Rail’s reaction was to declare savagely that if there was one more incident, then Bradley was to be sent away to an English boarding school. Despite his lofty attitude to everything that was Cornish, it was a prospect the boy loathed, but the more he railed against his father, the more Ran became adamant. The atmosphere in the house became ever more bitter, and the relationship between father and son ever more fragile.
Morwen could hardly bear to be around while the constant baiting continued between them, and she was more than thankful when the day of the fortnightly meeting of the Tremayne women arrived. They always met in Fielding’s Tea Rooms in St Austell, and had done so for some years now.
Venetia rode in from her country mansion like a latterday Boadicea, scorning a chaperone; more sedately, Jack Tremayne brought Annie over from Truro. Being of an age that required no escort herself, Morwen always arrived in her own pony and trap, relishing the freedom of having no male company. Bess was always driven into town by her husband, and Hal enjoyed a brief greeting with his womenfolk before taking himself off to jaw with Jack for an hour or so.
There were many things to discuss today, not least of them being the preparations for Justin’s twenty-first birthday party. But first, Annie wanted to hear the news about Cathy. Having gone through bad pregnancies herself, she had an interest in the slight young girl that Walter had married.
‘She’s well, by all accounts. Not that I’ve seen her lately,’ Morwen admitted, thinking guiltily that she should really make more of an effort to visit her daughter-in-law.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that on the last two occasions, the girl’s mother had been firmly ensconced in the house, she surely would have done… she quickly turned her thoughts away from Jane Askhew and asked Annie in return about her own children.
‘They’re well,’ Annie said, her smile lifting, and Morwen couldn’t help thinking how self-centred and insular Annie had become in recent years. She dutifully asked about other family members, but most of the time all her energies were turned inwards towards her own. ‘The girls are going away to nursing college in London soon. Jack’s arranged it all, and they’re that excited—’
‘You’re not sending those babbies away to London on their own?’ Bess almost exploded.
‘Mother, they’re sixteen-years-old, and they’ll be boarding in the college. They’ll come to no harm, and Jack’s vetted it all very carefully,’ Annie said, amused at this old-fashioned attitude, and preening a little at her twin daughters’ ambitions. ‘They’re determined that in time they’ll get good posts as private nurses for some of the best people.’
Bess shook her head. ‘Time was when a family got together and discussed things of such importance, but not any more,’ she said.
‘We did discuss it,’ Annie said deliberately. ‘Me and Jack and our girls.’
And if that wasn’t intended to shut her mother out of any such discussions, Morwen didn’t know what was. Quickly, she asked after Sammie, and Annie’s face cleared.
‘He’s a rascal at times, Morwen. Takes after your Bradley, I think, and sometimes I don’t know what to do with him.’ But her indulgent voice told Morwen that Annie’s ten-year-old would be having far more leeway than Bradley.
‘And how go things with you, Venetia?’ Bess said, turning to the sunnier of her daughters-in-law.
The other three women all looked towards Freddie’s wife in some relief, expecting the usual titbits of information about horses and harnesses, and the rising cost of fodder, but wondering all the same how decently soon they could change the conversation to something of more interest to them all.
But it occurred to Morwen that instead of bubbling over with her usual enthusiasm, Venetia was hesitating. Dear Lord, surely there was nothing wrong there, she thought with a silent groan. As Venetia took a deep breath, she mentally braced herself.
‘Freddie and me were going to tell you together. In fact, we were going to see Morwen first, and ask her advice on telling the rest of you. But, well, now that we’re all here, this might be as good a time as any, I daresay, and Freddie won’t mind if I’m the one to say it.’
She stopped, and knowing it must be something of importance, her three listeners paused in drinking their afternoon tea, and biting into the spicy fruit buns for which the Tea Rooms were famous.
‘Well, are you going to tell us or not?’ Morwen said, putting her tea cup into her saucer with a clatter. ‘Don’t give us half a story, Venetia.’
‘She hasn’t given us anything at all yet,’ Annie said drily. ‘Not that I can imagine there can be anything so all-fired exciting in the horse world.’
