by Nicola Pryce
We were in the centre of the town, past the town square. The houses were bigger here, shops on the ground floor with premises above them. Signs hung from overhanging buttresses, goods proudly displayed in the large bay windows. I could see a bank, a milliner, a shop selling household goods. The Ship Inn stood at the end of the lane, but we were going nowhere, the crowd gathering around us. Some were jeering, a man waving his fist. They looked so ragged, their clothes filthy, cloths binding their feet instead of shoes, sacking covering their shoulders instead of jackets. There was hunger in their eyes, that desperate lack of hope. I slid next to Charity and clasped her hand.
A thud slammed against the window and the crowd roared with laughter. Another clod hit the door, and another. Father banged his cane furiously against the coach roof but we remained at a standstill. The horses were whinnying, the crowd pressing forward, my fear turning to terror. Just like France. Aristocrats pulled from their carriages, dragged screaming through the streets. I clutched Charity’s hand. There was no lock on the door, nowhere to run.
A movement of red caught my eye and I pulled back the cur tain. ‘Major Trelawney’s there,’ I said, my eyes filling with tears. ‘Major Trelawney’s coming.’ A sullen silence met his arrival; the crowd stopped jeering, parting slowly to let him through. Father leant forward, reaching over to open the window.
Major Trelawney bowed in greeting. ‘Sir Charles, I’m afraid it’s bad news – the whole side of that tenement’s collapsed. The heavy rain last night was too much for the roof and the whole lot’s come crashing down. These people have nowhere to go. Their homes are destroyed and they’re desperate. The Polcarrow steward is trying to find somewhere for them to sleep tonight and we’re awaiting his return.’
‘Open the door, dammit!’ shouted Father, struggling to get upright.
‘Are you sure, Father?’ asked Charity.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ snapped Father. ‘D’you take me for a bloody fool?’
Major Trelawney pulled down the steps and Father stared down at the astonished crowd. Holding his cane high in the air, his furious face somehow assumed a smile. ‘Hear me. Listen. If you’ll just be quiet…’ he shouted, raising his voice above the rumble of loathing. ‘I know you’ve your grievances. I know those tenements have long been unsafe and you deserve better but if you’d just listen to what I’m saying.’ The crowd grew quieter, their faces full of mistrust.
Father raised his voice. ‘I’ve already instigated plans for new houses to be built. On my desk are instructions for ten cottages – the first ten I should say…because I’ve plans to build more.’ He nodded, smiling back at the shocked silence. ‘And I’ve other plans, drawn up and ready to proceed for an alms-house for ten worthy citizens of this town.’ Again he nodded his head, staring down at the wide eyes looking up in stunned disbelief. ‘Six men and four women shall enjoy comfort in their old age. I have the plans drawn up and the building work will commence within the week.’
People at the back began pressing forward, desperate to hear what he was saying. Men at the front turned to tell those who had not heard. A cheer rose, followed by another. Soon a great roar swept round us, hands waving in the air. Charity flushed with pleasure. ‘Oh, Father, that’s wonderful. Nobody knows how much you really care.’
Bile turned my stomach. That was how he worked, using people to further his own gains; buying some, discrediting others. He was waving his cane in the air. ‘Two families per cottage – there’ll be plenty of space. And there’ll be more cottages once they’re finished. Give your names to my steward. He’ll see you get the roof over your head that you deserve.’
Father was doubling his generosity so the word would spread. Major Trelawney was certainly thrilled. He stood watching the crowd, his hand on his sword, his face relaxing in a warm smile. He, too, had been fooled and I looked away, trying to hide my fury. Across the street, a man was standing on the step of a shop, slightly raised above the crowd. Framed by the doorway, he was staring at me, his eyes willing me to see him. A thrill of pleasure rushed through my body, my heart at once beginning to race.
His hair was loose, untidy, his chin unshaven. Rough stubble darkened his face. His clothes were dowdy, the cloth poor quality, his boots muddy and unpolished – a working man, indistinguishable from the men around him, except for his eyes. They were watchful, gazing at me with such intent.
