The Cornish Lady

by Nicola Pryce

  Edgar opened his ebony snuffbox. ‘I can wait two months, Angelica. Just give us what you’ve got…then a monthly rise would be appreciated. You can put it down to one of your charities…’

  Jacob took the proffered snuffbox, pinching some snuff between his thumb and forefinger. ‘It might not be news to you, but the actress playing Miss Neville was taken ill before the end of the play – someone else took her place. Flora told us all about it.’

  Seething anger stung my eyes. ‘I’ve got twenty guineas in coins. That’s all.’

  Edgar’s breath reeked of tobacco and alcohol. He leaned to kiss my cheek. ‘I’m sure you’ve got more than that – it’s lovely to see you, by the way.’

  I fought back my tears. Never let bullies see you cry. I had learned that long ago. I wanted to beg him, plead with him, shake him, yell at him. I wanted to tell him how sad Mamma would be, how disappointed Father would be, but I bit my tongue, watching the gravel widen as we passed the coach house. The carriage slowed to a halt and he looked up at the house with its large sash windows and parapet framing the top.

  His high-pitched laugh squeaked like a mouse. ‘Thought for a moment you were going to say how Father would be ashamed of me – how Mother would think me a disgrace.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘No, thank you, no more frangipane.’ I could barely swallow. They would leave after tea and my ordeal would be over. Lady Clarissa smiled and put down her cup. Her greatest pleasure was to take tea in the shade of the large spreading oak.

  ‘Lord Carew must have been detained – his duties as Lord Lieutenant of Cornwall take an enormous toll on his time. My eldest son, William, is Lieutenant of Division and between them they collect the returns. They’re organizing the muster but raising these Volunteer companies is taking time – funds must be sought, uniforms bought. It’s not something they can rush.’

  Though we nodded in reply, all eyes were on the cricket practice taking place on the lawn. A handful of men had gathered round Jethro who was showing them how to hold the bat. The two eldest grandsons were engrossed, the two youngest running circles round their nurse, but it was not them that caught my eye. Henry Trevelyan was marking out the pitch in long straight strides. He knocked the second wicket into place and Lady Clarissa smiled. ‘Do you play cricket, Mr Lilly?’

  Edgar must have expected her question. ‘Not as well as I should, Lady Clarissa.’

  ‘And you, Sir Jacob?’

  The golden halo shook. ‘I’m not one for cricket.’

  Wickets in place, Henry Trevelyan rolled up his sleeves and took the bat from William, repositioning it in the boy’s hands as Jethro directed the men where to stand. Lady Clarissa’s smile broadened. ‘Who is that man?’ she said, as Henry Trevelyan leapt up to catch the ball.

  Edgar shrugged. ‘He’s our coachman.’

  Henry bowled the ball to Young William who hit it straight towards the glasshouse and Lady Clarissa stood up, clapping her hands. ‘Excellent, well hit! He’s your coachman and you don’t know his name?’

  I gripped my hands under the table. Names were important to Lady Clarissa and I was petrified she would think my brother rude. ‘Didn’t you say his name was Henry Trevelyan, Edgar?’ Lady Clarissa turned and my cheeks flamed. ‘I think …that’s what you told me…wasn’t it, Edgar?’

  The sun was catching Henry Trevelyan’s white shirt, his top button was undone. He looked strong, wholesome, his shoulders broad, his bare arms browned by the sun. He bowled again, and this time William sent the ball swinging towards the beach.

  Clouds were forming in the west, the sea breeze rustling the leaves in the branches above us. The tide was high, skylarks singing in the sky. It was so perfect I thought my heart would break – Young William and Henry, throwing back their heads, laughing, hitting the ball, running, shouting, the smell of herbs and seaweed adding to the sound of leather against willow. A perfect day, in a perfect setting, laughter echoing across the lawns as more and more people put down their spades and hoes to come and watch. Mr Maddox sat hugging his knees on the grass, others taking off their jackets, spreading them on the lawn. The sort of day I dreamed of – the sort of day I never had.

  Lady Clarissa frowned at the gathering clouds. ‘It looks like that front’s setting in. Why don’t you two gentlemen stay the night? There’s plenty of room in the guest suite – and Lord Carew will be very disappointed to miss you.’

