Pengelly's Daughter (36 page)

I stole a quick look at my reection.

Jenna had dressed my hair in a new style and I was still coming to terms with the way it looked. Most of my hair was looped behind me but she had left a series of tightly rolled curls surrounding my face. They bobbed up and down as I walked and were slightly disconcerting. It made me feel strangely light-headed, but it was not just my hair that drew me to the window. Jenna, Mother, and Elowyn had worked tirelessly over the last two days to nish my new
working gown
, as Madame Merrick insisted on calling it. And though my reection was slightly distorted, I was thrilled with what I saw.

The cotton was a deep ruby red and though it did not shine, it had a richness which
spoke of quality
. The style was simple, the waist not too high to be overly fashionable. The sleeves ended just below my elbow and, as Madame Merrick was adamant I would be taken more seriously if I wore no frills, were edged in velvet, not lace. The only embellishments were the delicately embroidered patterns on either side of the jacket collar. At rst I thought they were owers but, when I looked more carefully, I saw Elowyn had meticulously worked my initials,
RP
, in black silk thread.

I gave a little twirl, to admire the way the gown fell from the back, and returned to my bureau. We had ordered surplus resin and had stocked up on tar and oakum as well as paint and varnish. The ax and hemp had been moved to another storeroom and Tom had cleared the cellars of unwanted clutter. Together, we had created quite a storehouse and word was getting out that we had good supplies.

Footsteps made me look up. Thomas Warren and his huge henchman were striding across the yard. My pen dropped from my hand as the room began to sway around me and I bent forward, putting my head between my knees to stop my sudden dizziness. Perhaps they would not see me? If they looked through the window, they might think the ofce empty.

The door burst open and I saw the silver buckles on Thomas Warren's shoes as he waited for me to acknowledge his presence. I felt sick with fear but pretended I was searching for something, ‘Good morning, Mr Warren, this is a pleasant surprise,' I managed to say, steadying myself against the bureau.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the face of the huge man I had only seen from behind. There was something familiar about his coarse, pock-marked face and bulbous nose. Over his shaven head he wore a brown felt hat and though he wore the dress of a townsman, he looked as rough as a vagrant. ‘How can I help you?' I said, summoning as much courage as I could. ‘I'm afraid Father isn't here at the moment.'

‘Still acting, Miss Pengelly?' Thomas Warren seemed to spit the words. ‘You're good at acting, aren't you? I take my hat off to your brilliant performance, both now, and at the auction. You may've fooled the auctioneer, but you didn't fool me.' He walked slowly across the room, leaning on my bureau with both his hands, his face too close to mine. His skin was grey, dark shadows beneath his eyes.

‘What auction?' My laugh sounded hollow.

‘You know what I mean, you lying bitch. And you know what I've come for.' He motioned to his companion, who likewise crossed the room to stand in front of me, exing his ngers until they cracked. They were huge, calloused hands with tattoos across the back of each nger. ‘We want the creek you stole from us. We know it was you, so stop this ridiculous charade…'

I tried not to inch. ‘I
stole
from you? You accuse me of something I know nothing about and now you're threatening me?'

‘You dare stand there with your jumped-up airs and intolerable conceit, thinking you're so clever. Yes I'm threatening you, you stupid whore. Accidents will happen. Fires will burn. Boats will get ruined. People will get hurt. Tell that to your idiot father who's no more sense than to get himself ruined again.' His twisted smile revealed broken, tobacco-stained teeth. ‘You need a lesson, Miss Pengelly. Zack – go about your business.'

I saw the responding smile on Zack's face and my heart froze. In a ash, he swooped forward, swiping his huge arm across my bureau, sending everything crashing to the ground. I jumped back, watching helplessly as the papers I had been working on landed in a jumbled mess, my ledger landing with its beautiful calf skin cover creasing along the spine.

I was too terried to do anything. Zack walked over to Father's desk to repeat his violence. Once again he reached his huge arm across the desk, sweeping everything to the oor in one long movement. Within seconds, Mr Scantlebury's drawings lay crushed beneath the weight of books and journals. ‘Stop!' I yelled at the top of my voice. ‘You can't do this.'