I could hardly breathe. It was all I could do to stop myself smiling. I glanced back but he was gone, swallowed by the crowd around him. Why be dressed like that? Father held up his cane, trying to quieten the cheering crowd. ‘Two barrels of ale at The Anchor,’ he shouted, ‘to help ease the pain. Tell the landlord to charge it to my account.’ There was suddenly no doubting his popularity, the cheers were deafening, men pushing past us to claim the first jug. Father’s smile faded. ‘Major Trelawney, a word.’
He slumped angrily back into the carriage, scowling through the window. Major Trelawney climbed the steps, bowing to each of us in turn. ‘I’m afraid the road ahead’s blocked, Sir Charles. There’s timber and rubble as high as any man – no cart can cross it, let alone a coach. I’ve my men working hard on it, but it’s going to take a while. I’ve been waiting for your coach – I believe we’ve been invited to the same tea party.’ He smiled at our expressions of delight, beaming with pleasure as Charity replied.
‘How lovely you’re coming. We’ve missed you up at the Hall.’
Father looked far from pleased. ‘How the deuce are we expected to get to the quay? We’ll have to turn back and abandon the whole bloody idea.’
‘Not at all, Sir Charles, we just need the help of six strong men. Instead of a sedan chair, you shall be taken by human chair. It’s perfectly proper for the ladies – come down and I’ll show you.’ Major Trelawney climbed stiffly down the steps, calling men over to the now-deserted space around the carriage. Charity looked alarmed but my heart was leaping. Major Trelawney was beckoning Arnaud forward with five other men. ‘There’s nothing to it – it’s a lift we use a lot when carrying the injured. Each man grasps his own wrist and a wrist of the other man. Like this. Here – a perfect square seat. All you have to do is sit back and put your hand on each shoulder.’
Father watched two men lift Major Trelawney in the air, vigorously shaking his head. To my mind it looked perfectly sturdy. ‘Why ever not?’ I snapped. ‘Charity’s engagement could be at risk and we can’t miss this tea party or Mother will be furious.’
He glared at me but heaved himself down the steps, pointing to the smartest of the six men. ‘You and you,’ he shouted. As they linked hands, he lowered himself onto their hands. They held his weight, staggering forward, the pile of rubble looming in front of them. If they dropped him, they would have to run for their lives.
The remaining four men watched in relief. I was trying not to smile, looking anywhere but at the man who set my stomach fluttering and my heart thumping. Arnaud had been waiting for this, watching Major Trelawney practise this manoeuvre before we arrived. Major Trelawney looked at the four remaining men and hesitated. He would make sure I was taken next and would follow behind with Charity. Arnaud stepped forward. ‘You and you,’ he said. ‘Miss Cavendish, are you ready? Let me help you.’
I smiled, trying to hide my excitement. Was I ready to be carried in the arms of the man I loved? How ready could I be? The two men gripped wrists, kneeling on the ground beside me and I sat back on their clasped hands as they lifted me up, my feet swinging beneath me like a carefree child. Behind me I heard Charity gasp as she, too, was swept up in the air to be carried across the muddy cobbles and over the pile of rubble.
The ditch smelt appalling, everything black and rotten. The ground was slippery and strewn with obstacles. Impatient mules shook their halters, stamping their hooves as they waited for their carts to be filled. Major Trelawney’s soldiers were giving orders, directing the men with clear commands. There was so much to move. Some had buckets, some had wheelbarrows: others used spades, scrapi
ng them across the cobbles to pick up the broken glass.
Arnaud cried out as if in pain. ‘It’s no use – put her down. On my count of three…’I felt myself lowered slowly to the ground and stood clutching my skirts, desperate not to let the mud ruin my hem. He stretched, rubbing his back. ‘It’s no good, my back won’t take that.’ The other man looked crestfallen, staring at the filth in growing panic.
‘Perhaps we could…what if we swapped hands…?’
‘No,’ replied Arnaud. ‘There’s only one way to carry a lady.’ He smiled, swooping to pick me up, holding me high in his arms as he strode effortlessly toward the pile of rubble. I wanted to laugh, clutch him tightly. I wanted to brush my cheek against the roughness of his stubble, breathe in every bit of him. His face was inches from my own, his arms strong and secure. How I belonged in those arms. We reached the top and he almost ran down the other side. Ahead of us, the quay was dwarfed by the huge naval frigate lying alongside. I leant against the man I adored and whispered, ‘I’m going to run away…anytime soon…wait for me.’
