The dinner party was a great success. The children had been introduced to the visitors before bedtime, and the adults were to enjoy the evening meal before the gentlemen retired to Ran’s study for the business part of the evening.
Bradley Stokes and his colleagues were clearly enchanted by Cathy, and to Morwen’s relief, Walter and Justin were at their most affable. They had all accepted how very important it was to their future that this meeting was concluded well. As for Ran, his confidence in the outcome put him at his most charming. They were all in sparkling mood that evening, and Morwen was proud of her family, almost forgetting herself in the process.
So it came as a shock when the man Stokes, large and red-faced, and correctly-spoken with only a slight northern accent, leaned across the dinner table to smile approvingly into her eyes.
‘I’ve been looking forward very much to meeting you, Mrs Wainwright, since I’ve heard so much about your beauty. Even in the short time I’ve been here, I’ve learned that it’s quite legendary in these parts. And if you don’t think it an impertinence, I’d like to compliment your husband on his good fortune in being wed to such a beautiful lady.’
‘Aye, an’ that goes for the rest of us an’ all,’ said one of the other men, a thin, earnest-looking Yorkshireman. The other hardly spoke at all, and was seemingly dumbstruck by the occasion.
‘It’s very kind of you,’ Morwen murmured, somewhat flustered, for it had seemed that Cathy was getting most of the attention, and she hoped the girl wasn’t upset by this accolade to herself.
When they were alone in the drawing room, and the men had departed to crowd into Ran’s study, she tactfully mentioned it. Cathy shook her head at once.
‘Of course I wasn’t upset, Granny Morwen! And what Mr Stokes said was quite right. You are something of a legend—’
‘My Lord, I’m not sure I like the sound of that,’ Morwen said with a laugh. ‘It makes me sound so ancient!’
‘Oh no, you’ll never be that,’ Cathy said softly. ‘Yours is the kind of beauty that lasts a lifetime. It comes from inside the soul as much as in the face. And now I’m embarrassing you, and myself too. I’m sorry. I don’t normally say such silly things.’
Morwen leaned towards her and kissed her cheek, immeasurably touched by the awkward words.
‘It was the sweetest thing anyone has said to me for a long time,’ she said. ‘And I thank you for it, my love.’
They spoke of other things then; of young Theo and of the Wainwright children, and how Bess was coping without Hal, and how grateful Morwen was to Cathy for seeing much of Bess, which she realized was the truth.
‘We seem to have found a deal of communication between us,’ Cathy said. She hesitated. ‘I wondered if you resented it, or thought I was trying to take your place, and I would never be able to do that, nor try to—’
‘I never thought that,’ Morwen said, ignoring the sliver of jealousy she had once felt.
She liked this lovely girl more and more, which rather amazed her, since she was the daughter of the two people she had always held at arms’ length. And there was something else too, she thought, as they smiled into each others’ eyes in perfect accord. Morwen was missing Primmy badly, and Charlotte was so involved with her own life now, and while this girl would never take Primmy’s place in her heart, she was the next best thing. She was almost a daughter.
It was more than an hour later when the gentlemen returned, full of satisfaction and bonhomie, and the deals had been struck. Justin had brought the necessary papers with him, in the hope of a signing there and then, and there had been no dissent on that. There was just one more signature to add to the rest, in the presence of so many witnesses, and that was Morwen’s.
The rest of the evening was taken up with plans for the future of the china clay, and the assurance of an acknowledgement on all bottles of dyspepsia mixture and the like, that the Cornish clayworks of Killigrew Clay had been the only source of supply for the raw ingredients.
Stokes and Keighley had requested that they would send their own wagons and drivers south to transport the clay-blocks direct from the clayworks, which was another little point for rejoicing. They would be taking a substantial amount of the autumn despatches, and the rest would be loaded onto Ben Killigrew’s rail trucks for transport to the port of St Austell and to the usual local outlets. The deal was struck for the next five years. The contract was signed, witnessed and sealed, and nothing that Harriet Pendragon could do now, would alter that.
But the lady didn’t give up that easily. The next day Ran and Walter called a meeting of their pit captains and clayworkers, and announced the new business deals. All should be plain sailing, and wages would be assured. But then George Dodds, always the most outspoken and aggressive of the pit captains, spoke up loudly.
‘Can we take it that there’ll be bonuses at Christmas time and quarter-days then, boss?’
