The Captain's Girl

by Nicola Pryce

  It was not a locket at all, but a beautiful compass, set in diamonds and sapphires that sparkled like the sea. I wiped my eyes, staring through my tears at the four words engraved inside. To China and back.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Pendenning Hall

  Friday 15th November 1793, 5:00 p.m.

  Madame Merrick was as good as her word, bringing the newly finished dress by twelve, finishing the minor adjustments by one. Charity looked radiant, her delicate beauty enhanced by the simplicity of the dress, the soft peach giving warmth to her skin. She seemed to glow, her new curls framing her face, her diamond hair pins sparkling on either side of her brow.

  ‘You look gorgeous, Itty, just be yourself and everything will be fine.’ The footman opened the door to the drawing-room. ‘He’ll be here any minute. Sir Richard’s on the terrace with Father and Major Trelawney’s talking to Mama.’

  At our entrance, Mama’s eyes widened in surprise. Even Major Trelawney stopped mid-sentence and bowed in greeting. I could see his delight in Charity’s transformation. He smiled broadly, stepping quickly forward to offer us each an arm. Outside, horse’s hooves came to a halt and we heard a man dismount and give his reins to the groom.

  Charity looked petrified, the colour at once draining from her face. Major Trelawney smiled, guiding us gently to the fireplace, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. ‘If he’s not good enough, we’ll see him off, won’t we, Miss Cavendish?’

  ‘We certainly will,’ I whispered back.

  The footman bowed. ‘Lieutenant Frederick Carew.’

  He was tall, fair-haired, his broad frame filling the room with sudden vigour. He was in full uniform – blue jacket, white waistcoat and breeches, highly polished boots, his hat held beneath his arm. I searched his face, my heart soaring. He had kind eyes, a gentle smile, perhaps a touch of shyness. No hint of vanity, no sense of cruelty. Bowing deeply to Mama, he turned to the three of us.

  ‘This is Major Henry Trelawney and Celia, my eldest daughter, soon to be married to Viscount Vallenforth.’ I curt-seyed. ‘And this is my second daughter, Charity.’ I held my breath, watching as he bowed to Charity. She smiled, looking so beautiful, her eyes serenely gazing from him to Major Trelawney. ‘How lovely you’re both wearing uniform. I can see the colours.’

  Frederick Carew’s eyes softened. ‘Mother tells me you lost your sight in childhood. I can’t image how awful that must have been.’ There was something in Frederick Carew’s tone which seemed to cut through all pretence, something so honest, so friendly, like a weight lifting from the room.

  ‘Not so awful,’ Charity replied, smiling up at him. ‘I could have died. I can walk and ride and my hearing’s more acute. I can sing and my sense of smell is very good. I’ve got used to having no sight.’ Charity had never spoken so openly. Mama always forbade us to speak of her blindness.

  ‘Charity has a rose garden at Richmond,’ I added quickly. ‘She’s a large selection and recognises them all by their scent.’

  Frederick Carew’s eyes had not left Charity’s face. ‘My sister loves to paint roses. She, also, has a rose garden. Perhaps you grow some of the same variety?’

  ‘I have one very special rose – a Bengal rose, all the way from China. They’re very rare.’

  His reply was interrupted by Father and Sir Richard coming in from the terrace. He bowed to them in turn. Major Trelawney smiled broadly but, even so, did not relinquish Charity’s arm. I put my hand on Lieutenant Carew’s arm, following Mama and Sir Richard into the dining room.

  The table was lavishly decorated, overflowing with flowers and fruit. The glass was gleaming, the silverware shining. Taking our seats, the line of footmen began filling the table with roast venison, ribs of beef, fricassee of chicken, carps in court-bullion. The tureen dishes held white soup, celery and spinach in oyster sauce. There was enough for an army. Mama smiled. ‘I hope you’re hungry, Lieutenant Carew. Sir Richard, I trust there’s something to your taste.’ She handed Saffron to the footman. ‘Eat please, gentlemen. We’re just family.’ She smiled at Lieutenant Carew. ‘How’s Lady Clarissa? Is she well?’

  ‘Very well, thank you. My eldest brother has two sons – they keep her and my sister busy. Amelia enjoys their company.’

  Father put down his empty glass, leaning forward to fork some venison. ‘Been in the navy long? Five years? Six?’