‘No more than I can imagine being interested in glueing and hammering bits of wood together and seeing ’em float.’ Venetia flashed back.
‘Come on now, my lambs,’ Bess intervened, seeing the antagonism between them. ‘There’s no call for any of this. Freddie’s a success at rearin’ his horses, and our Jack’s a fine boat builder, and there’s none that’ll say any different in my presence.’
‘I’m sure they didn’t mean anything by it, Mammie,’ Morwen said impatiently. ‘But for pity’s sake, put us out of our misery, Venetia, and tell us your news.’
The girl looked at the others with apprehensive eyes. It must be something serious, Morwen thought.
Venetia would hardly be likely to discuss their intimate lives in a public place, and certainly not with her mother-in-law, nor with Annie Tremayne, with whom she had never really got along.
‘Freddie and me are selling up and moving to Ireland,’ she said, all in a rush.
She couldn’t have caused more of a stir if she’d said they were flying to the moon. For once, Annie said nothing, Bess drew in her breath sharply, and Morwen spoke quickly.
‘Why on earth would you think of doing such a thing? You’re both nicely settled, and I thought that breeding horses was your life—’
Morwen saw her mother’s face redden slightly, not missing the unintentional intimation that there was no other kind of breeding on their horizon.
‘We’re going to breed horses there,’ Venetia said steadily. ‘It’s all been arranged, and we move out in a month’s time.’
Bess looked as if she’d been hit in the face with a hammer. All the colour drained from her face, and Morwen couldn’t miss the fact that with her skin so parchment white, she looked suddenly old.
‘So another of my sons is leaving me,’ she muttered. ‘Our Jack’s near enough at hand as to make no difference, but I doubt that we’ll see our Matt again. And Sam—’
She swallowed, and Morwen knew she was remembering her first-born with an ache in her heart that no amount of time could dispel. Seeing the shadow pass over Bess’s face, Venetia spoke with real distress in her voice now.
‘Please don’t take it badly, Mrs Tremayne,’ she had never quite been able to bring herself to call Bess by any other name ‘and we really do want you to come and see our new place and stay there a while. It’s not as if it’s the other side of the world.’ But she bit her lip as she said it, knowing she was making matters worse, in reminding Bess that another son was already on the other side of the world, thousands of miles away in California.
‘Well, since you and Freddie managed to decide on this move without family approval,’ Annie said, unable to resist the barb, ‘how did you find out about this place? You surely aren’t going there without seeing the property?’
‘Oh, I’ve seen it many times. It belonged to my uncle, and my parents used to take me there every year when I was a child. I fell in love with it then, and I’ve often told Freddie about it. And when we went to Ireland for my uncle’s funeral two years ago, my cousin said then that he was thinking of selling up and coming to England to live. Freddie said if he ever decided to do so, to give us first refusal.’
‘And now it’s happened,’ Annie stated. ‘Well, good for you,’ she went on, to everyone’s surprise.
Though Morwen knew she shouldn’t have been surprised, Annie’s selfish streak, and her strange resentment of the family closeness over the years, made perfect sense of the fact that she saw Venetia and Freddie’s decision to break free as a healthy one.
‘I doubt that me and Hal will ever come to visit,’ Bess said woodenly. ‘We’ve never been much for travelling.’
‘Then we’ll just have to come back to see you as often as we can, won’t we?’ Venetia said, determined not to let her lovely dream be deflated by Freddie’s mother. It wasn’t only her dream, she amended. Both of them wanted this, more than anything in the world, and nobody was going to spoil it.
‘What will you do with Hocking Hall?’ Morwen said, recalling the lovely mansion and the land that went with it.
‘We haven’t decided yet. We don’t really want to sell it. My father loved it so. We’ll maybe rent it to someone we know and trust, but we intend to keep the ownership of it for when we come home on visits.’
But she smiled at Bess with genuine warmth as she said it, and was rewarded by seeing some of the colour come back to her face.
