The Thief's Daughter

by Victoria Cornwall

  ‘Will you go to his burial?’ Jenna asked as she covered her head with her shawl.

  ‘Father says forgiveness brings freedom. I just don’t know if I am ready to forgive. I think you should go.’

  Jenna looked up at the night sky. ‘I think I should, too. Even though I hate what he did, I don’t think I can abandon him now, even though I wish I could. Perhaps, if I try to understand him, I will be able to forgive him and find my own freedom.’ She clutched Nell’s hand in hers. ‘Mark, my brother who ran away to sea, once said that saying goodbye is a good way of starting afresh. Come and say your goodbyes with me tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t know, Jenna. I really don’t know if I can.’

  Silas’s final resting place was in the shadow of the trees, where moss choked the growth of lush grass and flowers failed to flourish. Above, seven rooks gathered in the trees’ leafless branches and looked down on the mound of earth that lay beside the hole. A gravedigger, leaning on a shovel, greeted Jenna’s arrival.

  ‘It is fortunate that your kin is the last to be buried,’ said the scruffy man. ‘I dug this poor hole several weeks ago and it has taken until now for it to be filled. A neighbour has written a letter reporting that a stray dog has been seen sniffing around. It is time the bodies were covered before more dogs are tempted here. Are you the only mourner?’

  Jenna had waited by the gate of the graveyard hoping Nell would change her mind, but when the church bell chimed, she knew she could wait no longer.

  ‘I am a mourner for Silas Cartwright. I do not know if there will be any more.’

  The gravedigger scratched his head. ‘We don’t usually get many mourners for these types of burials. Ah, here comes the vicar now,’ he said. ‘It looks like he has found some more.’

  Jenna turned to see a young woman walking with the vicar. Two young children walked beside her, holding her hands.

  ‘Do you know her?’ he asked.

  Jenna smiled. ‘Yes, it is my brother’s widow. She has come to say her goodbyes.’

  The graveside service was short and soon over. Jenna suspected he used the same reading for all the paupers’ burials he attended, but she did not mind. They were well chosen and brought a finality and dignity that gave a comfort all of its own. Jenna and Nell stood side by side at the grave’s edge, their arms linked to support one another. Grace and Talek copied their mother and aunt, and remained silent and well behaved until it was time for the earth to fall. Curious faces looked down at the earth on the coffin and Nell had to pull them back before they fell in.

  ‘I’m glad you decided to come,’ said Jenna, linking her arm in hers again to follow the children away from the grave.

  ‘So am I.’ Nell watched them begin to chase one another around the gravestones. ‘They do not understand. It is an adventure. It is too much to grasp.’ She shouted to the children to be quieter, but they ignored her. ‘I did not expect to be a widow at my age.’

  ‘I did not expect it either.’

  ‘They look so happy, but this is not a place for laughter. I must make them be quiet.’

  Jenna gave her arm a squeeze. ‘No, don’t stop them being happy. Their laughter is a reminder that life goes on. Let us go to Lanros beach, Nell. The children can play and the fresh air will do us both good.’

  A rook called out above them, making the women look up. They watched it take flight, abandoning the others as it flew away.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nell. ‘Let us leave this place. It is no place for the living. We have said our goodbyes. It is time for us both to start afresh.’

  The beach of Lanros was wide and exposed. No good for smuggling, thought Jenna, as she enjoyed the view from her rocky perch. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she watched the children shrieking and laughing, as they chased one another in a chaotic game. In the distance, a woman and her children walked the water’s edge collecting driftwood for burning at a later date.

  ‘I am learning my letters. If you like, I could teach Talek and Grace.’

  Nell shook her head. ‘What use will they have for penmanship? Talek needs to learn a trade and Grace needs to marry a man who has a trade. Knowing their letters will not help them.’

  Jenna felt she was wrong, but now was not the time to persuade her. Nell was a simple woman with simple needs, she would never understand the benefits of being able to read and write.

  ‘I did love him once,’ said Nell suddenly.

  Jenna dropped her hand and looked at her sister-in-law sitting on the rock beside her.

  ‘I know you did.’

  ‘I thought when the children came along he would be more responsible and get an honest job. Only Silas did not want to change.’ Nell looked at Jenna. ‘Rearing children needs regular money coming into the house, not a bit stolen here and there. Every time there was a knock on the door, I thought someone was coming for him. I had to leave. Next time I marry it will be to a good man, who will care for me and the children. Your brother had a cheeky smile and a twinkle in his eye, but he could not be relied upon.’

  Jenna swallowed down the thick emotion in her throat. I will never see Silas’s smile again, she thought, and it hurt.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Love can make you do silly things.’

  ‘My parents warned me against him, but it only made him look even more attractive to me. Did you love Henry?’

  Jenna shook her head. ‘No. I was attracted to him in the beginning, but I know what love feels like now and it was not love. I married Henry so I would no longer be a Cartwright. It made no difference. I am no better than my family. Sharing the same blood brings an inevitability that bad things will happen. Blood will out.’

  ‘That is nonsense. You are nothing like Silas and the rest of your family. You are too good.’

