Eye of the Wind (12 page)

Her chin lifted, determined and defiant. ‘His prejudices are of no interest to me. If he wishes to buy our wood he will overcome them.’

‘Indeed, ma’am.’ His lips quivered. ‘May I make some suggestions?’

‘If you please.’ She gave him a brief, tentative smile, a spilling over of relief and gratitude.

He looked away. ‘First: say as little as possible. You tell him what you told me, that you are acting on behalf of your brother. You have wood to sell. Does he wish to buy? He will ask what you are selling and the prices you want. You tell him –’

‘Oak, elm, beech, alder, ash, and larch,’ Melissa read from the list.

Gabriel nodded. ‘You ask him what price he is offering. When he tells you, you thank him for his time and prepare to leave.’

‘What?
But –’ She bit her lip. ‘Forgive me. Please go on.’

‘Before you have reached the door, or the gate, he will stop you. He will be full of apologies. He may claim he was distracted by this unprecedented situation, or by your beauty.’ As her cheeks flamed, Gabriel warned, ‘While this may indeed be true, it will also be a ploy to distract you. So be prepared. Then he will ask if you have a price in mind.’

Melissa gazed at him, fascinated by this insight into aspects of commerce she had never imagined. ‘Do I?’

Gabriel nodded. ‘Twice what he offered.’

She gasped. ‘He’ll never accept that.’

‘You don’t expect him to.’

‘I don’t?’

‘No. He will then suggest a price perhaps a quarter above his original offer. You regret that is unacceptable. He will suggest you wish to ruin him, and take the very bread from his children’s mouths.’

As Melissa’s hand went to her mouth he continued, ‘Do not react. Above all, do not speak. Smile. You have a lovely smile.’ His gaze flickered as her blush deepened once more. He cleared his throat. ‘He might also ask why he should be expected to pay such a price for wood he has not seen. At this you allow yourself a small frown of impatience. You point out that –’

‘He would take imported wood on trust, if it were available. I suggest that perhaps he would prefer to wait for ships bringing new supplies to find a way through the blockade? If so, I will not take up any more of his time. I have other merchants to see in – in Falmouth.’

Her triumph evaporated into uncertainty as she studied his face. ‘Was that not right?’

His lips twitched, but his tone was grave. ‘Indeed, miss, it was excellent. For
perfection
might I suggest a touch more detachment? A coolness of manner?’

She drew herself up, and, thinking of visits by her aunts, succeeded in blanking all expression from her face. ‘Like this?’

His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Just so. Now he will make his final offer: a sum halfway between his original price and your demand.’

She nodded. ‘What do I do then?’

‘Do you wish to accept it?’

‘Oh yes. Indeed.’ She hesitated. ‘Don’t I?’

‘It will be a fair price. One he is unlikely to improve on. You request that his clerk set out the agreed terms as a contract with both of you signing and retaining a copy. As that document will take a little time to prepare you could offer to complete your other business in town first, then return for it before you come home.’

‘Right. Thank you.’ As she tried to remember all he had said, her misgiving blossomed into mouth-drying fear. ‘Gabriel, considering your experience in these matters, would it not be more sensible –?’

‘No.’ His interruption and its forcefulness took her by surprise. ‘No, miss,’ he repeated more gently. ‘That wouldn’t do at all.’ His features softened. ‘You addressed the men: you can do this.’

Melissa moistened her lips. ‘When will the first wagonload be ready?’

‘Depends on the weather, but, all being well, in about two weeks.’

So long? She tried not to let her disappointment show. ‘Thank you, Gabriel. I-I’m very grateful.’ Preparing to mount, she gathered up the reins.

‘I wish –’ he began, and stopped abruptly.

Startled by the intensity even his hoarseness could not disguise, she glanced back, oddly breathless as her heart gave an extra beat. ‘Yes?’

The brooding, troubled expression faded, leaving his face blank. It was like watching an ebbing wave wipe footprints from sand. ‘Nothing. Good luck, miss.’ He had retreated, his whole manner different. No less polite, but deliberately distanced.

He knuckled his forehead. ‘Help you up?’ Bending forward, he linked his hands. She placed her booted foot in them and he tossed her up into the saddle. Without waiting for thanks, and avoiding her eye, he gave a final salute and strode away across the clearing.

‘Miss, you can’t. It wouldn’t be right nor proper.’ The groom’s glare was a mixture of anxiety and defiance.

‘For goodness’ sake, Hocking, I’ve driven myself into Truro countless times.’

His gesture encompassed her black habit, white brocaded waistcoat, and black beaver hat. ‘Not wearing full mourning and your dear father laid to rest only days ago you haven’t. I know you don’t care what others think, and most times I’d say you was right to ignore them –’

‘But not this time.’

