Grace’s body stiffened beneath her serviceable gown. ‘You’ve no right to inform them where I am,’ she said, her voice like cut glass. He noticed her heart beating beneath her gown, like a fluttering bird trying to escape. Talek dragged his eyes away from her.
‘I disagree,’ he replied, crisply, confident it had been the right thing to do. ‘They have already suspected me of murder and I did not want a charge of kidnapping brought to my door too.’
‘What did they say?’ Her question was barely a whisper. He almost felt sorry for her. She looked quite concerned, even frightened.
‘They thanked me for informing them.’ He would say no more on the matter. Now was not a good time to explain their arrangement. He had the distinct feeling that if she knew about it, she would leave on the first train available and, strangely, he realised he did not want her to go — for Amelia’s sake. ‘I have to be on my way. I’ve neglected the mine for too long and am eager to see how things are. You are right, Amelia, I do prefer being on site, although I suspect Henry will not be too happy to have my company so much more.’
‘Henry?’ asked Grace.
‘Our business partner,’ replied Amelia. ‘I will introduce you to him when he next visits. I think you will like him.’
Talek said his goodbyes and left. He could not argue with his sister. Everyone liked Henry. He was easy to like.
Chapter Eight
House martins and frantic swifts marked the arrival of May. The returning birds turned Amelia and Talek’s quiet, secluded home into a hive of noisy, feathered activity, as they reclaimed abandoned nests or set about building new ones in the eaves of the carriage house not far from the house. Roseland Manor was built on the south-facing slope of the valley and was conveniently sheltered from invading winds by the tall, dark, trees towering all around. The oasis captured the sun’s rays for most of the day, warming the pale brickwork of the manor house and coaxing the garden flowers into premature bloom.
Grace wrote to her parents to inform them of her new position and place of residence, but although her hand shook and her throat ached with emotion, her parents’ betrayal and lies, which now marred every memory of her childhood, kept the warmth from her words. The letter was short, direct and did not take long. Grace folded it neatly and slipped it into the envelope. She had done as Talek had insisted. She knew, in her heart, that it was the right thing to do, but now she needed time to heal and discover who she really was, because she did not know any more.
Roseland Manor and surrounding garden was just what she needed, hidden away from view and the knowing stares and whispers from those who knew her background. Here she could begin to hold her head high again, without the weight of shame. She could pretend that nothing had changed, although in reality everything had.
Grace enjoyed Amelia’s company. She did not pry into her past and that suited Grace well. However, Amelia was not so restrained regarding her own roots and took great pride in giving a full detailed history of the grounds that surrounded them. Grace learnt that Bothick Mine was named after James Bothick, an adventurer and businessman who took advantage of the Staffordshire pottery companies relinquishing their control over the Cornish clay pits in the early quarter of the nineteenth century. He took control of a number of pits and began running them himself, until he eventually passed control to his two new investors, Talek and Amelia’s uncle, who had invested the larger amount, and the father of Henry Ward, who Grace had yet to meet. The new entrepreneurs were not alone in their desire to be part of the Cornish clay trade. Competing companies sprang up all around and by the mid-century half of the world’s clay was produced in Cornwall. Talek was studying to be an engineer, but their cousin’s untimely death resulted in Talek and Amelia inheriting their uncle’s shares in two clay mines they had never expected to have. Henry had inherited his father’s share some years before. Thrust together in business, the new partners had eventually worked surprisingly well together. The competition for clay made the industry a cut-throat business amongst their competitors and, Amelia confided, her accident had been a diversion that Talek could ill afford.
‘Thank goodness for Henry,’ said Amelia, as Grace pushed her wheelchair around the grounds. The walk had become a pleasant daily ritual if the weather was permitting. ‘Henry has taken on so much during this past year. He oversees Stenna Pit and the accounts for both mines. Talek concentrates on running Bothick Mine, transportation, sales and . . . until recently . . . me.’ Her tone showed her pride and tenderness for both men and it was clear that Amelia thought they made a good team. Grace looked forward to meeting Henry, much more than her encounters with Amelia’s brother.
Fortunately, the early part of Grace’s stay was made easier by the absence of the sombre man. Mr Talek Danning. Talek. Talek. She must learn to say his name more naturally. At least she could take some comfort in the fact that he appeared as much ill at ease addressing her by her Christian name as she did him. Fortunately they didn’t meet often, as he rose early and was out most of the day, not returning until late. Grace began to wonder if he was avoiding her on purpose — not that she could blame him. The few brief times they had met were unsettling, such as the time they passed on the stairs. Should she have stopped to talk? Should he? What would they say to one another if they did? Instead, they both hesitated briefly, like startled animals, before forging ahead in opposite directions, both forgetting the simple courtesy of a smile, which, she realised belatedly, would have more than sufficed.
