The Cornish Lady

by Nicola Pryce

  Lady Clarissa smiled. ‘So it does – well, well. I shall show this to Lord Carew the moment I see him. It says there are two for sale…shipped from France. They were taken as a prize, I presume?’

  ‘I believe so, my lady.’ He bowed to leave. ‘Miss Carew, before I forget, I must warn ye there’s a hornets’ nest in yer garden. I’ll see it destroyed, but t’would be best to keep Master William and Henry away from yer garden fer now.’

  Amelia smiled, knowing if it were up to Jethro those two words would have been already added to the challenge, but the winning estate always issued the terms of engagement and the Carews had not won for three years.

  Lady Clarissa glanced back at the newspaper, leaning forward as another advertisement caught her eye. ‘The Trebarthon Estate is up for sale, how splendid – about time too.’ She looked up and I caught the sparkle in her eye. ‘Your father needs a country estate, my love.’

  The buttered eggs churned in my stomach. ‘Doesn’t that depend on…well…wouldn’t it be…what about Lady Boswell? She already has a large estate.’

  ‘Which is entailed.’

  Amelia leaned forward, clapping her hands. ‘Trebarthon would be perfect. Angelica, your father has to buy it. You can see the roof from our roof so you’d be able to see our flag – I’d be able to signal you…But what about Frederick, Mother? We had it down for Frederick.’

  Lady Clarissa shook her head. ‘Frederick can’t afford it yet. In ten years, perhaps, but no…this would be perfect for Mr Lilly. It’s on the river and an easy journey to Truro. I’ve often told Mr Lilly he needs a country estate.’

  Her face fell and she closed the paper but it was too late; I had seen the large letters screaming from the page: Two to hang, three for transportation. Lord Entworth insists, ‘Let this be a lesson to those intent on riot and disorder. There must be a return to proper obedience. We must rid our town of this scourge.’

  We could hear a carriage pull round the circular drive; the door opened and footsteps crunched the gravel. Lady Clarissa sat rigid. ‘Straight backs, girls…chins up. I thought Lord Entworth would grace us with his presence. He is here and I was wrong about him. He is not a man – he is a monster.’

  I breathed deeply, trying to fight my nausea; that he could hang men who were starving – men whose only crime was to want to feed their families. I hated him, hated what he stood for: hated his power, his lack of compassion. I sat staring down the vast sweeping lawn, trying to stop the thumping in my chest but a cry of pleasure made me turn round. Lady Clarissa was smiling. ‘Mr Lilly – by all that’s wonderful.’

  Father was hurrying across the lawn. He looked flustered, his travelling coat creased, his hair uncharacteristically dishevelled, yet it was the look in his eyes that jolted my heart. He looked flushed, frightened, completely distraught, and I ran to him, holding out my arms, embraced by him for the first time in more years than I could remember. He held me tightly, holding back his tears. ‘My dearest child… my dearest, dearest child.’

  He seemed to recover, standing suddenly stiffly but I kept hold of his hand.

  ‘I was so worried you wouldn’t get my letter…I’ve been hoping and praying…’

  He looked older, tired, his cheeks drawn, shadows under his eyes. ‘I came as quickly as I could. The express kept missing me – following in my wake – but he caught up with me in Bristol. I’ve been travelling through the night. How is Edgar? Has he been released? You do understand, don’t you, that if this gets out it will ruin every chance you have of a good marriage – that boy will be the ruin of us?’

  I let go of his hand, standing firmly, my chin in the air. ‘That boy is vulnerable and lost,’ I said softly. ‘He’s been pushed too far. That boy has done everything he can to please you, but it’s never been enough. You knew he hated Oxford – he should never have gone. He wanted to join you in your business. He wanted to work in the foundry, learn things the way you learned them.’

  I had never spoken to Father like this but I wanted to speak the truth not artifice – our family always saying one thing and thinking another. All my life I had been acting, striving to be the child Mamma wanted me to be, the daughter Father wanted me to be. Edgar, too – both of us walking the tightrope between trade and society. Well, I did not want that any more. I wanted us to be who we were and proud of it.

  His eyes hardened. ‘I did what I believed was right, Angelica.’

  My heart fell; the same clamping of the jaw, the same tightening of the mouth, but I was not to be dismissed. Any other time I would have acquiesced, bitten my tongue, but not now. Now I would speak from my heart.