Even so, Morwen was more troubled than she admitted. When Bess had gone so white, saying she was losing another of her sons, it had seemed all too much like the premonitions Morwen had from time to time. As if she saw a glimpse of a future she didn’t want to see. She refused to dwell on it, and got the discussion back to Justin’s birthday party as quickly as she could.
‘’Tis all going forward,’ Bess said in some relief. ‘You ask him who he wants to invite, and let me know how many there’s likely to be, Morwen, and I’ll see to the catering. I take it that Albert and Primmy will be bringing a few of their friends to liven things up?’
‘I’m sure they will,’ Morwen said with a smile. ‘And Charlotte has a young man too, though I’m only supposed to refer to him as a friend at the present time.’
The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough, with one and another putting in their spoke about the whys and wherefores of Charlotte meeting a young man, while Morwen let the conversation drift through her head, trying not to think how everything was changing. She was almost glad when the sun went lower in the sky, turning moors and sea alike to a pastel world of pink and gold. And the women left the Tea Rooms and went their separate ways.
Albert and Primrose Tremayne were at that very moment relaxing on floor cushions in a fragrant smoke-filled studio, surrounded by a group of their Bohemian artist friends. They leisurely extolled the wonders of their beautiful universe, becoming more and more expansive with the effects of the forbidden substance they inhaled.
As one of the young men suggested a midnight picnic on the beach on a particular night at the end of the month, the date triggered a recollection in Primmy’s mind.
‘We can’t. We have to go to our brother’s party on that night. We’ll have to leave it until another time,’ Primmy said drowsily, ‘but you’re all invited to come to the party as our guests!’
‘Not a good idea, Primmy,’ Albert said, his words terse as always as the smoking seemed to tighten his chest, even though he never took in as much as the rest of them, and was far more clear-headed than most. The anxiety he felt from the swirling shapes that the drug produced in his brain, and the sense of breathlessness that accompanied it, alarmed him far more than the desire to be transported into a magical world akin to that of the fabled Thousand and One Nights…
Not for worlds would he admit any of that to the rest of them, though. This was his studio, and he was Jack-the-lad here. So he smoked very little, and was thankful for the success of his own charade, even though he felt he was letting his friends down by his actions.
‘Why is it not a good idea?’ Primmy said to him. ‘Justin will want us there, and you can do his portrait as a birthday gift from us both, and I’ll play the piano, and our friends can sing and entertain.’ She began to laugh shrilly. ‘We could introduce them as the entertainers, and nobody need know they’re really our guests at all! What do you say?’
She blinked through her darkly dilated pupils at the wishy-washy outlines of the group seated all around her. She really was feeling rather ill, and it was becoming extremely urgent for her to go to the water closet… she retched suddenly, and a rainbow stream of vomit spattered those nearest to her. They all shrieked with hysterical laughter as if she had done something terribly funny.
Albert yanked her to her feet, where she swayed alarmingly. ‘Come on. You need to clean yourself up,’ he said.
Primmy shook him off. ‘Don’t manhandle me, sir!’ she said, in as pompous a manner as she could. The group erupted into more laughter, and then Primmy knew no more as all her bones seemed to turn to jelly and she sank down in an unceremonious heap over the nearest of them.
When she awoke, it was night. She was in her own bed, and Albert was sponging down her heated face with a cool cloth. There was no one else in the room, but the windows were open, and a cool breeze blew the curtains slightly inwards. She gave a low groan, feeling as if she was dying. She always did – afterwards. The tremendous burst of mind-expanding energy and excitement of it all was never worth the feeling that came later. She knew it, but still she did it.
‘You’re a fool, Primmy. It will kill you if you go on like this,’ Albert said quietly.
‘And you’re so noble,’ she said weakly. ‘You were the one to try it first, and now you’re going all pious on me.’
‘I never thought you’d get so addicted, and I don’t want to lose you,’ he said.
‘I’m not addicted! I can stop any time I want to,’ she said indignantly.
‘Then you won’t mind if I put the rest of the stuff down the water closet, will you?’
