by Nicola Pryce
‘Rose, you were right when you said I’d not be able to stand by if someone dismissed me as inferior. The long years of abuse and servitude, of hiding and pretending to be someone else came boiling to the surface and I spoke in anger. Before I could stop myself, I told her who I really was.’
The knot in my stomach tightened. I turned away, but he reached for my hand, forcing me to look into his eyes. ‘I don’t love her, Rose. I’ve never loved her, I can see that now. I was infatuated with her beauty, in love with the idea of love, but I’ve never yearned for her like I do for you. I love you, Rose. We are destined to love one another. She and I are like strangers – nothing else. There’s nothing between us – no warmth, no love, no spark.’
He held my ngers to his dry lips. ‘I ache for you,’ he whispered, turning my hand over to kiss my palm. ‘Every night I dream I’m holding you in my arms. I imagine you’re lying beside me – your hair spilling over the pillow. You smile at me and I smile back and my heart bursts with the love I have for you. Then dawn breaks and my heart breaks, too, knowing that, somehow, I have to get through the day without you.’
I could not believe what he was saying. How could he do this to me? To her? I pulled my hands free, tears of disappointment springing to my eyes. How dare he make love to me! Sir James’s whore, had he heard that too? I stood up, grabbing the latch, clutching it with desperate hands, but before I could open the gate, he blocked my way.
‘Rose, stop running away. We’re meant for each other.’
I stared in disbelief. ‘I thought you came back to clear your name – to restore your reputation and live with honour.’
‘Why should we deny ourselves happiness for the sake of honour? For some foolishness that happened long before I met you? Arbella means nothing to me and our marriage would be a sham. Would you have me trapped in a loveless marriage, wanting you every day? Longing for you every night?’
I began struggling with the latch, my hands shaking. He took a step closer, pulling me to him. I could feel the warmth of his body, the touch of his lips against my hair. His voice was tender. ‘Let me love you, Rose. Let me cherish you the way you deserve. I’ll end my engagement to Arbella. She and her family can return to Dominica and I’ll willingly never see them again.’
How could he say that? How could James Polcarrow be prepared to abandon a woman who was carrying his child? A man who lived by such ideals, ghting for justice, standing alone against the Corporation? A man who would unshackle the slaves? I had been wrong in my judgement of James Polcarrow and Father had been right. Everyone knew the consequences for Arbella Cavendish. If he was capable of abandoning Arbella and his unborn child, then he was not the man I thought he was, and not a man I could love.
‘No, Sir James,’ I said, my voice taking on a tone I hardly recognised, ‘I’ve refused you before and if you think I’ll change my mind, you’re mistaken. You should be grateful for what you have, rather than hanker after something you can never have. We’ve a business arrangement, that’s all, and I’m grateful to you for that – but that’s all there is between us.’
His arms loosened their hold as he swung swiftly away and I hurried through the gate, slamming it shut behind me. In my bedroom, my rst instinct was to bar the window. I reached for the shutters, drawing them towards me. In the distance a cock crowed and I thought of betrayal. I ripped off my dress, throwing myself on the bed, my sobs so violent they wracked my body. I could hear a woman wailing – a deep, visceral cry, full of longing, and I realised it was me. I gripped my pillow, holding it against my chest, burying my face deep within it, curling myself into a ball as if I was a child. I had never cried like this before. Never ached so terribly.
I did not hear Jenna open the door. She held me to her, rocking me gently. I laid my head on her shoulder and clutched her to me, needing the warmth of her body to take the chill from my heart. My tears subsided though my chest still heaved and I lay exhausted, all emotion spent. Without a word, she tucked the blanket round me, pushing a matted strand from my face. When she judged me asleep, she tiptoed from the room, retrieving my torn dress from the oor.
I never saw that dress again.
Chapter Forty-four
Monday 19th August 1793 8:00 a.m.
