Killigrew Clay Read online

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  A couple of hours later, Ben wondered about that particular world he was to inherit. Hal Tremayne had thrust him and Jude into the thick of it, deciding to give no favours to owner’s kin. The two new apprentices found aching muscles they never knew they had.

  The rhythmic beat of beam engine, the constant whine of machinery and swish of water made their heads throb. Ben gritted his teeth and swore to drop dead before he’d complain. Too many here expected that. He could see it in their eyes. Jude had been put to work outside. Ben was in the kiln, where it was unbearably hot. The men worked almost naked, with sweat pouring off them, and the stink was acrid and unbelievable.

  He was used to bathing and clean clothes whenever he wanted them, and Ben’s nostrils rebelled against the stench. The man with him, Eric Leeman, clearly resented his presence, and growlingly told him what to do as the hatch boards between the settling tank and the kiln were removed, and a quantity of semi-solid clay flowed into the kiln to commence drying.

  From the far side of the tank, the clay was shovelled into wheel-barrows and brought by hand to the kiln, where Leeman and Ben used the long-handled shovels to distribute it evenly. As he worked, the sweat poured off him in rivers. He quickly discarded his shirt, and worked only in trousers and boots.

  The kiln was long and narrow, no more than the width a man could reach with a shovel. It was searingly hot and humid. Ben wondered grimly how Jude fared, hauling waste into the little trolleys up to the sky-tips. At least he breathed fresh air…

  After what seemed like days, a whistle sounded, and Eric grunted that they could take a tea-break. Ben hated him, but he eased his aching limbs and smiled as he saw the cheeky young Freddie Tremayne, loaded down with a tray of tea mugs.

  ‘Daddy said you’d be wanting this, Mr – uh – Mr Ben—’ Freddie floundered a little, then his face brightened. ‘Our Morwen was asking after you—’

  Ben towelled off his glistening back with his own shirt, and laughed at Freddie’s perky face.

  ‘Was she now? Where is our Morwen then?’

  ‘Not so far away. Over in the linhay, o’ course, stacking the clay!’ He pointed.

  The kiln shed was on a higher level than the linhay, so that the dried clay, scored and cut, could be heaved over to the air-dry below. The bal maidens could then begin stacking and scraping, allowing the natural movement of air to complete the drying process, and the kiln would be ready to receive the next load. He had been close to Morwen all this time without knowing it. He walked across and looked over.

  As though she sensed it, Morwen looked up at the same moment. Her heart leapt at the sight of Ben Killigrew; as unlike the elegant young man at Killigrew House as she could imagine. This Ben was stripped to the waist like any kilnworker, his broad chest bronzed and glistening, even the virile growth of hair upon it. Although that, and the hair on his head, was dusted white from the drying clay. The sight of him was so startling, so oddly exciting, that Morwen began to laugh.

  ‘Do you find me so funny, Morwen Tremayne?’ Ben mocked her. ‘Do you not fancy me as a clayworker?’

  The girl Ben and Jude had seen earlier sidled up to Morwen, her eyes laughing and daring.

  ‘I’d fancy ’ee, Mr Ben, if Morwen don’t!’

  Morwen dug her in the ribs. It wasn’t the way to speak to the owner’s son, however different he looked without his posh clothes.

  ‘You’ll have to stand second in line, Celia,’ Ben called back teasingly. ‘Ask Morwen about the brand!’

  Morwen went scarlet as Celia demanded to know what he meant by that. She spoke as boldly as Celia now.

  ‘You mean third in line, don’t you, sir?’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t forget a certain Miss finelady from Truro!’

  ‘Are you mad, to put ideas in his head that may not be there?’ Celia hissed, as Eric Leeman called Ben back to his work with a surly glare at the two bal maidens below.

  ‘You two maids stop gossiping and get about your work,’ a sharp female voice called to them, and Morwen went back to the clay thankfully. The sight of Ben Killigrew had disturbed her more than she had expected it to, and she knew Celia wouldn’t let the little matter of the brand rest until she knew what it was all about.

