The Consul's Daughter

by Jane Jackson

  Caseley looked away, her eyes filling even as she smiled. ‘They all insist they don’t mind. Rosina said it was a lovely thought. But what they never had they can’t miss. And none of them will be a party to anything that involves selling the house or the yard to give them a few pounds. All three are prepared to work for nothing if we can keep a roof over our heads.’ Clenching her fists on the desktop, she raised her head to meet her uncle’s concerned gaze. ‘We must go on.’

  For the rest of the day she immersed herself in work, making notes of matters to be discussed with Toby.

  After one of her consultations with Richard over fees and cargoes, she paused in the doorway of his office, hugging a leather-bound ledger against her chest.

  ‘On my way here this morning I saw Cygnet leave.’ She strove to sound casual.

  ‘Mmmmmn,’ her uncle nodded, still studying a page of figures. ‘She’s gone up to Penryn to load granite for London.’

  ‘Do –’ she cleared her throat. ‘Do you know if Captain Barata found a ship to take that quicksilver to Mexico?’

  Richard glanced up. ‘What? Oh, yes. Fox’s had a barque due to leave the day you got back. They delayed it until the next tide to allow enough time to transfer the cargo.’

  ‘That was good of them.’

  ‘It was. Do you have a note of the date of Lloyd’s final inspection of Fair Maid?’

  ‘Yes. It will be in the diary.’

  ‘I’ll send Sam for it.’

  ‘Give me ten minutes.’

  When Sam brought in the afternoon mail, Caseley was puzzled to find a letter addressed to her from solicitors, Knuckey & Son. She knew of them. They had an excellent reputation. But as far as she was aware they had never handled any of her father’s business.

  The envelope was heavy in her hand and she could feel an object at the bottom. As she slit open the envelope, tension tightened the back of her neck as possibilities raced through her mind. Was Ralph really going to contest the will? Had Thomas and Margaret taken legal advice, and now planned to cause more trouble?

  Removing the thick folded paper, she tipped the envelope and a key slid out onto her palm. As she recognised it her heart leapt into her throat. Her fingers closing on the key, she read the letter. Then she read it again.

  Though couched in polite terms the words amounted to an order. The following day she was required to go to the house of Captain Jago Barata on Greenbank Terrace to ascertain whether all the work ordered by her had in fact been completed. A key was enclosed.

  She could not go back there. It held too many memories, too many poignant reminders of her foolishness. The wounds had only just beginning to heal. And yet …

  She had loved the house. Its indefinable atmosphere had captured her imagination. Choosing colour schemes, selecting wallpapers and fabrics, searching shops for furniture to complement each room had given her such pleasure.

  Could it really do any harm to take one last look now all the tradesmen had finished? To see at least some of her ideas translated into reality? But what if Louise Downing had had her way? No, she wouldn’t have. Jago had said as much. Jago.

  At least she would be alone. Alone to remember, to think of what might have been, to bleed. Why should she put herself through that?

  When she reached home that evening she had still not decided whether to go. As she took off her bonnet and cape in the hall, she could hear Rosina and Liza-Jane gossiping beyond the open kitchen door.

  ‘She ditched ’n for Redvers Edyvean.’

  ‘She never!’ Liza-Jane gasped. ‘He must be sixty if he’s a day.’

  ‘He also got two grocery stores in Falmouth and one in Penryn.’

  Despite her tiredness and all the weight on her mind, Caseley could not help smiling at Rosina’s dry retort as she rubbed stiffness from the back of her neck.

  ‘Well, that wasn’t the story I heard,’ Liza-Jane said amid a clatter of dishes. ‘My cousin Doreen do work for Mrs Bowden who live next door to that place of his up on Greenbank.’

  Caseley froze, unable to breathe.

