by Nicola Pryce
‘Take care, Charity, keep hold of the rail. It’s the first floor and the steps are quite steep.’ Mrs Jennings took Charity’s arm and started walking towards the steps. I would have followed but a beggar caught my eye. He was lying on a filthy coat under the overhang of the building opposite – an old man, rough and unkempt, his left leg amputated below the knee, the left arm of his jacket hanging empty by his side. He was looking down, mumbling, no doubt asking for alms. I was holding a purse of money to buy Georgina some ribbons and felt suddenly compelled to give him something – a farthing, at least.
Mr Randall joined me as I crossed the yard. ‘Miss Cavendish, I advise ye not to.’
I opened my purse, retrieving two farthings. ‘A farthing or two, Mr Randall, surely you don’t begrudge him so little?’
The man’s head was bowed, his hand lying across his heart. He looked up and sudden shock stopped me in my tracts. I stared back at him, holding the coins tightly in my hand, reluctant to let them drop. He was a beggar, yes, filthy, definitely. He was crippled and unkempt, but he was not desperate. There was no vacant stare, no hollow lack of hope. I threw the coins down and walked away. As I climbed the steps, my heart was hammering.
Madame Merrick was deep in curtsy. ‘Miss Cavendish, this is such an honour. Elowyn, take Miss Cavendish’s cloak.’ She looked unusually distraught, glancing down to the courtyard below. ‘I am so sorry, Miss Cavendish, that beggar will be the ruin of my business. I have asked him repeatedly to leave and I cannot apologise enough. My establishment is for genteel ladies and his presence is very distressing.’ She had clearly prepared for our visit. She was wearing a very fine blue gown with lace foaming round her neck and cuffs. Her hair was immaculately curled, a cluster of feathers dancing above a silver hair pin. On the table a glass punch-bowl stood in pride of place, five delicately etched glasses hanging from the rim.
‘The beggar’s no consequence,’ I said, smiling at the warmth of her greeting. I nodded at the girl taking my cloak, ‘We’ve slipped from Mama’s clutches and that’s all that matters.’ Charity and Mrs Jennings looked shocked, but I did not care. I loved this place, part shop, part warehouse, with its polished tables, tall looking-glasses and cabinets filled with every type of ribbon. I loved the neat rows of lace, the spools of thread, the chatter, the excitement, the feeling of freedom it gave me.
‘Good day, Miss Cavendish, Miss Charity, Mrs Jennings.’ Mrs Pengelly curtsied.
‘Ah, Mrs Pengelly, how lovely to see you – I hope that punch is for us.’ Mrs Pengelly smiled and began to spoon the amber liquid into the glasses. The punch smelt strong, full of freshly squeezed lemons and plenty of cognac. ‘We thought you might not be here,’ I said as I took the glass from her.
‘I’m glad to tell you ’tis very good news. My daughter and Sir James show signs of recovery and we’ve every reason to believe they’re on the mend.’ She smiled shyly. ‘But you’re quite right – I have stopped working here. I’ve only come to help Madame Merrick with Miss Charity’s gown.’
We took a sip of our drinks, Charity clearly shocked by the strength of the cognac. It was delicious. Madame Merrick was no fool – the more her customers drank, the more they would spend.
‘Perhaps we should make a start?’ Madame Merrick turned to the young woman who had taken my cloak. ‘Elowyn, bring through the satin, then the Chine and the Pompadour – only be careful, they are very delicate…so carry only one at a time. Then go back for the taffeta and the tulle.’ Madame Merrick’s voice softened, ‘This way, if you please, Miss Charity – to the window where the light is better. Tell me, do you see colours?’
I stiffened, watching the blush spread across Charity’s cheeks. No-one had ever spoken so intimately to her before but she smiled and lifted her chin. ‘Yes, I can see colours – if they’re very distinct. With my glasses, it’s a bit better – I see blurred outlines, but I’ll have to take your advice, Madame Merrick, as I’ve no idea what colour I should wear.’
‘You have brought your glasses?’