  I stared at Edgar, willing him to refuse. He should be playing cricket, rolling up his sleeves, throwing back his head in laughter. I wanted him to look wholesome, handsome, run and catch the ball. I wanted to be proud of him, not sit dreading his sudden laughter, the restless tapping of his hand against his knee.

  Applause drifted across the lawn. Henry Trevelyan had just bowled Jethro out. There was back slapping, smiles, arms round each other’s shoulder, and I gripped my hands tightly.

  Edgar reached for his snuffbox, looking quickly at Jacob. ‘That’s very kind of you, Lady Clarissa – we’d be delighted.’

  ‘Did you say it looks like rain?’ asked Charity.

  Amelia glanced at the lonely figure of Mr Maddox. ‘I do hope not. Mr Maddox is convinced his cereus will bloom tonight. He’ll be devastated if there’s no moon – but it does look like it might cloud over.’

  Jacob Boswell was all smiles and charm. ‘A cereus? Then that settles it – we must stay, we couldn’t possibly miss such an opportunity. It would be an honour, Lady Clarissa, thank you.’ He caught my eye. ‘Edgar would love to have Miss Lilly’s company a little longer – they must have so much to catch up on.’

  The lemon syllabub had long turned to dust in my mouth. I sat watching the footman refill Edgar’s glass while Jacob Boswell smiled his refusal, hardly drinking at all. He had been charming and witty throughout dinner, his amusing stories about Oxford making everyone laugh. He looked so at home, his easy manners and pleasantries second nature to him. He charmed Amelia by praising her garden, impressed Charity with his knowledge of botany. He knew all Frederick’s tutors and spoke highly of them. ‘Josiah Temple-Thwaite is a very fine teacher. He may be lost in his own thoughts for most of the time, but he knows his stuff.’

  ‘Frederick said he was one of his favourites. We have his book – Amelia’s read it from cover to cover, haven’t you, Amelia?’

  Amelia looked up. ‘I read so many – I’ve read them all.’

  Charity smiled. ‘Frederick said he admires William Wandsbough very much. He’s the most senior in the faculty for botany – he’s Dean and very influential. I believe he comes from Cornwall. You must have come across him?’

  ‘Indeed, I know Mr William Wandsbough very well. He’s very learned but rather terrifying.’

  ‘Oh!’ Charity giggled, wiping her mouth with her napkin. ‘Then you won’t want to give him Frederick’s regards, but I know Frederick would like to be remembered to him.’

  Jacob smiled. ‘Mrs Carew, consider it done. I shall gird my loins and enter the lion’s den. Perhaps, knowing Lieutenant Carew might work in my favour – a little star-dust goes a long way.’ His laughter and elegance dominated the room. By comparison, Edgar seemed to sink lower in his chair, hardly saying a word. His eyes looked glazed, like the fish in the basket.

  ‘If you’ve come from Falmouth, then you’ll have heard about the robberies.’ Lord Carew put down his spoon. ‘Dreadful business all round. Coaches just aren’t safe any more – there’s been jewels taken…watches…money.’

  The emeralds on Lady Clarissa’s turban glinted. She was dressed in elegant silk, no sign of daisy chains. ‘I suppose we must expect this to happen more and more. Starving men will risk anything to feed their families…’

  ‘They’re saying…’ Lord Carew leaned forward, carefully choosing two ripe pears from the fruit bowl, ‘that the man – or highwayman, as people are calling him – has a French accent. They say he swears in French.’

  ‘French?’ Jacob Boswell seemed to find it amusing. ‘Surely they’ve rounded u
p all the prisoners?’

  Lord Carew swilled the pears in the crystal water-bowl. ‘From what I hear, that might not be the case. Rumour has it that a number of French prisoners have made their way to Falmouth and are stealing anything they can get their hands on – to fund a ship to take them to France.’

  ‘Surely not? Stealing from coaches will get them hanged – Lord Falmouth will have no scruples but to see them swing.’ Lady Clarissa handed me a silver filigree bowl filled with marzipan-coated cherries and I took one, passing the small bowl to Amelia.

  ‘Who can they trust to get a ship? They’ll have to commission one from here. But who’s going to help French prisoners escape?’