Thomas Warren seemed to be enjoying my distress. ‘I can do exactly as I like,' he said.

He meant it too. Again he motioned to Zack, nodding his head towards the large bookshelf which stood at least eight feet tall against the wall. It was crammed full of documents; years of accounts and numerous boxes containing everything that was important to us. Mr Scantlebury's plans were stored on the bottom shelves while Father's irreplaceable models balanced on the top. It meant nothing to them. Thomas Warren's obedient henchman grabbed the bookcase and went to pull it from the wall.

An angry red mist started blurring my eyes. ‘Get out of this ofce. Now!'

Thomas Warren raised his hand. Zack held the bookcase poised in the air. Only the slightest pull and everything would go crashing to the ground.

‘Get out, both of you...or I'll…'

‘Do what?' whispered Thomas Warren as he leant towards me. My stomach heaved. He was staring at my bosom. Beads of sweat were glistening on his brow. ‘Do what, you stupid whore? Believe me, I've only just begun. There's a lot more I plan to do – a lot more.' He lowered his hands towards his groin and clenched his sts, one on top of the other – pink and solid against his breeches. He started gesturing at me, violently thrusting them up and down as he walked towards me. It was an obscene gesture and absolutely terrifying.

I began backing away, tripping over my chair, disgusted by what I saw, but Thomas Warren lunged towards me, upturning my bureau, forcing me into the corner. He grabbed my wrists, pushing them against the wall, pinning himself against me, his disgusting tongue icking in and out of his mouth like a snake. His foul brown tongue, in his foul mouth, darting at me, like a reptile.

I felt the thrust of his groin as he pressed against me, crushing himself against the folds of my beautiful new dress, his hands grabbing me round the back of my thighs as he forced himself against me. I turned my face in disgust, but he held me with such force I could not free myself.

‘Don't struggle, my beauty – would be a shame to ruin this new hairstyle of yours.' His foul tongue wrapped itself around one of my curls and he drew it into his mouth, sucking deeply, like a baby.

From the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the yard. A man was crossing it with a large bag in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other. The heavy rain was wetting the paper, making it difcult to read. He must have been looking for somewhere because he was shaking his head, puzzled, as if he had lost his bearings. To my horror, he turned, heading in the opposite direction, hunching his shoulders against the sudden deluge which now threatened to soak him completely. He was leaving as quickly as he had come.

Thomas Warren must have seen me looking. He swung round to see the man's retreating gure. His grip loosened on my thighs but just before he put his hand over my mouth, I managed to scream with all my might – a loud, blood-curdling scream that pierced my ears and resounded round the ofce. Thomas Warren pushed me deeper into the corner, clamping my mouth so tightly I could hardly breathe. I struggled against him, kicking and gasping, but I was held too rmly and could make no further cry. He may have been no taller than me, and slight of build, but his strength was immense and I was completely powerless.

Zack let go of the bookcase, concealing himself in the recess behind the shutters. To anyone passing, the ofce would look deserted. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. It was strange hearing the clock tick. Usually the yard was so noisy, so full of activity and I had never noticed it before. Thomas Warren pressed himself harder against me, forcing me further into the corner, the bristles on his cheek scratching against my skin. He reeked of sweat and tobacco, the stench of his fetid breath making me want to retch. I strained my ears, desperately praying the man I had seen passing had heard my scream.

Footsteps stopped outside. Within seconds, the door burst open and the stranger entered with a blast of cold air and a urry of rain. Thomas Warren immediately let go, taking a step back. The stranger walked further into the ofce, his face incredulous at the chaos in the room. The capes of his travelling coat and his tall hat dripped pools of rain onto the oor beneath him. Seeing me, he threw his bag to the oor and stood glaring at the two men, his hands resting on his hips, his sts, at once, clenching.

‘What's happening?' he demanded, glancing at the heap of papers and overturned bureau. ‘Do you require my assistance, madam?'

I said nothing but ran towards him, tears of relief lling my eyes.

