Family Shadows Read online

  ‘What?’ she finally said, starting to laugh. ‘I don’t think you know just who you’re talking to, sir.’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ Ran went on, his voice insulting and clipped, and at his New York best. ‘Just as I see exactly the effect you were trying to make in coming here tonight dressed like a streetwalker.’

  Harriet gasped in outrage, her hands clenched tight by her sides. Walter hid a chuckle, but she heard it, and rounded furiously on him.

  ‘You think that’s amusing, do you, young Killigrew? Well, perhaps you won’t find it so funny when I take half your workers and give them decent jobs, and house them in cottages where the damp doesn’t seep through the walls and give them all consumption by the time they’re twenty-years-old!’

  Some of the reps from Bult and Vine’s had clearly had enough of this wrangling upstart, and had begun gathering up their papers, preparing to stalk out until another day. And the body of men in the room were alternately cheering and shushing their neighbours, in order to hear what was going on.

  ‘I can see there’s nothing to be gained here today,’ Harriet said, staring directly at Ran. ‘You’re beneath bothering with, the lot of you. I came to offer the hand of friendship, but you’ll never get any assistance from me now. I’ll see you all rot in hell first.’

  She paused, and then spoke more coldly. ‘As for calling me a streetwalker, I’d look to the various amusements of your own adopted family if I were you, Ran Wainwright, before you start throwing insults at others.’

  She turned, and with her head held high, she walked through the throng of clayworkers, who parted their ranks at once, as if she was a ship in full red sail going through the parted waters of the sea. She was just as majestic, thought Ellis White admiringly, and his newspaper column was going to be full to the brim with today’s events. He couldn’t wait to get back to his digs and get started on it, and he was already composing the first paragraphs in his head by the time he slid out of the meeting house.

  * * *

  ‘It’s high time we went home, my lovelies,’ Morwen told the children again, seeing how darkness was falling.

  The younger ones were all but falling asleep on Bess’s sofa now, and Bradley had stopped prowling about the house, his head now buried in some of the books in old Charles Killigrew’s library.

  By now, he had wheedled his grandmother into letting him stay the night, much to Morwen’s annoyance. But she had eventually given in, knowing how much Bradley liked to jaw with his Grandpa Hal, though Lord knew what time he would be coming home tonight.

  There would also be less friction in their own house without Bradley there, which left Morwen feeling guiltily that this was a fine way to regard her own son. But knowing it didn’t alter her feelings. She glanced at her mother now, trying not to show her anxiety about the men’s business.

  ‘Do you suppose all is well in town?’ she murmured, avoiding saying too much in front of Luke and Emma.

  Bess shrugged. ‘Whether ’tis or not, there’s nothing we can do about it, my dear, so we might just as well not fret over it.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that. You always do,’ Morwen said with a smile. It didn’t help her at all, and she wasn’t at all sure that her mother believed in her own wise words.

  ‘The men know what they’re doing. Strikes have been averted before, and there’s no reason to think we’m heading for trouble yet,’ Bess said sagely.

  ‘A strike wasn’t averted earlier this year, was it? It lasted all of nine weeks then, and more than one family were made paupers by it,’ Morwen said.

  She couldn’t forget Tom Askhew’s screamingly abusive newspaper headlines over a clayman who’d taken his own life rather than face utter destitution, and putting the blame for it squarely at the door of the clay bosses.

  It wasn’t as if Morwen hadn’t sympathized, or agonized over the incident. She’d quietly visited the wife and children and taken them gifts of food and cast-off clothing. She wasn’t one to broadcast her actions, but no matter what her part in the ownership of Killigrew Clay, she couldn’t forget her roots, nor how it felt to be without shoes or shame, or food in her belly, and the little family had been pathetically grateful.

  Bess couldn’t follow her thoughts, and commented sharply on Morwen’s remark.

  ‘Ah, and it all began through one young idiot being martyred after being let out of jail after one riot, and causing another. They all want their heads banged together if you ask me. ’Tis a pity women don’t rule the world, then there’d be no talk of strikes and suchlike.’

