by Nicola Pryce
At the cottage, I could hardly squeeze past the enormous trunk that lled the hall. We were to move the next day and Jenna had clearly been busy. We did not have many possessions but what we did have, had been carefully packed. Father’s papers were nowhere to be seen, the borrowed chairs returned to Mrs Mellor. The dresser was empty, the table standing uncluttered against the wall.
The parlour was similarly sorted with baskets of pots and pans neatly stacked, one on top of another. One large pan remained on the table and, lifting the lid, the delicious smell of boiled ham and potatoes lled the room, but Jenna was nowhere to be found. Even the chickens had gone. The yard was swept, the clothes line empty, the slops rinsed and cleaned. Upstairs, my clothes had been placed into a trunk and though the bed remained made, everything else had been packed away.
Disappointed not to nd Jenna, I called out, squeezing back along the hall to check if she was coming up the hill. I felt a rising sense of sadness. This would be our last night in the cottage and, though I hated it with vengeance, I began to feel strangely reluctant to leave. I would miss the intimacy of these shabby rooms with their damp discolouration on the walls, the tiny casements blocking more light than they admitted. I would miss the memories they contained – the sound of a soft thud, the silhouette of a man in the moonlight, the crush of hot lips.
On the step, Jenna was clutching Mr Pitt in her arms.
‘Didn’t you hear me calling, Jenna? Are you turning deaf in your old age?’ My teasing died on my lips. She had been crying. Tears streaked her face. ‘What is it? Why’re you crying?’ I gathered up my skirts to sit next to her on the step. She shrugged her shoulders, fresh tears forming in her eyes. With a faint smile, she buried her face in Mr Pitt’s soft fur. ‘Is it because of Mr Pitt?’ She nodded then shook her head, her mobcap slipping to one side. ‘Is it because we’re going back to Coombe House?’ She nodded again, shrugging her shoulders once more.
‘But, Jenna, I thought you’d be happy we’re going back. You’ve worked your ngers to the bone here…all that fetching water and scrubbing and having to go the bakehouse every time you wanted something cooked. You’ll be back to a proper range and running water. I thought you’d want that – to have a proper bed to sleep in, not having to sleep under the kitchen table any more – surely that’s got to be better?’
She nodded and tried to smile. Freeing one hand, she used her apron to wipe her tears. ‘I know, don’t mind me, Miss Pengelly – I’m just being stupid.’
We sat in silence. It felt strangely lonely. Over the last year, the differences between us had been almost swept aside. She was our maid, yes, but she was also my only friend. She had been with us for seven years. I had taught her to read and write and Mother had taught her to sew almost as well as she could herself. She was the nearest thing I had to a sister, yet she was still our maid. It seemed so wrong. ‘No, Jenna, we’re not going to go back to how it was. We can’t…not now – not after what we’ve been through – things will be different.’
‘No, they won’t – ye know they won’t.’
‘Yes, they will, Jenna.’
‘No, they won’t. They can’t. Mrs Munroe’s very particular. You know she’ll never let a cat in her kitchen—’
‘I don’t care how particular Mrs Munroe is. From now on, things are going to be different.’
Jenna wiped away her tears, clutching Mr Pitt closer, her face breaking into a smile. ‘Ye’re beginning to sound just like Madame Merrick!’
‘Am I? Well, I’m glad. She’s a woman who gets what she wants – Mr Pitt’s coming with us whether Mrs Munroe likes it or not. Find him a stout basket and butter his paws – he’s family now and our whole family’s going home.’
She smiled a watery smile. I put my arm round her shoulders and we sat lost in our own thoughts. The breeze was cool against our cheeks. Above us, gulls circled, their wings spread wide as they glided effortlessly on the rising draughts. Suddenly I remembered the sugared almonds. ‘Look, Jenna, we’ve got a treat. Sugared almonds – that’s got to make everything better.’ I undid the ribbon, holding out the delicate white bonbons looking like birds’ eggs in a silken nest.
Her eyes widened. ‘Where’d they come from?’
