The Cornish Lady
Page 34
He stared at the glistening water. ‘I’ve never looked at you with loathing – never, ever loathing. I looked at you with shame, Angelica – not shame that we were poor, that we were starving, that I had no shoes, that my shirtsleeves never reached my wrists or that my trousers had darns, but because my grandfather stole from your father and yet your mother still sought us out for her charity.’
‘But there was never any proof…your grandfather was accused of the theft, but you said he always claimed his innocence.’
‘He did…always claim his innocence.’ He tapped his joined fingers against his mouth as if in prayer. ‘He told everyone he was innocent…except me – to me he told the truth – not exactly the truth…not straight out…but enough for me to know he stole the money. He just didn’t expect to get caught.’
Blood rushed to my cheeks. ‘Why tell you? Why burden you with knowledge like that? That was cruel…he should never have told you. Does anyone else know?’
He shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. ‘You rush to my defence? Thank you. I was angry too – mainly because I bore the secret alone.’ His smile vanished. ‘Like you, I never wanted to burden my mother or sisters with the shame. They believed in him. They loved him. I was eight and my father was working day and night to clear his debts. We had moved from our home to save money. My mother was taking in washing. She had a small child and was expecting another. We lived on bread alone but my father was proud and hard working. He believed his father was innocent and was determined to clear the debt. He was going to restore our good name if it killed him – and it did. It took two long and hard years but the money was recouped and my grandfather would be free the moment the last farthing was paid.’
A pink haze lit the sky to the east, the first light of dawn. There was pain deep in his voice. ‘I was a child of eight – I loved my grandfather, we’d been inseparable from my birth – I followed him everywhere…he taught me to read and write – how to make long columns of figures add up. I never thought him dishonourable or a thief, but the last time I visited him, I saw a side to him I’d never seen before.’
He picked up a shell, turning it between his fingers. ‘Bodmin debtors’ gaol is a foul place. I watched him deteriorate despite all the food we could afford, the oranges and lemons smuggled in to keep his lips from cracking. It was a cramped, stinking place where men were sent to rot. I used to vomit when I left. I hated going but I wanted to visit him – I loved him so much and wanted him home. I wanted everything back to how it had been, but that day…that day I knew my dream would never come true. We both knew he was dying. A purulent cough wracked his chest; he had lost too much weight – he was bone thin and unkempt. He stank and had lost most of his teeth…and I knew if we got him home, it would only be to die.’
His voice dropped. ‘That day I had gone by myself and he grabbed my arm with his bony fingers, forcing me to look at him. Your father’s heart is weak, he told me. He’s an ill man – he’ll not be there for you…he’s never going to provide for you, but I’ve seen to your future. Use it well. Make it count. Take care of your mother and sisters.’
‘He stole the money for you?’
‘I didn’t know what he meant – not at the time – all I knew was that he was confessing to the theft…so you must understand, I wasn’t looking at you with hatred, Angelica. I could hardly hold my head up for shame, not only knowing that my grandfather was an embezzler, but the terrible knowledge that he’d done it for me.’
‘Your poor father – working so hard to clear his debt. He died because of it…?’
‘He died – but not because of it. It just brought his death forward. Father was never strong – he’d long been battling a weak heart. I often saw him clutch his chest – he used to go blue round his mouth. He had angry red veins on his cheeks and was getting increasingly breathless by the day. He’d turn away from Mother so she wouldn’t see him but I saw him. I used to lie awake thinking he wouldn’t be there in the morning. Mother begged him not to work so hard but he was determined that our family debt must be cleared and our name restored.’
‘You were eight – your grandfather should never have burdened you with his dying confession.’
‘That’s what I thought…and why it was so hard for me to accept your mother’s baskets. She showed us true compassion, Angelica – and Sir Alexander showed us true charity. Without their example, I’d not be the man I am today. Your mother’s alms and Sir Alex’s bursary made me a very different person. I’d never have gone to Truro Grammar School, and I certainly would never have gone to Oxford.’ He smiled again. There was love in his eyes – love for Mamma. ‘Their kindness and generosity was the making of me.’