‘No, miss. Not this time, especially not with your mother away. Don’t you go thinking it don’t make no difference. You know as well as I do there’s some spiteful tongues in Truro. Appearances is more important than ever just now.’ He met and held her gaze.

Melissa was the first to look away. Which appearances did he mean? Surely she hadn’t betrayed herself? Her reaction to Gabriel Ennis was so deeply unsettling she had taken particular care to hide it.

Or was he referring to the truth about her father? About the family’s situation? Did all the servants know? But how could they? And if they did, how had they found out? She couldn’t ask, for to do so would only alert him to the very facts she wished to remain hidden. Discretion left her no choice but retreat.

‘You’re right, Hocking. I wasn’t thinking.’

‘No wonder, miss. Some time you’ve ’ad of it these past weeks.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I think it best if I drive you myself, miss. No reflection on young John, he’s a good lad. But seeing this is your first visit to Truro since … Well, I just think it’s best.’

Touched by his concern, Melissa nodded. ‘Indeed, I think so too. People will see that not only I am observing all the proprieties, but that I have proper protection.’

He shot her a dry glance. ‘You aren’t that much taller than me when we’re both sitting down. I’ll bring the gig to the front door, miss.’

‘You won’t be long, will you? Only I have –’

‘Two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

Returning to the house, she went to her father’s study and closed the door. Opening the glass-fronted bookcase, she pulled out the fourth volume from the end of the second shelf and retrieved from behind it a velvet-wrapped package. As she was in mourning, her action should remain undiscovered for several weeks at least. Meanwhile the contents of the package would, she hoped, buy her what she most needed: time. 

Chapter Ten

Melissa sat straight-backed in the gig alongside Hocking, too absorbed in what lay ahead to take note of the countryside through which they drove.

‘Where to first, miss?’ the groom enquired as they reached the bottom of Lemon Street.

‘The timber merchant on the Quay.’

‘Which one, miss?’

Melissa’s heart sank. She should have asked Tom which merchant her father purchased wood from. Perhaps he had bought from more than one. When checking the bills she had been concentrating on the amounts owed rather than the names of the suppliers. What if the timber yards were owed money? If they were, she would find out soon enough. Despite the sunshine, she shivered.

Why had she not thought to ask Gabriel if he knew the best one to approach? What was she doing here? She had believed herself so well prepared. But the truth was – the truth was she had no choice. She was here because a timber merchant offered the only hope of protecting her father’s good name and saving the boatyard from closure.

‘Which is the largest?’ Surely that would be the one most in need of fresh supplies?

The groom thought for a moment. ‘Nankivell’s, miss.’

‘You wouldn’t happen to know if my father bought from them, I suppose?’

The groom whistled through his teeth. ‘That I can’t say, miss. Not my line of work, see?’

‘Never mind. Take me there, please.’ Though she glimpsed Hocking’s glance out of the corner of her eye, she continued to gaze straight ahead. Whatever questions were trembling on the tip of his tongue, he took the hint, remaining silent as they turned into Boscawen Street, then along Princes Street until they crossed the broad junction and drove onto the open area of the quay. The tide was out and the foul stench of sewage-tainted mud was thick in her nostrils.

‘Come in with you, shall I, miss?’ Hocking enquired, clearly expecting his offer to be accepted.

‘No, thank you,’ Melissa replied, stepping down onto the cobbles. ‘I shouldn’t be above quarter of an hour. But if I am, then please walk the horse. It will do him no good to be standing –’

‘Never mind the horse,’ Hocking blurted, as concern got the better of him. ‘You shouldn’t be going in such places alone. What would mistress say?’

‘I would very much prefer,’ Melissa said deliberately, ‘that for her peace of mind she doesn’t ever hear of it.’

‘What are you doing down here anyhow?’ he growled, his leathery face creased with anxiety.

‘I’m hoping – no, I
intend
to sell Mr Nankivell timber from our woods. As I haven’t conducted business with him before –’ they both knew she hadn’t conducted business with anyone before ‘– I am a little nervous. So please don’t make it any more difficult for me.’

‘I don’t want to cause you no trouble, miss. ’Tis just –’ He broke off as she raised a coolly enquiring eyebrow. ‘Beg pardon, miss, I’m sure. No doubt you know what you’re doing.’ His tone implied the opposite.

‘Of course,’ Melissa responded with a calm completely at odds with the apprehension that had loosened her knees and gripped her stomach with sharp claws. She walked briskly across the quay to the Queen Anne building. On one side of it an alley led to the timber yard.

It occurred to her that for Mr Nankivell to operate from such imposing premises his business must be thriving. For it to continue doing so in these troubled times he needed wood to sell. Clinging to that thought and clutching the list, she stepped inside.

She emerged half an hour later, her face flushed, her heart thudding against her ribs. She stood for a moment in the wide doorway, smoothing her gloves as she tried to control an elation that fizzed and bubbled like champagne and left her feeling as light-headed.

