The Cornish Lady

by Nicola Pryce

  My courage was returning. ‘Admiral Penrose is in port… HMS Circe is anchored opposite Greenbank – if he’s not there, he’ll be at their lodgings…I heard Mrs Penrose say it was somewhere near Mary’s. Direct them to Mary. She’ll know.’

  He reached for another piece of paper, writing neatly despite his urgency. ‘I’ll send letters to both places. The fact they’ve used the tunnel narrows the search. Someone will have seen them. They’ll have had a rowing boat waiting but they won’t risk rowing to France – they’ll be hiding along the coast. My guess is they’ve headed for the harbour. The plan’s so well executed I believe there’ll be a ship waiting and ready to sail.’ He sealed the letters, the wax still dripping. He looked up in sudden horror. ‘George! Angelica, we’ve forgotten George! Quick.’

  The door was locked and Henry peered through the tiny grille. ‘George…George – are you in there?’ He banged loudly. ‘I can’t see through the grille, something’s in the way.’

  In the dim light, deep gouges pitted the door frame, fragments of jagged splinters where the wood had been split. ‘They’ve battered the lock – look, they’ve tried to force the door.’

  ‘The door’s impossible to force. They had the key but thank God George always keeps his key on the inside – with his key in place no one can open it from the other side.’ He peered through the grille again. ‘It’s barred from within and he’ll have the chain across…it seems he’s got it barricaded – there’s a lamp burning but no sound.’

  ‘He could be drugged.’

  ‘Captain Fenshaw was with him – he must have taken the wine in.’ He banged on the door again, stopping to put his ear against the grille.

  ‘No wait – if George has barricaded himself in he must have known he was in danger. He must have done it after Captain Fenshaw left.’

  ‘Of course.’ Henry banged on the door again, shouting against the grille. ‘George, it’s Henry. You’re quite safe. Look through the grille and you’ll see it’s me.’ The faintest scraping could be heard and Henry whispered, ‘Don’t let him see you.’

  I slipped to one side, watching from the shadows as something glinted in the dim light – the barrel of a pistol shook against the grille. George was sobbing, his voice unrecognizable. ‘I’ll shoot. Don’t think I won’t shoot. I’ll shoot the lot of you. I’ll…I’ll—’ The sobs grew louder, his petrified crying wrenching my heart.

  Henry’s voice was soft yet firm. ‘You’re safe, George – you’ve done well, very well. Put your barricade back exactly as it was and stay vigilant. They’ve gone but they might come back. I’ll send someone to stand guard outside but don’t open the door until you see Major Basset’s men. Can you manage that?’ The petrified sobs grew louder, the pistol shaking more violently. ‘Another hour at the most, George – be brave a bit longer.’

  He turned. ‘We need to hurry.’ He started running down the corridor and I followed on his heels. At the foot of the steps he stopped. ‘Do you have the whistle?’ I nodded, reaching in my cloak, handing it to him. ‘I’ll find someone to take these letters. Luke will see to the men.’

  We spiralled up the steps and into the night air. Across the field men were standing in groups, directing the last of the buckets to the glowing embers in the courtyard. Henry held up his pocket watch. ‘Two o’clock. The tide turns in two hours. We’ll need a list of all the ships in the harbour. If they’ve reached a ship, they’ll be hiding below deck waiting to catch the tide.’

  He blew the whistle, long sharp blasts piercing my ears, and as men came running, I knelt against the still body of Private Evans, knowing I must search his jacket. There was a tiny movement, the faintest mewing, and I pulled Lily from his inside pocket. She was matted with congealed blood, cold and barely moving, and I cradled her in my hands, slipping her into the deep pocket of my cloak. I would take her home. I would love her, cherish her, give her everything Private Evans would have wanted: a warm fire, a soft bed, a plate brimming with Molly’s fine cooking. Lily Evans would forever remind me of this dear man who had showed everyone such kindness.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Falmouth Harbour

  Sunday 14th August 1796, 3:00 a.m.

  The freshening breeze blew against my cheek, the half-moon glinting on the black sea. A grey haze lit the sky to the east and I breathed the heavy scent of gorse, the thyme and camomile crushing beneath my feet.

  ‘If they’re rowing round to the harbour, I think they’re most likely to pull in somewhere right below us and continue on foot. My guess is they’ll swap to a smaller boat and row out to an anchored ship.’

