Eye of the Wind (11 page)

Taking Tom’s hand, she stepped down. With a brief wave and a smile that acknowledged the warm applause, she released Samson, mounted from the block and, with her back straight and head high, walked the huge horse out of the yard.

She had given a superb performance. But as Gabriel listened to the murmurs, he hoped Lieutenant George Tregonning’s arrival would not be long delayed.

Gabriel didn’t leave with the others when work finished for the day. Instead, he went to the pile of old and broken tools dumped in one corner of the carpenter’s shed. After ten minutes careful sorting he had found a mallet and an axe with broken handles, a plane with a chipped and rusty blade, and two chisels, one wide, one narrow. He looked up to see Tom watching him.

‘All right if I take these?’

‘They’re broke.’

‘I can mend them.’

‘What do you want them for?’

‘Repairs. Where I’m living.’

Tom sniffed. ‘I suppose you’ll need a saw.’ He gestured toward the rack above the bench. ‘Might as well take what you need from there. All the others got their own kit. Should be a sharpening stone there somewhere, and there’s plane blades in that tin, though they might want a drop of oil.’

‘Thanks.’

‘When are you going to start looking at they trees?’

Gabriel recognised the deal, and the implied urgency. It was clear that Tom knew how things stood. But had she told him, or had he guessed?

‘This evening. I’ll need paint to mark them.’

‘I’ll fetch it,’ Tom said. He hurried away, returning a few minutes later to add a tin and brush to Gabriel’s already laden basket.

A few days later the men gathered once more, but this time in the churchyard. Most of the village had turned out to pay their last respects and watch Francis Tregonning laid to rest. It was a day of bright sunshine and blustery showers.

As they left the church, Melissa followed her mother, who clung to Addey’s supporting arm. She wore a black velvet close-fitting jacket over a black silk petticoat and a hat without the veil that hid her mother’s frozen countenance from both the sympathetic and the curious.

As Emma walked with painful dignity toward the waiting carriage, Melissa’s gaze moved past friends of her parents from Truro, past Tom and the men from the yard and the farm. She told herself it was merely interest to see who had attended. But her conscience forced her to acknowledge the shameful truth. She was searching.

She found him, at the back as always, his dark head above the rest, his lean face still pale compared with the weathered complexions of the other men and, as their eyes met across the distance, she felt again the shock of recognition. Suddenly she was stronger, less isolated.

Acutely aware of her aunts’ critical scrutiny, she hurried forward and slipped a comforting arm around her mother’s thin shoulders, heat in her cheeks the only visible legacy of the brief exchange of glances. No one could see her pounding heart. No one could feel the fluttering in her stomach that felt like a dozen frantic butterflies, or the liquid weakness in her legs.

Since the age of 17 she had not met anyone taller than herself. For her, looking up into a man’s face was strange. It made her feel vulnerable, threatened. But by what? Apart from that first occasion when he had seized Samson’s reins to prevent him rearing, Gabriel Ennis had been polite to the point of diffidence. Considering his lowly background, his manners were remarkable, as was his speech, though he had explained that.

Most men considered her height a handicap, presumably because they were used to having that advantage. She had no idea why they should feel threatened, yet apparently they did, and it made them abrupt and aggressive. But he was so tall it was inevitable that he should look down on almost as many men as he did women.

Was this then the reason for their apparent affinity? How could it be anything else, given their different stations in life? Yet as she recalled the startling intimacy of their conversations she felt again the heated shiver and strange quickening. Surely such feelings must spring from something deeper than mere physical parity? Even if they did, what difference could it make? She closed her eyes against sudden inexplicable tears.

Back at the house, where tables groaned under the weight of Mrs Bett’s cold collation, Addey led her mistress to a chair and made her comfortable while Melissa acted hostess in her mother’s place. Lobb and Gilbert served sherry or Madeira to the gentlemen and ratafia to the ladies.

Very soon, with no outsiders to inhibit the family, conversations lost their hushed tone. Reminiscences gradually gave way to speculation about the future.

When quizzed, Melissa’s expression conveyed mild surprise as she responded that naturally everything would carry on as normal while they waited for George’s return. Then, with a self-effacing smile, she excused herself to fetch more food or refill someone’s teacup.

