Pengelly's Daughter (43 page)

‘What time is it, Joseph?' My mouth was almost too sore to speak. ‘Tell Sir James, Thomas Warren will be returning to the ship – he expects to sail with the tide. Tell Sir James, Thomas Warren was responsible…'

‘Don't ye worry, Miss Pengelly,' soothed Joseph, ‘Thomas Warren's goin' nowhere – he's tied up with Sulio Denville and now Sir James's found ye, he'll send for the authorities.' I started shaking, tears of relief ooding down my cheeks, clutching Joseph tighter now I knew it was all over.

James Polcarrow paused at the foot of the steps. ‘Make sure no-one sees you row Miss Pengelly ashore,' he called back across the hold. ‘Tell everyone you found her in the alley. Miss Pengelly's name must not be linked to mine. Tongues will wag and I must not be implicated.'

It was Joseph who scooped me up and carried me home, Joseph's strong arms that rowed me across the river. Joseph who carried me through the streets, holding me to him, never putting me down. It was Joseph who calmed my fears, seeing me safely home and as I leant against his broad shoulders, burying my face in his neck, my heart howled.

It should have been James Polcarrow's strong arms who rowed me ashore, James Polcarrow who carried me so tenderly in his arms. James Polcarrow holding me as if he would never let me go, but James Polcarrow was not to be implicated. He had made that quite clear. So close to his wedding, he could not risk any scandal.

Ebb Tide

Chapter Fifty-two

Coombe House

Saturday 24th August 1793 6:00 p.m.

T
he sitting room in Coombe House lay directly across the hall from the dining room. After the connes of the tiny cottage, the huge ceilings and elegant proportions seemed so much grander than I remembered and I had forgotten how pretty it was. The stone mantelpiece had carved scrolls at each end, two vases carefully positioned so their reections showed in the large gold mirror behind them. They were Mother's pride and joy – one was green, covered with brightly painted birds and owers, the other pale blue with white, raised gures of gods and goddesses. Between the vases a carriage clock stood encased in a dome of glass.

It was the rst time I had been allowed downstairs. I had been nursed in my room, the days passing in a restless blur of snatched sleep and haunting nightmares. Jenna and Mother had asked no questions, bathing the rope burns on my feet and wrists in pursed silence. They had sponged my bruised head, put ointment on my lips, but had said nothing.

I had not been entirely honest when I said I was better – a dull ache lodged in my head, the re was blazing, the room the temperature of an oven. I was conned to the chaise longue and uncomfortably hot, but Mother was convinced I still had a fever and was determined to keep me warm.

‘Jenna, no…not another log…please – I'm already sweltering. If I'm perspiring, it's because I'm too hot, not because I'm feverish…'

Jenna put the log rmly on top of the others. The wood crackled, sparks ew. ‘It's time for yer next drink,' she said.

‘I'm not ill, but if you bring me any more of that nettle brew, I'll be sick.'

‘It's not nettle, its yarrow,' she said, smiling as she shut the door behind her.

Before Father's bankruptcy, I had spent little time in this beautiful room and seeing it with new eyes made me feel sad I had treated it with such contempt. It was peaceful and elegant and I loved the pale blue and gold colours. Mother's chairs were light and feminine, their elegantly curved backs and dark mahogany wood sitting delicately against the stripes of the wallpaper. I had always found her room dull compared to the excitement found in Father's study, and I regretted that now.

Mother was happy. Now I was better, she was relaxing. She sat at the foot of my chaise longue, busily embroidering a handkerchief but I could tell her mind was not on her stitching.

‘Go on, Mother, tell me more. What exactly did Father say?'

‘He said for a long time he'd thought my talents were being wasted. He said if I could teach girls to sew they'd have a trade for life and it would keep them from poverty. He cares so much about the poor that he wants me to start a school of needlework.'

‘I can't think of anything better. I'll help you…if you want me to.'

‘Well, of course, I do, Rose – I couldn't do it without you. I'll be depending on you and Jenna.'

I shifted Mr Pitt to one side. I was wearing my lemon sprig gown and was worried that the butter might stain the material. It was the only dress I could wear, my other dress still soaking in the laundry, but somehow it felt right to be wearing my beautiful dress in Mother's sitting room. Besides, everything was going to change. From now on, I would never go anywhere unattended. I would never roam the countryside, chasing butteries, or go scrambling over rocks. I would never ruin my clothes by lying on my back, watching skylarks hover above me and I would never again venture down stinking alleyways.

Instead, I would spend my time addressing my woeful lack of domestic skills. Mother and I would pass our evenings sitting cosily by the re. There was still plenty of time to learn to sew and plenty of time to discuss what we should ask Mrs Munroe to cook. Besides, we had the school to plan. ‘Mrs Munroe's going to wonder where all her butter's gone,' I said, scratching Mr Pitt behind the ear.

‘Rose,' said Mother, her voice at once serious, ‘I don't like to scold ye in front of Jenna, but now we're alone, I have to tell ye – ye were wrong and very foolish to go down that alley. What were ye thinking? If Joseph hadn't chanced upon ye, anything could've happened. Ye could've been killed.'

I had been expecting this. ‘Mother, please don't scold. I'll never go anywhere alone again. Honestly, I've learnt my lesson. I promise.'

‘I scold only because ye're so precious to me,' she replied softly, putting down her sewing and folding her hands in her lap. She was wearing a dark-blue velvet gown, a delicate buttery brooch pinned to the lace at her throat. Her shoulders were back, her spine straight, a beautiful soft curve to her neck. Only her hands looked at odds in her elegant surroundings. ‘Rose, I know there's something ye're not telling me. I won't ask and I'll never pry – ye can tell me when you're ready, or not at all. It's just a mother knows things without being told. I can't explain it very well, but I just wanted to tell ye – a mother just knows…in her heart…that's all.'

