by Nicola Pryce
Bodmin
Saturday 23rd November 1793, 4:00 p.m.
The parlour downstairs was rather cosy. I had never sat in a parlour before but I liked the simplicity of the open fire. One wall was kept as stone, the others painted with limewash. The assorted colours in the rug seemed cheerful and inviting and the chairs were comfortable, the cushions plumped up every time we left them. A shaft of sunlight filtered through the window.
‘It’s easier to come from the top – if you pull your thread upward, you can’t loop the bottom stich so easily. Here, let me show you again – you’ve nearly got it.’ Hannah watched carefully, taking hold of her embroidery again. ‘Yes, just like that. Now, thread it round the needle and pull it back…but make sure you pick up that bottom stitch. There, perfect.’
She smiled. ‘I said Mamm would love ye – she loves anyone teaching me to be genteel. Ye needs learn from them, she says. Poor Mamm wants me to be a lady. Oh bollocks – I’ve got blood all over it.’
The door opened. ‘Ah, Hannah, yer stitchin’s coming on lovely.’
‘She has real talent, Mrs Hambley, very dainty and lady-like.’
Mrs Hambley beamed with pleasure. ‘Ye really think so, Miss Wells? Well I’ll be blest. Did ye hear that, Hannah? Ye get as dainty an’ lady-like as ye can get. I’ll take that tray, shall I? Mr Reith said four o’clock an’ he’s never late. That’ll be him now – clear yer stitching, Hannah.’
Hannah winked as she rose. Alice was blushing. Had she really no idea of Matthew Reith’s feelings?
‘Go on through, Mr Reith, the ladies are waitin’. Ye knows yer way.’
He had obviously been rushing, his face was flushed, a sense of urgency ruffling his usual composure. He bowed to us in turn, but his eyes rested on Alice. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’d have liked, so much, to be with you. Are you alright?’
She smiled sweetly, her hair catching the light, her green silk gown shimmering round her. ‘I’m very alright, thank you, Matthew.’ Her voice seemed more timid than before, as if she was shy of him for the first time. ‘I feel nothing but relief and I wasn’t alone, Celia was with me – we’ve become very well acquainted.’
‘Good, I’m glad,’ he said, turning much sterner eyes on me. ‘I think I owe you an apology, Miss Cavendish. I checked the tides and you were right and I’ve been talking with Sir James.’
‘That’s wonderful – how is he?’ cried Alice.
‘As well as can be expected, he’s in a private cell which’s something, at least.’
‘And Rose?’
‘She’s very angry, but as well as can be expected.’
‘I’m sorry…I interrupted you…please go on.’
He turned back to me. ‘It’s apparent you do have a habit of doing this sort of thing. Sir James is very grateful for your concern – he told me of your ridiculous flight to Falmouth, but I take it you saw the error of your ways?’
‘I came straight back. The journey home was uneventful.’
‘No Spanish galleon full of gold coins? No damsels needing rescuing from pirates?’ There was not even a flicker of amusement in those grey eyes. It was a shame, he had a pleasant face but his scowl was his most noticeable feature. He turned to Alice. ‘It’s good news – we’ve won the right for a trial by jury.’
‘I thought you said Sir Richard would never give way?’
‘He nearly didn’t. He claims his powers are absolute and, legally, that’s true. He does have the right to apprehend and imprison anyone without further trial but they’ve made a grave error. The indictment accuses the Polcarrows of corresponding with the enemy – not just sedition and spying. It’s in the wording and as clear as anything.’
‘But why can that be good?’
‘That charge – since May this year – instantly invokes the charge of high treason. I showed them the act itself. Sir Richard’s furious, but there’s nothing he can do.’
‘But high treason’s terrible.’
‘It sounds terrible, Alice, but, actually, it isn’t.’ His voice softened. ‘It sounds like the worst possible outcome but it’s better for us. Anyone accused of high treason is entitled to a full trial with a defence council and a jury of twelve men… and what’s also good is that our witnesses will be under oath. That’s not usually the case and it’s vital.’
‘Have they agreed?’
Matthew opened his bag, rummaging through the many papers. ‘Sir Richard’s livid but he knows I’m right and he can’t contest it. If he refuses, he knows I’ll call for Habeas Corpus. Parliament hasn’t suspended Habeas Corpus yet – though I suspect it’s on the cards. Either way, they have to allow for a trial.’
