by Nicola Pryce
‘The murders?’ I whispered.
‘I’m afraid so, Miss Lilly. The guards had been drugged – that’s how the prisoners made their escape, but one guard was found knifed in the back and I regret to say is dead – but the others seem to be recovering – though some are still having difficulty seeing. I must say Dr Bohenna is a highly proficient man. Knew what to do straight away. ’
Amelia sat forward. ‘Drugged with what, Papa?’
‘I don’t know – it was in the wine. Some woman brought it in baskets earlier that night and gave it to the guards.’
‘Gave it? Surely someone must have thought that odd? You don’t just walk into a castle and give wine to guards…?’
‘Precisely, Frederick – that’s what they’re investigating now. Henry Trevelyan’s being questioned. His story doesn’t add up.’
‘Henry Trevelyan? Don’t I know that name?’ Lady Clarissa smiled but I had already seen her eyes sharpen. ‘Angelica, my dear, wasn’t that the name of the coachman who played such excellent cricket?’
I knew not to stutter but my throat was constricting, my heart hammering. ‘Yes, I believe it was.’
‘It turns out the man wasn’t a coachman after all. Strange thing is, he’s one of Alex’s Foundation Boys – Alex had left him in charge of the prisoners, his one job to keep them from escaping.’
‘Poor man – his one job…how very unfortunate. I rather liked him.’
Frederick was pacing the floor, swinging round as if wishing to be in the action. ‘Poor man indeed! What was he doing drinking wine, letting them walk free? They reached the harbour, for goodness’ sake. No one saw them leave the castle and they reached a ship? It’s inconceivable…it’s sheer incompetence. Who stopped them?’
‘I believe it was Major Basset. He got wind of it – I’m told there was an informer. Another prisoner was being held and he led them straight to the ship. The whole thing’s a sorry mess. Three men dead.’
‘Three?’ My heart thumped so fast, I could hardly breathe. ‘Three men murdered?’
‘I’m afraid so, my dear. It’s a terrible business – the ship’s master and first mate knifed as they slept. No one knows their names, nor who owns the ship, but the prisoners swear they didn’t do it and they’re sticking to their story – all of them. They’re adamant they killed no one and knew nothing about the ship. It’s a complete shambles. Major Basset wants them all transferred to Lord Falmouth’s jurisdiction and says they’ll swing for this. Mark my words, they’re as good as dead.’
Lady Clarissa took the roses from her hair. ‘My dear, you’ll have to put a stop to that. They might be innocent. They may be telling the truth.’
‘They say a jam pot in the woman’s basket had a snow goose etched on it and apparently the same snow goose was painted on a ship in the harbour. The woman’s only instruction to them was to head to the nearest quay and board before it got light. They say when they boarded the ship they found the two crewmen dead.’
‘How terrible.’
‘Stabbed like the guard. Probably the same knife. They’d drunk the wine so they must have been sitting ducks.’
‘And we’re to believe that?’
‘No one knows what to believe. Someone alerted Admiral Penrose and he had his ship positioned, ready to fire, but the whole thing’s a complete shambles. They’re sailors, yes – but a bunch of French speakers getting a ship ready to sail from a crowded harbour with at least a dozen of His Majesty’s best naval commands at hand? They’d never have got away without a crew. They’d have needed the master to sail them out while they stayed below. I’m sorry, Captain de la Croix, would you like Frederick to say all this again in French? I believe you understand English well enough…but do you need a bit of clarification?’
Captain de la Croix nodded and Frederick began answering his questions, seeking facts from Lord Carew, and I fought the nausea rising inside me: Henry’s story did not add up. They were discussing him again and I reached for my fan. Charity was already using hers, so I hoped my heightened colour did not look amiss.
‘Henry Trevelyan didn’t drink the wine but he allowed it in – without a thought of stopping it. Worst of all, he was on some wild-goose chase – I’m sorry…but that’s rather appropriate, wouldn’t you say? There’s a rumour circulating that he’s behind the whole thing. Nothing adds up. He leaves the castle at the exact time everything’s about to happen, takes his lady friend who was dressed as a Methodist and spends the evening dining with her in an inn in Flushing.’
