by Nicola Pryce
‘I expected you half an hour ago,’ she said, staring out of the window. ‘Leave us.’ The footman closed the door and Mama turned to us. ‘I have written to Lady Clarissa, telling her how charmed we were by her son, and Lieutenant Carew has written very effusively to thank me, telling me how much he enjoyed his visit and inviting us to dine on board HMS Circe, on Saturday.’ She looked up, her frown returning. ‘The rest is up to you, Charity. I expect you to leave him in no doubt as to your pleasure in the prospect of your union. You will tell him how much you want to meet his mother and how much you look forward to enjoying his sister’s company.’
Charity’s hand trembled in mine. She turned pale. ‘I’m… I’m sorry, Mama, but I can’t do that.’
‘What?’ Mama looked incredulous. Charity never refused anything.
‘I can’t marry him and I’m sorry but I won’t go to his ship either.’
I stared at her in disbelief. She was standing so firm, her chin held high, resignation not defiance showing on her face. Taking both her elbows, I swung her round, not caring if we had our backs to Mama. ‘Itty, don’t be afraid,’ I whispered. ‘He likes you, I know he does. He’ll be kind to you – he’ll make you happy.’
She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. ‘I can’t, Cici. You know I can’t.’ She reached forward, kissing my cheek, pulling herself free from my grip. ‘Mama, Celia must marry Lieutenant Carew. There’s clear attraction on both sides – it’s Celia he has regard for, not me. She must marry him.’
‘Itty?’ I suddenly understood. She heard me tell him I was not going to marry Viscount Vallenforth – our talk of Venus. She had not seen how his eyes softened when he looked at her. ‘Itty, you silly goose…don’t you realise—’
‘That’s enough.’ Mama held up her hand, her eyes brittle and cold. ‘I don’t care which one of you marries Lieutenant Carew, because the other will marry Viscount Vallenforth. Perhaps Charity’s right. I think I may have underestimated her charms – judging by the way that major falls at her feet. Vulnerability can be very appealing. Perhaps, Celia, you should marry the Carew boy and Viscount Vallenforth should spend more time with Charity. I’m sure she would better fit his expectations of an obedient wife.’
I thought I would scream. I saw his thin mouth, the whip flashing. If I refused to marry Viscount Vallenforth Mother would make her take my place – my beautiful, vulnerable sister handed to him on a plate. She could never run away. Every night she would lie waiting for the sound of his footsteps.
‘No, Mother! Absolutely not! You know what that brute will do to her.’ I held Charity to me. ‘You wouldn’t hear her screams. No-one would. Everyone would be looking the other way. It’s disgusting.’
‘Celia, that’s enough.’
‘You’d sanction that? Just so Father can get his peerage?’
‘Then it must be you, Celia. You still have the ring and you’re still engaged.’
Panic clouded my thoughts; I had to think clearly, persuade Celia of Frederick Carew’s regard for her. Then I could plan my escape. Once Charity received her invitation, an engagement must follow and I would run away. It would be easy. I would slip unseen from the house, take the path past the cottage, the shortcut across the park. I would go to Fosse, search the harbour. If Arnaud was not there I would go to Madame Merrick.
The door opened and Mama turned her icy-calm eyes on Father as he limped across the floor. Charity was so ashen, I thought she would faint. Until Mama gave us permission, we could not sit. ‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ said Mama coldly. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’
Father slumped on a chair, staring back at her with reciprocal dislike. ‘I’ve just received an express,’ he said, scowling.
‘I know. The horse’s hooves made an appalling mess of the gravel.’
‘Important business calls me back to London. I can’t delay.’
‘You’ll be back for the wedding, I presume?’
Father sniffed, wiping his handkerchief across his forehead before blowing his nose. ‘The weather warrants just one journey. We must bring the wedding forward and the whole household must return to London within the week.’
Mama looked down at Saffron, kissing him on the nose. ‘That won’t be possible. The wedding will take place as planned on Friday week, in St Mary’s Church, Truro… followed by a ball in the Vallenforth’s town house. The invitations have been sent.’ She looked up with barely concealed loathing. ‘Every family of consequence has been invited. There will be upward of fifty guests so your business in London will have to wait.’