‘But treason, Matthew?’ She put her handkerchief to her eyes. ‘They’ll hang if they’re found guilty. How could anyone charge James with treason?’
Matthew Reith’s eyes cut mine. ‘It’s a case of Crown versus Polcarrow, but we all know who’s behind it.’ I felt hot, the terrible reality making my stomach churn. I had to look away, unable to bear those piercing eyes. It was as if he knew how father worked, how the crown prosecuted and disposed of his victims. His voice turned hard. ‘Every witness I call will be sworn under oath. Are you prepared to stand witness, Miss Cavendish? To have every newspaper salivate over the scandal? You’ll be ruined. A daughter giving evidence against her father – it’s unheard of.’
My mouth felt dry, my heart thumping painfully. It would ruin my family – my sisters and brother thrown like lambs to the wolves; one injustice bringing on another, my family tumbling around me like a pack of cards. No wonder people kept silent. No wonder eyes were closed, ears were shut. ‘Of course I don’t want that,’ I said. ‘Do you think me so stupid? But Sir James was good to me and Lady Polcarrow is my friend. If that’s what it takes to stop my father hanging innocent people, then I’ve no choice but to stand in the witness box.’
Alice reached over and took my hand. Matthew Reith sniffed, clearly taken aback. ‘Well I doubt it’ll come to that. I won’t call you, Miss Cavendish, unless I absolutely have to. I’ve better witnesses and I think, in all honesty, you’d be laughed out of the dock. No-one will believe you.’ He took out a sheaf of papers. ‘Here’s our copy of the indictment. I’ve gone over it, again and again, and can’t find anything I can legally challenge. We’ve five days from yesterday to prepare our defence – any time after that and we could be called to court. They’ve the right to withhold the names of their witnesses but we know from Miss Cavendish, if we didn’t already know, they’ll be false witnesses and paid for their trouble. We’ll get the names of the jury at least two days before the trial so we can see if they’ve been especially chosen. It’ll be just a matter of proving the witnesses are lying – they’ll slip up, they always do.’
Alice smiled shyly at me, as if in apology. ‘Have they heard of your reputation, Matthew?’
‘I hope so.’
‘James has so little trust in the judicial system. There’s so much corruption out there.’
‘Corruption and ignorance – both about the presumption of innocence and the need to prove a case beyond all reasonable doubt.’ He paused. ‘Are you still determined to take the stand, Alice?’
‘I’m prepared to tell them everything – about the poison, why James had to pretend to be ill. I’ll tell them everything, whatever it takes.’
‘I hope it doesn’t come to it, but I must prepare you if it does…’ Again, more rummaging through the leather bag. ‘These are the questions I’d ask you. Read them carefully and think through your answers.’ He handed her a closely written page. ‘Oh, and before I forget, this’s for you, too…it’s a letter from Francis. Mother’s written as well. The children are very settled and Francis has taken to fishing.’ He smiled and my heart melted. Yes, he was just what Alice needed.
Hannah knocked on the door, popping her head round before we answered. ‘Can ye stay for supper, Mr Reith? Ye better say ye can as Mamm’s gone to so much trouble. Suet dumplings with apple an’ cu
stard an’ raisin crusted scones. There’s chicken pie, too, but she knows ye likes yer puddings and says ye need feeding up. Ye must stay.’ She smiled angelically, leaving before he could answer.
I was clearly not the only one with my thoughts.
Chapter Forty-two
Bodmin
Sunday 24th November 1793, 10:30 a.m.
Hannah burst through the door, grabbing her embroidery, throwing herself on the chair. ‘Tell her ye want me to stay,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t be doing with chapel this morning.’
‘Ah, Hannah, there ye are. Not ready? We’ll be late… where’s yer bonnet, love?’
‘Is that the time already?’ she sighed. ‘How time flies when ye’re having so much fun. I can hardly bear to put this embroidery down an’ Miss Wells, promising to teach me how to be lady-like – ye know, offering me deportment lessons an’ all.’
‘Deportment lessons?’
‘Ye know, walking round with a book on me head, riding crops under me arms. How to get in an’ out of a chair – stuff like that. So I catch the eye of a rich man an’ marry well!’
