Pengarron Rivalry by Pengarron Rivalry

Author:Pengarron Rivalry [Rivalry, Pengarron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788630740
Publisher: Canelo Digital Publishing Ltd
Published: 2019-04-12T00:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

‘Would you like to take a rest, sir?’

‘It’s only a few miles ride along the bay, Jacob.’ Gabriel looked across from his mount to his manservant, who was riding beside him. Digory was with them, enthusiastically sniffing and marking new territory. ‘And you’ve just said that we’ve reached Pengarron land and will soon be at our destination.’

‘Aye, that I did, Mr Gabriel, but I promised Sir Rafe I’d take good care of you.’ Jacob Glynn studied his young master’s face, searching, taking his time, pleased to see no signs of exhaustion yet in the pale, marble-like skin. He liked Mr Gabriel, who made few demands and didn’t fuss over trifling things or easily lose his temper or behave in a superior manner, and who wasn’t above sharing a bottle or two of spirits with him. Jacob hoped to keep his present position. It involved little skivvying, but he was artful at pretending it did. He hoped to be given the opportunity to travel overseas – Mr Gabriel would need a manservant on the long journey to Vienna – so he was trying to prove he was loyal, caring and indispensable.

‘You’d make an excellent nursemaid.’ Gabriel twisted his face wryly, and then grinned. He was wearing Caterina’s shawl under his riding coat but still he was cold. The clouds were low and grey and the wind was keen. It was not a good day to pick to make his first excursion from Chenhalls. ‘I’m sorry I disappointed you by refusing to pause for refreshment at Marazion. I’d never enter a busy tavern. Perhaps this would be a good place to stop and take a swallow of my uncle’s untaxed rum. I’ve noticed how often your eyes stray to the flask.’

After they reined in, Jacob poured rum from the leather-covered flask into a small silver cup and passed it to Gabriel. Gabriel quaffed it in one toss, handed the cup back to Jacob to help himself, and then he gazed over the small divisions of land that made up the Pengarron tenant farms. The fields were ploughed and planted, many down to the cliff edge, some crops showing green shoots. They looked healthy. As they had journeyed, Jacob had told him some of the names of the towns and little fishing villages of Mount’s Bay, quizzically strange names some of them had, inventive and charming: Newlyn, Mousehole – pronounced Mouzel – and Penzance, meaning holy head. All steeped in history and legend, Jacob assured him, from the torching of property by landing parties from the Spanish Armada and the routing of that enemy two centuries ago, to giants and the ‘small people’.

Looking back the way they had travelled, Gabriel’s attention was captured mostly by St Michael’s Mount. It was a marvellous, beguiling sight with the castle on its summit, its church and village below. A three-masted ship was heading towards the little harbour to join two others already moored there. Rowing boats bobbed inside the harbour while, with the tide in and

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