‘I think Viscount Vallenforth would agree to bring the wedding forward.’
‘Men do not organise weddings.’
They glared at each other and, for once, I was grateful for Mama’s intransigence. Father had obviously not known the wedding plans were so well advanced. I would need a dark dress, perhaps a black one; maybe one of Mrs Jennings’. Soon I would be free from them all. I would wake to the sound of seagulls; feel the swell of the waves. I would be in his cabin, watching him through the door. He would be pouring coffee or squeezing lemons and would turn and smile. I tried not to blush. My dreams were too vivid, too full of yearning.
All at once I understood. I knew how a woman could know she loved a man, quite so much, to be prepared to give up everything.
For the first time in my life, I took notice of how the maids came and went. Parlour maids and ladies’ maids slid quietly through the main doors if they were carrying trays, but under-maids entered only through the servant doors. Timing would be crucial. Between two and three in the morning seemed a good time. ‘Shall I do yer hair now, m’ lady?’
I nodded, my mind elsewhere. I would need a bag, big enough to take my treasured possessions – my silver brush and comb, my mirror, my jewellery, my mother-of-pearl fan and, definitely, my bird compendium. But first, Charity must be assured of Frederick’s affection. She had stood up to Mother with such bravery, putting her own happiness before mine. I heard her stick tap against the washroom door and I leapt from the chair. She looked distraught, as if she had been crying. The maid left and she burst out, ‘Cici, you mustn’t marry Viscount Vallenforth.’
‘You silly goose, of course I’m not going to.’ I led her to the safety of my heavily draped bed. ‘I wish you could see the way Frederick looks at you – it’s like there’s no-one else in the room. He’s clearly enamoured by you and shows only the friendliest regard for me – I can’t bear you to think otherwise.’
‘You really think so?’
‘I know so. He’s perfect for you – he has presence, Itty. Under those boyish looks, he has gravitas. He’s an intelligent man and he’s clearly honourable.’
‘But that doesn’t help you…the thought of my own happiness is selfish…it’s you I worry about.’
I squeezed her hand. ‘Once Lady Clarissa’s accepted you and Frederick’s proposed, I’m going to run away – and not to China.’
She looked terrified. ‘You can’t…you’ve got nowhere to go! You’ll be brought straight back.’
‘No I won’t, Itty. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. Madame Merrick will hide me, I know she will. There’s so much more to her – she’s an émigré, you know.’
Charity’s jaw fell. ‘How do you know? Why is she a dressmaker if she’s an aristocrat?’
‘There’s something she’s hiding, but I trust her. She would never give me away. And it won’t be for long…when you’re safely married, I’ll come to you.’
I had to lie. I had to cross my fingers and blatantly lie to my dearest sister who deserved better. I almost told her the truth. I wanted to tell her everything about Arnaud Lefèvre and how much I loved him, but too much was at stake. Charity would just about sanction me running to the safety of Madame Merrick, but she would never approve of me running away with a man I barely knew. To ensure our safety, I must keep my secret to myself a little bit longer.
Chapter Twenty-six
Pendenning Hall
Tuesday 19 November 1793, 12:00 p.m.
Father’s cruel eyes filled my dreams. I was being chased down twisting alleys, held up before a court accused of a crime I had not committed. I was pleading for my life. I had not poisoned the Polcarrows – Father was accusing me of something I had not done.
Mrs Jennings put her head round the door. Behind her, a maid carried a tray. ‘How are you, my dear? Charity tells me you’ve a headache.’
‘I’m practising for when I am a viscountess. I intend to have a lot of headaches and I’ll take laudanum, just like Mother – no, don’t shake your head – I’ve seen the vial by her bed. Did you know I’m to wear Arbella’s wedding dress? We’re not even going to have the pleasure of visiting Madame Merrick again.’
‘Celia, dear – you look so pale. You haven’t been eating. Here, I’ve brought you some broth.’
‘Thank you – put it down there, please.’