I lowered my eyes. Was she talking about Father's idea for the school or had she guessed James Polcarrow had been involved in my rescue? I could not tell. She had told me Sulio Denville was behind bars; held for assault, false witness and the theft of the cutter and Thomas Warren had been seized for embezzlement, false accounting and misappropriation of land, but had she guessed more?

Jenna came through the door balancing a tray with yet another evil-smelling, steaming potion. Mother stood up, smiling down at me, straightening her gown. ‘Mrs Munroe wants to discuss menus. She's promised us whortleberry pie – can you believe that? It's your father's favourite and she's determined to spoil us. Here, Jenna, let me hold the door…'

The two of them were clearly in league. Ever since I had been brought home, they had not left me alone. Either one was with me, or the other – or both. Jenna had even moved her bed into my room but I did not mind. I wanted her there.

I had stopped Mother from scolding but Jenna was always a different matter. ‘Don't look at me like that, Jenna – honestly, I think you're worse than Mother. Anyway, I know Joseph must have told you what really happened, so there's no need to talk about it.'

‘It ain't my business where ye go – or who ye choose to spend yer time with. It would just be nice to know whether to expect ye home or not!'

‘I wasn't
spending
my time with anyone – I was minding my own business…' I said, taking the cup. It smelt worse than any of her other brews but I held my tongue, sipping the bitter contents without complaint.

‘Well, it's a good job Sir James was on hand,' she said, crossing her arms and staring down at me, ‘And a good job he found ye…though what he thinks of all yer cavorting…'

‘I wasn't
cavorting
, Jenna, and he doesn't care, even if I was. He made it very plain he doesn't want anything more to do with me and I don't blame him. We abused his good intentions and Father was rude to him. He even called Father an English Jacobin.'

Jenna had dressed her hair differently. She was not wearing her usual maid's cap but a delicate lace mobcap, like Mother's. Her hair lay beautifully coiled on either side of her head and tiny ringlets bobbed against her forehead. The new style suited her – it was elegant and dignied and made her look quite enchanting. Her eyes, however, remained stern and disapproving. ‘It's got nothing to do with Mr Pengelly. Sir James don't care a cat's whisker what yer Father does.'

‘Well, he doesn't want anything more to do with me. He was angry – I could see it in his face. He doesn't want his name linked to mine – that's why he told Joseph to tell everyone he found me in the alley. Even Mother doesn't know he was involved. No-one knows and that's how James Polcarrow wants it.'

‘Course he don't want people to know – Sir James's too honourable.'

‘Honourable! It's got
nothing
to do with honour! He's afraid Arbella Cavendish will hear – that's all. He doesn't want to be implicated in any scandal. I heard him say so.'

Jenna raised her eyes in exasperation. ‘Ye're meant to be the clever one, Rose Pengelly. I may've nothing like yer brains but at least I think straight…It's not
hisself
he's thinking of…he don't want his name linked to ye because t'would ruin
ye
. Now ye're spoken for, ye must be above gossip…'

‘What d'you mean spoken for? Of course, I'm not spoken for!'

‘Well if ye ain't, ye soon will be. Are ye alright? Here, ye're spilling yer drink.' Taking hold of the cup, she knelt by my side, her voice softening. ‘Can't ye see he's protecting ye? Sir James knows ye're to marry Morcum Calstock and he's that concerned for yer reputation. If word gets out he searched a slave ship for over two hours before he found ye – ye'd be ruined.'

‘But I'm not going to marry Morcum Calstock! I never was. I never will. How can he think that?'

‘Not marry him?' Jenna seemed completely bewildered, ‘but it's all over town. Yer father's told enough people to make it common knowledge. I thought ye admired Morcum Calstock – I thought he was the man we've been waiting for.'

‘You know very well he isn't, Jenna. He's a very ne man and I like him very much – he's kind and courageous and very handsome…and where Father sees him as the son he never had, I see him like the brother I've always wanted. But as to marrying him…I couldn't, never. There's no spark between us…no sense of wanting. He looks at me but his eyes don't burn.'

‘'Twould be enough for most women if he looked at them at all! And ye can hardly expect the poor man to go making love to ye right under yer father's eyes. Ye needs give him time – that's all.'

I shook my head, biting my bottom lip. Jenna put her arms round me. She smelt of lavender, of green elds and fresh air and I clung to her earthy strength, pressing my lips together, determined not to cry. I was on the cliff top, my hair swirling around me, rain lashing my face. My hands were stinging from the rope, my borrowed clothes hanging heavily about me. I was glancing back to the face of the sailor and my heart was lurching from the force of his gaze. That hungry gaze that sent my pulse racing and my loins aching.

James Polcarrow was shielding me from gossip. He had saved my reputation for another man and somehow that made everything worse. The heat in the room became unbearable.

‘It's far too hot, Jenna, open the windows. I'm not ill and I don't have a fever – open the windows, please.'

The large sash windows faced the lane, looking directly over the river. Framed by pine shutters, they were positioned to catch the morning sun. I preferred them in the evening when the rays of the dying sun would linger on the elds opposite. As Jenna opened the windows, the smell of the sea lled the room.

‘Wider, Jenna, open them wider. Let the air in.' I could smell the salt on the drying seaweed, the cockle-covered chains of the jetty where Father moored his boat and I breathed deeply, trying to rid myself of the sense of suffocation which I thought would never leave me. I could hear the gulls screeching for discarded sh guts and tried to block out the groaning of the ship's timbers. He had come for me. Even when he thought I loved another man, he had come. He had asked nothing of me, taken no credit, demanded no gratitude. I had summoned him and he had come.