by Nicola Pryce
I had never spoken to Father like that. Perhaps, it was the injustice, perhaps it was because I had seen Mother’s hands tremble and her shoulders sag. Either way, I meant every word and waited for his reply but he remained silent. No apology. No look of regret. I scooped up the parcels and sought refuge in my own room.
‘He’ll come round,’ Jenna said, following me out. ‘It’s just different, that’s what. He’s come home and heard nothing but talk of Madame Merrick – it’s like he’s jealous, that’s all. Give him time – you’ll see. He’ll come round.’
‘Jenna, where d’you get your wisdom? You’ve such an old head on young shoulders.’
‘Come, let’s see ye in this dress. Here…go through to yer mother’s room…look in the pier glass.’ She took hold of my elbow, ushering me excitedly through the door.
‘There,’ she whispered, the last button fastened. ‘Ye’ve got to be the most beautiful woman in Cornwall, if not England …just look at ye,’ she said, wiping her eye.
The dress was in the latest fashion, the muslin soft and delicate, the bodice threaded at the neck with ribbons and lace. The waist was raised, the skirt falling softly to just above my shoes, the sleeves short, lightly puffed, edged with lace. My reection looked unreal, beautiful and feminine. I never imagined I would wear such a dress.
‘Madame Merrick says it’s like the Ancient Greeks used to wear…she says it’s all the rage.’ She rearranged my hair, pinched my cheeks and stood back. ‘This’ll do perfect.’
‘What d’you mean, this will do perfect?’
‘Ye know exactly what I mean. Ye’ll have to see him sometime – and when he sees ye looking like this, there’ll be no stopping him. No stopping him at all.’ She raised her eyebrows, smiling for all she was worth.
‘Stop it, Jenna. I won’t see him.’
‘Ye have to. He’s called three times in the last two weeks and he’s not coming to see your father. He comes to see ye.’
‘His attentions are unwelcome, I won’t see him. I mean it. And I won’t have you tattling and gossiping.’
I looked at myself in the mirror, feeling nothing but distaste. Father was right, I should never have questioned him – we had become puppets. Fresh off the fashion plate, and probably the envy of every lady in Fosse, the dress and bonnet had transformed me into an elegant beauty. I hated it. It was not me staring back but some empty-headed society climber and I had no intention of running a boatyard looking empty-headed. Nor had I any intention of climbing into higher society. I hated it. I felt trapped, snared, somebody I was not – somebody I would never be. ‘Get me out of this dress’ I snapped.
Jenna crossed her arms, her lips pursing. ‘Ye’re so stubborn, Miss Pengelly – so very stubborn. What are ye thinking? Sir James Polcarrow is rich and powerful…owns just about the whole world…yet ye don’t go after him when ye could have him for the taking?’ She bent to pick up my old dress, shaking it severely. ‘And he’s brave and daring…I heard it was him who set re to the old cottages and him who smuggled the attorneys into the house among all the confusion. He’s clever, very clever, probably too clever for ye – ye being too stubborn to recognise a good catch when ye see one.’
‘Jenna!’
Our heated words were interrupted by the sound of hooves on the cobbles below. The casement was wide open and we heard them stop outside our cottage. Bridles were jingling, spurs clinking and the sound of men dismounting. Jenna rushed to the window, carefully peeping from one side of the shutter. ‘He’s here,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Ye’ll have to see him now. Please, go down and talk to him – just for my sake.’
I turned my back to the window. ‘If you admire him so much, you go down and see him. If he asks after me, tell him I’m not well and have a headache.’
I was surprised Jenna did not immediately answer me back, but remained staring out of the window. I heard the front door open and Mother’s voice rising in welcome as she ushered Sir James into the tiny parlour, but Jenna still did not move. The more I watched her cheeks ush, the more intrigued I became. Before I knew it, I found myself edging closer to the window.
‘Now those be shoulders!’ she said, craning her neck. ‘And look at them hands – ye can tell a lot by a man’s hands – look at the way he’s holding them reins. If only we could see his face.’ She leant further out of the window.