Mrs Hambley was clearly torn. ‘But, what about chapel, Hannah love?’
‘Would it be very terrible if she stayed, Mrs Hambley? We do so enjoy Hannah’s company. We were thinking of practising her curtseys, but if you can’t spare her…’
Mrs Hambley’s frown faded. ‘No, Miss Wells…ye just go on as ye are. Learn her what ye can.’
The door closed and Alice looked up from her sewing. ‘I’m not sure which of you is worst and on Sunday as well! I thought girls loved going to church to get a glimpse of their young men.’
‘Ye don’t get to glimpse anyone at chapel. If ye did, ye’d be scolded and taken home and beaten – not by Mamm, she couldn’t scold no-one, but Mrs Best would do it. Besides, we need to visit the well.’
Hannah rolled away her embroidery and began searching the sewing box, drawing out a jar of pins. ‘We needs wish – all of us – but don’t tell Mamm. She’s not one for the well.’ She held up the jar, shaking it firmly. ‘Take a pin, that’s it, anyone what catches yer eye.’ She offered us the jar in turn. ‘Now, bend it slowly and when ye bend it, make a wish. Any wish. Just make sure ye’re wishing as ye bend it. Like this.’ She closed her eyes, her lovely face turning serious. ‘There… now ye do it.’
‘Hannah, really, it’s almost pagan.’
‘’Tis no more than betting on two horses – me dad always did that and he always won! No-one’s watching…give it yer all, wish and bend ye pin.’
I held the pin between my fingers. I had only one wish. So, too, must Alice. We both closed our eyes, bending the pins. ‘This is nonsense, Hannah.’
‘No it ain’t,’ she said. ‘Ye’ll see – it’ll come true. Now, who’s coming to the well?’
We let Hannah go by herself but she took our pins and assured us they would work just as well. Alice went to her room to write a letter and without Hannah’s chatter I felt strangely lonely, immediately regretting I had not gone with her. I felt restless, the beautiful sunshine drawing me to the garden. It was unseasonably warm for so late in November and I stood under an apple tree, the foreboding presence of the goal adding to my unease.
The kitchen door opened and Mary came shuffling out, two baskets of produce grasped in each hand. The baskets were fully laden and obviously very heavy. ‘Here, let me help,’ I said, rushing to her side. ‘They’re very full.’
‘The last of the potatoes – that’s for the prison…an’ that’s for the alms-house.’ She smiled shyly and began staggering down the path.
‘Let me help. We can go together.’
‘That’s kind of ye,’ she said, putting them down. ‘The alms-house is just down the road.’
The back lane was dryer than before; the mud was caked, cracking down the centre. Behind the prison the hill rose gently. Sheep were grazing the higher moorland, gleaners picking over the newly cut corn. Young boys were chasing away the crows. A small stream followed the contours of the vale, a slight breeze blowing from the west. Church bells were ringing. We reached a wicket gate. The alms-house looked neglected; slates were missing, the windows cracked. ‘I won’t be a moment. Best ye wait here.’
She opened the gate and walked up the path, knocking loudly on the arched door. The garden looked tended but picked of all fruit, the once-neat rows of vegetables churned and yellowing. A single pig rooted through the mud. Mary gave the basket to a white-haired man and ran quickly back, chased by the pig. ‘He nearly got me last time,’ she said, her toothy grin making her look so much younger.
It seemed so strange. I had always wanted to be free, walk the streets, carry baskets and laugh about the simplest of things but as Mary took my baskets and smiled her goodbye, I felt strangely empty. I needed Hannah’s laughter to keep me buoyant; left to myself my sorrow felt almost overwhelming. It was as if I was only just coming to terms with Father’s cruelty. I missed Charity and Mrs Jennings so much. I was missing my life before any of this happened.
I pulled my cloak round me and took a deep breath. No. I did not miss being traded like chattel, Mother’s constant control, her vicious tongue, her resentment of our youth. I did not miss Father’s vulgarity, his boorish manners or his cruelty. I must not despair; Charity would marry Frederick and I could live with them.
The bells were still ringing, the street quiet. A woman was sweeping the steps of the bakery. Empty buckets hung on their ropes, and a huge pile of bricks lay guarded by a growling dog. I passed the White Hart and stopped for a cart, glancing back at the inn. I glanced again, but my eyes had not deceived me. Jacques was sitting by the window, his fingers drumming the table as if he was waiting for someone.
