been innately honest, sometimes regrettably so, when it stirred up too many unpleasant thoughts. But seeing the trusting, anxious look in Emma’s blue eyes, she found herself prevaricating from the absolute truth as she saw it.
‘Who can tell, my lamb? America is a very long way over the ocean, and Primmy’s a young lady now, and has her own life to lead, so as long as she’s happy—’
She tailed off lamely, knowing how badly she wished Primmy hadn’t been so compelled to make this endless journey to the other side of the world. Knowing how she missed her already. Just being in Cornwall, just a few miles away in the studio she’d once shared with Albie, was being home, and no more than a carriage ride away. But home to Primmy now, would always be where Cresswell was.
‘Anyway,’ Luke said boisterously, his ears attuned to all that was going on around him as usual, ‘Uncle Matt came back more than once, didn’t he? If he did it, Primmy will probably come back as well.’
Seeing the way Emma cheered up at this, Morwen blessed him at that moment. He wasn’t normally sensitive to female moods and emotions, but there were times when a common sense male perspective was useful, even one of such tender years.
‘Perhaps I’ll go to visit her when I’m grown up, Mammie,’ Emma said hopefully.
‘Perhaps you will, darling,’ Morwen said, giving her a hug. But the hug was mainly to hide the tell-tale dismay in her eyes at such innocent words. She couldn’t bear it if she lost Emma too… not her sweet, ethereal darling…
A cloud passed over the sun at that moment, making her shiver. How many times had that happened – or was it no more than her over-active Cornish imagination that produced such feelings of presentiments she wondered.
‘Mammie, can we go to Truro Fair?’ Emma said now, her quicksilver mind having already moved on from thoughts of Primmy, while Morwen’s was still there.
‘Truro Fair?’ she said blankly, as if she’d never heard of it before.
Luke began dancing up and down on the sand, scattering it in all directions, and blinding the others with it, until they shouted in protest.
‘Daddy promised that we could, and we want to go! There’s stalls and horse rides and sales, and Daddy might see a pony there that he can buy for me—’
‘I want a pony as well!’ Emma piped up at once.
‘You’re too young to own a pony of your own,’ Morwen said automatically. ‘But if we go, I daresay you can have a ride on one—’
Luke howled at once, hearing the doubt in her words.
‘We’re going! We are. Daddy said it, so there!’
At that moment, he looked and sounded so like Bradley in one of his black moods that it gave Morwen a shock. Luke had never been much trouble, but without his older brother’s leading influence, he was beginning to assert himself, and it had almost gone unnoticed until now. They were all growing up, and when they grew up, they grew away from her.
She snapped back, because she was so irritated with herself for such a thought. It made her sound like a clinging vine, and she never wanted to be that.
‘Well, if Daddy said so, I suppose it must be right. Now, let’s get back to the house. It’s getting chilly, and I’m ready for my tea.’
She had to listen to their whoops and cheers all the way back to New World, as they discussed how exciting it was going to be to go to Truro Fair. Emma hadn’t been allowed to go before, because of the crush of people who flocked to its stalls and pleasures. Luke had been once, with Ran and Bradley, and hadn’t cared for the noise and bustle last time, but he was older now, and seemingly bolder too.
At the time, Morwen had been glad of an excuse to stay away. She had conflicting memories of Truro Fair, and was never anxious to revive them. But it was obvious she wasn’t going to avoid it this year, unless she wanted a riot in the house to rival that of a bunch of warring clayworkers.
‘Will the bal maidens come down from the moors again, Mammie?’ Luke said eagerly.
‘Of course! It’s always a big day for them, when they have a day away from work,’ she said, putting as much enthusiasm into her voice as she could.
For oh, couldn’t she remember so well how the fine townsfolk of St Austell and Truro lined the streets to watch the unruly procession of these women, accompanied by their menfolk, all filled with excitement at spending a few dizzy hours among the hurdy-gurdy men with their little monkeys, and the horse traders, and the stalls selling sweet-drink and Cornish pasties and baked potatoes?
