Isabella nodded for she felt inordinately weary. Once she was settled under a rug in the morning room and Lisette had collected her sewing she asked, sleepily, ‘How are you so wise and steady, Lisette?’
Lisette smiled. ‘I am far from wise, but if I am steady I learnt it from my father. He was a Frenchman who sailed over to Cornwall and never went home. He was a Catholic who married a chapel-going Cornish woman. He and my mother differed much in religion and temperament and they argued a great deal.
‘My father called it debate. He was a fisherman by choice, for he was an educated man. He taught all his children to think things through, before acting. It does not solve everything, Isabella, but it gives an advantage.
‘My father was drowned when I was eighteen and your mama took me on as her personal maid. Everything else I learnt from her. Both my father and your mama taught me to keep very still until you know in which direction to move. This, you must do, Isabella.’
Lisette had been Helena’s maid but their ages had been only two years apart, and she had become Helena’s confidante in her first lonely years in England in the huge, cold house. It was like a circle, a curse, Lisette thought now, my beautiful ladies yearning for more or something different, when they had so much.
When Trathan leaves me, I borrow a horse and set off to ride the narrow lanes to St Piran. What I most feared has happened, and how this should be I know not. It will not have come from Isabella, this I do know.
My father is emerging from the kitchen to the pump with a jug for water and he is startled to see me as I bound through the gate, breathless. He looks upon my face and knows I bring trouble with me. We make our way to the upper boatyard again and we both sit at a make-shift table.
I tell my father of my meeting with Isabella yesterday. My father sucks his tea and is very still. Then he says, in the slow way he has, ‘I remember the day thy figurehead was unveiled, and I have been half-expecting trouble, but it is a shock just the same, Thomas.’
He gives me a piercing look of disappointment which grieves me far worse than harsh words.
‘Anger will serve no purpose, Tom. Thou hast put the girl out of her own society and made her beyond ours. If Sir Richard knows, St Piran will lose all future building contracts with his syndicate. He will not be made a fool of. Men will be out of work and women and children will go hungry. No one will accept Lady Isabella here. They will blame her, and thee. Did thou have no thought for the consequences?’
He stares at me sadly, for I have always been his favourite son, the nearest to him in character.
‘What hast thou done? More, I think, than thou will ever know, Thomas.’
‘Pa, I have money saved. I can now command considerable sums for my figureheads. We have talked, Isabella and I; she is willing to sail with me to New England to begin a new life.’
‘Will thou take her as a wife or as a woman no longer respectable?’
I am suddenly angry. ‘In whose eyes, Father, will she be no longer respectable? In yours? I have no use for society if it judges her. She was sold off to an old man …’
‘Thomas, I am not thy judge. God will be that. Doest thou think that by putting an ocean between thee and English society thou will be free of it? It awaits thee with a different face in the colonies.’
‘I love her, Father. I love this woman. She is having my child, your grandchild. I would marry her tomorrow.’
‘Dost thou think Sir Richard will quietly divorce his prize possession for a working man and let thee sail off with her?’
‘She carries my child …’
‘I am sorry, now,’ my father interrupts with unaccustomed bitterness, ‘that I sent thee to Prince Edward Island with my blessing, for this is the result of mixing too freely with the gentry. Thou hast got above thysen, Thomas. Aye, thou hast money now, saved and well-earnt, but it is as nothing to Sir Richard’s money or Mr Vyvyan’s. Lady Isabella is used to being pampered and waited on. Mr Vyvyan is the squire of this parish. We have worked for him for most of my lifetime. The Welland name will now be blacklisted from all shipbuilding and carpentry, because of thee, Thomas. God knows what thy mother will say.’
‘I cannot believe Mr Vyvyan will ruin you or the village for a thing I have done, Father. You know they have always done well out of us. We build faster and more competently than any firm round here and our prices are more than fair. It would not make sense …’
‘Sense has nothing to do with it, son. Betrayal, everything. Sir Richard trusted thee with his wife.’
