Copper Kingdom (31 page)

‘Yes, beautiful.' She echoed his words but there was no animation in her voice. Dean was genuinely worried, he had realised that women had moods and periodic sicknesses that sent some of them off into a swoon but with Bea it was different, it seemed her very spirit had been broken.

He glanced at her sideways and saw the smooth line of her cheek and love for her swelled powerfully inside him. He knew he would kill for her if anyone threatened her.

The curving road at last led them to the little bay that was sheltered beneath the jutting rocks. Tall trees overhung the sand dunes and down along the small, worn footpath was the rolling sea, blue and shimmering in the warmth of the sun.

‘Come on, Bea, honey.' Dean lifted her down from the trap. ‘You can take off your pumps and dig your toes into the warmth of the sand. Perhaps later you'd like to paddle in the sea, they say salt water is good for horse's hoofs so it must be good for your little feet.' He laughed and Bea allowed herself a smile but she freed herself from his arms almost immediately and turned to Bertha.

‘Can you manage the basket or shall we let Dean carry it for us?' She spoke lightly but her voice cracked as though she was on the verge of tears. Bertha shook back her hair and picked up the basket easily.

‘There's no need to worry, Miss Bea, I carried so many coal scuttles when I was a kitchenmaid that this basket don't seem like nothing.' She held it before her and made her way across the sand. Bea took Dean's arm and followed more slowly.

‘Are you not well, honey?' Dean asked anxiously. ‘You're so quiet lately, not your usual self at all.'

Bea's eyes stared out across the blue stretch of the ocean as though seeing pictures that were exclusive to herself. She was locked in her own world where no one was allowed to penetrate.

‘I'm all right, Dean, just under the weather, that's all. You know I had a bout of fever some time ago that left me a little weak.'

Dean did remember the weeks in the heat of June when she'd been confined to her bed, very well indeed. He had not been allowed to visit her for James had been very strict about that sort of thing, old-fashioned even. There was no place in an unmarried lady's bedroom for an outsider and Dean had been forced to abide by James's wishes.

He had contented himself with sending fruit and flowers almost every day, realising more and more that Bea meant everything to him. His only wonder was that he'd let all these years go by without giving voice to his feelings. No doubt he had been too busy building his life, making his future as secure as possible, which was one of the reasons why he had branched out into shops in latter years. Security was something that meant a great deal to him.

He believed that the turning point as regards his feelings for Bea had come on that day months ago when he had seen how attracted she was to Sterling Richardson. Determination had grown within Dean not to give her up without a struggle. But happily, she seemed to have got over her infatuation, certainly she never spoke of Richardson or appeared to have much to do with him these days.

‘There's a lovely spot over there just among the rocks,' Bea said gently. She sank gratefully onto the blanket Dean spread for her, looking up at him with limpid eyes.

‘I'm sorry, I get so tired these days, I don't know why.'

As she leaned against the warm stones looking up at him Dean was swamped with tenderness. He sat beside her, taking her hands in his.

‘Let me take care of you, Bea,' he said urgently. ‘I'd make no demands and you'd be mistress of your own home. Please don't answer me right now, just think about what I've said.'

‘It's sweet of you to offer me marriage, Dean,' Bea said softly and he leaned towards her, resting his cheek gently against hers.

‘I'd be very honoured if you would think about it,' he replied.

Bertha was a little way off, looking among the rocky pools, but Dean knew that the maid was keeping a watchful eye on her mistress. He liked that. Bertha loved Bea as he himself did.

‘But Dean, you don't know anything about me.' Bea's voice broke and he resisted the impulse to draw her into his arms. ‘I'm not what you think.' She continued to speak, though each word seemed dragged from deep inside her. He put his big hand gently over her lips.

‘To me, you're the sweetest, loveliest creature that ever walked on this earth,' he said earnestly. ‘I love you, Bea, can't you understand that?'

She shook her head wearily. ‘Don't speak of it any more now, Dean, let me just enjoy today and think about the future when I'm feeling stronger, will you?'