  A while later, Hal Tremayne came to the kiln with a small group of men and told Leeman and Ben to come outside a moment. Thank God, Ben thought. He breathed in great gulps of air, clear as wine after the steaming atmosphere of the kiln. He’d dearly like to sit down, or lie down… but these men stood with folded arms and he had no choice but to do the same. He saw Jude, ghostly white from head to foot from the clay dust, and as weary as himself.

  ‘You know what we’re about,’ Hal said. ‘If the two new men aren’t aware of it by now, we march to the clay office this afternoon to demand wages on a par with other pits hereabouts.’

  One of the men spoke up angrily. ‘We don’t want ’em marching wi’ us. ’Tain’t their place to be included, no more than ’tis their place to be working alongside us.’

  One and another growled their assent, heads nodding and showering those next to them with dust. Another spoke loudly.

  ‘The pit be the place for the likes of we, cap’n, not for boss’s spawn.’

  Ben saw Jude throw the man a look of pure gratitude, and Ben couldn’t argue with the sentiment. Not now, when every muscle cried out for rest at the unaccustomed punishment it was getting. He had new respect for the workers, but he no longer wanted to work beside them…

  Hal quietened them with a loud bellow.

  ‘Fact is, we’ve got to include ’em on the march, boys. I gave Gil Dark my word on it. But if ’tis your wish that we tell Charles Killigrew we find their presence here unwelcome, then so be it. Do I have a show of hands?’

  All hands went up at once, and Hal looked at Ben.

  ‘You’ve heard the general feeling, boy,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘What’s your say on it? ’Tis nothing personal, and if you refuse to march with us, then ’tis your right to say so.’

  Ben knew everyone watched him, and expected him to back down. But he’d be damned if he’d go scuttling away from here with his tail between his legs. He spoke in language they’d understand.

  ‘I understand the mens’ feelings. My cousin and myself are unused to this work, but I trust there’s no man here will say we haven’t worked our guts out this morning.’ He waited for any argument, but there was none. ‘Since you don’t want us here, it’s up to you to tell my father so. It’s your right, but it’s his right to make the final decision. As to the march, God knows my feet wouldn’t carry me that far,’ he said honestly, ‘but I believe in fair payment for all, and we’ll come with you if you’ll have us. If you’ve no objection, we’ll ride, or our horses will be left up here on the moors—’

  ‘And ’twill save your poor soft feet—’ a man jeered.

  ‘You’re damn right it will,’ Ben snapped. ‘Take it or leave it. Your pit captain wants us along. We’ll go, and we’ll ride, and we’ll back up every demand for wages that you make.’

  The men grunted approval, and Hal brought the meeting to an end, while Ben was unsure if he had won a victory or not. Hal called him as the men dispersed.

  ‘Your working here is a bad idea, Ben,’ Hal said bluntly. ‘The men don’t like it, and I’m going to ask your father to reconsider. I want no disharmony at Clay One. I hope you understand—’

  Ben gave a short laugh. ‘It’s the best thing I’ve heard today. You’ll get no arguments from either one of us, I’m sure.’

  He refused to despise himself for agreeing so readily. He was strong and fit, but he simply wasn’t used to this kind of work. It became more evident as a string of blasphemies left Eric Leeman’s throat a few minutes later as he bawled at Ben to come and do the work he was sent to do or get back to his afternoon tea parties and leave men to do mens’ jobs.

  Ben moved quickly towards the inferno of the kiln shed and picked up his long-handled shovel. At that moment, he would de
arly like to crash it over the glowering Leeman’s head. It did nothing for his self-respect to hear the tittering laughter of the bal maidens in the linhay below. They had probably heard every word, and that meant Morwen would have heard it too.

  Chapter Six

  Charles Killigrew smiled with satisfaction as his accountant, Daniel Gorran, gave the monthly accounting figures to the pit owner, in Killigrew’s office in Greeley Street.

  ‘It’s looking healthy enough,’ Charles grunted. ‘I’m obliged to you, Daniel, so take that disapproving look off your face, man. I’m aware you don’t like the thought of my sending Ben to work at the pit—’

  ‘I don’t recall you working with the wet clay yourself,’ Gorran said drily. ‘It’s not right—’

  ‘It’ll do the boy no harm to sweat it out awhile, and I don’t intend it to be a permanent arrangement,’ Charles agreed. He looked sharply towards the open window.

