The Captain's Girl

by Nicola Pryce

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  ‘I’m sorry if I wake ye, but Mr Reith’s sent notice he’s to come at four.’ Hannah unfolded the shutters, letting the last of the sun filter through the windows. ‘I’ve a tray with tea and hot buttered scones and Mamm’s making a lardy cake – ’tis Mr Reith’s favourite, what with him being so skinny and that she thinks he needs fattening.’

  I stretched out. She had taken off my shoes and covered me with a blanket. ‘What time is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Just gone two. I’ve hot water ready and I’ve found ye a brush and comb. There’s a towel in the wash room – we’ve a wash room, ye know. Mamm’s very particular about who she takes in. We’ve a bath, an’ all.’

  ‘That sounds perfectly marvellous, thank you, Hannah.’

  She smiled. ‘Mr Reith’s Mamm’s favourite. She offers him the rooms first. We used to have guests for the choosing but since the races stopped, ’tis only the fayres and assizes – and the hangings, of course. I’ll get the water now and show ye what’s where.’ I returned her smile, sitting up to balance the tray on my lap. At the door she turned. ‘Mamm’s going to love ye.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘Because ye’re just the sort of guest she loves. She’ll be hoping some of yer elegance and bearing will rub off on me.’ She paused, her eyes laughing, her mischievous smile lighting the room. ‘Well, if everything is perfectly marvellous, Miss Wells,’ she said, sounding just like Mother, ‘I will leave you to enjoy your tea, but, please, do call me if there’s anything you require.’

  I could hardly bear to put that hateful dress back on. Hannah helped fasten the bodice, her head shaking. ‘Honest to God, ’tis a terrible dress. Ye really don’t want to be seen, do ye? And do ye really want to wear yer hair plain like that? Honest, it’s that awful.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I said, looking back at my reflection. A hideous grey dress, a black shawl and my hair pinned severely down each side of my head. Only my eyes looked like me, the rest could be anyone in the street. Perfect. There was a knock on the door.

  ‘That’ll be Mrs Thomas – she said she’d give us half an hour.’

  ‘Come in,’ I said, rising from the stool.

  Alice Polcarrow was a renowned beauty – how else had she captured Sir Francis Polcarrow? But as she peered tentatively round the door, she seemed fragile and timid. Her auburn hair was still so vibrant, but she looked tired, her thin hands clasped nervously in front of her. She walked slowly towards me, looking intently to see if she recognised me. ‘I’m Mrs Thomas,’ she said. ‘Do I know you?’

  We both glanced at Hannah. ‘I’ll leave ye now,’ she said. ‘I’ll let ye know when Mr Reith arrives.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘You don’t know me, I’m Celia Cavendish,’ I whispered. She gasped, the colour draining from her already pale cheeks. ‘I tried to warn Sir James – I sent him a note.’

  ‘You sent a note? Forgive me if I appear shocked, but why? We believe your father’s behind this, yet you sent a note?’ Her voice was firmer than I imagined. There was bitterness in her tone, anger, resentment. She may look like a timid mouse, but her appearance hid her strength.

  ‘It was intercepted…it never got to you. Father is behind Sir James’ arrest. I know that because I heard him tell Phillip Randall he must find two witnesses to swear, on oath, that Sir James Polcarrow was a French spy. I can’t bear that my father seeks to falsely accuse a man and I’m prepared to stand up in court to tell the judge the truth.’

  She looked shocked, reaching forward for a chair, indicating for me to join her at the small table. She was so much younger than I thought, not yet mid-thirties – hardly older than her stepson. Her manner was gentle, sad, her general air of vulnerability adding greatly to her beauty. ‘Forgive me, but how do you know they’ll be lying?’

  I took a deep breath. My hatred for Father had not clouded all sense. Charity was not yet married and my younger sisters and brother still depended on him. I would tell them only what was necessary, the rest I would keep to myself. Certainly nothing about Father’s involvement in the poisoning; I owed that to my siblings. Nothing about Arnaud Lefèvre, either, I would give him time to leave. I could not live another day if I was responsible for his death.

  ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve run away,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘The first time, I went to Falmouth with your stepson and Rose. I was in the stable when your dog was poisoned and I overheard everything. I’m afraid I gave Sir James little choice though he was very reluctant to take me. That’s how I know they went to Falmouth, not France, and that’s why I’m here – to vouch that James Polcarrow is not a spy.’