I glimpsed down, unable to resist. Two matching black stallions stood in front of the cottage – huge, sleek beasts, saddled in very ne leather. A young man dressed in riding livery stood holding their bridles, keeping their heads steady as they shook against the ies. There was something about the young man which made me look closer. He turned his face. ‘He’s Joseph Dunn,’ I whispered, ‘the man who rescued me after the highwayman overturned the cart.’
‘Joseph Dunn? Ye told me he was handsome but ye didn’t say that handsome. Jigger me – he’s perfect.’
‘Jenna!’
I must have spoken too loudly. The young man looked up at the window, grappling the reins into one hand as he took off his cap. I nodded in return but, as I turned back from the window, Jenna was nowhere to be seen. Below me, the front door opened and I glanced down, horried. Jenna was standing on the street. She had removed her chu and rearranged her bodice, lovely wisps of blonde hair now framing her face. A basket hung from her elbow, her skirts swaying as her hips swung. She stood smiling at the bewildered young man, her dimples creasing.
Lifting the lid of her basket, a little smile of intimacy uttered at the corners of her wide mouth. Joseph Dunn’s smile broadened to a grin. Bending his head to examine the contents of the basket, I could see his eyes widen in pleasure. All three of us knew it was not just Jenna’s apple dumplings on offer.
I felt suddenly chilled, despite the sun beating so warmly against the window. Envy pricked my heart and I felt ashamed of my thoughts. He would be perfect for her. Why not let her have what I could not? She reached into her basket, bringing out an apple for each horse. I watched her pretend to be frightened by their great strength, quickly reassured by Joseph Dunn. She knew I would be watching, but she took no heed. From under those uttering lashes, she threw me a glance and for the rst time ever, I caught a look of deance.
The crowded street was lthy with refuse. I looked down to the harbour, to the ships’ masts bobbing on the incoming tide. Seagulls were swooping, diving, following the shing boats back from the sea. I smelt the salt. How I longed to be away from this hateful cottage with its crowded rooms and stiing air. I wanted to go home, back to Coombe House.
The front door opened and Joseph Dunn sprang to attention. Sir James Polcarrow walked briskly into the sunshine and nodded at Jenna. He must have seen the nervous glance she threw in my direction and, before I could hide, he looked up and saw me, standing in the full glare of the sun, the bright rays shining on my new dress. I gripped the casement and stared back, my heart thumping. He was almost unrecognisable, his hair cropped, his beard shaven, his riding jacket stretching without a crease across his shoulders. His breeches clung to his legs, his tall black riding boots shining with polish. Round his neck he wore a silk cravat. In one hand he held a riding whip, in the other, a pair of gloves.
There was no trace of the rugged sailor who had smiled up through his lock of hair. No glimpse of the accomplished thief who had broken into Coombe House, or the rogue who sat balancing two wenches on his knee. He was handsome, no doubt about it, possibly the most handsome man I would ever see – his straight nose and square jaw chiselled like the marbles in his hall. But apart from those piercing blue eyes, he was a stranger – not the man who had so nearly stolen my heart.
I began to feel calmer. I owed him everything – Father’s life, our boatyard, perhaps even our return to Coombe House. Without him we would be destitute. He had given me back everything, but Father was right – James Polcarrow had been serving his own interests. He had not trusted me and that still hurt. I would not let my gratitude cloud my
judgement.
I lifted my chin, staring back at him with complete resolution. His face clouded, his jaw stiffened and I saw bewilderment, even sadness in his eyes. Grabbing the reins from Joseph, he nodded to Mother and stepped high into the stirrup, urging his horse forward before he was properly mounted. Joseph Dunn followed, cantering fast on his heels and I stood watching their retreating gures, emptiness welling up inside me.
It had to be done. It was a clean cut, no festering, and it was done.
I drew a deep breath, lling myself with much needed courage. I am born of Cornwall, born from generations of shermen and boat-builders. The wind is my breath – the sea is my blood. I know where I belong.
Chapter Twenty-five
Mother rose from the parlour table, taking a candle in her hand. ‘I think I’ll go to bed early. Goodnight, Rosehannon. Don’t be late, Jenna – you must’ve done enough by now.’
‘Only a little bit more, Mrs Pengelly, I’ll not be long.’
‘Goodnight, Mother.’
