Beyond the Storm

Title Page
Book One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Book Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Book Three
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
By the Same Author
Copyright

A
LICE KILPECK’S FIRST
glimpse of the Trethevy rectory that would be her home for the foreseeable future filled her with a dismay that came very close to despair.

The house was large, certainly, she estimated it must contain at least five bedrooms, but it was a jumble of a building that seemed intent upon offering the many angles of its sagging grey slate roof to all four points of the compass.

All this could be observed beyond a high granite stone wall as Alice and her brother David – the
Reverend
David – riding in a trap pulled by a willing little pony, approached the rectory along a pot-holed and neglected lane that followed the bleak cliff top of the north Cornish coast.

There was no more than a light breeze blowing today, but Alice could imagine that in a north westerly gale the exposed byway would be a very dangerous place for an unwary traveller.

‘The rectory doesn’t exactly look
inviting
,’ she said, hesitantly.

The words did not reflect the true strength of her misgivings, but this was her newly-ordained brother’s first appointment, albeit only as rector of a tiny parish, long-neglected and
subordinate
to the vicar of neighbouring Tintagel. She did not want to dampen the enthusiasm she knew he felt for his first real
challenge
as a cleric, but she realised she would need to try very hard if she was to keep the dismay she felt, to herself.

‘We can hardly see more than the rooftop,’ David pointed out, ‘and it
is
a very old house. It is all very exciting, really …’ Then, aware of her genuine misgivings, he added, ‘It will probably be a whole lot better when we can see it properly.’

His optimism was to prove sadly misplaced.

In order to enter the rectory grounds David needed to guide the pony off the lane through what appeared to be – and smelled like – a farmyard, before turning right into a track that dropped steeply away in the direction of a heavily wooded valley through which a swiftly flowing stream tumbled over a rocky bed on its way to the sea. From here they performed another sharp turn into the rectory grounds – and Alice’s spirits dropped even farther.

The garden was so overgrown it was difficult to make out where paths were, or where they had once been. Hidden behind undergrowth and overgrown shrubbery, what little could be seen of the rectory itself revealed dirty diamond-shaped panes of glass and peeling paintwork.

Even David’s enthusiasm faltered at the forlorn appearance of their new home and he said, ‘Dean Fitzjohn said the rectory had not been lived in for a long time but I don’t think he could have realised quite how neglected it has become.’

Dean Fitzjohn, of Windsor, was a distant relative of Alice and David. He was also, by virtue of his office, patron of this remote Cornish sub-parish and responsible for offering the living of it to David.

Alice, who had kept house for her older brother since the death of their widowed mother soon after his ordination, had come along to take care of him here, in Cornwall.

The main church was in nearby Tintagel, but the vicar, Reverend Emmanuel Carter, himself appointed by the Dean, also held the lucrative post of headmaster at a school in Devon, many miles from his parish, and so spent little time attending to his
pastoral
duties.

Complaints had reached the ears of the Dean that parishioners were experiencing difficulties obtaining the rites of the
established
Church for christenings, marriages and funerals and he had decided to appoint a rector to take charge of the tiny church at Trethevy who might also take on some of the duties being
neglected
by the vicar of Tintagel.

Leaving the pony and trap outside the door with the trunks which held their belongings, it was with a heavy heart that Alice entered the near-derelict rectory behind her brother after he had unlocked the front door, trying to ignore the protests of hinges that had not been called upon to exercise their function for many years. Much to her relief, she observed that the property was furnished, although everything appeared to be old – and very, very dusty.

Aware that his sister was dismayed by the home to which he had brought her, David said, ‘I’ll go outside, unload the trap and find somewhere to stable the pony. While I’m doing that you can go upstairs and have first choice of a bedroom.’

Alice realised that David too was deeply disappointed with this, his first appointment within the Church of England. Hiding her own feelings, she said, ‘It’s been a long time since the house had anyone to love it, David, but we’ll soon have it looking like a home, you’ll see.’