  Morwen gave a half-smile, despite her worries. Her mother could always be relied upon to uphold the virtues and common-sense of womenfolk compared to their male counterparts, and she didn’t altogether disagree with her.

  ‘Anyway, I hope you’re right about things being settled tonight,’ she said with a shiver. ‘Ran insisted that I keep well away from the town while the rioting went on in the new year, but I remember another time when the clayworkers marched right down to St Austell from Killigrew Clay. It terrified the whole town, and I hate to think our menfolk will have any hand in such a thing happening again.’

  ‘You can’t dictate to claymen. It depends how much they want food in their bellies, and how strong their leadership is. If they think they’ve got a just cause to fight, there’ll be no stoppin’ ’em, Morwen. Never was, and never will be,’ Bess said.

  Her mother was doing nothing to allay her fears. Morwen thought. She’d wanted Bess to say that of course the men wouldn’t do anything so horrendous as marching on the town again and smashing up all that was in their way, and frightening decent folk to death… she wanted Bess to say that of course the bosses would see reason and go halfway to settling their demands… but she hadn’t.

  And as one of the bosses, Morwen knew just how bad the situation was. You couldn’t just put your hand in your pocket and give extra dues when there wasn’t the money to spare. Clay fortunes had fluctuated badly recently, and there was a glut of unsold clay in the whole industry going for dirt-cheap prices. You couldn’t get gold out of a stone… and it was well known that there were some unscrupulous bosses ready to sell to any bidder in order to clear their stocks. Those who had unlimited resources of their own…

  Emma yawned, and Morwen rang for the maid to alert Gillings to bring the carriage to the front of the house, and said they would be ready to leave for home in five minutes.

  She caught sight of Bradley hovering by the door.

  ‘You can come in, Bradley. I won’t eat you,’ she said. ‘And since you persuaded your grandmother to indulge your wishes, I’m not insisting that you come home with us.’

  He came inside, relief on his face. And something else. He held an old book in his hands, and his usual ruddy complexion had become decidedly pasty.

  ‘What have you found there?’ Bess said at once.

  ‘It’s a strange tale about the town of St Dennis,’ Bradley said, his voice hoarse. ‘Did you know that three hundred years ago a shower of blood rained down on an acre of land thereabouts, and the stains stayed visible for about twenty years? And soon afterwards there was the great plague and the city of London burned, and all kinds of other ills occurred. You believe in such omens, don’t you, Mother?’

  Emma gave a little scream of fright, and the child rushed to her mother and hid her face in her skirts.

  ‘He’s horrid, Mammie, he knows I hate hearing about blood. It couldn’t really rain blood, could it?’

  ‘Of course it couldn’t,’ Luke said loftily. ‘Bradley’s making it all up.’

  ‘If you weren’t such a dunce I’d tell you to read it for yourself,’ Bradley snapped. ‘It’s all here, recorded in this book, and I bet the preacher could tell us something about it, too.’

  ‘Well, it was all so long ago I daresay it’s got coloured a lot in the telling,’ Morwen said evasively. ‘I’d advise you to put that book away before you go to bed, Bradley, or you’ll be having nightmares.’

  S
he was determined not to let his words upset her tonight, when all her thoughts were on the threatened clay strike. She wanted no ancient omens to disturb her, nor would she acknowledge that of course she believed in omens. It was part of her nature to believe in all things being possible beneath the moon and stars, and even the fact that Bradley had discovered this ancient bit of folklore on this particular night could be construed as a bad sign.

  She took a deep breath and ushered her children together as the sound of carriage wheels was heard outside. Thankfully, she bade her son and her mother good night, and let Gillings tuck the travelling blanket cosily around the younger ones before taking them home.

  * * *

  The night was starlit and still and very beautiful. A great yellow moon had risen in the sky, lighting the leafy lanes and byways almost as brightly as if the daytime hours still lingered. This was a good sign, Morwen thought determinedly. The moon and stars were guiding them safely home, and no bad things would happen to them between here and New World.

