Pengelly's Daughter (5 page)

Madame Merrick and Mother could not have been more delighted by the latest London fashions worn by those who alighted from the ship. Madame Merrick insisted we were witnessing
true quality
but all I saw was a bad-tempered, middle-aged man, ornately dressed with a thick bandage round one calf, and a tall, very thin woman dressed in a green silk travelling dress, whose only concern seemed the welfare of the white pug dog she carried in her arms. Neither looked pleased to have arrived.

Wiping his brow in a urry of lace, Sir Charles Cavendish was ignoring the cheering crowds, prodding his way instead to the waiting carriage where I saw him curse the footman and bark orders at the coachman. Madame Merrick was ushed with pleasure. ‘But, Miss Pengelly, you cannot see
properly
from there!'

‘I've seen all I need to see,' I replied. ‘Sir Charles Cavendish has no business here, nor ever has.'

‘Miss Pengelly! How
can
you speak like that?'

‘He's only here because he wants his friend, Robert Roskelly, to join him in parliament – otherwise he'd have stayed in London.' I kept my voice calm but my heart was thumping. Madame Merrick's face puckered in disgust. Mother's hands began to tremble but I could not stay silent. ‘It's wrong and corrupt, that's all. Buying his vast estate assures him of the voting rights but he cares nothing at all for the people here.'

‘What foolish nonsense!' replied Madame Merrick, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘We
all
depend on great men like Sir Charles – without them there would be nothing. No employment, no estates to maintain, no houses to run…no patronage, no positions, no trade contracts. You speak
foolishly
, Miss Pengelly – dangerously and foolishly.' Straightening her gown with her long ngers, she glared with undisguised dislike. ‘You would be wise to curb your tongue, young lady. You have been
much
too inuenced by your father's foolish talk.'

At the mention of Father, tears welled in my eyes. A lump caught in my throat. ‘You didn't know Father – he was clever and articulate. He believed every man has rights, regardless of wealth or position. He believed all men should have the franchise.'

‘
Pah
! Your father was a dangerous radical, a political agitator. No better than a revolutionary!
Liberté, qualité, fraternité ou la mort!
Where did it get him? What
good
is leaving your wife and daughter to starve?' Her chest rose and fell, the muscles round her mouth tight with anger. ‘Miss Pengelly, you are a woman blessed with uncommon beauty. You would be wise to
use
it well. Your father was wrong to stuff your head full of his ridiculous notions – God knows, your position is precarious enough already.' She began fanning her very ushed cheeks.

Mother came through from the back, clearly trying to make amends. ‘Mrs Hoskins will be here soon…I've brought the muslin and the new rolls of satin. I'm sure she'll love this…or maybe this?'

Madame Merrick was hardly listening. Her eyes were following the carriage as it pushed through the crowds. Taking a deep breath, she spoke through pursed lips. ‘It is not the likes of
Mrs
Hoskins I need to patronise my business, Mrs Pengelly. I need
Lady
April Cavendish to be my patron.'

Even Mother looked shocked. ‘But Lady April has the whole of London at her disposal! You saw her clothes – she wants for nothing. You really think she might buy from here?'

I was still smarting from Madame Merrick's vicious attack but the eager tone in Mother's voice cut me like a knife. It seemed such betrayal. She had abandoned all Father's principles and it hurt. It really hurt. In all the dark days since Father's death, I had never felt so alone, and watching them bending over the rolls of fabric seemed to increase my sense of isolation. I could never be part of Mother's new life, I knew that now.

Putting away my quill, I placed the ledger carefully back in the top drawer. I put on my bonnet and stopping momentarily at the door, bobbed an indifferent curtsey. If they heard my sullen farewell, they did not look up.

There would be thunder soon – no gulls in sight, no hint of a breeze. I closed the door. This uncanny stillness was always a sign of thunder. The air was thick and suffocating, ies buzzed noisily among the nets left drying on the quayside and even the smell of dead crabs in the blackening seaweed seemed stronger than usual. I made my way through the crowd, now boisterous from beer. Notices advertising political meetings were pinned to the pillars of the wooden overhang and I managed to peer over the heads of everyone crowding round to read the posters. They conrmed what I already guessed – the meeting would start at nine. My heart started racing. I, at least, would never forsake Father.

Chapter Four

Wednesday 26th June 1793 9:30 p.m.

I
pleaded a headache, telling Mother and Jenna I needed an early night. They were visiting Mrs Tregony, so I would seize my chance. I changed quickly into the newly washed clothes Jenna had replaced in the bottom of my trunk – time was running out, the blanket left in my bed the best I could think to do. There was thunder in the air, the wind freshening, but reaching the quayside, I felt condent I could row the river. Untying Father's boat, I slipped the mooring and drifted upstream on the incoming tide.

The river was unusually crowded, more ships than usual seeking shelter from the impending storm. Large numbers of sailors massed along the quayside, their drunken voices ltering across the water. The quays were packed three or four deep and I searched to nd somewhere to moor the boat. There was hardly anywhere, just one small space and I knew it would be tight. Squeezing between two shing boats, I secured the boat. It was the wrong end of town and a long way from Coombe House, but it would have to do. I would cut through the alley and take the lane behind the dockside.

The alley was dark and smelt of tar, an upturned barrel lying halfway across the entrance. There had already been ghts. Bottles lay smashed against the wall and I hesitated, knowing I was being foolish. I should turn back. I should return to the boat and moor further up but time was against me and I was already late. The alley narrowed, loud shouts began echoing behind me and I turned round to see the bulky frames of a group of sailors blocking the entrance. They were clearly the worst for drink and were coming in my direction.