Despite her words of encouragement, when David had gone outside Alice climbed the stairs with considerable trepidation, dreading what state of neglect and decay she was going to find.

Up here it smelled musty and she noticed patches of black mould around the windows, an indication that the house was damp. She initially looked into only two of the bedrooms, aware that her brother would no doubt prefer the larger of the two because it gave a view over the farmyard to the tiny low building that was obviously the church, even though it boasted no tower and weeds rose to half its height.

For herself she chose a smaller bedroom from which she could
look out across fields to the sea. In spite of the presence of mould around the window frame and the air of neglect that was common to the whole of the house, she felt that in time it could be made into quite a pleasant room.

Alice realised it was the first positive thought she had
entertained
since seeing the rectory!

The whole house would need to be thoroughly cleaned, of course, and there was not a great deal of time in which to do it. A wagon was already on the road from their last home in Herefordshire with the bulk of their belongings, including a great many books for which they would need to find somewhere away from the dampness which was so much a feature of the house.

They would also need to employ a maid, preferably one who lived out, although – and this was a point to be seriously
considered
in view of their limited finances – it might prove cheaper to have a live-in maid who would share their food and so expect to receive less wages.

While such thoughts were running around in her mind Alice had been opening windows as she went around, hoping it would help dispel the damp odour that pervaded the whole house. It was not easy, dampness had also affected many of the hinges and windows were reluctant to open.

When she entered a small room tucked beneath the eaves of the house her nose wrinkled up in distaste, there was an even worse odour here than in the rest of the building. There appeared to be heaps of rags upon the floor, although it was difficult to see anything clearly because the window was so tiny and the diamond-shaped panes of glass almost hidden beneath what appeared to be a green, moss-like growth on the outside of the window but as she stepped over the rags to open the window they appeared to move beneath her feet!

Startled, she thought she must have imagined it and kicked the rags none-too-gently.

Immediately, a gruff and almost unintelligible voice rasped, ‘Oi! What d’you think you’re doing?’ and, as Alice stepped back in alarm a face appeared from beneath the rags.

‘Who…? Who are you?’ Alice demanded when she had
recovered
from her surprise.

‘I might well ask you the same question,’ came the reply, ‘but whoever you are you have no right to disturb a man when he’s sleeping.’

The speaker struggled to sit up as he spoke and although he appeared to be unkempt and dirty Alice decided he posed no real threat and she pointed out, ‘It’s the middle of the afternoon and not a time when people sleep – and you should certainly not be sleeping here … this is the rectory.’

‘It
was
the rectory, you mean. There’s been no preacher here for as long as most folk can remember.’

‘That might have been so in the past,’ Alice said, gaining
confidence,
‘but there is a rector here now, so you will need to find somewhere else to sleep.’

‘What are you talking about, I’ve got all my things here? Who are you, anyway?’

‘I am the sister of the new rector, he’s outside unloading our things from the trap. I think you had better be gone by the time he comes in to look for me.’

‘Better be? I’m not going anywhere!’

‘Then I will bring my brother in here to evict you, so I suggest that in my absence you gather up all these “things” you claim to have here.’

David had been unable to resist the urge to have a quick look inside his church before unloading their belongings from the trap and before Alice was able to tell him of
her
problem, he said, ‘You should see the state of the church –
my
church. It … it’s sacrilege! It looks as though someone’s been keeping farm animals in there
– and in considerable numbers! There is straw and … and animal mess everywhere. It’s absolutely appalling!’

Alice could sympathise with him over the state of the church, but she felt her problem took precedence – for the moment, anyway. However, when she tried to tell him, his mind was so full of the state in which he had found the church he could think of little else.

Brushing her revelation aside, he said dismissively, ‘You must be mistaken, there’s no one living in the house. No one has been living here for many months – years, probably, but the Dean could not have known about the state of the church.’

