by Nicola Pryce
‘I could never bear you malice. You must know that, Rose.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
I made my way back to the safety of our cottage, my eyes dry of tears, but the moment I began mounting the stairs, I knew something was wrong. A line of candlelight showed under my door – mufed sounds coming from within.
Mother was sitting on my bed, her head bowed, clutching my nightdress to her face. She was weeping, her small frame wracked by the violence of her sobs. She looked up, hardly believing her eyes, ‘Oh, Rose, my dearest, I thought ye’d left us.’
I crossed the room, throwing my arms round her, cradling her to me as if she were my child. ‘I’d never leave you, never.’
Her tear-stained face glistened in the candlelight. ‘I…thought…well…Sir James Polcarrow isn’t the sort of man many women could refuse.’
My heart froze. Had Jenna told her about the note? Surely not, or they would have tried to stop me. ‘What d’you mean, Mother?’
‘Ye know very well what I mean,’ she replied. ‘Not many women would be able to resist the passion of a man like Sir James Polcarrow. I may be getting old and I may pretend to be deaf but I’m not blind. A mother knows things without being told. When he visits, he dgets and doesn’t concentrate on what he says. His eyes always search for ye, always straying to the door, willing for ye to enter. There’s a restlessness about him that speaks of passion and a wildness that makes me believe he’d throw everything to the wind if love was at stake.’ She wiped her eyes, blowing her nose on her handkerchief. ‘I saw the look he gave ye – believe me, not many women would be able to resist such a man.’
‘Well, I’m one that can,’ I said rmly.
She hesitated, as if wanting to ask me something but not nding the courage to do so. Instead, she grasped my hands and kissed them. ‘I should’ve known ye’re not to be played with. I don’t know where ye get your strength, but I admire ye so much.’
‘It doesn’t take much strength to resist Sir James Polcarrow,’ I lied.
Her gaze was strangely steady. ‘I have to say, I like Sir James – very much – and I don’t share yer father’s disregard for him. He’s served us that well and I’ll always welcome him into my house.’
‘I don’t disregard him,’ I replied, understanding her meaning, ‘but what makes you think his intentions are honourable?’
‘I just feel it. Despite his past, I feel he’s honourable – like his father was.’
‘Well, it’s neither here nor there, because I’m not prepared to be summoned like a servant and treated as chattel.’
I felt her inch. Her mouth tightened but her voice was gentle, loving, the voice of my childhood. ‘Promise me, ye won’t shun marriage for much longer? Without marriage ye’ll have no means of support – we’ve no family, only a distant cousin in Falmouth. If ye don’t marry, ye may end with nothing. Ye could be destitute.’
‘I know, you’re right, but why should we have to rely on marriage? Have you never thought we deserve the same rights as men?’ She inched again. ‘Please don’t take badly to my thoughts – I’m not alone. A lot of women believe we’ve the right to contribute to society and every right to be educated – we just need to make it happen, that’s all.’
I could see I was causing her pain. She let go of my hands and smoothed her nightgown, running her ngers down the tiny pin-tucks she had sewn so expertly. I saw the ne tremor in her hands and heard the catch in her voice. ‘Why don’t ye let things be? Why always ght everyone, like yer father?’
‘Because we must,’ I said gently. ‘Without protest, we’ve no voice and with no voice we can’t make changes.’ I took the candle and crossed the room, opening my chest. Hidden among my stockings was the beautiful carved box Father had given me as a child. I kept everything precious in it. I searched for my rescued pamphlet, hurrying straight back. ‘Have a look at this. It’s a pamphlet written by a lady called Mary Wollstonecraft. She believes all women should be educated. Here, let me read it to you – it’s from The Vindication of the Rights of Women.’
The tallow candle was smoking badly, emitting only just enough light for me to see. Mother hardly ever read and I knew she would nd the language hard. I curled next to her, starting from the beginning, reading through to the end. Mother said nothing, but listened intently, the frown increasing on her brow. When the candle guttered, I folded the pamphlet. ‘Father doesn’t approve – he says it’s only t for the re.’