  The stars were bright, the black outlines of the cliffs silhouetted against the night sky. ‘Mightn’t that take too long? Wouldn’t rowing a boat back and forth to an anchored ship draw too much attention? Wouldn’t it be safer to make their way to a ship moored alongside a quay? Most of the lamps on the quayside have gone out – and it’s still dark enough for them to go unseen.’

  For all his bookish looks, Henry was agile and strong, running without losing breath, his movements quick and lithe. He wore no hat, his chin poised in the air, as if he were trying to hear above the sound of the waves.

  ‘Wait here,’ he whispered, striding to a gate, vaulting it with ease, standing dangerously close to the cliff’s edge, and I climbed the gate behind him, standing by his side. He smiled, pointing through the half-light to a huge rock jutting out to the sea.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. There are too many rocks until that point but I remember seeing a small stretch of shingle. I think it’s the only place they could pull in.’

  I put my hand on his arm, peering down the cliff. I could hear the gentle splash of the waves, the rolling of the shingle. ‘Why did they take Edgar with them? Henry, I’m scared – what if we find…? What if he’s no longer useful to them and they…?’

  He took my hand, leading me back to the gate, climbing it, holding up his arms to catch me as I jumped. His hands clasped my waist, strong and reassuring. ‘We’ll go to that stretch of sand – they may not be that far ahead of us.’

  You who are so fearless. I had never felt such fear. I could hardly breathe; I thought I might be sick. He reached for my hand again.

  ‘When he gets my note, Admiral Penrose will block the harbour – and I’ve asked Major Basset to split his men between the castle and the quays. If Edgar’s with them, then you must brace yourself, but he may have run. He may have found his way out through the gatehouse.’

  His grip was firm, leading me down the path. A brambled opening led from the right and we braved the thorns, cutting steeply down the hillside, skirting the boulders and hawthorns where the path disappeared. We were almost at sea level, a six-foot drop, and Henry jumped to the shingle, holding up his arms to catch me. A heavy rowing boat lay wedged against the rocks, eight oars still locked in place. A narrow strip of sand glistened with froth, indentations of heavy footprints slowly filling with water.

  Henry searched the rowing boat. ‘It must be theirs…he’s not here,’ and I fought my tears of relief. I had expected to find Edgar stabbed, to cradle him in my arms.

  The sand was wet, sinking beneath our feet, and Henry’s frown mirrored my fear. ‘The tide’s coming in. We’re going to get trapped – quick…round here – over these rocks.’

  The water was cold, well above my ankles, and I grabbed my skirts, lifting them high. Lily was safe in my pocket and I scrambled over the slimy kelp swaying around my feet. The rocks were jagged in parts, encrusted with limpets, the smell of dried seaweed mixing with the smell of rotting wood. A half-submerged tree lay across our path and Henry held out his hands, helping me over the smooth grey trunk.

  A small shack stood on higher ground, the smell of burning charcoal, and Henry tested the branch of an overhanging tree. ‘The tide’s coming in too fast – if I help you up, can you crawl to the end?’ He cupped his hands and I tucked my skirts higher, my shoe held firmly in his grasp. I pushed off with a spring, reaching for the
branch, clinging to it before hoisting myself up. It dipped but stayed firm and I caught my balance, inching my way slowly along. Henry waited for me to reach the trunk and jumped, catching the branch, dangling for a moment before wedging his arms and drawing up his legs.

  ‘I somehow guessed you’d be able to climb trees,’ he said as I skilfully negotiated my way to the ground. His eyes were warm, tender, full of approbation as he took my hand again.

  A path led from the shack and we ran along the water’s edge, reaching a slipway where rusting chains lay heaped in coils. Through the darkness we saw a hunched figure of a man and I cried out with joy. I could not see the colour of his jacket but I knew it would be green. His hair was tousled, his mass of black curls falling across his face, and sudden panic gripped me. Edgar seemed to be convulsing, his hands held rigidly in front of him.

  ‘Stay back – leave me alone.’ His glare was angry, the anguish in his voice echoing across the water. ‘Stay back, Henry – for Christ sake stay back.’ He began sobbing violently, his eyes blazing. ‘Go away! Go away, you wicked, wicked woman. Haven’t you done enough?’

