by Nicola Pryce
‘Well, it’s a good job Sir James was on hand,’ she said, crossing her arms and staring down at me, ‘And a good job he found ye…though what he thinks of all yer cavorting…’
‘I wasn’t cavorting, Jenna, and he doesn’t care, even if I was. He made it very plain he doesn’t want anything more to do with me and I don’t blame him. We abused his good intentions and Father was rude to him. He even called Father an English Jacobin.’
Jenna had dressed her hair differently. She was not wearing her usual maid’s cap but a delicate lace mobcap, like Mother’s. Her hair lay beautifully coiled on either side of her head and tiny ringlets bobbed against her forehead. The new style suited her – it was elegant and dignied and made her look quite enchanting. Her eyes, however, remained stern and disapproving. ‘It’s got nothing to do with Mr Pengelly. Sir James don’t care a cat’s whisker what yer Father does.’
‘Well, he doesn’t want anything more to do with me. He was angry – I could see it in his face. He doesn’t want his name linked to mine – that’s why he told Joseph to tell everyone he found me in the alley. Even Mother doesn’t know he was involved. No-one knows and that’s how James Polcarrow wants it.’
‘Course he don’t want people to know – Sir James’s too honourable.’
‘Honourable! It’s got nothing to do with honour! He’s afraid Arbella Cavendish will hear – that’s all. He doesn’t want to be implicated in any scandal. I heard him say so.’
Jenna raised her eyes in exasperation. ‘Ye’re meant to be the clever one, Rose Pengelly. I may’ve nothing like yer brains but at least I think straight…It’s not hisself he’s thinking of…he don’t want his name linked to ye because t’would ruin ye. Now ye’re spoken for, ye must be above gossip…’
‘What d’you mean spoken for? Of course, I’m not spoken for!’
‘Well if ye ain’t, ye soon will be. Are ye alright? Here, ye’re spilling yer drink.’ Taking hold of the cup, she knelt by my side, her voice softening. ‘Can’t ye see he’s protecting ye? Sir James knows ye’re to marry Morcum Calstock and he’s that concerned for yer reputation. If word gets out he searched a slave ship for over two hours before he found ye – ye’d be ruined.’
‘But I’m not going to marry Morcum Calstock! I never was. I never will. How can he think that?’
‘Not marry him?’ Jenna seemed completely bewildered, ‘but it’s all over town. Yer father’s told enough people to make it common knowledge. I thought ye admired Morcum Calstock – I thought he was the man we’ve been waiting for.’
‘You know very well he isn’t, Jenna. He’s a very ne man and I like him very much – he’s kind and courageous and very handsome…and where Father sees him as the son he never had, I see him like the brother I’ve always wanted. But as to marrying him…I couldn’t, never. There’s no spark between us…no sense of wanting. He looks at me but his eyes don’t burn.’
‘’Twould be enough for most women if he looked at them at all! And ye can hardly expect the poor man to go making love to ye right under yer father’s eyes. Ye needs give him time – that’s all.’
I shook my head, biting my bottom lip. Jenna put her arms round me. She smelt of lavender, of green elds and fresh air and I clung to her earthy strength, pressing my lips together, determined not to cry. I was on the cliff top, my hair swirling around me, rain lashing my face. My hands were stinging from the rope, my borrowed clothes hanging heavily about me. I was glancing back to the face of the sailor and my heart was lurching from the force of his gaze. That hungry gaze that sent my pulse racing and my loins aching.
James Polcarrow was shielding me from gossip. He had saved my reputation for another man and somehow that made everything worse. The heat in the room became unbearable.
‘It’s far too hot, Jenna, open the windows. I’m not ill and I don’t have a fever – open the windows, please.’
The large sash windows faced the lane, looking directly over the river. Framed by pine shutters, they were positioned to catch the morning sun. I preferred them in the evening when the rays of the dying sun would linger on the elds opposite. As Jenna opened the windows, the smell of the sea lled the room.
‘Wider, Jenna, open them wider. Let the air in.’ I could smell the salt on the drying seaweed, the cockle-covered chains of the jetty where Father moored his boat and I breathed deeply, trying to rid myself of the sense of suffocation which I thought would never leave me. I could hear the gulls screeching for discarded sh guts and tried to block out the groaning of the ship’s timbers. He had come for me. Even when he thought I loved another man, he had come. He had asked nothing of me, taken no credit, demanded no gratitude. I had summoned him and he had come.
