Stories
Mr. Tregarrick turned as Jack approached. How I hoped he wouldn’t notice Jack’s slight sway—but he didn’t seem to miss much.
“Mr. Penrose,” he said politely, “I am Harker Tregarrick.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Tregarrick!” He looked our neighbor up and down. “Not the Tregarrick of Roche Rock?”
“The very one. Your sister had a fall out on the heath. She hit her head, and I walked her home to make sure she got here safely.”
I wondered at him not mentioning the attack, though I was in enough trouble as it was and certainly hadn’t intended to tell Jack myself. Thankfully he had also left out the detail of my brief stay under his roof.
My chest tightened as Jack’s head swiveled in my direction. “On the heath, you say? I think you must be mistaken, sir, since I told her she was to stay near the house.”
“I . . .” began Mr. Tregarrick, eyes moving from Jack to me.
“Thank you for seeing me home, sir,” I said, trying to hurry him along before Jack could cause trouble. “I’ll be all right now.”
Taking the hint, he tipped his hat and said, “Good evening, Miss Penrose. Mr. Penrose.”
Jack glared after him as he turned for home. The gentleman’s figure dissolved quickly in the twilight, rain, and fog.
My heart thumped against my ribs as I turned and went inside the cottage. I took a match from the box by the cookstove and lit the oil lamp and candles.
“Mina,” said Jack in a cold, hard voice.
Waving the match out, I closed my eyes and mouthed an oath before facing him. “You’re home early, Jack. Is The Wolf’s Head still standing?”
Though I hated fighting with my brother, I had never been afraid of him. But until now I’d never seen him so angry he couldn’t form words. His watery, bloodshot eyes seemed to bulge from holding it all in.
Best to have it out and over with.
“Well?” I goaded.
In the same steely tone, he said, “Today in the pit, some of the Irish boys were talking about the ‘pretty red-haired lass that works for old widow Moyle.’”
Oh Lord. “Well, that’s nice of them,” I said, a bored note in my voice. “I best get to fixing your supper, hadn’t I?”
“Be still, Mina.”
My hands trembled as I planted them on my hips. The lump on my head began to throb.
“One of those boys had to leave his shift early yesterday and saw you walking home from work. After I told you that you were finished at The Magpie.”
I shrugged, as if my heart weren’t hammering away.
“I spoke to Mr. Hilliard, and he told me there’s no more danger.
Whatever got that solicitor has moved on now.
Most likely a rabid dog.” I was twisting the truth pretty far, but I’d take the sin if it could save my job. Even after what had happened today.
His eyes narrowed. “You know that I meant you were finished for good, Mina.”
“Why do you think it’s you who gets to decide that?”
His cold tone finally flared hot as he replied, “Do we have to do this again? Because Da is gone and I have to speak for him. I know he’d say the same, and so do you. Now, I won’t have you defying me! Aren’t you ashamed those boys were speaking about you like you were some bit of—”
“Jack Penrose, don’t you dare!”
I’d shouted so loud he took a step back. Good.
Bringing my tone down a notch, I said, “I know you think you’re taking care of me, Jack.
But I don’t care what some strangers said about me, and you shouldn’t, either.
It doesn’t sound to me like they meant any disrespect, anyway.
I don’t so much mind being called a ‘pretty lass’ by somebody.
But if you don’t want them talking like that, next time just tell them you’re my brother and you won’t have it, instead of coming home and shouting at me. ”
“And a good thing I did come home,” Jack muttered hotly. “Tregarrick, of all men! What were you thinking?”
I shook my head, annoyed that once I’d won my point he’d simply moved on to his next complaint. “What are you on about now?”
“Don’t you know half the village thinks he had something to do with the murder?”
I stared, speechless for a second. “Why on earth would they think that?”
“There’s something not right about that old place. Not right about him. Everyone in Roche knows that, and you should, too. They found that solicitor almost—”
“Me,” I gritted out. “I found him.” Tears stung my eyes, and I knotted my fists in my skirt, fighting to hold them back.
Jack noticed, and the lines around his eyes softened. Even his voice was softer as he said, “Point is, didn’t you wonder why his body was just outside the wall, while his bag was inside? And the fact that there was no blood there at all? Somebody moved him off the estate, Mina.”
I stared at Jack with my mouth hanging open, trying to take all this in. Though I couldn’t believe he had come up with it on his own, there was sense in it. For a few seconds my chest was too tight to breathe.