He said nothing, but his arms tightened round me. We had reached the quayside and too many people were watching. Behind us, Major Trelawney looked livid. Arnaud put me down, bowing respectfully. ‘I’m glad to have been of service, my lady – anytime, anytime at all.’
‘I’m so sorry, Miss Cavendish…so…very…sorry.’ Major Trelawney winced in pain and shifted his leg, watching Arnaud disappear into the crowd of onlookers. ‘If I see that man again, he’ll answer for that appalling liberty. I can only apologise, Miss Cavendish – that was never meant to happen.’
I smiled, trying to control my leaping heart. Any time, Arnaud had said, anytime. ‘Please don’t apologise, Major Trelawney. You must know how grateful we are. It was terrifying back there in the coach and if it hadn’t been for you, who knows what would’ve happened.’ He bowed and I smiled. Above us, Lieutenant Carew was watching anxiously from the deck. ‘You’re quite a romantic, aren’t you, Major Trelawney? For all your military bearing, I believe you’re quite determined to play Cupid.’
His face relaxed into a warm smile. ‘We both know they’ll be very happy together.’
He left me, turning to supervise Charity and Father, and I breathed in the smell of the sea, the drying seaweed, the stench of rotting fish nets. The huge ship loomed above me, the masts reaching high in the air, blocking the light. ‘What’s she like?’ asked Charity, coming to my side.
‘She’s jet black with a yellow stripe the colour of golden sunshine. She’s got three masts, a long bowsprit and an almost indecently decent figurehead!’
Charity smiled. ‘Is Lieutenant Carew there?’
‘He’s lining up the sailors. It’s quite a to-do and I don’t suppose he’s allowed to come rushing down to meet us. The sailors are standing along the decks and the officers are lining up by the gang plank. They all look so splendid.’
She flushed with excitement. ‘Oh, Cici. I hope I don’t trip.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
I followed behind Father, Captain Penrose introducing the long line of officers. ‘Lieutenant Saunders…Warrant Officer Moyle…Master Warren…’ They bowed in turn and I smiled with pleasure. They looked so smart in their blue coats and white breeches, their gold buttons gleaming, their sashes so white. They were strong and lithe with sun-burnt faces and an irrepressible energy, worlds apart from Father’s huge belly and bandaged leg. Captain Penrose stopped. He seemed disappointed in Father’s lack of response, turning to me instead. ‘Altogether, two hundred of His Majesty’s finest men, Miss Cavendish.’
‘I can certainly believe that, Captain Penrose – the finest men on the finest ship. What is she?’
‘She’s a sixth-rate frigate – five hundred and ninety-nine tons. Three years commissioned and she’s already proved her worth.’
‘She’s certainly very beautiful and we’re honoured to be invited. I thought women were considered unlucky on a ship.’
Captain Penrose smiled. ‘Not if they’re as sure-footed as you, Miss Cavendish.’ I smiled back. I liked him. Mother would say he had risen through the ranks but he had charm, intelligent eyes and the easy manners of a man who did not need to impress. He must have been early forties, about my height, broad shoulders, impeccable uniform, a stern face but capable of humour. Yes, I liked him. He turned to Father. ‘Easy to manoeuvre, heads close to wind, she’s everything you want.’
Father looked bored. ‘How many guns? You know my brother, Admiral Sir George Cavendish? He could barely get his frigate into the harbour.’
A flicker of annoyance crossed Edward Penrose’s face. ‘Thirty-four guns and, yes, I’ve heard of Admiral George Cavendish.’ He turned to Major Trelawney. ‘Not seasick, I hope, Henry? I know you military men don’t like ships.’
Major Trelawney looked over the side at the glistening mud. ‘Alright, so far, Captain Penrose.’
The men were dismissed to return to their work. HMS Circe was clearly well cherished; I could smell paint, varnish, and soap on the brushes. Her decks were scrubbed, the brass fittings gleaming, the wood polished to a smooth shine. Everything was neatly stowed and lashed to the decks, the rows of coiled ropes hanging securely to the sides. Ropes crisscrossed and looped across the yard arms, stretching like a spider’s web above us. Frederick Carew tucked Charity’s arm through his. ‘A hundred and twenty feet.’
‘And her width?’