I watched Tom load the last of the bark chippings onto the cart. He was anxious to get going and even the oxen seemed to pick up his excitement. They pulled restlessly against the harness, shaking their heavy heads, their nostrils aring in the early morning drizzle.
‘You’ll take care, won’t you, Tom? The ruts will be awful if this rain continues – they could be dangerous. You mustn’t get stuck.’
‘I’ll be careful, Miss Pengelly, but we’re not that loaded – we’ll be ne. Besides, I wouldn’t go if I was worried.’
‘Make sure you speak to Mr Ferris, not his foreman. The tannery’s behind Pydar Street but I think there’re several there, so be sure you nd the right one.’
‘We won’t let you down. Seth’s been to Truro several times and we’re grown men – I think we can handle the journey without gettin’ into too much trouble!’
Along with the stubble on his chin, Tom had grown in condence, but going to Truro was fraught with difculties and I was not that reassured. Part of me wished I was going with them, but there was work to be done and I was secretly glad Father had not yet returned from Mevagissey. Sending our bark to Mr Ferris was just the rst thing on my list.
All the accounts had been settled promptly, the yard was now empty of repairs, and within the week we would begin to build Mr Warleggan’s recently commissioned lugger. Mr Scantlebury’s plans were spread across Father’s desk. It seemed strange that Mr Scantlebury – a man with much less education than Father – always drew careful plans while Father always worked to a model. It seemed the wrong way round, but the combination worked well. Our ships were renowned for their robust construction and I could see this lugger would be no exception.
I was alone in the ofce. Mr Scantlebury was with the sailmakers, trying to convince them that a dipping sail would reduce the wear on the new lugger’s canvas and, for some reason, Mr Melhuish had not yet red up the forge. It seemed strangely quiet. No banging, no hammering, no sound of sawing, no smell of pitch. All eerily quiet on a mizzling day, with the north wind bringing with it the smell of wet elds and rich manure.
I stole a quick look at my reection.
Jenna had dressed my hair in a new style and I was still coming to terms with the way it looked. Most of my hair was looped behind me but she had left a series of tightly rolled curls surrounding my face. They bobbed up and down as I walked and were slightly disconcerting. It made me feel strangely light-headed, but it was not just my hair that drew me to the window. Jenna, Mother, and Elowyn had worked tirelessly over the last two days to nish my new working gown, as Madame Merrick insisted on calling it. And though my reection was slightly distorted, I was thrilled with what I saw.
The cotton was a deep ruby red and though it did not shine, it had a richness which spoke of quality. The style was simple, the waist not too high to be overly fashionable. The sleeves ended just below my elbow and, as Madame Merrick was adamant I would be taken more seriously if I wore no frills, were edged in velvet, not lace. The only embellishments were the delicately embroidered patterns on either side of the jacket collar. At rst I thought they were owers but, when I looked more carefully, I saw Elowyn had meticulously worked my initials, RP, in black silk thread.
I gave a little twirl, to admire the way the gown fell from the back, and returned to my bureau. We had ordered surplus resin and had stocked up on tar and oakum as well as paint and varnish. The ax and hemp had been moved to another storeroom and Tom had cleared the cellars of unwanted clutter. Together, we had created quite a storehouse and word was getting out that we had good supplies.
Footsteps made me look up. Thomas Warren and his huge henchman were striding across the yard. My pen dropped from my han
d as the room began to sway around me and I bent forward, putting my head between my knees to stop my sudden dizziness. Perhaps they would not see me? If they looked through the window, they might think the ofce empty.
The door burst open and I saw the silver buckles on Thomas Warren’s shoes as he waited for me to acknowledge his presence. I felt sick with fear but pretended I was searching for something, ‘Good morning, Mr Warren, this is a pleasant surprise,’ I managed to say, steadying myself against the bureau.
My eyes were immediately drawn to the face of the huge man I had only seen from behind. There was something familiar about his coarse, pock-marked face and bulbous nose. Over his shaven head he wore a brown felt hat and though he wore the dress of a townsman, he looked as rough as a vagrant. ‘How can I help you?’ I said, summoning as much courage as I could. ‘I’m afraid Father isn’t here at the moment.’