‘I daresay we’ll think about it—’ Ran said with a smile, not realizing the seriousness of the question. He knew it the next minute, as a babble broke out among the clayworkers. And some of the bal maidens, never backward in coming forward, began screeching in support of their menfolk.
‘You’d best put your money where your mouth is, Ran Wainwright! We’m good workers, and deserve good wages. And if we don’t get it, then we’ll tak’ yon Pendragon woman’s offer, and where will your autumn despatches be then!’
‘What the devil are they talking about?’ Walter said, as the babble became a roar. George Dodds held up his hand for silence, and the rioting died down to mutterings.
‘Are you telling me the woman’s been here again recently?’ Ran snapped out.
But, God almighty, he thought savagely, surely it wasn’t all going to go sour on them now? Neither he nor Walter could be at all four pits at once, and it would be easy enough for an unscrupulous person to flit from one to another and undermine all the good work they’d done in keeping Killigrew Clay afloat. And there was none more unscrupulous than Harriet Pendragon, especially now that they’d failed to extract her promise to leave well alone. They would survive, and survive well, but only if they had the workers to do so. And if the bitch was persuasive enough to make them see what an advantage it would be to work for her…
He could see a number of shuffling feet as he glowered at them all, and it was one of the older bal maidens who spoke up now. Some of these old harridans were tougher than their men, Ran thought grimly.
‘We ain’t averse to listening to what’s on offer, boss, but that don’t mean to say we’m agreein’ to it. Not unless we’m given more dues than we’d ever dreamed about, o’ course. So you’d best look to your coffers, Yankee-man, or you’ll still be losing half your workers.’
She cackled like an old witchwoman, and those around her yelled their agreement.
‘What in hell’s the matter with you all?’ Ran yelled back at them, when he could make himself heard. ‘If you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been telling you about the good times coming, then haven’t you buggers ever heard of loyalty?’
As George Dodds tried in vain to restrain the eruption of noise at this, Walter cracked his whip sharply. He’d got into the habit of carrying it with him, even when he wasn’t riding, and it had the required effect at once.
‘Give us a chance, you scum-bags,’ he roared out, as strong-voiced as Hal Tremayne ever was. ‘You’ve heard what Ran Wainwright had to say, and no doubt the rumours are already flying about that he’s not selling Prosper Barrows. He’s staying put, like we all are, if we’ve got any sense in our noddles. He’s one of us, you buggers, and the sooner you believe it, the better.’
‘Oh ah. So what about the bonuses?’ jeered one and another, until they were all taking up the chorus.
‘You’ll get whatever bloody bonuses you deserve,’ Ran shouted. ‘If we flourish, then you’ll all benefit, and that’s a promise. But I’ll make you another promise, here and now. I’ll see hell freeze over before I sell this business to the Pendragon woman, or anybody else. And even if every last rat leaves here at the bitch’s beck and call, I’ll work the bloody clay with my bare hands if I have to.’
He listened to himself, startled by his own fervour. He spoke like a true clayer, he thought, in amazement, and whatever conviction there was in his voice, the rest of them were aware of it too. George Dodds cleared his throat.
‘There’s none that can say fairer than that, and I say we stand by the bosses. He may not be named Killigrew nor Tremayne, but by God, he’s got the guts of a Cornishman.’
‘We’ve got them, Ran,’ Walter muttered by his side as the murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. ‘But that devil-woman nearly did for us again.’
‘That she did,’ he said grimly. He called for order again, and when he had commanded silence, he spoke briefly.
‘I’ll say one last thing to you. Show faith in us, and we’ll show faith in you, and to prove it, there’ll be a fat bonus for every man, woman and child who sees that the autumn despatches get away on time and in good order.’
He could afford to say it now. Bradley Stokes had given him an advance banker’s order on account of the clay-blocks they’d be sending north, and this gesture of generosity to the clayworkers wouldn’t do his cause any harm at all. His thoughts were instantly proved right by the cheers and shouts all around him.
‘Get to it, then!’ he shouted again. ‘I’m not paying you buggers to stand around gossiping like fishwives! The first idle slackers I see will be out on their backsides.’
It wasn’t his normal way of speaking to them. It was usually left to Walter and the pit captains to treat the workers to tongue pie, but by talking to them at their level he was gaining an unexpected amount of respect. And it felt good. In all the years he had been here, he realized he’d never felt one of them, as much as he did right now.
