Chapter 4 #2
‘Right you are. I’ll get to them in a bit.
’ Nancy surveyed the group keenly, then turned her attention back to Nettie.
‘Shall we have a cup of tea first, though? I feels poor Tegan and I could do with it, after our trip on the omnibus. Dear Sid Trenoweth sat next to us, an’ bless his socks, but I don’t know when the man last washed. ’
‘Ah, you poor dears. Tea, comin’ up.’ Nettie beckoned us in beyond the counter and I followed her.
I looked around me at the kitchen area we’d come into.
There was a hearth, but the main feature was a huge cast-iron range stove.
I wanted to go over and stare at it, but I didn’t dare.
However, it was a piece of fascinating mid-Victorian craftsmanship and I didn’t know if I’d ever seen anything like it before.
It had a variety of beautifully embossed doors and pull-out grilles, with a flat iron surface top where a number of large pans bubbled and steamed.
Above the cooking top there were more doors and what I assumed were cupboard spaces to store food or implements.
The whole thing was the size of a small car.
I wondered how on earth it had even been installed in the tea shop kitchen.
Nettie pulled out a couple of chairs at a varnished wood kitchen table in the centre of the room.
She turned to a young woman who stood at one of the work surfaces, kneading dough.
‘Melza, my precious. Make Nancy an’ her cousin a cuppa, will ye?
We can ’ave a break, seein’ as the pellar’s ’ere. Clarrie can mind the shop.’
Melza nodded, patted the dough she’d been working into a round, put it into a bowl and covered it with a cloth.
Then, she went to the cast-iron stove and lit one of the hobs under a kettle.
I sat down at the table, grateful for the hard wood under me.
My leg was jiggling with tension and my heart was racing.
‘Now, then. Let’s ’ave a catch up.’ Nettie sighed as she sat down in one of the high-backed wooden chairs, the same dark wood as the long table. ‘Nancy, how are your folk?’
‘They’re well, thankee.’ Nancy nodded, politely. I got the impression that the two women were dispensing with the formalities.
‘Good. Can’t say I recall you mentionin’ a cousin…’ Nettie looked curiously at me.
‘My aunt’s child. From Penzance. We don’t see much o’ them.’ Nancy had constructed a basic cover story back in the cottage. There was no reason for it not to work as long as we stuck to it. ‘Bad blood.’
‘Oh. You don’t have to tell me about that.
’ Nettie sighed. Melza brought a tray of cups to the table on a tray with a jug of milk and a large teapot.
In 1775, the maids had drunk beer. By the time of the mid-Victorian era, I knew that tea was much more popular.
‘My sister, Sheba. Gone off wi’ one o’ the Cullen lads.
No one’s ’eard from them for weeks. Always was a selfish mare, she was.
I don’t mind for me, but our mum’s climbin’ the walls.
At ’er age, she’s not fit for the worry. ’
‘I’m sorry to hear about that,’ Nancy replied. ‘I can ’ave a look at the cards for you, if you like. See what Sheba’s up to?’
‘’Tis a cryin’ shame she decided that Cullen lad was the one to pin her hopes on.’ Nettie sighed again. ‘Still, we’ve ’ad all the excitement this week, ain’t we, Melza?’
Melza was young, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, with a serious expression and dark brown hair pulled sharply away from her face in a bun. She nodded, seriously.
‘Oh? What be ’appenin’?’ I had noticed that Nancy had deepened her accent when she’d started talking to Nettie. I wondered if it was on purpose or just something she automatically did to put people at ease.
‘Well, ’twas just yesterday, in fact,’ Nettie began, taking a cup of tea from Melza and passing it to me.
‘Normal day; there was a load of society ladies in town, sightseein’ an’ what ’ave you, so we were workin’ ’ard to make sure they were ’appy when they came in.
Anyway. I sent Clarrie out to get some more milk from the dairy, an’ lo an’ behold, she runs into some kind of drifter outside the tea shop, just wanderin’ around.
Injured, too, wasn’t ’ee?’ She turned to Melza, who was sipping her tea quietly.
I took my cup gratefully and gulped down half of it, hoping it would calm my nerves a little.
My leg had stopped its jiggling, but I was sweating with the tension of not knowing what had happened to William, and pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
I put the cup down and wiped my forehead surreptitiously with my sleeve.
‘Aye. Blood all down his shirt. Terrible state, ’ee was.’ She tutted.
‘Oh, really?’ Nancy raised an eyebrow. ‘’Course, there are tramps, round an’ about. I daresay ’ee was one o’ they—’
‘Well, ’ee might’ve been. Mad, ’ee was. Said that ’ee was lord of the manor, standin’ there with his blood-soaked clothes, an’ a wild look in ’is eyes.
Lord of the manor! As if! The constable came along, took one look at ’im and took ’im off to gaol before you could say Jack Robinson,’ Nettie interjected.
