by Nicola Pryce
‘Where to?’ growled Jago.
‘Straight to Mylor,’ replied Arnaud, squeezing my shoulder.
Jago looked up and, for the first time, I saw him smile. ‘No wonder you’re in such a hurry, lad,’ he said, his eyes full of love. ‘I take it we’re going to Flushing first.’
‘No, straight to Mylor.’
‘Flushing it is, then,’ replied Jago, walking back to the bow. ‘Sailing with you is one thing. I can take any amount of gunfire and cannons but your mother’s wrath? Never that!’
Chapter Fifty-five
The Channel
28th November 1793, 1:00 a.m.
I held the tiller. Moonlight shimmered over the sea, bathing us in silver light, catching the sails, turning them ghostly grey. I could see the dark outline of the coast, the curve of the land, the jagged rocks spilling down from the cliffs. Foam frothed across the deck, the movement gentle, mesmerizing, just the faintest splash of waves against the bow. The wind blew from the south, the sails arching to starboard. Arnaud sat down beside me, his arms folding around me. ‘The stove’s lit, the coffee’s on but Perdue’s still not speaking to me.’
We looked round. Perdue had followed Arnaud up the steps and was glowering at us from the hatchway. ‘She looks very angry.’
‘She’s going to need a lot of fish with Endymion on board – she hates him!’
‘I’m not surprised. He’s so fearsome.’ Endymion was sitting by the bowsprit, staring out to sea like a figurehead. Jago was beside him, smoking his pipe – two old friends sitting in companionable silence.
‘She thought she’d seen him off. He’s quite petrified of her and stays well away, but that’s not enough – she wants him off her boat.’ He smiled, drawing back a lock of hair blowing across my face, his voice turning suddenly serious. ‘I couldn’t tell you, Celia. You must know how much I wanted to but I’m bound by a strict code of conduct. We can’t say anything, tell anyone – not even to the woman you adore.’ He kissed my cheek, his eyes entreating, searching mine. ‘I wanted you to know…I’ve always wanted you to know.’
‘You tried to tell me. Not directly, of course. You said I could love you…you told me you were coming back and only a Cornishman would know snipes preferred to nest on the moor. There was an etching of a snipe in my room and yet I never thought…not until the end.’ My head was against his shoulder, his arm around me.
‘When did you guess?’
‘Nathaniel Ellis was no liar – everyone knew he was telling the truth. When he said Jacques attacked him, I couldn’t understand it. Why lie about that and be so honest about everything else? Then everything became clear – it was Jacques who had lied. If you were to be caught, Jacques needed Nathaniel out of the way. We were sailing straight into Jacques’ trap but you didn’t know it. Even the signal was wrong.’
He nodded. ‘Everything was wrong.’
‘Nathanial’s evidence made sense of it all – the way Jacques tried to take the pistol from me, the way he anchored to delay us. Did you suspect Jacques was working for the French?’
‘Not when we set out, only when he anchored when he didn’t need to…and the fact he sent you ashore – he probably thought you couldn’t row. Darling Cécile…keeping silent has been the hardest thing I’ve had to do. I run a network…a line of correspondence going straight to the very heart of Paris. Too many people rely on our silence – living in danger, risking everything to provide us with information.’ He held my hand to his lips, his eyes no longer laughing, but alive with passion, devotion to his country. ‘These people offer safe houses. They work as servants to spy for us, carry information back to us. Through them we know where the troops are massing, who commands what.’
‘I understand…honestly, I do. You were sworn to secrecy. You couldn’t tell me and I’m proud you didn’t.’ My heart felt as if it would burst. ‘I couldn’t understand why you were in court – then I realised you were waiting to step forward if James Polcarrow was found guilty. You were there to save him.’
‘Anyone wishing to break silence or leave the network has to get permission. I had to ride to London – I galloped there and back, desperate to be in time…’ The mischief returned to his eyes. ‘I didn’t recognise you, at first. That was an awful bonnet.’
A rush of pleasure made my heart race. My face was burning, his touch making me tingle – the feel of his arms, the scent of almond soap. ‘Who are you?’ I whispered. ‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘Arnaud’s my middle name, used only by my family. To everyone else, I’m Lieutenant Edward Pendarvis.’
‘That’s a very fine name. I think I can get used to it.’ The name sounded familiar.
‘When the slaughter started, my mother’s family were still in France. I brought most of them to Britain but a couple of my cousins remained behind. They wanted to help overthrow the tyranny. We set up a channel of communication, passing information directly to Mr Pitt. He called me to his office one day and told me I was to leave my ship and work directly for Mr Dundas, his War Secretary. Mr Pitt calls us his secret service – Mr Dundas’ spies. Even the other cabinet members don’t know about us. Are you warm enough?’