It was a feeling he wanted to share with Morwen. She’d be warmed and gladdened by the knowledge… but even as he thought it, he remembered the barrier between them, and he doubted now that he could express these private, innermost feelings to her. Not yet. If ever.
As he and Walter left the workers to their tasks, and George Dodds and the other pit captains assured them there’d be no slacking from now on, the two men decided to call it a day. They rode companionably across the moors to where it began to slope steeply towards the town of St Austell. And as always, the sight of the blue sea beyond the crowded houses of the town, never failed to stir Ran’s imagination.
No wonder few people ever wanted to leave it, he thought. Only something momentous, and stronger than himself, would make a true Cornishman leave these lovely and mysterious shores… like a man’s fear of being accused of a crime he didn’t commit, that had driven Matt from these shores with his wicked companion all those years ago. And like Primmy’s love for Cresswell…
‘Are you listening to me, Ran?’ he heard Walter say now, and his subconscious registered that the young man had been speaking to him for some minutes.
‘I’m sorry, I was far away,’ he said quickly.
‘So I noticed. But I was asking for your opinion. Me and Cathy have thought it over at some length, and we hesitantly approached Uncle Freddie about it before he left. Do you think it’s a good idea?’
Ran looked at him blankly, having no idea what the devil he was talking about. At the look, Walter laughed, relaxed now the trouble at the clayworks was behind them.
‘We’re thinking of renting Hocking Hall – maybe even buying it if ever Freddie and Venetia want to sell, though I’m not sure we’d be able to afford it. But Freddie seemed quite keen to let us have it at a reasonable rent to keep it in the family, and Cathy loves it there. It’s a grand place, as you know, but it still feels like a family home. Theo would love it too, and when we have more babbies there’d be plenty of space for them to grow.’
He was more talkative than usual, and Ran could see that he was totally taken up with the idea. He felt a pang of envy for the light in Walter Tremayne’s eyes as he spoke of his adored wife and son, and the family unit they represented. Oh yes, they were destined to have a brood of healthy babies, and they would continue the Tremayne dynasty in true fashion. As if Ran was blessed with Morwen’s second sight at that moment, he’d stake his life on it.
‘It’s a great idea, Walter. So what’s stopping you?’
‘Well, nothing!’ he said laughingly, as if wondering the same thing himself. ‘I’ll go and see the land agent about it tomorrow before somebody else steps in.’
Morwen thought it was a wonderful idea too. It always charmed her when the threads of continuity in the family interwove so effortlessly. She visualized young Theo growing up in that lovely old mansion, with its deer park and stables, and no doubt one day having a pony of his own and learning to ride with his father… At the thought, she was reminded of something else.
‘Ran, you did say we’d take the children to Truro Fair next week, didn’t you? It will break Luke’s heart if we don’t go. And he’s desperate for you to buy him a pony as well.’
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ he said with a grimace, since spending time at such rural events wasn’t his favourite pastime. ‘And what does Emma want?’
‘Emma never wants anything except to be happy,’ Morwen said. She blinked, not having meant to say any such thing. But when she thought about it, it was true. Her youngest daughter asked for nothing, and was just happy to be. She was a child of nature, Morwen thought, with a rush of love for her, and remembered it was the way she herself had been described when she was Emma’s age. They were so alike, and all she would wish for her daughter was happiness and love. They were the two most important things anyone could bestow on a child.
‘She’s bound to want something,’ Ran said practically, not following her winsome train of thought in the slightest. ‘Children always do.’
‘We’ll see,’ Morwen murmured, wishing they could have been on the same wavelength at that moment. Wishing she could have said: let’s give her a star to call her own, and known that Ran would have understood.
Brilliant sunshine greeted them on the day of Truro Fair. The air was hot and still, and heavy with the hum of bees and the scent of pollen and wild blossom. It was the perfect summer’s day, and it would be made even hotter by the crush of folk streaming into the outskirts of the town from all directions for the fun and festivities.
For a moment, Morwen stood apart from herself, imagining herself and Celia Penry in the midst of them, young and alive, and so wildly excited to be among the motley collections of folk. And never realizing how they themselves, flocking down from the moors above St Austell town and taking no heed of the miles of walking to Truro, whether booted or barefoot, were considered the most motley of all.