The alley was longer than I thought, the walls towering above me. I searched for a doorway, frantically hoping for a place to hide. The sailors had seen me. They were calling out, goading me to ght, their taunts growing more vicious as their footsteps got nearer. Ahead of me, lights from the Anchor Tavern glowed through the darkness and I began to run. I had no option. The Anchor Tavern may be the last place in the world I would want to enter but it was that, or the sailors. The door to the tavern was closed. Without hesitating, I grabbed the handle, opening the heavy oak door, shutting it rmly behind me.

The stench of burning seal oil made me want to retch and I fought to control my nausea. It was hot, stuffy, the tobacco smoke thick and choking. Oil lamps hung from the densely beamed ceiling and lanterns cast shadows over the faces of sailors crammed into every corner of the rooms. Some of the men were playing dice, some eating pies; all were smoking clay pipes, drinking from large earthenware mugs. I stared through the haze, my eyes beginning to sting. On a table nearby, two men spat on their hands, shaking on a deal. On another, a ship's captain was imprinting the thumbs of two boys in a ledger. The boys, no more than eleven or twelve, looked like frightened rabbits caught in a trap.

This was my rst time in a tavern and I could hardly believe my eyes. The serving girls looked just like living gureheads. In a corner a man wearing a doe-skin hat and a brown corduroy jacket was sitting legs akimbo, a serving girl sitting on each thigh. The girls' hands were everywhere, running over his waistcoat, undoing his buttons, their ngers even sliding beneath his shirt. I had never seen anything so wanton and I could hardly tear my eyes away.

Each serving girl was offering the man a large tankard of ale and it was increasingly apparent that whichever one he chose would leave the other completely desolate. Bets were changing hands and the two serving girls, with a playfulness that was turning serious, began offering him more and more inducements to be the woman of his choice. With one hand holding aloft their beer, their other hands began straying further over his body. The guffaws were getting louder, the betting more frantic, the girls re-doubling their efforts, their huge bosoms taking on a life of their own. Appalled, I looked away, but something made me uneasy. The man seemed strangely familiar.

I glanced back. To my horror, he was no longer laughing but staring straight at me. Our eyes locked and the airless room seemed to suck the breath out of me. I stood frozen to the spot, staring back across the haze of smoke. Though his clothes were different, his hair concealed, there was no mistaking it was Jim. Cursing myself for my stupidity, I pushed my way to the door, running into the cover of darkness. How could I have been so foolish? But even before I heard his footsteps, I knew he would be following me.

‘Rose, stop.'

I tried to outrun him but the lane was long, rising steeply from the river's edge. My boots were heavy, weighing me down. He stayed on my heels, his footsteps right behind me. I was beginning to lose my breath and knew it would be only a matter of time before I felt his hand grab my coat. ‘What in God's name are you doing, Rose?' He was breathless, too, his chest heaving as he swung me round. ‘What madness is this – on a night like this?' As if in agreement, the rst rumble of thunder sounded overhead.

‘Let me go! It's none of your business,' I said between gasps. ‘And don't call me Rose. Only Father ever called me Rose.' In the half-light of the distant oil lamp, I could just make out the lines of his face. There was accusation in his eyes.

‘I hardly think I need be formal, Miss Pengelly,' he replied, ‘when I've just seen you in one of the worst taverns in town.'

‘I didn't mean to go there – I don't go to places like that – I was running from some sailors, that's all…' I had no reason to explain myself but he knew my name and that was dangerous.

We were standing where the lane joined the town square. A group of very drunk townsmen were weaving their way down the hill, singing and cursing as they staggered towards us. I was relieved when they passed and made to leave, but Jim grabbed my arm, holding me back. Shapes began forming in the shadows behind them – three men were following in the townsmen's wake.

‘It's the press gang,' Jim said, pushing me quickly into a doorway.

It was a small doorway, hardly room for one, let alone two, and before I realised what he was doing, he squeezed next to me, his body crushing against mine. I held my breath, desperately hoping we were enough out of the lamplight to be hidden. His hands were stretching above me, his palms resting against the lintel of the door. In the darkness, I could feel his chest rising and falling. I could smell tobacco from the tavern still clinging to his jacket. I had never stood so close to a man before, never felt a man's body pressing so rmly against my own and his strength unnerved me.

‘They've passed,' he whispered, turning to go.

‘Wait. My hair's caught in your button. Free it please – without pulling.' He was still uncomfortably close.

‘Patience, Miss Pengelly. There, you're free.'

It was not his button which had caught my hair, but a chain he was wearing round his neck. I was amazed to catch the glimmer of a ring – a large ruby set with diamonds which sparkled even in the darkness. It was clearly worth a lot of money and I gazed in astonishment. He must have stolen it. Or had he been given it by some poor woman?

‘You'd better get back to your wenches,' I said, staring pointedly at the ring. ‘They'll be missing your knee to sit on.'

‘That's very harsh, Miss Pengelly.'

‘It's not harsh at all. It's the truth.'

I sounded cross, but it was me I was cross with. Cross, ashamed, frightened of the sensations his body had roused in me. Another rumble of thunder sounded across the river. I stepped back into the alley. ‘Leave me be,' I said.

‘Where're you going, Rose?'

I took no notice, walking swiftly under the arch of the stables. Time was running short. Immediately, he followed. Once again, he grabbed my arm, pulling me into the stable where the smell of horse dung mingled with fresh hay. A stable lad was calming two horses.

‘What's going on? What makes a clever woman like you risk so much? If I'm to have any chance of helping you, I must know the truth.'

‘Helping me?'

‘You put yourself in great danger to help me, so now it's my turn to help you. What's it you're up to?'