The Cornish Lady

by Nicola Pryce

  We ran swiftly down the corridor and through the outer door, nodding to the remaining guard before hurrying up the stairs. Private Evans was waiting for us in the shade of the portcullis. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Bohenna…Miss Ellis… only you don’t look very well?’

  Far, far from well: I was shaking, gulping down the air. Father may not even get my letter, the only address I had for him was in Wales and even by express that could take a week. Henry Trevelyan was tightening the noose and I had to do something. My legs felt weak and I almost stumbled.

  Private Evans turned. ‘Come, my dear,’ he said, his kind eyes searching mine. ‘Take my arm. I may be old and unsteady, but between us, we can manage.’

  At the gatehouse, Private Mallory drew me towards the bench. ‘You’re as pale as a ghost. Here, Miss Ellis, have a wee drop.’ He handed me his hip flask. ‘A wee drop of Mrs Bohenna’s medicine and you’ll soon be fighting fit.’

  The fiery whiskey burned my lips, the heat of the sun beginning to take the chill from my heart. I took another sip, garnering all the strength I could muster. A woman was standing beneath the gatehouse arch, her demure dress and severe bonnet silhouetted against the sun. She had a basket on each arm, both brimming with fruit and vegetables, the necks of two wine bottles protruding from each basket, and she stopped, nodding as she passed.

  ‘Good day,’ she said, reaching for one of the bottles and handing it with a smile to Private Mallory. She had a pretty face, large eyes, a mole above her upper lip.

  ‘Probably one of Mrs Fox’s visiting ladies,’ whispered Mary. But I was lost in thought and hardly spoke the whole way down.

  We stopped to let a group of men pass and I whispered, ‘We have to find Lottie Lorrelli. Do you know a man you can trust, Mary? He won’t need to know about Edgar or his whereabouts…but just someone who can ask a few questions? We need to trace Lottie Lorrelli – someone must know her. Offer whatever it takes.’

  Fear filled me, but it was anger driving me now. ‘Edgar may have left with that woman…and he may have hired the horse, but it doesn’t make him a highway robber. No one has seen that woman before, and if your man can’t find her, then she doesn’t exist. She’s part of the trap – Henry Trevelyan’s trap.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  4 Dunstanville Terrace

  Tuesday 9th August 1796, 6:00 p.m.

  Lady Clarissa held up her letter. ‘Ten healthy piglets and Persephone’s thriving. That’s splendid.’ Her silk gown shimmered in the light, her hair adorned with jewels and fine feathers. ‘Lord Carew apologizes for his absence, Mrs Penrose, but I’m afraid we all play second fiddle to his beloved animals.’

  Eleanor Penrose looked up from arranging her sheet music. ‘There’ll be plenty more musical evenings for poor Lord Carew to sit through.’

  Lady Clarissa’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Fidget through – I believe you mean.’ She held up another letter. ‘And George Godwin regrets that circumstances beyond his control must lead him to cancel his attendance this evening.’

  Her quick glance was not lost on Amelia who pursed her lips. ‘Poor George – he was so looking forward to coming, but we must be grateful that he’s busy. I believe his business is beginning to do very well.’

  The evening sun was streaming through the windows, lighting the vase of orchids and the backs of the chairs grouped neatly round the piano; twenty guests were expected, the concert was to last an hour and there would be refreshments afterwards. Our careful preparations were now in place and everything was ready. Amelia was looking her loveliest in a cream silk gown with matching roses in her hair, Charity in soft peach with two diamond pins holding back her ringlets and I had chosen my lemon damask with its cream outer skirt and matching lace at my elbows.

  The footman coughed politely. ‘Mrs Bohenna and Dr Luke Bohenna.’

  Mary curtseyed, and as Luke bowed I felt a rush of pride. They were both so smartly dressed, their clothes fashionable, Luke’s well-cut jacket and dark breeches both dignified and professional. As a child he had been bookish, even a little awkward, yet now his presence seemed to fill the room; he looked upright and honest, a man to trust, his slightly receding hairline and furrowed brow marking him out as approachable and kind. His smile was shy, almost deferential, lingering on Amelia before returning to Lady Clarissa.