Her voice was full of panic. ‘No, don’t, Albie – please don’t. Just leave me a little. I promise it will be the last time.’
‘This was the last time,’ he said, seeing how the perspiration broke out on her forehead at the thought that he was taking away her supply. But he had to do it. Dear God, if she went on like this, she’d be a raving lunatic in no time at all. And if that happened, it would surely break his heart. She was his sister and he loved her, and he couldn’t bear to see her already getting so out of control. The drug was already degrading her.
For a moment, he wondered how his upright family would react if they only knew. His blood ran cold at the thought. Morwen, and their grandparents, in particular, were so proud of the two of them setting up their own establishment in Truro; the talented artist and the accomplished concert pianist. It had all sounded so very grand – and it had all become so very sleazy.
Not the work, of course. The façade of respectability stood them in good stead. Fond mamas brought their daughters to have their portraits painted, as well as commissioning studies of their family groups; and Primmy played at the several concert halls in the surrounding towns, and was invited to the best soirées to perform. The high life they led was a glittering success, and their secret life was gutter low.
‘Albie,’ Primmy said huskily now, breaking into his brooding thoughts. ‘I know you’re right. I do know it, really I do. And I want to be over it. So be strong for me tonight. Don’t give in to me, there’s a love.’
And he didn’t, not all through that long night when she begged him and cursed him and lashed out at him to give her what she craved. He had no idea if he was doing the right thing or not. He only knew he had to save her from the demons that plagued her while there was still time.
The man walking with his dog through the streets of Truro took a stroll along the lower banks of the Truro River where the more bohemian of the town’s inhabitants lived and worked. He didn’t normally come this way, nor this late, but the lurcher needed his exercise, and was strong enough to fend off any attackers who might be out and about after dark.
He paused suddenly, and his blood froze for a moment, recognizing the sounds of a woman shrieking and blaspheming. The sounds were coming from the upstairs windows of a house that stood apart from its neighbours, and he hesitated, wondering what to do. The last thing he felt like was putting up his knuckles to some unknown assailant. And if he’d been anyone else, he might have slunk away to the nearest Inn, and forgotten what was probably a normal domestic row between husband and wife. He disliked violence of any sort. And he disliked the entire female sex with their simpering ways and perfumed bodies.
But he wasn’t anyone else, and there were other instincts that he’d been trained to follow. He wasn’t a newspaperman for nothing, and this was an area that was reputed to harbour murky shades of life, as well as the successful arty set who were supposedly so respectable. There might be a story here.
Ellis White crept forward, his hand clutching his dog’s collar, and straining his eyes and ears to hear words and voices. There wasn’t much light coming from the upstairs room, and the moon was obscured by clouds, so he could creep right underneath the bedroom window and listen intently without fear of being discovered. The woman was still shrieking, her voice tortured.
‘Albie, I’ll never ask you for anything else. But for God’s sake, if you love me, don’t put me through this hell—’
Ellis caught his breath. He didn’t know the woman’s voice, and he didn’t immediately recognize the name, though it seemed vaguely familiar. He searched his memory, but he couldn’t readily place it. The man was speaking in a low voice now, and he had to strain his ears to try to catch the words.
‘You know I love you, and I always will, but it’s wrong, my lovely girl. We’ve got to stop, and we both have to accept it.’
‘I don’t want to stop, you bastard!’ the woman screamed. ‘Don’t you understand? I can’t live without it—’
There was a sudden scuffle from above, and Ellis White scrambled back in the shelter of the bushes, snatching the lurcher back with him in the process. The dog gave a low growl, and he clamped his hand over the animal’s mouth to keep it quiet. Ellis could barely breathe himself now, keeping all his senses alive and excited at what he might be on the brink of discovering here.
He didn’t yet know what it was, but he sensed instinctively that it was something that should probably be kept secret. And therefore something that the anonymous letter writer in The Informer might be able to use to his advantage. Ellis took a perverted pleasure in being the unknown scandalmonger of the district. He had a power that no one suspected, not even Tom Askhew, his hated boss, and he took great delight in making those in authority squirm.
