Pengelly's Daughter (21 page)

Father hobbled by my side. I was going too fast, but I could not help it. I rushed him across the hall, glancing gratefully at Henderson as he opened the door. On the top step, I breathed in large gulps of air, lling my lungs so completely I thought they would burst. I could smell the sea. I could taste my freedom. The reghters had dispersed and the park looked deserted. The sun had long dipped behind the cliffs and an evening chill lled the air, making me shiver. Across the river, the last of the sun turned the leaves of the trees a golden red. I needed to get back to Mother.

But even as our feet crunched the gravel, I heard his footsteps behind us.

‘Rose, you can't leave like this – we have to talk.' He was gaining on us now, running down the long sweep of steps behind us. Clutching Father's arm, I hurried my pace. ‘Rose, come back.'

‘We're in a hurry to see Mother,' I shouted. If I felt like crying, I stied it.

‘Come back! You can't leave like this!' He was close behind me. I started running down the drive pulling Father behind me. He was facing me now, standing in my way. ‘Rose, I forbid you to go.'

‘You do
what
? You
forbid
me?' I must have looked furious. I could see him blanch, but my blood was up. ‘You
forbid
me, d'you, Sir James Polcarrow?'

I caught the glance of pride in Father's eyes. It was the approval I had always sought, always yearned for. I was Rosehannon Pengelly, my father's daughter, and the only thing that mattered was that I had him back. I took a deep breath. ‘Good bye, Sir James, and thank you. You've saved my father's life and you've cleared his name. We'll always remain in your debt…I wish you well but, if you don't mind, I'm going to take Father home.'

I would not stay a minute longer. Turning my back on Sir James and his hideous house, I started walking down the long drive. We were going home. Home to Mother and Jenna.

We did not talk the whole way back. I could not speak. My heart was too full. The man who held me so tenderly in his arms, who had kissed me so passionately and told me he loved me, did not exist. It was over, nished. There would never be any more Jim.

Nor could there ever be Sir James Polcarrow.

Chapter Twenty-three

Porthruan

Friday 19th July 1793 2:00 p.m.

I
opened the door very quietly. ‘Do I disturb you, Father?'

‘No, I wasn't asleep, though I have to admit my eyes are heavy. Time was, I could read all night but my attention keeps wanderin' and it's hard not to nod off.'

‘Are those new glasses any good?'

‘As good as they get. You're clever to get them – even if my concentration's gone, least I can read clearly!' He held out his hand and squeezed mine. ‘Time was, I thought I'd never read again and I've a lot to catch up on. We live in changin' times, Rose.' He waved his newspaper in the air before placing it carefully on the table next to him.

It was wonderful to see him ensconced in the tiny parlour, his papers and periodicals spilling around him. A dream come true, only it had been a dream I never dared to dream. My heart was bursting. His grey hair was neatly cut, his beard shaved, and though his complexion remained sallow, the hollows of his cheeks seemed slightly fuller. He still looked painfully thin, his new jacket hanging from his frame, his legs lost in his breeches, but there was the old re back in his eyes. He smiled up at me.

‘I've not made friends with your Mr Pitt – just now he spat at me.'

‘He couldn't have. Mr Pitt's as soft as a lamb. He never spits or scratches.'

‘Well, he's made it plain enough I'm not to his liking. Look, he's scowlin' at me.'

‘He just doesn't know you yet. And you can't really blame him – that used to be his chair. That's why he's so cross. Come, Mr Pitt.'

‘No, don't take him away, I enjoy his company and I like the way he doesn't grovel. His scars bear witness to a terrible life, yet there he sits, scowlin' and ickin' his tail. I love that – down but still deant. It's good there's ght left in him – that's how I felt this past year. If he enjoys scowlin' at me, then let him. I dare say Mr Pitt and I shall become friends, soon enough – though it pains me to say those words!'

I plumped up his cushions, sitting down on the stool by his feet. ‘Shall I read to you, Father?'

‘No, I've had enough for now – I'd no notion the French had executed their king and declared war on us.' He shrugged his shoulders, his face turning grave, ‘But now we've a minute, let me show you this letter from Sir George Reith – they've found the cutter. She's now named
L'Aigrette
and they've got her impounded in Truro, pendin' all enquiries.'

‘That's wonderful! Is there any hope she'll be returned to us?'

‘Aye, there is. Sir George Reith states just that – though it'll take time, of course. When she's sold, I do believe we can hope to prot from the sale.'

I wiped away a tear. ‘I never dared to hope. I thought having you back was enough but to prot from her sale…! Sir George's being very kind – I don't know how we can ever thank him.'

‘Rose, you should know better than that. Don't think, for one moment, Sir George has our welfare at heart. He doesn't give a damn for our welfare.'

‘Why d'you say that?'

‘You'll see – read the letter. George Reith has persuaded Mr Tregellas to testify against Mr Roskelly. After all, he heard him admit to murder. Mr Tregellas will be accused of theft, but won't hang. That's how it works. Men like Tregellas always triumph – George Reith gets his sentence down to transportation and Tregellas grows rich in Botany Bay.'

I shuddered. Father could make light of it but I could not. I still saw their faces when I closed my eyes. ‘What about Sir George's fees?'

‘His payment will come from the sale. When that's deducted, the rest's ours.' He raised his thin shoulders and shrugged. ‘Seems he's put his name up as surety and there's to be no stoppin' him – he's determined to represent us.'

‘I don't know how we can thank him enough.' Mother and I had been struggling for so long and to have someone as reputable as Sir George ghting our cause was almost overwhelming. I looked at Father, expecting to see his frown soften, but there was not the slightest hint of gratitude in his face.

