The Cornish Lady

by Nicola Pryce

  Lady Clarissa searched my face. ‘Who is Mrs Edison?’

  ‘She’s Molly’s best friend from church. Molly reads better than she writes and I usually write her letters for her but I told her to ask Mrs Edison if she needed anything – they’re very good friends and I know she’ll keep this private. Look – Molly’s written “please come”, did you see?’

  ‘I did, my dear, and I believe you should go. This is not a burden a servant should have to bear alone – indeed, it speaks volumes for the nature of the woman that she could even consider such an action. Apart from the choice of such distasteful material, her action is totally reprehensible and I agree you must stop this at all cost.’

  ‘But can I go?’

  ‘Indeed, you must. Molly needs you. It is unfortunate timing – in that we are to welcome Frederick and Charity home tomorrow and therefore we cannot go with you – but, on the other hand, the carriage will be free and at your disposal. Bethany can accompany you. She can see her mother and you can return when you have told Mr Sewell that, despite his instructions, he must wait until your father returns.’

  Her kindness was overwhelming and I wiped the tears from my eyes. ‘I’ll come straight back.’

  ‘Of course you will.’ She handed me the brandy she was about to drink. ‘Have this. Perhaps you do need to go home, my dear. I am not alone in thinking a look of sadness has crept into your eyes and I do not like it. Are you no longer happy here, Angelica? Are you very homesick?’

  I shook my head. ‘No…no, not at all, I love being here. I want to be here more than anything. I’ll sort things out with Molly and come straight back.’

  It was always worse when people showed such consideration. My emotions were so brittle; another kind look and I knew I would cry. I wanted to tell them everything, that the sadness was panic; that men were not what they seemed. That my brother had been caught in a trap and falsely accused. That Henry Trevelyan had made it abundantly clear he would hand over the necklace and silver dish if I asked anyone to interfere. That even if Lady Carew believed in Edgar’s innocence, the owner of the necklace would pursue him to the gallows.

  I looked away, preparing my mask. I must bite my lip, smile and maintain the artifice until Henry Trevelyan was made to see reason.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The outskirts of Truro

  Saturday 13th August 1796, 9:00 a.m.

  The horses slowed and Bethany put her round cheek against the window. She had filled the carriage with her excited chatter the whole journey, but I was glad of her company. ‘Course I don’t mind comin’. I’ll take them vegetables to the Town House an’ go an’ see if Mamm’s free. They’re bound to give her a moment or two. Then I’ll collect what’s on Lady Clarissa’s list an’ I’ll come straight back fer ye.’ She smiled shyly. ‘It’s been that lovely ridin’ in the carriage – it’s very kind of ye. I’d have been proper soaked by now.’

  The market crowds were slowing us down, the journey taking longer than expected. ‘I can’t imagine I’ll be very long. I’ll send word once my business is finished then we can head straight back – once you’ve seen your mother, of course.’

  Men were pushing their market trolleys in front of us, geese herded by young boys, maids carrying milk churns on their shoulders. The bustle I knew so well – the sights and smells of my childhood. We turned the bend, finally drawing alongside the house, pulling round the back to the large courtyard. Grace came running from the stable and by her smile I knew she must have been willing me to come.

  ‘Ah, Miss Lilly, thank goodness.’ She pulled down the steps, looking over her shoulder to the kitchen door. ‘Molly will be that pleased to see you. She’s in a terrible state.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now, so she has nothing to fear.’

  She ran the back of her hand over her mouth. ‘Well, yes – but ’tis very unfortunate. Molly’s worried now on account of tellin’ ye the wrong day. Mr Sewell’s gone out of town – he’s changed the day. Says he’s comin’ tomorrow now. Goin’ to come at twelve tomorrow. Ah, here’s Molly now.’

  Molly almost tumbled from the door, flinging her arms wide before remembering to curtsy. The coachman gripped the reins, steadying the horses as she came hurtling towards us. ‘Oh, Miss Lilly – he’s not to come today. Look…’tis such a rude note – ’tis almost unreadable – ten o’clock tomorrow he’ll come – or twelve. Honest to God, it’s either ten or twelve …he thinks nothin’ better than to have me wait his pleasure.’