‘They’re a present from Mr Calstock.’
‘Well, Miss Rosehannon Pengelly, this is a turn up!’ she cried, her tear-stained face breaking into the biggest smile. ‘Ye sly old puss – ye’ve kept that very quiet. So it’s Morcum Calstock who’s in love with ye? Well, of course he is…who wouldn’t be? And Mr Pengelly likes him too. It’s wonderful!’
‘Jenna, stop it! It’s just his way of saying thank-you for a very small service I rendered him. It doesn’t signify anything.’
‘No – and my name ain’t Jenna Marlow and summer don’t follow spring.’
We lingered over our choice of bonbons but, as I bit into the delicate treat, the anticipation of pleasure died on my lips. My stomach began churning in disgust. The sugared almond was too sweet. Instinctively, I spat it out. How much blood had been shed to cover these almonds? How many African men and women forced from their homes, shackled and whipped, transported across oceans in horric conditions? How many tortured, degraded or died so that these almonds could be dipped in sugar to be given to someone who did not need them?
Handing the pouch to Jenna, I wiped my mouth, trying to rid myself of the taste. ‘I can’t eat them Jenna – I should never have accepted them. They’re tainted. All I can taste is the blood of slaves.’
Chapter Forty-eight
Thursday 22nd August 1793 5:00 a.m.
The early light of dawn crept through the casement. The dairy herd was ready for milking, the cows moaning impatiently below my window. I should have been grateful it was the last time I would wake to the sound of their bells, but my heart felt heavy.
Father had once again made it clear Mother was to end her employment with Madame Merrick. She was to lay down her needles and resume her duties as mistress of Coombe House. In an angry tirade, he had insisted the servants would need supervising and that she should be at home for anyone who called. He, and he alone, would provide for his wife and family.
No-one spoke at breakfast. Jenna cleared away the last of the plates, her face pale through lack of sleep. Mother remained withdrawn, her tone resigned. She spoke softly to Jenna, giving a few last-minute instructions: Sam would come with a cart, they might need a few journeys, but everything should be cleared by noon. The next time we sat down for a meal would be in Coombe House. In the meantime, Mother would spend her last day with Madame Merrick and I would go as usual to the yard with Father.
We did not speak as we crossed the river. Father’s face was stony, his expression resolute. Mother gazed across the river mouth and out to sea, her restless hands pulling at the cloak she wrapped around her. It was a grey day with black clouds heavy above us, the southerly wind whipping the waves, the sea getting rougher. More ships than usual crowded the river. Barges, brimming with tin, were rafted together, waiting for reloading onto ships that would take them to London. Several ne cutters, at least four brigs, and a naval brigantine lay at anchor, their masts tall above us. The ferryman dodged their hulls, cursing them for lying across his route. Even the sight of an imposing three-masted barque did not tempt Father out of his sulky silence. I could see him study it carefully, but he would not share his thoughts.
Neither did we speak as we crossed the town. We walked quickly, lost in our own thoughts, each step increasing my sadness. I could feel Mother’s emptiness. At the foot of the steps, I paused, telling Father I would not be long. I followed Mother through the door, with the gleaming new sign hanging so proudly above. Word had been sent to Madame Merrick so she knew it was to be Mother’s last day. Elowyn’s face crumpled at our entrance and Mother rushed to put her arms around her, but she said nothing. I knew she could not speak; her heart was too full of longing.
The four commissioned gowns hung gracefully on the dressmakers’ dummies
. Mother insisted they needed another week’s work but, to my mind, they looked perfect. Arbella’s dress was breath-taking. Shimmering even in the dull light, the silk had a glow of its own. Lace covered the whole of the bodice and exquisitely embroidered owers, with pearls in their centre, decorated the neckline. The sleeves were delicately puffed, caught into layers of lace below the elbows. The skirt fell in soft folds. It was delicate, exquisite, and perfect for her. Mother, Elowyn and Mrs Mellows had gone through to the back and I found myself alone with Madame Merrick.
