The Thief's Daughter

by Victoria Cornwall

  Sir Enoch and Lady Pickering had been kind to her, offering her the option to stay with them for a few more days. Jenna politely refused. Galva House, for all its beauty and fine views, was not a place where she felt comfortable. She wanted to go home to the Captain’s Cottage.

  She was able to play the fine lady for a night, but in reality she was no one special, just a woman brought up in a family of thieves, but striving to be better. At times she failed, but, she told herself, failure does not have to be final. Each decision and each action is a chance at a new beginning. She could only hope that Jack would find it in his heart to forgive her when he returned. No, she scolded herself, Jack’s absence was not as if he were dead, for she still hoped that he would return to her one day. With death, there was no hope at all.

  In the distance a competent rider followed the cliff edge from the direction of Lanros. Jenna lifted her head and narrowed her eyes as the visitor approached. Her heart skipped a beat, as it often did whenever she saw someone that resembled Jack, but as the figure came nearer, she recognised the older frame of Enoch and went to greet him.

  This was his third visit since Jack’s departure and she knew it was out of an obligation to his friend rather than any affection he held for her. His visits were short and his conversation stilted. She suspected he was a man who preferred to converse with men than women, having spent most of his life in their company. Now, he had the unfortunate task of having her in his care until Jack returned or the tenancy came to an end, and she felt sorry that she was now a burden to him.

  He greeted her with a curt nod of his head and took off his hat as he entered. Jenna grew concerned. His face was unusually grave, with dark shadows beneath his eyes that she had not noticed before. She gave him a brittle smile, despite feeling fearful of what was to come.

  ‘Good day, Sir Enoch. It is a fine day for taking a ride.’ She poured him his usual drink and managed to place it on the table without spilling it. ‘Spring is on the horizon,’ she wittered on, ‘and I will be glad to see the back of winter.’

  Enoch sat down and placed his hat carefully on his knee. She watched him smooth the black felt with his fingers. Poor man, she thought, he would rather be anywhere but here.

  ‘I am concerned for Jack,’ he said finally. His sombre tone did not bode well and sucked the sunshine from the room.

  Jenna felt her knees weaken. With a trembling hand, she reached for a chair and sat down opposite him.

  ‘When will he be home?’ she asked hopefully, ignoring the growing feeling of dread in her chest.

  He rubbed his face with his hand. ‘I wish my wife were here, she would know the right words to say.’

  Enoch had come with bad news, just as she feared. The shadows under his eyes told a tale of their own.

  ‘I find it best to speak plainly,’ Jenna replied bravely. ‘I have waited to hear from him since the day he left. Please do not delay now.’

  Enoch put his hat on the table and pushed it away. ‘Two weeks ago I received word that he planned to return.’

  ‘You did not say.’

  ‘I saw no reason to. I thought he would soon be on our shores and you would see him yourself.’

  ‘And that was two weeks ago, you say.’

  Enoch nodded. ‘I knew that the journey from Calais to Dover would take less than a day, certainly no more than three should the wind die away, so when he did not arrive I made enquiries.’ Enoch looked at her with a pitying look.

  ‘Tell me, sir, for what I imagine may be far worse than what you may have to say.’

  ‘I’m afraid my news is grave. I can find no evidence that Jack has returned to England.’

  ‘You believe he has stayed in France?’

  ‘I know of no reason why he should stay longer but, apparently, there was a storm and many ships were forced to seek shelter. One ship, the Fortitude, was too far from either coast and could not hide. Wreckage was spotted the following morning. I am afraid all hands were lost.’

  Jenna felt tears spring to her eyes but fought hard to control them. Finally she said, ‘You believe Jack was on board?’

  Enoch sighed. ‘I do.’

  Jenna fell silent, trying to understand what he was telling her. She shook her head.

  ‘He cannot be dead. I would know …’ She touched her chest with her fist. ‘… in here. I would feel it.’ She looked for a lifeline to raise her hopes. ‘You say that the Channel was busy with ships, one of them may have picked Jack up.’

