A Fateful Wind (2 page)

Chapter Two

Jack Bartholomew stood anxiously at Plymouth Hoe. He felt the anger curse through his veins, his patience running thin. The Atlantic crossing had not been good. He should have known the moment he left Boston his travel would not be an easy one. Volatile storm clouds covered the city in a blanket of rage. Lightning bolts struck with violence on the ground below. Thunder resonated across the harbor with a menacing bellow. At times, the ship rocked so violently tables and chairs flew clear across the gallows. Jack had barely been able to hold onto his tumbler of whiskey, let alone the wife of a well known New York Senator who whispered sweet nothings in his ear whilst easing her well-educated vixen hands into his bursting trousers.

For the first time in years, Jack Bartholomew felt pleased to be back on English soil. He took a deep breath of the early summer morning air. The smell of cockles, crabs and freshly caught fish made his stomach growl. Plymouth Hoe bustled with activity, even at this early hour. Fishing boats rocked against their moorings, oblivious to the scrambling of the fisherman on the pier unloading their morning catches. Peasant women sat on the docks, cooking batches of cockles and filleting the huge baskets of fish being unloaded. The seagulls hovered overhead, ducking and diving as the scraps were thrown into the seaweed laden water below.

Jack, once again took out his pocket-watch. 7:45! Where the hell was his cousin? Had he not told him seven on the dot! He was eager to be on his way to Penrose House. Back to the tin mines to gather up the information and men he so desperately needed in America. Excitement cursed through his veins as he reflected on the previous five years spent overseas. When he left Cornwall, he vowed he would never again rely on the earth for his fortune. But how his feelings had changed! America held for him masses of untapped fortune from copper and tin mining and his competition were inadequate in their experience. But Jack, weaned on tin, knew its value, its hardships, its pitfalls and its gain. The Penrose family had made their fortune from Cornish tin. Now he was going to make sure that same skill would lead to even greater fortune in America.

The clang of horse hooves on the cobblestone road interrupted his thoughts.

“Cousin, finally! I thought you fell into the Tamar and drowned beneath the weight of that ale filled belly!” He stalked over. His irritation disappeared at the sight of his portly cousin stepping from the lavish stagecoach.

“Jack. Look at you! You look so, so…”

“American?” He winked, smoothing the ends of his black moustache between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes, I suppose you do. Whatever that means! But you look well, Cousin, very well. These past five years seem to have served you very nicely.”

“And you, too, Edwin. Still a fine figure of a man, I see!”

“And more besides.” Edwin laughed, patting down his protruding stomach. “How is America?” He climbed up into the stagecoach and sat opposite his cousin. “And most importantly, how are the women?”

“Ahh, the women….” Jack closed his eyes, recalling the tempestuous beauty who straddled him that very morning. “The woman are, what you might call, bold. Yes, bold, talented and very, very beautiful.”

Edwin laughed, taking a swig from the silver flask in his coat pocket and handing it to Jack. “I see from the twinkle in your eye that your love for the fairer sex has not diminished.”

“No, cousin. There is not a woman in America, nor the whole world, in fact, who can capture my attention long enough to cause me to be faithful. But I do have fun whilst trying them all out.”

* * * *

The six hours to Penrose house sped by as the men talked of America, Cornwall, the tin mines and Jack’s adventures overseas. As the stagecoach reached North Hill, the men stopped to stretch their legs. Jack stared in amazement at the bleak landscape of Bodmin Moor stretching out before him.

“You know, Edwin. As a child, this place seemed so huge, so vast and wild. But compared to America, it seems tame. Funny isn’t it? When you are young everything seems so untouched and so new. That feeling vanishes as you grow older. But in America, I have that same feeling of youth. That there’s a whole country out there just waiting to be explored.”

“And countless women I daresay quipped Edwin.

“Do you know, cousin, I think you have got worse!” Jack laughed as he remembered his cousin’s lusty appetite. “Wipe that lecherous grin off your face. Remember, I have come here to work, not spend my time wrapped in the arms of one of your servants, or some bored tin miner’s wife. Well, maybe not all the time.”