He jerked up his head as two shadowy shapes approached the dimly-lighted window of the bedroom. He couldn’t see who they were, but he knew they were young. The man’s tall, protective stance, together with the long, dark hair and sensual shape of the woman clinging to him, were proof enough of that.
They had seemed to be walking backwards and forwards around the room, but now, without warning, the woman thrust her head through the window and vomited. Ellis scrambled back further into the bushes, disinclined to be sprayed by the filthy stuff.
He fell heavily over his dog, and the lurcher let out a howl of rage. At the same time, the man pulled the woman inside, and within seconds he had thrust his head out of the window. He held a lantern aloft, while Ellis cowered unseen under cover of the bushes.
‘Who’s down there?’ Albert shouted. ‘Clear off, whoever you are, or I’ll set the constables after you.’
Ellis had to decide quickly what to do. Whether to run, or to play dead. The dog was behaving itself, and before he could decide, the woman had appeared again, putting her arms around the man and pulling him inside. She seemed quieter now that her brief bout of sickness was over. And Ellis heard her voice quite clearly.
‘Close the window, Albert, and let’s go to bed. I promise I won’t ask you for anything more tonight, darling. I’ll be good, really I will.’
And as the man complied, Ellis White’s jaw dropped open in disbelief as the proverbial penny dropped. Dear God, this was a scoop and a half, he thought. The Killigrew sprogs were committing a crime he’d never have dreamed of, and he doubted that anybody else had either.
Incest. It was worse than bastardy in his eyes. It was obscene. And it was going to make a bit of very interesting information on the Letters Page…
He’d have to be careful, though. He was knowledgable enough to know he couldn’t name names. Unless you actually caught the pair of ’em canoodling, you couldn’t actually accuse them, or you’d be in court yourself with a libel suit against you. But innuendo was the next best thing. Better really, because you could keep it going as long as you liked… and it was easy enough to put the idea in folks’ heads so clearly that there’d be no doubt who the culprits were… Never was there a truer phrase than the salacious pen being mightier than the sword, Ellis thought gleefully. But Albert and Primrose Killigrew sharing a bed as well as a kitchen… who the devil would have believed it?
‘Don’t do it,’ his lover advised him flatly, when he’d rushed home and related all that he’d seen.
‘Why not?’ Ellis was deflated at once. He rarely shared his intentions with anyone, but he trusted Leonard, and he’d been all fired up to begin on his letter that night.
‘It’s not worth antagonizing the clay folk for your own sadistic pleasure,’ Leonard said, studying his polished fingernails with a satisfactory air. ‘Anyway, you can’t really be sure of what you saw. The girl might have been ill, and her brother was just helping her to bed. If she was about to faint, he’d have had no option but to support her, would he, my dear?’
‘I do know what I saw,’ Ellis said firmly. But he hesitated now. Leonard’s judgement was usually sound. ‘Do you think I should wait for more evidence before proceeding then? Maybe go back another night to find out more?’
‘If you must. Personally I think these clay folk are a terrible bore, and I don’t know why you waste your time on them, Ellis.’ His pale eyes suddenly flashed. ‘Unless there’s one of them that has a special interest for you?’
‘You know there is not!’ Ellis said quickly. He hadn’t known Leonard long enough to want to lose him now. They were extremely compatible, and he had high hopes of it being a long-lasting relationship.
‘Then forget all about them for tonight,’ Leonard said, more affectionately. ‘Come and warm yourself by the fire, my dear, and later on I’ll cook us a nice supper.’
And Ellis willingly gave himself up to delights of a very different nature from that of composing a letter about people he couldn’t have cared less about in normal circumstances. But the images of the two he’d seen in the house by the river remained at the back of his mind, all the same. Once the glimmering of a story had been ferretted out, it was not his way to abandon it for ever.
But he was prepared to wait. After all, what was the hurry? If the two of them were truly cohabiting, it was unlikely they were going to stop. And he was probably the only other person to know it.