  But she found that her fingers were crossed as she thought it, and superstitiously, she prayed that a hare wouldn’t run across their path, for that would be a very bad omen indeed. If an old moorswoman was wandering abroad in the dark hours, begging for coins or food, this too would be bad, for she had nothing with her to give.

  And everyone knew that a moorswoman who was refused sustenance could turn in a trice and curse the non-giver with all manner of ills. Morwen had been a child of the moors for too long to ignore such beliefs. So it was with enormous relief that she saw the solid structure of her home come into view, light beaming out from the windows, welcoming them home.

  ‘We’re here, children,’ she murmured, wondering why she had let herself become so gripped with terror and fancies that she had hardly been able to say a word to them on the journey. But it hadn’t mattered, for both children were fast asleep now, and oblivious to anything other than their own sweet dreams.

  ‘I’ll call Mrs Enders to help ’ee in with ’em, Ma’am,’ Gillings said, as he called the horses to a halt at their own front door. But as Morwen alighted thankfully, the front door opened, spilling out more light into the night, and the housekeeper bustled out to greet them without being called.

  ‘I was getting feared for ’ee, me dear,’ she said, with the familiarity of one who had been in the same family’s service for many years. ‘’Tis not a good time to be out of doors with these babbies. And it seems that you’ve lost one of ’em already.’

  Morwen smiled. ‘He’s staying at his grandmother’s house tonight, Mrs Enders.’

  As the children stirred and fought against the housekeeper’s embraces, Morwen spoke quickly. ‘Leave the children to me, and just make us a hot drink, Mrs Enders. I’ll be down in ten minutes.’

  ‘As you wish, me dear. Will Mr Wainwright be following on soon?’

  ‘I don’t know how long he’ll be, but I’ll be waiting up for him, however late it gets. He’ll be glad of a bit of company when he gets home, so I’ll keep the fire stoked.’

  Chapter Five

  It was long past midnight when Ran Wainwright let himself quietly into the sleeping house. There were no lights left burning, and rightly so at this hour. There was only the orange glow from the dying embers in the drawing room fireplace to give a welcome bit of warmth to a man who had fought tooth and nail to make those blockheads see sense.

  The crux of their worries was the fear that there might be a general lowering of wages until times improved, as had happened in the past. They wanted firm reassurances that it wouldn’t happen again. The devil of it was, that no matter how adamant the bosses were in saying such a situation would be averted at all costs, the clayworkers just didn’t trust them. And Ran had to admit that their wording was ambiguous and full of loopholes.

  Nobody could predict the future, and the present looked bleak enough. His nerves still raw, Ran wondered just what the hell it took to convince them.

  And after an entire day and evening of trying to reason with fools, it wasn’t only his nerves that suffered. His voice was hoarse, his throat sore and dry, his thoughts staccato-sharp, going over and over it all. If they would just hold on, things would improve. They’d done so before, and they’d do so again.

  Ran was born an optimist, but he wasn’t a blind one. And there were surely faint signs of better times ahead, if only these hotheads would exercise a bit of patience, and resist being sheep-led by rabble-rousers as usual, they’d all benefit by it.

  He vented his feelings by muttering a colourful string of oaths into the silent room, wishing them all to Kingdom Come. He strode across the drawing room to the drinks table and poured himself a large brandy. He felt the fiery liquid run slowly down his throat, soothing and stinging at the same time. God, he needed this.

  A soft sigh from somewhere in the room made his heart stop and then race on madly for a moment. And then he saw a movement from the deep couch near the fire, and realized that he wasn’t alone. But it was no ghostly spectre come to jeer at the upstart Yankee clay boss, who thought he could overturn the ingrained opinions of past generations of clay men by clever words.

  ‘Morwen, what the devil are you doing there?’