‘I never wear them out. They’re very ugly and Mama says they make me look a dim-wit. She says my eyes will weaken if I wear them too much.’ Charity did not see Madame Merrick’s eyebrows shoot upwards or the flash of fury cross her eyes, but she heard her sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh, I don’t mind…’ she added hastily. ‘Really I don’t.’
Elowyn came hurrying from the back room, her arms laden with the last of the silks. There were so many – dusky pinks, apricot, cream, soft blue and green, all as beautiful as each other. She straightened each roll, leaving the exact same gap between each of them and stood back, smiling. My eyes were immediately drawn to the end roll of silk, a beautiful soft peach with a shine of its own. Mother’s gown of Persian silk was very similar. ‘That top one…let’s look at that first.’
Madame Merrick smiled. ‘Ah, the shot silk taffeta. Indeed, Miss Cavendish, I thought you would like that one. It’s from Persia, but no doubt you knew that. It’s quite my finest and just the one I had in mind…but the apricot satin beneath is also of the finest quality and the dusky rose comes from Italy…’
Charity’s blush deepened. ‘Perhaps it’s too fine for me?’ she said.
‘Oh, Itty! Nothing’s too fine for you. It’s perfect. It’s the softest, creamiest peach, quite the most beautiful colour you’ve ever worn. It’ll make you look so pretty.’ Charity looked eager, vulnerable, searching our faces, desperate to hear our approval.
Mrs Pengelly began unrolling the delicate material. ‘Miss Cavendish’s right. It’s definitely your colour.’
Mrs Jennings came, smiling, to her side. ‘Feel the quality, Charity. It’s as light as air and almost iridescent when it catches the light.’
‘Shall I choose it?’
Outside, Mr Randall was pacing up and down, banging his cane impatiently against his thigh. He could see me staring down at him. ‘I think so,’ I replied. ‘But just because we think we’ve chosen the right fabric doesn’t mean there might not be a better one. We mustn’t rush. We must look at every roll just to make sure we’ve seen everything. Then we’ll look through all the ribbons and lace.’ I turned away, holding up my glass. ‘And we’ve hardly begun the punch, have we?’
Madame Merrick smiled. There was something in her look – not fierce, not disapproving, but watchful, almost conspiratorial, as if we shared a secret. I smiled, holding my glass carefully as Mrs Pengelly refilled it. I loved this place, I really did. My heart was singing, my mind full of mischief.
‘And when we’ve been through all the fabrics, we’ll go through all the patterns. We’ll need to go through them at least twice – maybe even three times.’
Chapter Twenty
Despite Elowyn’s attempts to keep the rolls in order, the table piled higher and higher, the fabrics cascading to the ground like a pastel waterfall. Madame Merrick held each in turn, praising its quality, explaining the intricate interweaving of warp and weft. I loved seeing them fuss round Charity. ‘Of course we can finish it in three days. You will have this gown by Friday, even if we have to sew all day and all night. Am I right, Mrs Pengelly? A naval lieutenant, did you say? How wonderful, we must make sure you look your very best.’
I stood by the window, watching the crowd dispersing from the town square. I could see the river mouth and the sea beyond. A patch of sun glistened on the sea, lifting it from grey to blue. Several large ships lay docked against the town quay, one flying naval flags, but I was not looking for HMS Circe, I was searching for the fastest cutter in the Channel – home to the man who filled my every thought.
Madame Merrick saw me staring out of the window. She stood behind me, looking across the sea as if searching for the same boat. ‘Miss Cavendish, do you remember the last time you came you asked if there was a circulating library in the town?’
‘And is there?’ I replied.
‘Not as such, but it left me thinking. I thought it might be a good idea to start my own library – just a small selection of nove
ls for those attending my establishment. And, as it happens, I have managed to obtain some very suitable books.’ She held her tape measure in one hand, her measuring pole in the other. ‘Elowyn and I will be quite a while with these measurements. If you like, why don’t you go through to the back? The books are on the shelf in the corner.’
It was not so much her tone that caught my interest but her sense of conspiracy. As if she was telling me, not asking me. I felt increasingly curious, knowing she had waited until I would be unaccompanied. ‘Thank you, perhaps I will.’