  Lord Carew reached for a clean napkin, drying the pears carefully. ‘Many might well be tempted. Don’t forget, Amelia, my dear, that prisoners are mouths to feed and most round here would be glad to see the back of them. Men will risk a lot to feed their families – I believe many may well be tempted.’ He was less cheerful tonight, his formal wig and embroidered waistcoat seeming to restrict his enjoyment of the meal. Shadows under his eyes dimmed his usually ruddy complexion. ‘I believe Lord Falmouth has set a watch in place. Now, if you’ll excuse me…I’m not one for cards.’

  He stood up, smiling at Jacob, bowing politely to Edgar. ‘Make free with my port and brandy. Make yourselves at home – I’m going to check on Persephone, then my bed beckons.’ He bent to kiss Lady Clarissa’s proffered cheek. ‘Splendid duck, my dear. Splendid evening all round.’

  Jacob stood in response and I could hardly bear to watch Edgar’s clumsy attempt to bow. He gripped the back of his chair, a slight slur to his words. ‘Delighted…lovely evening, Lord Carew.’

  The clock struck ten as we stepped on to the terrace. The breeze had freshened, a band of thick black clouds stretching across the night sky. ‘Oh dear, poor Mr Maddox,’ whispered Amelia. ‘There’s no moon at all.’

  Lady Clarissa’s gown rustled. She drew her Indian silk shawl around her, her rings glittering, and I forced back my tears. She had gone to so much trouble, dressing with such elegance, ordering such a fine meal, yet Edgar had hardly spoken one word to her.

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Lilly, Sir Jacob. When you’re ready to go to bed, Jethro will see you to your rooms. Please feel free to enjoy the terrace.’ A slight break in the clouds made her look up. ‘It might just clear – if the wind picks up it might blow away the clouds. Either way, rest assured Mr Maddox will ring his bell if anything happens!’ She smiled, linking her arm through Charity’s. ‘We’ve had rather too many late nights waiting for this flower to open, but do join him by all means. He’d be glad of your company.’

  A look passed between Edgar and Jacob and a shiver ran down my spine. Jacob Boswell smiled his most dazzling smile. ‘I think we must, Lady Clarissa. We can’t miss this for the world. Thank you for the delicious dinner – and perhaps we will have a glass of port. It would be a terrible shame if the moon came out and we missed the flowering.’

  Edgar’s tobacco smoke drifted from the terrace; I could hear them talking, see them leaning against the balustrade, brandy glasses in their hands. Lord Carew did not like Edgar, none of them did – they were far too polite to say anything but I could see it in their eyes. All of them smiling politely but thinking him so rude – an uncouth boy with no charm or manners. My emptiness felt like pain.

  A jug of water stood on my washstand, and I splashed the tears from my cheeks, holding the soft towel against my face. Amelia must not hear me cry. The silver clock chimed one; it was so late, yet I would not undress until Jethro took them to their rooms. Edgar might become unruly and I would need to go to him. He must not disgrace us, not here, not with Lady Clarissa being so good to us. Yet that look between them both had held such mischief.

  The night sky seemed lighter, the moon just visible behind the thinning clouds; silver streaks lit the lawn and I returned to the window to resume my vigil. There were no voices, no tobacco smoke, and I leaned out in sudden panic. The clouds had parted and moonlight flooded the garden. The terrace was empty, a shadow passed along the path in the direction of the shrubbery and I grabbed my cloak.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The dining room had been cleared, a single candle burning on the table, and I ran to the open French window, slipping silently across the terrace. The tiny pieces of mirror glinted in the moonshine, the path as clear as day. It felt bewitching, enchanted, and I breathed the magic of the night as if running through the midnight garden in Mamma’s portrait. Oberon could be watching, Titania and Puck, any number of fairies weaving their spells.

  ‘Edgar?’ I called. An owl hooted in reply. They were further ahead than I thought.

  The old brick path lay to my right and I followed it through the arch, skirting the wall of the walled garden. The glass hothouse lay bathed in moonlight and I opened the door, the air hot and humid, the pungent smell of damp earth and strong perfume exotic and exciting. It seemed like some faraway paradise, orchids hanging from their silver branches, the air heavy with the scent of lilies. Mr Maddox’s dark hair was bending over a potting table at the far end. He turned quickly, his obvious surprise turning to sudden pleasure.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Hello…is my brother here? Only I thought I was following them, but I seem to have lost them?’