‘No, she doesn't,' Thomas Warren replied. He straightened his jacket and grabbed his hat. ‘We're just leaving.'

Zack was clearly not ready to leave. Glowering across the room, he exed his huge hands once again, clicking the joints of his ngers. For a moment, I thought he would run at my rescuer but he cleared his throat and spat on the oor. Such insolence was clearly too much for the stranger, who squared his shoulders and clenched his sts, undaunted that his opponent was yet a head taller than himself and considerably heavier.

‘Madam, do you want these men apprehended?' he asked with authority.

I shook my head, petried of the ght that would ensue. I just wanted them out of the ofce. The stranger's chivalrous act may be well meant, but to pit himself against two such violent men would be asking too much.

‘No, let them pass – thank you. It was merely a misunderstanding…over some business…but now it's resolved,' I managed to say. ‘But don't leave. Please stay and dry yourself, you look soaked to the skin.'

It must have been the quiver in my voice that made the stranger look so intently. He was much younger than I thought at rst – not yet thirty – with a sailor's burnt complexion, if not a sailor's manner. His bearing and accent was that of an educated man and the eyes which looked deeply into mine were intelligent and kind. I could see he was reluctant to let my assailants go, but as I nodded my assent and tried to smile, he stood begrudgingly aside, holding open the door.

Thomas Warren took hold of one of Father's umbrellas, opening it so violently I thought the spokes would shatter. He paused at the door, his face furious. ‘It's not yet resolved,' he said through gritted teeth. ‘She knows what she has to do.' He turned to my rescuer with the same threatening air, ‘And you,
sir
, whoever you are, would do better to stop your interference.'

Chapter Forty-five

M
y rescuer took off his hat and threw his travelling coat against the chair. He was a tall man with a commanding gure, his eyes hazel, like his hair. They were kind eyes, soft and intelligent, with crinkle lines already forming at the corners. But he was not smiling. He was looking at me with great concern.

‘Madam, allow me,' he said, straightening the chair. ‘Please sit down, you look very shaken.'

‘I'm ne, thank you. It's just a silly disagreement.'

‘This is more than a disagreement' he said, pointing to the mess. ‘This is violence against a person and a person's property. Did they hurt you, miss…?

‘Pengelly…my name's Rosehannon Pengelly.'

‘Morcum Calstock, Miss Pengelly – at your service,' he said, making a formal bow. ‘Shall I get someone to help you, or would you perhaps like me to walk you home?'

‘No, Mr Calstock,' I said, trying to stop my legs shaking. ‘Thank you for your kindness but it takes more than a few crumpled papers to intimidate me.' I hoped my smile looked convincing.

He smiled back. He had a beautiful smile, strong and condent yet strangely intimate and reassuring. His face was browned by the sun, his hair tied behind his neck. It was almost blonde in places as if the sun still shone on it. His jaw was square, his forehead broad, his nose straight with a slight snub at the end. His was one of the friendliest faces I had seen – and one of the most handsome.

‘What if they come back, Miss Pengelly?'

‘They won't come back. They want a log pool but Sir James Polcarrow owns the land and they're angry – they've taken it out on me but they'll soon realise their mistake.'

Morcum Calstock looked relieved, though I could tell he was still anxious. ‘At least let me help you restore some order,' he said, returning my bureau to its upright position. ‘Allow me to be your servant, Miss Pengelly.' His smile revealed strong, beautifully straight teeth.

Papers were strewn all over the ofce and, as we bent to pick them up, my fear subsided. Smiling at each other, we retrieved the papers, placing them once more in neat piles on the bureau or Father's desk. We were almost nished, only Mr Scantlebury's plans remained on the oor. Morcum Calstock laid them on the desk, smoothing his hands over them with a reverence I found touching. ‘These are ne drawings,' he said, ‘and beautifully executed. Are they your father's?'

‘No, they're Mr Scantlebury's – he's our master shipwright.'

‘He's a steady hand and a real air for detail,' he said examining them closely. ‘I'd be proud, very proud if I'd done these.'

‘Are you a shipwright?' I asked, my heart leaping.