‘I’m not surprised!’ replied Mother in the darkness, ‘I don’t suppose any man would approve! I’m not sure I approve meself or even understand the half of it, but ye can explain another time. We’d better get some sleep now.’ She got up to go, carefully easing her back. ‘Good night, dear child.’
‘Good night, Mother.’ My dearest mother. She was so fragile, so very precious to me.
At the door she paused. ‘No need to tell yer father,’ she said.
She could not see me smiling back in the darkness. Absolutely not. No need to at all.
High Water
Chapter Twenty-eight
Fosse
Monday 12th August 1793 7:00 a.m.
The early morning sunlight caught our new sign, Pengelly Boatyard, making the paint gleam with promise. But what was the point of a boatyard without commissions? I re-read the letter in my hand. Mr Scantlebury was crossing the yard, his eyes glancing nervously at me as he opened the door. ‘There’s thunder in your face, Miss Pengelly.’
‘It’s the letter we’ve been waiting for – from Robert Steppings.’
‘Then not good news, I take it. Ah well, least we tried – though I have to say I’m a little surprised. Mr Steppings seemed much taken with the plans, even led me to believe he was keen on them – aye, well, ’tis not to be, then.’
‘Oh no, Mr Steppings is much taken with your plans – he’s very keen.’
Thomas Scantlebury looked puzzled. ‘Then surely that’s good?’
‘He wants your brig to be built, but not by us. He says, here, let me read you his exact words, our “capabilities are insufcient and we have neither the space nor manpower for the undertaking”. He insists the contract should go to Nickels!’
‘Nickels!’ The colour drained from his face, but not before I had glimpsed the joy in his eyes. To have a brig built to your own design and commissioned by the navy was a dream few shipwrights dared to dream. ‘That’s poppycock – we’ve all the capability we need.’
‘This has nothing to do with capability. Nickels has Sir Charles Cavendish’s patronage, and Sir Charles has the ear of Mr Pitt. You must’ve heard the rumours that Charles Cavendish gave over a hundred thousand pounds to the navy – that’s how he got his baronetcy.’
‘Then we stand no chance – no chance at all…’ Throwing his pack roughly on his desk, he slumped angrily to the chair. His eyes would not meet mine and I knew what I had to say. I had been dreading this all morning.
‘You’ll have to transfer to Nickels, Mr Scantlebury. You can’t let a chance like this go – they’re your plans, it’s your ship, and I’d never dream of stopping you.’ I hoped I sounded convincing. I felt like pleading with him not to desert us, begging for him to stay. I’d promised Father I would look after the yard until he was t enough to return, but already my actions could lose us our most trusted friend.
‘Aye, ’twould be the most sensible thing…’ he replied slowly. ‘But, let’s face it, you and I – we’re a stubborn pair, no mistaking. I’ll build my brig here or not at all.’ He looked down, shifting his papers in an attempt to avoid my eyes. ‘’Tis my belief they’ll come running. The plans are too good – and they know it.’
My heart soared. I should never have doubted him. ‘But there’s something else,’ I said quickly. ‘The navy want it coppered.’
‘That makes sense – it’ll stop the worms in the warmer seas and add to the ship’s speed. They’ll be coppering all their ships soon enough.’
‘B
ut it’ll add ten per cent to our costs and make it hard to keep the price competitive.’
‘Aye, Miss Pengelly.’
‘But d’you think we can do that?’
He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Pulling a large apron over his head, he passed the ties around his waist, tying them rmly in front. Only the slightest glint in his eye gave him away. ‘I couldn’t do it, but then I’m not you, am I, Miss Pengelly? If anyone can nd the money, you can.’
I had long been thinking how to cut costs and my head was jumping. I drew out a large sheet of paper and started writing down my ideas. From now on, I would balance the books meticulously. We would accumulate reserves and never, ever, would our boatyard go bankrupt again. For a start, no credit. Not to anyone until we were in prot. I glanced at the work schedule – all of them seine boats in for repair and maintenance and would soon be needed for the pilchards. All of them belonged to members of the Corporation and all of them would expect credit.