‘Still acting, Miss Pengelly?’ Thomas Warren seemed to spit the words. ‘You’re good at acting, aren’t you? I take my hat off to your brilliant performance, both now, and at the auction. You may’ve fooled the auctioneer, but you didn’t fool me.’ He walked slowly across the room, leaning on my bureau with both his hands, his face too close to mine. His skin was grey, dark shadows beneath his eyes.
‘What auction?’ My laugh sounded hollow.
‘You know what I mean, you lying bitch. And you know what I’ve come for.’ He motioned to his companion, who likewise crossed the room to stand in front of me, exing his ngers until they cracked. They were huge, calloused hands with tattoos across the back of each nger. ‘We want the creek you stole from us. We know it was you, so stop this ridiculous charade…’
I tried not to inch. ‘I stole from you? You accuse me of something I know nothing about and now you’re threatening me?’
‘You dare stand there with your jumped-up airs and intolerable conceit, thinking you’re so clever. Yes I’m threatening you, you stupid whore. Accidents will happen. Fires will burn. Boats will get ruined. People will get hurt. Tell that to your idiot father who’s no more sense than to get himself ruined again.’ His twisted smile revealed broken, tobacco-stained teeth. ‘You need a lesson, Miss Pengelly. Zack – go about your business.’
I saw the responding smile on Zack’s face and my heart froze. In a ash, he swooped forward, swiping his huge arm across my bureau, sending everything crashing to the ground. I jumped back, watching helplessly as the papers I had been working on landed in a jumbled mess, my ledger landing with its beautiful calf skin cover creasing along the spine.
I was too terried to do anything. Zack walked over to Father’s desk to repeat his violence. Once again he reached his huge arm across the desk, sweeping everything to the oor in one long movement. Within seconds, Mr Scantlebury’s drawings lay crushed beneath the weight of books and journals. ‘Stop!’ I yelled at the top of my voice. ‘You can’t do this.’
Thomas Warren seemed to be enjoying my distress. ‘I can do exactly as I like,’ he said.
He meant it too. Again he motioned to Zack, nodding his head towards the large bookshelf which stood at least eight feet tall against the wall. It was crammed full of documents; years of accounts and numerous boxes containing everything that was important to us. Mr Scantlebury’s plans were stored on the bottom shelves while Father’s irreplaceable models balanced on the top. It meant nothing to them. Thomas Warren’s obedient henchman grabbed the bookcase and went to pull it from the wall.
An angry red mist started blurring my eyes. ‘Get out of this ofce. Now!’
Thomas Warren raised his hand. Zack held the bookcase poised in the air. Only the slightest pull and everything would go crashing to the ground.
‘Get out, both of you...or I’ll…’
‘Do what?’ whispered Thomas Warren as he leant towards me. My stomach heaved. He was staring at my bosom. Beads of sweat were glistening on his brow. ‘Do what, you stupid whore? Believe me, I’ve only just begun. There’s a lot more I plan to do – a lot more.’ He lowered his hands towards his groin and clenched his sts, one on top of the other – pink and solid against his breeches. He started gesturing at me, violently thrusting them up and down as he walked towards me. It was an obscene gesture and absolutely terrifying.
I began backing away, tripping over my chair, disgusted by what I saw, but Thomas Warren lunged towards me, upturning my bureau, forcing me into the corner. He grabbed my wrists, pushing them against the wall, pinning himself against me, his disgusting tongue icking in and out of his mouth like a snake. His foul brown tongue, in his foul mouth, darting at me, like a reptile.
I felt the thrust of his groin as he pressed against me, crushing himself against the folds of my beautiful new dress, his hands grabbing me round the back of my thighs as he forced himself against me. I turned my face in disgust, but he held me with such force I could not free myself.
‘Don’t struggle, my beauty – would be a shame to ruin this new hairstyle of yours.’ His foul tongue wrapped itself around one of my curls and he drew it into his mouth, sucking deeply, like a baby.