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you both,’ she said, beckoning them to the small group of chairs by the fireplace. ‘Do sit. I invited you early so we could talk.’ The introductions completed, she smiled at Mary. ‘Have you settled well in Falmouth? Angelica tells me you’re newly arrived from London. I believe you trained as a physician at St Bartholomew’s Hospital, Dr Bohenna?’

  I sat stiff-backed and smiling, for all the world as happy as Charity, yet Edgar’s sadness was tearing me apart. The afternoon of forced jollity had given me a headache and I could not rid myself of the terrible anxiety wrenching my stomach. I felt like a spring stretched too taut, wanting only to curl up on my bed and cry. We were the advantaged children of a prosperous man, living a life of plenty. We lacked for nothing, everything given to us the moment we asked. To outsiders, I must seem so confident, driving around town in Father’s carriage, escorting him to fine houses, always laughing and smiling. I gave my opinions on charity committees, told everyone my strong desire to see all women taught to read and write, yet the truth was we did not have the one thing that would bring us happiness – Father’s affection. Since Mamma’s death we had both been floundering. Now Edgar was drowning.

  The talk turned to laughter and I tried to smile. Mary and Lady Clarissa were deep in conversation. ‘My husband was an apothecary in Truro. I met him when he was training in London and returned with him to take over his father’s shop in Truro. We lived above the shop in Boscawen Street until he died. He was always so proud of Luke and wanted him to be a doctor…but, well, I only wish he could see him now.’ Mary shrugged her delicately embroidered silk shawl. ‘You must forgive a mother’s pride, Lady Clarissa, but after my dear husband died I thought all hope of Luke entering the medical profession had died alongside him.’ She glanced across at Luke and smiled. ‘Yet we were to be so very fortunate.’

  ‘You deserve to be proud, and with good reason. Angelica tells me Dr Bohenna won a bursary from the Worshipful Company of Apothecaries.’

  ‘Well, yes – but no, as it happens. Certainly we were led to believe the bursary was awarded from the guild, but when Luke wrote to thank them, they denied all knowledge. That’s when we realized his good fortune rested on the goodness of my husband’s sister.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure she’s delighted. Money very well spent, I would say. Does she live in Truro?’

  Mary shook her head. ‘No, in Kent and we hardly ever see her. But she won’t hear of us thanking her. She denies the gift and the only reason we can think is because she’s several other nephews and nieces and hasn’t the same funds for them all. To this day she’ll accept no thanks. And there it must remain – our attorney is adamant Luke’s benefactor shall remain anonymous.’

  Luke and Amelia were deep in conversation and it was becoming more and more apparent that he was finding it difficult to look Amelia in the eye. He continued to address his hands. ‘Miss Carew, a physic garden is exactly what the new hospital will need – indeed, it’s what we all need.’

  A faint blush coloured Amelia’s cheeks. ‘I hope to be in full production for the opening…but for the moment, I supply both dried and living plants to a number of physicians. I send supplies to apothecaries all over Cornwall.’ She smiled at his creased brow. ‘I could supply you, too, if you have the need.’

  Mary and Lady Clarissa’s conversation was pleasant and joyful, but the more Amelia and Luke talked, the more animated they became. Amelia’s knowledge of herbs was clearly delighting Luke.

  He glanced up at her, obviously taking the chance. ‘Oh, I do have great need, Miss Carew. A number of the French prisoners are suffering from purulent gum disease – some of them quite severely – and
a mouthwash of vervain would be highly beneficial. I could certainly do with some of your willow bark, and do you have horseradish? I use it as a stimulant.’

  I watched the growing happiness on the faces of my two dearest friends and my heart lurched. Dear God, I had been so blind. A wave of dizziness swept over me, my chest tightening as I tried to breathe. It had been staring me in the face all this time and yet I never thought to question it.

  Lady Clarissa rose to discuss last-minute arrangements and I managed to whisper, ‘Mary, Father told me Luke’s bursary was from the Worshipful Company of Apothecaries – he was absolutely adamant. He kept repeating it – he still does sometimes.’

  She looked puzzled. ‘No, my dear, he knew as soon as we knew…’ The colour drained from her face. ‘Oh, my dear, what are you saying…?’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘My dear girl…what do you mean…?’

  How could I have been so blind? I had wronged Father so completely, jumping to the worst possible conclusion, judging him unfairly. Mary was struggling to hide her own shock. ‘You don’t think? You don’t think…?’

