Chapter Nine

T hree days passed before the weather improved enough for Harriet to declare they would walk over to call on their neighbors at Roskilly house, as Talwyn Trevelyan had suggested. When she got up that morning, the low clouds had cleared at last, the wind and rain had ceased, and a blue sky was in evidence, promising a good day.

She helped Bertha clear the table of their breakfast things. “There’s a path along the cliffs we’ll need to follow to Morgelyn beach, I believe. Mrs. Trevelyan told me that would be the way to take.”

Bertha snorted. “Along o’ those cliffs? You mind you keep well back from the edge then. We don’t want you a-fallin’ over to your death.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Are you certain sure you know the way?”

If only Bertha possessed a slightly more positive attitude. “Of course I won’t be going anywhere near the edge of any cliffs. And neither will the children. I’ll make sure of that.” She shot a determined glance at where her two offspring were still seated at the table. Theo, who’d been out exploring over the last few days in between bouts of pouring rain, sported a milky mustache on his upper lip. Should she send him over to the farm first to fill their milk can, or let Bertha, who’d made firm friends with the farmer’s wife, Mrs. Voas, go instead?

Bertha would see it as a privilege, unlike Theo who saw it as an unwelcome chore, designed to take him away from his favorite undertaking—exploration. Best to let Bertha go if she wanted to be away soon. Theo, when tasked with a chore he didn’t like, would not be quick about it.

Harriet smiled at Bertha’s concern. “I do indeed know the way. Mrs. Trevelyan told me we’re to pass one beach that you can’t get down to easily, then a high headland with mine buildings on it, called Penmar Head, and down to a much bigger beach, Morgelyn, which is the one we want. Roskilly House is halfway along and up a track through the sandhills. She said it shouldn’t be hard to spot.”

“Are you sure the cliffs are safe?” Lydia asked, wrinkling her nose and frowning in distrust as she reiterated Bertha’s sentiments. “Suppose we fall off them like the old man who used to live here did? It can’t be safe, or he wouldn’t have done that, would he?”

Theo emulated Bertha and snorted in mockery. “ I shall walk right by the edge so I can look for gulls’ nests like Bronnen showed me the other day.”

“I don’t like gulls,” Lydia snapped. “They make such an awful noise with all their shouting.”

Theo rose to the attack. “Gulls are really useful seabirds. You can eat their eggs in spring, and they show you where to fish. Bronnen told me. Only someone silly would say they didn’t like them.”

Lydia, never one to ignore a challenge, opened her mouth for a tart reply.

Harriet cut her off. “I expect the old man fell off because he was old, or ill, or something like that.” Best not to suggest he might have been in his cups. She knew all too well what men could do when in that condition. “I doubt very much he just fell off without a reason. And of course gulls are very useful birds, Lydia. But Theo, you are not climbing down any cliffs to look at their nests. That would be far too dangerous.”

Lydia pulled a face at Theo. “Haha.”

Theo sprang to his feet, but this time Bertha interrupted, planting a heavy hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down onto his chair. “Probably the old man was the worse for the demon drink.” She had no qualms about suggesting that. With her free hand, she wiped the crumbs off the tabletop. “Like as not, everyone round these parts is, there being an alehouse within spitting distance.” Bertha, a Methodist from birth and lifelong abstainer from all things alcoholic, frowned on anyone she considered had debased themselves enough to take to the drink and had soon discovered the proximity of the alehouse. Ben’s liking for strong liquor on his infrequent visits home had done nothing to persuade her otherwise.

Lydia sniffed. “All the same, I think I’d rather stay here with Bertha, if you don’t mind, Mama? I don’t like the idea of walking along the edge of a cliff. It’s still quite blowy out.”

Harriet eyed her daughter. Lydia had reached the age of straining for some independence long before she’d expected. Best to make certain she stayed around the house and didn’t go wandering off on her own. Who knew what might happen if she did. This whole area, bar Rosudgeon House and possibly the old farmer and his wife, who seemed very pleasant, was an unknown quantity, and Harriet intended to explore it herself before allowing her daughter any kind of liberty. Theo, being a boy, was different. Plus, he was of a more boisterous nature, and she’d been happy to let him out of the house to expend some energy over the last few rainy days. “Of course you may stay with Bertha,” she said. “There are lots of chores to be done, and you can help her.”

Lydia’s face fell, but a satisfied smile spread over Bertha’s. “That’ll be grand, young Lydia. I’m not so young as I was, and an extra pair of hands’ll be a godsend this morning. We’ll start upstairs.”