‘When are we going, Mammie?’ Emma’s impatient voice broke through her thoughts, and she smiled at her eager young daughter. So pretty today, in her fine lawn dress and matching bonnet, and her dainty shoes. And she gave her an unexpected hug, because Emma would never know those heady but uncertain days, and her future was so much more assured.
‘Right now, my love,’ she said gaily, and had to quieten down Emma and Luke’s boisterous shrieking as Ran announced that the carriage had arrived at the front of the house. She smothered a moment’s guilt at the thought that they would arrive in such style, able to leave their carriage and horses stabled at Justin’s chambers, while the clay folk they’d be passing would all have sore feet by the time they arrived at Truro Fair. And yet they’d hardly notice them. She knew that too, and gave up the pointless feelings of guilt.
Cornwall had many fairs throughout the county, and Truro had its share. But the summer pleasure fair always followed the same pattern and had become a kind of ritual for folk from near and far. The smells, the noise, the sights and sounds of it all, were always the same. The streets of Truro were blocked by people and horses, and vehicles trying vainly to make a passageway. Almost before daybreak, the streets became miraculously lined with stalls, selling goods of every description, cheap toys and amusements, gingerbread and pasties, toffee apples on sticks, and sweet-drink, the heady potion that could turn a gullible young girl’s head at the slightest bit of flattery from an ardent young man.
The bal maidens were out in force today, and the young clayers were clearly enjoying the delicious sense of freedom that the fair always evoked, in more ways than one. Morwen smiled as she saw one pretty girl’s scarlet face as a clayworker whispered something in her ear. She couldn’t hear the words, but she could imagine the daring remark. In the midst of such a crush, it would be no more than a sweet, innocent, flirtatious moment…
Ran was not so nostalgically taken. He was more concerned with fighting a way through the crowds for his children so that they wouldn’t be trampled underfoot. But the children had their own ideas.
‘Mammie, can we see the horses?’ Luke shouted. ‘Daddy said he’d buy me a pony—’
‘I said I might,’ Ran corrected. Emma jumped up and down, emphasizing her brother’s words.
‘You said you would, Daddy. I heard you,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to do it now, or God will punish you.’
Ran sighed. Truth was, he couldn’t remember what he’d said. Too many other things had clouded his mind these past weeks to give due consideration to Luke’s demands. He felt Morwen’s hand slide into his.
‘It wouldn’t hurt to look at the ponies, would it, dar?’ she said softly. ‘Leave it until the end of the day, and ’twill give Luke something to look forward to.’
‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘Providing you behave yourself, young man, we’ll take a look at the pony sales later this afternoon.’
‘Can we watch the boxing then?’ Luke said doggedly.
Morwen groaned. In the squares there would be wrestling arenas and bare-knuckle fighting, and she disliked all of it. But her brother Jack was coming towards them, in time to overhear Luke’s remark. He was taking his own son to watch the wrestling, so Luke could go with them.
‘Just as long as I don’t have to watch,’ Morwen said. ‘Where’s Annie today?’
‘She’s not feeling up to it, so I’ve left her at home. I’m glad Mammie didn’t want to come. This crowd would be too much for her now.’
Morwen nodded. She’d been only too thankful when Bess said she wouldn’t go to the fair. Apart from the fact that she was becoming quite frail now, it would have stirred up too many memories of past times with Hal and all the family.
‘Can we go and see the gypsies, Mammie?’ Emma said, when Ran said he’d accompany Luke and the others. ‘Can we buy something from the stall? They say it brings you luck.’
‘Who says so?’
‘Everybody! It’s good luck if you buy something, and it’s bad luck if you don’t,’ she recited. ‘They say the gypsies can tell your fortune as well, just by looking at you, or reading your hand.’
‘Well, we don’t need any fortune-telling,’ Morwen said swiftly. ‘But we’ll buy a posy from a gypsy if it will keep you quiet.’
And also because she herself believed in the old superstition only too well. Buy something for good luck, refuse it for bad.
In the distance she could see Albie and Rose Slater, and she waved to them as they became lost in the crowd. Justin was too important now to deign to come to the fair, and Walter was staying away with Cathy and the baby. It was somewhat different from the way all the young and lusty Tremaynes had once flocked down to the town, Morwen thought, but time changed everything.
She felt a shiver at the thought, and hugged Emma closer to her side as a flamboyant seller of quack medicines came swaggering through, shouting his skills and announcing that he had obtained a quantity of a miracle tonic to cure all ills at an amazing bargain price.