The store room was crammed with a criss-cross of wooden shelves, every bit as confusing as a maze. Each shelf was piled high, stacked with rolls of fabric, the tall, dark shelves crushing together, jutting out in all directions. Ahead of me lay the shelf of books and just one glance at them made me smile – they were the highly unsuitable books Mama had banned from our library. A basket lay next to the books and I saw my mended shawl. No sign of the cloak. That must have been what Madame Merrick was trying to tell me.
The rooms were divided by a wooden partition, polished smooth on the shop side but rough on the store side. A tiny hole caught my attention, small enough not to be seen but big enough to look through and I put my eye to it, watching everyone on the other side. Charity looked so happy.
The floorboard creaked behind me and I jumped in fright. A hand slid quickly over my mouth, another round my waist, Arnaud’s cheek brushing gently against my hair. ‘Come,’ he whispered, drawing me deeper into the dark maze of shelves. There was hardly any light. It was cramped, confined, the lack of space pressing us together.
‘You’ve been watching us,’ I whispered.
‘Only you,’ he replied, ‘and it’s been torture, watching you, not being able to hold you.’ His arms slid round my waist, drawing me closer and I looked down, thrilled by his terrible boldness. My wish had been to see him again but never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be like this.
‘Madame Merrick must think me so bold.’
‘She was young once – or so she tells me!’ He leant nearer, his arms tightening around me. ‘Your hat came to no harm, I hope.’ He was so close, our lips almost touching. ‘When I saw your smile…that look in your eye, I knew you’d done it on purpose.’
‘No harm. And it was only luck you were there,’ I whispered.
He laughed softly. ‘Well, you’re not to worry. I’ll chase any number of hats for you.’ I could feel his breath against my lips. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
I felt so alive, every part of me tingling. ‘Arnaud, I think you should know I’m not going to marry Viscount Vallenforth.’
His lips brushed my forehead. ‘Well, I’d rather guessed that might be the case.’
‘And you don’t have to pretend any more. I know who you are and what you were doing.’ I felt him stiffen, pull slightly away. ‘No, it’s alright, I haven’t told a soul. I know you and Madame Merrick are émigrés. I think what you’re doing is wonderful. Rescuing men from the guillotine. It’s very brave and…’ I could no longer speak, he was kissing the side of my mouth.
‘And very foolhardy,’ he murmured, his lips travelling softly down my throat, kissing my neck, behind my ear.
I was alone with a man I was deeply in love with. It was wrong, so wrong. He had chosen our position well – a blind end, blocked from sight, no light penetrating through the rolls of fabric. No room to step away. His arms tightened round me, his lips closing over mine. I could feel the power of his body, the strength of his arms. So this was what it felt like to be kissed. I began yielding, unable to resist, giving way to the pressure of his lips. I could not stop myself, nor did I want to. His kiss deepened and I returned his passion, so powerfully, so completely, overruling all sense of decorum.
We drew apart. In the darkness, his eyes held mine. ‘I’ve something for you,’ he whispered, reaching inside his jacket. ‘Open it later.’ He handed me a small parcel wrapped in gauze and I slipped it carefully down my front. ‘That’s where it belongs,’ he whispered, ‘right there.’ His fingers touched it through the silk of my bodice.
The touch of his fingers, that soft brush against my breast; I was galloping, going dangerously fast. I should control my recklessness, rein it quickly in. ‘Arnaud, I must warn you. Sir Richard Goldsworthy’s watching all foreigners. From now on, émigrés need to register and sign a declaration of arrival at their port of entry. That beggar outside isn’t a beggar – he’s a spy and he’s been sent to watch you.’
Arnaud’s arms stiffened. ‘How d’you know?’
‘There’s no desperation in his eyes, no lack of hope. And his arm’s only tucked beneath his shirt.’
‘Is that so?’ he replied, drawing me to him. I shut my eyes, feeling his lips brush against my forehead, my eyes, my ears. He lifted my chin, bringing me closer, and I realised then that he had been holding himself in check. He kissed me hungrily, deeply, his passion igniting in me such desire, such unrestrained longing, I could not hold back. Suddenly his arms stiffened and he pulled away.