‘How did he nd me, Jenna?’
‘Henderson was at his niece’s wedding and well the worse for drink…it was gone two and he was makin’ a hell of a din tryin’ to get back through the gates. The gatekeeper’s a friend – or related…something anyway, and he thought Henderson wouldn’t make it back along the drive. He thought he’d lose his key…or more like was too drunk to use it and would lie out all night. Well, he left his lad to mind the gate and went with Henderson – to see him into the house. Thought he may as well save himself a trip in the mornin’, so he gathered up the post in the letterbox and took it with him. Sir James was in his study. He’d just had dinner with Sir George and his son Matthew – now there’s a lovely looking man…’
‘Jenna!’
‘Well he is…anyway, Joseph says Sir James was just goin’ to bed when he sees Henderson cross the hall – to leave the letters in the tray – an’ Sir James stops him, takes the letters and when he sees one of them was from ye, he opened it there and then – like he knew ye was in trouble.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, somehow he guessed ye’d be on one of the ships. He’d been goin’ through all the land deals. They’ve formed a company, ye know, Mr Tregellas, Mr Warren the whole lot of them and he’d found evidence they owned a ship. He’d noticed the time of the tides scribbled on Mr Warren’s blotter and it got him thinking…anyway…he got Joseph up and roused the harbour master and made him go through all the listings, looking for a ship owned by St Austell Holdings.’
‘Jenna, how clever of him.’
‘They’ve been leasing his land – all round the creek. It’s the clay. Honest to God, he was that sure – it was like he was driven. I’ve never seen the like before. I think he was desperate.’
‘You saw him, Jenna?’
‘We were that worried ye’d not come home, Mrs Pengelly sent me to fetch Joseph.’
‘She knows about you and Joseph?’
‘Course – anyway, I was at the gate. The gatekeeper’s lad wouldn’t let me in but I was there when they came rushin’ out. He asked if ye’d come home and I said that’s what’d brought me to him…honest, he was that mad…he looked possessed.’
The air was cooling my face, sounds from my childhood ltering through the open window. Pack mules were passing on their way back to the elds, empty carts heading back to the farms, ready to be lled for the next day’s market. Yawls would soon drift home on the incoming tide, gigs would start racing along the river. Children would stop searching for cockles, the taverns would soon start to overspill. It was all so familiar, so very dear, but knowing James Polcarrow loved me so much had just made my heart ache so terribly.
Suddenly, Jenna leant out of the window, her new-found dignity vanishing as her feet lifted from the ground. ‘Well, I’ll be jiggered,’ she said, ankles in mid-air. ‘That looks like …yes…that’s Madame Merrick alright…rushin’ down the road. Something’s wrong – she never runs.’
I dashed to the window to see Madame Merrick rushing towards the house. Not only was she running but she had a handkerchief held to her face.
‘Quick, Jenna, get Mother,’ I said. ‘Something must have happened.’
Chapter Fifty-three
Running footsteps sounded across the
hall: Madame Merrick entered the room in a whirl of green silk, the feathers on her turban uttering in agitation. All composure lost, she stood ushed and breathless, clutching her chest in great distress.
‘What is it, Marie? What’s happened? Here, sit down. Jenna, pull up that chair…’
‘The worst…Eva, the worst…Shut the door, Jenna, I cannot have the servants hearing. Oh, Eva…I am ruined…utterly ruined.’ She held her handkerchief to her face, dabbing her tears. ‘Nobody must hear – though how I can stop it becoming common gossip, I do not know. Soon it will be on everyone’s lips – everyone will be talking about it. I will be ruined…my reputation will be besmirched and all my hard work will be for nothing…’ With a huge sigh she sat, stiff-backed and upright on Jenna’s proffered chair.
Mother knelt by her side. ‘No-one can hear – tell us what’s happened.’
‘The worst, Eva…’ No longer able to speak, Madame Merrick buried her head in her hands.