Theo shot his sister a smug smile, and Bertha removed her hand from his shoulder. “Best get your coat on if you’re goin’ with your mama.”

Harriet nodded. “You can be my escort, Theo, as you are now man of the house.”

Bristling with pride, Theo forgot all about his sister and ran to find his coat.

*

A bare quarter of an hour later Harriet, suitably bonneted and gloved, and Theo, left Keynvor Cottage behind and set off along the same route Harriet had seen Captain Trevelyan take on the first day of the bad weather. At the end of their own track, Harriet turned right, curious to see what might have drawn him that way.

She soon found out. The coast path led right past what had to be the alehouse, where it nestled under the low roof she’d seen when she’d walked up to Rosudgeon House. However, at this time of the morning, nothing appeared to be happening within its stone walls. Not even any smoke issued from the two chimneys. And if she peered over the cliffs in front of it, what little she could see of the small cove was empty, with not a person in sight. The whole place seemed deserted.

“That’s Bessie’s Kiddley,” Theo said, with an air of pride that he knew something she didn’t. “Bronnen told me about it, and so did her ma, Mrs. Voas the farmer’s wife. Mr. Voas goes there every evening.” He pointed to a side entrance. “I met the boy that lives here. His name’s Cado and he’s as tall as me but only ten. He showed me the way down to the beach, and we went crabbing with a bit of string and a meaty bone he fetched from the kiddley kitchens. He had a bucket and we put them in there until it was full.”

So that was where he’d been going off to and who he’d been with. A boy from an alehouse, no less. Was he quite the sort of companion Theo should have? Maybe if she asked Theo to bring him home, she could meet him and form a judgement. That would be best.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Theo grinned. “Bronnen says everyone round here comes to drink brandy in the kiddley. Only Bronnen doesn’t, because she’s too young and her ma would wallop her if she did. She told me her ma says only loose women go there.” He paused. “What are loose women, Mama?”

Harriet tightened her grip on his hand and hurried his reluctant steps past. “Not very nice women,” she said. “It’s not nice for any woman to go into a common alehouse—”

“A kiddley,” Theo interrupted.

“—a common kiddley, if that’s what you have to call it. No lady with any sense of decorum would go into such a place unescorted, and I doubt even if she had a gentleman with her.”

Theo frowned. “As I’m escorting you, couldn’t we go in there on the way back and see what it’s like? I’ve only been in the kiddley kitchen, with Cado. His ma wouldn’t let him and me go into the taproom, and I’d like to. Bronnen told me her brothers go in there.”

He must have seen the frown on her face because his voice became a wheedle. “So… at least, wouldn’t it be all right for me to go in because I’m a boy . Could I go in there by myself, as you don’t want to?”

“Absolutely not,” Harriet snapped. “Cado’s mother is quite right. Little boys should not go in taprooms. The subject is closed. You are not to go near that alehouse. You’re far too young.”

“Kiddley,” Theo grumbled. “But I can still go over there to see Cado?”

“Alehouse. I suppose you can see your new friend but you must follow his mother’s rules. You are not to go into the taproom. Now, let’s see where this path goes next.” She gave his hand a tug, pulling him closer, and hurried her steps, intent on putting as much ground as possible between herself and the dreaded alehouse. No doubt that was where Captain Trevelyan had repaired to the other day, thus tarring himself with the same brush as Ben. Men. They were all the same. No wonder she wanted to avoid them at all costs.

As they rounded the headland, they came face to face with an imposing granite-built house occupying a spot hard against the top of the cliffs. It overlooked a cove similar in size to the one where their own house lay, sitting square and bleak, as though whoever had built it had focused entirely on making sure it was weatherproof rather than attractive, with few windows in its blank gray walls. As silent and dead as the kiddley. There, even she was calling it a kiddley now. That word had stuck in her head.

“That’s John Carter’s house,” Theo said, with an air of proprietorial pride. “Porth en Alls. Bronnen told me. He was the King of Prussia and Cado’s something-or-other uncle. His great-grandma’s brother… I think…”

“He was the king of where ?” This unexpected statement brought Harriet to a halt in front of the house. “Of Prussia ?” Although, of course, hadn’t Aunt Bolitho’s man of business in Bath referred to this area as Prussia Cove? There must be some connection. He couldn’t really have been the king of Prussia. Could he? Not with a name like John Carter. Besides, wasn’t Frederick William III, who’d joined the fight against Napoleon, the King of Prussia?

