A Cornish Maid Read online

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  A Cornish Maid

  Fenella J. Miller

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  Aurora Regency

  An imprint of

  Musa Publishing

  Copyright Information

  A Cornish Maid, Copyright © Fenella J. Miller, 2011

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  ...

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  ...

  Musa Publishing

  633 Edgewood Ave

  Lancaster, OH 43130

  www.musapublishing.com

  ...

  First Published by Aurora Regency/AMP, March, 2011

  Aurora Regency is an imprint of Musa Publishing

  ...

  This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

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  ISBN: 978-1-61937-004-3

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  Editor: Celina Summers

  Cover Design: Kelly Shorten

  Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna

  Dedication

  For the Historical Novel Society — may it continue to grow.

  Chapter One

  The window blew open, smashing back against the wall. Demelza shot up in bed. The curtains billowed out and the rain cascaded onto the worn boards. Tumbling from beneath the covers she dashed across and slammed it shut. Thunder growled and then the night air was rent by forks of lightning.

  In the glow from this she saw the bobbing lanterns of a ship on the edge of the bay. The vessel was in trouble, caught up in mountainous waves and in danger of being smashed against the rocks. She sent up a fervent prayer that the lives of those on board would be spared, and by some miracle the ship would not sink that night. Far too many ships foundered along this Cornish coast and some of them, she was sure, drawn to their doom by wreckers.

  The curtains were sodden and she was standing in a puddle, but on a warm summer’s night she’d come to no harm getting wet. The tall clock that stood proudly in the entrance hall struck the hour. It would be dawn soon; hardly worth going back to bed as she was wide awake.

  If the storm continued to rage outside, the rain would be pouring in through the holes in the roof. The buckets would need emptying soon. Dressing by a single flickering candle, she hung her damp nightdress over the end of the bed and hurried out. Serena didn’t like storms, but her brothers, Tom and Jack, would sleep through anything.

  Demelza pushed open the door to her little sister’s room. On this side of the house the rain beat with less force. She listened carefully; after a few moments she was certain her sister was sleeping and didn’t need her comforting presence.

  She had to get all inside tasks completed before dawn because Buttercup would need milking then. Serena, at ten years old, was more than capable of dressing the boys and taking care of them until breakfast was ready.

  It took less time to run up and down the stairs with the buckets than she expected. By the time she had finished the storm had passed. Today was going to be another warm summer’s day. She had left the bread to rise before she retired the night before and it wouldn’t take long to shape it and put it in the bread oven.

  Buttercup was most obliging this morning and gave her a full pail of foaming, creamy milk. “What a good girl. Now you can feed your calf. I shall not need any more today.” Carefully carrying the milk into the dairy, she placed it on a cool slate shelf and covered it with a wet muslin cloth. Later on the children could skim off the cream and churn it into butter.

  They wouldn’t be awake for an hour or two; plenty of time to escape to the beach that ran below the cliffs upon which Tregorran House was built. Her boots left imprints on the wet grass as she ran to the path that threaded down the cliff. She could hear the waves banging. The thunderstorm had passed but the sea was still rough. Thick gorse bushes grew on either side, obscuring her view of the beach as she descended.

  Leaving her boots at the bottom of the path, she stepped barefoot onto the rain-washed sand. She glanced at the sky. The seagulls were calling overhead; even the waves could not drown out their raucous calls. She had come down expecting to find flotsam and jetsam littering the coastline, but the sand was pristine.

  If she was lucky she might find a crab or two and there were certainly mussels to be picked from the rocks. The tide would be turning soon. She must hurry. Without this free bounty she and the children would be on short commons indeed.

  Swinging her bucket, she picked her way to the water’s edge. She didn’t like leaving the children unattended for too long. Although Tom and Jack would be celebrating their sixth birthday soon, they were full of mischief needed watching. Those two would soon wander off if their big sister was not there to keep an eye on them.

  The best place to find shellfish was in the rock pools. The rough water didn’t deter her. As she bent to move aside the seaweed, her gaze was caught by something just ahead. She straightened. She wasn’t alone as she’d thought. A gentleman was crouching over the very rock pool she was heading for.

  Her bucket dropped with a clatter. She was hardly dressed for meeting company. The man, startled by the noise, stumbled backwards and fell seat first into a shallow pool.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t mean to scare you…”

  Periwinkle blue eyes stared at her. Despite their pretty colour they were not friendly. “Are you going to stand there gawping, girl, or assist me to escape from this wretched water?”

  Demelza bristled. He took her for a village maid, but that still gave him no right to be rude. “Are you injured?”

  “Of course not. Now are you going to help me or not?”

  She smiled sweetly and dipped in a mock curtsy. “Not. I have better things to do with my time, sir, than pull unpleasant gentleman from their backsides. I bid you good morning.”

  “Come back here, you baggage. Devil take it!” Splashing and further cursing followed her departure.

