Page 65 of The Cornish Widow

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jack stared at his mother’s tragic face, a turmoil of emotions tumbling through his head. What was he supposed to feel? Sadness, shock, anger? Images of the times his father had condescended to spend with him flashed through his mind along with the emotions. An hour here, half a day there, a few minutes before bedtime, a glimpse from the nursery window. Had his father been any better a parent than Harriet’s bullying husband? Probably not.

“When?”

His mother sagged against him, pressing her wet cheek to his coat. “Yesterday. I only found out because Mrs. Pike’s nephew works there. He told his mother, Mrs. Pike’s sister-in-law, and she sent her daughter over with a message for us.” All the servants knew their secrets, of course, in both houses.

“Does he still live?”

She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I’ve had no news since, and I dare not enquire myself. Any servant I sent would be turned away and I refuse to give that woman the pleasure of so doing.”

He held her away from himself. “Pull yourself together, Mother. He’s not worthy of your grief.”

She flashed angry eyes at him. “Oh but he is, he is. He was my one true love, Jack, and he gave me you. He still is my one true love. And he’s your father, never forget.”

“Inside,” Jack said, ignoring this outburst. “Into the parlor and tell me what Mrs. Pike’s relations told you, most of which will be servants’ gossip, no doubt, and without foundation.”

She let him guide her to the parlor, and he closed the door behind him then ushered her to her chaise long. A firm hand on her shoulder, he sat her down then took his place beside her. “Now. Tell me everything you know.”

She seized both his hands in hers, the tears still falling down her cheeks and dripping onto the lace fichu she wore about her shoulders. “Mrs. Pike’s family can’t read or write, so the message was a little garbled. Young Bennath Carthew brought it yesterday evening. She’s just a slip of a girl, but a fast runner. She said her brother, William, a gardener at the castle, told them there’d been an argument between your father and Lady Trengrouse on the terrace, and your father had fallen to the ground, his face purple, gasping for breath. Bennath said her brother saw it all happening, as Lady Trengrouse shouted for his help.” She paused. “Bennath seemed inclined to think Lady Trengrouse had struck your father, but apparently her brother assured their mother it was an apoplexy. He heard the doctor say so.”

An image of his father the last time he’d seen him, over a year ago, across the crowded Assembly rooms in Truro, leapt into Jack’s mind. Many said that Jack resembled him as a young man, but that had been a long time ago and time had not been kind to Sir Austin Trengrouse. Now in his fifties, good living and lack of exercise had crept up on him, making him corpulent and slow, and his once abundant dark hair had turned to gray and thinned. Drink had left its mark across his face in a myriad of small broken blood vessels. He had not looked a well man.

That out-of-character visit to the Assembly Rooms at the persuasion of his mother had also presented Jack with one of his few opportunities to observe his half-sisters. He knew of them, of course, but that night had been the closest he’d ever got to them. The oldest, Horatia, a girl who closely resembled the harridan who’d driven Jack from her home when he was a boy, and who was married to a banker from Truro, had been there with her husband. The second, Honoria, who also resembled her mother, had been about to announce her engagement to a minor aristocrat from Devon. Only the youngest, Lavinia, had looked anything like Jack and their father. Rather a pretty girl but with a discontented expression on her face as though outings to the Assembly Rooms were beneath her. Needless to say, Jack had not had the opportunity to ask her why and had deliberately kept away from that particular part of the Assembly Rooms for the remainder of the evening.

His mother, however, had seen him staring at the little family group. “Lady Trengrouse grows no more attractive with age,” she murmured behind her fan. “I swear she more and more resembles the pig Mrs. Pike is fattening with the kitchen scraps.”

Which had made Jack laugh, and softened the blow of seeing his father out en famille with the girls who had taken his place.

He gathered his thoughts on the present predicament. “They will have sent for the best of doctors, I’m sure. And servants always exaggerate.”

His mother shook her head, fresh tears falling. “I fear not, on this occasion. Bennath was quite sure her brother had heard the doctor say it was ‘a matter of time’ and ‘nothing can be done.’ She had the words off pat. They’re not words a child of twelve makes up, at least, not a blacksmith’s daughter with no education.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps my father is truly dying. If so, what do you expect me to do?”

She tightened her clutch on his hand, her eyes beseeching. “Jack, my darling. Remember how he used to bounce you on his knee and brought you Scout for your birthday the year you were five. You loved that dog. He went everywhere with you. It wasn’t your father’s fault we couldn’t live together…” Her voice trailed off as her brow furrowed. What was she thinking? “It was his father’s iron rule.”

Jack frowned back at her. “He brought me Scout because his wife had just presented him with a child. My sister Horatia. His legitimate child. It was to make up for that. To assuage his conscience.”

“But it showed how much he loved you.”

Jack shook his head. “No. If he loved me, he would have married you and made me his legitimate son. He would have stood up to his father and refused to marry where he was told. He was a coward.”

Fresh tears sprang into his mother’s eyes. “He was just a boy, Jack. You know he was. Far younger than you are now. I’ve told you often enough. He loved me dearly but I wasn’t his social equal. My father was a tenant farmer… Austin’s father was a baronet. There could never have been any match for us. Not in the eyes of society.”

“No, mother, you delude yourself. You only have to look at your friend, Lady Ormonde. She came from a family of smugglers, no less, and yet Thomas Carlyon didn’t make her his mistress—he married her.”

“That was different. Thomas was not the heir then. His father and his older brother still lived. He could marry where he wished.”

The impulse to give her a sound shaking had to be controlled. “Nonsense. His older brother had already been consigned to the colonies, doing God knows what and most unlikely ever to produce an heir of his own, from what I’ve heard. The old viscount knew Thomas and his children would inherit. Thomas just had more backbone than my father ever did. He married the girl he loved and be damned.”

Her voice dropped. “Do you want so much to be his heir?”

Did he? He shook his head. “I have never wanted to be his heir, Mother. All I’ve ever wanted is to be recognized as his son.”

She seized on that. “Oh, but he did recognize you. Why do you think he visited us so often and settled Rosudgeon on you? Because he still loved us both.” She paused. “Better by far than that woman who looks like a pig. And she’s only ever given him daughters. I gave him the son he wanted.”

“He visited you so often because it suited him to have a mistress on his doorstep. It saved him having to ride to Penzance and find one.”