Jenna looked up through her lashes. I knew that look. ‘So, do ye want to know who was at the door earlier, or not?’ She was enjoying herself. Her eyes were sparkling.
‘No, not really. Well, who was at the door?’
‘Mrs Cousin’s middle one.’
‘Why would I want to know that?’ A knot began tying itself in my stomach.
‘Ye used to want to know. Ye’d ask all the time…has anyone left a basket? Cherries or such like…now seems ye aren’t interested. Don’t ye like fruit any more, Miss Pengelly?’
My mouth felt dry, the familiar thudding starting in my chest. ‘Jenna, what are you saying?’
‘A lovely basket of apples arrived not long ago – beautiful they was – red and juicy and really crisp…too good for baking.’
‘Where are they?’ I was nding it hard to breathe.
‘What? The apples? Took them straight to Mr Pengelly – put them by his chair. He was very pleased. Lovely, he said, are they all for me?’ She was wiping the simmering pan with a large cloth, turning the pan round in front of her, examining it in great detail. Finally she looked up, ‘Are ye alright, Miss Pengelly, only ye don’t look very well?’
‘Was there a letter in the basket?’
‘I do believe there was.’
‘Where is it?’
‘I’m not sure I can remember…’ She stood wiping the pan, carefully polishing the rim. Finally, she reached into her bodice, raising her eyebrows. ‘It’s the same handwriting,’ she said, thrusting it in my direction.
I took the note, my hand shaking. ‘Thank you, Jenna.’
Her lips were pursed. ‘I know what ye’re going to say – ye don’t have to tell me…I won’t say a word!’
Chapter Twenty-six
Shutting the door of my room, I steadied the candle, my hands shaking. I stared at the note, wanting the strength to put it straight to the ame. It was identical to the one I had received before – just the word Midnight and a ne ink drawing of a rose on a slender stem.
The candle guttered, yet I remained sitting on my bed, staring into the darkness. The church clock struck half past eleven. I would not go. Quarter to twelve, perhaps I should. Hating my weakness, I descended the staircase, tip-toeing along the passage to the back door. Father was sleeping in the parlour, preferring his makeshift bed to the stuffy bedroom upstairs and I knew the rhythmical stream of his snores would cover the sound of my footsteps. I undid the bolts as smoothly as I could and slipped quietly into the warm night air. It was late, I would have to hurry.
The moon was a distant crescent giving no light. It felt familiar, yet strangely different as I picked my way along the uneven path. The scent of honeysuckle lled the air, a frisson of excitement shooting through me. The wind was warm, smelling of seaweed, the sky and ocean merging as one, black mass. It was a night for concealment – for smuggling. My progress was slow but, as I reached the oak, a voice whispered my name and two strong hands reached out to pull me into the recess of the tree.
I could hardly see him; his dark jacket and breeches barely visible through the blackness, his hat pulled low. He was wearing the familiar loose-collared shirt, the red scarf tied round his neck. ‘I knew you’d come,’ he whispered.
‘I very nearly didn’t. Why are you dressed as Jim?’
‘Because as James Polcarrow you’ll not speak to me. As Jim, I stand a chance.’
I turned to go, my heart crying. Everything had come ooding back – the way my heart skipped in his presence, the way I longed for his touch.
‘Rose, you cannot ght the force that binds us.’ I looked up, startled at the tenderness in his voice. ‘Rose, please, listen to me. Not a moment passes without thinking of you, not a night I don’t dream of you. I live an empty half-life, desperate for a glimpse of you – long endless days, counting down the hours before I can visit your parents and hope to see you. What good’s my wealth and vast estates if you’re not there to share them? What comfort any house if you’re not in it?’ I turned away. ‘No, Rose, please listen – what use is my position and power if you don’t esteem them? I can’t live like this, not without you by my side. If you cannot nd it in your heart to have me as James Polcarrow, then, please, have me as Jim.’
He threw his hat to the ground and reached for my hands, pressing them against his lips. Falling to one knee, he looked up at me through the lock of hair that fell forward across his forehead. ‘Marry me, Rose. Come away with me. The Hibernia leaves on the tide. The ship’s master is a good man – he’ll give us passage. He’ll marry us tonight and before dawn, we’ll know the joy of perfect union. Please, Rose, do me the honour of becoming my wife.’