  She looked shocked, her beautiful hazel eyes wide with amazement. ‘Does Matthew know?’

  ‘Not yet – not unless Sir James has told him.’

  ‘He hasn’t been allowed to visit James. Honestly, Miss…’

  ‘Wells…’ I replied, looking back at the door.

  ‘They’re treating them as if they were guilty.’ Her eyes filled with tears. Close up, she looked so drawn, dark circles shadowing her eyes. ‘They’re not together. They’ve been separated so they can’t confer. It’s really quite terrible, an appalling injustice.’ She rose from her seat, going slowly to the window, looking out as tentatively as she had entered the room. At once she drew back. ‘Oh no.’

  I rose to join her looking down to the street. It was an excellent view, to the left the centre of town, to the right the distant crossroads and the countryside beyond. ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘You see that man, the one with the green jacket leaning against the horse trough? He’s Marcus Babbinger.’ I must have looked blank as the name meant nothing to me. She looked surprised. ‘Haven’t you seen the articles he writes in the Gazette?’

  I shook my head. ‘I hardly get to read anything, especially local papers. Mother considers them too provincial and never allows them anywhere near us.’

  ‘He writes for the Truro Gazette but he also sends articles to London, to The Times. His articles are scurrilous…he doesn’t name people but he leaves everyone in no doubt who he means. He’s here to dig up scandal about James. He hates James – he’s tried to get him shamed before. He’s a horrible man. It doesn’t matter who you are because anyone’s fair game – he pays people to spy for him.’

  ‘Like Jonah at the London Inn,’ I said, watching him from behind the shutter. ‘Does he know you’re here? Can we trust Hannah and her mother?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. Matthew got her son acquitted. He was up for theft and would’ve hung. We’re safe here, trust me. I think only chance brings Marcus Babbinger to our door. He’s here to watch the stagecoaches – they drop off at the White Hart. If someone rouses his interest, he’ll follow them.’ She stopped at the knock on the door.

  ‘Mr Reith’s just arrived. Ye best be quick as he’s eating all the cake.’

  Matthew Reith had found Jonah listening in the linen cupboard. Whether that gave me credibility or not, I could not tell. Perhaps he was like this with all his clients – he was certainly giving me a rough time and even going over everything without changing my story seemed to make no difference to his frown. ‘How did you get here, once again, Miss Wells?’

  ‘No wonder you’ve such a reputation, Mr Reith,’ I said, trying to sound unconcerned. ‘Out through the servants’ quarters, round the back of the shrubbery, past the folly, through the wood to Polcarrow, across the ford, coach from the Ferry Inn, arrive at The White Hart.’ Please God let the tides tally.

  ‘Are you really prepared to put yourself on that witness stand? To swear the sailors did not take Sir James to France, but took him instead to Falmouth? Forgive me, Miss Wells, but I cannot make sense of your reasoning. You really felt the need to leave your father’s home to stand witness against him? You’ve no faith that I could, perhaps, win this case for Sir James or that your reputation will be ruined?’

  ‘Perhaps I was a bit hasty.’ I was beginning not
to like this man. Strange, I thought I would admire him, but there was something very disdainful in the way he looked at me.

  ‘You run away often, do you, Miss Wells? Are you so bored at Pendenning that you need to seek adventure?’

  ‘Matthew, must you be so strict? I think Miss Cavendish deserves better? I think you’re being very hard on her – she’s not on the witness stand.’ Alice Polcarrow turned to me with a smile. ‘He has the reputation of making even hardened thief-takers quiver.’

  ‘I may sound fierce, Alice, but it’s only so Miss Cavendish knows what to expect. When they let me see Sir James I’ll ask him whether he thinks Miss Cavendish will further his cause or hinder it – but to my mind, Miss Cavendish, your presence is unnecessary. Your parents will be searching for you and with men like Marcus Babbinger about, it can only be a matter of days before your reputation’s ruined for good. I take it you’ve money for your coach back? How much was your fare?’

