“Yes, Maugan, I know,” he said irritably. “But there’s little I can do beyond what you have done “
“There’s something your wife can do.”
“Ah,” said Jane. “I thought brotherin-law might soon come to that.”
“It can’t be avoided. Examine the situation for yourself.”
John got up and sat on the edge of the table. Even so short a time of marriage had greatly matured him, but it had not given him resilience. “What do you want us to do?”
“Well, if we do nothing the creditors will come back. I shall be in the greatest trouble for putting them out the first time; but don’t consider that. Consider only that what is left in the house will be taken, our fields and barns stripped. Expect no quarter from any of them, for your father gave none when he had the whip hand. All will go, sister-in-law. You may be able to defend your own gowns and jewels, but I wouldn’t rely on it. We are fortunate to have been given this breathing space of a few days.”
“Well,” said Jane. “What do you want me to do?”
“It may not be too late to buy them off.”
“I doubt it.”
“Most creditors will withhold from snatching goods worth a tenth of their debt if they are offered cash of a value of a fifth, with some promise of later payment.”
“And what do you suppose this will cost?”
“Perhaps a thousand pounds.”
Jane watched me with narrowed, concentrated eyes. Then she laughed once, harshly, and got up to kick at a log. “You must be a fool, brotherin-law.”
“Well, that’s as you think. You might stave off the most importunate with eight hundred.”
“I haven’t eight hundred shillings.”
“Your father has. It’s yours in a year or two.”
“Damn the logs: why don’t they split ‘em! We always have ‘em split: it gives a face for the fire to eat at … My father will not waste my dowry on salvaging the debts of old men who should have known better.”
“I would not offer comment on that. Except to say, he must have had some notion of John Killigrew’s debts when he contracted the marriage. After all, he traded did he not an ancient name for a newer name with gold to it.”
“That is insolence, brotherin-law. Offensive insolence.”
“Well, express it how you will, that’s what it adds up to. However, the money we are considering now is not to salvage your father-in-law from prison. It is to keep your own home with some sticks of furniture in it and food and wine in the kitchen. If you begrudge that then you must let the creditors rampage, and learn to live in the loft over the barn.”
“Your voice spills as much contempt as fermenting beer in a cask.” She picked up her pipe from the table beside the fireplace and began to fill it from a linen bag. “I don’t know. I will have to consider the matter. After all…”
“After all what?” said John.
“These debtors have no rights over our personal property yours and mine. And since the only property I have here is personal I should lose nothing. Bucklan and Skinner would stand guard and he would be a bold man who passed them.”
“My mother is likely to be stripped of everything.”
“And she is pregnant again,” I said.
A twitch of distaste went over Jane’s face; almost the first true emotion I had seen there this evening. She stared down at the pipe, her big fingers turning it round and round.
“And you expect my father to protect ten Killigrews for the sake of cushioning me? It’s a notion he is not likely to be delighted with.”
“It’s a notion I think you should put to him.”
She glanced at John. “And you, husband?”
He shrugged. “You know that I would like it.”
I said: “To send a message to your father and back will take the better part of two weeks. We are unlikely to be undisturbed that long. Is there any money you have which would keep these men at bay until then?”
“D’you think I have a gold mine in my pocket? Or what do you think?”
“That a boat is being built for you in Penryn. That you may have resources we know nothing of.”
It was a remark made at random, without any pre-knowledge, so I was surprised to see her look at me with a darting suspicion. “I’ve some small money of my own, fellow. Not enough to satisfy you or these creditors … Very well, I will write to my father.”
She turned the bole of the pipe over towards a candle flame and drew at the stem; she moved back as the pipe caught, inhaled, and let a column of smoke escape from pursed lips. “If I renew some of these miserable bills, it will be on condition that I have more to say in the ordering of this house.”
John said in a controlled voice: “This is not a market where bargains are struck. There have been too many such already.”
“Well, this is another, whether or no. First of all, I want a half of these mongrel curs destroyed. They breed and interbreed and stink out the house … Then I want a different system of feeding in the hall, so that we no longer have the servants slopping porridge into their own mouths while pretending to wait on us … And I want your grandmother out of her bedroom, which is the only one with space to live and windows looking two ways … And I want the children to dine at another hour so that one’s ears are not assaulted with the whine of babies and the chatter of others who should long ago have been taught silence … And I want Parson Merther’s endless prayers cut by the half … And I want …” She paused and looked at the bole of her pipe to see that it was glowing. “But you see … they are but modest demands.”
I waited for John to speak. He had slid off the corner of the table and was picking at some grease which had fallen from a candle. “I cannot turn my grandmother out of her room.”
“Give her ours. That will be a sensible exchange.”
“She she is near death. If we waited, it’s unlikely that we should have long to wait.”
“I understand she has been near death for five years. Surely her breathing will develop a worse turn if the debt collectors burst in and carry away her handsome rugs.” Jane smiled at me. “This is real tobacco, not wound-won. Now that I am out of Papa’s hands I have money enough at least for that.”
“They were talking in London,” I said, “of a man who smoked so much that after his death he was opened, and his lungs and veins were covered with soot like a chimney.”
John was walking up and down. “Jane, please consider; it would be the mortal insult you would offer to an old lady. She didn’t even give up that room to my mother. She must have used it for fifty years.”
“Well, have it as you please. I will not help without some satisfaction from the help. Really, John, you cannot expect me to.”
I said: “She who pays the piper calls the tune.”
“Yes, brotherin-law. I’m happy you agree.”
“I did not say I agreed. I’m only thankful that there are some among us who do not have to dance.”
Often it was hard to tell whether little Jane Killigrew was smiling or whether she was baring her teeth.
On Friday the three distinguished visitors arrived with an escort of servants: Sir Nicholas Parker, a handsome man in his forties; Sir Ferdinando Gorges, just turned 30, tall and full-coloured with a west-country voice reminiscent of Ralegh’s; Paul Ivey, spectacled, narrow shouldered. The first two men were distinguished soldiers, Sir Nicholas having been master of Ordnance for the forces in France, Sir Ferdinando captain and keeper of the castle and fort at Plymouth.
While we were supping I saw Jane eyeing Sir Nicholas Parker appreciatively. More than once when he spoke her metallic little laugh rang out, and before the end of the meal his deference to her was marked with a cynical regard. Henry Knyvett had come over from Rosemerryn, but he had already drunk much when he arrived; his long, loose-pointed, knock-kneed figure, the skull cap over the long grey hair, the increasing deafness, were no help to any party, and the task of entertaining the three guests fell on John and on me.