She stood behind me and cleared her throat. ‘I shall miss your mother considerably. There is much still to be done and I shall have to do it all myself now. But I have to thank you for your intervention…without you, the gowns would never have been nished and I would have been in difculties…’ She stopped, blinking for a moment before getting out her handkerchief. ‘I am not insensible to what I owe you. First the patronage…then your insistence your mother should remain…and look, I have a letter from Sir James Polcarrow. I am to go to Polcarrow to measure Lady Polcarrow for some new gowns. Her name will be added to my list of patrons and if I could only nd another seamstress as good as your dear mother, my business is set to thrive.’ Trying to maintain her composure, she struggled to nd her words. ‘Eva is a lucky lady, Miss Pengelly – she is very fortunate to have you as a daughter…and I, in my turn, have been very fortunate to have had your intervention. If I had been lucky enough to have had a daughter, I would wish her to be like you.’
I thought my heart would burst. Though her lips were pursed, I could see them tremble and I knew what it had cost to say those words. I had learnt so much from this extraordinary woman and, though we often did not see eye to eye, I realised the respect I had for her had long since turned to affection. To her obvious surprise, I reached forward to kiss her on the cheek.
Raising her lorgnettes and both eyebrows, she stared at me with that cool, hard look that always made me think she could read my mind. She had attended to her face with extra care: she wore more rouge than usual and a thin pencilled line had been drawn through her eyebrows. She had extraordinarily high cheekbones and a good complexion, but even behind the rouge, she looked strained. I knew she was a woman who would always put on a brave face.
‘Madame Merrick,’ I said, looking straight into those hooded eyes, ‘You may nd I haven’t quite nished intervening just yet.’
Her focus sharpened. ‘Indeed, Miss Pengelly?’ she said slowly, a icker of understanding crossing her unsmiling eyes. ‘Now, why does that not surprise me?’
I put my nger to my lips. Mother came through from the back room, tying her apron round her for the last time. Elowyn was inconsolable.
The yard was already busy but, entering the ofce, I could see immediately Father had not been at his desk. He was pacing the room and at my entrance turned abruptly round, squaring his shoulders, a frown clouding his face. I watched as he put his hands behind his back, his feet apart. I had been expecting this. I recognised his stance and was ready for what was to come. ‘This is your last day in the yard, Rosehannon. Your place is now at home with your mother. A boatyard’s not a suitable place for a woman – a child perhaps, but not a woman. You distract the men too much.’
‘They shouldn’t look. It’s not my fault they can’t keep their eyes to themselves.’
‘It’s wrong you’ve so much freedom. You can’t continue goin’ where and when you please. It’s not safe, nor seemly.’
‘I don’t need to be chaperoned. I’m never alone. I come to work with you or Mother and if I go into town, I take Jimmy Tregony.’ I should not have lied so easily but I had spent too long surviving without a chaperone and, besides, why did he care now? Had Morcum Calstock told him he had seen me alone with two men or mentioned my dreams of running the yard?
‘I shan’t always be in the yard, settin’ up the Friendly Society will take me away and I’ll not always be here to keep an eye on you.’
‘Then stay with us, Father,’ I pleaded. ‘Build the boats you’re known for. That’s what’ll secure our future – good boats built to good designs.’
Father’s face ushed. ‘That’s quite enough – you’ve grown too bold, too quick to question. Your place’s now at home. You’ve few, if any, domestic skills and it’s time you learnt some. You’ll not make a good wife if you have all this freedom.’
So that was it. ‘And what if I don’t want to make a good wife?’
‘Rosehannon, this nonsense must stop. Morcum Calstock’s very taken with you and if he joins the family, he’ll run the ofce. He’ll do the accounts, pay the men and order our stocks. This is a man’s world and no place for a woman.’ He walked to his desk, looking down at the piled-up papers. ‘My mind’s made up. There’ll be no more discussion.’
I paused to take breath. ‘What d’you mean join the family?’ Our eyes locked and I had never seen him look more resolute.
‘You know exactly what I mean. There’ll be no more discussion.’