‘Of course honey, I brought you out here to give you some sunshine and some peace. Why not lie there in the sun while I go and look around the headland, see what's over there?'

It was an excuse of course to leave her alone. He moved away and stared out to sea; faintly on the horizon he could see the coast of Devon lying softly against the cloudless sky. He kicked at a stone buried in the sand and his eyes were misted with tears. He had never thought of himself as a soft man and yet here he was all keyed up over Bea Cardigan.

After a while, he retraced his steps and saw that Bea had been persuaded to go down to the water's edge. Bertha was holding her arm and the young girl screamed excitedly as a wave covered her shoes. Dean stood watching them and a determination built up within him to find out the root of Bea's unhappiness and if possible to tear it out.

They ate cold chicken and thin slices of bread and afterwards drank wine in the shelter of the rocks, for the sun was high now, beating down upon the golden sand with a fierce intensity. Bertha began to snore and with a smile, Dean moved nearer to Bea, taking her slim hand in his own strong fingers.

‘It could be like this all the time you know, Bea honey,' he said softly. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

‘That sounds very tempting, Dean. I think I would enjoy being your wife but just give me time to think, wait until I'm stronger and then perhaps by the autumn I'll be able to give you an answer.'

With that, Dean knew he had to be content but he felt sure that she would eventually agree to marry him and in the meantime he would begin refurbishing the house, bringing it up to the standard a lady like Bea would expect, for he readily admitted that just so long as he was comfortable, he had made no efforts to improve his surroundings.

They would need a nursery wing later on, he thought warmly, and his fingers clasped Bea's more tightly. Yet he would not rush her, he told himself, his thoughts and dreams and hopes he would keep to himself, for the time being.

Bertha opened her eyes and looked around her anxiously. She sat up brushing her skirts, taking off her shoes and tipping the sand out of them.

‘Are you all right, Miss Bea?' she asked. ‘Not getting too hot are you?'

Bea smiled. ‘I'm feeling very well, thank you Bertha, and if it is a little hot that's only to be expected at high summer.'

Bertha got to her feet at once. ‘I'll bring some water to freshen you.' She took a bowl from the picnic basket and began to make her way down to the water's edge.

‘I'll come with you,' Dean said. ‘Won't be a minute, Bea, you just stay in the shade, all right?'

‘Go on the two of you,' Bea said with a wave of her hand. ‘You are treating me as though I was a child. I won't shrivel up in the heat, don't worry.'

‘Here, give me the bowl.' Dean reached out a hand but Bertha shook her head.

‘No sir, I've got me boots off now and I'll be able to go further into the water than you would. Don't want to spoil them nice shoes, do you?'

The breeze was blowing in from the sea now, soft and gentle, bringing with it the tang of salt. Dean watched Bertha's stocky figure as she ploughed through the sand in front of him and tried to think of the right words to broach the subject of Bea's troubled manner.

‘You know I'm very fond of Bea, don't you Bertha?' He felt that the words were inadequate but he could not voice his innermost feelings to a servant. ‘I know there's something bothering her and I want to help her if I possibly can, I would do anything for her and she can't go on the way she is now or she will be really very sick indeed.'

Bertha turned to look at him, her eyes were anxious and she was biting at her lip worriedly. ‘I don't know what's the right thing to do, sir,' she said. ‘I can see Miss Bea is not herself for she used to laugh a lot and enjoy ordinary things and now she's so sad all the time and I fear she'll go into a decline.'

‘Well trust me, then,' Dean said persuasively. ‘You can't speak to her father or you'd have done so already, so you've got to put your faith in someone. Who better than me who thinks as much of your mistress as you do?'

Bertha sighed heavily. ‘All right, sir, I've got to talk to someone 'cos I've been that worried, it's making me sick too. I'll tell you the little I know and I can only hope and pray I'm doing the right thing.'

Dean felt jubilant. ‘Of course you are, Bertha, I can help Bea and someone must before it's too late.'

