by Nicola Pryce
I was shaking, my legs barely able to walk as they helped me through the door. I was clutching Joseph Dunn, but somehow I could not let him go. I clung to him, my whole body trembling. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said at last, ‘it’s just…I’m so glad to see you.’
‘Ye’re as white as a ghost,’ said Jenna, taking off my hat and freeing my collar.
‘I’m ne, really I am…don’t wake Mother.’
‘She’s not here – with all that fog and Mr Pengelly being in Mevagissey, Mrs Munroe persuaded her to stay at Coombe House – we’re alone.’
Joseph Dunn lit a candle and for the rst time I caught a proper look at him. He was a huge lad – that was for certain. His hair was cut shorter than I remembered and stubble shadowed his chin. He had a pleasant face, covered with freckles and eyes that lit up when he smiled. He was smiling at me now, the same respectful smile that had made me warm to him before. His shirt was unbuttoned, his chest exposed, and a vast expanse of nely worked muscles clearly visible beneath his loosened garment. He must have seen my look of surprise, as the next moment he turned his back, hurrying to restore some order.
Jenna was not wearing her cap; her luscious blonde curls foaming in abandon around her. Nor was she wearing a chu and her soft shoulders shimmered in the ickering candlelight. The top of her bodice was undone. Indeed, the top ve eyelets gaped open, the soft curve of her beautiful bosom rising invitingly from beneath the lace. She saw my gaze and hastily tightened her laces.
‘How very convenient Mother’s not here,’ I said. ‘Clearly you’ve been beside yourself with worry over me.’
‘Well, yes, we have,’ replied Jenna deantly. ‘Joseph was just thinking he should go search for ye.’
‘Yes,’ replied Joseph rather shyly for such a big man, ‘I was just…’ He paused, his face full of remorse. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Pengelly, it’s me ye should blame…we thought ye were just delayed by fog…I’d no idea ye were…’ He looked discreetly at my clothes. ‘I’ll leave ye now.’
‘No, don’t leave, wait.’ An idea was forming in my mind. ‘Joseph, if I give you a letter, will you take it to Sir James?’
‘Course, I will, Miss Pengelly. I’m to collect him from Pendenning Hall at half past eleven. He’s been dining with Sir George and Lady Cavendish and I’m going there direct. I’ll give him yer letter tonight.’
‘What time’s it now?’
‘Quarter to eleven.’
‘Wait just a moment, Joseph. Jenna, come with me – help me out of these clothes.’ I knew I was being brusque but we had very little time. ‘Don’t ask, but we’ll have to burn them.’
‘Burn them?’
‘Or put them in a sack and Joseph can throw them to the beach – either way your brother must never wear them again…don’t look like that; I’ll pay for new ones. Quickly!’
Relieved to be rid of the heavy breeches, I struggled into my old dress. I could see Jenna was horried but I had no time to explain. My mind was racing – what should I write? I dashed down the stairs, taking two at a time, nearly tripping over in my hurry.
‘Bring another candle, Jenna, and get those clothes wrapped up.’
I searched the parlour for a piece of paper while Mr Pitt watched me from Father’s chair. Papers lay strewn across the table, piled high on stools, spilling across the oor. I grabbed a quill, dipped it in the inkpot and balanced my letter next to Mr Pitt. He seemed pleased to see me and began to purr. What could I write that would not incriminate myself?
I liked Joseph and always felt safe in his company, but what if Thomas Warren saw him rst and demanded the letter? I would not sign it, of course, but how could I tell James Polcarrow everything in so short a space? I began to write, but my hands were shaking and I smudged the ink. I reached for another piece of parchment. Sir James would have to know about Thomas Warren’s treachery. He would also have to be told about the man with the pipe – somehow that seemed important. I began again.
‘It’s gone eleven and Joseph’s to go. Will ye be much longer?’ called Jenna through the door,
There was only one thing I could do. In the middle of the page, I wrote the word midnight and, underneath, I sketched a rose on a long stem. It was not a perfect drawing, and nowhere as good as the ones I had been sent, but it was the best I could do. I folded it in three, dripped a small pool of wax to seal it and, as the wax hardened, pressed my nger into the soft, warm ball. I was trembling.