Theo nodded. “Only he’s dead now. She didn’t tell me who lives here nowadays.”

No one, by the look of it. The house’s few small windows appeared dark and forbidding, and its barns and storehouses lay scattered in confusion as though someone had made no plan as to where they should go but rather added another one on wherever there was a space.

“Come along, Theo. No time to stop and gawk, or it’s going to take us all day to get to Roskilly.” Sensing Theo’s reluctance to leave, she pulled him after her along the next bit of the path.

Here, it hugged the clifftop, giving them a view of the rocky foreshore below as the tide was either partly out or partly in. Harriet had no idea how to tell which way it was going. Ahead of them, the cliffs rose higher, skirting around the top of a long sandy beach, but with no apparent way down to it. This must be the beach they had to walk past. The name came back to her. Kennegy Beach.

Out to sea, small fishing boats dotted the deep blue-green water, their sails billowing in the wind, and white foam topped the waves here and there. That same fresh wind tugged strands of Harriet’s hair loose from inside her bonnet and ruffled Theo’s dark curls. The smell of the sea was strong. What a beautiful day to be out walking, especially now they were away from habitation. The glorious loneliness of the coast settled in a balm on Harriet’s damaged soul, washing Bath away as though she were sloughing off a skin, like a snake.

The beauty of the day had infected Theo as well, and he appeared to have forgotten about venturing into the kiddley. She kept a tight hold of his hand though, not trusting him so near to such high cliffs. He was no more used to them than she was, and the fear nagged at her that if she were to release his hand, he’d end up emulating the previous tenant of their cottage. What with kiddleys and cliffs and looking for gulls’ nests, danger loomed on every side if you were a small, adventurous boy.

Their way led over the next headland where the distinctive, tall silhouettes of two tin mines could be seen from afar. The sound of their busy pumps rose above the crash of waves at the cliffs’ feet and the wind snatched the smoke from their chimneys to drive it inland in stringy shreds.

Theo, ever curious, wanted to know what they were, which entailed a long explanation on Harriet’s part of what she knew of the Cornish tin industry. The telling of this, despite the paucity of her knowledge, took them down off the headland and onto what had to be the wide sands of Morgelyn Beach. She could finally release Theo’s hand in safety and watch him run about in delight, cavorting like a gangly colt and leaving pleasingly firm footprints behind him in the damp sand. The tide seemed to have fallen further back, exposing the full glory of the beach, so it must be on its way out.

Halfway along, as she’d been told, a narrow, gritty path wove between the low sandhills leading them to a wider track and the sight of a splendid granite-built house in the distance, larger and more imposing than Rosudgeon. For a moment, Harriet quailed in her shoes, unsure whether Mrs. Trevelyan had been right in advising her to make herself known to her neighbors. Whoever lived here must be of great importance to own such a large house.

A side gate led to a winding path between lawns, still leaf-strewn after the storm, before forking at the house, one path leading towards the front and the other heading off towards the servants’ quarters and the stables at the back. Taking Theo by the hand again, in case he had the temerity to go running off to explore the garden, Harriet started around the house to the front with some trepidation.

In front of a modern facade and fashionable pillared portico, a young, liveried groom stood holding the reins of a large black horse. As Harriet rounded the corner, both turned their heads in curiosity, the horse’s ears pricked and alert. A finely bred, high-crested creature with all the presence of a stallion. The young man tugged his forelock in respect. “Ma’am.”

“Good morning.” Harriet bestowed a slight smile on him as she headed for the porticoed front door. Theo’s head swiveled to inspect the horse as he passed, but she had him firmly in tow.

Her knock was answered by a butler clad all in black, the thin white hair on his head, as well as his unusually pale face, in stark contrast to his outfit. For a brief moment, his appraising gaze flicked over her appearance—smart in her best black dress—before he executed a small bow. “Good day, ma’am.”

Harriet had already fished in her reticule for her calling card, a remnant of her more affluent days in Bath. “Good morning to you. My name is Mrs. Penhallow. Might Mrs. Treloar be at home?”

The butler didn’t even glance at the card. “If you will allow me to escort you into the drawing room, I will enquire for you, ma’am.”

Inside, the house was as up to date as the front facade, decorated mainly in plain white with some expensive ornaments in alcoves and tasteful portraits on the walls. Underfoot, stark black and white tiles gleamed with fresh polish. Whoever ran this household must keep a tight ship.

