James and Jackson were also on horseback but they rode some yards ahead of the carriage, James having led them away from Abigail almost immediately on setting out. Her opinion of the rebuff was evident in the set expression on her face.
Eventually, the group passed the curve of the headland to Newquay Harbour, a natural protection from bad weather around which a small fishing village had thrived for centuries.
The “new quay” after which the town was named had been built in the 15th century. It had transformed what had been a village into a decent-sized port town from which mined copper and tin were shipped from the famous Cornish mines.
Through glimpses from the carriage windows, Selina looked out for her brother’s ship, but the confusion of masts and rigging of other boats and ships sheltering there obscured the familiar lines of the Diamond.
Selina was separated from most of the party within moments of arriving. James had disappeared, while the ladies, having freshened up, took a stroll along the promenade. Jackson kept Selina company as they walked to the harbour master’s office to confirm the arrival of the collier.
As they waited for the clerk, Selina watched the sailors and fishermen hard at work.
One boat was dry docked and a dozen men wearing leather gauntlets and wielding hammers and broad-bladed chisels scraped the hull free of barnacles. Another group sat cross legged on the deck of a larger boat using long, straight needles to affect a repair on a sail, while nimble young men scampered up rigging to varnish masts.
A figure caught her eye as it made its way down one of the jetties and back onto the harbour side. She tracked the man's movements for a moment as she tried to place him. It was Fidget, the man she had sketched at Padstow.
As he passed the entrance of the harbour master’s office Selina noticed the man’s hands were behind his back and he still rolled the familiar dice between his fingers, but the movement was less frenetic than when she saw him last. Maintaining her assumption that he had been anxiously awaiting someone, Selina took it that the man’s party had arrived safely.
“The Diamond docked yesterday afternoon,” Jackson told her. “Your brother is waiting at the King Charles hotel.”
They walked to the nearby hotel to learn that William had left word he would return in a couple of hours time, so they ordered refreshments and sat at a round white-washed table by a window that offered a magnificent view of the sun-dappled ocean.
Selina saw no point in beating around the bush. “You and James are equals,” she observed, “indeed more than that, you’re friends. Why do you play the role of valet?”
There was a long pause.
“It was my idea,” he confessed. “You’d be surprised how much you can find out if people think you’re merely the hired help.”
He then told of how he and James met, of life in America and some of misadventures they'd had in the four years they had known one another.
Listening to the stories over tea and cake, Selina suspected some of the tales had been embellished to entertain her—or sanitised so as not to shock her.
Nevertheless she was touched by the depth of the friendship.
“James is very fortunate to have a true friend in you.”
“It goes both ways,” Jackson responded. “And it extends to you too, Selina. I meant what I said at the beach,” he added earnestly. “If there is ever a time you need help or need a friend, I’ll be there for you as I am for James.”
Not trusting herself to speak, she merely whispered thank you and reached across the table to squeeze his arm.
In the next moment, a familiar voice called out.
“Dearest Selina! My summer is now immeasurably better for seeing you.”
Selina stiffened at the sound of Viscount Canalissy’s greeting.
Selina and Jackson stood, offering the respect due the title if not the man.
Geoffrey wasn’t alone. Abigail had her arm through his as though lifelong friends had been recently reunited.
“Jackson, I’m glad I’ve found you,” said Abigail. “I have work for you; come with me, there’s a good man.”
Selina bit her lip, struggling not to smile at the look of distaste that washed briefly across Jackson's features. His eyes held hers for the moment as if torn over the right course of action.
Selina’s nodded almost imperceptibly to him and he sighed and turned to Abigail. “How might I be of service, milady?”
She beckoned him to follow her, leaving Selina alone with the Viscount. He took her hand and planted a full kiss on her wrist. He then urged her to take her seat at the table before he himself sat opposite.
“It’s an honour to see you again, my Lord,” said Selina formally in response.
It was plain her cool greeting displeased him, and inwardly Selina shuddered as an expression malice briefly crossed his face.
“I see your act of charitable forgiveness only extends so far,” he stated.
“I mean no disrespect,” answered Selina.
The Viscount was livid.
“And yet you’ve shown nothing but disrespect for months—disrespect for me, disrespect for your hostess, disrespect for Lady Abigail who informs me that you’ve been shamelessly throwing yourself at Penventen for the past week,” he hissed angrily.
Selina’s own temper flared but, mindful of being in a room now beginning to fill with lunchtime diners, she swallowed her ire.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
She began to rise to her feet, only to find her arm clamped to the table by Canalissy’s much stronger grip. Fortunately his overt temper had abated somewhat, leaving only a mildest of expression on his features.
“You’ll not walk away from me again, Selina.”
“Are you planning to hold me against my will?”
The Viscount paused, reconsidering his approach. His hand released her arm and his eyes softened indulgently.
“I do this because you fill my thoughts. I can hardly contain myself around you because you drive me to such wild passions... ”
Selina involuntarily licked her dry lips. Canalissy’s expression turned hungry.
