Trevallion Read online

  For all her apparent frailness, he sensed the old lady had an unusual energy pulsing through her and it was rumoured she’d never had a day’s illness in her life. Her head suddenly came up sharply and Neville had to steel himself not to jump backwards. Her eyes were startlingly bright and perceptive.

  ‘Sit yourself down, Neville Faull.’ Her voice was low and gravelly; it had lost its richness many years ago.

  He racked his brains to think of something complimentary to say. He’d heard that she’d prefer it to be seductive but there were some things even he wouldn’t do to further a lucrative piece of private business.

  He sat down, not too far away from her, and turned on his charm through his smile. ‘This is a most pleasant room, Miss Bosanko.’ He stroked his tie, held in place by a gold and single emerald pin which had cost him more than he could comfortably afford. ‘I see that like me you have a penchant for the colour green.’

  He was sure this was the right approach. The whole house was painted and decorated in tasteful shades of green. On every shelf and table and corner of the room were sweeping fern plants, the mantelpiece was graced with a green marble clock and jade ornaments. Even the piano was green. Miss Bosanko was clothed entirely in green in the latest Paris fashion down to her tiny emerald-buckled shoes.

  ‘I think of the colour green as a symbol of eternal youthfulness, Mr Faull,’ she replied. She was smiling back at him and Neville felt with a sick feeling in his gut that she was trying to be seductive. She lifted a claw-like finger and pointed to a discreet drinks cabinet. ‘Pour me a gin and tonic, Neville,’ she said, lowering her voice and leaning forward a little in her chair. ‘I have no time for all this tea drinking. Help yourself to what you want, dear boy.’

  Neville poured two gin and tonics and handed one to Miss Bosanko, trying not to appear in a hurry to get back to his own chair. ‘In your letter to me you mentioned that you are interested in buying the Trevallion estate, Miss Bosanko.’

  ‘That is correct, Neville. I hope I can trust you to be discreet.’

  ‘Naturally.’ He smiled over his glass. ‘As a trustee I am concerned that only the best happens to the late Captain Miles Trevallion’s property.’

  Susannah Bosanko eyed him shrewdly. Neville Faull wasn’t the only one to make inquiries in advance of this meeting. Apparently he wasn’t as honest as his business partner and was continually looking for a way to enhance his cash flow, hoping to make a quick fortune.

  ‘Naturally. What is this Major Fiennes like? Do you think he will sell?’

  ‘He’s a cold man, Miss Bosanko. Takes very little interest in anything or anyone. I went up to Berkshire a few days ago to meet him. You see I’d heard of someone interested in buying the house to turn it into a hotel. He wants to offer trips on the river, wildlife to the naturalists, that kind of thing. I will make a considerable commission if I succeed.’

  ‘And what did the good Major say?’

  ‘He said he wouldn’t be making any decisions until he’d had the chance to look over the property. The very next day I returned to Cornwall to inform my partner that he would be journeying down within the week.’

  ‘I see. And when does he arrive?’

  ‘Today, Miss Bosanko.’

  ‘Good. Then you can get to work for me immediately. You can forget the other buyer, Neville. I want you to offer the Major on my behalf, discreetly of course, ten thousand pounds more than the property’s value or the same on top of any other offer he may receive. Your commission will be twenty per cent.’

  Neville couldn’t help whistling through his teeth. He knew Susannah Bosanko was very wealthy. She had set up canteens for embarking and returning troops in Falmouth during the war and had served in them herself She had supplied an endless stream of good-quality wool for the women of the town to knit socks, gloves, mufflers and scarves for the armed forces. But she’d also put her money into anything that would return a handsome profit, munitions, uniforms and coal. She was rich but Neville hadn’t expected her to be so generous. He didn’t care why she wanted Trevallion. For over two thousand pounds he’d do almost anything to get it for her.

  ‘Come closer,’ Susannah said, sending enticing signals across the room to him.

  The rumours about Susannah Bosanko’s prurience, even at her grand age, were probably exaggerated but clearly they were not entirely without foundation. He made his expression regretful. ‘I’d love to stay longer, Miss Bosanko,’ he said, ‘but I’m sorry to say that I must attend a reading of a will at midday. As it is, I dropped everything to come here.’