  Recovering her bucket, she skipped nimbly in the opposite direction. She would leave the collecting of mussels and crabs until the beach was empty; she had no wish to remain down here now. Her ears still burning, she paused halfway up the steep cliff path and looked back.

  The man was upright and balancing on one leg to empty the water from a boot. Even from this distance she could see he was a prodigious height, his shoulders broad and his fair hair worn long so that it curled on his collar.

  His manners were poor, but she couldn’t fault his appearance. When she walked down to the village later she would discover who he was. In Tregorran village, a stranger would be noted immediately. Someone would be able to tell her who he was and what he was doing in Cornwall. He obviously wasn’t a customs man; judging from his apparel, he was a man of means. She couldn’t remember the last time such a person had come to Tregorran.

  She shivered. Maybe she wouldn’t go herself but send Serena. For some reason, she was not eager to renew her acquaintance with the formidable stranger she’d inadvertently tipped into the sea.

  Lucas watched her go. His mouth curved.


  Who was that adorable Cornish maid?

  From the moment he’d seen her glaring down at him he’d been bowled over. Those flashing green eyes and lustrous black locks were not the only things that attracted him. She was spirited and intelligent. In fact, she was everything he’d ever wanted in a young lady. She was obviously gently bred — she must come from the dilapidated manor house he’d spied on the hilltop outside the village.

  He would return and quiz his landlady for information. For the first time in many months, his step was light.

  Could this chance encounter be the beginning of his recovery?

  He squelched into the inn yard. “Mrs. Newlyn, I wish to speak to you.”

  His landlady hurried out her face red from baking. “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” Her smile slipped. “My lord! You’re a mite wet.”

  “A young woman tipped me into a rock pool. I believe she comes from the big house. Can you tell me anything about her?”

  “That will be Demelza Tregorran. This village is named after her family. It’s a right shame that she’s likely to lose her home.” The woman rubbed her floury hands across her eyes. “Since poor Mr. Tregorran passed away, things have gone from bad to worse. That little family will not survive another winter the way things are.”

  “There is no relative who can step in and assist?”

  “There’s an uncle in London, but they don’t want to move to a dirty old city. Demelza Tregorran is a fighter. She’ll keep them here as long as she can. What they needs is a miracle.”

  “I see. If you will excuse me, Mrs. Newlyn, I must change.”

  He ducked his head as he walked in to avoid the beams and bounded up the narrow stairs to his chamber. By the time he was dry, he knew exactly what he would do. He must speak to his landlady forthwith.

  The house was quiet. The children were still asleep. She laid the table and put the water on to boil before taking a basket and hurrying to the hen house to collect eggs for breakfast. Whilst outside, she wandered into the kitchen garden and gathered a few handfuls of strawberries. The area was protected from the sea breezes by a high stone wall. The estate used to be more productive but since Papa died last year there had been no one to till the soil apart from her.

  She sighed. She shouldn’t complain really; they were far better off than some in the village. The annuity was enough to keep body and soul together, it just wasn’t sufficient to pay for staff to help her. When she returned to the kitchen, Tom, Jack and Serena were sitting at the table eagerly awaiting their breakfast. “There you are, children. You must be starving. I know I am. Thank goodness I remembered to take the bread out of the oven or we would have nothing tasty to eat with the eggs.”

  Demelza placed a dish of coddled eggs and several slices of warm bread dripping with butter next to each child. They nodded their thanks but were too hungry to say more. She devoured her breakfast as eagerly as they. Meeting the bad-tempered man on the beach had sharpened her appetite. “Would you like some honey to finish up your bread, Serena?”

  Her sister grinned, unable to speak because her mouth was full. Tom and Jack bounced up and down to attract her attention. “We would like some too, please, Melza. Is there any of the strawberry conserve left from yesterday?”

  “There is a little, but I thought I’d keep it for Sunday tea as we sometimes have visitors. I’m going into the village, do you want to come with me?”

  “No thank you, Melza. Serena’s taking us down to the beach to build a sandcastle.”

  “Not this morning, sweetheart; the tide’s coming in. You will have to wait until tomorrow. I know you all swim like little eels, but it’s not safe. It’s still rough after the storm last night.” She smiled at them. “I’m surprised you slept through it. I’ve just got to empty the buckets and tidy myself before I go. Behave yourselves whilst I’m away. I shan’t be above an hour.”

  Demelza left Serena to organise the removal and washing of the dishes. Taking a jug of hot water, she went upstairs to her chamber to remove any remaining sand from her bare legs. She wanted to look her best when she went to the village.

  A quarter of an hour later, she was ready with her hair scooped up on her head and secured with pins. Hopefully her straw bonnet would keep it in place. Her hair had a maddening tendency to tumble down her back.