‘You went to Oxford?’
He shrugged, his smile slightly rueful. ‘My grandfather taught me well. Sir Alex found I had rather a good head for figures – only my columns added up correctly.’
I loved his smile, the slight rise to his eyebrow. ‘And your mother married again – to Reverend Penhaligan. I liked him very much – though his sermons went on too long. Your mother was so kind to me. She used to leave me gingerbread on my pillow…’
His eyes held such tenderness and searing heat burned my chest. ‘I know. I helped her fill the little gauze bags. I watched all your plays, Angelica – the first when you were fifteen…the second when you were sixteen.’ His voice broke and he coughed to clear his throat. ‘The last play was when you were seventeen. I was twenty-one and had just left Oxford. We met on the lawn. I’d taken off my glasses because I thought you’d think me too bookish…but I was so clumsy and bumped into you. You won’t remember – but I remember it so clearly.’
‘I do remember,’ I whispered. I felt safe in his arms. I wanted him to hold me again, draw me to him, let me rest my head against his shoulders but he sat staring at the retreating tide. Islands of seaweed were forming on the sand, the smell of decaying mud; from the orchard beyond, a cockerel crowed.
He cleared his throat and his voice hardened. ‘That was two weeks before I got a letter. The signature was hastily written, almost illegible – it asked me to meet a man on the quayside. No one was to come with me – I was to be alone and I was to burn the letter once I’d read it. It didn’t come as a shock – I’d been half-expecting it and I burned the letter, knowing this was something to do with my grandfather. An old man was waiting for me on the quay, his white hair blowing in the wind. He knew exactly who I was and though I’d never seen him before, he looked strangely familiar. He introduced himself to me as Josiah Trevelyan – my grandfather’s brother.
‘He had a stout stick in one hand, a leather case in his other. He was sunburned, with a long white beard and side whiskers, a stiff gait, gnarled fingers, but he looked robust and in good health. We went to the tavern and he spread papers out in front of me. The money had bought two ships – one for me, one for him. Both ships had been damaged but they had been well insured and he had replaced them. The two new ships were profitable, both doing well.
‘One set of papers was in my name, the other was in his. My grandfather had stipulated that until my twenty-first birthday any profit would go to his brother, after that, the profits of my ship would come to me – as would the ship itself.’
He threw down the shell and picked up a smooth round stone. ‘She was behind us on the quay – a beautiful two-masted lugger, complete with crew. She was called Dolphin and until the last six months had been trading from New York. I was twenty-one years old and I was being handed a bank draft of fifty pounds and a profitable ship with the crew loading her with your father’s ore.’
‘Father’s ore? I remember her…she was part of the Welsh fleet. She was a beautiful ship—’
‘And in pristine condition, yet I could hardly look at her. She seemed tainted. I’d worked so hard to rid myself from the stigma of embezzlement and there I was – staring at my grandfather’s ill-gotten gains.’ He glanced up at my silence.
‘You refused her?’ I whispered.
‘I walked away…or rather, I stormed away. I was angry, very angry – furious to have the past come back to haunt me. It felt like the devil tempting me…but the ship’s accounts had been spread out before me – the harbour dues, the price charged for docking and unloading, and though I had hardly glanced at them I saw at once where profit could be made. A ship’s company needed to own their own dock.’
‘Father knows that – to his cost. That’s why he’s building a smelter in Porthcarrow and why he’s interested in—’ I stopped.
‘In transferring his smelters to South Wales where he’ll most probably build an iron works…maybe branch into building iron bridges or iron barges – if I guess correctly.’
He smiled and my heart burned like fire. I loved this man. I adored him. ‘You didn’t just walk away, did you?’ I whispered.