  ‘There were no survivors, Jenna.’

  A crushing wave of despair hit her and she felt unable to breathe. Gasping for air, she rushed to the window. He would not have gone if I had not driven him away, a voice mocked in her head, as she fumbled for the latch. She flung the window open to allow the strong sea breeze to enter. Closing her eyes, she let her face bathe in it, savouring its salty smell as she breathed deeply to calm her nerves.

  ‘If anyone is responsible it is I. My obsession with bringing Buller down put Jack in jeopardy and now he has paid the price.’ Enoch stood, leaving his drink untouched. ‘There is a further six months to run on this cottage. You do not need to leave before it is up. Jack arranged for you to stay before he left.’

  Jenna ignored him. She did not care about the roof over her head. Enoch put on his hat, eager to go.

  ‘Jack was a good man. Had he been a son of mine, I would have been enormously proud of him.’

  ‘Don’t speak of him as if he were lying at the bottom of the sea,’ Jenna snapped.

  ‘I wish I brought you better news than this. I delayed it for as long as I could until I could verify my fears.’

  ‘There is no proof he was on board.’

  ‘Your reaction is understandable. It will take time to come to terms with losing him. I will ask my wife to visit. She will be more helpful than I.’

  Jenna shut the window and turned stiffly. ‘There is no need, sir. She has known me for just one day and I do not want her to feel such a heavy obligation. I can look after myself. Jack left me some money to care for his home until his return, but now … this news …’ Jenna braced herself. ‘You need not concern yourself with my welfare. I will find employment elsewhere.’

  Enoch straightened his shoulders and looked at her. ‘I admire your strength, Jenna. You have made the task of sharing my grave concerns far easier than I deserve.’

  Jenna gave a rigid nod of acceptance at his compliment. She would say no more. She wanted him gone and the sooner the better.

  He turned and opened the door, eager to leave as much as she was eager to be alone.

  ‘Good day, Jenna. I know he cared a great deal for you.’

  ‘Please,’ she said, closing her eyes tightly, ‘don’t say any more. I cannot bear to hear about the affection he had for me once, as I have lost it and there is a chance I may never have the opportunity of gaining it back.’

  Closing the door behind him, she rested her head against its knotted wood and listened until she heard the sounds of him riding away. She felt a sob rise up into her throat and made a valiant attempt to stifle it with her fist. She was too late. Hearing her own cry of anguish made the news that he had failed to return when planned all the more real to her. It sapped her resolve and any further control of her pain was lost to her. Her weakened knees buckled and she slid to the floor in a crumpled pile. Closing her eyes, she allowed her sobs to come unhindered. As her body heaved with their burning pain, she thought of Jack and the future she may have lost.

  Time refused to stand still, mocking her despair and ignoring her pain. The sunlight through the windows cast shadows at her feet. Their movement across the floor marked the passage of time and told her how much of the day was left to endure. She had nothing to fill it and no energy to care.

  Once, a bird pecked frantically at a mark on the window until it finally gave up and flew away to find a more tasty morsel. A spider dedicated another day to spinning its web under the table near where she sat. Time and time again, it circl
ed the centre, falling occasionally to climb up and continue on. Jenna watched them both intently but felt no sense of wonder or enjoyment at watching nature try, fail and try again. What was the point of it all, she thought to herself, when death was the final outcome?

  Time stretched on and she barely moved, but to use the chamber pot and drink some water. Each time, like a wounded animal seeking shelter, she crawled back to the spot by the door. The weakness she felt made no sense, yet living with such loss felt impossible.

  On the fourth day the bird came back and began to peck again. This time Jenna went to the window, intending to shoo it away, but instead she found herself stopping to watch it peck at some ants on the window frame. Its beady eyes and bright smooth feathers glistened in the morning sun as it tilted its head and took cheeky sidelong glances at her. It flew to the ground and picked up a twig in its beak, looking at her again with each eye in turn.