Harriet and Theo followed the butler into a similarly tasteful drawing room, and he departed with her calling card. As soon as the door closed behind him, Harriet’s hard-won confidence deflated. What if Mrs. Treloar wouldn’t see her? How embarrassing would that be? She might be the sort who didn’t like new people, even though Mrs. Trevelyan had said she was nice. Especially not ones who lived in tiny cottages on the charity of others. One person’s definition of nice was not everyone else’s.

She didn’t have long to wait. The door opened, and a young woman of about her own age entered the room, with a boy by her side. Tall, dark haired, and not what anyone would call classically pretty, she nonetheless possessed an unusual striking beauty. Intelligence shone from her eyes, and, thank goodness, a smile hovered on her lips.

“Mrs. Penhallow, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hands to Harriet. “Please sit down.” Her warm hands on Harriet’s cold ones conveyed a sense of welcome just by their touch, aided by the kindness in her dark eyes. Was everyone down in Cornwall this kind? Having left the county as a girl of seventeen to follow the colors with her new soldier husband, Harriet had few clear memories of what it had been like to live here. Once her parents had died, there’d been nothing to lure her back to Truro and besides, Ben would never have allowed it.

Harriet perched on the floral camelback sofa and indicated to Theo to sit down as well. However, he seemed to be too taken up with staring at the boy who’d come in with Mrs. Treloar. Clearly a year or two younger than he was, the boy possessed a mass of unruly blonde curls, a mass of freckles and a cheeky upturned nose. And he seemed as fascinated by Theo as Theo was by him.

Mrs. Treloar took a seat on a pink chaise longue. “Sit down, Yves.” With a show of obedience, the boy sat beside her, and Theo dropped onto the sofa next to Harriet, his eyes still on the boy—Yves. A rather French-sounding name. Or might it be Breton?

Mrs. Treloar smiled. “I can see both of our boys are eager to make each other’s acquaintance. Why don’t we allow them to run off together so Yves can show your son around. I’m certain they’d prefer that to sitting here and listening to us talk.”

Theo’s head swiveled to stare at Harriet, hope in his eyes. She nodded. “Thank you. That’s very kind. I’m sure Theo would enjoy that.”

When the boys had gone, both a little wary of the other, Mrs. Treloar turned back to Harriet. “My dear, I’m more than glad you’ve decided to call on me. Roskilly is so isolated we don’t get many callers willing to trek out here. I gather you’ve taken Keynvor Cottage, and that Mrs. Bolitho is your late husband’s great-aunt?”

Good heavens. There must be some kind of message system around here that worked even when the weather was bad. “That is so,” Harriet said, a little carefully. The idea that she might be the object of gossip disturbed her more than a little. Speculation usually went hand in hand with gossip. Heaven forbid she should be the subject of gossip and speculation.

“How delightful,” Mrs. Treloar said. “We are quite close together if you use the cliff path—is that the way you came today?”

Harriet nodded. “It is. A beautiful walk on a fine day, but I imagine in the storm, it wouldn’t have been the place to be.”

Mrs. Treloar nodded back. “We do seem to get more than our fair share of Atlantic storms. It never ceases to surprise me how many brave fishermen put out to sea all year round. If I were them, I would be afraid to do so.”

Which made Harriet think of Captain Trevelyan’s worrying offer to take Theo and Mrs. Trevelyan’s little boy, Yves, to sea in his ship. Unsure how to broach this, in case his mother didn’t yet know, she changed the subject. “Have you lived here long?”

Mrs. Treloar’s kind eyes twinkled. “Only a little over a year, so I am quite the newcomer, like you, which is why dear Talwyn suggested you should call. And yes, I spoke to her yesterday when I called on her.” She smiled. “Having no wish to keep secrets from you, and as it is common knowledge amongst my friends, amongst whom I hope to claim you, I will freely admit that I first came to Roskilly as governess to Yves, whose parents are both long dead. Then I met the man who was to become my husband, Yves’ cousin Nathaniel.” She smoothed her skirts, a secretive smile gracing her lips. “And now Nat and I have been blessed with our own child, dear little Nicholas.”

Well, that was interesting. So, Yves wasn’t her son. Harriet opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment the door from the hallway swung open and two men strode into the room. One of them she didn’t know, a tall gentleman with a soldierly stance who might have been considered handsome but for the disfiguring scar that marred the right side of his face. The other was Captain Jack Trevelyan.