‘I thought I had. For a week I lay awake at night – the next week I took to walking in the moonlight. The next week, I walked by day. I walked everywhere, following the rivers and creeks, getting lost, wading knee deep in water – then I realized what it was I was doing. I wasn’t deliberating whether to take the ship or not, I was searching for the perfect stretch of river where the creeks could be dredged and sluices built. A tidal reservoir could be constructed and wharfs built – then I went to your father.’
‘You went to Father?’
His voice hardened. ‘It was naive of me, certainly. I went thinking I could restore our name. I wasn’t going to take the ship – instead, I had a plan that would wipe the slate clean. In Oxford, I’d shaken off all sense of stigma but on my return to Truro, I saw the veiled look in people’s eyes and knew they had long memories. The debt had been repaid and my grandfather had served his punishment – he had even died because of it – but it wasn’t enough for those with long memories. Sir Alex had offered me a secure post with the Transport Board but I didn’t take it. I wanted to make amends, prove to your father that the name Trevelyan was honourable and could be trusted.’
A knot twisted my stomach. ‘What did he say?’
‘Your father laughed me out of his office. Well, not laughed, so much as shouted me out. No, I’ll be honest – he all but threw me out.’
The knot twisted further. ‘Father never shouts – he rarely shows anger – you must have said something terrible.’
‘I did. But I also asked for employment – to wipe the slate clean and restore people’s trust in my name. I told him with a small investment he could make huge savings on his shipping. Land was available – leases were being sold for long stretches of the riverbank and I suggested he bought as much land as he could. I told him to dredge the creek and build sluices…I offered to manage a new wharf for him. I had thought of everything – I had the exact calculations, even the name of a reputable dredging company that would do the work. I laid the costings in front of him, detailing my plans, but he was resolute. He wanted nothing more to do with me. Nothing. I was to leave and never come back – our business was at an end.’
Anger flamed my cheeks. ‘No one should bear the sins of their fathers. He was wrong not to give you a chance. I’m so sorry…What did you do?’
‘I went straight back to Josiah Trevelyan and collected up the papers of the Dolphin. I deposited the fifty pounds into a new bank account and went to Falmouth to mortgage the ship through Robert Fox. The next day, I bought the land and the next week I sailed to New York on my own – if mortgaged – ship.’
‘Good. I’d have done exactly the same…if I was a man. Only I would have started on the dredging.’
He smiled, his hand reaching for mine. ‘I did. I engaged the dredging company before I left. They had my detailed plans but they had equally good ideas of their own so I left it to them. I could not stay in Truro and I was glad to be travelling. I arrived in New York in the middle of a yellow fever epidemic and the port was in disarray. The whole town was in chaos and I soon realized why my grandfather’s two ships had been doing so well. Only British ships could trade with British colonies and I took every opportunity I could. I soon expanded. A new stock market had just been established and I sold shares in my company and invested in more ships. I sold the Dolphin and gave the money to the wives and children of men lost to the fever. My investment in Truro was beginning to show a profit and that helped finance more investments.’
‘The wharf in Truro is yours…?’
His voice dropped. ‘Yes, and it pays very handsomely – especially with your Father’s Welsh fleet being so busy.’
‘I thought it belonged to the Tregellan Line.’
He smiled, that slight curl to the corner of his mouth. ‘My mother’s maiden name – one day, I’ll change it. I’m sorry… do you mind me holding your hand…?’
‘No…we must make it look real.’
He turned my hand over, stretching out my palm. ‘That day – I went to your father with the intention of telling him everything. I was going to ask his advice but I made a terrible mistake. I angered him. He asked after my mother and I told him where she lived…and that I’d seen you in your plays… that you were…that I was—’ He stopped, his lips brushing softly against my palm. ‘Angelica…you once told me that I should tell the woman I love that I loved her. That I adore her…that she is the only woman I could ever love…that she has stolen my heart so utterly…so completely…that I could never love anyone else…and that she would never know unless I spoke of my true feelings—’
He stopped, suddenly lifting his lips from my hand. ‘How do you know your father had my grandfather arrested? You didn’t know before.’