  ‘What’s all that rumpus?’ He strode across the room and swore in disbelief. ‘Christ, man, come and look here! Have those two young whelps of mine joined in some sort of riot?’

  Daniel joined him, staring in amazement at the scene below the office window. Marching through the narrow winding street, boots resounding metallically on the cobbles, was a disorderly column of men. Four were in hard hats and the usual pit captain’s garb. The rest were stippled white from the clay dust, and two of them were astride horses, hair awry and more dishevelled than Daniel had ever seen them. He smothered a grin at the unlikely sight of Ben Killigrew and his cousin among the marching clay workers.

  ‘We’d best let them in and see what’s to do,’ Charles said angrily, since it was obvious that this office was their destination. He had an inkling of their intention. He knew of the wage rises at the other pits. He knew that eventually he’d have to keep in step, or lose some of his workers…

  Hal Tremayne removed his hat as he walked into the office with its plush carpet and deep leather chairs. As many as could cram inside followed the pit captain, falling silent at being in such grand surroundings. And being faced with two gentlemen instead of one made them ill-at-ease. Ben and Jude had left their horses with a street boy for a penny due, and jostled among the men. Ben was suddenly enjoying the situation, and especially his father’s black looks.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ Charles demanded. ‘Are you spokesman, Tremayne? Make it short. I’ve a home to return to—’

  ‘So have we all, Mr Killigrew, though none so fine as yours. I doubt that you’ve lived in a home where you can see the stars between the slates because the owner’s too mean to put his hand in his pocket to pay for repairs. I doubt that you’ll know what a difference an extra twopence a day means to poor men. But that’s what we’re asking – no, demanding! Twopence a day for clayworkers, a penny a day for bal maidens and kiddley boys, in line with other pits—’

  Charles let out a roar that stopped him.

  ‘Demanding, you say? Is this the way you think to extract extra wages from me, man?’

  ‘Would you rather we went on strike, Father?’ Ben’s voice said lazily. Charles glowered at him.

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing with this rabble?’ he snapped. ‘Don’t talk to me of strikes. You know nothing about such things—’

  ‘I intend to learn! You made me one of the workers, remember? If they demand twopence a day more, then so do I. If they strike, then so do I. How do you like the sound of it?’

  Ben liked the sound of it, more than he had expected. It was the first time in his life he’d enjoyed such a position of power, although he got no backing from Jude, who merely slouched against the wall and said nothing.

  ‘So you’re one of them now, are you?’ Charles snorted.

  ‘No, he’s not, Mr Killigrew!’ Hal Tremayne spoke up again, with mutters of agreement from the men. ‘’Tis our wish that your son and nephew be employed elsewhere and not at the pit. It ain’t fitting. Not that they ain’t done a fair day’s work, and I daresay they’ll ache for a week to remind them of it, but we’re all of the same opinion. Employ them elsewhere and give us our fair dues, or we might just take it in our heads to work for a boss who’s willing to see sense. ’

  Hal had never spoken so boldly to a boss before, and his eyes challenged Charles Killigrew. He seemed hardly aware of the mass of men behind him, nor the stink of them in this posh office. Right then there was only one thought in Hal’s mind, to get fair dues for all. For a second, the air was thick with tension, and then Charles Killigrew bellowed with laughter.

  ‘By God, Hal Tremayne, I knew what I was about when I made you pit captain of Clay One! You’re a leader and a champion, and by all that’s holy, your guts have won the day. You don’t intimidate me, mind! But I’ve just had word of the profits—’ he waved a sheaf of papers in the air, ‘and I’m willing to share a little of them with good workers. All right. You’ve got your twopence, and the rest their penny—’

  He had to pause a moment for the cheers.

  ‘But there’ll be no immediate payment,’ he warned. ‘When my dues come in, then the wage rise will begin. I can’t pay out from empty coffers, and I can’t be fairer than that, can I?’

  The cheers subsided a little, but they could see they’d get no better deal. Hal stood his ground, not done yet.

  ‘And your son and nephew?’

  ‘It’s up to them for the final word.’ He looked at them both. ‘Do you want to continue at the pit—?’