I hesitate. ‘Pa, I cannot leave Isabella alone with this. I came only to warn you, not to run away from him. If I have to face him I will. I am not a coward.’
‘Thomas, thou hast made a fool of an old man without an heir. Thou hast fornicated with his wife and she is having thy child. He will not be able to hold his head up for he has been cuckolded under his nose. He will believe the world laughs at him. That damn figurehead will be a bitter travesty for evermore. Keep away from him. Keep away until thou knows how the land lies.’
I drink my tea and begin to eat my pasty for I feel suddenly weak and light-headed with shock.
‘I must sleep, Pa. I have ridden all night and I cannot think.’
‘Aye, sleep. I will say nothing and thou must do the same, Thomas. Thou will need sleep, for Sir Richard will come to find thee, of that I am sure. I must go to my work now.’
I get to my feet. ‘Father, if I could undo this, I would. I cannot regret Isabella, ever, but I regret the situation I have put you … and her in. She thought I might abandon her.’
‘Some might have. What is done is done, son. Go to thy loft and sleep.’
As Ben turned to go down the hill to the quay he had one hope left. A frail hope, but he clutched at it.
Chapter 63
Gabby’s car had given up from lack of use, so Nell drove Gabby to the station to catch the train back to London. She rushed off to buy Gabby magazines and papers, mineral water and chocolate. Ever the farmer’s wife, she imagined Gabby would starve to death between Penzance and London.
Gabby laughed. ‘Nell! I’m not on a train to Outer Mongolia!’
Nell snorted. ‘I know British Rail, or Great Western, whatever they call themselves. They either put on an empty buffet car or run out of everything before you reach Plymouth.’
Gabby hugged her and boarded the train. ‘Take care, Nell … I enjoyed our few days, pretending we were tourists.’
‘So did I, lovie. Don’t work too hard.’
‘I won’t. I’ll ring you …’
The train started to move slowly forward and Gabby leant out, said quickly, ‘I love you Nell!’ Then her head disappeared.
Nell was startled. She watched the long train snake out of the station and run along the track parallel to the sea, a little shimmer of heat haze hovering above the carriages. She and Gabby had never gone in for endearments or declarations of love. They had never needed to. She went slowly to her Land Rover where Shadow sat in the back panting sadly. She adored Gabby and hated it when she went.
Nell drove away from the station and out onto the dual carriageway. She intended to shop while she was there. She deliberately put away the sliver of unease, for she and Gabby had had such a happy week, getting back to normal after Josh and Marika had left.
Gabby felt sick. To her right the waves were grey and large, full of seaweed. A winter sea. The train stopped at signals and Gabby glanced left out of the opposite windows and glimpsed Nell’s Land Rover on the dual carriageway, with the shape of Shadow in the back.
She had the sudden eerie sensation of catching sight of a life she once shared from the disembodiment of a train. Seeing people blow along a sea wall walking dogs, heads bent against the wind, and knowing it could be her walking there and a stranger glimpsing her from a train window with a sense of recognition.
When Josh left, Gabby and Nell had decided they would have ‘outings’. Every day they would drive somewhere different. The Tate at St Ives. Barb
ara Hepworth and the myriad of small galleries and shops in the small coastal villages which were possible now that the hordes had left and schools were back.
They had sat by the sea and eaten leisurely lunches in Mousehole and Trelissik Garden. They had bought bulbs and plants for the front garden and taken long walks on different coasts. One day they had driven to the Lost Gardens of Heligan to see how the excavation of the Victorian Garden was progressing.
‘Isn’t it odd,’ Nell had asked, ‘how we just stopped going to places when Josh left home?’
‘I suppose we got busier, Nell. Took on more work and forgot to play.’
‘Elan used to call it Cornwallitis. This tendency we all have down here to get locked in and enervated by the weather and being so far from everything …’
‘Like agoraphobia; the distance just seems too great.’
‘Exactly.’