  ‘No, Edgar – it’s me…it’s Angelica. I’m wearing a wig …I’m helping Henry.’ He was shaking violently, running his hands through his hair. ‘Edgar, you’re safe. You’re safe. It’s just me and Henry – no one’s going to harm you.’ The curls on his forehead were damp with sweat and even in the darkness I saw the unnatural flush to his cheeks. He was breathing heavily, as if he had been running. ‘Edgar – are you hurt? Did you drink the wine?’ He looked up and the torment in his eyes made me catch my breath. He looked haunted, petrified, a dribble of saliva pooling at the side of his mouth.

  ‘Christ, Angelica. You’ve no idea the agony I’m in,’ he moaned, clutching his stomach. I dropped to my knees. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and I put my hands over his. He snatched them away. ‘Don’t. Don’t. For Christ sake, go away. Leave me alone.’

  I watched his shaking shoulders, fear ripping through me. ‘What are you holding in your hands? Edgar, answer me. What is it you don’t want us to see?’

  He pulled himself away, standing up, making a run for the path that would lead him to the harbour, but Henry was too fast, grabbing him round the waist, hauling him back to stand in front of me.

  ‘Answer your sister, Edgar.’

  Held in such a grasp, Edgar’s shoulders slumped. He opened his clenched fist and a small glass vial glinted in the half-light. His fingers widened to an open palm and I could see the cork was still firm, the contents undrunk.

  ‘Give that to me,’ I shouted.

  He snatched his hand closed again, clutching it against his chest, and Henry let him go.

  ‘Who gave you that, Edgar?’

  Edgar’s hands were shaking. ‘The woman in the prison. She opened the door to my cell and put it straight into my hand. She said if I went with them I’d live, but if I stayed, I’d be killed.’ He cried out, a terrible, plaintive howl, his face twisting in agony, his cheeks flushing deeper. ‘It’s the worst pain you can imagine – like rats gnawing my stomach…the craving’s so deep – so, so, deep. It’s consuming me. I can smell it…I can taste it…it’s in my hand and I need it so badly.’

  ‘No. You don’t need it. Give it to me – Edgar, give it to me. Now.’ I grabbed his arm, pulling his hands towards me. I would bite, I would scratch. I would get it and destroy this terrible poison that was destroying my brother. ‘Edgar – I mean it. Give it to me – this instant.’

  I felt my arms gripped, Henry pulling me forcefully away. ‘Stand back, Angelica. This is Edgar’s choice. It’s his life – it has to be his decision.’ He swung me round, my head against his shoulder. To see my brother like that; I wanted to shake him, hit him, force him to hand it over, but Henry held me tight, the tears flowing down my cheeks. Hurt, fear, disappointment, this would never go away; this terrible addiction would keep my brother in its grip. Henry’s voice was as firm as his arms.

  ‘The choice is yours, Edgar. Either you take it or you throw it into the sea.’

  ‘Henry! Take it from him.’ I tried to break free but Henry held me tighter.

  ‘No, Angelica. It’s Edgar’s decision. From now on, he’ll face this dilemma every day of his life – every day he’ll have to choose whether to give in or to fight.’ His grip tightened, his voice softening. ‘And each time he throws the vial away will make the next time easier. It’s the only way.’

  The strength of his arms, the strength of his voice; I could feel my courage return and I nodded, standing firmly by his side. Edgar stared at the vial in his open palm and I had never wished so fervently. Finders keepers, the stone with the hole I had picked up from the beach: I had threaded it with ribbon and was wishing on it now, wishing and praying that my brother would choose life.

  His cry pierced my ears. His hand drew back, his body stumbling forward as he flung the vial far out to sea and I ran to hold him but he pushed me off, straightening himself with stiff lips.

  Henry stepped forward holding out his handcuffs. ‘Will you walk by my side of your own free will, Edgar, or must I cuff you?’

  Edgar seemed to be growing stronger, his shoulders straightening, his chin held higher. ‘Of my own free will. Find her, Henry. Find that woman and bring her to justice.’

  ‘I intend to, Edgar. Did you recognize anyone? Who was with them? Who led the prisoners through the tunnel? Was it one of the guards?’