  ‘No thank you!’ they said together. This reply drew more cheers and laughter and relaxed the atmosphere in the office. Gradually the men began to disperse, relaying the words back to those who hadn’t been able to crowd into the office. Ben and Jude remained behind. To their surprise, so did Hal.

  ‘I’ve more to tell ’ee, sir,’ he said gruffly. ‘My good woman will be finishing working for Killigrew Clay at the end of the week.’

  This time Charles was taken aback.

  ‘Am I having mutiny from your family, Hal?’ he asked. ‘I took your wife for a placid woman with no discontents—’

  ‘So she is, but she wishes to work as a seamstress, and has been offered plenty of such work, sir. It pleases her to take it on.’

  ‘And does it please you, Hal?’ Charles said suddenly.

  ‘Aye. I’ve a wish to find her waiting when I get home from my shift,’ he said simply.

  Charles was more moved by the words than he let on, and felt a swift, surprising envy for Hal Tremayne’s close-knit, loving family.

  ‘Then so be it. Now get you gone from here, all except Jude. I want words with you,’ he said grimly to his nephew.

  Hal left quickly, sighing with relief that it had all gone smoothly. Ben and Daniel Gorran went out together, while Jude looked sullenly at his uncle.

  ‘So how was your day at the works?’ Charles enquired.

  Jude scowled, knowing this was no idle question. ‘Tipping waste into little trucks is not my idea of fun—’

  ‘Then what is, Jude?’ There was an edge to Charles’ voice that Jude recognised.

  ‘I’m not used to it, Uncle! I’ve no objection to working with my hands, but—’ he whined.

  ‘Good. Because you’ll be taking over the gardens and stables at Killigrew House. Old Jenks is getting too feeble now, so you begin tomorrow. You’ll receive a small wage, but little more than you get already for doing nothing. If the arrangement doesn’t suit you, then find other accommodation.’

  He was crisp and cold, daring Jude to object. It was a menial job, but if Hannah Pascoe could work as her brother’s housekeeper, then her lout of a son could damn well earn his keep too. In Charles’s opinion, it was a decision long overdue.

  Hannah had originally said she wanted to be useful and not beholden to him, and if she had grown to resent her position, then it was just too bad. There was no love lost between them, and he had no intention of letting her act the lady in his house. That privilege was for Ben’s future wife.

  He heard Jude mutter his
agreement, having little choice before he stamped out, banging the office door behind him in his rage. Charles leaned back in his leather chair, not displeased with the day. A lot had happened, he ruminated. Hal had got his wage increase for the men; he’d lost a good worker in Bess Tremayne; Jude was firmly under his thumb, and Ben had shown he had spirit beneath the fancy education.

  He poured himself a large whisky and disregarded the lot of them. He’d been well pleased with Daniel Gorran’s monthly report. Profits were good, if not spectacular, and if he held out on the wage payments a little longer, so much the better.

  He was aware that he paid less than other clay owners. He’d stuck it out, knowing the day would come when he’d have to come in line with them. But if these dolts thought they’d scored over him with their puny demands, he would still have the last laugh. He’d already gained a month or two of extra twopences and pennies, and it was pennies that turned into pounds.

  Charles considered himself an expert with words. He’d seen to it that his workers wouldn’t expect the new rate for a while yet. It only took a bit of careful wording to give with one hand and take back with the other.

  * * *

  Ben was just thankful that the aches and pains of the day weren’t to be repeated. Jude could forget that miserable day too, despite the new indignity of acting as groomsman and gardener and stable-boy for his uncle, and the irritation of asking permission to attend the Truro Whitsuntide Fair.

  But permission was readily given, and Jude forgot his grievances as he stabled his own horse at a hostelry in Truro town and joined the throngs from the surrounding districts. Like him, they all headed for Boscawen Street and the Cross, and the major streets of Truro where all the stalls were set up, making the entire town into a giant street market.

  Everything in the world must be on sale, Jude thought. There were toys and gingerbread and farm produce and penny dreadfuls and pilchards and live eels and cure-all medicines. A cheap John shouted his wares, reducing them shilling by shilling until the first gullible customer accepted his offer.