  ‘Doreen couldn’t help but hear the row. Going at it something terrible they was. He was mad as fire that she had turned up at his house uninvited, and about her going down the yard asking questions about who he’d took to Spain. He wouldn’t let her in past the hallway. He said she had no business there, and she wasn’t never to come back. She was screaming and yelling.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t put my tongue to some of the things Doreen told me. But the gist of it was that she’s gived him a bleddy good time and he didn’t have no right to cast her off like a bleddy old shoe. He told her she wasn’t in no position to complain. She’d started it, and she knew the rules. It was finished, he said, and if she had any sense she’d take the fifty pounds and keep her jealousy to herself ’cos she had most to lose and his patience was running out. Doreen said it all went quiet then. Next minute she seen Louise leaving. That was last week.’

  ‘She certainly didn’t waste much time,’ Rosina commented. ‘I reckon she’s putting it out about she and old Edyvean. She always done the dumping before. Fifty pounds, eh? I’d say she done all right.’

  Caseley’s heart was beating hard and loud as she went upstairs to her room. Closing the door she leaned back against it. Jago had ended his relationship with Louise. Momentary joy evaporated as she realised it made not the slightest difference. He had left her first. He appeared to be severing all connections.

  That had to be why the solicitor wanted all the loose ends neatly tied up. Was he selling the house? Would he still sail Bonython schooners? Or when Cygnet returned from London would he cut that last link with Falmouth and disappear to a new life in some other part of the world? Selling his interests in Spain would make him a very rich man. He could go wherever he chose.

  After another virtually sleepless night and a morning during which she found it increasingly difficult to focus on the piles of papers covering her father’s desk, she made her decision. She would go to the house. She must, to exorcise the past.

  Because she would be out of the office for the afternoon she told Richard about the letter. She expected him to comment or ask questions, but he simply nodded.

  ‘Don’t worry about coming back. It’s been a difficult time for you. Take an hour or two for yourself.’

  ‘Are you all right, Uncle Richard?’

  He glanced up, but only for a moment. ‘Perfectly. Why do you ask?’

  ‘You look a little flushed. I hope you haven’t picked up Aunt Helen’s cold.’

  ‘No, I’m perfectly well. If I don’t catch you before you go, I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Lunchtime came. Too tense to go home and risk Rosina’s sharp eyes, Caseley went to Clara Powell’s teashop on the corner of Church Street. Unable to face eating anything she ordered a cup of hot chocolate. Its soothing warmth loosened some of the knots in her stomach.

  She paid off the driver. The cab turned in the middle of the road and headed back towards the town centre.

  Caseley walked up the granite steps onto the pavement that ran high above the rutted road and walked along to the house. She hesitated at the open gate at the bottom of the path. A single rose bloomed in the weed-choked bed. The moss on the flagstones had been scraped off by the constant passage of feet.

  The outside of the house was transformed. Within freshly painted frames, sparkling windows reflected the sunshine. The gossamer ropes and dead spiders had been swept from the porch and the steps scrubbed. So glossy was the black front door with its new porcelain knob and polished brass knocker, Caseley could see herself reflected in it. No longer shabby and neglected, the house looked proud, imposing. Like its owner.

  She stood in the porch, fingering the key. Were it not for the letter she wouldn’t be here. But now that she was, she might as well take a look.

  She unlocked the front door. It opened without a sound on newly oiled hinges. Shutting it behind her she stood for a moment in front of the closed inner do
or. It was not too late. She need go no further. She drew a slow breath.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Opening the inner door she stepped into the hall. It smelled fresh and new. She saw gleaming paintwork and new frosted glass globes with fluted tops on the gas mantles. Cream embossed paper added light and dimension to the space. The terracotta tiles glowed.

  Her chest was painfully tight. As she pressed one hand to her breastbone she realised she had been holding her breath.

  It was less than a month since she had followed Jago Barata into this house. Virtual strangers, captor and hostage, they had talked that day of childhood and loneliness, of destiny and courage and being true to oneself. That day she had begun to love him. What a blind, stupid fool she had been.

  Tears gathered on her lashes and spilled down her cheeks. She clenched her fists. Why persist in this self-torture? How could she escape it? In spite of everything she loved him still. She should not have come. She could not have stayed away. Nor could she leave, not yet.