Mother looked desperate. ‘Jenna, go upstairs to Mr Pengelly’s study and bring down a glass of brandy. There’s a bottle in the bureau, third drawer down – be careful not to disturb anything and he’ll never know…’
Hardly able to conceal her surprise, Jenna ran to the door. She was just closing it when Mother called back. ‘On second thoughts, bring the whole bottle and as many glasses as you can hold – I think we’re all going to need a drop. Don’t look so shocked – it’s medicinal. Madame Merrick isn’t well.’
Part of me was surprised to see Madame Merrick looking so vulnerable. I thought her iron will would be protection enough, but I could see in Mother’s tender administrations, she knew her friend’s formidable shell was not as hard as she would have us believe.
‘It’s not a re, is it, Madame Merrick? The warehouse isn’t in danger? I asked, fearful that Thomas Warren had carried out his threat.
‘Good gracious, no…it is far worse than that…’
Mother’s face turned ashen. On Jenna’s return, she seized the brandy and, wasting no time, poured four large glasses. With trembling hands, she handed one to Madame Merrick.
‘Why will you be ruined, Marie?’
Madame Merrick drank the brandy in one large gulp. She put her chin in the air and arched her eyebrows, hardly able to utter the unspeakable. ‘That odious woman, Lady Cavendish, has decided to withdraw her patronage…she has gone elsewhere.’
‘Elsewhere!’ cried Mother. ‘She can’t – not now the gowns are nished.’
‘I have just received this note…’ Madame Merrick replied, fumbling in her purse to retrieve the offending letter, ‘informing me she no longer requires her gowns…Nor does she require the gown for Miss Arbella Cavendish.’ Madame Merrick looked anxiously at the door. ‘She thinks nothing of ruining my reputation. My gowns are far superior to anything in Truro…or Bath…and certainly equal to anything found in London.’ She held her lace handkerchief to her quivering lips.
‘She can’t withdraw her order – not like that. Not now the gowns are nished.’ Eyes blazing, Mother reached for her glass, downing it with one swift gulp. ‘She’ll have to pay –there’s at least two gowns’ worth of material in each dress…not to mention all the extra stitching. Unpicking them will take for ever – no-one else’s going to t them!’
‘It’s not the money, Eva, or the work involved. I can recover the loss of payment but I can never recover the loss of patronage. That is what will ruin me…not the money.’
‘People like her don’t care two hoots about ruining your reputation,’ I said, taking hold of my glass and sipping it slowly. ‘Lady Cavendish doesn’t care what grief she inicts – or how unjustiable it is. I’m just sorry I got you her patronage.’ The brandy was strong and burnt my throat, adding more warmth to my already ushed cheeks. ‘But has Miss Cavendish cancelled her order?’ The prospect of never seeing Celia Cavendish again seemed suddenly rather sad, and by the look on Mother’s face, I could see she was thinking the same. The success of our school was being threatened – even before it had started.
‘Not yet – but I expect she’ll follow. They are cousins, after all, and very close.’ Madame Merrick dabbed her eyes again. ‘Oh, Eva, I’ll have to take down my beautiful new sign and everyone will talk. Soon everyone will know I no longer supply the aristocracy.’ Her shoulders began to shake as a sob caught her throat.
Mother’s cheeks had taken on a rosy glow. She poured Madame Merrick another glass, glancing at Jenna’s untouched glass before pouring herself a second. For a moment, she brightened. ‘Sir James Polcarrow won’t let you down. You can get the sign repainted with Lady Polcarrow’s name on it. She’s got nothing to do with the Cavendish family, so she won’t withdraw her patronage. Ye aren’t ruined, Marie, ye still have good prospects.’
‘You’re forgetting Miss Cavendish will soon be the new Lady Polcarrow so Sir James will have no say in the matter – especially if Lady Harridan has her way! Mother could no longer resist her second glass. With a sad but encouraging smile, she shrugged her shoulders, her cheeks glowing pinker.
The room seemed hotter than ever. Madame Merrick looked around, noticing Mother’s furnishings for the rst time. Reaching inside her bag, she found her fan which she opened with a deft ick, before waving it vigorously, cooling her cheeks. ‘You have a very pretty room here, Eva…but…goodness me…do you always keep it so hot?’
‘Not usually,’ replied Mother, a little ustered, ‘but Rose’s been unwell – I’m afraid she has a fever.’