‘Worst case o’ madness I seen in a long time. I felt quite sorry for ’im, really.’
‘Lord of the manor?’ I asked, my voice shaking. Nancy exchanged a glance with me. I looked away, keen to ensure that I didn’t look too interested, but my heart was beating wildly.
‘Oh, you’re not from here. I forget.’ Nettie nodded.
‘We ’ave a lord an’ lady, down this way.
The Trevarrons, over near St Nantes,’ Nettie explained, patiently.
I tried to play dumb, and nodded. ‘Well, I know what Lord Albert looks like, an’ this definitely wasn’t ’im.
Big brute the drifter was, that I will say.
It took three of the constables to subdue him, an’ get ’im in the carriage. ’
‘You don’t say?’ Nancy cooed. ‘Why d’you think ’ee was sayin’ ’ee was the lord of the manor, though? I can’t think of a time I’ve ’eard a tramp claim that. Not that I talk much to tramps,’ she added, hastily.
‘Oh, ’oo knows, my duck? But I’ll tell you one strange thing. ’Is clothes were very odd. Not dressed like a tramp at all.’
Could it be?
Could Nettie be talking about William?
When I’d left him in 1755, he’d been stabbed in a fight, and it was only in my final moments with him that I realised the extent of his injuries.
I’d tried to pull him with me into the time portal, thinking that I could save him, but we were torn apart – he was pulled away from me at the last moment by the police constables sent by Lord Favisham, the man intent on stealing William’s estate.
‘What did he look like? Apart from the clothes?’ I leaned forward, aware that I must look very serious, but I couldn’t help it. I needed to know.
‘Oh. Well, ’ee was tall, like I said. Big. Strong, like an ox. Black ’air. Dark eyes. Not that old. Apart from the fact ’ee needed a bath an’ a change o’ clothes, ’ee was a good-lookin’ fella. Just mad.’ She sighed.
‘Well. What a strange affair,’ Nancy said, raising one eyebrow surreptitiously at me. ‘I wonder what will become of that poor beggar.’
‘After gaol? An asylum, no doubt, or the workhouse, somewhere.’ Nettie sniffed. ‘I ’as sympathy, but I ’ave to look after my girls. An’ the shopkeepers got to think about tourists. We can’t ’ave some madman wanderin’ around.’
‘Indeed, indeed,’ Nancy tutted, her tone conciliatory. ‘You did right.’
‘Mind you, I wonder what milord would say if ’ee ’eard there was some big bugger walkin’ around, pretendin’ to be ’im?’ Nettie chuckled.
‘What would the current lord do?’ In my mind, there was only William, his bookish sister, Edith, and their horrible brother, Charles. I couldn’t imagine another family being at the house.
‘Oh, maid.’ Nettie shook her head. ‘We keeps out of milord’s way.
Prone to tempers, he is. A shame, because Lady Hermione – that’s his wife, Lady Trevarron – she’s as meek as milk, an’ little Lady Violet, too.
It’s a big party for ’er up at the ’ouse soon, by the way, bless ’er little soul, though I feels for ’er.
Lord Albert takes after the Favisham side of the family, let’s say. ’
I looked at her blankly.
‘The Favishams were – are – another wealthy family in Cornwall. Their ancestral home’s Penlivet.
A few generations ago, there was a Lord Favisham that married the Lady Trevarron of the time.
She’d become the heir because ’er older brother had disappeared in strange circumstances, and the younger brother, I think ’ee was killed in a huntin’ accident.
So that Lord Favisham became Lord Trevarron and the families was bound since then. ’
‘He was a terror, that Lord Favisham, so I heard,’ Nancy interjected.
‘Aye. Violent, too,’ Nettie said. ‘’Course, this was, what?
Three generations ago? The Favishams doubled their wealth when ’ee married Lady Edith Trevarron.
’Ee became a peer in the ’Ouse of Lords after that.
Passed it down, so that milord is, too. Passed ’is temper down too, I ’eard,’ she added.
‘I do ’ope ’ee don’t lose ’is temper at poor Miss Violet’s birthday party. ’
There was a lot to take in there. However, I couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘big brute’ that had been covered in blood, and the fact that it had taken three policemen to overpower him.
‘Where is the gaol?’ I couldn’t help interrupting. ‘Is it in Tintagel? Here?’
‘That’s right, maid. Why, are you keen to go an’ see a madman?
’ Nettie shot me a strange look. ‘Do you not ’ave any, down your way?
Or, ’as Penzance got too many? You’re used to it, maybe.
With what I ’ears about the ne’er-do-wells down that way, I wouldn’t be surprised,’ she added, a little pointedly. I chose to ignore the barb.
‘No… I’m just curious. It’s such a story. Nothing like this ever happens at home,’ I lied.
‘Hm. Well, you be careful then.’