  His eyes were cold. It must have been high tide and I had absolutely no idea how much the coach fare was. ‘Alright, Mr Reith,’ I said, sighing, ‘if it’s the truth you want, then, no, I didn’t get the coach. Father wanted me silenced…I was indecently assaulted by his steward, Phillip Randall, abducted by his sister – a woman called Augustine Roach – held bound and gagged in a carriage and should still be racing across the country to Maddison’s Madhouse where letters from two doctors would incarcerate me under the name of Mrs Morpass but…fortunately for me, a French spy drugged her, using marrons glacés, and rescued me just in time. We rode across Bodmin Moor in the moonlight…and I waited for the coach so you would think I’d used it. My father believes I’m nicely out of the way and won’t be searching for me…and my mother thinks I’ve eloped and will be petrified of the scandal and desperate for my sister to marry Frederick Carew before Viscount Vallenforth hears of the scandal and cancels our engagement. I shall never marry him. He’s a vicious brute who, by the way, takes great pleasure in beating children – I’m sorry, I left that bit out.’

  Matthew Reith sucked in his already gaunt cheeks. ‘You can stay here until I have discussed the matter with Sir James. And if you promise that Alice will stay safe with you here, and not be taken prisoner by pirates, transported halfway across the globe to be sold as a slave in some foreign land, then I will leave you two together. I’m more grateful than cross for you wasting my time. I’ve moved rooms and Jonah now works for me.’ He cast a glimmer of a smile towards Alice Polcarrow but I saw his eyes soften.

  A chink in his armour. I stood up, pursing my lips. ‘I’ll leave you two together – you must be wishing me away. No, don’t get up. I’ve a letter to write – my governess has been dismissed. Money was planted in her room and she was falsely accused of stealing it. She’s quite alone now, with no protection.’ I left them staring after me but my priority was Charity – dearest Charity. She would be so worried. In the drawer upstairs pen and paper lay ready and a letter was already forming in my mind.

  I just hoped it would arrive in time.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Idipped the pen in the ink. Despite Matthew Reith’s reluctance, I would stay until James Polcarrow was acquitted. No-one knew what Father was capable of, but where could I go then? Certainly not to Madame Merrick’s! I took a deep breath. I would think about that later. I had my jewels, I had father’s blood money and, after all, I could always set up as a piano teacher or governess. I stared at the blank sheet of paper. Did Mrs Jennings go straight to Mrs Pengelly? She must have. She had no money and nobody else to turn to.

  22nd November

  My dear Mrs Jennings,

  Please God you are still in Fosse. I am well and I am among friends. I have everything I need and am not in any danger but I am no longer at Pendenning and my only concern is that Charity is without either of us. As yet, I cannot tell you where I am, but I promise to write again when my circumstances are settled. Neither fear for me, nor scold me, but you must do exactly what I tell you. I have no time for niceties – I must simply give you instructions. Believe me, I know how this will shock you, but I believe it is the only way to ensure Charity marries Frederick Carew.

  Today is Friday. With any luck you will receive this letter by Saturday. Once you have read it, go straight to Pendenning and insist on seeing Mother. Make enquiries first so that you know Father is not at home, or wait for him to be otherwise engaged. Tell Mother that you have written two letters, both of them addressed and left with people in Fosse. One letter is to Viscount Vallenforth, the other to Mr Marcus Babbinger, chief society reporter for both the Cornish Gazette and The Times in London.

  Tell Mother that unless you are reinstated as governess and are seen with her in church on Sunday, the people holding your letters will have every reason to believe your reinstatement has failed or you are being wrongfully detained. Either way, they have instructions to send the letters, immediately.

  Mother fears scandal more than any peasant uprising or invasion from France. Tell her you have detailed everything – the way I used the cottage to meet my lovers; how I remained for thirty-six hours in the arms of the coachman, finally eloping with him when I was confined to my room. It is as far from the truth as you can imagine, but tell her you know of my elopement letter, how I used the servants’ corridors like my Cousin Arbella, and how we made a habit of slipping out of the house to meet our lovers.

  Believe me, you must fear for your safety. Go everywhere with Charity. Insist that Mother allows you to accompany her to Lady Carew at Trenwyn House. Tell her, in no uncertain terms, that if this does not happen, those letters will be sent. Remember to add that Mr Marcus Babbinger pays well and you are confident in your reward from him but, should you disappear, and never be seen again, then the added scandal of how you were wrongfully dismissed and forced into a madhouse would be investigated by him. Either way, the scandal would ruin any chances of a good marriage for my sisters and would end Father’s hope for a peerage.