What was Jacques doing so far from the sea? Was he here to watch me? Who was he waiting for? Excitement made my heart race. It was always the same – the terrible need to fulfil my curiosity. Lowering my head, I entered the door of the inn and pushed through the crowd.
He was dressed for town; fawn jacket, tricorn hat, his hair tied neatly behind his neck. One hand was holding his tankard, the other resting on the table. He reached inside his coat and drew out a watch, frowning as he put it back. Taking one last gulp, he rose and gathered up his bag, reaching quickly for his coat. He wiped the froth from his mouth and I stood quickly back, hiding behind the wooden partition as he passed. I watched him mount the steps to the rooms above.
It had been so fleeting, one moment later and I would have missed him. I glanced at the clock, a half past twelve. My heart was racing. How long would somebody wait?
Hannah gathered up the tea tray. ‘Yes, definitely. Put it straight into her hand.’
‘Did she ask any questions?’
‘No, just took it and thanked him. Offered him some food but he thought it best not to stay.’
‘Will you thank him again? I can’t tell you how grateful I am. Are you sure it was Mrs Jennings who took the letter?’
‘Honest, I promise. Adam always tells the truth. He said he handed it to straight to Mrs Jennings, so ye can be sure she got it.’ She smiled and turned.
‘Hannah, before you go. What coaches come here on Sunday? Around twelve o’clock?’
She looked surprised. ‘No stagecoaches, but private ones come all the time. The stagecoach comes Monday, Wednesday and Friday – that’s Falmouth to Exeter. Takes two days… they dine going Exeter-way and sleep going Falmouth-way.’
‘So only private coaches come here on Sunday?’
‘If there’s trade, or someone’s willing to pay, they come any time…the Truro coach comes ’bout that time…and Yoxall’s wagon from Padstow arrives ’bout twelve. The wagons come and go all hours, but no stagecoach.’ She balanced the tray on her knee and opened the door. ‘Cotton wharf’s wagon comes about two and there’s one what leaves for Launceston about then. The Fosse coach leaves at four.’ Her smile had faded. ‘Ye’re not thinking of leaving us, are ye?’
‘No, not at all.’
S
he smiled again, ‘Good, because Mrs Thomas likes having ye here. And if ye’re not giving evidence, shall I get us a place to watch the trial?’
‘Thank you, Hannah, I’d like that.’ My mind was racing. Truro or Padstow?
Chapter Forty-three
Bodmin
Monday 25th November 1793, 11:00 a.m.
‘You’re very restless this morning, Celia, walking about and staring out of the window. Come and sit down, you’re making me dizzy.’
‘There’s so much to watch. That inn’s so busy – night and day. I wish I had a map. You don’t suppose they’ve a map, do you?’
Alice put down her sewing. ‘Why do you need a map?’
‘I’d just like to know where we are, that’s all…and where Padstow and St Ives are…and where Truro is. I don’t know anything about Cornwall – just where Fosse is. I can’t believe I didn’t study the maps when I had the time.’
She smiled. ‘I’ve stared at a print of Cornwall for so long, I have it by memory – here, let me draw it for you.’ She crossed the room, sitting elegantly at her writing desk, dipping her pen into the ink. ‘It’s long and pointed, a bit like this. It starts with Launceston about here and Plymouth’s almost directly below. Here’s Fosse, down here…it’s more like this really, and Bodmin’s here – almost in the middle.’
‘And Truro…and Padstow?’
‘Truro’s further down…at the top of this river which goes to Falmouth,’ she smiled. ‘You know Falmouth, I believe, but Padstow’s up here…’
I looked at her map. ‘So Bodmin’s exactly midway between Fosse and Padstow?’
‘It’s right between everywhere – you can see why all the turnpikes lead through it.’
I stared at her map. Not Truro. Jacques would have sailed to Falmouth and gone upriver. ‘What’s Padstow like?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. This is my first time even in Bodmin – Robert never allowed me to go anywhere…’ Her voice hardened. ‘Not to a single ball, a single concert. But I believe Padstow’s a fishing town – it has a harbour. Why don’t you ask Hannah?’