Gabby had picked up on Nell’s depression, so un-Nell-like that she made her promise to have a check-up to make sure it did not have a physical origin.
Gabby knew there was no way she could avoid hurting Nell and it made her feel desperate. The thought of losing her altogether … Gabby could not believe in a life without Nell somewhere in it.
There were notes all over the house from Mark and he had had a telephone line installed with an answer-phone. ‘I needed to know I could talk to you any time and mobile phones are extortionate.’
Gabby had collected flowers on the way home and she filled vases with them and roamed round the house feeling flat and lonely. Mark had booked an open ticket back because he couldn’t gauge how much time he would need.
She had one answer-message on the new phone. ‘I guess you’ll be home about five, sweetheart. Glad you’ve been having a good time with Nell. I’m not sure how long this is going to take. Inez has moved to New York, so I shall probably take an internal flight to see her. I want to talk to the kids first. My lot are great at Chinese whispers … I’ll ring you tonight … Oh, I nearly forgot, Gabriella. I’ve left something out for you on my desk. Directly under the photo of Lady Isabella pinned on the board. I think you’ll find it interesting.’
Gabby went and switched on the kettle, then walked over to Mark’s desk. He had photocopied two passages and made various notes for her. It was difficult to read as the original couldn’t have been clear after so many years and different hands had scrawled in the margins.
With the first entry, Mark had written on a separate piece of paper beside it: ‘John Bradbury checked this in the Parish records for me. Thomas Richard Magor was born on April 15th 1867 in the Parish of St Piran, but baptized in the parish of Mylor, near Falmouth, where presumably he grew up. But look at these photocopies, Gabriella. I found the entries for these two vessels at the Public Record Office in Kew. I then checked the Certificates of British Registry, plus Lloyds List information and merchant shipping movements at Guildhall Library. I was looking for something quite else!’
Gabby looked down at a register with a list of ship’s details arranged alphabetically. The year was 1883.
So the owners were Richard Magor, Isabella’s husband, and Thomas, their son. Gabby turned to the second document. The Morwenna was holed off Scilly when her load of wood shifted in a storm in 1884. Four of the crew died and the rest were rescued by lifeboat. They were Master S Budd, First Mate; L Wyatt, Second Mate; and Thomas Magor.
Richard’s son, now aged seventeen.
Gabby picked up the last document Mark had copied.
Gabby leant back. Goosebumps broke out all over her arms. Another ship named Isabella. Another Tom Welland. She looked up at the photo of the figurehead, stared at the sad and haunting face. Oh, Isabella, you and your Tom Welland must have had a child! Oh, God! What happened to you both? Your son was baptized with Richard’s name but he changed it later. Gabby brought her hands to her mouth.
I want to know. I want to know what dreadful thing happened to you, Isabella. Because it did, didn’t it? What made your son change his name suddenly? Gabby thought back quickly. Richard Magor must have been dead by then. Was it only then that Isabella’s son found out who his real father was? Oh, such a tiny glimpse of a story contained in that dry ledger.
She got up and paced the room. Oh, if only Mark was here. I want to talk to him about this. I long to know what really happened to Isabella and we’re never going to know, are we?
Gabby stared and stared at the face on the pin-board above her. Reached up and touched it with her finger. It was as if the air in the room shifted and deflected and took her to the sick moment of Isabella’s disgrace. This familiar face she had so lovingly restored. This face pulled up from the sea would haunt her forever, unless she knew.
She remembered the day in the cemetery and shivered. You want me to know, Isabella. You want me to know.
Mark had written: This perhaps explains why we could find so little reference to poor Isabella in the close-knit villages of Mylor and St Piran. I am so glad we found her and restored her to her rightful place, Gabriella.
Gabby looked out of the window and sighed. So, Isabella’s son Thomas changed his name and called another ship after his mother.
Chapter 64
Richard did not return home that night or the next. There was no word from him or Tom. Isabella felt ill and weak with anxiety. She felt sure that Richard would have gone to St Piran to find Tom or to tell her father of her disgrace.