Mrs Jennings lifted the lid off the silver tureen, the smell of rich broth turning my stomach. I screwed up my nose, picking up a slice of bread and going straight to the window to open it wide. The birds were still on their ledge. ‘Collared doves are more beautiful than white doves, don’t you think?’ I said, crumbling the bread to entice them down. ‘I don’t know why they stay. Why don’t they fly while they have the chance?’
Mrs Jennings came to my side, slipping her arm through mine. She was watching me, not the birds. ‘They’re very beautiful. Thank goodness the rain’s passed – that was quite a storm last night.’
The folly was shrouded in grey mist, the top arches lost to sight. ‘Why do you stay, Mrs Jennings? Why don’t you fly when you’ve the chance?’
‘What a strange thing to say.’
‘I mean it.’
‘My home’s with you. I don’t want to be anywhere else. The regard I have for you and Charity goes far beyond my personal wishes.’ She spoke softly and I turned, leaning my head against her shoulder, letting her hold me. She was the one in need of comfort, not me. I could see her heart was breaking. ‘Ten years is a long time and I’m not ready to let you go.’
‘You mean you don’t want me to go to that brute of a man – you’ve heard the rumours and I can assure you they’re all true.’
‘If you’ll have me, I’d like to come with you. I’ll write my resignation letter to Lady April and I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.’ She was fumbling for her handkerchief, turning away so I could not see her tears. ‘Come, Celia, drink this soup – don’t let it get cold.’
The doves would not fly down if I was there, I would watch them from the table. The soup was lumps of white chicken, floating in a congealed pea-green sea. I pushed it away, rolling the bread between my fingers. I had no appetite and took Mrs Jennings’ hand in mine, drawing her to the chaise longues so we could watch the doves. Everything had changed. She was no longer my governess; she was offering to be my companion and I knew how difficult it must be for her to choose between the two of us.
She must have read my mind. ‘Charity will be very happy with Lieutenant Carew. I was watching them from the terrace. They look so well together, and he’s certainly a very charming man.’ Her smile filled her face. ‘I’ve just had the very great honour of reading her his first letter. He writes very tenderly, assuring her of his great regard.’
‘A letter? Just now? Oh, I’m so happy for her. We only hoped to respect our husbands – but to love them seemed an impossible dream. It’s terrible to witness your parents’ hatred – they can barely look at each other. Why did Mother marry so far beneath her?’
Mrs Jennings hesitated, avoiding my eye. ‘I try not to listen to gossip.’
‘But you read the newspapers. It’s alright, I already know. Burlington Hall is in need of repairs, the estate’s woefully neglected. Grandfather’s an inveterate gambler – and so’s my uncle. Fathers’ growing fortune and limitless ambition was clearly enough to persuade Mother. She knew her family name would buy him honours – it’s just taking longer than she thought.’ I could only think of her as Mother now, Mama seemed too benign.
‘She’s only done what most women have to do. Women need to secure their futures – and the future of their children. Passion may keep you warm at night, but when it’s over, cold can kill. Try not to think badly of her, I believe she has your best interests at heart.’
‘I doubt that.’ It did not matter, I no longer cared. I would be free of Mother soon. The fire was crackling in the fire place, the room warm despite the grey day outside. It was not like my room in London; in Richmond I had my own belongings, here everything still seemed to belong to the previous owners. ‘What happened to Mr Pelligrew, Mrs Jennings? You must have asked – it would’ve been your first thought when we arrived. I know it was mine.’
She stood up, straightening her skirt. I could see I had unsettled her. ‘By all accounts he was a very pleasant and forward-thinking man, but he ran into terrible debt.’
She stopped. ‘And?’ I prompted.
‘His schemes cost money. He was looking to dredge the river and build a new harbour. All I know is that to finance it, he decided to sell his shares in your father’s company and take a mortgage on the house.’
‘Why did he want a new harbour?’
‘He realised the clay on the Polcarrow estate was the finest kaolin – he had it tested. He knew anyone mining the clay would need to transport it to the potteries in the north and the sea was the best option. He was a very clever man.’