  Suddenly it left, flying high into the sky with its precious load until she could see it no more. Such a little bird, she thought, with greater stamina and determination to prepare for spring than I. This type of grief has no body, no ending and no closure. This type of grief will not go away. If I am to survive, I must live in hope that he did not die and try to live through it. That he chose not to return to me and lives a better life elsewhere. Only then, perhaps one day, the pain I feel now will leave.

  Lanros remained the same as always, bursting at the seams with transient visitors waiting to leave. Jenna was glad to leave it behind. She had spent the morning visiting her brother’s grave before buying a few things for the larder on her way home. Her appetite remained poor, but breaking the day up with small meals helped her to pass the time and get through the day.

  As she approached the cottage, she saw three unfamiliar horses tethered outside and two burly men standing in the garden. Her steps slowed as they turned to look at her. She recognised them instantly by their long, black beards and solid frames. It was too late to turn and run as Amos and Job Blake were waiting for her. She noticed they had already gained access to the Captain’s Cottage as her door was open. She had no choice but to meet them and act innocent of whatever they wanted to know. Clutching her basket tighter, in order to use it as a weapon should she need to, she approached and demanded to know what they wanted. Amos spat on the floor at her feet.

  ‘I have come to see you,’ a familiar voice called from inside. Jenna glared at the two men as she walked past and entered the cottage. Sitting by the dying embers of her fire, with a smile on his face, was Judge Charles Buller. He looked at the book he held in his hand. ‘So this is where you got your knowledge of the Fiji Islands,’ he said, looking at the back and front cover as if it were a strange object. ‘How very … resourceful of you.’

  Jenna put her basket down on the table. She was in no mood for games.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘That is not a nice way to greet an old friend,’ he retorted as he heaved his great bulk to standing.

  ‘You are no friend of mine.’

  Buller dropped the book on the table. ‘Perhaps not now, but maybe in the future.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You are not as finely dressed as when we last met. You had us all fooled, although I knew you looked familiar to me.’

  ‘We had never met before your dinner party.’

  ‘So I later discovered, but even so, the thought that I knew you would not leave my mind and plagued me for many weeks. Then, quite suddenly, during one night, it came to me.’

  Jenna raised an eyebrow as if to say she did not care to hear, but Buller would not be put off.

  ‘I think it was your skill at examining jewellery that finally helped me make the connection.’

  His confidence began to unnerve her.

  ‘Connection to whom?’ asked Jenna uneasily.

  Buller looked at her over his spectacles. ‘Several years ago, a married couple came before me in court. The man I do not remember, but the woman was pretty, despite having a hard life and being in her middle years.’ He looked at her mantelpiece and tested it for dust with a swipe of his finger. ‘They were caught stealing jewellery, but they pleaded for leniency, as they did not want to be hanged. I felt generous at the time, so sentenced them both to gaol.’ He dropped his hand and returned to his seat, flipping his coat tails out of the way as he sat down again. With an effort, he crossed his legs and clasped his hands across his large belly.

  ‘It was a long time ago, but I can still recall her face, and it was this face that you reminded me of. I was keen to discover if she was related to you so I began to investigate. It was not something I wished to entrust to someone else, so I made my enquiries alone.

  ‘I did not remember their surnames,’ he continued, ‘but the woman had an unusual first name that I had not come across before, or since. I can see from your face that you know where I am going with this.’

  Jenna pressed her lips together, determined to not show how much his words interested her.

  ‘Marguerite. French, I believe. Probably named after her slut of a mother who worked the ports of France.’

  Jenna bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying out. She had not heard her mother’s name for a long time. Since the day of her parents’ disappearance, Silas had taken care of her. Now, after all these years, she would learn what became of her parents and if they were still alive.