  ‘I was a smuggler for a night …’

  Nell’s mouth fell open at her confession.

  ‘… and I almost betrayed the man I loved for Silas. It was easier to think the worst of Jack and, for a short while, I wanted to make Jack suffer. I fear I have lost him.’

  ‘Women do silly things in the name of love. I married Silas despite my parents being against it and you believed Silas despite knowing he is a rogue. Women do not always think straight when they love someone.’ Nell took Jenna’s hand. ‘You did not take revenge in the end, did you?’

  Jenna shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Then you are different from your family, Jenna. You are not like them.’ Nell let her hand go and rested back onto the rock to feel the sun on her face. ‘Where is this Jack now?’

  ‘His work has taken him away. I have disappointed him and he is taking the time away to consider what to do next.’

  ‘Do you think he will come back to you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If he loves you enough he will want to try again.’

  ‘I am willing to try. I thought I would never want to marry again, but I would marry Jack if he asked me.’

  Nell opened an eye. ‘How long will you wait for him?’

  ‘As long as he needs me to.’

  ‘And if that means you are waiting for years with no answer?’

  ‘As you said, Nell, love can make a woman do the strangest of things. I will wait, for no other man will do.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘Good morning, Jack, I trust you slept well.’

  ‘As well as one can in a busy trading port,’ said Jack, offering the chair opposite him with a push of his boot. ‘And you?’

  ‘I did not sleep well at all so I rose early and arranged your papers.’ The Frenchman sat down and poured himself a drink. ‘The Fortitude is waiting offshore for high tide. I suspect it will be another hour before it can enter the harbour,’ he said, taking a drink.

  Jack took the papers that were passed across the table. He was pleased to see that they were his passage home.

  ‘These past two months have not been easy. I could not have managed without you as my interpreter. Should you dec
ide to come to England, my door will always be open to you.’

  Julien smiled. ‘I was born in Brittany. I hear Cornwall is not so very different.’

  ‘If Brittany has beaches, cliffs and green rolling hills then, yes, they are not so different. I think you will like it.’ Jack turned his attention to the window. He could see a number of ships waiting out at sea, their sails tied up and their masts no more than fragile sticks. One of them was the Fortitude, he thought, and it would take him home. He wondered if Jenna waited for him on the other side of the Channel.

  Julien interrupted his thoughts, by nudging his arm.

  ‘Did you hear what I said? The art gallery curators will follow in a week or so. I wish I could be there to see the results of our hard work, but I have a wife and children eager for me to return home, so I will leave the last part to you.’

  ‘I will write and let you know how it unfolds. You are fortunate to have a family waiting for you.’

  ‘It is times like these I can see my good fortune. Time apart can make the bonds stronger when it’s time to return. What will you do when this is over for you?’

  ‘I want different things out of life from what I did only a few months ago. When I return, I will make some changes, but first I need to get back to England.’

  The two men sat in companionable silence watching the bustle of Calais port play out before them. They were happy to not speak and had sat many times like this since Jack’s arrival, as they mulled over their plans or thought of home. Fortunately, they were well matched as spending so much time in the company of a man one disliked would have made the trip far more difficult.

  Julien eventually leaned back in his chair, content that his part was now at an end.

  ‘I trust you are glad to return home.’

  ‘I cannot pretend otherwise,’ said Jack, toying with his tankard.

  ‘You are more relaxed than when you first stepped on French soil,’ Julien observed.

  ‘Is that surprising?’ asked Jack. ‘I have found the evidence I need and the trip has been a success.’

  ‘You arrived in France an angry young man with a short temper. I told myself I would give you a week. If your character did not improve I promised myself I would leave.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘No, because I discovered that was not the real you. The real you I am proud to call my friend.’

  Jack looked up at his kind words. ‘I am sorry I did not give you a good impression.’

  ‘It was understandable, given the circumstances. I wish you well in whatever you decide, for I think you have made a decision about this woman.’

  ‘I have,’ said Jack, pushing his tankard away. ‘I think I made it when I first set foot in France, I just did not want to acknowledge it.’

  ‘Then I wish you good luck for the future,’ Julien said, finishing his drink. He stood up. ‘It is time for me to leave and go home to my wife.’

  Jack stood and the two men shook hands.

  ‘Thank you for your help, Julien. Our countries may be on opposite sides in America, but I mean it when I say that you are welcome in my home.’

  ‘And I will look forward to seeing it, when I step on British soil.’

  Jack solemnly watched his friend leave. They had become as close as brothers during his time in France, yet he had the strangest feeling that he would not see the man again.

  Jack stood at the harbour’s edge and watched the Fortitude being loaded. The wind had died away and there was concern that if it did not pick up, the departure may be delayed. Jack was aware it was not uncommon for passengers to wait up to a week for the direction of the wind to change. He wanted to be back in England, and the thought of a delay did not cheer him.

  To make matters worse, the noise of the port resonated around him and made his head ache. Port labourers shouting directions as they transported the cargo, passengers talking as they waited to embark, children running, stray dogs whining, wheels turning … the noise reflected the anticipation, excitement and danger of the sea journey ahead.