  Her cheeks were flushed, her brow furrowed. She shook her head. ‘I had it just this minute an’ here ye are – an’ he isn’t. Honest to God…to put ye through that journey fer nothin’. What am I to do? Must I admit him or do I show him the door? He’s that fierce – ’tis like I’m dirt under his feet, and yet I knew his mother – and her mother before her.’ She rested her hand on her hip, wincing in pain.

  ‘Molly, don’t worry. I’ll stay.’ The coachman had been following every word. ‘Is it possible? Could you send a message to Lady Clarissa? Explain I need to stay – until twelve tomorrow?’

  The coachman nodded. The capes of his driving coat still glistened with rain, the large brim of his hat pulled low over his face. ‘I’ll leave the coach at the Town House an’ ride a pony back. I’ll tell her ye’re not like to get anythin’ resolved till noon tomorrow. I reckon she’ll tell us to stay the night at the Town House.’

  ‘Tell her I’m sorry. Please collect me only at her convenience.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll explain everythin’ fer ye – an’ all bein’ well, I’ll be back fer ye just after twelve tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The footmen’s red capes looked equally soaked. ‘I’m sorry to inconvenience you. Please go and get dry.’ Bethany smiled from the window and I followed Molly to the kitchen door.

  The back of the house seemed somehow smaller, even shabby, the paintwork on the back door scuffed, a pipe ending short of a drain. Compared to the beautiful brickwork and stone sills of Trenwyn House, the crooked beams and sloping roof looked tired and lopsided and I felt suddenly ashamed. Father must be persuaded to leave.

  Molly peered round the kitchen door, her eyes sparkling. ‘Well,’ she beamed, ‘did I do well?’

  A voice boomed from the corner of the kitchen. ‘Quite the professional actress, Molly, my dear. You did so well, I might even think of employing you.’

  I swung round. ‘Kitty? What are you doing here?’ She was sitting on a chair out of sight from the window, a bundle in a woven shawl on the table in front of her. She looked younger without her stage make-up, her thick black hair tied simply behind a lace cap, her red velvet gown trimmed with black embroidery.

  She stood up, holding out her arms. ‘A little subterfuge, my dear, but how else could we get you here? We have very little time. Henry will be here any minute. Put these on. I’ve collected up what I can – they’re the best I could find and they fit his description perfectly…’

  My stomach tightened. ‘Henry who?’

  ‘Henry Trevelyan.’ She was busy untying the bundle in front of her, pulling out a carefully folded plain grey dress. Under the dress was a white shawl. ‘He’s here now – just crossing the courtyard. That’s good timing.’

  Henry was greeting Grace, nodding and smiling as she pointed to the door. His umbrella was dripping, his boots wet, a large hat pulled low over his face. Grace ran ahead and opened the door and Henry Trevelyan stood smiling on the threshold, turning to shake his umbrella, handing it to Grace along with his hat. He glanced quickly at me, bowing to Molly and Kitty who stood smiling back at him. Adoration shone in their eyes and I gripped my chair.

  My surprise turned to anger. He had them eating out of his hand, Molly scurrying to get him a drink, Grace taking his coat, shaking it on the doorstep before hanging it by the stove. They hardly looked at me, all round eyed and purring as Henry sat at the table. ‘That’s perfect, Kitty. Have you got the wig?’

  Kitty held up two boxes. ‘You’ve several to cho
ose from.’ She opened the first box, bringing out a hideous pile of hair, laying another wig on the table in front of her. ‘Which do you think, Henry?’

  I had never been so furious. ‘Perhaps one of you might have the courtesy to tell me what’s going on – in my own home?’

  Kitty unfolded the gown, shaking out the creases. ‘You’re to go with Henry – you’ve very little time.’ She pointed to the Chinese screen folded in the corner of the room. ‘Grace, be a love and pull the screen out. I meant to do it but haven’t had the time. Angelica, get behind it and Henry can explain everything as you get changed.’

  I caught Henry’s gaze and my heart jolted. ‘I’m not going anywhere with Mr Trevelyan. How can you trick me like this? It’s despicable. Mr Trevelyan cannot be trusted – you think nothing of sending me off with a man you don’t know?’