He leant over and reached for a cashmere blanket, wrapping it round my shoulders, tucking it down my back. The air was full of moisture, the wind picking up, blowing steadily from the south. ‘I run an organisation known as the Channel Island Correspondence; any information we collect goes straight to the Foreign Office. I needed a fast cutter so I bid for L’Aigrette.’
‘But Sir James wanted her for Rose.’
‘The bidding was fierce but then I saw the beauty of it.’ The lines around his eyes creased. ‘In fact, the perfect cover.’
‘Did the man we rescued survive?’
His lips lingered on my cheek. ‘The man you helped save was William Wickham, Mr Dundas’ spy master. He’s based in London, under the wing of the Alien Office but he’d been in Switzerland, setting up new channels. He had all the information with him – names, codes, addresses…everything. It was all in that barrel we handed over the side.’ I nodded. I had guessed as much. ‘He was in grave danger and we were only just in time to get him to safety.’
There was no trace of his borrowed French accent, just a beautifully modulated voice with West Country vowels. Edward Pendarvis, brave, handsome, a Cornishman, full of honour and integrity, an officer in the Royal Navy, risking his life for his king and country. How I adored him. He frowned, his eyes dark in the moonlight. ‘The only time I think Jacques could have seen the code was when I was showing you how to gut the fish. The tiller was tied down – he must have rushed down and copied it when our backs were turned.’
‘I take it your plan is to replace it with a false code?’
He smiled. ‘See how good you are? I knew you’d make the prefect spy. If your Irishman’s still there, we’ll leave him a false code, followed by false information.’
‘My lodgings were just opposite…I may be recognised.’
His eyes creased. ‘You can wear Jacques’ clothes.’
‘Why didn’t you have Jacques arrested?’
‘Jacques wasn’t my choice. I chose everyone else, but Jacques was foisted on me by Mr Dundas. His friend, the Comte de Trevaunes, swore to his loyalty and I had to tell Mr Pitt I suspected he was working for the French.’ He paused, turning my chin slowly so he could reach my lips, ‘and I had to tell Mr Pitt I was going to marry you.’
It was hard to keep my course – the touch of his lips, the taste of his kiss, his hand caressing my throat, twirling the silver compass in his fingers.
‘I’m a man of honour and I must act to restore your reputation. How long was it? Thirty-six hours alone with a captain who could not wait to get you into his cabin? Matthew Reith had absolutely no idea how right he was. Dearest, bravest Cécile…will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?’
‘I would love to,’ I whispered.
We watched the coastline, both of us smiling.
The night was so clear, the silver light shimmering on the sea around us. Celia Pendarvis, Cécile Lefèvre, both sounded wonderful. I had so much to learn about this man I adored.
‘Dodman on the starboard beam,’ called Jago from the bow. ‘Wind’s picking up. Should be in Flushing in no time.’
Edward stood up. ‘All sails out – let her run.’ His movements were strong, decisive, just like the first time I watched him. It seemed a lifetime ago. He released the rope, one hand in front of the other, the wind filling the sail. L’Aigrette was flying.
‘Just the wind we need,’ he shouted. ‘It’s backing southeast – it’ll blow us straight to Mylor.’
Chapter Fifty-Six
Edward handed us a cup of steaming coffee. Jago took it with one hand, the other on the tiller. ‘Ye can’t do this – not to yer mother.’
A look of resignation crossed Edward’s face. He raised his eyebrows and sighed. ‘I’m an only child and sometimes, well…sometimes…Mother can be a little…’ He left the words unsaid.
‘Dear Madame Merrick. You can look just like her sometimes. You’ve got her long fingers and high cheekbones. And you’ve got the same eyes – watchful, secretive, never giving anything away. I’m very fond of your mother – we already get along very well.’
‘Well, I know she adores you.’ Edward was still frowning. ‘But that’s not our problem…our problem is that Mother will insist on making your wedding dress and that’ll take forever.’ He put his hand through his hair. ‘And I can just see the list they’ll start to make. They’ll want to invite all their friends – Lord Falmouth, my godfather, Lord Carew, my uncle, Lord Camelford…not to mention all my English cousins. And Father will want to invite all his Admiralty friends. The list will go on and on and it’ll take months to organise.’ He shook his head. ‘We can’t wait that long, can we, Cécile?’
Admiralty friends. The excitement had clouded my mind. ‘Admiral Sir Alexander Pendarvis, soon to have a large house built in Fosse with plans for a row of cottages and an almshouse?’ I asked.
Arnaud’s eyebrow shot up, his smile lighting his face. ‘You’ve met him, by the way – you gave him alms.’
‘That beggar was your father?’
‘He’s been watching the shipyard, keeping a close eye on the Irish bookkeeper. He saw Jacques go there a couple of times. The bookkeeper must have been his contact and once he was arrested, Jacques had no choice but to take the code to Bodmin himself.’
Jago was still shaking his head. ‘Yer Mother won’t like it – not one bit.’
