by Carola Dunn
“Do you think Mama has sent for Mrs Pengarth yet?” Julia interrupted her unhappy thoughts. “Suppose she does not!”
“Then Mrs Pengarth will ask to see her. Do not worry so, goose.”
At that very moment, the housekeeper was mendaciously assuring her ladyship that the earl had made a particular point in his instructions of not wishing to disturb her by his arrival.
“You’ll not be wanting to sit about in that draughty Great Hall, my lady, specially if it’s a mizzly day like today. His lordship will come up to the drawing room to pay his respects."
Lady Langston said serenely that it was very thoughtful of his lordship.
“I shall go down, of course,” put in Miss Crosby, “to wait upon Lady Emma.
“Lady Emma’s not coming, miss,” said Martha Pengarth, not without satisfaction. “So there’ll be no cause for you to desert her ladyship.”
She left Matilda Crosby looking disconcerted, and went to tell Ada and Raeburn that she thought she had spiked the old maid’s guns.
“We’ll be ready to head her off if so be ‘tis needful,” promised Ada.
The next morning, Julia and Octavia fetched James up from the tavern to the cave. Julia was fascinated by the hiding place, and inclined to be highly indignant that she had not been shown it long ago. She also thought it a great adventure to meet Red Jack again now that she knew him to be a master smuggler, though she scolded him for the behaviour of his men. He grinned at her and agreed that it was a poor return for Mr Wynn’s medical assistance.
Shortly before two o’clock, all four repaired to the Great Hall. Jack Day, no longer “Red” nor “Captain” since he was turning respectable, walked slowly, his injured arm hanging limp at his side. His clothes hung loose on his haggard frame and his face was pale from his confinement, but he professed to feel very well and there was nothing lacking in the hearty embrace with which he greeted Martha.
Lord Edgcumbe arrived in due course. With him he brought a bluff, good-natured admiral and his wife; his lawyer from London, with wife and daughter; his chaplain, a pompous young man given to quoting Greek and Latin; and Lieutenant Cardin.
Octavia had to admire his choice of guests. Within minutes the admiral was swapping tales of the sea with Jack. The lawyer would take his part if there were any problems with the Excisemen. The chaplain could quietly marry him to Martha in the chapel in the house. For a moment the lieutenant’s invitation puzzled her, then she realised that he could hardly arrest a fellow guest of his benefactor, and his presence might serve to deter his colleagues.
His lordship accepted Mr Wynn’s presence without a blink. By the time the company met in the drawing room before dinner, the time for formal introductions was over and there was nothing to suggest to Lady Langston that he had not arrived with the rest of the party. Octavia breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that he and Julia would remember to act with circumspection.
Mr Cardin was clearly delighted at the opportunity of being with her daily. At Lord Edgcumbe’s request he had been given a week’s leave, and he meant to make the most of it. Octavia found herself treating him much as Julia had treated Sir Tristram when she first arrived at Cotehele. She tried to be kind though distant, but it irritated her almost beyond bearing when he always gravitated straight to her side.
The August days were sunny and warm, and the six young people often walked out together. After two days of being ignored or snapped at by Octavia, Mr Cardin turned to the lawyer’s daughter. She was a plain young lady, just turned twenty-one, with shy, gentle manners and fifteen thousand pounds. Octavia thought they suited admirably.
The chaplain became her usual escort. She soon discovered that he was perfectly happy with the sound of his own voice. Provided she murmured appreciation when he translated his quotations for her, he left her to her own thoughts.
He would have been excessively shocked had he known how often they ran on the word “devil!”
* * * *
The author of that “devil” had made record time to London, his spirits in a ferment of wonder at his own blindness and of hopes for the future. After a few hours’ sleep in Plymouth he left in the late morning, and spending freely to obtain the best post-horses, he arrived in town at noon on the third day.
