Ben threw down the Truro Informer in disgust. Morwen was used to his moods regarding the war in the Crimea now, but since what was delicately referred to as the Peterson affair, his attitude had changed slightly.
Morwen knew he could be as dogmatic as his father. Just as much a champion for what he considered right. Just as intolerant of the weaknesses of others. But she couldn’t blame him in any way for his reaction towards Neville Peterson.
Her own brother’s tetchiness in the few weeks since Captain Peterson had quit the house was enough for that. For Freddie, the trauma of seeing Peterson and David Glass together, and of being subjected to Peterson’s tirade, had lasted only a few minutes, but the shock of it was taking longer to erase.
It was a constant worry to Morwen, especially since she and Ben and Freddie had come to a mutual agreement that they should tell no-one else of the incident. Morwen would dearly have liked to confide in her mother why Freddie was so out of sorts with everyone of late, but it was too embarrassing a tale.
But it was not thoughts of Freddie, nor yet another newspaper report of the war that was irritating Ben this morning. It was August. The days in Cornwall were long and hot, and seemingly so in another part of the world. Ben picked up the newspaper again at Morwen’s terse enquiry as to what was annoying him now.
‘Just listen to this. They print this rubbish as an antidote to war. They think we’ll forget what’s happening to our soldiers by filling our heads with it!’
‘Since I have no idea what you’re talking about yet, I can hardly comment on it,’ Morwen said tartly.
He began to read the piece aloud. ‘The Queen and Prince Albert are enjoying the blazing sunlit days in Paris. Together with the young Prince of Wales and the Princess Royal, they are receiving the accolade of the French people. Paris is full of banners, flags, arches of flowers and illuminations for the royal visit.’
‘It sounds wonderful!’ Morwen said wistfully, a faraway look in her blue eyes as she tried to picture it all. Visiting any foreign country was an excitement Morwen hadn’t yet discovered.
‘Wonderful for the few, I daresay. Amid all the glitter of a royal occasion, the French are easily able to forget that they are unwilling allies of the British in the war.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ Morwen demanded. ‘We should do anything we can to stay on good terms with our allies. The Queen and Prince Albert do us proud by visiting abroad in troubled times.’
‘You understand nothing,’ Ben snapped. ‘They waste the country’s money which could be put to better use providing more hospitals for the sick and wounded. While they drive about like poppycocks in their pretty carriages, men are dying in the Crimea. The royal party don’t go to the front, do they? They don’t risk contracting Asiatic cholera the way our soldiers do.’
‘They give people hope for a better future, Ben. That’s worth a good deal to ordinary folk. But you’ve never quite understood the way ordinary folk think, have you?’
She could feel the tension growing between them. Another simple discussion was in danger of turning into a blazing argument if it wasn’t stopped immediately. She saw the glint in Ben’s handsome eyes, and knew it was too late.
‘And you do, I suppose? You have insight into every poor bugger who lies dying in the mud and filth of a battlefield, do you? Can you guess at his thoughts at knowing his queen is graciously bestowing her favours on the French at this time? Wouldn’t he rather have an extra bandage to soak up his blood?’
‘Ben, stop it,’ Morwen snapped back. ‘You’re talking nonsense. And please don’t swear. You demean yourself—’
‘I apologise! I was under the impression I could speak as I liked in my own house!’ He spoke with exaggerated sarcasm. ‘I know your precious queen rules the country, but I hadn’t realised that petticoat rule had reached the backwaters of Cornwall yet. Perhaps you’d like me to walk backwards when I leave your presence, my lady?’
‘I’d like you to stop acting the goat and stop treating me as if I’m a complete ninny!’ Morwen leapt to her feet, her eyes blazing. ‘As to being your lady – sometimes I think you forget that’s what I’m supposed to be. I’m sorry if I don’t always live up to your expectations.’
She stormed out of the room, not heeding his angry shout after her. Her eyes stung. She was as badly out of sorts as Freddie. She wished she could run to the moors and shout out her frustration to the wind and the wild gorse, but those days were past. She was Killigrew’s lady now… and she had never felt less like it.