‘So why did he go bankrupt?’
‘He didn’t go bankrupt. He mortgaged everything, believing he would recoup the money once the harbour was built. He invested in a dredging company but had a terrible accident. He was found drowned in the river.’
My heart began thumping. ‘A dredging company?’
‘He must have been inspecting the creek and slipped. Your father held the mortgage on the house. He had also lent him a considerable sum of money for the dredging – he was the main creditor. When the extent of his debt was revealed, your father did the kindest thing and wiped the slate clean. He took the house and grounds and settled Mrs Pelligrew in a very comfortable house at his own expense.’
‘Where?’
‘Near here…but she was inconsolable and went mad with the grief. Are you alright, Celia?’
No, I was not alright. My hands were trembling. Father knew about the clay and had lent Mr Pelligrew money to invest in a fabricated dredging company. Phillip Randall must have lured Mr Pelligrew down to the creek and held him under the water with those sinewy hands. Phillip Randall would have been so plausible and Mr Pelligrew had fallen for it entirely, giving them all his money. Father could enter parliament from a borough with two members and stay in London while Phillip Randall saw to the land deals. The clay would be theirs.
My mind was whirling. I could remember now – the names, the whispers, the hidden newspapers. ‘Mrs Jennings, that man last year…the one who came to Father for help? Mother hid the newspaper from me but I had already read the headline. He went missing, didn’t he? Father bought his company off him and the man was never seen again.’
‘Mr Arthur White. They say he left for America. His wife went mad with grief.’
‘And before that? The ginger-haired man who waited outside the house? Who kept shouting that Father had ruined him? He was going to take Father to court. What happened to him?’
‘It never went to court.’
‘Convenient, wasn’t it? What happened? Did he drown?’
The colour drained from her face. ‘Celia, stop this.’
I felt faint with fear. ‘Does Mother know Father’s a murderer?’
She grabbed the chair for support, her knuckles white. ‘Celia, this is madness.’
‘Don’t you see?’ I heard a slight movement and looked around. Georgina was standing at the door.
‘You’ve to hurry and get dressed. Lieutenant Carew’s ship’s been given orders to sail. He sends his apologies but asks if tea would
be convenient. Mama says you’ve an hour to get ready.’
Mrs Jennings ran to pull the bell. ‘Have you told Charity?’
‘Yes, she’s already dressed.’
‘Go to her, Mrs Jennings,’ I said quickly. ‘Make sure she wears her lemon dress and cream bonnet. And stop staring at me, Georgina, the wind will change and you’ll be left looking like one of those hideous gargoyles on your cottage.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was to be just the three of us. Father’s stamping backwards and forwards across the hall, thumping his stick on the marble floor had been to no avail. Mother was not going to be summoned at such short notice and yet another headache kept her from joining us. We were halfway to Fosse, Father slumped in furious silence, his foot resting on the seat next to me. Charity sat opposite, her face glowing with nervous excitement. We did not dare speak in front of Father. I could hardly bring myself to look at him.
The face of a killer, not that he would ever do the deed himself; he would pay others to do it for him. So much made sense now; his friendship with Robert Roskelly, his sudden acquisition of the Pendenning Estate, his entry to Parliament. No, I could not look at him. If I looked at him, he would see the accusation in my eyes.
We watched the park give way to woodland, the dry riverbed widen behind the trees. The rain had obviously been very heavy. Pools of rainwater collected in the ruts forming deep puddles along the road. We splashed through some, avoided others, the horses slowing to a steady walk. As the carriage drew near Fosse, Father straightened himself and glared through the window at the passing townsmen. One by one, they turned their backs on us. No wonder they hated Father. I hated him. Hated and feared him.
The crowd grew thicker and our pace slowed. The coachman urged the horses forward, the whip cracking in the air above. Our pace turned to the barest crawl. Around us people began jeering and I felt the stirrings of uneasy fear. Charity gripped her shawl.
‘Bloody peasants, blocking our way.’ Father banged his cane against the roof, his signal to go faster. ‘Draw the curtain.’