When she introduced herself he said he recognised the name. Having heard of her father’s demise he offered his condolences. Then, to her immense relief – for it meant Tregonning’s did not owe him money – he asked how he might be of service. Thereafter the interview had proceeded exactly as Gabriel said it would.

When the merchant, unable to entirely conceal his annoyance, had suggested that the price she was asking seemed to indicate a lack of understanding of the current situation, Melissa had derived intense pleasure from telling him, with exquisite politeness and a dazzling smile, that, on the contrary, she understood perfectly. If he preferred to wait for ships presently delayed by the blockade to arrive, she would take her leave and offer her timber elsewhere.

Accepting his final offer, on condition that it included transport, she had watched his initial frozen shock melt into reluctant admiration.

‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Tregonning.’

Not sure whether it was proper to thank him, or if his remark was intended as a compliment, Melissa decided to play safe, and simply inclined her head. Then, recalling the last of Gabriel’s instructions, she asked the merchant to be kind enough to have a paper drawn up specifying the agreed terms. To spare him any inconvenience she would complete the rest of her business before calling back for it in, say, two hours?

His expression as he took her proffered hand had been one of bemusement. But she had not lingered to enjoy her triumph, all too aware that without Gabriel’s coaching her chances of success would have equalled those of a lamb trying to persuade a wolf that grass was tastier.

‘Everything go all right, miss?’ Hocking enquired, as she settled herself on the gig’s padded seat. His anxiety evaporated in the glow of her delighted smile.

‘Yes, thank you, Hocking. It went perfectly. Mr Nankivell is going to buy all the wood we can supply.’

‘Glad to hear it, miss. Where do you want to go now?’

‘To see Mr Rogers, my father’s lawyer.’

Turning the gig, the groom pointed it back toward Princes Street.

‘Hocking, you’re acquainted with the gentlemen my father used to hunt with. Do you think you could find out, tactfully of course, if any of them might be looking for new mounts for the coming season?’

He darted a look at her. ‘Selling the hunters, are you, miss? You won’t have no problem there. Master was known to keep only the best blood and bone. A word in the right ear and you’ll have buyers queuing up. Be long with Mr Rogers, will you, miss?’

‘At least an hour.’

‘All right if I go and see Mr Sibley’s groom, then? He’s an old friend, and got a good eye.’

‘Please do, Hocking. But –’

‘Don’t you fret, miss. He won’t even know he’ve been told they’re for sale.’

At the lawyer’s office, Melissa announced herself to an elderly clerk, one of several moving with quiet purpose between a number of panelled doors leading off a spacious reception area. Tall and slightly stooped, he wore an old fashioned suit of black cloth shiny with wear, and a tie wig.

‘If you will be seated, Miss –?’

‘Tregonning.’

‘Miss Tregonning,’ he repeated with slow gravity, ‘I shall ascertain whether Mr Rogers is currently engaged.’ He bowed and withdrew. Glancing around the elegantly furnished room, Melissa perched bolt upright on a Queen Anne armchair upholstered in green and gold brocade. Renewed tension quickened her breathing and her pulse. He returned a few moments later.

‘If you will accompany me, Miss Tregonning, Mr Rogers will receive you.’

The clerk wore his collarless coat unbuttoned over his long waistcoat and knee breeches. As she followed the austere figure, Melissa noticed that his white stockings were a little too loose for his thin legs and his black shoes with their square steel buckles, though well polished, bore unmistakable signs of age. A frugal man, she decided, as neat and sparing in his habits as he was in his dress. Had he ever loved?

As she recognised the source from which the thought had sprung, shock and shame broke over her in a hot, drenching wave. Her cheeks burned and her clothes clung uncomfortably to suddenly damp skin. Concealed behind the clerk, she withdrew a small handkerchief of cambric and lace from her sleeve and surreptitiously wiped her forehead and upper lip.

‘My dear Miss Tregonning.’ Glendon Woodford Rogers greeted her with an outstretched hand. Though his clerks adhered to a mode of dress popular 20 years ago, Mr Rogers clearly preferred a more modern look. Of portly build, he had wisely remained in breeches instead of adopting the thigh-hugging pantaloons that among younger men were considered the epitome of style. His close-fitting frock coat of blue cloth sported large mother-of-pearl buttons and was cut away at the hip and thigh so that the skirts were little more than square-cut tails that reached to the back of his knees. His double-breasted waistcoat of cream and blue striped silk strained across a barrel-shaped paunch. Pale yellow silk stockings and low-heeled, long-toed shoes tied with narrow ribbons completed his ensemble. The magnificence of his raiment conveyed, as was no doubt intended, his success and consequent wealth.