I fought the dizziness sweeping over me. He must have seen how my head reeled and my body swayed. He drew me closer, holding me tightly, enclosing me in his strong arms. I had not been expecting this. I do not know what I had been expecting, but never this.
His lips brushed my hair, ‘Our destinies lie entwined, Rose. I know you feel it too – it’s in your eyes.’
His breath was hot against my cheek, his lips a fraction from my own, I could almost taste them. I had to stop myself from reaching towards them. The touch of his hands, the passion in his voice, thrilled every part of me. He kissed my ear. ‘We can start afresh, Rose. I needed to clear my name – that’s done now. My father’s killers have been brought to justice and we can start a new life. I know you hate everything I stand for – you and your father, but I’ve never sought power, nor do I seek the trappings of great wealth; God knows, I’ve lived long enough without them. I’ll give up my baronetcy – my step-brother can have Polcarrow and we’ll start again. I’ll get by as a tutor and you can continue your bookkeeping.’ His lips lingered against mine, brushing them softly.
Every inch of my body ached for his touch. I could feel the familiar fabric of his jacket, the familiar scent still clinging to it. One more kiss, just one more kiss. To taste the lips that sent re through my body. One more dark, velvety kiss for me to remember. ‘No!’ I cried, pulling myself free. Yet even as I tore myself away, I saw the pain in his eyes and struggled to breathe. ‘You’re not Jim – and you never can be. Not now. You’re Sir James Polcarrow and anything else would be a lie. I’ll not live a lie.’
His arms loosened, his jaw stiffened. He lifted his chin and it was Sir James Polcarrow staring at me, his sailor’s outt no disguise against generations of aristocratic breeding. I took a deep breath.
‘You’re a baronet, born to rank and privilege – you can’t pretend otherwise. How long would it be before hardship made you long for your wealth? Before someone treated you as inferior and you told them who you really were? You’d hold our son in your arms and long for him to take his rightful place in the Polcarrow lineage. You aren’t Jim and you can’t pretend to be – it wouldn’t work and it would destroy me watching you pretend for my sake.’
‘I love you, Rose – that’s all that matters.’
‘And when your passion’s spent? When poverty makes us bitter? You’d yearn for the privilege you take for granted and blame yourself for being a fool.’ I saw the mask close over his face, the deep lines set around his mouth. He turned his back and stared across the black sea. I, too, must turn my back and go. It had been a mistake to come. A terrible, terrible mistake.
He swung round, his face full of fury, ‘For God’s sake, Rose – if you’ll not marry me as Jim, then marry me as James Polcarrow.’
I drew back, shocked. My heart was aching for the sailor who had stolen my heart, not this stranger who shouted so angrily. I did not know him and certainly did not love him. ‘No, Sir James,’ I said, every trace of uncertainty vanishing with the breeze. ‘I can never marry you, nor do I wish to. We can never live each other’s worlds – I’m the daughter of a dissident boat-builder and I’ll not abandon what I hold true. Nor do I want to – I’m proud of who I am. I’m set to challenge the power of the aristocracy, not become one of them.’
‘That’s what I love about you.’ His voice sounded strangely distant.
‘You don’t know me well enough to love me and I don’t know you, at all. You’re a stranger – your position in society is so completely different from mine. Every one of your sort would loathe me. They’d despise who I was and where I came from. You mistake love for want – and you can nd that in someone else.’
The breeze cooled my cheeks and I was glad of it. I must not stay. I was doing the right thing, I knew I was, but why did it hurt so much? ‘Goodbye, Sir James, I wish you well…and when Father applies for the lease of his boatyard back, please bear us no malice.’
He stared back at me, all trace of emotion gone, his face once more a sombre mask. A gust of wind caught the collar of his shirt and I remembered the gale that had blown so ercely the night we rst met. It seemed an eternity ago. I breathed in the salty air, forcing it deep within my lungs. I am a child of the sea and the wind. I am born with a spirit, free to choose. No man will force me to change who I am. I began to feel calmer and turned to go. As I did, I caught a whisper on the wind.