Chapter Three

Penrose Mines buzzed with the news of Sir Jack Bartholomew’s return. Recently, a number of ‘Cousin Jacks’ as they were called, bade farewell to Cornwall and went overseas in search of fortune and a better life. Australia, America and even Mexico were welcoming young Cornish men and the tin and copper mining skills they possessed. Trystan Trezies had a hunch Sir Jack Bartholomew was on a recruiting mission. He didn’t like the feeling. Only last year his brother left for Australia and the mines of New South Wales. They received no word from him since. Through his mother’s sobs, Trystan promised her he would stay in Cornwall and not succumb to the false lure of riches in new lands. However, his mother failed to realize Trystan held no desire to leave Cornwall anyway. He loved the land and, even though the work was hard and at times precarious, he loved the mines. In the few years he had been employed at Penrose Mines, he worked his way up to become one of the foremen and resolutely resolved he would become Mine Captain by the age of twenty-four. That should provide a more stable income for himself and Jenna and, most of all, the family he planned to have with her.

At the thought of Jenna, he stopped working and gazed into the long tunnel that stretched before him. Jenna. How beautiful she was. How he loved her. At times he couldn’t believe his luck to have found a woman as angelic as Jenna to marry. He could hardly wait until their wedding next month. Day after day he tried to imagine what it would be like to feel her body beneath him, to wake up next to her every morning and know she belonged to him. It didn’t seem possible in a few weeks time he would be married. But, through all the happiness and excitement, he struggled to understand Jenna’s recent apathy toward the wedding preparation. True, her father went slightly overboard, paying from his meager miner’s wages an extravagant wedding gown he could ill afford. But, as Trystan pointed out to Jenna when she felt the silk between her fingers and shook her head with shock, she was the last of her father’s daughters to be wed. And one daughter who would not have the comfort or the admiration of a mother sitting in the front pew of the small village chapel as her other sisters did. That was a luxury which no price could be put upon. Trystan knew her father would be saddened at his youngest daughter leaving the house, which made the thought of Sir Jack Bartholomew’s impending fortune draped invitation of emigration even more irritating. Did the man not realize people had families here? Ties that led back through generations and generations.

No
, thought Trystan irritably. There will be no way I will be swayed into traveling thousands of miles from my homeland and, even worse, taking Jenna and myself away from our families that need us.

And Jenna, he felt certain after the stress of the wedding preparations were over, she would be back to her normal self. True, her mother’s death left the whole Penworthy family in a state of shock. This past year proved even more painful as rumors circulated around the parish that perhaps Mrs. Penworthy’s drowning appeared more an act of suicide than accident. Jenna had been crushed by the callousness of those around her who let their imaginations embrace the ludicrous gossip.

The events of the latter twelve months and the fragility of Jenna’s emotions led Trystan to love her more and wish to protect her. She often seemed as innocent as a child to him, only wrapped in a woman’s body blessed with breathtaking beauty. He knew he tended to smother her with his love and protectiveness, but he only wanted her to feel secure. Surely any husband would aspire to that job?

Trystan jolted from his thoughts at the sound of voices near the mine entranceway. He walked over to the opening of the mine, blinking in the bright summer sunlight to see Lord Edwin standing next to a fine figure of a man. He could scarcely remember Sir Jack, himself being only a boy of twelve when Jack left Cornwall, but by the looks of him, his time in America served him well. The Lord, in comparison seemed even more repulsive than normal. A squat figure of a man, his French imported trousers clung to his pudgy posterior in a most embarrassing manner. His face beamed rosy and shiny beneath the top hat balanced precariously atop his egg shaped head. He rubbed his fat little hands together with glee as the mine captain pointed to the cartloads of tin ready for shipment. It seemed to Trystan the only small thing about Lord Edwin was his lips, constantly locked together in a tight, mean little smile. He rarely visited the mines, preferring instead to delegate his duties and was often heard lamenting ‘I don’t keep a dog and bark myself’, which summed up Lord Edwin’s opinion of those around him. A man like Lord Edwin had little time for his workers. He knew without the employment he offered they would succumb to the tragedy of Bodmin Workhouse where there would be no escape from the ever downward spiral of poverty.