  The smile left his eyes. ‘I need you to identify the woman you accuse of being Lottie Lorrelli, Miss Lilly. Your brother has no recollection of her face but you do. We saw her on one of our walks – she was scurrying round the battlements and she fitted the description Luke gave me. I arrested her but I’ve no reason to hold her – other than on your suspicion.’

  I held his gaze. ‘I won’t go with you alone. Someone must come with us.’

  Molly looked thunderstruck but Kitty shook her head. ‘You have to, my love. You must do it for Edgar. Henry’s given us his word you’ll come to no harm. We can’t go – we must remain here if anyone comes. The coachman may come back and we’ll need to tell him you’re tired…that you’re in bed and don’t want to be disturbed. Now, hurry. What time does the ship leave, Henry?’

  Henry reached for his fob watch. ‘We’ve just over half an hour – she sails at ten thirty. The clothes are so no one recognizes you, Miss Lilly – you’ll look like every other prison visitor.’

  I made no move, standing defiantly though Kitty was directing me behind the screen. Henry Trevelyan stared back at me, matching my defiance. Where there had been laughter there was challenge, a firmness round his mouth. He looked tired, black circles shadowing his eyes, slight stubble on his chin. He was wearing sober clothes to match the dress Kitty held out.

  ‘Thirty minutes,’ scolded Kitty, ‘to turn you from such a beauty to dull old dishwater.’ She reached over, dragging her bag across the floor.

  They seemed so sure of him and my anger rose, all three of them casting smiling glances, seeking his approval: Molly packing his leather bag with food for the journey; my brother’s gaoler, summoning them as bold as brass, telling them about Edgar when I had not breathed a word.

  ‘You may trust him,’ I said, standing my ground, ‘but I don’t. It’s only his word against Edgar’s – no one saw the incident. He’s duping you, just like he dupes everyone else.’

  Molly shook her head, smiling fondly back at me. ‘Honest, my love! We wouldn’t send ye off with a man we didn’t know. He’s not dupin’ us – he’s Henry – ye wouldn’t know him, but he’s Henry – from number twenty-two Tannery Lane, or was it twenty-three?’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The River Truro: on board ship

  Saturday 13th August 1796, 12:00 p.m.

  The wind bit deeper and he must have seen me shiver. He took off his coat, holding it up for me, refusing to take no for an answer, and I let him slip it over my shoulders, clasping it against my chest. It was made of fine cloth and beautifully tailored. We had hardly spoken; his hand gently on my back as he shepherded me across the quayside and up the gangplank of the awaiting lugger. Despite his asking, I had shaken my head firmly; I did not want to go below. I wanted to remain on deck and watch the river.

  The tide had turned and was taking us with it, the flow as fast as anyone could row. The tips of branches dipped beneath the water, swept sideways by the current; a raft of flotsam formed our escort – planks, old crates, ropes and up-turned barrels bobbing in the water beside us. Several ships had slipped their moorings before us and were pulling ahead, others following, the wind steering us down the top reaches of the river towards the large bend that curved around Malpas.

  ‘Are you quite sure you’re not cold?’ he said, smiling down at me.

  I chose to ignore his misplaced pleasantries, staring instead at the riverbank.

  ‘Can we at least call a truce, Miss Lilly? It’ll be a good four hours to Falmouth with this headwind – and that’s a long time to go without talking.’ He was leaning against the bulwark, amusement in his voice. ‘I thought you’d relish the prospect of helping your brother – and it was only the tiniest little lie, as I believe Molly says you call it. She says you do it all the time – write letters from people who may or may not exist. Arranging things, I believe she said.’

  It was number 23; I remembered it now, 23 Tannery Lane – down to the end of Middle Row, then the squalid turning to the right.

  The wind whistled through the rigging as it funnelled down the river. There must have been ten of us wrapped up against its force. The ship was heavy with lime, the sails arching, the timbers creaking. Crates of apples were stacked high on the deck, the Master shouting instructions at the crew as they navigated the river. The Heron Inn stood deserted behind its empty quay and I knew we must be thinking the same thought. Then, I had been blonde, my dress frilly and cumbersome; today I was brunette, my gown plain and severe.