If only she could have spent the day in her Mammie’s calming company… but that too was denied her. Jane Askhew was coming to stay for a week, bringing her little daughter, Cathy, with her. It was an added indignity. Especially, as in a rash moment, Morwen herself had given the invitation, knowing it would please Ben and old Charles Killigrew, who constantly complained that he saw so few people outside the household. He had become a trial to all of them, and to his nurse in particular, who threatened daily to leave him.
Ben banged out of the house a short while later. He didn’t even bother to say good-bye. Morwen bit her lip to stop it trembling, wondering what was happening to them. They were together as they had always wanted to be. They had each other… and they did nothing but wrangle.
He still had to sort out the problems with the clayworkers after Hal had come to Killigrew House and told Ben bluntly all that had gone on at the meeting among the men. Ben had reluctantly agreed to Hal’s suggestions and was going to the works today to give his new orders to the men himself. He was never one to shirk a duty or to pass it on to someone else.
Morwen gave a small sigh. Would he have been any different if he had gone to the war after all? Would his masculine needs have been satisfied then? Perhaps all men needed to be involved in the battle for survival on a larger scale than the comparatively small demands of a clay works.
She was still sitting on her bed staring aimlessly into space, when one of the servants came with a message.
‘Mrs Tilley says I’m to tell ’ee the bags have been sent up to the guest room, Ma’am, and the young lady and the little un be waiting for ’ee in the drawing-room.’
‘Thank-you, Fanny,’ Morwen answered.
Why couldn’t Jane have waited a little longer until she felt more composed, she thought crossly. A quick glance in the mirror showed all the marks of a previous argument on her face. Flushed cheeks; sparkling eyes; full mouth… Ben always said she looked almost at her most beautiful after an argument… her most beautiful being after they had made it up…
Morwen pushed such bitter-sweet thoughts from her mind and went downstairs to greet the visitors. Jane was as immaculate as ever, cool and fair, the little girl a small replica of her mother. To ease the moment, Morwen exclaimed at once on how much Cathy had grown since the last time she saw her.
To her surprise, the child hung back. By now she was more usually a little chatterbox at Killigrew House.
‘She’s been complaining of not feeling well, Morwen,’ Jane said anxiously. ‘I was in two minds whether to come or not, but she insisted so much that she wanted to see the old gentleman, that I didn’t have the heart to refuse.’
‘Didn’t you want to see Ben and me too, Cathy?’ Morwen teased her. ‘And the horses?’
Cathy clung even more to Jane’s skirts, and looked pleadingly into her mother’s face. She was definitely flushed, Morwen thought uneasily, and hoped there was nothing really wrong.
‘Drink, Mama,’ she spoke in a thin reedy voice.
‘I’ll send for some barley water,’ Morwen said at once. ‘Perhaps ’tis just the journey that’s tired her. Does she have a sleep during the day? My brother’s babby does.’
She bit her lip. Why couldn’t she remember to say baby the way Jane would? But Jane merely nodded.
‘I think we’d both like to go to our room and settle down, Morwen. Perhaps you’d send the barley water up. When Cathy’s asleep, I’ll look in on Mr Killigrew, and then you and I can have a talk. You must tell me how your pianoforte lessons are progressing.’
Morwen realised with a start that of course Jane would know nothing of the summer-house incident. She knew that Captain Peterson had gone, but not the real reason for it. There was a need for more lying…
The memory of how painfully Morwen had had to lie to cover up her friend Celia’s pregnancy before and after the girl’s death swept into her mind. Lies and deceit were abhorrent to Morwen’s honest open nature, yet it seemed that the devil plagued her with the need for them.
‘I’ll see that there’s some tea waiting for ’ee – you – when you’re ready,’ Morwen said quickly.
When would she ever lose the memories? When too would she ever rid herself of this feeling of inadequacy whenever Jane Carrick – Jane Askhew – was around?