Still in his travelling clothes, Sir Tristram went to see his lawyer. That worthy received instructions to set about two tasks: to set his client’s affairs in order in preparation for making marriage settlements; and to find out the address of a certain Surrey squire.
Sir Tristram repaired to his hotel, where he scribbled a brief note and sent it round to Bedford House. By the time he had bathed and dressed in clothing more suitable to an evening in London, a reply arrived. Lord John Russell, third son of the Duke of Bedford and Member of Parliament for Tavistock, was in town, happy to hear from his friend, and begged the honour of his presence at dinner that very day.
Lord John’s guests were all gentlemen and all politicians of liberal sympathies. Sir Tristram was interested in only two of them, Henry Brougham, one of the founders of the Edinburgh Review, and an MP by the name of Gray. To the former he mentioned his recent acquaintance with James Wynn, and heard in response a paean of praise of his genius at writing speeches.
To the latter he mentioned his recent acquaintance with Miss Octavia Gray, and requested permission to call on her parents with news of her.
After dinner he had a brief but highly satisfactory private interview with Lord John, a young man of delicate health and strong reformist principles. They shook hands on their agreement and returned to the rest of the company, where Sir Tristram retired to a corner and fell asleep.
The next morning, upon receipt of a communication from his lawyer, he rode out of town. He spent a pleasant day inspecting a neat small estate of about three thousand pounds per annum, escorted by its master, Mr Thomas Wynn, Esquire, of Surrey. On his ride back to London he pondered the unworldliness that would fail to utilise such a weapon, and shook his head.
On the fifth day since leaving Cotehele, Sir Tristram called in Chapel Street. Lord Langston was pleased to see him, sorry that he had not come to announce his betrothal, distressed at his withdrawal of his suit, astonished to hear him plead his rival’s cause, and bewildered at the news that that rival was no penniless scribbler but secretary to Lord John Russell at a goodly salary and heir to a comfortable estate.
The viscount’s emotional journey did not end there. He was saddened by his much-loved daughter’s misery on first arriving in Cornwall, angered by Mr Wynn’s appearance there, disturbed at their mutual joy and devotion, and greatly diverted by the story of the river jump. Finally, wearying of Sir Tristram’s insistence, he grew resigned to the unequal match.
“They need not think to have my blessing!” he growled, “but I am too fond of the silly chit to disown her.”
Sir Tristram chose to interpret this as permission. With a clear conscience he headed for Doctor’s Commons where, for a price, he obtained a Special License from a representative of the Archbishop of Canterbury. He was taking no chances of his lordship changing his mind.
His singing heart sustained him through a day spent with his lawyer. All his property was in excellent order, his tenants satisfied and satisfactory, his investments safe in the Funds. The lawyer ventured to enquire what marriage portion his chosen bride might be expected to bring.
“Nothing!” said Sir Tristram with a grin. “Or at least, she may have something but her parents are undoubtedly more in need of it than she will be.”
The lawyer tut-tutted, but added in a fatherly way that it was a pleasure to have a client who had no need to consider dowry when choosing a wife.
The next day was spent in a tall, narrow house in Holborn. Mr and Mrs Gray’s civility soon turned to rapture, and they agreed eagerly to his every proposal. Due to the constant coming and going of family, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, the consultations were barely completed by dinnertime. Though pressed to stay, Sir Tristram
pleaded a prior engagement and escaped to his hotel, where he dined alone and retired early to bed, exhausted.
Rising betimes, he was on the road by eight the next morning. As stage after stage passed, bringing him ever nearer to Cornwall, he began to wonder whether he was taking too much for granted.
He had been so stunned to discover it was Octavia he loved that he had thought only of how to free himself as quickly as possible from his obligation to Julia. He had considered it dishonourable to declare his new love while Lord Langston still laboured under the illusion that he wanted to marry his daughter.
Octavia had no more reason to suppose that he adored her than he had to suppose that she adored him.
Did she care for him? He searched back over the weeks, looking for clues, and saw nothing but friendship. The adventures they had been through together had brought them close, but how zealously she had tried to forward his pursuit of her cousin!
