Thoughts of the fishing lugger brought another frown to add further wrinkles to the parson’s intelligent face. Although Peter Blake, on Rosina’s behalf, regularly sent food to the children of the Wheal Ember miners, it was out of character for him to give away such a lucrative vessel. Had Oliver had something to do with that? He had a responsibility towards those who could not help themselves but it would also have allowed him further revenge on the man who had once tried to force himself on Kerensa. Oliver Pengarron was a complex and volatile man. Perhaps it was inevitable that, given the necessary circumstances, the contradictory emotions in him would one day fuse together and explode. But with what consequences – and for whom?

The Reverend’s main sympathies naturally lay with Kerensa. She said very little, putting on a brave front at home and outside of it. Although the children were unusually tetchy, they hadn’t seemed to notice the estrangement of their parents; they had only grasped in their young minds that something somewhere was wrong. Kane was the most perceptive. Aware of Kerensa’s lingering sadness he spent more time with her, instinctively knowing when to chat and try to cheer her and when to sit quietly and just keep the mother he adored company. He could not guess the reason for her melancholy; his father was careful to appear his normal self in front of his children.

It was a credit to the loyalty of the manor’s staff that no gossip of the rift was abroad in the parish. The Renfrees knew and the Reverend had noticed Matthias watching Clem Trenchard closely. Matthias obviously shared the Reverend’s own worst fear. Clem still loved Kerensa deeply and if the news broke, he would not simply accept the situation without employing some kind of action to see Kerensa. The Reverend dared not think of what might happen then.

As he neared the manor’s parklands a cold drizzle of rain began to wet his face. Jake Angove and an under-gardener were replacing some fencing and by their gloomy faces and short acknowledgement of his approach he knew the situation had not changed. The Reverend reined in under a cedar tree and examined his pocket watch. He was not running late and he set his pony at a slow walk. If time still remained to his advantage when he reached the manor’s front door, he would engage the stable boy in conversation and after that Polly O’Flynn who would undoubtedly open the door to him. Joseph Ivey did not consider himself a coward; in his opinion, in the circumstances everyone would behave in the same way.

Pulling his round black hat down firmly, he rode on, gazing downward, not seeing a group of shabbily dressed men coming up to him until one hailed him.