Finally I said, “Mr. Roscoe died from an animal bite, Jack. You shouldn’t pay so much attention to talk at The Wolf’s Head.” But even Mr. Tregarrick had seemed to question this, and I had to ask myself why I was hiding so much from my brother.
“Next time you see widow Moyle, you ask her if she knows any of the old stories.”
“What stories?”
“Stories about the Wolf of Roche Rock.”
My heart began to thump as I remembered the wolf in Mr. Tregarrick’s cup. But he had saved my life! Granted, I only had his word for that, but the idea of him attacking me made no sense at all. Yet I knew there were old stories of a wolf on the estate.
By the light in Jack’s bloodshot eyes, I could see he thought he was winning, and I wasn’t about to go along with the notion that Mr. Tregarrick might be guilty of murder.
“That’s nonsense, Jack,” I snapped. “This comes of too much drink, and cheap talk with others who’ve had too much drink.”
At first, he looked like he’d been slapped. Then his expression hardened, and he stepped closer to me.
“You’re not to set foot out of this door without my leave. I know you think you’re smarter than me now, but I’m still the head of this house.”
He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
I shook with frustration. I picked up the nearest thing to hand—the small milk pitcher we used for tea—and flung it at the door. It shattered, painted ceramic bits showering the floor.
I took a deep breath and let it out hard before going for the broom.
I wrapped a strip of linen around my cut finger and made Jack’s supper anyway. Exhausted, I went to bed with a headache and didn’t hear him come in. Next morning he again ate his cold supper for breakfast and left without a word.
Things were getting bad between us, and they were likely to get worse.
Jack and I had once known each other so well we could complete each other’s thoughts.
When we were children, Mum had joked about us talking in half sentences.
I knew that Jack was as shaken up by the murder as I was; it knocked another hole in a foundation already unsteady after our parents’ deaths.
And I knew he saw my questioning and defiance as dangerous and ungrateful.
Yet I couldn’t go against my own nature, simply taking his word for everything while remaining safe and quiet at home. We were twins; why couldn’t he understand that such a life would be the death of me?
Which was why as soon as he left, despite my fear of whatever lurked on the heath, I made pasties and packed my basket.
I was about to set out for The Magpie when I remembered Mr. Tregarrick’s request. I climbed back up to the loft and opened a small wooden box that had belonged to my grandmother.
Inside were a few precious things I had collected over the years, including Nanna’s wedding ring, hair ribbons Mum had given me on my birthday, and her necklace with the silver cross.
Tears stung my eyes as I lifted the necklace, watching the cross swing on the delicate chain. After Mum died I’d been too sad to wear it, but more time had passed now, and I’d made a promise. Wear it for me.
I recalled Mr. Tregarrick’s expression as he made the request. He’d looked fearful, I thought, and maybe a little sad, too. Like it had cost him something to ask.
I fastened the chain around my neck and went back down.
Though I felt tired today, the lump on my head had gone down, and the cut—quite small for the amount of blood that had seeped into my hair—had scabbed over.
My head still ached, which was just one more reason I probably should have stayed at home.
But there were many things I wanted to talk over with Mrs. Moyle.
As I walked, I couldn’t help looking out for Mr. Tregarrick.
I thought about what Jack had said of the talk in the village.
I knew, of course, that people had always whispered about the old place and its master, but folk would whisper about anything strange.
It was the season for such stories, too.
Hallowe’en was only a few weeks away, and Mum had believed it was a time of spirits and fairies.
Mum and Jack and I had always carved faces in fat, hollowed-out turnips and lit them with candle stubs, hanging them outside the cottage so any evil spirits would pass us by.
Now that I thought of it, Da had insisted we hang one in the apple tree in the garden to frighten off the “Wolf of Roche Rock.” He’d wink and we’d laugh—we liked when Da joined in the fun—but he had always been leery of the old estate.
I glanced through the gap in the hedge as I passed, rubbing Mum’s cross between my fingers. The grove of Cornish oaks, with their gilded autumn leaves, made a papery whispering sound as the breeze rattled through them. But all else on the estate was quiet.
I arrived at work later than usual and found that Mrs. Moyle had finished all the opening tasks and was boiling water for tea.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Moyle!” I said as I stepped into the warm kitchen. “I’m moving slow this morning.”
She laughed. “It’s the first time you’ve been late in two years, Mina. I think we can overlook it.”