At least he could take her away from that depressing house in Holborn. Even if she did not love him, that must be a point in his favour. He would persuade her that that and friendship were a firm foundation for marriage, for he was very sure he could not live without her. The only insurmountable obstacle he could imagine was if she had given her heart to another.
Unbidden, a vision of Lieutenant Cardin rose before him. The demon jealousy awoke.
He leaned out of the window of the chaise and shouted to the postilion to whip up the horses.
The chaise pulled into the Golden Hind Inn at Plymouth shortly after nine in the evening of the following day. Enquiring after the tides, Sir Tristram learned that he must embark by four in the morning to catch the flood upriver. He gave orders that he should be roused at three.
He woke to brilliant sunshine. Someone had not been told, or had forgotten, or had fallen asleep, or even had not liked to wake the gentleman when he looked so tired. He heard all these excuses in the next hour but since there was nothing to be done about it, he did not trouble to investigate the true reason for his oversleeping.
Since he had slept the clock round, he had only a few hours to wait for the next tide. He spent them searching the jewellers’ shops of Plymouth for a ring, but found nothing he considered good enough for Octavia. He boarded a private boat at two, and all the way up the Tamar he sat gnawing his knuckles and trying to compose a speech to do justice to his passion.
He arrived at Cotehele just in time to change for dinner. Impatiently throwing on his clothes, he hurried to the drawing room. He managed to conceal his surprise at the sight of Mr Wynn, apparently perfectly at home there, while he was introduced to those few guests he did not know. The gong sounded as he turned away from the lawyer’s daughter with a polite murmur. He found himself taking her down to the Great Hall for an interminable banquet during which Octavia studiously avoided his eye.
At last the ladies withdrew. Sir Tristram beckoned to Raeburn, who was setting out port and brandy.
“Ask Miss Gray to meet me in the chapel in a quarter of an hour,” he whispered. “I must talk to her.”
A few minutes later, he excused himself and made his way through the empty dining room to the chapel. Octavia came in a moment later, cast one apprehensive glance at his face, and lowered her gaze to her twisting hands.
“You wished to speak to me, sir?” she faltered.
He forgot all his speeches. Falling on one knee, he took her hands in his.
“Will you marry me, Octavia?” he asked simply.
She looked at him aghast.
“I am betrothed to Mr Cardin!” she wailed, burst into tears, and fled.
Chapter 22
As the days passed with no word from Sir Tristram, Octavia had become convinced that he had left to escape her. She quickly grew tired of the company of the chaplain and her own miserable thoughts.
Mr Cardin showed no disposition to resent her temporary defection, and she was soon on her old footing with him. She felt guilty at displacing the lawyer’s daughter from his side, until that damsel confessed that the lieutenant had constantly sung her praises.
“He admires you excessively,” she said. “How lucky you are! I believe he is the kindest gentleman I have ever met.”
Octavia began to consider the advantages of marrying the Customs officer. They would be poor, but she was used to that and had no desire to cut a figure in the world. With her thousand pounds and his pay and prize money, they might live comfortably if modestly.
She did not love him, but she was fond of him and felt sure he would be a considerate husband. There was nothing about him she positively disliked.
And the alternative was to return to London, to the dark, noisy house in Holborn that was rapidly becoming a cheerless prison in her memory.
On the day before his return to his duties, he proposed and she accepted.
“I ought to have spoken to your father first,” he said anxiously, after his first delight had calmed somewhat. “I won’t be able to get leave to go to London. I’ll have to write a letter.” He sounded daunted at the prospect.
Feeling utterly depressed and deceitful, she uttered a few words of encouragement.
“We’d best not tell anyone else till we have his blessing,” the lieutenant continued. “Will he give it, d’you suppose? He won’t refuse his permission?”