* * * *

“You have a profitable mine here cousin.” Sir Jack gazed over the cartloads of tin being strapped to the Shire Horses ready for their journey northward. “I think Penrose Mine is one of our most profitable in Cornwall?”

“Cornwall and beyond!” Lord Edwin beamed, lapping up the praise like milk to a young kitten.

“And your workers, they seem to be the best I have seen anywhere.”

“Well, they’re Cornish. They are the best miners in the world, but there are plenty more where they came from. No one is indispensable.” He winked slyly.

“Then you won’t mind if I recruit a few for our mines in America, will you, cousin? As I said this morning, we will need a good thirty to start with. They can of course train the local workers, but initially I need their expertise.”

Lord Edwin shifted. He still needed to speak properly with Jack over exactly what was in it for him. It was all very well for his cousin to jaunt back over to Cornwall requesting financial investment and a few workers here and there, but what would Edwin receive in return? He decided Jack could, and would, have enough men to get the venture up and running, but definitely not his best men and definitely not Trystan Trezies. That boy showed promise. Furthermore, his wife-to-be showed even greater promise. No, Lord Edwin had plans for Trystan Trezies and even more delicious plans for the beauteous young Jenna. He needed them both to remain close to home and under his and Lady Emmeline’s employment. As much as he hated to do it, he needed to provide Trystan with some incentive to stay and that could only mean a small financial one.

Bidding farewell to an eager Jack who was busy taking a tour of the mine shaft with one of the foremen, Edwin hurried back to Penrose Manor and to his study.

Edwin surveyed his favorite room in the Manor. Running his hands over the worn leather seating, he eyed the portraits of his ancestors. He hung them with pride atop the bookcases which lined the entire four walls of his study. His well stocked library was intercepted only once by the French doors leading out to a secluded terrace framed by bountiful rhododendron bushes. The view from the terrace swept out across the traditional manicured gardens, over Lady Emmeline’s well tended and rather famous rose garden. Beyond the gardens of Penrose House, the view continued toward the windswept cragginess of Sharptor, which rose up from the barren moorland draped in granite and the rust colored hues of the afternoon sun.

The eyes of the Penrose men in the portraits before him gazed down upon Edwin as he seated himself at his fine oak desk. The same desk his father and grandfather struck many a profitable business deal and made love to many a pretty maiden. His thoughts once again rested on the curvaceous figure of his wife’s personal servant. How her young breasts beckoned from atop her lacey blouse as she hesitantly accompanied him to retrieve the wine from the cellar. Her timidity only heightened his overpowering desire for her. He felt her fear of him. It gave Lord Edwin a sense of great power over the young beauty. Alas, his energy had been spent from his earlier escapades and Lady Emmeline’s startling reproof. Good grief, he could have strangled that loathsome countess for calling into account his lusty folly. He reminded himself Lady Emmeline provided him with the aristocratic ties necessary to advance through England’s social circle. She had been a good choice of wife, but as a bed partner, she left much to be desired.

"Trystan, Trystan, Trystan," Edwin mumbled to himself, leafing through a stack of papers on his desk. "Trystan Trezies. Ah, there he is."

The name brought to mind the vision of the young Trystan. A flock of jet black hair crowned a dark, swarthy face. His raven eyes flashed with the temperament of a fiery Cornish rogue belying the true gentle nature lying within. Trsytan's appearance was a false one. He possessed a fighting look which led men to turn in the other direction whenever he entered the tavern and retreat in haste whenever a sly word was directed at him. But Edwin paid no heed to the profile his young foreman portrayed for he knew his face well. Trystan bore the same Trezies looks as his father, a man Edwin came to respect over the years he had been in his employment. From the looks of things, young Trystan also carried with him the same hardworking spirit and dependability crucial for the continued success of Penrose Mines.

No, Edwin most definitely wanted Trystan here in Cornwall, not gallivanting off to America to aid the lining of Jack’s pockets.