  ‘Don’t come again unless you have some positive news for me,’ Susannah ordered him stiffly. ‘I hope it will not be too long, Mr Faull.’

  Neville screwed up his courage to linger over her bony hand before he beat a hasty retreat. He brushed his hand over the maid’s bottom as she showed him to the door, just to give him a feeling of normality in that department. Neville rubbed his hands together before pulling on his driving gauntlets. He had more than one reason to call often at Trevallion and while he was there he would further his tentative pursuit of a rather serious young woman living in its little creek.

  * * *

  Rebecca stood outside Mrs Fiennes’ room flexing her hand as she tried to pluck up the courage to knock on the door. The door was suddenly opened.

  ‘Don’t be afraid to come in, Rebecca,’ Mrs Fiennes said brightly, sweeping back inside the room. She went to the dressing table and picked up a perfume bottle, spraying her neck and arms. ‘I heard you coming upstairs,’ she said to Rebecca’s reflection in the three-sided mirror. ‘That’s how I knew you were there. Oh, don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’m not going to eat you. You’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Rebecca couldn’t help staring at the lady. She had taken her hat off to reveal ash-blonde hair cut short in a bob in straight sleek lines. Both sides were tucked in behind her small ears while she saw to her make-up, Rebecca found her voice at last.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Fiennes. Loveday said there was a problem.’

  The gatehouse was basic and functional and Mrs Fiennes looked out of place in it, like an exotic hothouse flower in a gloomy garden shed. She should put her feet on Turkish rugs not worn linoleum. She was wearing a pale blue silk housecoat which complemented her fair colouring and sparkling blue eyes. She delicately stroked bright red lipstick along her bottom lip. Such a deep colour. Ira Jenkins would call it the mark of the Devil. Loveday would purse her lips but say nothing. Abigail Fiennes was going to cause a stir in the creek.

  ‘It’s only a tiny problem, Rebecca. Be a dear first and see if you can find my jewel case in one of the suitcases. The thing is, you’re going to have to move into the fourth bedroom. The Major and I can’t possibly stay here without a chaperone. You see, we’re not married.’

  Rebecca’s jaw dropped. She straightened up from the suitcase she had opened on the bed and gaped at Abigail Fiennes wide-eyed. She knew people lived different lives in high society, but not married? And with a child? If that was the case, why did they need a chaperone?

  Abigail turned round on her chair and caught Rebecca’s shocked expression. She laughed loudly, putting long-nailed fingertips to her lips. ‘Oh, don’t look so horrified, Rebecca. I think there is a misunderstanding here. I was married to the Major’s younger brother, Ralph Fiennes. He was a pilot during the war. He was shot down and killed,’ she ended on a quieter note.

  Rebecca made her face appear more normal. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Fiennes. We thought, we understood that, it said in the letter we had from Mr Drayton that you and the Major…’

  ‘Then this Mr Drayton is obviously the one who got it wrong.’

  ‘I feel such a fool,’ Rebecca said, delving into the leather suitcase in search of the jewel case to hide her embarrassment.

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ Abigail said, coming to her and pointing to a corner of the suitcase where the jewel box was to be found. ‘You look so miserable, Rebecca. I think our arrival
here has quite overwhelmed you.’

  Rebecca took out a plain box, one made specially for travelling, and Abigail took it from her.

  ‘I wanted this day to be special for you but everything has gone wrong.’

  ‘In what way?’ Abigail said sympathetically, returning to the dressing table and finding a small key in her purse.

  ‘My clothes, for a start. I was so busy helping to get things ready I didn’t have time to change. I’m sorry to have met you looking like this. I was just going to change when Love- day said you wanted to see me.’

  Abigail looked Rebecca up and down slowly. ‘Girls like you make me quite sick,’ she said, but not unkindly. ‘You would look good in whatever you were wearing, even a sack.’ She sprang up, the quick movement no less elegant than her others, and began to scatter clothes all over the bed.