She watched her carry her tired little daughter upstairs, and felt a stab of jealousy, not for the young lady this time, but for the completeness of her life. She had her adored Tom, and she had their child…
‘Fanny!’ She snapped in her frustration, as the maid appeared in the doorway. ‘Take some barley water to Mrs Askhew’s room at once, and tell Mrs Horn to have some tea brewing in about half an hour for the lady and myself.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Fanny bobbed, and sped to the kitchen, to relate that the mistress was in a foul humour and they had all best steer clear of her.
The next hour was tedious for Morwen. She was obliged to sit about and wait for Jane to reappear, and the day dragged. When her one-time rival finally came into the drawing-room with a rustle of skirts, it was obvious at once that she was disturbed.
‘Morwen, I’ve spent some time with Mr Killigrew, and just looked in at Cathy, and I fear she is ill. She’s feverish and rambling, and I would deem it a great kindness if you would send for Doctor Pender to take a look at her. I’m so sorry to be a burden to you—’
‘Don’t be foolish! Of course you’re not a burden. Fanny shall go for the doctor at once!’
Morwen tugged at the bell pull and the maid came running, fearful of more acid from her mistress’s tongue. But once told what to do, she scurried off at once, and Morwen gave instructions for the doctor to be taken straight up to Miss Cathy’s bed.
‘May I sit with her for a while?’ Morwen said at once. ‘’Tis said I have the calming touch in my hands, Jane.’
‘I would be so grateful,’ Jane said at once. ‘I always feel so helpless when she is ill, and I fear so that it might be the measles. There’s so much of it raging in the towns, and I thought we had escaped it. I shall be in such distress if we’ve brought it into this house, Morwen.’
‘There’s little you can do about it if ’tis so, but we should not count chickens until ’tis confirmed,’ Morwen said, although her heart leapt at Jane’s words. Measles had already killed many…
Upstairs, one look at little Cathy Askhew’s raging cheeks, and Morwen had little doubt that this indeed was what ailed the child.
She soothed her hot forehead with a damp cloth and gently lifted the child’s nightgown where the tell-tale spots were already spreading over the small body. As Jane saw them too, Morwen heard her muffled weeping.
‘That won’t help the child,’ she snapped.
‘I know!’ Jane wept. ‘But if Cathy’s really ill – oh, you don’t know what it’s been like for me all this time without Tom. At times of crisis I want my husband with me. I miss him so!’
Morwen was momentarily ashamed of her harshness, and even more shamed at the guilty thought that she couldn’t ignore. Just as long as Jane didn’t turn to Ben as a substitute for Tom…
It was a recurring thought, and was as much a thorn in her flesh now as ever. And it was wrong to feel that way, when this poor sick child looked so tiny and pathetic, with hardly the strength to fight a virulent illness…
Doctor Pender confirmed that Cathy had the measles, and instructed the women to keep the child warm and in bed, and to drink as much fluid as she could. There was little else anyone could do, until the disease had either run its course, or…
Ben arrived back at the house to find Jane in a state of total collapse. Morwen felt sorry for her, but was impatient at her lack of control. Jane was the butterfly; Morwen the practical one; and this kind of hysteria helped no-one.
‘You’d be more use to Cathy by sitting and reading to her instead of wallowing in self-pity, Jane,’ she finally said testily, thinking this a fine way to spend the evening.
Ben rounded on his wife. ‘How can you speak so cruelly, Morwen? If you had a child who was sick, you’d know what Jane was suffering!’
He spoke angrily, twisting a knife in the wound. Jane seemed quite content to let him comfort her as an old friend, and the sight of Ben holding her and protecting her, seemingly against the sharp tongue of his barren wife, was suddenly too much for Morwen.
‘Well, someone should be sitting with Cathy, and since no-one else seems capable, I suppose it had best be me! ’Tis all I’m fit for, after all, to be someone’s skivvy!’
‘Morwen, don’t be ridiculous!’ Ben’s rasping voice came after her, but she sped on up the stairs and into the child’s room. Why, oh, why did she always let Jane Askhew make her react in this way? Even now, when Jane was clearly upset, the hated jealousy was still a part of Morwen.
‘Is it you, Morwen?’ Cathy’s weak little voice came from the bed. Morwen hurried across and put her cool hand on the little girl’s hot forehead.