Drawing a deep breath, Melissa extended her hand. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Rogers. I’m very grateful to you for seeing me at such short notice.’

Taking her hand, he bowed. The brief but ominous creaking that accompanied this movement indicated his reliance on a corset to hold his corpulence in check. Biting hard on the inside of her lip, Melissa seated herself carefully on a chair of carved walnut upholstered in crimson velvet that was slightly too low for comfort, and smoothed the skirts of her habit.

Flicking his coat tails up, the lawyer resumed his own chair – padded leather and mahogany – beside a large ornate bureau. The lid was rolled back to reveal rows of drawers and tiny cubbyholes, and the writing surface was covered with documents penned in elaborate script and bearing important seals.

‘Now,’ he smiled, leaning slightly forward. ‘How may I help you? Though before you begin, I should perhaps make it clear that if you have come to see me in connection with your father’s will –’

‘Actually, I haven’t. Though I am aware of the terms. We discussed it after – when he had the new document drawn up.’

Mr Rogers sat back in his chair. Resting his elbows on the arms, he made a steeple of his spread fingers. ‘Then what is the problem?’ Melissa told him, watching his expression alter from avuncular encouragement through thoughtfulness to frowning concern. ‘My advice, Miss Tregonning,’ he said when she had finished, ‘is to confide in your uncles. They are the people best placed to –’

‘No,’ she said firmly, shaking her head. ‘Forgive me, Mr Rogers, but that is quite simply out of the question. Even my mother does not know the full extent of my father’s – commitments. As he is now no longer – no longer your client, the interests you represent are those of my mother, my brother, and myself.’

The dark crimson of his anger was alarming against the snowy points of his shirt collar. ‘Are you presuming to lecture me on confidentiality? I have never heard such gross impertinence. I need no such reminder. Especially from you, young lady.’

Once more, embarrassment surged through Melissa. Her skin oozed with mortification. Why especially from her? ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean – Mr Rogers, I cannot apologise enough. Truly, I meant no offence. It’s just that – if my uncles are informed, my aunts will learn of it. If it became public – which it would – my mother – can you imagine –?’ Helpless, she shook her head, blinking away tears. ‘I really am most terribly sorry. It – it has all been such a shock.’

He unbent slightly. ‘Yes. Yes, I can see that it must have been. But I do not see how, without your uncles’ help, you can hope to come about. You have no immediately convertible assets.’

Melissa’s head flew up. ‘But I do.’ Plunging a hand into the pocket of her skirt, she passed him the velvet-wrapped package, watching anxiously as he opened it.

‘My grandmother left me the rubies. The pearls, garnets, and other smaller pieces were gifts.’

He glanced sideways. ‘The sapphires?’

‘My 21st birthday.’ She swallowed. ‘I want to sell it. All of it. So I was wondering … Actually, I hoped … Of course, you will need some kind of proof of their ownership and origin, so …’ Fumbling in her other pocket she extracted a slim wad of tightly folded papers. ‘I have written it all down. I thought – I hoped, maybe you could take them to Plymouth? Surely they will fetch a far better price there than they would here? And even if you are known there, no one would know who you were selling them for.’

His gaze was sympathetic. ‘Miss Tregonning, you came to me for advice. Well, my advice is this: take your jewellery home.’

She felt as if he had slammed a door in her face. ‘Is it not – will it not sell?’

‘Oh yes, it would sell. I have no doubt of that. You have some very nice pieces. My point is –’

Melissa shook her head, urgency overriding good manners. ‘Forgive me, Mr Rogers, but I must sell. I have no choice. I need the money. Besides, what use are necklaces, bracelets, and rings to me when everything my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather worked to build is in danger of being lost? I do not receive many invitations, Mr Rogers. So opportunities to wear elaborate jewellery are rare. If it became public knowledge that my father died on the verge of bankruptcy, even those invitations would quickly cease. Besides, how could I ever again appear in such gems knowing their value would have kept the yard going and men in work?’

‘Unfortunately, it wouldn’t,’ he countered gravely. ‘I applaud your sentiments, and your courage. But although what you have here might partially clear the debts, it will do no more. So if you were counting on that alone –’

‘I wasn’t. I have just come from Mr Nankivell, the timber merchant on the quay. He has agreed to buy all the wood we can supply. Even now, a team is at work felling trees under the direction of an experienced woodsman.’

He was staring at her, openly astonished. ‘Is your brother aware of your activities, Miss Tregonning?’

‘I have written to him,’ Melissa replied truthfully. ‘But as he is at sea and, it is to be hoped, on his way home, he will not be aware of all that has been achieved until he sees it for himself. When he does,’ she added with a defiance born of nervous tension, ‘I have no doubt at all that he will be delighted. Mr Rogers, if I do nothing, my brother’s arrival will be greeted with foreclosure by the bank and a writ from a moneylender.’