  Rebecca stood frozen, wondering what Mrs Fiennes was doing and worrying about what it would mean to have to live under the same roof as the family. Her father could fend for himself but it would mean she would not be able to keep a close eye on him. She had a sudden horror of Trease coming out of his drunken stupor and arriving at the gatehouse, dishevelled and swearing and causing a terrible scene. He would be dismissed at once. They would be ordered out of their cottage and she would not be allowed to continue working on any of the farms on the estate. They would not be given a reference.

  ‘There you go again, frowning as if you have all the burdens of the world to carry,’ Abigail tut-tutted. She tossed a silver-grey low-waisted dress at Rebecca who caught it clumsily. Thinking that she was supposed to help Mrs Fiennes into it she hastily undid the hooks at the back and moved towards her new mistress.

  ‘Hold it up,’ Abigail said, frowning critically with her thumb under her chin and fingers on her cheek. ‘It’s not for me but for you.’

  ‘Me?’ Rebecca said stupidly.

  ‘You can have it,’ Abigail said dismissively. ‘We’re about the same build.’

  ‘But I couldn’t—’

  ‘I’m having none of that. It doesn’t suit me. I hate it. Can’t think why I packed it, much less why I bought it in the first place. You’d be doing me a favour.’ Abigail sat down and started to apply charcoal-coloured eyeshadow under her plucked pencil-thin brows. ‘Well, go on, try it on. Mrs Wright said you are going to help her serve luncheon and you can’t do it dressed like that. What’s good enough for the creek is not good enough for the dining room.’ When Rebecca still hesitated, Abigail added, ‘If you’re shy, go behind the screen.’

  Rebecca wasn’t ashamed of her underwear. What little money she earned she saved up and spent on items of good quality rayon – artificial silk – and her aunt who lived in Truro always gave her pretty lingerie on special occasions. She went behind the folding cane screen to gather her wits. There had never been so many abrupt changes and strange occurrences in just two days of her life. She had never dreamt she would be given a pure silk dress by a rich lady. It wasn’t a good fit. Rebecca had a much smaller waist, and it hung like a bag there but was tight across the chest. Abigail Fiennes wore the sort of fashionable foundation garments that flattened her bosom. Rebecca took off her boots and stood in her bare feet. She would have to manage without stockings and hoped there would be enough time to send Tamsyn down to the creek to fetch her best shoes.

  Mrs Fiennes had managed to dress herself and wore a crêpe de Chine pleated frockcoat, its hemline several inches above her ankles. Thank heavens the grey silk dress was not so short or Trease would have a fit. It might be the fashion to have plenty of calf showing but the Kennickers would never approve.

  Nor did Loveday by the expression on her face when Mrs Fiennes entered the dining room. She hid her disapproval by raising her eyebrows at Rebecca in the lady’s cast-off dress and Rebecca shrugged her helplessness at having to wear it. When they were in the kitchen, Loveday handed her a scarf to tie back her hair.

  ‘Do I look awful, Loveday?’

  Loveday considered her. ‘’Tis some strange to see you like this, the colour doesn’t suit you, but no, you don’t look awful. Pity you don’t have more money of your own to spend on clothes. Tie your hair back and I’ll make sure all the ends are tucked in. Tamsyn will be back in a minute with your shoes. Well, did you get the problem sorted out?’

  Rebecca repeated what Abigail had told her about the family relationship.

  ‘I see. Mind you, they hardly look one another’s type, though most of they sort of people marry for money and position. That sounds like the Major and that boy coming down the stairs. I’ll take in the fish and salad and you take in the peas and new potatoes.’

  If Alexander Fiennes noticed Rebecca was wearing one of his sister-in-law’s dresses he gave no sign of it but she felt him staring at her occasionally throughout the meal. He nodded to her and Loveday as they brought in the food and Abigail told them what he would eat and what he would not. The little he did take he ate in total silence. This was obviously the norm at home in Berkshire because Abigail and Stephen talked as if he wasn’t there. Rebecca couldn’t help being stung by the boy’s many disparaging remarks about the countryside and gatehouse. His mother asked him to at least look round the estate first before he made up his mind about Trevallion.