‘The man must be a fool. Has he been arrested?’
‘Course he’s a fool – a damned fool. But there’s nothing to incriminate him. Not yet, at least. He’s being questioned – he’s not to leave the castle. Major Basset’s left his men in control. William’s there now – arranging for a competent garrison to take charge. The Falmouth volunteers aren’t ready so he needs to send to Helston and Truro. Damned man’s acting like some strutting peacock. Can’t abide him. Pompous idiot.’
‘Henry Trevelyan?’
‘No, my dear, no – Major Basset. The odious man stood expecting me to apologize. Apologize, for God’s sake! The man was tipped off. He was fast asleep yet he takes all the credit. Damned bitter pill to swallow.’
‘Because he stopped the prisoners from escaping?’
‘No, my dear – because George Godwin was proved right.’
Lady Clarissa’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘I’d forgotten all about George. How is he? Oh, that poor boy – he warned us.’
Lord Carew’s heavy white brows sliced his forehead. ‘That’s the bitter pill, my dear. Turns out our George was quite the hero, certainly the last man standing! The captain had doubled the guard and was in the room with George. They both had wine but George was working and hardly sipped his. He noticed Captain Fenshaw dozing off but apparently that was quite normal. Anyway, someone banged on the door, yelling for the captain to come quick, and George saw him stumble. Asked him if he was all right and the captain said he was just sleepy.’
‘He didn’t think it odd?’
‘Why would he? The man works all hours – but when Captain Fenshaw opened the door he fell over the bodies of the guards and shouted back to bar the door. George locked it pretty damned quick and barred it and I believe moved every piece of furniture against the door as a barricade.’
‘Oh the poor, dear man.’ Lady Clarissa was clearly horrified. ‘And we dismissed his fears…almost lightly.’
Charity had been listening silently. ‘Poor George, he must have been completely petrified. But that was very clear thinking of him.’
‘Yes – very clear, decisive thinking in the heat of battle. Splendid, really. Says he’s never been so scared. Says he… well, never mind what he said, suffice to say he was terrified and feared for his life. They tried to force the door – he could hear them hacking at the lock. You can tell the poor boy’s still terrified. He’s jumping at his own shadow. Quite honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he barricaded himself back in his room and stayed there until the wagons arrive. His only thought is to get that prize money to safety.’
‘That would do him no good at all. I hope you told him to come here and rest.’
‘I did, my dear. He says he’d like to come – and if you ask me, he needs to come. The poor boy’s exhausted.’
Captain de la Croix was trying to follow the conversation, his heavy black eyebrows rising and falling, his frown deepening. At the sudden lull in the conversation he straightened.
‘Lady Clarissa…Lord Carew…I am wishing to stay but my place is in the castle. I must go these men to be with.’ He turned to Frederick, continuing in urgent French.
Frederick nodded when he finished. ‘I’m sure you all understood what Captain de la Croix has just said – but in case you didn’t catch it all, he thanks us profusely for our hospitality but believes his place should be with the prisoners in the castle. His official parole starts in Bodmin next week and rather than stay here, he asks
to be taken back to Falmouth. And I believe he should go. The prisoners are from merchant ships – they’ve little or no English. This is their second attempt at escape and he believes they need a senior officer of the French navy to speak for them.’
Lord Carew nodded. ‘Indeed, Captain de la Croix, I salute your decision.’
Lady Clarissa picked up a leather-bound book from the table, opening it where the ribbon separated the pages. She found what she was looking for and smiled. ‘The tide’s lowest at six. Enjoy the day until then – you can leave on the rising tide. I believe your uniform will be pressed by then, Captain de la Croix.’
I hardly heard her; Henry had been as good as arrested. They would be questioning him this very minute.
Chapter Thirty-six
Trenwyn House
Monday 15th August 1796, 6:00 a.m.
I could not sleep; the night sky had been alive with stars, Moses attending his beehives, the owls hooting across the lawn. I had spent the night staring across the river to the distant castle, going over the escape in my mind.