  The sudden shock of her presence would normally have produced an angry outburst. But the strain on his throat from this day’s work made him huskier than he intended. And in the orange fireglow, he saw her give a tremulous smile and stretch out her hand towards him.

  ‘I couldn’t rest until I knew how things had gone, dar. Come and be warmed and tell me how you fared.’

  He stared down at her without speaking. She had undressed to be comfortable, and she lay there in her night-gown and dressing robe. Her glorious hair was unpinned and tangled about her shoulders, giving her a wanton, voluptuous air. She was still drowsy with sleep, and probably stiff with lying so long on the couch waiting for him. Waiting for him…

  He sank down beside her as she shifted to the back of the couch that could easily accommodate two, making room for him. And as her arms reached out for him, and her soft lips touched his cheek, he was suddenly and unexpectedly intoxicated in a way that no amount of brandy could achieve.

  ‘Well, dar?’

  But she spoke in a whisper now, well aware that there was a time for discussing business matters, and a time for other things. And even more aware that Ran knew it too. She could sense it by his quickening breath, and feel it in the growing hardness of his body next to hers.

  ‘Well, honey?’ Ran echoed softly, his hands running down the length of her in the soft, loose garments. She felt a shuddering pleasure at his touch, and a revival of all the sweet sensations that had seemed so lacking of late. Ran gently pushed aside the dressing robe, gently palming her breasts before bending his head to kiss the erect nipples through the soft fabric of her night-gown. Such an action was teasingly erotic, and Morwen felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest, knowing that this was only the beginning, and that the best was yet to come…

  ‘If you really want to hear of today’s happenings now, I’ll tell you,’ he murmured. ‘Though there’s nothing that can’t wait to be told, and you and I have far more important things to attend to here.’

  ‘Then let’s attend to them first,’ she whispered back.

  All day she had fretted and worried over what was happening at the meeting house. But, in her daddy’s own wise words, worrying over a thing didn’t change it, and if there was nothing you could do about it, you might as well get on with something of more importance… and right now there was nothing more important for her husband and herself, than this renewal of love…

  ‘I closed the door,’ Ran said, unnecessarily, for it was well past the middle of the night, and even if anyone would dare to abuse their unwritten law of privacy behind closed doors, no one else was awake at this hour. The whole house was sleeping, save for the two lovers intent on rediscovering each other in the firelight’s glow.

  ‘God, I love you, my darling girl,’
Ran groaned.

  She was the one area of sanity in this crazy day. He clung to her, lifting her night-gown and finding her with his fingertips. She was warm and moist and ready for him, and he quickly shed his clothes and slid into her, glorying in the lush feel of her closing around him.

  ‘Oh, I love you too, Ran,’ Morwen said, with a catch in her throat. ‘Always, no matter what. Don’t ever doubt that, my dar.’

  ‘How could I, when you give me all that a man could ever want in his woman?’ he said, his voice thicker now as the rhythmic movements of love claimed them both. His weight was heavy on her, but she welcomed it, just as she welcomed the familiar pattern of his lovemaking. It was unquenchable, this love he felt for her, and her for him. It took them to the stars and dazzled them with its brilliance.

  And when it was over and he had filled her with his loving, they still clung to each other, still a part of each other, as if each was reluctant to become half of two separate beings again.

  They didn’t speak for long moments, and merely lay caressing one another in the sweet afterglow of love. When the rapture had died down a little, Morwen spoke softly against her husband’s cheek, as he nestled his face against her neck.

  ‘How shameful we are, making love in the drawing room like two clandestine lovers, instead of two respectable middle-aged married people!’ she said, a smile in her voice.

  Ran twisted his head to kiss the soft mouth that was still swollen with passion. His voice was quietly arrogant with the memory of a man’s pleasure in a woman.

  ‘God forbid the day should come when we ever succumb to being no more than that, honey. You’ll always be my lover, first and foremost – my sweet, seductive, beautiful lover – and don’t you ever forget it!’

  ‘No, Sir,’ she whispered back, secure in his love and revelling in the uninhibited words he uttered.