Back in the kitchen, Joseph was smartly dressed, his livery jacket buttoned tightly to his neck, his hat square on his head. He was holding the sack of clothes.
‘Joseph, that day you rescued me from the highwayman, did you really come across me by chance?’
He looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Not at all,’ he replied, his gaze not wavering, ‘Sir James sent me.’
‘Then, please give this to Sir James the moment you see him. Promise me you’ll not give it to anybody else.’
‘Course,’ he replied, as if offended.
He was out of the door and the kitchen expanded. Jenna handed me a plate heaped with bread and cheese. Pushing a mug of ale towards me, I caught hold of her hand.
‘Jenna, take care.’
‘Nothing would’ve happened.’
‘It might. One day it just might. You know full well all sense vanishes when passion takes over…’
‘No, I don’t,’ she replied smiling shyly, ‘but perhaps ye do.’
Her words made me burn with shame. I did know. I could still feel the hungry searching of his lips. ‘Of course I don’t,’ I lied. ‘But Jenna, promise me, you’ll be careful. Joseph Dunn will batter down your defences and you’ll be caught like everyone else who can’t keep their bodice laced.’
‘Ye know I’m not like that. I know what I’m doing. Not like some. Not like…’ She stopped abruptly, turning her face away, but I had seen her expression – deant yet concerned. I felt strangely chilled.
‘Not like who, Jenna?’
‘Eat yer cheese, Miss Rosehannon, don’t let’s quarrel.’
‘Not like who, Jenna?’ I repeated, pushing away my plate.
There was pity in her eyes now. Her voice softened. ‘Well, I suppose ye might as well know – ye’ll hear it soon enough when it becomes common gossip. Beth Tregony works up at the hall – she’s under-maid at Pendenning…well, she swears, on her life – her hearing it for herself and all that…’
A knot was tying itself round my stomach. I knew what she was about to say.
‘She heard Lady Cavendish scolding Miss Arbella for her foolishness…Miss Arbella is with child, Miss Rosehannon – she’s with child and no doubt about it. Beth Tregony heard it all. It’s why they chased back after Sir James in all that haste and why they’re insisting on the marriage. There, ye asked, I told. Are ye alright?’
The walls of the room were spinning round me. ‘Of course I’m alright.’
She watched me from across the room while I feigned indifference. The words more allowance round the waist were ringing in my ears. I must have gone through the motions of rising. I must have left the table. I think I even cleared away my plate, but I was hardly aware what I was doing. I was Rosehannon Pengelly; clever, articulate, known to be rational, yet the very last utter of hope had just died in my heart.
Chapter Forty-one
I waited by the tree, hoping he would not come. I should have waited until morning, never sent for him in such a hurry. I had read about the Indies, the turquoise seas and mangrove swamps where owers were the size of plates, butteries the size of small birds. Where the nights were warm and lovers kissed to the sound of the cicada. I should have waited. He was betrothed to another woman and she was carrying his child.
A slight rustle made me look up. James Polcarrow was staring at me, his face unsmiling. How long he had been watching me, I could not guess, but when I saw him, I felt my mouth tighten and my expression harden. ‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ I said abruptly.
; ‘I’ll always come if you need me. What’s happened, Rose? Why were you scowling?’
I felt my cheeks redden. I had been thinking of what must have happened on those sultry, moonlit nights. ‘I thought it important to warn you Thomas Warren is not to be trusted,’ I said quickly, ‘but I don’t know what I was thinking when I sent you that note – it was very foolish and I should have waited for morning. Forgive me, it was a mistake.’
I turned my back but he grabbed my elbow. ‘What’s wrong, Rose? You’re never foolish and I’ve never known you make a mistake. You sent for me and I’m here – tell me what the trouble is.’
I stared at him through a wave of hostility. He was dressed as Jim – the jacket, breeches, shirt and scarf, just the same as they had been on the night we rst met, even the dagger hung from his belt. Only his skin looked less weathered and his hair more groomed. He stood searching my face, his expression every bit as dark as our rst encounter.
‘Why are you dressed as Jim?’ I asked coldly.
‘I’m thinking of your reputation.’
‘My reputation?’ I laughed, ‘since when has that bothered you?’
‘Rose, don’t play games. Something important must’ve happened. Tell me what it is.’