  I must have been frowning as the furrow on his brow deepened but still I would not speak. He shrugged, leaning closer so those behind us could not hear. ‘She says her name is Martha Selwyn. She says she takes the baskets for the members of her church who are too elderly or infirm to walk to the castle. It’s a case of simple compassion – they send the baskets because they’re concerned for the welfare of the French prisoners – as are many. She fell to the floor in a faint when I suggested she might be Lottie Lorrelli, frequenter of an opium den by night.’

  At some stage, I would have to speak so it might as well be now. ‘That’s the first thing to learn – how to fall in a faint when you’re accused of doing something wrong. I hope you didn’t believe her, Mr Trevelyan?’

  He smiled. ‘I didn’t, but I had to go through the motions of getting her to a chair and bringing her some ale. The truth is I’m on very thin ice – her arrest has no authority. My action will be construed as unlawful but I took the chance. If you identify her as the woman in the inn, then I have every right to hold her. If, on the other hand, she’s the innocent, and the rather charming young chapel-goer who she’s claiming to be…then I’ll be facing a mound of trouble when I get back.’

  Woodsmoke drifted on the wind, blowing above the trees. I was still seething at their deception. It was not the plan; it was the way Henry Trevelyan had gone behind my back, eliciting the help of my friends and servants. It was underhand, like everything else he did.

  ‘Never go behind my back again, Mr Trevelyan. ’

  ‘I had to act quickly…I needed your help and I needed to extricate you from Lady Clarissa without you having to lie. Kitty wrote the letter and chose the fabric – they’d used it in a boudoir scene, I believe. Was it really appalling?’

  The wind ruffled his collar. He looked somehow out of place on the deck of the ship – if not standing over a desk with heavy keys, he would be better placed in a library or a study with some weighty tome open in front of him. His high cheek bones made him look refined, his glasses bookish and intelligent. He had the same air as Luke – compassion for humanity etched across his brow. He suited his sober clothes; it lent him gravity, but not severity.

  Number 23 had been the last in the row. The last house before the filth of the pits flooded the dirt track. I could see the child in his eyes. I remembered his pinched face and haunted gaze staring at me from the window as I waited in the carriage. He had never smiled but had stood staring out through the filthy glass, his house forbidden to me through dirt and disease.

  ‘You used to watch me through the window,’ I said, more curtly than I intended.

  He turned away, his voi
ce gruff. ‘I apologize for my rudeness, Miss Lilly.’ He kept his eyes on the riverbank, watching the smoke from the charcoal burners, the children running along the riverside, the donkey struggling to pull a cart piled high with driftwood. He seemed to want to look everywhere except at me.

  The last house next to the tannery; the smell so awful, I wanted to vomit. Yet Mamma had insisted I must not hold my handkerchief against my nose. ‘You never came out. The other children used to come out and stroke the horses but you never did. Why didn’t you come and say hello?’

  He swallowed, his gruffness turning to hoarseness. ‘Because I had no shoes, Miss Lilly.’

  ‘Molly recognized you – that first night when you were in our kitchen, she recognized you, didn’t she?’

  ‘I didn’t intend her to recognize me – nor did I intend you to.’

  The veiled threat in his answer made my stomach tighten. ‘You were spying on us, Mr Trevelyan, hoping to hide your identity?’

  ‘Not spying. And I didn’t reveal my identity because there was no need – but Molly saw something and remembered. A habit can be a dangerous thing…’

  ‘What habit?’

  He shrugged his shoulders, his voice softening. ‘The habit of diving into a basket to reach for the chutney – then throwing it in the air and catching it like a cricket ball.’ His chin rose. ‘I always used to throw the chutney in the air to frighten Molly. She’d shake her head and raise her eyebrows and your mother used to laugh. She used to say, One day, you’ll miss that, Henry, and it’ll fall and break. It was pure bravado on my part but if I didn’t make a joke of it, I thought I might cry.’ His voice dropped. ‘I’ll never forget the taste of Molly’s chutney. I used to pretend I wasn’t hungry but my mother knew differently. One spoonful of chutney can last a long time.’