Page 23 of A Gathering Storm

Nicholas just shrugged. “I don’t mind. You can call me Nicholas if you want.”

Ward felt an unexpected rush of awkward pleasure at that invitation. Perhaps Nicholas was thawing at last? “Well, then you must call me by my given name too.”

Nicholas didn’t respond to that. Instead he said, “What was it you were you going to ask me anyway?”

“I was wondering what else you remembered of our discussion while you were in the trance.” Ward considered asking particularly about the ghost, but decided not to. Better to see what Nicholas offered.

“I think I remember most of it,” Nicholas said. He frowned, then something seemed to occur to him, and a flush rose in his cheeks. “Ah. I think I told you rather more than you needed to know about my family background.”

“You mean about Jacob Roscarrock being your father?”

Nicholas let his head fall back against the headrest. “Yes.”

“I won’t gossip to anyone about it,” Ward reassured him. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Nicholas laughed. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. Everyone round here knows already.”

Ward smiled sympathetically. “It did help explain a few things.”

“Such as what? Why Godfrey Roscarrock offered me his patronage?”

“That would be one.”

Nicholas gave another mirthless chuckle. “Yes, he’s not the sort that would ordinarily give a Gypsy bastard a leg up in life.”

Ward winced inwardly at that dry comment. “No, but he’s your grandfather.”

Nicholas’s mouth twisted up at one side. “He’s Harry Roscarrock’s grandfather. I think of him more as my sire’s sire.”

Ward’s stomach clenched in pity.

“How did your parents meet?” he asked.

Nicholas shrugged. “Jacob Roscarrock met my mother when he was visiting a friend in Derbyshire. My mother’s people were travelling through the county at that time. Jacob was already married, but he decided he’d fallen in love with my mother and they ran away together to London. When he ran out of funds and found himself with a squalling brat on his hands, he decided he wasn’t quite as in love with her as he’d thought, and came back to Cornwall to his wife and his money—or rather, Godfrey’s money.”

“Leaving you and your mother behind?”

Nick offered a mocking smile. “Not only that, he abandoned us in London with the rent unpaid. Left us to the mercy of an angry landlord and a hoard of other unpaid creditors.”

“Good God,” Ward breathed, hardly able to believe such villainy.

Nick’s lip curled. “He underestimated my mother, though. She sold the ring he’d bought her and made her way from London to Porthkennack, confronting him with me in her arms. She only wanted money from him, but then she discovered that Godfrey was the one holding the purse strings, not Jacob.”

“And he supported her? Your grandfather?”

Nick gave a bark of laughter. “In a manner of speaking. Being Godfrey, he refused to agree to her proposal that he settle a decent sum on her in exchange for our disappearance. Instead, he gave her a life interest in a cottage at the edge of the Roscarrock estate and a tiny annual stipend—just about enough to live on, but not enough to escape on. So we ended up being trapped here.”

“Why did he do that instead of just paying her off?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Punishing her for her gall, would be my guess, and Jacob too, for his behaviour. Maybe even my father’s wife, for being barren. He likes to control people.”

“Does he recognise you now? As his grandson?”

“Are you joking?” Nicholas asked. He grinned, but it was like the grin of a fox, feral and snarling. “No. But he gives me employment, and I have Rosehip Cottage rent-free.”

It didn’t sound like much to Ward, but he said nothing more, only asked, “What about your mother’s family? The Hearns?”

“What of them?”