I took a wad of paper. I would write to each member of every consortium, outlining our new terms – cash on completion and a deposit of twenty per cent prior to any work. I knew they would threaten to take their custom elsewhere, but we had to risk it. The pilchards would soon be running and most of the other yards were already full. Surely no-one would risk having their boat unseaworthy for the shoals?
Second on the list – Father never turned away the poorest shermen, but they never paid. That had to stop. We should mend their boats in return for labour. They could work in the sawpit. My head was spinning. Third on the list, how to use what we had more efciently? Father gave away our bark chippings to the sailmakers to preserve the sails, but why allow them free access? It did not make sense. Tanners in Truro needed oak to dye their leather and their businesses were ourishing. The demand for oak chippings was rising.
Reaching for more paper, I sharpened my quill. I would write rst to the tanneries of Truro, then to the sailmakers of Fosse and Porthruan, asking each of them how much they would pay, per cartload, and agree the higher price.
My temples were beginning to throb. I needed air and, besides, I needed to check the quality of the latest batch of hemp. Stepping out into the yard, I blinked in the brilliant sunshine, surprised to see three tall masts soaring above the houses. I had not seen the ship dock against the town quay. She was huge – quite the largest ship to dock for some time. I nodded to the men and smiled at Tom. ‘She must be a beauty,’ I said as we gazed up at the mastheads.
‘Uncle says nigh on six hundred ton. They rowed her in – must’ve been tight.’ He seemed so condent, turning from a boy to a youth, shooting upwards, outgrowing yet more clothes. ‘She’s from the Indies, I believe.’
‘She’s ying some handsome ags. Have you done those calculations yet, Tom?’
‘Oh aye, Miss Pengelly…well…they’ll be done for Sunday!’
I left Tom to his caulking and returned to the ofce. An idea had long been gnawing at my thoughts. We should buy timber when it was a good price and store it for future use. Father had been made bankrupt because we owed too much money to one man and timber merchants were notorious for charging high prices. A couple of boatyards dealt directly with timber suppliers, so why not us? Buying logs cheaper would not only save us money but ensure the supply we needed. We could even make a prot by selling surplus cuts back to the block makers.
What we needed was somewhere to store the timber. Somewhere the logs could season. I picked up the most recent copy of the Fosse Gazette and turned to the page I had earmarked, staring down at the small advertisement for a creek and surrounding woodland. It was to be sold at auction and was unsuitable for dwellings, pasture or livestock because, being tidal, it was completely submerged at the height of the tide.
I knew the creek and knew it would make a perfect log pool, but if I told people why I wanted it, anyone I asked would buy it for themselves. We had no money, so would have to lease it, but who could buy it? I stared at the advertisement. The creek had once belonged to the Polcarrow estate and was surrounded by Polcarrow land. Perhaps they wanted it back? The solution seemed obvious, but thinking about it made my heart hammer. I felt sick with nerves. Could I write to Sir James? Dare I ask such a favour of the man I had shunned so completely?
I crossed to the window and stared across the yard. If I delayed, we might miss this chance for ever. Father would never ask, or even approve for that matter. I took a deep breath. This was nonsense – the future of the boatyard was too important to let Father’s scruples, or my pride, stand in its way. This was purely business: I would write to Sir James Polcarrow and ask that if he was interested in buying back the creek, we would like to have rst offer on the lease.
Every time I began my letter, I saw the anger in his eyes and my hand trembled. The oor was littered with my failed attempts. I had walked away, believing I would never see him again, yet here I was, already asking something from him. He would despise me. I picked up my quill, writing quickly and rmly, sealing it without re-reading it. Jimmy Tregony was sitting on the steps outside. ‘Take this to the gatekeeper of Polcarrow. Be quick – tell him it’s for Sir James Polcarrow.’
‘Right away, Miss Pengelly.’