  My dear Mrs Jennings, I ask you to do this, not for me, but for Charity. Both your happiness and safety depends on this.

  Your dearest friend,

  CC

  I read the letter – it was not perfect, but it would have to do. The room was already darkening, the sun no longer glinting on the window but dipping quickly behind the hill. They would have short days in this vale, not the long shadows stretching across the lawns in Pendenning. Would Mother tell Charity I had eloped? My stomach tightened. I could just see Father leaning against the mantelpiece, telling Mother he was scouring the countryside, following every lead, doing everything in his power to find me. I could hear his well-practised lies, his smooth tongue assuring her everything was being conducted with the utmost discretion and no hint of scandal could possibly arise.

  I sealed the letter using the seal on the desk, but smudging it with my finger to prevent it being recognised. I wrote Mrs Jennings, care of Mrs Pengelly, Combe House, Fosse clearly across it and reached for my cloak, pulling the bell-cord as I blew the ink dry. My purse was still safely down my bodice.

  ‘Ye want something, Miss Wells?’

  ‘Ah, Hannah, yes, two things – no, three. First, do you have a large bonnet I can borrow until I get my own?’

  ‘Ye’re welcome to the one I wear to chapel – it’s that ugly no-one will look at yer.’ She seemed to fill the room with her energy, her smile immediately conspiratorial.

  ‘Does it have a veil?’

  ‘I can add some grey lace to cover yer face completely – wouldn’t be the first time I was asked to do that!’

  ‘Perfect. And is the post office still open?’

  ‘Stays open till ten.’

  ‘Could you take me there?’

  ‘Do ye have money for stamps? Only Mr Reith left ye this.’ She handed me a purse. ‘He says ye’re as like to have no money.’

  ‘I do have money but only a five-pound note. I suppose that would draw too much attention?’

  She threw her head back and laughed. ‘
Lord love ye, Miss Wells, stay close to me and don’t let no-one have sight nor sound of yer five-pound note.’ She seemed genuinely amused, taking hold of my arm, ushering me down the stairs and into the kitchen. ‘Here’s Miss Wells, Mamm,’ she said, pushing me proudly forward. ‘Miss Wells needs the post office so I said I’d take her.’

  Mrs Hambley curtseyed deeply, wiping her hands on her apron, her eyes showing the respect her daughter obviously found unnecessary. She was a short woman, almost as broad as she was tall, her pink cheeks aglow with health. ‘Miss Wells, ye’re very welcome. I hope yer room’s to yer liking. I’m making rabbit pie and I’ve a lovely apple tart for yer supper.’ The kitchen table groaned with produce. Flour dusted a large board, a rolling pin lay abandoned next to a pile of uncooked pastry. It seemed so strange, as if I was seeing everything through new eyes.

  ‘My room’s lovely, thank you. I suppose I need to ask the tariff?’

  ‘No tariff, Miss Wells,’ replied Mrs Hambley, smiling broadly. ‘Mr Reith took all the rooms – paid for the lot, so Mrs Thomas don’t get disturbed.’ She lowered her voice, whispering proudly, ‘Mr Reith knows we say nothing. Honest, Miss Wells, we’re that happy to have ye.’ She picked up her rolling pin, slamming it into the pile of pastry. ‘Don’t ye go taking Miss Wells all over the place, Hannah. Mind ye take her just to the post office an’ back.’

  There was nothing in Hannah’s smile to indicate anything of the sort. She delved into a basket and drew out some lace, pinning it in place on her Sunday bonnet. She handed it to me and winked. ‘Straight to the post office an’ back.’

  We passed through the garden, the hens gathering by the entrance of their henhouse. Hannah linked her arm through mine and we walked briefly down the muddy back path, cutting up through a lane to the main street. ‘Mr Reith can do no wrong in our eyes. Our Ben was guilty – he’d done it alright, but Mr Reith got him off. They couldn’t prove it was him so the jurymen gave him not guilty,’ she said, smiling. ‘He’s going to break our hearts, the lousy toad.’