‘Yes, ’tis me, my lamb. I’ll sit with you and read to you, shall I?’
Cathy shook her head. ‘Story ’bout the clay,’ she mumbled. ‘Tell ’bout the big boots.’
Morwen was startled for a minute, and then she remembered how charmed Cathy had been when Morwen had once told her about the clayworkers’ long boots, made especially for each man on his own special last by the local cobbler. Each man could be identified by his own footprint, and Morwen had made up the tale of the clayworker striding over the mist-laden moors and leading a group of children to safety by making them walk in his bootmarks.
She was surprised Cathy could remember it, but it had evidently stayed in her mind, and the child became drowsy as Morwen’s soft voice related the same tale once again.
By the time she had finished Cathy was asleep, and Morwen rose stiffly, turning to see Jane in the doorway. Morwen put her finger to her mouth and tip-toed out.
‘Morwen, you shame me. You’re better with my own child than I am,’ Jane said humbly. ‘Forgive me for putting on such a show downstairs. I’ll try to be calm while I’m here. It all seems too much at times, with no news of Tom, and now Cathy—’
Her voice broke, and Morwen put her arms around her. For once, it didn’t seem odd to be comforting Jane Askhew. It seemed natural and right.
‘You’ll have news soon, I’m sure,’ she whispered. ‘Be patient a little while longer, Jane. And Cathy will get well, I promise you.’
She had no way of knowing if she spoke the truth, but she offered up a silent prayer that it would be so. A prayer for herself too. She wanted Ben back. And every moment that Jane and Cathy spent here, Morwen knew that he wasn’t wholly hers.
She mustn’t think like that. If Cathy was her child she would be so grateful for all the help in the Killigrew household… but during the next critical days, Morwen began to wonder if Ben was taking too much on himself, because Tom Askhew was not here to comfort his own wife.
He spent more time at the house, and in Cathy’s room, taking a progress report to his father as if the child was his own granddaughter. When Cathy smiled, and through Ben’s coaxing began to take some solid food at last, he behaved as though he had personally won a battle.
Morwen held her tongue at such times, but the hurt was all the more real because Cathy’s slow recovery was something Ben and Jane seemed to think they shared together. In reality, it was Morwen and Nurse Stevens, Charles Killigrew’s nurse, who had done most of the sick-room attending, and it soon became obvious that Nurse Stevens had had enough.
She appeared in the drawing-room one evening, cape around her shoulders, hat speared squarely on her head, her carpet-bag gripped tightly in her hand.
‘What the devil are you doing, woman?’ Ben jumped up from his chair, annoyed at this intrusion. ‘You have your own room—’
‘Not any more I don’t! I’ve just informed Mr Charles that I’ve had enough of this household, Mr Ben,’ she declared crisply. ‘I’m not employed to be a child nurse, and I ain’t putting up with that old man’s hollerings and carryings-on for one more minute. I’m going to join up with Miss Nightingale and do my bit for the soldiers, where my services will be more appreciated. I’ve quite made up my mind, and I’d be pleased if you would give me what’s due to me up to this evening, Sir.’
She paused for breath. She looked so incongruous standing there, tall and angular with her ridiculous flowered hat perched on top of her tight little curls, that Morwen felt a sudden urge to laugh. She felt the sofa shake beside her, and realised that Jane, too, found it hard to contain her mirth. They shared a moment of mutual understanding before they each felt forced to glance away from each other. Ben folded his arms, every inch a Killigrew.
‘You realise I could turn you out without a penny because of your decision to leave without proper notice?’ he said coldly.
‘But I know you won’t, because you’re a gentleman and a Killigrew,’ Nurse Stevens said triumphantly, ‘and it’s more than your reputation’s worth to have me spread it about that you were an old skinflint, Sir.’
Ben looked murderous at that, but all three women knew that the nurse was absolutely right. Ben strode across the room, and Nurse Stevens flinched for a moment.
‘You will come with me to the study,’ he said coldly. ‘Your wages will be given to you immediately, and your reference will follow if you will leave a forwarding address.’