‘Thirty-three – she’s not big, but she’s sturdy and very fast.’ He spoke with the same pride as his captain. ‘Come and feel the wheel.’ He smiled, indicating I should join them and I followed them up the steps as eager as a child. Two wheels were joined together, about two feet apart, the circles of beautifully crafted spokes polished to a shine. Charity gripped the wheel on her side and I gripped mine. To sail such a ship, to hold her steady while the ocean lashed. I felt suddenly afraid.
‘Do you have a ship’s cat?’
Charity looked puzzled but Frederick Carew smiled. ‘We most certainly do, Miss Cavendish – rather more than we should.’ The others had reached the forward hatch. ‘Time for tea,’ Frederick whispered, his voice turning conspiratorial, ‘I can’t tell you the trouble Captain Penrose has gone to. He’s borrowed a beautiful Worcester tea set. He’d have had me scurrying all round town but, fortunately, Major Trelawney knew exactly where to get one. They were at school together, you know – Truro grammar school.’ He smiled, the intimacy of his tone making Charity smile back. ‘Cornwall’s a small place – everyone seems to know everyone.’
Mist blurred the horizon. Gulls were screaming, swooping round the boats entering the river mouth. A cormorant stood with its wings held wide to dry, watching me from the top of a wooden pole. The wind was from the south, smelling of seaweed churned by an angry sea. From my vantage point, I searched the ships. Barges lay blocking the creek and small fishing boats crammed the inner harbour. Boats were beached on the tiny stretch of sand, their owners mending nets, but the boat I was looking for was nowhere to be seen.
Lieutenant Carew led the way, walking carefully down the polished stairs, ducking under the hatchway. It was tall enough for us, but not tall enough for him to walk without bowing. At the entrance to the wardroom, he removed his hat. Father was sitting at the large table, Captain Penrose waiting to seat us. He came eagerly forward. ‘Do, please, come in. A bachelor captain has very little experience in offering tea, but I believe we’ll not disappoint. Had it been dinner, you’d have been pleasantly surprised but…well…I’ve been reliably informed ladies like caraway cake and frangipanes.’
The wardroom was larger than I expected with seven large windows across the stern and a further two at either end. The windows were composed of small leaden squares but even on such a dull day, the room seemed bright and airy. Beautifully upholstered benches were carved into the deck sides and a lantern swung from the deckhead. Two paintings of the ship in full sail hung against the wooden panels. A central table stood bolted to the deck, its polishe
d surface gleaming almost as much as the silver tray which held the borrowed china. Another tray held glasses and a crystal decanter.
‘That’s far more to my taste,’ said Father. ‘I believe I’ll dispense with the tea.’
Captain Penrose laughed, seating us appropriately. Despite their busy schedule, some of the officers were to join us. Lieutenant Saunders drew out my chair. ‘That collapsed building’s delayed the loading of the ship.’ He seemed nervous, ill at ease. ‘We’re waiting for some provisions – cabbages, turnips, potatoes, crate of chickens, that sort of thing, but most of the salted stuff’s stashed away and we’re almost ready.’
The tea was poured, the delicate cups chinking against their saucers. Father swilled his brandy round his glass. ‘Orders at last, Captain Penrose. That must please you.’
‘It certainly does, Sir Charles. I need to get back in the thick of things before Lieutenant Carew makes a civilised man of me.’ He smiled broadly. ‘I believe Lord Falmouth only sent us here so I could be taught manners and Lieutenant Carew could pursue his social life! Am I right? One word in your godfather’s ear and we’re off drinking tea in Fosse!’
‘Captain Penrose, I must defend myself – you know very well that’s not why we’re here!’ A slight blush coloured Frederick’s boyish cheeks.
‘Yes, it is, but the pleasure’s all mine.’ Captain Penrose’s smile showed respect, teasing, even affection for the aristocrat who had been foisted on him. ‘Do you like sailing, Miss Cavendish?’
I put down my cup. ‘I’m afraid not. The sea frightens me. I was terribly sick when we came from Portsmouth.’ My mind was racing – Lord Falmouth’s godson? I had seen the look on Father’s face. He was staring at Frederick Carew, the man he assumed to be without patronage. Lord Falmouth’s word was law, even I knew that.
‘Have you seen much action, Captain Penrose?’ Father said with more courtesy than before.