Emma Tregonning sat in a high-backed armchair. Addey had placed a light rug over her knees. Despite the sunshine streaming in through the windows to warm the room, she looked pinched and cold. She had lost weight during her illness, and her skin had a waxy translucence.

Assailed by renewed anxiety, Melissa made her way across the room. ‘Forgive me interrupting, Aunt Louisa, I must speak with Dr Wherry. I won’t keep him long, I promise.’ Slipping her arm through the doctor’s, and ignoring her aunt’s protests, she drew him away.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ he smiled. ‘Was my hope of rescue so obvious?’

‘Oh goodness, I’m so sorry. I hadn’t realised. Was it that bad?’

‘Don’t distress yourself. With my long experience I should be perfectly capable of extricating myself from a difficult encounter without relying on external help. You have enough to concern you without worrying about me. However, I have to say that your Aunt Louisa is quite the most
adhesive
woman I have ever met.’

Suppressing a smile at his remarkably apt description, Melissa stopped beside one of the long windows and, checking to ensure they were out of earshot, turned to face him.

‘Doctor Wherry, I know you have done everything possible for my mother. I would not have you think my anxiety is in any way a reflection on your treatment –’

‘Say no more, my dear.’ He patted her arm. ‘I perfectly understand your concern. Physically, your mother’s recovery is normal, if a little slow. Though that is only to be expected. The fact that she has responded so well is a tribute to the care you and Miss Addey have lavished upon her. But I must admit her complete withdrawal is causing me considerable disquiet.’

Melissa shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know what to do. I have sat with her and talked until I am hoarse. I’ve tried remaining silent, just holding her hand, or stroking it to let her know I am there. But nothing –’ She broke off, shaking her head, angry at the hovering tears, at her own weakness and at her mother’s passive rejection of the comfort she herself craved.

The doctor lowered his voice. ‘In my opinion she should go away. I know how attached she is to Bosvane, but during this past 12 months the house has become associated in her mind with grief and loss. Right now, the best possible thing for her would be a complete change.’

Just for an instant, Melissa wished fervently that she too could simply hand over all the problems and worries to someone else. Only she couldn’t, because there wasn’t anyone. Instead, she focused on the doctor’s suggestion.

The more she thought about it, the more it appealed. Now her mother no longer needed round the clock nursing Addey would be perfectly able to cope alone. And it would greatly ease her own burden. The effort of maintaining a façade in front of her mother was absorbing more strength than she could spare.

‘Aunt Lucy is returning home tomorrow. I’m sure she would be delighted to take Mama back with her to Torquay. Naturally, Addey would accompany them. It’s an excellent idea, doctor. Thank you.’

His sober expression befitted the occasion, but as he glanced up she glimpsed a twinkle in the depths of his tired eyes. ‘Naturally, your mother’s well-being was my first concern, but it occurs to me that you too might benefit from her absence for a few weeks.’

Melissa caught her breath and her heart gave an unpleasant lurch as perspiration prickled her skin. How much did he know? How had he found out?

He leant in. ‘Fewer visits from overbearing relations.’

Mingled guilt and relief erupted in giggles she fought hard to hide, for who would understand? ‘One can but hope,’ she whispered back.

At 11 the next morning, John and Gilbert loaded the wagonette. On the journey down, Aunt Lucy had contrived space in her barouche for both her maid and her luggage. But with two more passengers for the return trip the boxes and trunks would have to be carried separately. Uncle Brinley, with whom Aunt Lucy had been staying, had been adamant that as soon as Emma and her old nurse arrived at Gyllan House, Hocking and John were to return with the carriage to Bosvane, and thus be available for any errands Melissa might require of them. One of his own grooms would drive the wagonette to Torquay.

There were fewer valises and trunks than Addey considered necessary for her mistress’s comfort, but many more than Melissa believed would fit in the wagonette even with the seats folded out of the way.

‘Addey, my mother is in mourning. She will not be out in company. Besides, she’s only going for a few weeks. It cannot be necessary to take her entire wardrobe.’