Whoever ordered the ship must have ordered the meal in the inn. The same person must have brought the wine, organized the straw, drugged and murdered the master and his mate. He had started the fire, found Private Evans alive and killed him. He had gone down the steps, taken the keys from the sleeping guard, unlocked the central hatch and set the prisoners free. He had knocked on George’s room because Captain Fenshaw was in there and he needed the keys to Henry’s room and the tunnel.
‘Yer never awake an’ ready to be dressed, Miss Lilly?’ I had not heard Bethany come into the room.
‘I think some fresh air will do me good.’
She stood beside me. ‘Are ye listening to the birds? They sing lovely this time of the mornin’. ’Tis a cryin’ shame Lieutenant Carew had to go back. He loves the garden in the mornin’ – always out first thing.’ She wrapped my silk gown round my shoulders. ‘Ye’re cold, Miss Lilly. I saw ye at the window an’ I knew ye’d be cold. River air’s damp – ye need take care.’
‘Thank you, Bethany. Perhaps I’ll get changed. Is that hot water?’
‘I’ve brought it up specially. Here, let me fill the bowl.’ Martha Selwyn must have been going to bring in the drugged wine that night but she had been arrested so there had to be a change of plans. She needed to get Henry away from the castle and had sounded so plausible, making us both believe her. It was a clever ploy, so simple – just a case of being handed the basket by a boy. Such an obvious trap, yet we had walked straight into it. But that was after her arrest.
I stared at the steam rising from the china basin. The only way they could have set the new plan in motion was if her accomplice had visited her in the castle after Henry had left for Truro. Someone went there.
‘’Twas lovely havin’ Lieutenant Carew here. He loves that child – ’twas a pleasure to watch them…and Mrs Carew looking so happy. Will ye wear yer silk or yer cotton today, Miss Lilly?’
‘Perhaps my silk – no, my cotton. I’ll look in on Persephone.’
I washed my face, my hands shaking. What if the man was already there? What if it was one of the guards? That’s why they had freed Edgar – because they knew he could identify the killer – because they knew he would take the opium. My heart jolted. What if they had laced the opium with poison?
‘Miss Lilly, ye don’t look well. Sit here. Shall I help ye back to bed?’
‘No, I’m fine. Just sudden giddiness – it’s passing.’
Edgar would have seen them or heard them talking. He would be able to identify them. Yet Edgar had said nothing.
‘Ye look that pale, Miss Lilly. Ye don’t look yerself. Would ye like these ribbons threaded through yer hair? I’ll pin these curls back and twist the ribbon round here. There that looks lovely – would ye like some chalk fer those shadows under yer eyes? Perhaps a dab of rouge? Only Lady Clarissa won’t like ye looking so pale. She’ll have ye on spinach an’ eggs five times a day! Honest, I’m not joking.’
I shook my head, paling even more at the thought of eggs. ‘How’s Acorn?’ I managed to ask.
‘That fat little rascal? Ye’d never know he was the runt. Honest to God, that little piglet’s found his way into everyone’s heart. There isn’t one person that don’t slip him something. Even Lady Clarissa sneaks him the odd apple. Acorn indeed! He’ll be bigger than an oak soon enough. He’s assured himself of a happy life – he’ll be used fer breeding, ye mark my words! Oh, sorry, Miss Lilly, I was fergettin’ myself – but he’s in fer a happy life, I can tell ye.’
I walked quickly through the kitchen, snipping off some grapes with the delicate silver scissors, cradling them in my hands as I made my way down the path towards the pigsty. I hardly dared look at the post where Henry had hung his jacket; that leap of my heart, that tightening of my stomach that had been impossible to ignore. I must have fallen in love with him when I saw him reading his book in the coach house…or was it when he looked up in the courtyard of the inn, or when we talked in the moonlight? Or was it when I watched him play cricket, or that very first glance when I thought I knew him?
Persephone grunted in greeting and I balanced the grapes on the bricks, picking up the forked stick to scratch her back. She was on her side, ten fat piglets squealing round her. Or was it that last drop to the beach when he had held out his arms? The way he spoke to me as an equal? I had always felt my true self with him – no aping social veneer, no following protocol, no having to do or say the right thing.