‘Don't be a fool, Rose. Sir George Reith's only interested in his friend, James Polcarrow. They'll claim gross miscarriage of justice for Sir James, demand a retrial, and produce this new evidence. Before you can blink, Sir James Polcarrow will get back his vast estates and the corruption can go on. He'll get richer while everyone else struggles to make ends meet.'

‘James Polcarrow saved your life. He nursed you through that rst night. Aren't you being a bit hard on him?'

‘Not at all – I see the truth, that's all. He saved my life, but he didn't know it was me he was savin'. He thought I was Sulio Denville. He did nothin' that wasn't for himself alone. You have to understand, James Polcarrow's a dangerous man and I'll never forgive him for puttin' your life in such danger. No amount of time will rid him of his hatred and anger. You saw how violent he was…bindin' our wrists like that, forcin' gags into our mouths – he didn't need to be so harsh. There's cruelty there, Rose...and cruelty and power don't mix. And we all know how powerful James Polcarrow is set to become.'

‘Perhaps, if he's been treated like a common thief, he might be different. He'll know what it's like to be without hope, or privilege – abandoned by society.'

‘James Polcarrow? There's a laugh. He doesn't know what it's like to be born with no privilege…what it's like to be a common man. His education lifts him above everyone and his contact in high places does the rest. Think on it, Rose. All he had to do was get back to England and his rich and powerful friends would spring to his defence. You saw how the wheels of power rolled so quickly to his aid. A common man would stand no such chance – straight away, he'd be imprisoned, hung, or transported back.'

The force of his words made him cough, a loud, racking cough that shook his body: his face was ashen. He was still so weak and I reached for some ale, desperately wishing Jenna would hurry back. ‘Let me get you some of Jenna's nettle tea, she's left it in the kitchen – I won't be a minute.'

‘No, Rose, it'll pass. I'll soon be t as a ddle.' He smiled at me, his eyes tender. ‘I needs be t if I'm to get my boatyard back. Leave me be, and let me return to my readin'.' He picked up his glasses, taking hold of the paper. More papers lay in disarray and I noticed he must have read my latest pamphlet which I had left by his chair.

‘What d'you think of Mary Wollstonecraft and her
Vindication on the Rights of Women
?' I asked, delighted to be able to discuss it with him.

He did not look up. ‘That?' he replied. ‘You can take it away and burn it. I don't think anythin' of your Mary Wollstonecraft. She's a foolish woman – foolish and very misguided. It's t only for the re.'

‘But, Father, I thought you'd approve of…' I said no more. His newspaper was held high across his face, blocking all conversation. Picking up my pamphlet, I folded it in half and half again, tucking it down my bodice as I walked quietly to the door.

Mr Pitt was still scowling, thumping his tail loudly on the oor. When I reached the door, he, too, stood up and turned his back on Father, following me silently out of the room.

Chapter Twenty-four

M
other and Jenna piled through the door, carrying so many parcels they had to walk sideways down the hall. Hurling themselves into the parlour, they woke Father from his afternoon rest. I followed quick on their heels.

‘Tell her, Mrs Pengelly.'

‘No, you tell her, Jenna – I need to catch my breath.'

‘Madame Merrick's nished yer dress…it's that beautiful, honest to God…I've carried it so careful so it wouldn't crease – and look here, what Madame Merrick's made specially for ye.' Picking up a hat box, she undid the ribbons. ‘I can't wait for ye to see it. What d'ye make of this?' She opened the lid, lifting out a beautiful bonnet trimmed with greeen ribbons.

‘It's lovely,' I said, unable to take my eyes off it.

‘It's to match yer dress…look…Madame Merrick's made owers of the sprig…she's put mother-of-pearl drops in the middle.' It was the loveliest thing I had ever been given. ‘Don't just stare at it! Try it on.'

‘Yes, do try it on,' said Mother, placing the bonnet carefully on my head, rearranging my hair to frame my face. ‘There, you look absolutely beautiful.'

‘But why's Madame Merrick gone to so much trouble? Is it for my birthday?'

‘No!' they said in unison, shaking their heads like excited children, both smiling the broadest of smiles. Mother looked so well; her new dress giving her a dignity I had not seen in her before. Or perhaps it was her bearing. She seemed taller, more upright, as if her burdens had been lifted from her shoulders.

‘Tell me, then!'

‘Here's Madame Merrick's letter – oh, no, I can't wait…This bonnet's a present…Lady April's agreed to be her patron! She was that pleased with the cushion…and Madame Merrick can't thank you enough. She's getting a new sign to hang over the door but, without you, she might never have attracted Lady April's attention.'

The joy on Mother's face was contagious and I had to admire Madame Merrick's tenacity, but the smile soon fell from my lips. Father's voice cut angrily through our laughter. ‘Madame Merrick's become quite an inuence, I see. Time was when we didn't fawn to the aristocracy – we had our pride and dignity and didn't grovel. Now, it seems, Madame Merrick dresses you in fancy clothes and plays you like puppets.'

The harshness in his voice stunned me, draining all pleasure from me. Fighting a rush of anger, I tried to bite my tongue, but the injustice of his words swelled inside me. ‘Madame Merrick's been here for us when you couldn't, Father,' I said, trying to keep my voice soft. ‘She's helped us put food on our table and clothes on our backs. She's helped pay the rent to keep us from the streets. She's clever and courageous and very astute, yet as a woman, she faces nothing but ridicule and censure. She may toady to the aristocracy, but she doesn't deserve your harsh words – in fact, you should be grateful to her that we've survived at all. Without her, we'd have been destitute.'

I had never spoken to Father like that. Perhaps, it was the injustice, perhaps it was because I had seen Mother's hands tremble and her shoulders sag. Either way, I meant every word and waited for his reply but he remained silent. No apology. No look of regret. I scooped up the parcels and sought refuge in my own room.