‘Nor am I, as you well know,’ Addey retorted. ‘But what if the weather turn bad, and her just out of her sickbed? I need to be sure she’ve got enough for warm weather or cold. She might not be out in company, but ’tis likely your aunt’s close friends will call to pay their respects. She can’t go up there looking like some poor relation. That would be an insult to your dear father’s memory.’

Eventually, consensus of a sort had been reached. The packing completed, they had retired, exhausted, to bed.

Standing on the drive, clasping her mother’s gloved hands, Melissa looked down into the pale, impassive face. There was no sign of recognition in Emma Tregonning’s gaze. She had shut herself away, out of reach of further hurt, and thus beyond comfort.

‘Hocking will drive you to Uncle Brinley’s house, Mama, where you’ll change from our carriage to Aunt Lucy’s barouche for the rest of the journey. Though you’ll have two overnight stops, Aunt Lucy says the inns are very comfortable, with soft beds and food of excellent quality.’ After a moment, ashamed of her selfishness in hoping for a response, Melissa kissed the cool cheek, and handed her mother up into the carriage where Addey waited.

After tucking a soft rug around her mistress, and checking the hot brick at her feet, the old nurse leant out of the door.

‘Don’t you fret now. I’ll take good care of her.’

‘I know you will, Addey.’

‘Mind you look after yourself while we’re gone. Worst is over now. You get some rest. Looking proper done up you are.’

‘Thank you, Addey.’ Melissa smiled wryly.

‘You know what I mean.’ The old nurse pursed her lips.

Melissa stepped back, allowing Hocking to close the door.

‘You mind what I say, now,’ Addey called as Hocking clicked his tongue and the horse started forward.

‘Stop fussing. I’ll be fine.’ Melissa watched the carriage until it vanished from sight, then turned and went back into the house.

It felt different. Of course it did. She drew her shawl more closely about her, cold despite the brilliant sunshine, and walked swiftly toward the stairs. She had some sorting of her own to do, and yet more letters to write.

Gabriel and Billy were planking the quarter-sawn oak trunk. But this time Billy was in the pit, using his strength to pull the long two-handled saw, while Gabriel stood at the top, pushing and guiding the blade in long, rhythmic strokes.

‘You asked Tom?’ Billy called, breathing hard.

‘Yes.’

‘What did he say? Will he let me go with you?’

Gabriel raised his voice above the slow rasp of the saw. ‘He wasn’t keen. He was going to put you on the packet.’

‘Aw, I don’t want –’

‘I told him you’d be more use in the woods.’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘He said I’d better have you.’

‘Yo!’ Billy shouted. ‘Just oak, is it?’

‘No, ash, larch, elm, sycamore, and beech.’

‘We don’t want all that in the yard.’

‘It’s not all for the yard. The ash will be sold for barrel hoops. The larch can be planked for decking, or sold for ladder uprights. The beech – ever heard of bodgers?’

‘No,’ Billy shook his head, scattering golden sawdust. ‘What are they, then?’

‘Bodgers make chair legs. In large beech woods, they work in camps until all the wood from one felling is used up. Then they move on to a new camp.’

‘They don’t go home of a night?’

‘They make a home of sorts wherever they happen to be.’ As he had done.

Billy was silent for a moment. ‘No, I wouldn’t like that. Father do drive me mad sometimes. But I’d miss ’un awful. And me ma. Don’t you miss your family?’

Caught unawares by the question, Gabriel didn’t answer at once. As he thought of his parents, his elder brother and his two younger sisters, it struck him with chilling force that though he respected his parents he had never experienced the feelings Billy described. 

Chapter Nine

After work, Gabriel walked to the village with Billy, Tansey, Walter and Joseph. He remained silent, enjoying their company and the banter. Reaching Daisy Mitchell’s, he raised a hand in farewell, and immediately became the butt of their teasing as they alternated warnings about lonely widows with a wistful exchange of reminiscences concerning her renowned cooking: an important feature of village fêtes and feast days. He simply grinned, waved them away, and ducked in through the open door.

Daisy greeted him with a beaming smile. ‘All right, my handsome? Well, look at you. Some smart you are. Far better without all that there beard.’ She studied him. ‘You missed a bit, there.’ She pointed.