  ‘Five years, Sir Charles. I entered straight from Oxford.’

  ‘What was your degree?’ Chewing hard, he indicated for his glass to be refilled.

  ‘Botany.’

  ‘A naval botanist! That’s a waste of time.’ He took another mouthful.

  ‘I’m not a naval botanist, Sir Charles, but I always enjoy the voyages when we take one.’

  ‘Have you ambition, young man? Want to rise to the top ranks?’

  ‘Certainly, sir, I intend to serve my country to my utmost. It’s an honour to work alongside such brave men.’ He looked at his plate, wondering whether to take his first mouthful.

  ‘I’ve got contacts. You’ve heard of my brother, I take it?’

  ‘Indeed, sir. Most people have.’

  Father sniffed. ‘Who’s your captain?’ He leant forward, stabbing a rib of beef, dripping gravy across the table.

  ‘Captain Edward Penrose, sir.’

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  Lieutenant Carew took a deep breath. I was beginning to admire him – most men would be faltering under father’s grilling. ‘Captain Penrose has suggested I invite you to dine with him on board HMS Circe. He’d consider it an honour.’ He smiled at Major Trelawney, ‘I believe you already know Captain Penrose but, Lady Cavendish, can I persuade you and both the Miss Cavendishes to venture on board?’ His eyes went straight to Charity. Mama was watching.

  ‘Please eat, Lieutenant Carew – you’ve not touched a mouthful.’ She turned to Sir Richard. ‘Is your work proceeding?’ Mama was much more guarded tonight, less flirtatious, though the sight of Sir Richard slowly eating his plate of carp obviously pleased her.

  ‘There’s much to be done. Not just the French, but the Irish. There are pockets of them hiding in this area. We need better surveillance.’

  ‘Bloody United Irishmen,’ growled Father, ‘Papist, the whole damn lot of them. Dammed Jacobins – inciting riot and open rebellion. They didn’t get my vote and never will.’ Father slammed his hands on the table, his clenched fists gripping his knife and fork. ‘The Irish must be crushed before they join forces with the French. We need harsher control.’

  Sir Richard sat back against his chair, swirling the claret in his glass. He took a sip. ‘Harsher control is why I’m here. Immigration may be my avowed purpose, but my government duty is to smother even the merest whiff of revolution. My powers are absolute. Until Habeas Corpus is officially revoked, I’ve the power to hold any violator without bail.’

  ‘Then you must use your powers.’ Father’s face was flushed, his eyes blazing, his fist once more striking the table.

  ‘I intend to.’ By contrast, Sir Richard remained pale, icy-calm. Slowly sipping his wine, his coldness seemed somehow worse than Father’s outrage, certainly more frightening. He seemed to enjoy inflicting fear.

  ‘You have your own court and jury?’ asked Major Trelawney.

  ‘Revolutionary intentions are too heinous a crime to require the ordinary process of justice through the courts.’

  ‘So your power is absolute? You can imprison on suspicion?’

  ‘I have informers and act on their testimony. I can imprison on suspicion and have discretionary powers to apprehend people, examine them, and commit them to prison without further trial. I do not need a jury.’

  Lieutenant Carew looked up, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘But they go to the assizes? They have proper representation?’

  ‘No, Lieutenant Carew, they do not go to the assizes. My powers are absolute. If the case against a perpetrator is treason and witnesses can testify that the state’s security is under threat, t
hen the perpetrators can expect the harshest of sentences. They will hang.’

  ‘That’s exactly what’s needed. Mr Pitt’s got it right – harsher penalties and make them swing.’ Father’s clenched fist reached forward, stabbing another rib of beef.

  I suppose it was inevitable the conversation would be dominated by politics. I tried not to let Frederick Carew see me watching him. He was certainly glancing at Charity, but what did he make of Father’s uncouth manners, Mama’s cold politeness? There was too much food, the large centrepiece blocking any direct vision. My heart sank. Mama nodded to the footman and took Saffron back on her lap, feeding him pieces of chicken from her plate.

  Sir Richard stared at Frederick Carew in cold dislike. ‘Your father’s an assize judge?’

  Lieutenant Carew did not seem surprised by the question, ‘And his father before him.’

  ‘He keeps up to date with government policy?’