From the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the yard. A man was crossing it with a large bag in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other. The heavy rain was wetting the paper, making it difcult to read. He must have been looking for somewhere because he was shaking his head, puzzled, as if he had lost his bearings. To my horror, he turned, heading in the opposite direction, hunching his shoulders against the sudden deluge which now threatened to soak him completely. He was leaving as quickly as he had come.
Thomas Warren must have seen me looking. He swung round to see the man’s retreating gure. His grip loosened on my thighs but just before he put his hand over my mouth, I managed to scream with all my might – a loud, blood-curdling scream that pierced my ears and resounded round the ofce. Thomas Warren pushed me deeper into the corner, clamping my mouth so tightly I could hardly breathe. I struggled against him, kicking and gasping, but I was held too rmly and could make no further cry. He may have been no taller than me, and slight of build, but his strength was immense and I was completely powerless.
Zack let go of the bookcase, concealing himself in the recess behind the shutters. To anyone passing, the ofce would look deserted. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. It was strange hearing the clock tick. Usually the yard was so noisy, so full of activity and I had never noticed it before. Thomas Warren pressed himself harder against me, forcing me further into the corner, the bristles on his cheek scratching against my skin. He reeked of sweat and tobacco, the stench of his fetid breath making me want to retch. I strained my ears, desperately praying the man I had seen passing had heard my scream.
Footsteps stopped outside. Within seconds, the door burst open and the stranger entered with a blast of cold air and a urry of rain. Thomas Warren immediately let go, taking a step back. The stranger walked further into the ofce, his face incredulous at the chaos in the room. The capes of his travelling coat and his tall hat dripped pools of rain onto the oor beneath him. Seeing me, he threw his bag to the oor and stood glaring at the two men, his hands resting on his hips, his sts, at once, clenching.
‘What’s happening?’ he demanded, glancing at the heap of papers and overturned bureau. ‘Do you require my assistance, madam?’
I said nothing but ran towards him, tears of relief lling my eyes.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ Thomas Warren replied. He straightened his jacket and grabbed his hat. ‘We’re just leaving.’
Zack was clearly not ready to leave. Glowering across the room, he exed his huge hands once again, clicking the joints of his ngers. For a moment, I thought he would run at my rescuer but he cleared his throat and spat on the oor. Such insolence was clearly too much for the stranger, who squared his shoulders and clenched his sts, undaunted that his opponent was yet a head taller than himself and considerably heavier.
‘Madam, do you want these men apprehended?’ he asked with auth
ority.
I shook my head, petried of the ght that would ensue. I just wanted them out of the ofce. The stranger’s chivalrous act may be well meant, but to pit himself against two such violent men would be asking too much.
‘No, let them pass – thank you. It was merely a misunderstanding…over some business…but now it’s resolved,’ I managed to say. ‘But don’t leave. Please stay and dry yourself, you look soaked to the skin.’
It must have been the quiver in my voice that made the stranger look so intently. He was much younger than I thought at rst – not yet thirty – with a sailor’s burnt complexion, if not a sailor’s manner. His bearing and accent was that of an educated man and the eyes which looked deeply into mine were intelligent and kind. I could see he was reluctant to let my assailants go, but as I nodded my assent and tried to smile, he stood begrudgingly aside, holding open the door.
Thomas Warren took hold of one of Father’s umbrellas, opening it so violently I thought the spokes would shatter. He paused at the door, his face furious. ‘It’s not yet resolved,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘She knows what she has to do.’ He turned to my rescuer with the same threatening air, ‘And you, sir, whoever you are, would do better to stop your interference.’
Chapter Forty-five
My rescuer took off his hat and threw his travelling coat against the chair. He was a tall man with a commanding gure, his eyes hazel, like his hair. They were kind eyes, soft and intelligent, with crinkle lines already forming at the corners. But he was not smiling. He was looking at me with great concern.