“I can’t return your feelings, my Lord, I’m sorry,” she responded softly.
“You can’t…” he echoed softly in disbelief, then added in a rush of words, “That’s because you’ve been bewitched by Penventen and I don’t blame you, you’re such a lovely trusting, innocent girl, you have no idea of what that man is really like or what he’s capable of.”
“I believe I know him well enough.”
“Oh you have no idea, you poor darling.” His voice gained strength. “James Mitchell is a traitor to the Crown and is responsible for the deaths of twenty sailors including Captain Armsden of the Pandora...”
Selina stared at him in shock.
“I don’t believe you.”
“…now he’s trying to involve your brother…”
“You’re lying.”
Geoffrey reacted as though he’d been slapped.
“I have proof.”
“What kind of proof?”
“Documents, transcripts, notes... some of which appear to implicate your brother in the loss of the Pandora after the fact,” Geoffrey responded. “There’s enough evidence there to see both men hanged.”
Selina felt sick to her stomach.
Canalissy’s mouth split in a wide grin.
“Would you like to see the evidence?”
“Yes,” she answered weakly.
“At Saturday’s masquerade—I’ll have them with me and you can see for yourself.”
He stood and, taking hold of Selina's arm, forced her to stand as well, leaning in as though to kiss her on the cheek.
Instead he whispered, “Breathe a word of this to anyone and I’ll go straight to a magistrate to have both Penventen and your brother arrested.”
He straightened and drew his hand down Selina’s arm until once again he gripped her hand. He raised it to his lips for another kiss.
“Unt
il then, my dearest.”
Chapter Eighteen
Selina debated whether to speak to James and William about the encounter with Viscount Canalissy. However, the look of delight on her beloved brother’s face at seeing her made Selina decide to say nothing about the man’s appearance and threat.
She determined to find out what “evidence” he had and then she would tell them, although she strongly suspected it was nothing James was not already aware of. She was now convinced it was the same threat that Abigail held over James.
Pleased to see her brother again, Selina pushed the unpleasantness out of her thoughts. Saturday would come soon enough.
It was a light supper that evening back at Penventen Hall. Colonel Pickering and Lieutenant Walsh had accepted an invitation to attend while Lady Abigail begged off, apparently tired from her lengthy ride. It had been suggested she squeeze in with the others in the carriage for the return journey, but her pride would not allow it.
After supper, the younger members of the party retired to the drawing room.
Some conversed, others read. Selina was delighted when James suggested they play chess. It placed them quietly together aside from the others.
After a few minutes, James, surveying the pieces on the board, murmured casually, “What did Canalissy want?”
“How did you know... oh...”
Jackson. Of course. How could she have expected him not to tell James?
“It was nothing,” Selina said quietly. “He was being a nuisance, that's all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Just making mischief.”
She felt James' eyes on her and sensed his doubt, if not of her then of Canalissy's motives, as she moved one of her chess pieces.
“If you're sure, then,” replied James and he reached in and took the rook she had just moved with one of his knights.
Selina looked up at him with a scowl at the loss. James grinned back at her.
Some time later when the Lieutenant took his leave to organise the evening patrol, Lady Edith decided on an early night for herself.
Inevitably, being the fashion of the salon, the conversation among those who remained turned to politics, the intent among the men especially to engage and savour in the cut and thrust of debate.
“Personally, I believe the likes of Wilberforce need to be held accountable to the nation for trying to ruin the lives of hardworking Englishmen,” announced Edgar over his brandy.
“Without the African, our plantations would grow back to jungles and further costly tariffs would be needed to protect our sugar trade from the French. Not to mention that copper and guns manufactured in Birmingham are greatly sought after in Africa where some of the most despotic and cruel slave drivers are the Africans themselves.”
“The fact that some of the Africans themselves behave poorly towards their fellow men is hardly a ringing endorsement of slavery,” observed the Colonel coolly as he swirled the amber liquid in his own snifter.
“Well, perhaps,” said Edgar. “I concede that slavery is not a perfect means of labour organisation by any means, but it is certainly one of the most enduring. No great political or military power has ever emerged except through the economic benefits of slavery.
“It could easily be argued that slavery is the very best thing for the Negro. In the hands of a responsible slave owner, he’s fed, clothed, housed and given productive work to do. If Wilberforce cares so much about their spiritual well-being, he should drop his damnable abolition bills and embrace slavery as an opportunity to promote Christianity.”
“That’s a ludicrous argument,” scoffed the Colonel. “Enslavement of a people in the hope some benevolent master will teach them the fundamentals of religion?”
“Would that be so bad, Martin? Surely it would be better to have food and shelter in exchange for labour,” Lady Catherine ventured beside him on the divan. “Surely that’s not so different to having servants.”
The Colonel turned to her.
“The difference is free will, my dear. A servant here is free to take his labour anywhere he chooses. A slave cannot unless he buys his freedom,” he reasoned. “And the law has already determined that an African who arrives on our shores is a free man—free to make his own decision and his own choices.”
