Page 27 of The Cornish Widow

The library lay on the first floor, one of several doors opening off an ill-lit corridor with a faded rug running its length. As the maid hung back wide-eyed, Harriet pushed the door open and went in.

A library in every sense of the word. Shelves of books covered every wall, and heavy curtains hung from the sash windows, letting in very little light and making the room near as gloomy as the corridor. A small fire, giving off next to no heat, burned in the grate at one end of the room, and in front of it stood two high-backed, upholstered chairs. In one of them sat an old lady clad entirely in black, her snowy white hair partly covered with a lace cap.

Harriet hesitated, unsure of her reception. Ben had never spoken of his aunt in all the time she’d known him, and the old lady’s man of business in Bath had more than hinted that she was a difficult customer.

“Well, girl, get over here and let me look at you.” For an old lady she possessed a firm and autocratic voice.

Harriet approached her seat and bobbed a perfect curtsey.

Mrs. Bolitho’s face was as lined as an old apple forgotten at the bottom of the barrel, her cheeks sagged and folds of crepey skin hung over her small, hard eyes. Both gnarled hands rested on an ebony cane, a diamond ring glittering on the forefinger of one of them.

Harriet hesitated again, unsure how to address the old lady, and withering inside under her gimlet glare.

“Well, girl, speak up. What are you here for?” she almost shouted.

This was not going the way Harriet had hoped it would. Had the maid not told Mrs. Bolitho who she was? Her hands began to tremble and hot color surged up her cheeks. “If you please, Mrs. Bolitho, I’ve come to thank you for your generosity.”

“Eh? What?” The old lady leaned forward. “Speak up, I said. I’m not deaf, but you’re mumbling. Who are you and what do you want?”

Harriet tried again, much louder this time. “My name is Harriet Penhallow. My husband was Benedict Penhallow, your great nephew. A captain in the Hussars. You have been so kind as to allow my children and me to live in one of your properties now Benedict is dead.”

The old lady’s eyes sharpened. “Oh. You’re that girl, are you? Come a bit closer and let me have a better look at you.” She waved at the other chair. “Sit down.”

Harriet perched on the edge of the chair, her hands folded in her lap while Mrs. Bolitho scrutinized her.

This took a while. Finally, the old lady gave a loud harrumph. “You’re a skinny little thing. I remember you now. Married to young Benedict. He used to visit me and my Horace down here when he was a boy. Smart little fellow. Smart indeed. And a hero, too.” She cleared her throat and spat into the fire. “Shame he’s gone. And it leaves you a widow woman with two children, I hear? Benedict’s two. And one’s a boy.”

“Theodore.” Harriet’s heart had begun to steady. “And Lydia.”

Mrs. Bolitho shook her head. “Ain’t interested in the girl.” She smacked her wet, wrinkled lips together. “But the boy’s a Penhallow and the last of his line. My brother Joseph had but one son who lived to adulthood, and that was your Benedict’s father, my nephew, Andrew, who also had but one son himself—Benedict.”

Where was this leading? Harriet held her tongue and waited, far too conscious of her unsteady heartbeat.

Mrs. Bolitho bared what teeth she still possessed in what might have been a smile but was more like a snarl. “I’d like to see the boy. Is he like his father?”

Now there was a question. In what way did she mean? Yes, Theo resembled his father physically but not in temperament, thank goodness. Probably the old lady would have fond memories of Ben as a boy and be more interested in Theo’s appearance. She nodded. “He is very like his father. As is Lydia.” The fact that Mrs. Bolitho wasn’t interested in Lydia irked.

The old lady nodded her head. “If I like him, then I’ll pay for his education. Can’t have him growing up in the back end of beyond like a yokel. I’ll send him up to Eton like his father and grandfather before him. Do him the world of good.”

So this was what the old woman wanted. Control of the last Penhallow. Theo. Harriet bit her lip to stop herself from shouting out a no to this. A strong awareness that it wouldn’t do to offend her benefactress kept her mouth shut. “He is very young, as yet, and needs his mother as he misses his father so much.” Not true at all about the missing of his father. Theo had always been her child, as wary of Ben as she was. Perhaps he’d sensed her own fears. Fears she’d tried so hard to hide.

“Nonsense,” the old lady snapped, spit spraying. “Bring him in to see me as soon as you can, and we’ll see about him starting school. My man in Bath tells me he’s twelve, isn’t he? About time he was removed from the apron strings and made a man of.”

But not a man like his father. Harriet’s insides quaked. “It’s difficult for me to get into Penzance,” she tried. “I have no transport of my own, and it’s quite a distance. Too far to walk.” Not necessarily true, but she was clutching at straws.

Mrs. Bolitho’s eyes sharpened like razors. “Indeed? And how did you get here today, then?”

Oh no. Should she lie or tell the truth? Better a half truth. “I was given a ride into the town. Which means I can’t be long with you, as my friends will need to return soon.” Anything to get away from this grasping old lady who wanted to turn Theo into a reincarnation of Ben.

“Which friends?”

Oh no again. Instinct told her not to mention Jack. Luckily, he possessed a mother. “The Trevelyans of Rosudgeon House. It is quite close to the cottage you’ve allowed me to take.”

“The Trevelyans? Talwyn Trevelyan? She’s not a woman I would like my niece-by-marriage associating with.” She glowered. “And you should not like your daughter to be near her. The woman’s no better than she should be and has a ‘reputation’.”

Harriet stiffened her spine, glad her interlocuter had jumped to the conclusion that Talwyn had brought her into Penzance without the necessity to lie. “I’m afraid I had little choice. I felt I must come in to thank you for your kindness and could delay no longer. We are all most grateful for the cottage and the security of a roof over our heads.”

“Then bring the boy to see me. As soon as you can. I shall be awaiting him with impatience.”