My hand burned from his touch. ‘Father told Lord Entworth – they were both here earlier this afternoon. They thought someone might be trying to frame Edgar and a possible motive might be hatred for our family – Father told Lord Entworth all about your grandfather and Lord Entworth said he would have you arrested. I was going to tell you…’
His face went stony, his mouth tight. ‘Ah yes, Lord Entworth. For a moment there, I had forgotten Lord Entworth.’
‘He said he’d summon any number of witnesses. Lord Entworth’s a very powerful man. He said it would be his court and he didn’t have to wait until Sir Alex got back because he said the charge would be treason. He said his word was law…’
Henry reached for his bag, his voice turning cold. ‘Yes, and how very convenient it is for him.’
‘Father didn’t know what to think – but it doesn’t matter…they’ll soon know the truth. But Henry, you have to take care…I was worried you might not come because I was frightened Lord Entworth might have already arrested you.’
His voice was clipped, back to being roped-up. ‘It’s very kind of you to warn me, Miss Lilly. I’ll go straight to Admiral Penrose and not return to the castle. My ship leaves for New York at the end of the week and I shall be on it.’
My heart ripped in sudden pain. ‘You can’t go. Henry, you can’t just leave.’
His voice was resolute, his mouth tight. ‘I have to…I can’t stay.’
A glorious pink glowed across the early sky; the cockerel’s crowing gaining strength, echoing across the stillness. Song birds were waking in the hedge behind us, cattle ambling to the water’s edge, lowing softly, nudging each other as they stooped to drink. The sand was glistening, the wind blowing against my cheeks and I forced back my tears. He was angry. No, he was resolute. He was leaving, going back to her. He had plucked up the courage to tell her he loved her and I turned away, forcing back the tears that welled in my eyes. I could hardly breathe, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces. I loved him. I loved him so completely and he was leaving me.
This wonderful, clever, kind and compassionate man was leaving me.
A streak of white caught my attention and I looked up. Bethany was running down the lawn, her apron billowing in the wind around her. Her hands clasped her mobcap as she disappeared momentarily behind the branches of a magnolia bush. ‘Bethany’s coming.’ I turned round. Henry had put the pistol in his bag and I got to my feet, watching him grab his jacket and run for cover. I forced back my tears. Bethany was on the gravel, bending over to recover her breath.
‘There ye are, Miss Lilly – ye’re such an early bird. Soon as I saw yer window wide open, I knew ye’d be out here. Ye’re watching the sunrise. It’s a pink sky…means it won’t last. The weather’s turning, an’ what with Lady Clarissa’s birthday coming up…and the cricket match—’ She stopped, looking up at me. ‘Miss Lilly, ye’re crying. Dear love, ye’re crying.’
Yes, I was crying; salty tears rolling down my cheeks. I felt so empty, my heart ripping in two. The pain of enchantment lingers for ever. He was leaving me. He would return to New York and would never know I loved him. You can’t rely on woodland sprites and fairies – a woman can’t just guess. I had to tell him I loved him. How else would he know? I turned to the bushes lining the shingle, pleading through my tears: ‘Cricket…the cricket match…we need every player we can get – everyone who plays cricket. Please come. Please, please come.’
Bethany took my arm, leading me gently across the shingle. ‘Come with me, my love. Come back to bed – only ye seem very over wrought. Here, let me help ye. I’ll bring ye some nice warm milk…only…we know about yer brother, an’ we’re that worried about ye. Come, let’s get ye back to bed.’
I froze like a statue. I will only ever love one woman. Could it be me? Could it be? Tears rolled down my cheeks and I spun round, shouting for all I was worth. ‘I hate Lord Entworth, I hate him…hate him. I’ll never marry him. Never…’