“And that’s exactly the point that I’m trying to make to the Colonel here, Lady Catherine,” said Edgar. “Without the slave and master relationship, the lot of the Negro would be far poorer. It has been observed in plantations in Virginia where slaves have been freed, that they are lazy, indolent and live like paupers.”
Colonel Pickering frowned mildly. Edgar had earlier spoken enthusiastically in support of Thomas Paine and of France’s Declaration of The Rights Of Man And Of The Citizen.
“How do you reconcile the French Declaration of Rights which says ‘men are born and remain free and equal in rights’ with not supporting those rights for all men?” he enquired.
Edgar shrugged. “You’ve lived in America, Colonel. The Declaration of Independence says all men are self-evidently created equal and yet the Americans show no signs of freeing their slaves. Compromise abounds even in the pursuit of the ideal, does it not?”
Comte Alexandre cleared his throat politely from across the room where he was seated at a small table, writing a letter. As he spoke he folded and slipped the letter into his coat pocket.
“Lady Catherine, may I be permitted to observe that the Africans are not like us at all? It is quite unlikely that we share any of the same blood with them.”
“I thought we were all the descendants of Adam and Eve,” Selina observed, looking up from her chess game with James, unable to resist entering the conversation.
Lady Catherine nodded. “I agree with Miss Selina, we’re all children of God aren’t we? Surely if some people have the right to be fully free human beings, then shouldn’t we all?”
The Comte and Edgar laughed.
“Adam, Eve, and the Garden are at best allegories—stories for children,” said Edgar. “The greatest scientific minds of our age are quite sure that Negroes and Europeans come from separate species altogether.”
He was supported by the Comte. “As we eschew superstition in pursuit of enlightenment through reason and science, we will see man less reliant on stories from old ancient tales,” he pronounced.
“There is no question that the Negro is hardly a man like the European. To quote from one of France’s greatest philosophers, Voltaire, ‘the race of the Negroes is a species of men different from ours… we can say that if their intelligence is not from another species of our understanding, she is much lower...”
The Comte paused briefly, searching for the words in English, and continued, “Ah, yes—
'They are not able of a great attention, they combine little...'”
The sound of a crystal tumbler smashing with force against the fire grate caused most everyone in the room to jump, and brought the Comte to stunned silence.
Selina had forgotten that her brother was in the room.
He’d been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation. Now he stood before the fireplace florid with anger.
Selina started to rise, intending to calm him, but felt James’ hand cover hers to still her. She looked at him across the chess board, eyebrows raised. James answered with a shake of his head. Her facial expression asked a new question silently.
“Let him speak,” he whispered to her.
All eyes in the room were on Captain Rosewall. He pinned both Edgar and Comte Alexandre with a hard stare, the kind he usually reserved for subordinates who were about to receive a tongue lashing.
When William started to speak it was through clenched teeth.
“Have you ever seen a slave ship, gentlemen?”
Edgar and Alexandre shook their heads in silence.
“I have. As you approach it, the first thing that assaults you is the stench of humanity. It stays with you, no matter how many times you wash. It sets up reside
nce in your nostrils and not even the heaviest smell of ocean brine will clear it.
“Hundreds of men, women, and children are chained in a hold with less space than we afford penned cattle. Believe me, you never forget their cries and groans.
“I was seventeen, just an able seaman on my first position outside of my father’s fleet. We made the voyage from Bristol down to Guinea in West Africa, and while we unloaded our cargo of guns and ammunition, slaves were waiting at the docks.
“The men had their necks trapped between planks six feet in length to keep them separated. They were also chained around the wrists. Women, even those with child, and children were forced to follow behind by the chains attached to their necks.
“You could smell the fear on them. On some you could also still smell their burned flesh from being newly branded.
“I was on the middle watch for the first few weeks of the voyage. It’s a quiet time and if the weather is fair, there’s nothing finer than watching the passage of stars across the night sky. On one of those nights I met Jacob.
“In the darkness I heard a voice singing a lullaby Maman used to sing, one she sang to Selina often.”
William half sang, half spoke:
La poulette grise
Qui pond dans l'eglise
Elle va pondre un petit coco
Pour son petit
Qui va faire dodiche
Dodiche dodo.
“I put my ear to the grate above the hold because I thought I was imagining things, but no, the same voice kept singing ‘The little grey chicken who lays eggs in the church’.
“I asked ‘Qui est-ce qui chante?’—Who is it who sings? And the voice laughed. ‘qui est en Anglais qui parle Francais?’—who is the Englishman who speaks French?
“Jacob spoke and read fluent French and spoke at least two African languages. He could also speak some English and read it a little. He was more educated than most of our crew.
“He was an orphan raised by French missionaries in Cote d’Ivorie and he was joining them on a mission trip to the highlands when he was captured by slave gang. Over two weeks we spoke every night through the grate on deck.
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