  Major Trelawney coughed politely. ‘Lord Carew has an exceptional reputation, Sir Richard. His judgements are considered very sound.’

  ‘Sound?’ Sir Richard raised his eyes.

  A slight flush gave a hint of Lieutenant Carew’s displeasure. A pulse beat in his neck, but his voice remained calm. ‘My father’s reputation for leniency is for those who are starving, not those who seek to undermine the security of our nation. You know my father, Major Trelawney?’

  ‘I’ve met him on a number of occasions. My brother’s estate adjoins yours.’

  ‘I’ve not had the honour of meeting your brother but I know of his reputation. He breeds very fine cattle – I believe my father’s bought several bulls from him…’

  The conversation had at last turned pleasant. Major Trelawney and Lieutenant Carew could talk to each other while at the same time glance at Charity. She was following their conversation, turning first to one and then to the other, smiling when Major Trelawney complimented her on her knowledge of farming.

  ‘How are the repairs to the fortifications, Major Trelawney?’ Father interrupted.

  ‘The place is in a state of ruin, Sir Charles – funds are missing and our job’s the harder for the lack of those funds.’ His accusation hung in the air.

  Father pushed his unfinished meal to one side and reached for his glass. ‘The Corporation work tirelessly for the benefit of this town!’

  Major Trelawney’s eyes grew stern. ‘So everyone tells me.’

  ‘And your Company of Volunteers?’ asked Sir Richard.

  ‘Our list of subscriptions lengthens each day and we’ve no shortage of men enthusiastic for the muster.’

  Mama bristled. ‘That’s hardly surprising! Tell your parents to be careful, Lieutenant Carew – Major Trelawney’s arming the labourers.’

  Frederick Carew smiled. ‘My father’s Lord Lieutenant of Cornwall and my brother’s to be the Lieutenant of Division. The volunteer companies will be under their direct supervision. You’re responsible for the returns, Major Trelawney? What have you found?’

  The savoury dishes were removed. Lemon syllabub, trifle, apple turnover and a rather pale blancmange now vied for our attention. ‘There’s sorbet as well…perhaps you should try a little of everything.’ Mama handed Saffron back to the footman. ‘What will you have, Sir Richard? Lieutenant Carew, some syllabub?’

  The more I saw of Frederick Carew, the more I liked him. His manners were impeccable. He would not be rude, but neither would he be bullied or intimidated. He had counteracted Sir Richard’s criticism of his father and had not buckled under Father’s questioning. He was not as gentle as his boyish looks would have us believe. He had strength, inner resolve. Best of all, he could hardly take his eyes off Charity.

  The head footman brought in the sorbet. Father looked up. ‘Ah, blackberry sorbet, I’ve been looking forward to this.’

  I felt ill, my stomach contracting in distaste. The footman reached forward with the spoon and I held out my hand to stop him. Charity and Major Trelawney did likewise. Father and Sir Richard nodded for more and I could see Frederick Carew sense something was wrong.

  The footman refilled Father’s dish. ‘Splendid – yes more, you don’t know what you’re missing. This is good, my dear, very good.’

  Major Trelawney put down his spoon and turned to Frederick Carew. ‘You ask me what I’ve found? I’ve found a level of poverty far greater than expected. Every house is in need of repair. Buildings are crumbling, rents have been raised. Non-payers are whipped and there have been forced evictions. There’s no provision for common grazing, no land for labourers. No barley is grown to make bread. There are no alms-houses. The sick are left begging, the homeless to wander. Children collect whelks and eat limpets.’ He turned to Father. ‘The Corporation’s failing in its duty and only Sir James Polcarrow’s trying to put things right. He’s instigated the repair of all his cottages and is building others. He has plans for a school, for alms-houses. It would be an unimagined loss if those mushrooms were to kill him.’

  Father’s face matched the purple sorbet. ‘James Polcarrow may masquerade as a liberal reformer but it’s him that needs watching – him and that new wife of his. Her father is a known trouble-maker, a seditious snake. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dying but they’re Jacobins, the lot of them.’ He finally pushed his plate away, draining his glass.

  Sir Richard tapped a small leather case on the table, his eyes hardening. ‘We’re infiltrating Pascoe Pengelly’s meetings and he’ll soon be arrested, but as for Sir James – you must have evidence to make such a claim. I’m here to root out sedition and revolution but the lily-livered abolitionists and reformers I must leave to Mr Pitt.’ He opened the case, taking hold of his gold toothpick.