Gabriel ran a hand down his face, feeling the unevenness of his stubble, and gave a wry shrug. ‘Did it by touch.’

‘What do you mean? Haven’t you got no mirror?’

‘Broken,’ Gabriel lied quickly.

‘I got one you can have. ’Tis only small, mind. But –’

‘Mrs Mitchell, I can’t go on taking things from you.’

She stared at him. ‘What are you on about? You aren’t taking nothing. I’m
giving
it to you.’

‘You know what I mean,’ Gabriel said.

‘You’ve come here to work, haven’t you?’

‘If you have a job for me.’

‘Then ’tis fair exchange, isn’t it? I got a pile of wood outside need chopping up. Axe is out there, and if he need sharpening, the stone’s on the shelf in the back house.’

It took Gabriel less than half an hour to reduce the thick rings to a manageable size for the range. He wondered if they had come from Tregonning land. Perhaps the villagers had a long-term arrangement with Mr Tregonning allowing them to take fallen trees from a certain area for their own use.

His own father had agreed such an arrangement with the estate staff and local village. Or perhaps they simply helped themselves, assuming that as the woods were so neglected no one would notice or care. It was really none of his business.

When he went back inside, the basket she had given him stood on the kitchen table. He lifted a corner of the checked cloth. Apart from the usual pie and buns there was a dish of lettuce and fresh peas, one of strawberries, and a small mirror in a painted wooden frame.

Daisy appeared from the other room. ‘Dear life! You was quick.’ She pushed the basket into his hands, tapping the handle where he had mended it and reinforced it with elm-bark cord.

‘Done a good job with that, you did. Go on then, off you go. I don’t want no thanks,’ she added quickly, seeing him about to speak. ‘Like I said, ’tis fair exchange.’

‘I’ll drop the dishes in tomorrow.’

‘All right, my handsome.’

He picked up the basket and turned to the door.

‘Here, Gabriel –?’

As he turned, she shook her head and waved him away. ‘No, don’t matter. You go on.’

‘What?’ He moved toward her. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No, well, not
wrong,
but – I was going to ask you – I aren’t sure, see? Of course, there’ll be talk, but that don’t bother me.’ She looked up, flustered. ‘Hark at me gabbling on.’

He waited: taut, expressionless, his mind racing.

‘Look, ’tis like this: Joe Sweet’s wife died last year, not long after my Cyrus.’

As she spoke, and he realised he was not the cause of her concern, Gabriel felt himself relax.

‘Well, Joe and me, we’ve knowed each other since we was children. Truth is there was a time … But I met my Cyrus, and Joe married Nell. Anyhow, the long and the short of it is, Joe was in here today. Only asked if he could come calling. Brought me a bunch of forget-me-nots.’ She shook her head in amazement. ‘Carried them all the way through the street he did. ’Course he wouldn’t never have got up the nerve if you hadn’t come with me to take that flour back. So, what do you think?’

Gabriel struggled hard to conceal his amusement, enquiring gently, ‘About the flowers? Well, it was –’

‘No!’ Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘About him coming courting.’

‘Why are you asking me?’

‘Well –’ She shrugged, fiddling with her apron. ‘There isn’t no one else. I got no family. And I don’t want to go making a fool of myself. So I thought I’d ask you. I trust you, see?’

He winced inwardly as the unwitting blade drove deep. ‘Would Joe treat you well?’

‘Oh yes.’ She dimpled. ‘If he know what’s good for ’un he will. A decent man, Joe is. He haven’t been taking proper care of hisself since Nell died. That boy of his do try his best, but they both need looking after.’

Gabriel smiled. ‘Mrs Mitchell, you’re a treasure.’

‘Aw, get on! You think I should tell ’un yes?’

He lifted one shoulder. ‘Do what will make you happy. As for the talk: your friends will be pleased for you. The others don’t matter.’

She stared hard at him, clasped hands pressed to her bosom. Then gave a decisive nod. ‘There now, if that isn’t the truth. Thank you, my handsome.’

He shook his head and indicated the basket. ‘It’s I who should thank you.’