“I do not believe so. He let my sisters marry where they would. Your profession is respectable and you are bound to rise in it, with Papa’s influence as Member of Parliament added to Lord Edgcumbe’s support and your own abilities."
“If I do not prosper, it will not be for want of effort,” he promised, as pleased with her words as at the most fulsome compliment.
He went back to Plymouth the next day. She missed his cheerful presence, which made her feel happier about what she had done until, two days later, Sir Tristram arrived.
She was furious with him. If he had given her a hint, only a hint, of his feelings before he left, she would never have led on Mr Cardin to the point of making an offer, let alone have accepted it. How could she turn around now and disappoint that frank, good-hearted young man?
But how could she marry him, when she loved Sir Tristram and he, it seemed, loved her?
A rush of joy flooded through her. He loved her! She must think of a way to extricate herself from the bumble-bath she had fallen into, without hurting the poor lieutenant.
Until she had done that, Sir Tristram would have to suffer in suspense, as she had for the past ten days.
Too agitated to return to the drawing room, she retired to her chamber, where she fell asleep fully clothed.
In the chapel, Sir Tristram rose to his feet and sank heavily onto the nearest pew. He was too late: she loved Cardin.
And he had once thought how admirably those two would suit each other!
Unable to face the rest of the company, he retired to bed, where he lay staring blankly into the dark, picturing all the dreadful things he would like to do to the unfortunate lieutenant.
After a restless night, he rose late and went down to breakfast. Only Julia and James Wynn were there, huddled over a newspaper. Julia was in tears.
“Must you really go?” she cried as Sir Tristram entered the dining room.
“I must, my beloved. Sir!” He jumped up. “Have you heard of this shocking business at Manchester? Peterloo, they are calling it.”
“Manchester? There was some mention of the city the other day when I was at the Grays’, but I fear I did not listen for details. What has happened?”
“A massacre!” Julia told him. “And James says he must go to London at once."
“It was a meeting in St. Peter’s Fields. Tens of thousands come to hear Orator Hunt speaking, and the cavalry charged them. Women and children trampled down and sabred, dozens dead, hundreds wounded. Hunt himself was arrested and badly beaten. You see, I must go immediately.”
“Ye gods! Let me see the paper.” Sir Tristram scanned it rapidly. “Yes, I believe Lord John will need you, but do not act pre
cipitately.”
“Lord John?” asked Julia. “Who is he?”
Sir Tristram nonchalantly explained that he had obtained employment for Mr Wynn with one of the foremost Reformist parliamentarians of the age.
“Of course there are scores of younger sons seeking a position with him,” he told the astounded young man. “He knew you by reputation, but what swung the balance was your medical training. His constitution is delicate, but he hates to be reminded of it. He dislikes having a doctor always in the house almost as much as having to send out for one. As his secretary and speech writer, you will be able to care for him unobtrusively. I hope you do not dislike the scheme?”
“Oh, no!” stammered James. “I have a great admiration for Lord John Russell and it will be an honour to work with him. But how can I thank you?”
“Hold your thanks until you hear the rest of my meddling! I went to see your father, Miss Langston.”
He described the result of that interview, and produced the Special License. Julia seized it, hugged him, and became suddenly very practical.
“Captain Day and Mrs Pengarth are to be married this afternoon in the chapel,” she said, “and the earl will take them with the rest of his guests to Mount Edgcumbe this evening. We shall be wed at the same time, James, and go with them. Then tomorrow we shall cross over to Plymouth, hire a post-chaise and leave for town. Do you go and explain to Lord Edgcumbe while I tell Ada to start packing, and oh dear! how am I to break the news to Mama? Does Octavia know, sir?”
“I have not told her,” he said with heightened colour.
“She went down to the valley garden. I shall need her support when I tell Mama. Would you be so kind, Sir Tristram, as to send a footman to find her for me? I never thought to be married in such a rush, I vow, but it is vastly exciting! James, my love, I shall see you in the chapel at half past two!”
She danced out, leaving the gentlemen breathless.