  ‘I know it was you who paid for Luke to study medicine and so does Mrs Bohenna. I was angry with you because I thought you kept a fancy woman – but I was wrong. I often look at your account books; I have done since I was fourteen. I often give money to charities on your behalf.’

  He looked up, holding my gaze. ‘I know – I thought to say something, even change the lock, but I knew you’d somehow persist. I had enough grateful letters to know something was afoot.’

  I was thrown by the affection in his voice. ‘There were several payments I couldn’t place – random payments to different towns all over England. Now I think about it, I believe you’ve been helping Theo and Kitty Gilmore as well – I believe you’ve been subsidising their theatre company.’

  He cleared his throat, his voice gruff. ‘These last few years have seen them pay their way. I’d rather not talk about it. They must never know.’

  My extraordinary prosperous father always holding back, afraid to show his feelings: my heart jolted – it was as if I was seeing him for the first time. What I had always taken as sobriety suddenly had meaning. He wore the dark clothes and pointed hat that Mr Fox always wore, the same white collar and cuffs. Never any outward sign of wealth, never intricately embroidered waistcoats, but exactly the same sober clothes, a simple gold watch his only adornment. I thought my heart would burst. ‘Father, how well do you know Mr and Mrs Robert Fox from Falmouth?’

  He stood smiling shyly back at me. ‘Quite well, my dear – more so of late.’

  I had been so blind. ‘Are you…? Father, do you belong to the Society of Friends?’ All this time it had been staring me in the face and yet I never realized it.

  ‘No, my dear,’ he hesitated as if the words were being wrung from him, ‘not yet, at least…though, one day, I believe I might very well think to join them.’

  ‘Why not now?’

  His voice grew stronger. ‘Because of a promise I made your mother. Non-conformists are on the edge of society – they rarely marry into the aristocracy: neither are they permitted to go to Oxford, nor can they be Members of Parliament…’ He swung round. Another carriage had drawn up outside the front door and urgent footsteps were crossing the gravel. His eyes sharpened when he saw who it was. ‘Does Lord Entworth know about Edgar?’

  My heart had started to pound. ‘I’m afraid everyone knows – Father, it’s far worse than you think.’

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Lord Carew summoned us all to the library. Lady Clarissa and Amelia were sitting either side of me at the table, Father at one end of the marble fireplace, Lord Entworth at the other. Lord Carew stood at the window watching George Godwin dismount on the drive outside.

  ‘Well, here’s the man himself – he’s the one to ask.’ He pulled up the sash. ‘We’re in the library, George. Please come in.’ His grey wig looked strangely formal, his well-cut jacket trapping his broad shoulders. ‘All I know about the man is that he arrived on that first corn ship. His name’s Henry Trevelyan. First time we saw him was when he was acting as a coachman.’ He shut the window.

  Lord Entworth’s frown deepened. ‘I’ve found out all I need to know. The man’s clearly implicated. He’s one of Sir Alexander Pendarvis’ Foundation Boys…comes from a very dubious family…the grandfather was an embezzler, imprisoned for bankruptcy.’ He glanced towards me and I felt my cheeks redden. That quic
kening of my heart had always been fear; he stood commanding the room yet his smile was gentle, his eyes softening as he caught my glance.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Lilly, I know how hard this is for you, but everything points to your brother being framed. Someone has played their cards very skilfully. The wine was bought in your brother’s name and so was the straw.’

  Father paled. ‘That’s impossible. Who knew he was being held?’

  ‘No one – except Henry Trevelyan. He was the only person who knew his true identity. Your son’s name was kept even from the guards – he was entered in the books as Mr Ellis. Not even Captain Fenshaw knew – except…’ He paused, his voice hardening. ‘Dr Luke Bohenna is a family friend, I believe, Mr Lilly?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘And would have recognized him straight away?’

  ‘He would.’

  ‘He’s claiming his physician’s right to remain silent – Henry Trevelyan and Dr Bohenna are both resolutely refusing to say anything and lawfully that is their right, but Major Basset questioned Captain Fenshaw under threat of court martial and he told him everything. Henry Trevelyan’s clearly implicated. He’d been acting as your son’s coachman and the arrest was made under very dubious circumstances. The man’s not to be trusted. Several eyewitnesses have come forward saying they saw him that night in the company of a woman.’