He put his hand on my elbow, leading me to the rock where we had sat a lifetime ago. The wind smelt of oceans, of exotic, faraway places, of frangipane and hibiscus, of mimosa and owering bougainvillea and for once I did not want to breathe its salty air. He took off his jacket, laying it on the stone. His shirt caught the wind, rufing his hair and I hated him for the pain I felt.
I told him everything, except what Thomas Warren had called me, and he listened without interruption, his frown deepening. I watched the familiar hardening of his jaw. ‘Rose, nothing you do will ever surprise me – you’re a woman without equal, but you were very foolish to put yourself in such danger.’
I chose to ignore his remark. What I did was my own concern. Below us, the waves lapped the rocks. Above us, the moon smirked. It was on a night like this I had fallen so deeply in love with him and it was on a night like this I discovered I had a rival. She had prior claim. She was beautiful, well connected and rich. And she was carrying his child.
‘Why d’you think they want the creek?’ My tone was abrupt.
‘I don’t know. Have you seen it recently, Rose?’
‘No, but I know the stretch of water well. We often used to row there and we’d pull in to the creek to rest. It’s just above Pont Pill and curves with the river – it’s a natural stopping place…’ I thought for a moment, ‘a lot of boats stop there…’
‘What is it, Rose?’
‘That awful day when you scared Ben and me witless and you left me to the fate of the gaolers – well, I remember looking down on the river and it didn’t strike me as odd then, but I remember there was a large ship anchored in Tideswell Creek.’
‘I didn’t leave you to the fate of the gaolers, as well you know,’ he said, looking straight at me, his eyes black in the moonlight.
‘I don’t care whether you did or didn’t,’ I said, looking away, ‘it’s all in the past.’ I pulled my cloak round me and stood up. ‘I’ve told you everything and I’m tired – I’ve had a terrible night and I want to go home.’
As I turned to leave, he caught my elbow, once more drawing me to him. His touch was rm, but something in my expression must have warned him off. He let me go. ‘I need to see this creek. Can you show it to me?’
‘Anyone can show it to you – I’m surprised you don’t know where it is.’
‘No, I mean tonight…I want to see it now. The tide’s on the rise and there’s a full moon – it would be easy to navigate the river.’
‘Tonight? Why?’
‘Because Thomas Warren and Phillip Randall are up to something and I need to know what it is. They’ll be there rst thing tomorrow morning and they’ll hide what they don’t want seen – I need to get there rst.’
The thought of Thomas Warren made me shudder. I was tired, my ngertips still painful, my body beginning to ache. The last thing I wanted was a long row upriver – especially in the company of James Polcarrow. ‘I’ll tell you where it is and you can go yourself,’ I replied.
‘Come with me, Rose.’
Even through the darkness I could see the pleading in those black eyes staring so intently into mine. It was the look that lled my nights. He would be lying alongside me, his head on the pillow next to mine. His hair would be rufed, his eyes hungry for me. His hands would be playing with my hair. I would smile at him and he would smile back – that brilliant smile that would light up his face.
‘No,’ I replied rmly.
‘Please, Rose. It would be like old times.’
‘There were no old times – there were just lies.’
He turned, scowling into the distance. When he spoke, his voice was hard. ‘If you show me the creek tonight, I’ll halve the rent of the log pool.’
‘Quarter it,’ I replied.
‘Rose – that’s practically giving it to you for free.’
‘I know.’
‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Pengelly,’ he said, with no trace of a smile. ‘First you make free with my money and now you propose to rob me of any ensuing prot. But it’ll have to be. Come, or we’ll miss the tide.’
Chapter Forty-two
I sat in the bow, the boat gliding upriver on the fast-owing tide, only the splash of our oars breaking the stillness. Moonlight shimmered on the water, turning the river silver-grey. The banks were dark, shadowed by the overhanging branches of the densely wooded slopes. Owls hooted across the water and I drew my cloak around me – every child knew the dangers of getting pixilated if you went into the woods at night.
It was so different in the moonlight, so beautiful. The salt-laden air gave way to brackish dankness, the vegetation changing from drying seaweed to damp woodland. Debris oated alongside us – planks and half-submerged barrels, brush handles, pieces of old rope bobbing in the owing current.