  Now she could see the Major clearly, Rebecca had a good look at him. He was about thirty years old with a deathly pallor to his face. She thought it a desolate face and he seemed detached and preoccupied and vaguely restless. His hair was as dark as her own, short, but not neatly trimmed. His eyes were dark too, with a film drawn over them – deliberately so, Rebecca thought.

  ‘That was an excellent apple pie, Mrs Wright,’ Abigail said, throwing her napkin down, ‘and the cream was delicious, so thick and smooth.’

  ‘It came from one of the local farms, Mrs Fiennes,’ Loveday said proudly, clearing away the dishes. ‘Verrian Farm, where Rebecca works.’

  ‘Oh, really? Isn’t that interesting, Alex?’

  ‘Yes, Abigail,’ Alex answered, and as Rebecca looked at him to see if he really did think so he raised his eyes from the edge of the tablecloth he was picking at and glanced at her. ‘Are we keeping you from your usual work, Miss Allen?’

  ‘No, sir, not really,’ she replied to the longest sentence she’d heard him say. ‘Mr Kellow, he’s the tenant of Verrian Farm, has given me permission to take time off for your and Mrs Fiennes’ convenience.’

  ‘Oh, she mustn’t go back, Alex,’ Abigail said in something that sounded like a plea. ‘We need her here. I need her here. I can’t possibly manage without Rebecca and Mrs Wright. Mrs Wright can look after Stephen too. That will be all right, won’t it?’

  ‘As you please, Abigail,’ Alex said. ‘I’ll leave it to you ladies to make your own arrangements.’ He added, in a tone that would not be argued with, ‘I will look after myself. All that I will require are my meals and my room cleaned.’

  ‘Good, splendid,’ Abigail said, clapping her hands. ‘You can bring in the coffee now, Mrs Wright, and a little later we will talk over the arrangements.’

  ‘I will require the services of Miss Allen this afternoon,’ Alex said stonily.

  ‘Oh?’

  Rebecca raised her brows but stayed nervously quiet. What did the Major want with her? Did he know about Trease’s drinking and laziness and want to dismiss them both?

  ‘I want to look over Trevallion House,’ he said. ‘She can drive me there and I shall get one of the cars out of the garage.’

  Rebecca and Loveday exchanged looks of concern. They had been hoping the Major wouldn’t want to go down to the big house so soon.

  There was a model railway, once belonging to Miles Trevallion, in Stephen Fiennes’ room and he couldn’t wait to get back to it. Without waiting to be excused, he got down from the table and left the dining room. Abigail sighed then expressed the desire to retire and rest for the afternoon.

  ‘My father has the keys to the big house, Major Fiennes. I will have to go home and fetch them,’ Rebecca s
aid, hoping to stall him.

  ‘No need,’ Alex said, looking directly at her and making her jump when he pulled something out of his pocket and plonked it on the table. ‘I have my own.’

  * * *

  After much heaving and grunting, Joe had pulled the pine tree Trease had chopped down out of sight. He returned to the scene of the crime and shook his head at the bark and splinters left behind and went to fetch a broom. When he got back he was not pleased to see Trease there, bleary-eyed, smelling offensively and barely able to stand.

  ‘What do you want?’ Joe said acidly.

  ‘Where’s Becca?’

  ‘Up at the gatehouse, doing your job.’

  ‘She picked the Fiennes up, did she?’

  ‘Aye,’ Joe replied grudgingly, turning his back on Trease as he began to sweep up debris from the fallen tree.

  Trease walked round him. ‘Is Becca all right?’

  ‘What do you think? What do you care? You’ve had that poor maid half out of her mind with worry since you got back from the war. You never stop punishing her for Nancy Ann leaving you.’

  ‘Don’t mention that woman to me!’

  ‘I haven’t got time for this. Get out my way, Allen. I’ve got work to do.’

  Trease didn’t want to get into another fight over his moods. He took his hands out of his pockets and tried to stand up straight. ‘I’ll, um, give you a hand, Joe.’

  ‘You’ve ruddy well done enough,’ Joe snapped.

  ‘You need my help, Carlyon,’ Trease said firmly. ‘I made this mess and ’tis only right I help clear it up before the Major comes here. You’ll have to forget how you feel about me for the time being.’