  One glance at the toothpick and Mama stood up. ‘Gentlemen, it’s time for us to leave you to your port. When your talk of politics is over, please join us in the music room. Celia and Charity have prepared a concert for your entertainment.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Mama swept furiously into the music room, flapping her fan indignantly. ‘That man must go. I’ve had enough of his bumpkin manners. How dare he?’

  ‘Lieutenant Carew, Mama?’

  ‘No, of course not, Celia, Major Trelawney. Criticising your father like that. The man’s an upstart. Pretending to know Lord Carew – I’m sorry Lieutenant Carew had to be exposed to his company.’ She flapped her fan. ‘Celia, open the terrace door, prepare the pianoforte. Charity, are you ready?’ She paced the room, Saffron looking quite petrified.

  I had barely time to arrange the music. A maid brought in a tray of tea, another with two decanters and four crystal glasses. ‘Sir Charles says the gentlemen’s to have their port in here.’

  Mama flapped her fan more vigorously. ‘Oh, for goodness sake! Get me a brandy.’

  I took Charity to the piano. ‘He’s very handsome. He has kind eyes and blonde hair – a bit like yours. He’s very distinguished, very tall, holds himself well. He’s got a lovely smile and he’s kind. I know he is.’

  Charity squeezed my arm. ‘Does he like me?’

  Lieutenant Carew entered the room, his eyes immediately seeking Charity. Yes, he liked her. I only wished she could see his gaze. I could say nothing but watched Mama put down her empty glass and turn with her most radiant smile. ‘Frederick…may I call you Frederick?’ He smiled, nodding his consent. ‘Does your sister, Amelia, play the pianoforte?’

  ‘Yes, we love music. It’s an important part of our family life. Mother holds concerts on the pavilion overlooking the river – people row into the creek and listen from their boats.’

  ‘How very charming. Trenwyn House overlooks the river, does it?’

  ‘It’s on the bank of the River Truro – just round the bend from Falmouth. As children we spent most of our time splashing about in boats, rowing over to Falmouth to see the Navy ships. Sometimes we were allowed on board.’

  I could hardly stop smiling; a musical family, just wait till he heard Charity sing. Major Trelawney and Sir Richard took their seats
. Mama positioned Frederick next to her. The music was in place, Mrs Jennings no doubt listening on the terrace outside. I took a deep breath. Charity knew exactly when to turn the pages. A programme lay on each of the chairs so there would be no need to interrupt. I hated interruptions. When I played, I became absorbed by the music and needed complete concentration.

  My fingers began racing over the keyboard, the notes rising and falling, evoking emotion in me I could never voice. With certain pieces, I found myself aching. Sometimes I would want to cry. Tonight I was playing for Charity and thought my heart would burst. He was watching her, realising how clever she was. She was following the music in her head. I did not even need to nod. She knew exactly when to grip the corner and turn the page. The Haydn Sonata finished, I went on to Mozart. I did not need the music – I had the piece by heart. How else could I do it justice? I just had to remember to breathe. My heart was racing, my mind absorbed by the beauty of the composition.

  I smiled at their applause and Charity took up position, holding her hands in front of her, the hem of her dress shaking against the swirling pattern of the carpet. I played the opening bars and her voice rose with such sweetness, filling the room with a purity that made me ache. The yearning in her voice was so intense it almost hurt to listen. Frederick Carew looked captivated. She smiled shyly at their prolonged applause, blushing as she curtseyed, finally giving way to their collective plea to sing another song.

  At the end of our concert Mama could barely conceal her triumph but Charity’s singing had torn at my heart and I found it hard to hold back my tears. I wanted Arnaud Lefèvre to be there, gazing at me as tenderly as Frederick Carew now gazed at Charity.

  ‘How about some fresh air?’ Frederick Carew was smiling at me. ‘It’s a beautiful night – shall we take a turn round the terrace?’ He held out both arms, leading us away from Mama’s watchful eye. A light mist drifted across the lawn, gathering at the foot of the steps. Above us, stars stretched as far as the eye could see. I thought I would cry. ‘I wish my sister could have heard your concert. I know she’d love to meet you.’