  ‘Twenty pounds a month for seven years? Mary, I took you for his fancy woman.’

  She went as white as a sheet. ‘Oh Angelica, I’d no idea – none whatsoever. I never thought it was from your father. He was always so very stern – I thought he disapproved of me, yet that dear, kind man, giving us everything. That’s true charity and goodness. Not wanting me to know…if I knew… Oh, Angelica, if I knew I’d have come straight back to Truro to be with you – yet he refused to make me choose between my own son and his children.’ She wiped her eyes, her hands trembling. ‘I must write to him…but how can I thank him? Oh, my dearest, what a day this is turning out to be.’

  The room was filling; Mr and Mrs Fox were next to arrive and my heart leapt in pleasure as Elizabeth signalled me out. ‘Miss Carew, Mrs Bohenna, what a beautiful evening. I’m sorry our walk was cut short yesterday, Miss Lilly.’ She lowered her voice. ‘There was nothing Mr Fox could do. He says it wasn’t a riot…he’s adamant there weren’t as many as fifty and they weren’t rioting. Yet five men were arrested and taken away without warning. It was heavy handed and unjust—’ She stopped.

  Lord Entworth had just entered the room and was standing by the door. He handed his cane to the footman and stood watching us.

  Her voice hardened. ‘They were poor and they were starving – they’d heard there was grain and their only thought was for a fair share.’ Her heart-shaped lips tightened. ‘We can only hope Lord Entworth will show mercy – hopefully once in possession of the facts humanity might, for once, prevail.’ She stopped again. ‘I’m sorry, I’m forgetting myself.’

  Lord Entworth’s attention was commandeered by two men in naval uniform but though he answered their questions, he kept looking across the room at me: not boldly, but rather shyly, his timid glances asking for encouragement. Yet all I wanted to do was to run from the room and bury my head in my hands. I felt like doubling up with the pain of my stupidity, all those years of thinking ill of Father; the gulf between us all my own making.

  Mary had regained her composure; she and Elizabeth Fox were enjoying a lively conversation but Edgar’s heart-wrung words still rang in my ears. We’ll supply the fortune; all you need do is supply the title. I wanted to scream with mortification; my dowry dangled for the best taker, as if I was up for sale. Edgar had felt ridiculed and the more I thought about it, the more I understood – both of us being moulded and shaped to follow Mamma’s dreams – Mamma’s dreams. Not our own.

  Lord Entworth was making his way towards me and I wanted to run. Smelter Girl’s father trying to buy her some class, I felt belittled, like chattel. Elizabeth Fox watched his approach and slipped from my side.

  ‘I’ll leave you, now. We’ll talk again later,’ she whispered.

  He towered above Mrs Bohenna, bowing politely. His smile was warm, his conversation pleasant, and I tried to quell my rising panic. He put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small satin sampler which he carefully unrolled. The worked stitches were charming and simple, obviously sewn by very young hands.

  ‘Miss Lilly, if I may give you this.’ He smiled shyly, almost blushing, a slight stammer as he continued, ‘It’s a present from my daughters to you – it’s their very best work, though I understand you might think it childish.’ He reached into his waistcoat pocket. ‘And they also insisted I show you their miniatures…but perhaps, you might not want to see them?’

  Mrs Bohenna was immediately charmed by the two pale-faced girls looking out from their gold frames. ‘Oh, well now, they are very beautiful. What lovely girls you have, Lord Entworth!’

  A lump lodged in my throat; I could barely look at them. The two girls had dark curly hair, pinched faces with long noses and large, mournful eyes. Their tightly fitted dresses looked distressingly formal and my heart wrenched; two sad, motherless girls, desperately wanting their father to find someone who would love them. Lord Entworth stared down at the miniatures, hardly glancing at me. ‘You must forgive a fond father – they are my pride and joy, Mrs Bohenna. And, one day, I hope to have a son to continue the family line. My house is too quiet – the rooms should be ringing with children’s laughter, yet, I fear the girls’ governess is too strict.’

  I held the tiny sampler, my heart breaking. There were six tiny flowers each threaded with different coloured petals. ‘Thank you. It’s beautiful. Tell them I’ll always treasure it.’