Talek Danning. The man was a contradiction. Kind and caring to his sister, he showed little kindness to her. It was true that he had given her a place to stay and had taken it upon himself to reassure her parents that she was safe, but they were practical things he could tackle. Inside he held no warmth towards her and therefore showed her none. On the few times they did meet, he remained solemn and reticent, with a dry sense of humour that boarded on the point of rudeness. Perhaps she was being too sensitive on the account of feeling beholden to him. He had opened his home to her, or at least Amelia had, which had undoubtedly saved her from the streets of London without a roof over her head. It was hard to untangle her feelings towards him, especially when his hazel eyes either scrutinised or laughed at her on the rare occasions when manners forced him to look at her.
Why had she chosen to go to London? It was a mad decision made in the heat of the moment. It certainly felt as if she was going mad at the time. She knew no one there. Perhaps it was the fact that she could not imagine her family visiting such a large city. The capital offered her a warren of large towering houses and boarding rooms — an ideal place to disappear amongst the anonymous inhabitants of a far off county.
For now, Grace was content to hide behind the trees surrounding Roseland Manor. She thought Amelia felt the same, until one day she came upon her unexpectedly. Amelia was sitting on a chair by the drawing room window. Grace felt that she had sensed her presence, but preferred to continue to stare above the treeline. As Grace drew nearer she noticed the abandoned book on her lap and a wistful sheen to her eyes.
‘Do you ever wonder what the future has in hold for you, Grace?’ Amelia asked.
Grace was about to answer when her gaze fell on the framed photographs that lined the sideboard. Talek’s image stared back at her from one of them. She looked away so she could think more clearly.
‘Sometimes,’ she replied, evasively.
‘I used to dream of marriage and having my own home with trellis covered in climbing roses framing my front door.’ She laughed to herself. ‘I had the silly notion that guests would be greeted by their scent and I wanted their perfume to be the last thing they experienced when they said their goodbyes. I always thought I would have children, three, maybe four. Sometimes, I fancy I can hear them laughing, as if they are playing in the garden and waiting for me to be their mother.’ Amelia attempted another laugh at her foolishness, but it was as hollow as the first. ‘Silly, I know. You don’t want to hear this.’
Grace wanted to comfort her, tell her she should not worry so, but she could feel Amelia’s pain and regret as surely as if it was her own. No words would suffice to take that away from her.
She sat beside her. ‘It’s not silly and I do want to hear.’
Reassured to see Grace meant every word, Amelia smiled sadly and returned her gaze to the garden and towering trees outside.
‘I always imagined going out on day trips as a family . . . with a picnic hamper and laughing children in tow . . . or taking them on long walks . . . perhaps following the path of the White River.’ Amelia realised Grace was ignorant of the local water trail and hurried to explain. ‘It’s white due to the clay. It runs into the water giving it a strange unearthly appearance. It’s beautiful in its own unique way.’ A trembling smile curved her lips. ‘I always imagined taking my son to Charlestown Harbour and telling him about his great uncle as we watched the ships being loaded with clay. He was the first member of our family to mine this area, you see. If it was not for him, we would not be here now.’ She sighed quietly to herself.
‘You may still have all those things,’ said Grace, hating to see Amelia so sad.
Amelia shook her head. ‘It will never come true. I am destined to stay here. This is how it will always be. I thought a house with a view would help me tolerate how my life must be, but it won’t.’
‘You can’t know that you won’t have such a future.’
‘I can. My dreams will never come true because in them I am walking.’
In that instant, Grace realised that although she had been content to hide from the world, Amelia was not and longed for more. Roseland Manor was Grace’s sanctuary, but it was Amelia’s prison. Grace’s heart lurched sickeningly inside her. If she was to help make Amelia’s life more bearable, she would have to venture out into the world with her.
She smiled brightly, as she pushed the thought aside. ‘It’s only natural to want a family,’ said Grace.
‘Do you wish it?’
The question caught her off guard. No one would marry her now — not when they discovered that she was a result of a rape. She forced her smile to stay on her face.
‘Doesn’t everyone?’ she asked, brightly, getting up. She walked over to the sideboard and pretended to look at the photos as she tried to grapple with the repercussions of a single violent act that had happened so many years ago. So many hurdles were lined up ahead of her and she would have to face each one, time and time again.
‘Not everyone. Talek doesn’t . . . not after Margaret.’
Grace turned. ‘Margaret?’
‘The woman he was going to marry.’
Grace found that, for a brief moment, she forgot her own past. Talek was once engaged. She wanted to ask more, but felt it would be intrusive. She pretended to look at the photos as she waited for Amelia to volunteer more. She heard Amelia opening her book and turn the pages. Grace could not help herself. She turned around.
‘What happened to her?’
‘Margaret?’