Footsteps sounded behind us, the scrape of fabric being placed on a shelf. Through a small gap we saw Elowyn walking back to the door. ‘Come, Cécile,’ he whispered, lifting my hands to his lips, ‘our precious time is over.’ He kept hold of my hand, leading me back through the maze of shelves and I followed him, my body still tingling from his touch. As I reached the shelves, my heart raced – Mrs Jennings was coming through the door. Somehow, I managed to grab a book.
‘Have you found one? There seem to be quite a few – perhaps I’ll get one for myself.’ She looked suddenly appalled, ‘No, Celia! Not that one.’ In my haste, I had grabbed the first book I could reach. I glanced at it now, Les Liaisons Dangereuses. Mrs Jennings was shaking her head, ‘No wonder you look so flustered. I hope you’ve not been reading it – it’s highly unsuitable.’
She put it back on the shelf as if it might burn her. My body was still on fire from Arnaud’s touch. Poor Mrs Jennings, she need never know I had read it long before Mama had it removed from the library.
Mr Randall looked at his fobwatch and scowled, climbing angrily next to the coachman. The footmen helped us in and stood stiffly on the back rail while Madame Merrick glared furiously at the beggar. Mrs Pengelly and Elowyn were smiling happily, waving as we left. Charity looked radiant. ‘I’m so excited. It felt so delicate and the lace’s so light.’
‘The material’s lovely, but it’s you, Itty, who makes it look beautiful. Lieutenant Carew will be a complete idiot if he’s not to be completely captivated.’
The coach pulled forward and I leant against the window, curious to have a closer look at the warehouse. Arnaud had vanished so completely – appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. He obviously had not used the front steps but there was no door round the other side, just overlapping wooden planks and a series of steps leading to the third floor. A pulley jutted out from an open arch and a covered chute ended about four foot off the ground. But no obvious way in. There must be a back entrance somewhere. Perhaps the secret doors in Pendenning had gone to my head but, either way, it was a good thing the spy only watched the front.
We pulled away from the town, Charity and Mrs Jennings chatting happily. My life had changed. I loved Arnaud Lefèvre so completely. I loved everything about him – his mischief, his energy, his total disregard for propriety. I loved the way he held me, the way he kissed me. I loved his sense of danger, the thrill of the forbidden. Already I ached to see him again.
‘Do you think Madame Merrick’s right about my glasses? You’ve got the name of that man she recommended?’
‘I have it safe. Her lorgnettes are very lovely. He’s in Truro, so that’s very near. A pretty pair of glasses would make all the difference.’
‘And wearing my hair that way?’
‘Absolutely,’ Mrs Jennings looked as excited as Charity, ‘It’s definitely worth a try.’
‘And colouring my lips to draw attention from my eyes?’
As we drove through the gate-house, Charity touched my hand. ‘Cici, you weren’t listening, were you? Did you hear what Mrs Jennings just said?’
‘No, sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Mrs Pengelly has a boy in her charge. He’s been badly beaten and has no family but she’s going to take him in. He’s going to stay with her. Isn’t that wonderful? Mrs Pengelly’s making him a new set of clothes and she’s set to spoil him.’
I stared at the sheep grazing the lakeside. I had never believed in destiny before – people like us did not leave things to chance. We forged our own futures, slicing away the weak, aligning ourselves with the powerful. Chance meetings never happened – everything prearranged. I could not stop smiling. My misgivings about the poor boy could end. He would be fed and loved, good would come from evil.
I was meant to run away. That boy needed a home and my fate was to meet Arnaud Lefèvre. I realised that now.
Shutting my bedroom door, I tiptoed back to my bed and took Arnaud’s gift from my bodice. The gauze was tied with a beautiful blue ribbon, inside a slip of paper and a small silk purse. My hands began shaking as I unfolded the paper.
We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds: my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
I read and reread the words, holding them first to my lips, then to my heart. Picking up the purse, I carefully undid the pearl button, tipping the contents into my hand. It was a silver locket on a silver chain and I held it to the candle, smiling. The front was engraved with a cutter in full sail – L’Aigrette, no doubt about it. It was so beautiful, the etching so delicate, the silver glinting in the candle light. I pressed the clasp to release the spring and caught my breath.