  ‘No one led us.’ He ran his hands through his hair; they were still shaking but his voice was stronger. ‘The woman unlocked my cell – the prisoners were already halfway down the corridor…They had the guards’ muskets and I thought they were going to kill me. I didn’t see a guard – nor anyone else. The woman led us to a turret – there was a deep stairwell and a gate. The guards were asleep. The woman was ahead of us. She waited for us all to go through then she locked the gate behind us.’

  ‘Locked it behind you?’

  ‘There was no going back, Henry – we had to go on. There was no light – the tunnel was treacherous…it was wet and several slipped and fell – one quite badly. Some caught themselves on a sharp rock but we reached the sea and a boat was waiting on the sand – two boats, in fact, but there were only oars in one.’

  ‘Are you sure there wasn’t a guard leading you? How did they know which way to go?’

  ‘No guard, Henry – I can assure you, but they knew to row to the left. My French is adequate enough to understand most of what they said. They knew a ship was waiting for them – they were to leave on the tide.’

  ‘Which ship? What’s the name of the ship?’

  ‘No ship was named. I heard no name.’

  ‘Edgar, think hard – try to remember.’

  ‘They didn’t mention a name – I’m sure of that – but they seemed to know which ship to board.’

  Henry replaced the cuffs in his pocket. ‘Don’t think for one moment I don’t understand the enormity of what you’ve just done, Edgar.’ He smiled. ‘But just for the record, I believe even if we hadn’t chanced upon you, you’d have taken the same action. Stay by my side at all times – you’re still my prisoner but you now have the chance to turn King’s evidence. If you run, you’ll be caught and I’ll not be able to defend you.’

  ‘I won’t run, Henry. I want that woman caught. She’s evil. I saw her for who she really was – I’m sure she was the woman in the den. They set me up that night and they expect to frame me for this escape. I’ll stay right beside you, I won’t run.’

  Henry turned as loud barking echoed across the harbour. ‘They’re using the dogs.’

  We started running towards the harbour and Edgar held out his hand, taking mine. ‘Angelica?’ He stopped, pulling me back, bending over to recover his breath. ‘I hardly know you, do I?’

  I smiled. I hardly knew myself. All I knew was that he was safe and Henry had said he could turn King’s evidence. My heart was leaping; I felt like skipping, jumping. Henry believed Edgar was innocent;
he was no longer his gaoler, more like his friend.

  ‘Don’t tell Luke or Mary,’ I said, pulling him to run again, ‘and never, ever tell Father.’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The riggings jangled in the freshening wind, the hulls rising and falling, the waves getting stronger. The ships beached against the inner harbour were almost afloat, those against the outer quays preparing to leave. Sailors stood stretching and yawning, glancing to the east at the first pink streaks of dawn. A brazier was burning on the slipway of the Ship Inn, the smell of grilled herrings drifting across the harbour. Behind us, the church clock chimed the half-hour.

  ‘There must be forty ships at least…some of them are ready to leave.’ Upriver, the sleek black hull of the frigate HMS Circe remained anchored, lights dancing on her deck. ‘They’re getting ready to sail. We’re in luck – the wind’s shifting.’ Henry put the whistle to his lips, piercing the air, catching the attention of the sailors standing by the brazier. ‘No ship’s to leave,’ he shouted, running along the slipway. He pointed to the astonished men. ‘You and you – go to Fish Quay – you, go to Greenbank – you, go to Custom House Quay. No ship’s to leave. The French prisoners have escaped and they’ve got muskets – I don’t want anyone shot. No one’s to try an arrest, is that clear? Tell everyone we’re looking for a woman with brown hair and a grey dress.’ He pointed to the last two men. ‘You and you – go down this quay and tell each ship no one’s to leave. I want everyone below or sitting on deck with their hands on their heads. No heroics. No one must get killed. If they try to escape, the navy will follow and fire.’

  An echoing whistle sounded behind Custom House; the dogs’ barking was loud and vicious, making people turn, and a man called from the inn: ‘You need the warning bell. I’ll get that rung.’

  Henry nodded, shouting to a man leaning against the bulwark of a lugger. ‘Pass it ship to ship. Every ship’s to be searched. No ship can leave until I say so. Major Basset will start on the other quay. Get lanterns lit – I need light. If the prisoners are sighted, raise the alarm.’ His shirt gleamed in the early light. He was tall, commanding, issuing clear instructions, the men jumping to his orders. Word was spreading, shouted from deck to deck as they lay three abreast against the quay.