Bertha put the bowl down on the sand and the water sucked and washed around it as though trying to push it over. Bertha rubbed her hands on her skirt and looked out across the sea as if even now she was not sure of herself.

‘I know she was in love with Mr Richardson.' Her voice was halting, hesitant, and Dean stood back feeling as if he'd been dealt a body blow.

Dean well remembered seeing the affectionate way Bea had once looked at Sterling but he thought all that was over with now.

‘What makes you say that, Bertha?' he asked without betraying any emotion. She glanced up at him quickly as though sensing something of the turmoil within him.

‘I accompanied Miss Bea to Mr Richardson's new house several times,' she said and her dark eyes were unreadable. ‘And to the Mackworth Arms,' she added slowly.

Dean heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Well then, that's not so terrible is it?' he asked with forced brightness. ‘Nothing improper about visiting a friend so long as Bea had you for company.'

He saw Bertha purse her lips and felt she was about to go on but then she glanced back to where her mistress was seated and her shoulders seemed to straighten.

‘I'm sure it's nothing,' she said quickly. ‘I just felt there had been some sort of silly quarrel between them,' she said lamely. ‘I know Miss Bea does not wish to keep company with Mr Richardson these days.'

Dean frowned in bewilderment. ‘But surely you would have heard them quarrel?' he asked and Bertha's eyes slid away from his. She shook her head.

‘I don't know sir, it was very crowded up at the new house sometimes what with workmen and such. I think the row may have been something to do with the decorating and all that.'

Dean smiled. ‘I suppose such things are important to a lady, though I can't see why myself.'

He caught Bertha's arm. ‘Is that all, are you sure you're telling me everything?'

The young maid's face was suddenly wary. ‘Yes that's all, sir,' she said. ‘I'd best get back to Miss Bea. See, she's looking out for me.'

Dean watched her run up the beach and followed more slowly. There was something about the girl's explanation that did not ring quite true. And yet, in her weakened state perhaps Bea saw normally trivial happenings in a more serious light.

‘You've been a long time.' Bea was holding out her hand to him, and smiling he went to her side. Her face turned towards him was lovely and fragile, the face of a woman who could do no wrong. Whatever the truth of the story Bertha had told him, of one thing he was sure: Bea was blameless. And the thought of Richardson giving her even one day's pain made his gorge rise. The day of reckoning with Mr Sterling Richardson was coming, he decided, and it was coming fast.

The summer sun was shining in through Mali's window as she awoke to the sound of the church bells ringing through the still morning air. She sat up quickly, brushing back her tangled hair. Her heart was beating swiftly for she had been dreaming that she was standing before the deacons being harangued because of her lustful association with the copper boss. Her hands trembled as she pushed the patchwork quilt to one side, stepped out of bed and stood for a moment before the window looking down at the streets outside.

Children were scrambling about in the cobbled roadway playing with a hoop, and the breakfast smell of salt fish overpowered even the stench from the copper works. The Catholics were going to mass, faces bright and fresh washed, the women with shawls covering their hair in spite of the warmth of the sun. All in all it was an ordinary Sunday. But not for Mali.

She washed in cold water from the china bowl on the marble-topped table and dressed quickly, trying to push the pain and turmoil of her thoughts into the background of her mind. Today she would clean the house from top to bottom, polish the brass, wash the floors and to the devil with what Dad would say about resting on God's day.

From outside, she heard Dai End House playing hymns on his accordion and the haunting melodies filled her with renewed sadness; she sank down on the bed, her hands over her face, and the tears slipped between her fingers, salt and bitter.

She loved Sterling, loved him so much that it wrenched and tore at her being. She had thought for one magical night that he returned her feelings but then he had simply walked out of her life and left her alone and deserted in the room at the Mackworth Arms.

She had hoped again briefly that there was some justification for his absence when she heard from Katie about the explosion at the copper works. But then she counted up the hours and realised that he'd still had time to come to her at the hotel and he had chosen not to. She had been a fool even to imagine that she could be anything to him but a flossy, a night's diversion.