  Lady Clarissa clapped her hands and waited for the room to quieten. ‘Thank you,’ she called above the last rumbles. ‘Could I ask you to take your seats? I believe we are ready to start.’

  I handed back the portraits, rolling up the satin embroidery, putting it carefully in my own embroidered purse. An iron clasp had me in its grasp, squeezing all breath from me.

  ‘Will I have the honour of hearing you play, or are you singing tonight, Miss Lilly?’

  I could hardly breathe. ‘I’m very bad at the pianoforte, Lord Entworth. My playing’s not up to such an occasion and neither’s my singing.’ Mamma’s dreams, not mine – Mamma sitting on my bed at night, laughing her gentle laugh, telling me how proud she would be if her grandson was a lord; Mamma making me believe I wanted it too, moulding my dreams and aspirations, making me think it was my destiny, that I had no choice. That being a great lady meant marrying a great lord.

  I did not love him. I could never love him. I was just like all the other girls, pinching and scratching, elbowing away the competition to secure a good future. All of us led to believe our happiness rested on rank and fortune. ‘Mother was a famous actress,’ I managed to say, ‘and I take after her. Lady Clarissa has asked me to start the evening with a sonnet.’

  ‘How very charming! I’m sure that will give us all such pleasure.’ People were taking their seats and he put his arm out to escort me to the piano. Everyone in the room was watching us and I held my chin higher. Had he come to Father, or had Father gone to him? ‘I’m sure my daughters would like their own theatre when they’re older. It would be no trouble to convert one of the larger rooms into a theatre. What are you reciting tonight? One of Shakespeare’s love sonnets, I hope?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  I had practised the eighteenth sonnet all afternoon and could only guess he had seen it on one of the programmes we had put on every seat. He left me standing by the piano, bowing politely, the gold embroidery on his waistcoat dazzling me in the evening sun. Mary and Luke were in the front row and I stood waiting for the last guests to take their seats. The room was growing quieter, the sea of expectant faces looking quizzical, yet friendly. He may say the right words, give me every indication of his affection, but he did not look at me the way Luke looked at Amelia, or Robert Fox looked at Elizabeth. He may want to marry me, but he did not love me.

  Lady Clarissa smiled, settling herself comfortably next to Mr Fox, yet now I was about to start, I did not want to speak of love. I wanted to speak of mercy. I had wronged Fa
ther so completely, Edgar lay shut behind bars on the whim of a man who was underhand and cunning, and men whose only crime was hunger were imprisoned and facing the gallows. A soliloquy of twenty-two lines lay etched in my mind and never had the words held such meaning. One glance at Elizabeth Fox and my courage soared.

  ‘I’d like to make an alteration to the programme,’ I said, steadying my voice. ‘The speech I would like to recite is from The Merchant of Venice and I hope it speaks for us all.’

  The last time I had said these words had been in Mrs Mitchell’s study, her furious eyes following every last syllable, hoping to catch me out. The words had meant nothing then, but now I understood them. From now on, I would be myself. I would be like Elizabeth and speak up for what I believed. Not living Mamma’s dreams but living my own.

  The quality of mercy is not strained,

  It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven…

  I finished and the room erupted in applause, everyone smiling, some nodding: Lord Entworth stepped forward, standing next to me, clapping his hands. The applause abated and he offered me his arm, leading me back to my chair. He sat down, flipping back the coat-tails of his jacket, and leaned towards me. ‘That was enchanting, Miss Lilly, absolutely enchanting.’

  Charity and Amelia started enthralling us with their singing and I breathed deeply. Smoke from the smelter did cling to my clothes because it clung to my heart. I did not want my freedom exchanged for a title and a huge mansion with imposing gates, my future pinned to a man’s side, held in place by stiff protocol and expectations. I wanted to be like Elizabeth Fox; I wanted to see the respect she saw reflected in people’s eyes. I wanted to visit prisons and campaign for reform – for the abolition of slavery, for women to be educated. That stab of envy at seeing her desk had been my heart warning me I was hurtling too fast into a marriage I did not want.

  Mrs Penrose stood, bowing to rapturous applause, agreeing again and again to yet another encore. This was to be the very last piece and Amelia and Charity stood to join her. Lord Entworth leaned closer, reaching slowly for my hand.