‘If you insist, Father…’ I replied, trying to sound calm. ‘I’ll spend the morning bringing everything up to date and you can ask Mr Calstock to start tomorrow.’
‘I knew you’d be reasonable. I’m proud I’ve taught you to reason. This is your future – my grandson will inherit my yard.’
So the yard was my dowry and negotiations had already started. ‘Do we know enough about Mr Calstock, Father?’ I said, my resentment held in check. ‘After all, we’ve only just met him. Does he know anything about boat-building – perhaps he’s no wish to build boats?’
‘His interest in the yard leaves me in no doubt. Leave the details to me…’ A smile began playing on his lips and he looked like he always did when he secured a contract – not arrogant enough to look smug, but complacent enough to look self-satised. ‘It’s like a dream come true.’
‘I’m glad for you,’ I managed to say.
I took off my bonnet, hanging it on the hook I always used. Straightening my dress, I walked to my bureau for the last time. There was very little to do as everything was up to date. I felt surprisingly calm. A month ago, I would have been angry: I would have been pleading with Father to let me stay, but I had grown tired of struggling in a man’s world. It was not my place – I could see that now.
I glanced at Father, reading the newspaper with the condence of a man who had just secured his future. ‘You’ve the chance of making someone else’s dream come true,’ I said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
‘How so, Rose?’
‘As you no longer need me, I’m going to start a school of needlework. It won’t be my school, of course – it’ll be Mother’s – but I intend to do all the accounts. I’ll set it all up for her. Mother will be the proprietor and as Jenna’s so skilful with the needle, she’ll be another teacher – she won’t be our maid any more…’
Father’s newspaper slammed onto the desk, crushed beneath his sts. ‘Absolutely not! I forbid you to talk such nonsense!’
‘As well as doing the accounts, I’ll teach the alphabet and any calculations they’ll need to learn as I intend our girls to be able to read and write and…’
‘Didn’t you hear me? – I forbid any more talk.’
‘We’ll start with no more than ve or six girls, chosen by Mother and Madame Merrick. The mornings will be spent in lessons, but the afternoons will be spent making what we’ll sell. I intend to make a prot – Mother and Jenna will get a fair wage for a fair day’s work and I’ll get an income too. I’ll order all the materials, balance the books and do the accounts…’
I knew Father would be angry, but I did not expect such icy coldness. ‘Stop at once! Your foolishness has gone far enough. Not another word an’ I’ll try to forget what’s just passed.’
I could not stop myself, excitement making my heart race. We could do it, we really could. ‘As you want Mother and me at home, we’ll start our school in Coombe House. We’ve got far too many rooms – we don’t
use the half of them. We’ll use the top bedrooms – unless you allow us the room next to your study.’
‘I’ll not listen to another word.’ Rising from his seat, he made for the door. ‘I forbid you to start a school…and the fact you even thought of it being in Coombe House! You’re more foolish than I thought.’
‘I hoped you wouldn’t refuse, Father, but I suppose I should’ve known. It was worth asking though…’
He had his hand on the doorknob. ‘Good, I’m glad that’s settled.’
‘It’s a pity, though…because now I’m going to have to ask Sir James for a suitable place. I know he’ll be obliging. In fact, I think we both know how very obliging he’ll be – especially when he knows how grateful I’d be to him. He’ll nd a place with a very low rent – he may even charge me no rent at all…’ All colour drained from Father’s cheeks, he looked haunted, too shocked to speak. Making his way slowly back to his desk, he stood leaning on it for support.
‘Father,’ I continued with absolute clarity, ‘here’s your choice. Either go to Mother and tell her you’ve just had an idea she should start a School of Needlework in Coombe House, or I shall send word to Sir James.’ I hoped I looked convincing, sounded resolute. I had no intention of ever asking Sir James Polcarrow for anything again.
Father’s shoulders sagged, his face seemed to age and whereas before I would have done anything to spare him pain, I stood my ground, tightening my lips.
‘Have you discussed this with your mother?’
‘No.’
‘Then she’ll never agree to it. If I forbid it, she’ll never do it.’