What had I done? What would Father think? The thought of Father saddened me. His slow return to health still kept him from the yard. He remained in the cramped parlour, surrounded by his correspondence and newspapers, but it was not the lack of opportunity keeping me from him. His constant chiding of Mother irritated me. Never before would I think to conceal anything from him, yet watching Jimmy run under the arch, I knew to keep silent. I would have to tell him – but not now. Not if Sir James Polcarrow was going to be involved.
The reply to my letter seemed exceptionally prompt. Catching his breath, Jimmy handed me a small, folded note. A jolt of pain shot through me and I stared at the same neat handwriting, my throat tightening. But a glance at the stamp of the Polcarrow crest brought me quickly to my senses. The note was brief and to the point. It suggested I came to the ofce at Polcarrow within the hour. It was all so quick, so sudden, but it was just as well – it would leave me very little time to change my mind and no time at all to return to Porthruan to change my dress.
Not that I wanted to. My old green dress would do perfectly well for a business discussion concerning a log pool.
Chapter Twenty-nine
I would take my letters to the posthouse on my way. Gathering them up carefully, I put them in my basket and crossed the yard. The day was getting hotter; Joseph Melhuish halfway through a jug of ale. He nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. I could not imagine how he worked at his furnace on a day like this. Jimmy Tregony had fully recovered from his errand and joined his steps with mine. He removed his cap and smiled. ‘D’ye want me to take them letters, Miss Pengelly?’
The letters were too important to let out of my sight. ‘No, Jimmy. I need to pay for them but wait just a moment while I see Madame Merrick – then we can go past the frigate.’
‘I’ve heard she’s a thirty-two gunner.’
‘As many as that? Well, let’s count them.’
Madame Merrick looked up as I entered the room, her dress rustling as she moved. It was made of very ne silk. She was wearing a piece of cloth wrapped several times round her head. A small arrangement of feathers uttered on one side with what looked like a diamond brooch, pinning everything in place. It was surprisingly elegant but I must have looked surprised.
‘It’s a turban, Miss Pengelly, though I do not expect you to have seen one before. Those in the higher ranks of society know what it is.’
‘And how are the higher ranks of society, Madame Merrick? How’s Lady April Cavendish?’
Mother and Elowyn stopped tting fabric against a dressmaker’s dummy. Mother had pins in her mouth. She shook her head slowly, her lips pursed not only by the pins it held. Elowyn smiled broadly.
‘I believe she is quite well, thank you,’ M
adame Merrick replied coldly.
‘She’s not yet called?’
‘No, but she has sent her housekeeper, Mrs Jennings.’
‘And did Mrs Jennings take tea, Madame Merrick?’ Elowyn’s eyes widened. She clasped her hand across her mouth. Mother’s frown deepened.
‘As a matter of fact, she did. I have learnt to take very small steps at a time, Miss Pengelly and perhaps you would be wise to do the same.’ The old venom had crept back into her tone. Perhaps I had been wrong to tease her. ‘I hear you are planning an ambitious venture, Miss Pengelly – a naval brig, no less, rumoured to be the biggest ship yet built in Fosse.’
‘We’ve only ever taken small steps, but to survive as a boatyard, I believe we need the courage to take bigger steps.’
‘Then take care those big steps do not trample on people’s goodwill, Miss Pengelly.’
I would have replied with deance, but one look from those hooded eyes brought me sharply to my senses. It was as if she knew I was about to make several members of the Corporation very angry. ‘Thank you, but you needn’t worry – the Admiralty want Nickels to have the commission. I doubt it’ll ever come our way.’
Mother gasped, but those hawk eyes remained staring at me. ‘One moment,’ she said as I turned to go. ‘If you insist on running your father’s boatyard, you must, at least, look as if you prosper. In return for the Mantua silk, I will design you a working gown. The gown will afford me no pleasure but I need not make it – Elowyn needs all the practice she can get. This working gown will be plain…no frills or ribbons…it will have a short, matching jacket, similar to a riding habit but I insist you tell nobody it came from here…’
I was completely taken aback. Though her words were said harshly, her offer was so generous I could hardly conceal my gratitude. ‘Thank you...that’s very kind of you.’