Arnaud frowned. ‘But there’s all her family, Jago – you know what they’re like! All four brothers will have to travel from London and the Marquis de Barthélémy will insist on giving a ball in Celia’s honour. He’ll want me to go to his vineyards to collect the wine and that’ll take for ever.’ He looked up. A terrible howl was echoing along the decks and across the open sea. ‘Oh no…there goes Endymion…’
Endymion sat in the bow, his neck outstretched. He looked so happy baying up to the moon with heartfelt love. Purdue’s tail thumped and she sprang to her feet. ‘Endymion used to sail with us until he learnt to bay – then he had to go. It’s not very convenient, hiding up a creek when Endymion starts howling.’ He drew me closer, holding me tightly. ‘We’re eloping, Jago. Celia’s run away from home and doesn’t want her family to know anything about me.’ He leant closer. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
I tried to smile. I was being silly, wanting too much.
His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You’d like Charity to be there, wouldn’t you?’
I nodded, feeling suddenly sad. ‘And Mrs Jennings…but it’s alright, I know it’s impossible. Mrs Jennings knows your Mother as Madame Merrick and if you’re to keep your cover, no-one must recognise you. She knows you, too, remember?’ I put my cup down, feeling increasingly queasy. The waves were building, the boat rising and falling with greater force. My lips felt dry, my mouth full of salt. It had been a mistake to drink the coffee. I tried breathing deeply. ‘How much longer?’ I asked.
Edward smiled. ‘Not long – perhaps two hours.’
‘Two hours!’ I could not believe I could feel so wretched. Not again. Please not again.
Edward leapt to his feet. ‘I’ll get some ginger…and some peppermint tea. That helped last time, didn’t it?’
Jago shook his head. ‘It’ll pass. Ye’ll get yer sea legs soon enough.’ My hand flew to my mouth. ‘Quick, captain, bring a bucket,’ he yelled.
If I stayed completely still, my sickness might be held at bay. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the sea, watching the white crests. It was not even as if it was rough; the wind was perfect, the waves hardly moving. Edward handed me the exquisite china cup, the strong smell of mint filling the air. He wrapped the blanket round me and kissed my cheek. I tried to smile.
‘This is what we’re going to do,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll drop Jago off in Falmouth and you and I will ride to Bodmin and leave the false code. Jago, tell Mother and Father to meet us in Mylor Creek at midnight on the third of December. If I’m right, and I have every reason to believe I am, Charity and Mrs Jennings are expected in Trenwyn House in three days’ time and it’s just across the river from Mylor.’ He drew breath, but not for long. ‘We’ll get a note to them that Jago will be waiting for them on the river just before midnight on the third.’
‘Mylor Creek? We’re to be married on the boat?’
‘No, in the church. Reverend Milles has a romantic dis position. My family have known him for years and he won’t be hard to persuade. It’ll be just the thing. At the door, Mrs Jennings will be blindfolded. She and Charity will be sworn to secrecy and Mother, I promise, will sound like any other Englishwoman. Charity won’t recognise her as Madame Merrick and Mrs Jennings will see no-one through her blindfold. That way, they’ll be there for you and can witness you becoming Mrs Edward Pendarvis – there, I think that covers everything.’
‘Sounds as good a plan as any,’ muttered Jago. ‘So I’m to arrange it all, am I?’ He smiled. ‘Take the tiller – I’ll quieten that dog.’
The baying stopped. I held the ginger jar in my hand. Of course it was Ming, what else would it be? Edward was holding me tightly but when he spoke it was as Arnaud Lefèvre. ‘You’ll love the River Fal, Cécile, and you’ll love Mylor Creek. Kingfishers flash across the water and egrets swoop down from the trees. Herons stand like statues by the water’s edge and seals swim round the boat. Sometimes I swim with them.’ He kissed my hand, keeping it to his lips. ‘When the tide’s out, sandpipers scurry across the mud and godwits dig for molluscs. It’s so beautiful. And when night falls, we’ll hear the curlews calling, the owls hooting.’
I took another piece of ginger.
‘We’ll be based in Jersey, but we’ll come back to the creek and anchor below Trenwyn House. We can watch Lady Carew’s concerts. You’ll be able to see Charity whenever you want.’ The wind was blowing his hair, ruffling his collar, his hand resting lightly on the tiller. ‘There’s so much to show you, I hardly know where to start.’
We looked up. Jago was leaning over the bow, holding the bowsprit. ‘Dolphins,’ he shouted, ‘more than I can count.’
Tears stung my eyes. The sea was rippling, black shapes diving in the water around us. Dolphins, riding the bow waves, the man I loved, standing by my side.
Better than my dreams. Better than my wildest, wildest dreams.
The End
Acknowledgements
I would like to extend another huge thank-you to my family and friends; to my agent Teresa Chris and my editor Sara O’Keeffe and her team at Atlantic books. Also to everyone in the Cornwall Record Office, Truro. Thank you, each and every one of you for your continuing enthusiasm and support.