  Lord Carew nodded. ‘He was in Flushing with a woman answering the exact description of the woman who supplied the wine. Her bloodstained cloak was later found on the quayside near the ship but she remains missing.’

  Father reached for a chair and sat quickly down. His cheeks were grey, shadows beneath his eyes. ‘Why hide Edgar’s identity? What does he want?’

  The room was spinning, the scent from the large vase of lilies almost overwhelming: it was so hot yet Lord Entworth insisted all the windows remain shut against listening ears. I needed to breathe, stop my terrible dizziness. Henry was trying to protect Edgar, not entrap him. Lady Clarissa pressed her fan into my hand but remained straight-backed and I knew to do the same. They needed to know he was protecting Edgar – that he loved Mamma and was protecting her son – yet I could not speak in front of them all. I would wait until I was alone with Father and tell him everything.

  Lady Clarissa coughed. ‘Lord Entworth, I believe you said Henry Trevelyan was seen on the quayside several days before the escape?’

  ‘Several times – and by a number of witnesses – it’s absolutely certain, irrefutable, that the master of Snow Goose recognized Henry Trevelyan. There’s no exact time of death – no one had seen the two men for some time. Some believe they’d been dead all day, maybe longer. Henry Trevelyan had to kill them because they could name him. They died, because he went on board to drink with them, but they recognized him. We’re looking at a callous killer here, Lady Clarissa, a ruthless man who’ll stop at nothing.’

  Lady Clarissa’s eyebrows rose in a perfect arch. ‘And what of Mr Lilly’s friend Sir Jacob Boswell? Has anything been heard or seen of him since the arrest? They were together in Falmouth, yet I believe he left the morning after Edgar was imprisoned. How do we account for that, I wonder?’

  Father looked surprised. ‘Sir Jacob came to find me, Lady Clarissa. It was he who alerted me. In fact, if he hadn’t detained me, the express might never have caught up with me. I’d have been—’ He stopped. He must have been about to say aboard ship. He cleared his throat. ‘I’d have been delayed several more days.’

  ‘He alerted you? Well, that at least is in his favour.’

  ‘He has returned to Oxford. I believe I have been mistaken in both the son and the mother.’

  The door opened and Lady Clarissa’s frown turned to a welcoming smile. ‘Do come in, George. You already know Lord Entworth…but this is Mr Silas Lilly, Miss Lilly’s father. This is my cousin’s son, Mr George Godwin.’

  George Godwin bowed deeply. ‘A pleasure, Lord Entworth…Mr Lilly.’ His round cheeks were more than usually flushed, his forehead glistening. Despite his cheerful nod, he looked tired, his hair lank and unwashed, a childlike vulnerability in his brave smile. ‘I hope I don’t intrude, Lady Clarissa…only Lord Carew said to drop by. I thought to accompany the wagons all the way to Truro but when I saw your gatehouse, I…Well, to be honest I thought a walk round your pleasant gardens would do me a power of good.’

  ‘Indeed it will. After what you’ve been through, I hope you’ll at least stay the night?’

  ‘I would dearly love to, Lady Clarissa, but I must get back to Falmouth. I’ve another two consignments to send tomorrow.’ He lowered his voice, despite the shut windows. ‘Major Basset has allowed me a number of his best men and we’re to use wagons lent to us from the post office. The first contingent has left but there are two more to follow and I shall not sleep until they’re securely packed and on their way.’

  Lord Carew smiled, his white brows slicing his forehead. ‘You’ve done well, George.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ George’s already flushed cheeks turned crimson. ‘The remaining prize money is sealed in a vault, but…well, when I think of what might have happened.’ He drew out his handkerchief, wiping his brow.

  ‘It’s over. You must not torture yourself.’

  ‘I’m using Russell’s wagons for transport. They’re a reputable firm and have never been robbed, but all the same, we’re not taking any chances. I’ve packed the caskets deep into the straw and we’ve provided the drivers with horse pistols and blunderbuss. There’s a guard of soldiers marching with them – one on either side…two at the rear. They’ll not be stopped.’

  ‘Lord Entworth was just saying – before you arrived – that you’ve shown great courage.’