She felt powerless over her own fate. She had wanted to tell Richard what she felt the night he wept. How deeply she felt for the kind and generous person he was. But she did not love him like a wife and these were words she could not say.
On the third day the winds turned the bay choppy and squalls of rain hit the windows so that Isabella was trapped indoors. She was standing at the window when she saw Trathan ride in through the woods and take his horse to the stables. She knew he would have been sent with a message from Richard and she went downstairs to wait in the drawing room with a quailing heart.
It was not Mr Trathan who came to find her, but Lisette. She looked pale.
‘My Lady, I am to pack you a case. You are to go home to your father.’
Isabella stared at Lisette and said coldly, ‘Lisette, I am not a child or a horse or an unwanted thing to be sent back to my father.’
Lisette compressed her lips. ‘Even so. I do not think you are in a position to argue. Trathan is to accompany you to St Piran where your father’s housekeeper will meet you.’
Isabella was suddenly, unaccountably angry. ‘I will not be dismissed like a servant, Lisette. I will wait until my husband returns. He must have the courage to dismiss me himself.’
She went to her desk. ‘I will write a note for my father and one for Sir Richard. Would you ask Mr Trathan to make sure they are both delivered?’
When the clouds cleared Isabella pulled a cloak around her and walked across the garden. She felt this bitter anger that must have been lying inside her for some time. She was considered mature enough to marry an older man, yet she was treated like a child when all went wrong, bundled back to her childhood home.
Out in the air her head began to clear and she considered the choices she might have. She did not yet know if Richard would divorce her. She did not know how much of Helena’s money was settled on her when she married Richard. She knew only one thing. She must have a safe place to live until her baby was born.
She trusted Tom but she did not know what pressure he was going to be put under. She knew she must have something to bargain with.
She cupped her arms round her stomach. Perhaps this new wisdom came with the life she was carrying. As she stood looking out over the bay, she felt a little flutter, a movement as slight as a breath. She knew it was too soon for the baby to move, it was no more than a tic in her cheek or the touch of a light finger on her skin, but the full impact of carrying another life hit her with all its force. Whatever she did, wherever she went, she would be responsible for this life.
There was somethi
ng admirable about Ben Welland, Richard thought. He managed to be courteous without being servile, but he was nervous.
‘Where is your son, Tom? Has he scuttled off somewhere safe?’
‘No, Sir Richard, he will not hide from thee.’
‘Then he is a fool. Does he not know I can break him, make sure he never works again?’
‘Aye, Sir.’ Then Ben said softly, ‘He has wronged thee.’
Something in the way Ben Welland said, ‘Aye, Sir’ infuriated Richard. He caught the inflection and the meaning. You may stop my son working here, but Thomas can work anywhere in the world.
He banged his fist down on his desk. ‘Does he also realize that I can stop all work in the shipyard tomorrow? I could make every damn one of you redundant.’
‘He knows, Sir.’
‘And what have you to say to him about taking your livelihood away, Mr Welland?’
Ben looked him in the eye. ‘I think it right that my son should suffer, but not innocent people who work hard and have never done thee wrong, Sir. They know thee as a fair man and a good employer and they will not understand why thou art judging us all by what my son has done.’
‘You are telling me that no one knows of my wife’s disgrace except you and Tom?’
‘I give thee my word. Even my wife does not know.’
Richard looked at him in silence. Ben’s word was good enough.
‘Keep it that way, Ben. I mean that. Where is your son?’
‘He waits outside.’
‘Get him in here, then.’
Ben stood there for a moment longer then said gruffly, ‘I hope thou doest not blame me for this … tragedy, Sir. I was that shocked, mysen. Thomas has wronged thee and I am sad and sorry for it. I am not good with words, Sir, I know they don’t mend anything, but thou hast always been more than fair by me … and I apologize for my son. It is all I can do.’
Another Life Page 42