The woman’s eyes flickered. ‘You’ll give me a fair one, Sir?’ Her voice wavered.
‘Nurse Stevens, I’m a gentleman and a Killigrew. You said so yourself. Please come at once. I have guests in the house.’
As the door closed behind them, Morwen heard Jane’s admiring tones.
‘Ben can be so masterful, Morwen. You must be very proud of him for the way he deals with any situation.’
Morwen had already moved to the small table where coffee was ready to be poured. Her hand shook a little as she handed Jane a cup. Yes, she was proud. Yes, she didn’t need to be told that her man was masterful, nor to see the admiration in Jane Askhew’s eyes. Jane had the glib tongue of a lady. She would feel no hesitation in telling Ben her opinion, while to working-class folk like the Tremaynes, such praise was usually thought to be vanity-provoking, and best kept quiet.
‘What will happen about Mr Killigrew now?’ Jane’s next words took Morwen by surprise. She gave a small shrug.
‘Ben will find another nurse. Or I shall care for him myself. He always preferred my touch to any other—’
‘But you cannot sit with him night and day, Morwen! You must have professional help. You’re Ben’s wife before you’re his father’s nurse, noble though it sounds—’
‘I don’t say it to be noble!’ Morwen said angrily. ‘I care for my father-in-law, and if ’tis me he wants by his bedside, then he shall have me.’
‘I’m sorry. I only mean to help,’ Jane said delicately, her own cheeks a warm pink compared to Morwen’s flushed ones. How beautiful she was, Jane thought. How beautiful and headstrong and impatient. No wonder Ben loved her. She was a perfect match for him…
‘I know. I’m sorry too,’ Morwen muttered. Jane was a guest. She must remember that.
Heartened by this apparent submission, Jane leaned forward. ‘Morwen, I have no-one to talk with about matters concerning women. My mother – she will not listen if I talk about Tom. She never liked him, as you know. And I do miss him so dreadfully. You and Ben are so lucky. Don’t spoil it. Ben is the one who needs your time. Mr Killigrew can always get another nurse.’
Morwen’s sliver of sympathy as Jane began this hesitant lecture disappeared at once. She didn’t want this girl telling her how to conduct her marriage. She had only ever shared womanly secrets with Celia, and they had resulted in disaster. She didn’t want Jane Askhew for a confidante.
‘I’m sure a nurse will be found,’ she said stiffly, ignoring all the rest. ‘How is your mother, Jane? And your father? I thought they would have come to visit Cathy while she was ill.’
The Tremaynes would never have stayed away from a sick child. Fine folk evidently acted differently. Jane bit her lip.
‘I keep them informed of Cathy’s progress daily. It’s foolish to risk spreading the infection to another town. But they’ll be longing to see her. As soon as Doctor Pender gives the word, I shall take her home, Morwen. I feel guilty at imposing on you all like this.’
Ben came back to the room in time to hear the last words. Having dealt with Nurse Stevens, he was not happily disposed.
‘What rubbish. It’s no imposition to have you and Cathy here, Jane. As for taking the poor little mite home, you’re welcome to remain as long as you wish. You know that.’
‘Thank you, Ben,’ Jane said softly. ‘But I think I would like to go home as soon as possible. Guests, like the measles, begin to irritate after a while.’
There was a small embarrassed silence.
‘Ben, I’m worried about your father,’ Morwen said quickly. ‘I hope Nurse Stevens hasn’t upset him unduly. I think I shall go and sit with him awhile if you and Jane will excuse me.’
He gave her a grateful smile, and she left the two of them together. Her heart beat fast as she wondered if it were foolish of her to do so, and knew that the thought was shaming.
She must learn to let go of Ben a little, if only because Ben’s world did not revolve around herself alone. For a start it concerned several hundred men in his employ, her own family included. So many depended on him.
For all the freedom of speech and the running wild on the moors of clayfolk like herself, Ben had always been part of a much wider world. Perhaps she should remember that if she wanted to keep his world part of hers.
It was a sobering thought, as she pushed open Charles Killigrew’s bedroom door and forced a smile to her lips for the bedridden shell of the once fine old man.