  A shout went up that the wind was changing. A man waved to the waiting crowd, signalling it was time for them to board. Eager to be on his way, Jack reached for his bag.

  ‘Cartwright!’

  Jack straightened and turned in the direction of the call, lengthening his neck in order to search the sea of faces behind him. None of the workers on the dock took ownership of it, preferring to keep working with bent backs and sweating foreheads. The throng of passengers were no better and Jack began to doubt what he had heard. He waited for the name to be called again, but it did not come. Jenna had plagued his thoughts too much of late, he concluded, and was now spilling forth to play tricks on him in the day. It would not do.

  Even keener to leave France behind him, he stepped onto the sloping, narrow gangplank which provided a path to board the ship. Others followed, bustling and forcing his momentum forward to the deck above, as the wooden bridge bounced and strained under their combined weight. Despite his earlier doubt, Jack was unable to quell his curiosity and his gaze was drawn back to the group of French labourers. They remained busy, muscles straining in the sunshine as they loaded a stack of wooden boxes onto a waiting cart. He was about to look away when one of them shouted again.

  ‘Cartwright!’

  Jack quickly stepped onto the deck and nudged his way through the crowd to the edge of the ship. He looked down on the busy quayside to see who had acknowledged it. A man, in his late twenties and with dark, almond shaped eyes, had stopped working and was answering in fluent French. Jack frowned as he watched an animated conversation take place, where orders were given and questions were asked in frustrated tones, until it ended amicably with a joke and a laugh. Leaving his current task, the young man picked up a trunk belonging to two young gentlemen travellers and reluctantly followed them on board.

  Jack waited impatiently for the labourer to step on deck with the trunk. He immediately approached him when he arrived.

  ‘Monsieur Cartwright,’ he said as the dark-eyed man put down the trunk. Jack saw him hesitate, before straightening his back and turning to go.

  ‘I know your name is Cartwright,’ Jack insisted. ‘I heard one of the other workers call to you.’

  The man ignored him, but Jack caught his arm. ‘I am not here to cause trouble,’ he reassured him under his breath.

  The man shook him off and rebuffed him in French. It was clear that the man denied his English connections and that Jack was to leave him alone.

  Jack attempted to reassure him, but the man grew angry.

  ‘You cannot have a decent conversation with any of these foreigners,’ said one of the young gentlemen who owned the trunk.

  Jack, unamused by the interruption, snapped, ‘We are the foreigners, sir, as we are on their soil.’

  ‘Nevertheless, they lack the manners of our country so there is no wisdom in trying to engage with them.’

  ‘I see you have learnt little from your European excursions,’ retorted Jack, his gaze remaining on the labourer. ‘I thought the purpose of your travels was to gain education, not to become bigoted.’ He saw the French labourer smile as he turned away. ‘Or perhaps,’ continued Jack, ‘being a bigot comes naturally to you?’

  ‘You have no manners, sir.’

  Jack turned his attention to the young gentleman for the first time. The labourer seized the opportunity and slipped away.

  ‘What do you intend to do about it, sir?’ Jack challenged the traveller.

  Realising he was no match for Jack’s retorts and bad humour, the gentleman uneasily moved away.

  Jack, noticing the labourer was gone, searched the crowd and eventually saw him making his way down the gangplank and onto dry land. The labourer looked up at the ship and their eyes locked briefly, before he disappeared into the sea of bodies that lined the quay.

  Jack was now convinced that he could speak English, as he had seen the man smile at his well-chosen words before he left. To find
a labourer speaking two languages was a rarity indeed.

  He turned away and sat down to wait, eager for the ship to leave as men gathered in preparation to remove the gangplank and break all links with the land. Jack thought of Jenna and what would happen at their next meeting. There was much to say to one another and it could not be put off any longer. It was best he did not tell her of the incident that had just occurred. It would raise her hopes and she would spend the rest of her days wondering if the man he had seen was one of her brothers. He may have misheard or it may have been a fanciful thought on his part. Perhaps he was trying to replace the brother she lost by hearing the Cartwright name in his head. It was best if she knew nothing, he concluded, it was best if he did not speak of it at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jenna placed the book she was reading on her lap and let her head fall back to rest against the wall of the window alcove. She loved sitting on the window seat and gazing out at the dark blue sea in the distance. She spent far too much time watching the colours of the sea change – from dawn’s silvery shimmering white light, to the blood red sunset as the sun sunk below its flat horizon. As she watched, she waited for Jack to come home, just as the wife of the sea captain waited for him many years before.

  She thought back to her last day at Galva House. After a passionate night she would never forget, she had woken alone. She had thought it would be less painful that way, not to see his face or hear his goodbye, but she was wrong. Even now, two months later, she ached at losing him. Everything she said, saw and did brought home to her that he was not there to share it with her. It was as though he were dead, yet somehow worse, as he had chosen to leave her and put an ocean between them. She often wondered if he had fallen in love with a French or Italian beauty and if he ever thought of the woman who waited for him in Cornwall – the woman who had almost betrayed him.