  She viewed her image in the long glass her mother had brought with her when she’d married Papa all those years ago. Her gown was old but clean and a pretty shade of pink. It hugged her waist and fitted snugly over her bosom. She frowned and tugged at the neckline. Did it reveal rather too much of her curves? Too late to repine; she had nothing else pressed and there was no one in Tregorran she wanted to impress.

  All her clothes were old and sorely in need of replacing, but what little money there was for such items was spent on the children. They were growing like weeds, especially Serena. Mama had taught her to sew; without this skill they would likely look like ragamuffins. When her mother had succumbed to a congestion of the lungs three winters ago, Papa never recovered. He had given up on life and slowly faded before their very eyes. He’d followed her into the damp ground last winter, unable to continue without his soul mate. Perhaps one day she might meet a man with whom she could share such a passionate love, a love so strong she could not live without him at her side.

  She laughed out loud at her nonsense. Papa had been of a whimsical nature, not like Mama, who had been made of sterner stuff. Demelza was like her mother; she would fight for what was hers, never give up however difficult things might be. Uncle Masterson had offered them all a home but this would mean leaving her beloved Cornwall and removing to a city.

  Tregorrans had always lived in this huge, draughty house and she was determined to keep the family together until the boys were full grown and could take over the small estate. Until then she would manage alone. If she could find a little extra each month it would be possible to employ staff to help her cultivate the neglected fields. The income generated from this would produce enough to repair her home. Tregorran House had been self-sufficient before her mother died — it could pay its way again.

  Demelza collected her basket and set out. The children were happy enough to be left for an hour or two without her supervision. Two yard cats were hissing and spitting, but abandoned their fight when they saw her.

  “Sorry, I’ve nothing for you. Perhaps tonight I’ll have some scraps.”

  When Patch had died a few months ago she had promised the children a puppy for their name day this year. This was in two weeks. It was high time she began to ask around the farms to find a suitable dog. She would begin her search in the village this morning.

  Fortunately the cats were able to catch their own dinner most of the time and were content with the few bits and pieces she managed to save for them. The chickens did the same; she was sure if she could afford more grain they would lay eggs more frequently.

  Her eyes filled.

  She didn’t mind for herself, but the children had lost so much. They relied on her for everything, and she feared she was slowly losing the battle to provide for them all. Unless there was a miracle, they would not survive another winter.

  She would have to agree to move to London.

  Drying her eyes on her sleeve, she sniffed inelegantly. On such a glorious summer’s day how could she be shedding tears over something that might never happen? The half mile to the village was downhill on the way but hard work coming back with a laden basket.

  She stopped, as she always did, and gazed down at the huddle of stone houses crouching around the natural harbour.

  Tregorran was a happy place. Folk helped each other out. No one was allowed to starve when things were tough. Her ancestors had built the original cottages. In the old days, the fishing fleet had been larger and more prosperous. Now the men supplemented their meagre income from the sea by other, less legal means.

  She was greeted by several villagers but didn’t stop to gossip. She headed straight for the t
avern. Inside the Green Man, the air was smoky and dark, but the appetising smell of meat pasties wafted from the kitchen.

  A small, plump lady bustled out from the back, wiping her red hands on her apron.

  “Demelza, my lovely. Come to buy your lunch have you? Nasty old storm last night weren’t there?” Mrs. Newlyn, the innkeeper’s wife, greeted her cheerily.

  “I hope no boats were lost, I saw a ship heading for the cliff but it appears to have sailed past safely.”

  “It did that, and none of our boys were out in the storm. I reckon I know why you’re here, my dear.”

  Demelza fiddled with her bonnet ribbons.

  “Do you have a guest staying here, Mrs. Newlyn?”

  “The gent from London, you mean? Fine young man — came back in a right old mood with his breeches wet and his boots full of water. Said something about a Cornish maid tipping him into a rock pool. I reckoned you’d be down here asking.”

  “I didn’t do any such thing, I dropped my bucket and the noise startled him. I can’t be blamed if the man can’t keep on his feet — ”

  A rich chuckle coming from the depths of a wooden settle made her jump. She spun to see the very man she’d come to enquire about watching her with amusement. She hadn’t noticed him in the gloom.

  “We haven’t been introduced.” He uncurled and stood, looming over her. He bowed politely. “Lucas Fairfield, at your service.”

  Mrs. Newlyn looked as flustered as Demelza. “This is Miss Demelza Tregorran, lives up the big house with her brothers and sisters.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Fairfield. I’m glad to see you suffered no permanent damage from your soaking.” His eyes flashed a warning and she wished she hadn’t mentioned the incident.

  The landlady shifted uncomfortably. “I were going to come and see you today, my lovely. Mr. Fairfield is looking for more comfortable lodging and I reckon you’ve got plenty of room up at the big house.”

  Demelza was about to refuse outright; the last person she wanted sharing her home was this unsettling person, but he forestalled her.