‘That man must be very clever,’ Emma said in some awe.
Morwen smiled at her innocence. ‘So he must,’ she agreed, though not with the same meaning as her daughter.
‘Mammie, can we go and see the horses now?’ Emma said later, when they had tired of watching the tinselled ladies perform on a makeshift stage to the tune of a hurdy-gurdy.
‘I didn’t think you were all that interested—’
‘Oh, please! I want to guess which pony Daddy will buy for Luke.’
‘Well, all right then. But I daresay the races are on now, so you be sure and stay close to me, Emma.’
It was a feature of the Truro summer fair for the young bucks to hire the gypsy horses and race among themselves, with their followers putting wagers on the outcome, and also tipping the gypsies handsomely. Some said it was also to bribe the gypsies to give their rivals the slowest horses, but no one had ever proved as much.
And no one really cared. It was all part of the fun of the day, and if the gypsies went away with their pockets jingling, then the daredevil young men who raced their horses went away quite satisfied with showing off their prowess and the exhilaration of it all.
There was no sign of Ran and Luke just now, and Morwen guessed they would be absorbed in the fisticuffs of the boxing matches or the sweaty tortures of the wrestling arenas. She held Emma’s hand tightly and took her to where the roped off short section of road alongside the river was habitually designated for the horse races. There was already a large crowd there, and the races had been going on at intervals all day. The scent of horse manure and heaving bodies was pungent in the air, but it all added to the excitement and atmosphere.
Morwen recognized a number of acquaintances in the onlookers, smiling and nodding to various ones, and then she glimpsed a scarlet silk gown and bonnet among the crowd. For a moment, she wondered at the vulgarity of such a garb for the daytime, but the wonder lasted no more than a moment before she knew instantly who the person would be. For so long now, she had been able to put the thought of Harriet Pendragon to the back of her mind, and her heart gave a sickening, uncomfortable lurch, just because she was breathing the same air as the woman she despised so much.
‘We’ll go along to where the horses line up,’ she said quickly to Emma. ‘There aren’t quite so many people there, and you can see the winning line quite easily.’
After a few minutes of jostling through the mêlée, she realized too late that it was also where Harriet was heading. But by then, Emma’s excitement was at fever pitch at being close to the horses, and to the bright-waistcoated men with the swarthy skins and gleaming earrings, who controlled them.
‘Stay close to me, Emma,’ she said again. ‘Some of these horses are really wild, and you must stay well back when the race begins.’
She saw Harriet move near to one of the young men and hand him a scarlet ribbon. It was so blatant that Morwen couldn’t even feel derision for her. Since her husband had died, there had been faint rumours of her attentions to young men, but nothing so pathetically obvious as this.
Maybe it was because she was preoccupied with the woman that she saw what no one else saw at that precise moment. Or maybe it was because her fey Cornish instinct told her when something bad was about to happen. Or maybe it was just the rolling whites of the horse’s eyes that told her…
Whatever it was, she seemed to leap forward at the same time as the horse reared on its back legs and struck out viciously with its front hooves. If she hadn’t done so, and if she hadn’t given Harriet Pendragon an almighty push at the same time that sent her flying into the arms of the nearest small crowd of male onlookers, Harriet would certainly have been badly hurt.
Emma screamed as Morwen lost her balance and went sprawling, but by then there had been a piercing warning whistle, and the start of the race had been halted until the trouble was sorted out.
‘I’m all right, really I am,’ she almost snapped at the many enquiries. ‘I’m not hurt, just winded, that’s all.’
Willing hands had hauled her to her feet, and she dusted herself down, mortified by the indignity of falling to the ground, and even more so, at being the unwitting saviour of a woman she actively hated.
She glanced around. If Harriet Pendragon had the gall to thank her, she wasn’t sure how she would react. She wanted no thanks – and she soon saw that she wasn’t likely to get any. Harriet was being escorted away by the solicitous young man who had by now abandoned the horse race for apparently more agreeable pleasures, while the crowd spoke loudly and indignantly of the lady’s ingratitude.
Morwen didn’t care. All she wanted was to get away. She was more shaken than she had thought, and when Ran and Luke came looking for them, suggesting a sojourn to the tea rooms, she escaped her admirers thankfully, and had to listen to Emma’s excited telling of the encounter.