  George Godwin stared down at his feet. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Tell us everything you know about Henry Trevelyan, Mr Godwin. I believe your room is next to his in the castle. What manner of a man do you find him?’

  ‘I’d say an extremely pleasant man, Lord Entworth…very courteous and well-liked by everyone. He’s firm, but I’d say fair. He never raises his voice or speaks rudely. He’s intelligent…’

  ‘Where did he come from?’

  ‘From the States of America…from New York. He arrived on that first grain ship. I believe he works for a shipping company. But I know he’s originally from Truro. He hardly talks about his past but he knows Sir Alexander Pendarvis because he was one of his…’

  ‘Charity boys – yes, we know.’ Lord Entworth stared at him from across the room. ‘What else can you tell us, apart from the fact he cohorts with women of very dubious morals?’

  George ran his hand through his hair again and I could see it was trembling. ‘I…can’t tell you anything more except I like him and believe him to be honourable. I can’t account for why he went missing for so long, nor why he left the castle at such an inappropriate time. He won’t speak about it. He says he’s waiting for Sir Alexander Pendarvis to return. The prisoners are held under the jurisdiction of the Royal Navy Transport Board and he’s refusing to hand them over.’

  ‘I’m fully aware of that.’ A look of anger flashed across Lord Entworth’s eyes and Lady Clarissa rose.

  ‘We must get you into the garden, George. In fact, may I invite you all on to the terrace for some refreshments? It is far too stuffy in here. I will ask Cook to serve us some of her iced-cream or perhaps you would like some rather delicious raspberry sorbet? Mr Lilly, you will stay and take tea with us?’

  Father’s smile looked forced. ‘Thank you, Lady Clarissa, another time. I must go to my son.’ He bowed. ‘But may I ask for a word alone with Lord Entworth?’

  He looked older, half the man he had been when he left for Swansea, and my heart burned; dearest Father, I could see it so clearly. He must have sat on her bed, clasping her hand. He must have pressed her hot palm to his lips, his tears splashing his cheeks; his adored wife burning up with fever, her throat too swollen to speak. He would have swabbed her brow with his handkerchief, watching her cl
ose her eyes for the last time. Somehow, he would have found the words to comfort her, promising her everything she had ever wanted – her son would grow up to be a gentleman, her daughter would marry a lord. He would have held her beautiful body in his arms and kissed her burning lips. The gypsy’s prophecy would come true. He loved her. He would always love her.

  Amelia rose, elegantly smoothing the creases from her silk gown. ‘Mr Lilly, please don’t go until I’ve given you some honey for Edgar. We must send him some eggs as well. And some fruit. I’ll go and get a basket.’

  They left the room and Father saw me hesitate. ‘Alone, if you don’t mind, Angelica. Lord Entworth and I have matters to discuss. Wait for me on the terrace, if you wouldn’t mind, my dear.’

  I swallowed hard. Dismissed as usual, sent away when it was my future they were about to discuss. Lord Entworth must have seen me bite my lip and came forward, putting his hand on my arm. He pulled me gently towards him, shutting the door, turning his back on Father as he bent to whisper. His words were soft, his eyes full of pain. ‘Miss Lilly…I wish you’d come to me. I wish I’d been your first port of call – you’ve been suffering such heartbreak and I could have comforted you.’

  He swallowed, reaching for my hand, bringing it to his lips. ‘I will do everything in my power to free your brother and get him exonerated – that is my solemn promise.’ He turned my hand over, his lips brushing my palm and I fought the panic flooding through me. He was too close, taking such liberty. Father had turned his back to us and was looking out of the window, yet he must have seen him kiss my hand.

  I stood rigid, his lips pressing against my palm, his voice dropping so I could hardly hear him. ‘Though it might not be as easy as I would like…a lot of people are saying that your brother is clearly guilty – that he set everything up to make it look like he’s been framed.’ I tried to pull my hand away but his grip tightened. ‘A number of people have come forward to tell me they’ve seen him with a whore who bears an uncanny resemblance to the woman in the prison.’ He kissed my palm, slowly, deliberately, his tongue tracing a circle, travelling up my wrist. ‘He’s been seen several times in an inn in Malpas and in a certain opium den in Falmouth…and I believe he was seen abducting a whore outside the theatre in Truro, but that’s hardly surprising considering his appalling behaviour during the play…’