Madame Merrick reached in her bag for her lorgnettes and peered across the room at me, her concern at once giving way to relief. ‘Nonsense, Rosehannon looks the picture of health,’ she said, her fan still apping furiously. ‘She looks very well – of course, it’s the colour of the dress that shows off her great beauty…I chose it deliberately to compliment her colouring – but all that is in the past, if my business is to fail. There will be no more gowns…’
She stopped to blow her nose, as the sound of horses’ hooves drifted through the open window. Jenna was sitting on the window seat and as a rm command rang out for the horses to halt, the three of us looked at Jenna to satisfy our curiosity. It was too late for callers; the clock on the mantlepiece having just chimed eight, and it could not have been Father, as he did not have a horse. Jenna peeped through the window, a huge smile spreading across her face.
‘Good grief, child, stop ogling’ cried Madame Merrick sharply. ‘Come away from the window – it is extremely vulgar to stare like that. It will give people the impression you are a half-wit…’
Jenna was not listening or, if she was, she gave no sign of hearing. Men were dismounting. I could hear the horses shaking their heads, the jangle of their bridles, the stamping of their hooves. Footsteps scraped on the step outside and a knock sounded on the front door.
‘Jenna, who exactly are you…ogling?’ said Mother, smiling. It must have been the brandy talking.
‘It’s Joseph,’ replied Jenna sweetly. ‘He’s holdin’ the horses.’ She stood a little longer, smiling out of the window before adding, as if in after-thought. ‘…while Sir James visits us.’
‘Sir James Polcarrow?’ Madame Merrick cried, sitting bolt upright, fanning herself in greater earnest. ‘Sir James Polcarrow calling here…? He must have business to discuss with Mr Pengelly. But why would he come here? Why does he not send for Mr Pengelly?’ She stood up, straightening her gown, her long ngers ying over imaginary creases. Glancing in my direction, she paled in horror. ‘Miss Pengelly, quickly, you are covered in cat hairs…Make yourself presentable, child, and Jenna…stop gawping, sit here – remember if Sir James comes into the room, curtsey very low and do not look him in the eye. Oh, if only it was not so hot in here…’
A great urry of agitation resulted in us taking up poses Madame Merrick deemed proper. I was to sit bolt upright on my chaise-longue, Jenna was to sit elegantly on the window seat, while Madame Merrick and Mother would perch on the ed
ge of their chairs, facing away from the re in an attempt to lessen their heightened colour. Mother remained surprisingly calm, all of us sitting in dignied silence as Sam opened the door. Adopting the gravity such a prestigious visitor required, he announced, in his best voice, that Sir James would like a quiet word alone with Mother.
Madame Merrick’s eyes widened and if my heart had not been hammering so hard, I would have enjoyed her incredulity. Mother steadied herself on the arm of her chair, glancing in the mirror to readjust her mobcap, which was leaning slightly to one side. With a little smile, she followed Sam out to the hall, leaving the door slightly ajar. Blood rushed to my head, pulsing at my temples. I began straining my ears, trying to catch snatches of their conversation.
‘Good evening, Sir James, it’s always a pleasure to welcome you into our home.’ Her next words were lost – I think she was thanking him for his part in restoring our good fortune. His reply was also indistinct, but I thought his tone sounded urgent. He seemed to be explaining something. Suddenly his words became audible.
‘…it is a letter addressed to me and must be kept condential – but I believe Miss Pengelly should read it. It concerns her, and if you’re sure she hasn’t received a letter of her own, then I believe she has a right to read it…’
‘Then please, Sir James, come in and give her the letter yourself. Let her read it…’
‘No, Mrs Pengelly, I’ve no wish to trespass on your hospitality. I ask only for you to give her the letter and, at your own convenience, return it to me. I’m content to entrust it to you. Goodnight, and please forgive me for troubling you.’
I tried breathing deeply. I expected Mother to say goodnight and was waiting for the front door to close, but she spoke again. ‘Sir James, do give the letter to her yourself – after all, it can only take a few moments to read, and you wouldn’t be trespassing on my hospitality. In fact, I’d consider it a great honour if you’d join me in my sitting room. Please…I absolutely insist…come through…’ She sounded so assured and I could only imagine it was the brandy giving her courage.