  He seemed distracted, looking over my shoulder, searching the space behind me. ‘Are you alone? Is it just you?’

  The impropriety of my visit must have struck us at the same time. ‘I’m sorry…it was a mistake…goodnight, Mr Maddox…only, I thought my brother was here. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’

  He clasped his hands together. He seemed to be struggling, hiding his obvious disappointment. ‘Not to worry… perhaps another night. The moon’s just come out…so… well.’ He smiled bravely. An open bottle of wine stood on the table behind him and he must have seen me glance at it. ‘Please don’t judge me, Miss Lilly.’

  ‘Judge you?’

  ‘Drinking alone. Only…well…it gets very lonely when you’re always by yourself. I don’t suppose you can join me, to wish me well on my next venture?’

  I shook my head, reluctant to go further from the door, but his words held such pain, the loneliness in his voice tearing my heart. ‘Why must you leave?’

  Across the silver plants, I saw his mouth tremble. He ran his hands through his hair. ‘I have to go.’ He glanced up. ‘Miss Lilly – you have tears in your eyes.’

  ‘I hate to see unhappiness.’

  ‘You’re very kind. Forgive me.’ He hid his face with his hands. ‘But your kindness does me no favour – you better go, Miss Lilly.’

  ‘But Mr Maddox, what is it? What’s happened? Is it the cereus? Has it died?’

  ‘No, not that.’ His shoulders slumped, tears pooling in his eyes. He bit his bottom lip. ‘Miss Lilly, do you know what it is to love so deeply it stops you sleeping and eating…even wanting to live? I must walk away from here and never come back. I’m destroying myself by staying. I must leave.’

  I had never seen a man so distraught. Pain crumpled his face, his hands trembled. I had seen the way he looked at Amelia, how they all looked at her. ‘Oh, Mr Maddox…I understand, I really do.’

  He sniffed, bringing out a soiled handkerchief. ‘Please, Miss Lilly – forget this conversation. It’s the wine – and the sudden, tremendous hope she was with you.’ He blew his nose, his voice breaking. ‘Every full moon…every full moon, I pray the cereus will bloom. I sit willing it, cajoling it, desperate to see the first sign of it opening. I picture her absolute delight…how she would smile at me…how happy I would make her. How we would sit in the moonlight, marvelling at the sheer beauty of the delicate bloom. But instead I sit alone, waiting and hoping, knowing I must leave before I say something, or do something, to give myself away.’

  He blew his nose again, his tousled hair in disarray. The patches at his elbow looked black in the moonlight, earth staining the cuffs of his sleeves. ‘Forgive me. Please let this s
tay between us. I’m sorry for my outburst. I’ve written to Kew and hope to hear from them soon. In time, this will all pass.’ He glanced at the tightly closed bud, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I apologize I can’t see you safely back to the house but I must maintain my vigil – just in case.’

  His smile broke my heart; George Godwin, Daniel Maddox, and every other man who met her, all enthralled by Amelia’s beauty and kindness. ‘My brother and his friend must have gone to bed,’ I said across the silent orchids. ‘Goodnight, Mr Maddox. I promise I won’t breathe a word.’

  At the arch, I looked back through the gate to the walled garden. Moses was stooping between the herbs, placing what must be snails in a bucket. He stood up, his arms and head wobbling. Wisps of lank hair fell across his eyes. He looked thinner, older, smiling shyly when he saw it was me, and I knew I must wait while he picked me some lavender. He shuffled towards me with his sideways gait, his face pale and gaunt in the moonlight, a dribble of spit glistening on his chin. He looked frightened, as if trying to gauge how far he could approach before I ran away. He held out the small bunch of lavender, his hands jerking back to his chest, resting against his heart.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, smelling the heady fragrance. I rested the bunch against my heart, imitating his action. ‘I shouldn’t really be here but I love your garden…and you’re very clever. Miss Carew says it’s your garden really.’ I knew he could not hear but he seemed delighted, smiling and nodding back at me.

  I turned in fright. A man was standing on the path behind me, his white shirt glowing in the moonlight. He had washed his hair, his chin closely shaven. He straightened his glasses.

  ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Lilly. May I see you safely back to the house – or is the night still too young?’ He pulled a watch from his pocket. ‘I suppose it is only two o’clock.’