‘And how’s my beauty this morning?’ Lord Carew leaned against the sty next to me. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Lilly.’ He wore a rough sack cloth over his nightshirt, a strong piece of twine holding everything in place. On his feet, red jewels glinted on a pair of pointed Turkish slippers, on his head, his trusted red felt hat pulled low over his ears. ‘I’ve brought some grapes for you, my dear. Oh, I see you have some already.’ He leaned over the sty, feeding Persephone one grape at a time. ‘You’re up very early, Miss Lilly. I couldn’t sleep either. Damned business all round.’
I had never been alone with Lord Carew and seeing him in his pointed Turkish slippers tore my heart. I had never seen Father in slippers or nightclothes. ‘The prisoners’ escape?’
‘Well, there is that, my dear, but no – my concerns are with my land. We’re behind with the harrowing. The ground’s sodden, the soil’s too heavy, and the wretched harrow’s stuck tight. The more the oxen try to pull it out the worse they sink and the worse the quagmire becomes.’ He leaned over, scratching Persephone’s floppy black ears. ‘That’s what’s keeping me awake.’
‘Charity explained you rotate your fields – could you leave them fallow?’
‘Too many, my dear…there’s plenty already left fallow. We’ve spread the dung and lime and those fields can certainly be left but we need to pin-fallow the wheat stubble – or what passes as wheat – because it’s rotting on the stalks. We can’t harvest it and we can’t leave it. Most pressingly, we need to harrow the lower fields because until we do we can’t sow the new barley. Couch grass is a tough old bugger – it proliferates without repeated summer ploughing and if we don’t remove the roots it’ll choke next year’s wheat. Without harrowing, we’ll just plough back the roots and we’ll get a crop of healthy couch grass.’
‘And next year’s harvest mustn’t fail.’
‘A good harvest next year is imperative – if we get the weather.’ His sigh was heartfelt. ‘Shall I feed Persephone your grapes too – best to feed her, not the little uns? There, that’s your lot.’ He turned, smiling. ‘I tell you what, Miss Lilly, if we join ranks and attack on two flanks, do you think we could persuade Cook to do us some ham and buttered eggs? You look half starved, my dear.’ He held out his arm and I rested my hand on the sleeve of his silk nightshirt. ‘Truth is, my dear, I won’t sleep until the harvest’s in and we’ve salvaged what we can.’
Amelia ran along the grass by the beach, her bonnet and c
urls dancing as she swung round. ‘What a beautiful day, finally, we have the sun back.’ She shielded her eyes with her hand, staring across the sparkling blue water. ‘That must be Mr Maddox now. Yes, look, they’re taking down the sails – I can see him.’ She seemed so happy and I tried to smile. William had not yet returned from Falmouth and I was desperate for news.
The high tide rippled against the shingle, clumps of flowers spreading along the stones and growing between the rocks. Amelia stooped to pick some, laughing back at me. ‘These must have blown over the wall – look, they’re doing really well. They’re self-sown – they’ve made a bid for freedom.’ She began picking a handful, laughing as she handed me them. ‘You know what these are, don’t you? They’re Angelica. I never really thought about it before – how silly of me.’
I stared at the delicate white flower heads. ‘This is Angelica?’ I was fourteen again, inconsolable with grief; no flowers to throw into the dripping black hole that would engulf Mamma for ever; Father, fighting the wind with his umbrella, Edgar, pale under his huge coat and sodden hat. ‘I never knew this was called Angelica. Molly called it Lady’s Lace.’
‘Well, there’s a host of names, some I’ve never heard of…’ A wet hand in a soaking sleeve reaching out to give me his rain-drenched posy. I could hardly hear her. ‘I usually dry the roots but you can use the seed heads and the fruit. It’s used for heartburn and loss of appetite. It’s a very good tonic – sometimes it’s used for arthritis and I believe it strengthens the heart. There’s even talk it helps in childbirth. It has a funny sweet taste but it’s not unpleasant. And it’s pretty, don’t you think?’
She stopped, her voice dropping. ‘Are you all right, Angelica? Only you don’t seem yourself these days. You’ve grown so pale and Mother’s worried – we’re all worried. You’re hardly eating – are you homesick? Do you want to return home?’