Standing up in his study, he made his way down to the kitchen quarters. The smell of Cornish pasties wafted seductively through the stone corridors. Jack requested his favorite meal, bemoaning there wasn’t a decent pasty to be had in the whole of America.

No doubt he will also try to lure one of the Penrose household’s cooks back with him across the Atlantic
, thought Edwin miserably.

Jack had only been home for less than a week and already his insurmountable enthusiasm proved irritating to Edwin. And Lady Emmeline, well, she seemed captivated by Jack’s stories, encouraging him to talk well into the night of his adventures. Blah! The whole thing left Edwin feeling very left out. As for his hopes of taking Jack on a gentleman’s excursion to the docklands of Plymouth to indulge in the very proficient hands of the ladies of the night, well, he wondered where his cousin’s professed zest for the opposite sex went.

“Soon,” Jack chided him when asked. “Soon, my rapacious cousin! Let me sort out the business end of my trip first. The ladies will always be there won’t they? For the right price, of course!”

The smell of the oven caused Edwin’s stomach to growl as he pushed open the kitchen door. Hopefully Cook would have a special treat for him before dinner. As he surveyed the steaming hot plates of pasties atop the table, his gaze fixed on the voluptuous backside bending down before him. He felt a quiver of excitement curse through his portly body, the familiar rising of lust in his groin. He licked his thin lips with expectation. Jenna, exactly the young lovely he hoped to find. He looked around the kitchen, pleased to see it empty apart from his victim.

* * * *

Jenna jumped as she felt Lord Edwin move closely behind her, grazing his body harshly against hers. She stood up with a fright, feeling his breath against the soft flesh of her neck. Fear penetrated her body as one of his greedy hands delved its way in between the warm soft mounds of her bosom, whilst the other fumbled underneath her petticoats and into her bloomers. He breathed heavily against her neck, running his fingers up along the length of her thigh. She tried to scream out, but her voice choked in her throat. His rotund fingers eased their way inside her, prodding and stabbing against her virgin flesh.

“Shush,” he whispered in her ear, his low voice causing the hairs on her neck to stand up in terror. He pushed himself up against her, grunting and groaning. She could feel his manhood, hard and threatening through the material of her woolen dress. His hand fixed upon her breast, expertly rubbing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Gathering all the strength she could muster, she shoved backwards, causing him to move away from her. But he was not to be denied. Angrily, he threw her back against the table, his fingers once again finding the warmth between her thighs.

“Don’t you dare deny me, you little vixen! How dare you be coy with me girl!” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. “Remember your place in this world, Jenna. I can make or break you…you and your beloved Trystan. A man with no work in this part of the world is a workhouse man. Do you understand?”

Jenna quivered with fear, the unsettling mixture of anger and fright halting her voice. She felt the bile in her throat. She was going to be sick. She felt Lord Edwin retrieve his hand from her breasts, bringing them down to unbutton the front of his trousers. He breathed heavy now, raspy and abrasive as pressed his member against her thigh.

Oh good God, he’s going to rape me
, Jenna thought fearfully, her gaze scanning the table in front of her, searching in vain for anything with which she could fend off her employer. He halted suddenly as the sound of Cook’s footsteps coming down the hall led Lord Edwin to hastily retreat, doing up his trouser buttons and moving to the other side of the kitchen. With one lecherous look in Jenna’s direction, he grabbed one of the pasties from the table.

“Ah, yes. I almost forgot.” He laughed with a wink. “When you see that lucky fiancé of yours, please tell him I wish to see him here at sundown on Sunday eve.”

* * * *

Jenna pressed her forehead against the cool granite wall and wiped her mouth. Her stomach wretched over the thought of Lord Edwin’s fingers against her skin. How she longed to bathe or throw herself in the brook to cleanse her body of his memory. She cursed herself. She knew of his perverse ways and, whilst at Penrose Manor, she always tried to make sure she was never alone with the brute. Wearily, she stood up from behind the hedge and made her way back to the house, trying to steady herself as a light-headed feeling of faintness swept over her body.