She remembered it all so well… how Jude Pascoe had tempted Celia with the sweet-drink and turned her willing head so easily. And didn’t she remember how she’d seen him there so many years later, still the same, still as hated, and filling her heart with black thoughts of revenge?
‘I think your clothes are lovely now, Mammie,’ Emma said, just as if she knew how the pangs of so many mixed emotions were milling through her mother’s head.
‘Thank you, darling,’ she said swiftly, thankful that they had reached the road and were only a short distance from the house now. ‘Now you listen to me for a minute. I don’t want any fuss at home tonight. You know your father’s had important business dealings today, and he’ll not want to be bombarded with questions about Truro Fair.’
She mentally crossed her fingers as she spoke. She presumed Bradley Stokes and his colleagues would have been at the clayworks for much of the day, inspecting every part of it, and finding out every last detail for their products. They were keen to acquire the raw material for the manufacture of dyspepsia mixtures and the like, and Morwen could have told them of the benefit of Killigrew clay for that.
Times without number she had seen one or other of the clayworkers, her daddy included, scoop up a handful of the white slurry and drink it down to cure all manner of ills. It was cheaper than going to the doctor and she wondered if it would work any better miracles than some of the so-called magic elixirs that appeared at Truro Fair with the travelling quacks.
The thought flitted through her mind that she’d put more trust in old Zillah’s potions than some of the dark, evil-looking mixtures they sold. And with that thought came another one. Maybe Zillah could have done something to help Killigrew Clay’s fluctuating fortunes. Maybe she could have provided a love potion to make Ran love her again, the way he once did. Maybe she could have mixed up a potion to rid the county of Harriet Pendragon…
Horrified, Morwen brought her thoughts up short. Dark thoughts like that led to nothing but evil. Zillah always said Morwen had the sight, and her hands had been called healing hands by some… but she had no wish to dabble in any kind of witchcraft that would bring harm to others. Not even to one she thought of as her declared enemy…
‘Mammie, why has your face gone all funny?’ Luke demanded to know, as she apparently gazed into space. But what she was seeing was a kaleidoscope of past and present, where the future was still no more than a misty mirage. She blinked the images away and laughed at her son.
‘I’m not sure I care to have my face called “all funny”, you imp!’
‘But it is, Mammie,’ Emma said, with the relentlessness of childhood. ‘It looks like you’re not here any more, and I want you to come back!’
There was a sudden note of real distress in the child’s voice, and Morwen moved swiftly to her and gathered her up in her arms.
‘I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. We’ll always be together,’ she said softly.
But she remembered her earlier morbid thoughts, when she had listed all the family members who had departed in one way and another, and a little chill, like a passing breeze, seemed to clutch at her heart.
She forgot all such presentiments when Ran came back to the house late that afternoon, his face more animated than she had seen in weeks. He caught at her hands and swung her around the drawing room where she and the children were drawing pictures together.
‘It’s good news! There’s little doubt that Stokes and Keighley will place a large order with us, and I’m going to press them to sign with us for the next five years.’
‘That’s wonderful, Ran. You must be so relieved!’
And glad, and happy, and looking so much more like the dynamic man she had loved and married. The children were caught up in the general delight in the room. They danced around their father, pushing their advantage and begging to be taken to Truro Fair, to which he laughingly agreed. His eyes met Morwen’s over their chattering heads, and her heart leapt at the warmth she saw in his eyes.
That night, he returned to their room, and he made love to her with all the need of a man long starved of it. He told her passionately how much he needed her and had missed her. He held her and kissed her, and when it was over, he didn’t rush to move away from her, and in the moonlight from the window she watched his face, relaxed in sleep.
But she couldn’t stop the glimmer of tears on her lashes, knowing that something of the old, sweet ritual of their lovemaking had been lacking. His need for her had been unquestioning, and she had gloried in it, but she knew he still hadn’t quite forgiven her, because he never said he loved her.