She sighed, beaming happily. ‘Got some lovely way with words, you have.’ She leant toward him, suddenly confidential. ‘Here, I’m just thinking, my bakery and Joe’s flour mill? Putting they two together will make a nice little business. Yes, I think we’ll do very well.’

Battling with laughter, Gabriel picked up his basket. About to head for the door, he noticed she had tilted her head awkwardly to present a pink-tinged cheek. He kissed it lightly. ‘Goodnight, Mother.’

Cloud had rolled in from the west. As he reached the shack, the first drops pattered onto the leaves above his head. After eating, he bathed, then rebound his wounds with clean cloths spread with the soothing salve. The rain continued on and off for much of the night. Warm and dry between the two blankets on his fir bed, Gabriel lay awake, listening to the sighing wind and the drip of water onto earth, his thoughts drifting between past and present.

Two weeks ago he had not known this place or these people existed. What quirk of fate had decreed he should land here and nowhere else? Against his better judgement he had been inexorably drawn into village life. Educated by the best tutors, he would, not so long ago, have ridiculed the suggestion that he might learn anything of value from people of a class so far beneath his own. He was wiser now. Or was he? To play with fire risked being consumed should it flare out of control. But he could not bring himself to leave.

Just before daybreak next morning, after ten minutes spent digging up lugworms from the soft mud of a small inlet, Gabriel rowed Jack’s boat out toward the mouth of the creek, baited three rusty hooks, and tossed the line over the side. Half an hour later he rowed back with a catch of six large, gleaming blue-grey and silver striped mackerel. By the time he had beached the boat and threaded four of the fish onto a strip of elm bark cord, the sun had risen.

Leaving two fish in the shack out of reach of scavengers, he followed the path eastward: the direction from which Melissa Tregonning had come. The only people yet awake in the house would be servants, and they would be too busy to notice him. He was curious to see where she lived, this gentleman’s daughter so unlike any other of his acquaintance.

He had watched her gallop her enormous thoroughbred in the woods, and address a crowd of restless men. He had seen her shy, spirited, and withdrawn. He’d give a king’s ransom to see her laugh. Meanwhile, he wanted to picture her in her home.

He arrived and departed unchallenged, the fish left hanging over the back door where they could not be missed: his thanks for her gifts.

‘Mrs Betts is just frying up some mackerel for you, miss,’ Lobb announced as Melissa took her place at the breakfast table.

‘Mackerel?’ Melissa repeated in surprise.

‘Don’t you worry. Mrs Betts checked they were fresh. She reckons they haven’t been out of the water much above an hour.’

Melissa wasn’t really listening. She had slept deeply; but it had not been peaceful. Her vivid dreams were filled with a nameless yearning and she had woken feeling bereft and jittery. Food was a necessity, but the thought of eating made her feel queasy. ‘Lobb, I really don’t think –’

‘Now, Miss Melissa. You can’t be living on fruit and fresh air. How do you think your dear mother would feel if she knew you were starving yourself?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not starving myself.’

‘Well, a dish of raspberries and one egg is no proper start to the day, not for someone rushing about the way you are.’

Melissa controlled herself with an effort, torn between amusement at his scolding and irritation at being treated like a child. ‘That’s enough, Lobb.’

‘Beg pardon, miss, I’m sure. However, I should just like to say that it’s been my privilege and pleasure to work for this family since before you were born. Now master’s gone, and mistress’s health has taken her away, I’d be failing in my duty if I didn’t keep an eye to your well-being. If mistress was to come back and find you ill, she’d turn me off without a character. Though that would be no more than I deserve for not –’

‘Enough.’ Pressing her lips together, refusing to let him see her smile, Melissa threw up her hands, helpless against such outrageous blackmail. ‘Serve the mackerel,’ she allowed wearily. ‘I’m sure they will be delicious. Who brought them?’

‘That I can’t say, miss. They were left by the back door. Hung up by a bit of elm-bark cord, Mrs Betts said.’ A reminiscent smile hovered about his mouth. ‘Tis years since I’ve seen elm-bark cord. I had an old uncle used to make it. Swore it was just as strong as hemp or sisal. I’ll fetch your breakfast, miss.’