  ‘I see you recognise the name, too. It is not an easy name to forget, but having the first name of a thief did not help me find a connection to you – so I went to Launceston Gaol and looked through their records. Marguerite Cartwright was her name, so it was only natural that I should search the baptism records.’ He unclasped his hands and began to examine his nails. ‘I found many boys’ names, most of which have appeared before me at one time, but only one daughter, named Jenna. It is quite a coincidence, don’t you think, that this child who has the same name as you would also share the same age?’

  He took a greater interest in one of his nails. ‘My interest was piqued so I continued my searching and in the same records was Jenna’s marriage to a man named Henry Kestle. It always surprises me how the Cornish are so closely linked. I knew his name, of course. It was a pleasure to sentence him to hang for poaching.’ He looked at her over his spectacles again. ‘You may be interested to learn that both your parents died of the sweating fever which ravaged the gaol in 1776.’

  So they were dead. And as shocking as the truth was, it brought her comfort to learn that they did not abandon her willingly. She hoped they did not suffer too long.

  He began to tap the table with his long nail. ‘Learning of your background, I began to wonder how a woman with thievery in her veins came to be supping at my table.’

  Jenna edged towards the door.

  ‘Watch her!’ shouted Buller. Job appeared in the doorway to block her exit. Eyes black as coal stared down at her and forced her to back away. ‘I feel your manners are lacking these days, Jenna. You have not even offered me a drink, which is customary when a guest is welcomed.’

  ‘I see no guest I wish to welcome,’ she retorted.

  Buller stopped his tapping and Jenna saw him clench his teeth before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. ‘You try my patience with your rudeness,’ he said, looking at his nail and testing its length with a finger. ‘You have a pretty face, it would be a shame to see it scarred.’

  ‘Your threats do not scare me.’

  ‘Is that because you have nothing to live for now that your lover has left you? I see from your face that you are surprised how far I have investigated you. As I said, I was intrigued to know how you came to be supping at my table.’ He sat back and looked at her. ‘You have quite a gift.’

  ‘Gift?’

  ‘A gift to impersonate. You were able to convince Sir Enoch Pickering that you are an aristocrat. What was your intention – to steal my guests’ jewellery?’

  Jenna began to unpack her basket as calmly as she could. It appeared that he did no
t know the real intention of her presence at the dinner. It was best that he did not learn the truth.

  ‘Someone once said I have a gift for imitation. Why shouldn’t I put it to good use and get as much as I can out of life?’

  To her surprise, Buller laughed. ‘I thought it must be so. Leave us and shut the door,’ he ordered the man at the door. Jenna stopped her unpacking and looked up uncertainly, as Job followed Buller’s instructions.

  ‘Scaring you is not my intention,’ he reassured her after his henchman had left.

  ‘Then what is it you want from me? I have nothing to offer you.’

  ‘On the contrary, you have much to offer.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I intend to run for Parliament. There is a borough in Callington that has had the same landowner acting as their representative for many years. I intend to gain his support. The borough has few voters, all who are beholden to him for their tenancy. Out of fear for losing their homes, they will vote as he suggests. My way to Parliament will be unhindered.’

  ‘I do not see how I can help.’

  ‘If you play your role well, a scandalous incident involving the landowner can be orchestrated and witnessed. Afterwards he will be in my pocket, unless he wants his wife to find out and the sordid affair to become public.’

  ‘You want me to play the whore?’

  ‘Only if you wish to, but it is not necessary. All I need is for you to be found in an uncompromising position with him. I will pay you.’

  Jenna picked up her empty basket and put it away. Her family would have revelled in the proposition, she thought.

  ‘How much?’

  Buller smiled. ‘Enough. You will be well paid.’

  Jenna did not reply, choosing to take some bread out of the pantry and set about slicing it.

  ‘This will not be your only job. Someone like you, with your background, will help me greatly. I will be able to manoeuvre the pawns in Parliament to my liking with the use of persuasion and blackmail.’