Distance was deceptive and our exact position difcult to locate. It seemed much further than I expected but, as we rounded the bend, I recognised the curve where the water grew shallower and knew we were nearing Tideswell Creek. ‘We’re here.’
‘I’ll aim for that overhanging branch and we’ll crawl along it. Can you manage that?’
‘Of course,’ I replied, annoyed he could think otherwise.
With a turn of his oars, he manoeuvred the boat alongside the branch, pulling to test its strength. ‘That should hold.’
I heaved myself onto the branch, cursing the folds of my gown as they got in my way. ‘It’s so much easier to wear breeches,’ I muttered. He laughed, smiling across at me, as my frown deepened. ‘Well, you should try being all trussed up – laced to within an inch of your life!’ I snapped. The glimmer of amusement increased and I turned away.
It would make a perfect log pool. The mud smelt of rotting vegetation, seaweed hung from the branches of the surrounding trees and half-submerged trunks lay washed up along the river’s edge. I crawled along the branch, the wet bark soiling my skirt. ‘It’s pretty overgrown, Jim – I mean, Sir James,’ I said, furious at my mistake.
‘No, call me Jim,’ he said softly, smiling at me through the darkness.
‘There is no Jim.’
‘At least call me James,’ he said with irritation, ‘surely you can do that?’ For a moment, we stood in angry silence, listening to an owl hooting in the distance.
‘D’you think we’re in danger?’ I asked at last.
Those black eyes were staring at me. ‘I’d never bring you knowingly to danger but I can’t be sure. I’ve no idea why they want this land.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Do you want to stay here, or come? I need to take a better look.’
From out of nowhere, dark wings swooped noisily above us and I jumped in fright. ‘I didn’t come all this way to be left behind,’ I said. ‘And d
on’t laugh at me, James – it’s not my fault my mind’s full of Mrs Munroe’s fanciful stories.’
His voice became serious. ‘Tread only where I tread – there may be traps for trespassers.’ He reached for a thick branch, gripping it with both hands, stabbing the ground in front of him. ‘I mean it Rose, these traps kill. Walk only in my footsteps.’
The wood was overgrown, the ground soggy as I lifted my sodden skirts, plunging my shoes into the muddy indentations left by his boots. Brambles whipped my cloak, snagging my dress and, as I struggled to climb over a fallen tree trunk, James held out his hand to steady me. I nearly reached for it. I so nearly reached for it, but I shook my head, knowing I would never let him touch me again. Our eyes met and I saw his mouth tighten in annoyance.
The trees had started to thin, the wood opening into a recently constructed clearing. Moonlight ooded the open space, making it as bright as day. At the end of the clearing, a wooden building was visible against the surrounding trees, a bonre ickering on the ground in front of it. Wood-smoke drifted towards us; two men sitting by the re, their backs silhouetted against the ames. We pulled quickly back, darting behind a tree. A sizeable track led from the clearing down to the river but we had seen no sign of this path from the creek and James crept forward to get a better look. Kneeling on the ground, he felt the stones with his ngers.
‘Cart ruts,’ he mouthed, making no sound.
‘Are they charcoal burners?’ I mouthed back.
‘I don’t think so,’ he whispered, beginning to undo his jacket.
A large rope was slung across his chest and I watched in alarm as he whisked the rope over his head and began refastening his jacket. Pulling his hat low, he took off his scarf, tying it over his mouth to conceal his face. Scooping up some earth, he began rubbing it over his hands, disappearing into the darkness in front of me. ‘Stay here! Conceal yourself under your cloak and promise me – on your father’s life – don’t follow. I’ll come back, but don’t move. Do you promise?’
The rope shone in the moonlight, like a snake in his hands. Twisting it quickly, he tied a knot, once again coiling it and hoisting it over his shoulder. He felt for his dagger and with no sound at all, he was swallowed by the blackness of the wood. I was alone and no amount of owls, or bats, or evil spirits, could have added to my fear. I drew my cloak around me, desperately hoping the vegetation would be enough to give me cover. My hands were shaking, my ngertips sore with gripping my cloak. I was not well hidden – I would have to nd denser undergrowth, but it was too late. One of the men rose from the re and began looking in my direction. He began walking towards me.