  She walked slowly through rooms freshly painted and newly papered. Curtains complemented carpets on floors that had been sanded and varnished. Comfortably furnished, the rooms were not cluttered and so appeared lighter and more spacious than they really were. It was exactly as she had imagined.

  Though she had walked in reluctantly, her heart had said home. She had seen through the neglect, and felt the house waiting. Unoccupied for too long, it needed people to bring it back to life.

  Her breath hitched and she swallowed a sob. In such a short time her life had changed irrevocably. Her father was dead and she had not had time to mourn. Too many people needed her: Toby, Uncle Richard, Rosina. She hadn’t seen Ralph since the day of their father’s death.

  She walked into the master bedroom and looked at the pretty paper echoing the green and white flower-sprigged tiles surrounding the fireplace. Trailing her fingers along the gleaming foot rail of the brass bedstead, she stared at the bed’s bare springs and saw white sheets, piled pillows, and her father’s face contorted, then waxen as death smoothed away his pain.

  She gripped the rail, her knuckles white and aching as she recalled Jago talking of his children yet unborn, mocking her blushes, angry for reasons she did not understand. She shook the rail, making the metal springs shiver and squeak as anguish tore her throat.

  How was she to cope? Ralph, Aunt Margaret, Uncle Thomas, no money in the bank, the house to run, the business to manage … How could she go on? How could she not? Sinking onto the bedstead, she rested her forehead on her hands and abandoned herself to grief.

  The sound of footsteps on the landing outside jolted her upright, dashing away tears with one hand while she fumbled for her handkerchief with the other.

  If one of the workmen had returned for something he’d forgotten, she didn’t want to be discovered weeping. They would know about her father. But they also knew about Louise Downing.

  The door flew open.

  ‘No.’ She barely heard her voice through the roaring in her ears. Black spots danced across her vision and the room swayed.

  Then Jago’s arms were around her and her tear-wet face lay against his broad shoulder. Hearing the thunder of his heartbeat she wondered why it was so fast.

  ‘Don’t, Caseley.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘Please don’t cry. I can’t bear it.’

  She felt him kiss the top of her head. Then he rested his cheek against her hair, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe. It was a dream. She would wake up in a minute and he would be gone. But the warmth of his body, his unique scent, and the pressure of his arms were no mirage.

  Easing his hold he tilted her chin. Looking into his face she saw exhaustion in the shadows under his eyes and strain in the lines that bracketed his mouth.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered. Then his mouth covered hers in a kiss of such aching tenderness that fresh tears slid down her temples and into her hair. Holding her fast with one arm, he cupped her face gently with his free hand and kissed her again and again.

  He was here. He did care. Everything else could wait. She put her arms around him, felt his warm breath on her cheek and heard a soft groan. At last he raised his mouth from hers.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Caseley’s voice was husky from weeping. ‘I saw Cygnet leave.’

  ‘Under Nathan’s command.’ He rested his face against hers. ‘I arranged for him to pick up another crewman at Penryn.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I had business here. With you.’

  Caseley loosened her hold enough to lean back and look into his eyes. ‘What business? And how did you know I would –?’

  ‘Be here? I instructed Mr Knuckey to write and send the key. I hoped you would want to see the house finished. Come, sit down.’

  Allowing him to guide her to the window seat with its padded cushion that matched the curtains, Caseley sat with his arm around her shoulders. She recalled her uncle’s reaction.

  ‘Uncle Richard knew.’

  Jago nodded. ‘I have spent a lot of time with him this past week. Once I explained my plans he could not have been more helpful.’

  She stiffened at the implied betrayal. It was happening again. Jago Barata was prying into her family’s affairs behind her back. And her trusted Uncle Richard was helping him. She tried to draw away but his arm tightened.

  ‘No, Caseley, you must listen.’ She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with his own. She could not fight. Instead she welcomed his gentle exploration, deeply moved by delicacy in his touch, stirred by the powerful emotions she sensed he was holding back. When at last he raised his head, they were both breathless.