‘Thank you,’ Melissa managed. As the door closed behind him, she pressed her napkin to her mouth, burning with the sudden heat of realisation as she pictured, with stark clarity, the stone shack, its roof of ancient canvas and branches weighted by stones tied with elm-bark cord.

After breakfast, she rode to the yard, oblivious to the scenery as she rehearsed what she would say. As she turned in through the gateway she saw Tom coming up from the slip.

‘Good morning, Tom. I’m going into Truro later and I need to know how many wagons –’

‘You’ll have to talk to Gabriel about that, miss. Only he isn’t here. He’ve taken the gang up the woods to start clearing a track down to the road. Want me to send someone up for ’un, do you?’

‘No. You’re short-handed enough already. Don’t worry, I’ll find him.’

‘You shouldn’t have no trouble, not with the row they lot will be making.’

Following the path toward the source of the noise, she noticed various trees marked with different signs in yellow paint. If Gabriel had done this alone – and no one else would have known which trees to mark – he must have been walking the woods each evening until the light faded, having already worked a full day at the yard. She must ensure his wages reflected the extra time he had worked. Sudden fear clenched icy fingers around her heart. The wages. She had found no money in her father’s desk. How was she to pay the wages?

The shouts of the men, the crash of saplings falling, the crackle of wood burning and sharp scent of drifting smoke were making Samson increasingly restless. By the time Melissa reached the men the huge horse was skittering sideways on the path, tossing his head as he fought the bit.

In the middle of the clearing a large bonfire surrounded by powdery grey ash had been newly capped with a fresh heap of undergrowth and wood débris. Hungry flames licked around the edges of the pile while clouds of thick blue smoke belched from the top. She was about to call out when Billy saw her.

‘Dear life, miss! Made me jump you did.’ He turned. ‘Gabe! Miss Tregonning’s here.’

Gabriel emerged from a dense thicket, a large axe dangling from one hand. He knuckled his forehead.

‘Miss Tregonning.’

Her increased nervousness communicated itself to Samson, who plunged and snorted. She saw Gabriel tense. But before he could move she turned the horse in a tight circle, using the brief hiatus to collect her wits.

Then, lifting her leg over the pommel, she quickly slid to the ground, holding the bridle with one hand while she stroked the horse’s sweat-darkened coat with the other. Horribly aware of her heightened colour, hoping he would attribute it to her battle with the fractious horse, she swallowed to moisten her throat.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt. I know you have a great deal to do and I won’t keep you. But as I’m going into Truro shortly it would be an ideal opportunity to order the wagons. But I’m not sure –’

‘Of course, miss. If you’ll give me a moment.’ While he turned to Billy with brief instructions, Melissa took a folded sheet of paper from a pocket in her skirt. As Billy loped away toward the lower side of the clearing where most of the activity was taking place, Gabriel faced her again. ‘If you are selling direct to a timber merchant, miss, then they will supply the wagons. But they may try using that fact to negotiate a lower price.’

She nodded slowly. ‘How did your master deal with this? Did he use the merchant’s wagons or hire an independent haulier?’

‘Both, miss, it was a much larger enterprise. But you would be wise to compare prices.’

‘I will, Gabriel. Thank you.’ She hesitated, reluctant to reveal the extent of her ignorance. Yet without the necessary information, how was she to do business at all? She took a breath and hurried on, ‘I – I’ve written out a list of the different types of wood to be sold, but I have no idea about current prices. What is the correct procedure in matters of negotiation?’

He bowed his head, but she had glimpsed his frown. As he scuffed the freshly bared earth with the toe of his boot, she could not see his eyes or read his expression. A dark tide of panic threatened to choke her. She had depended on him to tell her. Surely he must know? If he didn’t she would be – not lost, but certainly at a grave disadvantage.

He glanced sideways, still frowning. ‘You must deal with this yourself?’

She stiffened. ‘I do not wish to bother my uncles. Naturally, as soon as my brother returns he will take over. In the meantime, I must act for him.

‘No offence intended, ma’am. But it is not usual. You might find the wood merchant – surprised, possibly reluctant.’