‘I am
not
mistaken! Not only did this man speak to me, he
virtually
told me
I
had no right to be in the house and declared that he has no intention of moving out.’

Dragging his mind away from his preoccupation with the state of the church, David realised fully for the first time what Alice had been trying to tell him. ‘What sort of man is he? No matter, I will speak to him myself. Whoever he is he has no right to be here.’

Alice was giving her brother a description of the intruder she had found in the bedroom when they met the man in question coming down the stairs.

Due to the state of the window panes visibility was not particularly good on the stairs but there was light enough for the uninvited guest to recognise the clergyman’s attire worn by David. As a result, his reply to the question of what he was doing in the house was far more deferential than when he had spoken to Alice.

‘I’ve been doing no harm, Your Reverence, I’m just a feeble old man without a home of my own, who’s been seeing that no one got in to do damage to a house that belongs to the Church. Of course, now you’ve come to Trethevy I’ll need to go, though where I’ll be able to lay these old bones of mine I just don’t know….’

‘That should be no problem!’ Stung by the old man’s change in attitude now he was talking to her brother, Alice was less
understanding
than she might otherwise have been. ‘I believe my brother and I saw a poorhouse when we came through the village down the road, you can go there.’

Recoiling at her words as though she had struck him, the old man said, ‘Poorhouse … you’re talking of the “workhouse”? Oh yes, there’s a workhouse in Tintagel right enough – and I should know. It’s where my poor, dear wife died no more than a year since – and me not allowed to go to her. She was left to die alone. Oh, I know all about the workhouse right enough.’

Alice immediately regretted the manner in which she had spoken to the ragged old man. ‘I’m sorry … I didn’t know.’

The old man shrugged, ‘How could you – and why should you care even if you did, I’m nothing to you?’

It was David who spoke to the old man again now, ‘Who are you, and what are you doing here, in the rectory?’

‘I used to help in the garden here when I was no more than a boy. In those days my ma kept house for Parson Paddock and his daughter, who were living here. He’d sometimes take services in Tintagel too and when he came back I’d take his horse from him and see that it was fed and watered. Mind you, that would be long afore either of you was born. There hasn’t been a service here for more than fifty years and the church has known more curses than blessings.’

When David looked puzzled the old man explained almost gleefully, ‘That was on account of the church being rented out for some time to a farmer who was also a butcher. He’d slaughter pigs, sheep and an occasional heifer in there – and was none too expert at the job.’

Shuddering in sudden horror at the images his words conjured up, Alice said, ‘What a horrible thing to do.’

‘Why?’ The old man responded, ‘People need to eat.’

‘I know, but to slaughter animals in a
church
? It’s just too
dreadful
to think about.’

‘I don’t suppose it mattered very much to the animals where ’twas they were killed,’ the old man responded, ‘and after John Wesley came around these parts there weren’t too many folk
interested
enough in the Church to care what happened to the old place.’

David thought it was time he brought this particular
conversation
to a halt. ‘There will be no more animals slaughtered in St Piran’s. If what you say is true I will have the church cleaned and re-consecrated and it will become God’s house once more – but you still haven’t told me your name, or what you were doing sleeping in the rectory.’

‘My name’s Percy … Percy Nankivell.’ Adopting a crafty look, he added, ‘I suppose you could say I was caretaking the old place. Not that I’ve ever asked payment for what I’ve been doing, ‘though if Parson Paddock was still alive he’d have seen me right, I’ve no doubt about that.’

‘Reverend Paddock is no longer with us,’ David said firmly, ‘and were the Church of England to be notified of your residence here they would no doubt demand rent for your unlawful
occupation
of the rectory. I am willing to forget to tell them but I expect something from you in return. You will, of course, no longer be permitted to live here, in the house, but if you feel you are capable of work I can offer you the employment you enjoyed as a boy, working on the garden here and around the church. It has all been sadly neglected, but perhaps it needs someone with more energy and less years than yourself.’