Page 14 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
‘It really did.’ She laughed. ‘Who was Kerensa?’
‘She was a young woman who worked in a grand stately home at the southern tip of Cornwall, close to Land’s End. The house isn’t there anymore, because in the years after Kerensa worked there, its position on the clifftops became precarious. The family left before it tumbled, brick by brick, into the sea, but Kerensa had fled the property long before then.’
‘Why?’ Ollie rested a bum-cheek on the corner of the desk.
‘She’d been seduced by the master of the house, despite the other female staff warning her of his reputation. She was young and pretty, and believed the things he told her.’ Liam sighed. ‘They were discovered together by the master’s wife, and although it wasn’t a surprise to her, Kerensa was too beautiful to stay. She was thrown out, with nowhere to go and no references in her favour.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She journeyed up the coastline, looking for somewhere, someone, who would give her shelter, employ her in any role. She was always moved on, told to try this place or that, none of the households willing to take her in themselves. She became exhausted, cold, malnourished. She had to forage for food.’
‘Did she die?’ Ollie cleared her throat. It was just a legend, she told herself. It wasn’t real.
‘Hold your horses,’ Liam said gently. ‘When Kerensa was close to giving up, she encountered an old woman along the area’s most well-used highway – a highway in those days was an earth track, of course, not a tarmac road. When Kerensa asked about jobs in the area, this woman told her about a place nearby, where she would find food and warmth, friendly faces and a job: where she could make a difference and be part of a family again. The woman sent Kerensa on her way with hope, rekindled energy, and a smile that she hadn’t used for a long time. The house she was heading for wasn’t too far from here, though Foxglove Farm wasn’t built until a hundred years after Kerensa made her fateful journey.’
Liam paused, and Ollie realised she was holding her breath. She was desperate to find out what had happened to this young woman. Even Henry had raised his head, his chocolate eyes gazing at Liam. The deep timbre of his voice had captivated her dog, too.
‘Did she make it?’ Ollie’s own voice was a whisper.
Liam shook his head. ‘Her spark went out ten miles from the place she’d been seeking, and as she sank to the ground, she stretched her hand out, pressing her open palm against the flat rock she’d fallen beside. There was no reason to, of course: it was stone, it couldn’t possibly hold her impression. But somehow, it did.
‘She was found by the owners of the house the old lady had sent her to. They were out riding, and came across her lifeless body, arm still outstretched. They gave her a proper burial, even though they hadn’t known her. And the ladyof the house said that she had seen the girl’s handprint in the stone, had laid her own hand over the indentation, and felt an overwhelming surge of hope, of happiness.
‘You see,’ Liam went on, shifting slightly where he stood, ‘even though Kerensa never made it to her new home, the old lady she met had given her hope, and her last hours were filled with the anticipation of that welcome, a renewed sense of purpose, rather than despair and hopelessness. It was the strength of those feelings that she imprinted into the rock, and it’s said that anyone who presses their hand over where hers rested will achieve something they’ve long dreamed of but not dared to hope for: that their luck will change.’
‘But she didn’t make it,’ Ollie said, fighting a swell of emotion. ‘She was so close, and she didn’t get there.’
‘No,’ Liam replied, ‘but sometimes thehopeof something is as important as the thing itself. She realised she wasn’t entirely alone, because there was a family who would look after her. She died with that hope inside her, and she left it in the handprint for others to find centuries later.’
Ollie stood up, pacing to the window. ‘But if that’s the case, if it’s magical, then why is it justthere, hidden in the woodland? Why doesn’t it have a National Trust car park or an English Heritage plaque?’
‘Because if everyone knew about it, then the magic would be lost,’ Liam said calmly.
‘Really?’ She slumped onto the sofa. ‘So … so now thatI’veput my hand against hers, I’m supposed to get what I want?’
‘What is it that you want, Ollie?’ There was a definite twinkle in Liam’s eye, now.
She bit her lip. ‘I want to belong. To build a life here, and to make a difference at the bookshop.’To feel less alone,she added silently.
Liam pointed at the book she was still holding. ‘Time will tell if you get it. Port Karadow is full of these stories, and a lot of the legends have their origins in the land surrounding this farmhouse. You could seek out more of them on your walks with Henry.’
Ollie looked down at the small hardback. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now, shall I see if Marion’s happy to fetch us some tea and cakes? Then I could set you off on typing upmyhistory.’
Ollie nodded. ‘If the way you told Kerensa’s story is anything to go by, then this typing project isn’t going to be a chore at all.’
‘Why’s that?’ Liam asked.
‘Because you’re a wonderful storyteller. I felt every moment of Kerensa’s journey, and I can’t believe she didn’t make it.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat. Could pressing her gloved hand against a stone really have a bearing on her future?
‘Let me go and see about that cake. And then, chapter one.’
‘Chapter one,’ she repeated with a smile.
Liam left Ollie in his study while he went to talk to Marion, and she looked down at her hand. She decided that she really must have been on too many New Age websites, because already – just being in Liam’s study, being so welcomed by him – she was starting to feel a little bit more like she belonged, and was wondering if there might actually be some truth to the legend of Kerensa’s handprint.
Chapter Eight