  ‘I had to talk to Richard. I needed an honest assessment of the shipping agency and the yard’s present position, financial status, and future potential.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want to buy it.’ He placed his fingers gently on her lips to silence the refusal her eyes signalled. His next words took her breath away.

  ‘If I asked you to marry me before I bought the business, you might – you probably would – assume my proposal was simply a means to get my hands on the yard. But if I already own it, that objection is void. If you refuse to sell, I will accept your decision. Instead I shall put into the business the equivalent of its market value. We will be equal partners.’ A wry smile warmed his eyes. ‘You would never settle for less.

  ‘Richard will run the agency as he has always done. We will appoint a new accountant. The yard remains as it is, including the name. But Thomas goes. I will buy his share separately and give him a fair price.’ Anger hardened Jago’s features. ‘But neither he nor that poisonous wife of his will ever set foot on Bonython property again.’

  Caseley stared at him. ‘Is there nothing you don’t know?’ Then like the sun appearing from behind a cloud she realised. ‘Is this why you sold all your interests in Spain?’

  He shrugged. ‘What better reason could I have?’

  Gently freeing herself she stood up. He rose as well, but did not follow as she walked to the window, rubbing her arms. It was too much to take in all at once.

  ‘Caseley, please. Say you’ll marry me.’ He was not used to asking for anything and it showed. ‘I’ve been out of my mind since you left Cygnet. I’ve spent most days with Toby, learning about the yard. I’ve nearly driven him mad.’ He drove a hand through his black curls. ‘Every evening I’ve been with Richard, going over the books. You mustn’t be angry with them. I threatened them with dire consequences should they let a word slip.’

  She felt a pang of sympathy for her uncle. It was not easy to stand against Jago Barata. In truth, it was impossible.

  ‘I paid the tradesmen large bonuses to ensure everything was completed quickly while maintaining the standards you had set.’ He joined her at the window. ‘This house needs you. You belong here. I saw it that first day. Everything you’ve done here,’ he gestured, ‘the colours, the furnishings, I didn’t know the house could look and feel so �
�� so like a home. You couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t cared.’ He raised his hands in silent supplication.

  Still, she did not answer.

  ‘Is it Louise?’ He started forward, stopping abruptly as she moved back. ‘It’s over. I ended it the day we got back. It never meant anything. I’m thirty-four years old and I’ve never been married. Of course there have been – liaisons.’ He took two quick steps forward and grasped her shoulders. ‘But I have never loved, until now. Until you.’

  And there it was. She stood calm in his grip, unafraid despite his strength and the seething emotions he was wrestling. He loves me, she thought in wonder.

  ‘You once said there was no comparison between Mrs Downing and me.’

  He shook his head impatiently. ‘There isn’t.’ He studied her, frowning, and she saw the moment he realised. ‘Oh God. Caseley, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It hurt,’ she admitted.

  ‘There’s no comparison because she can’t hold a candle to you. No woman could. Don’t you understand? I love you. I’ve fought it every inch of the way. I didn’t believe – There had to be a catch. I’ve always done as I pleased. But every time we were together I realised how different you are from the women I’ve known.’

  ‘Defiant, argumentative, disobedient,’ she smiled up at him through her tears. But this time they sprang from relief, and happiness too great to contain. He loved her. Jago loved her.

  ‘Brave, beautiful, spirited, and loyal. I’ve treated you badly –’

  ‘No –’

  ‘Yes. But I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Caseley, please be my wife. I need you. Come and live with me here.’

  She laid her hand along his cheek, felt the warmth of his skin through the close beard. ‘What about Rosina and Liza-Jane?’

  ‘What about them?’ He was impatient. ‘They’ll come too, of course. We’ll need them, especially when the babies come. And Ben. That back garden is a wilderness. There’s a ruined cottage under the brambles by the back wall.’

  ‘About Ralph –’ She watched his face set.

  ‘He is not your responsibility.’