by Nicola Pryce
‘Yes, I know, I meant while he was in London but . . . I wrote to him after Frederick showed us round Circe and I think he took it wrongly. I as good as sent him to join the navy. He was always in awe of Frederick . . . he wanted to be like Frederick . . . he wanted me to be as proud of him as I was of Frederick. I all but sent him.’
‘That cannot be true. My dearest—’
‘It is. I made Frederick sound so courageous . . . I told him the ship’s company were glorious and brave. We had such a short time to wait but Edmund hated London, he was desperately unhappy, and I made it sound like he should join the navy.’ I handed her my letter, my hand shaking.
Her frown deepened, but she shook her head. ‘There’s no reason to blame yourself – you did not tell him to join the navy. You must put this foolish thought aside.’
‘I can’t, Mother.’
‘You have to, my love. Keep this foolish thought in your head and you will retreat back into your world of darkness. You must feel no sense of guilt whatsoever.’
‘Mother . . . it’s not as easy as that.’
‘Yes, my love, it is. Amelia, my dearest child, I cannot stand by and watch you give up a man like Luke Bohenna – a man whom you clearly adore and who adores you in return – for a past, very fleeting engagement.’
‘Mother, it wasn’t just a fleeting engagement—’
‘For a youth who ran away from his obligations? Luke Bohenna is offering you certain happiness. Take a real man’s love – don’t dwell on a past love that was based solely on youthful infatuation . . . and to a man who may or may not be alive. Take Luke’s love . . . grasp it and stop this terrible guilt. It was Edmund’s decision to join that ship. You did not send him.’
I had to sound strong. ‘If Edmund is alive he’ll be trying to come home. Merchant ships can be away for years – we both know ships’ masters keep their crew locked below in harbours so they can’t escape. What if the Portuguese captain is doing that to Edmund?’
‘Set a date, Amelia . . . one year from now – only give Luke some hope.’
I could not breathe. ‘I can’t, Mother. What if Charity gave up on Frederick? What if one of your sons returned to find his loved one with another man? What if Edmund comes back in one year and one day? What would that do to Luke?’
‘Just one month later . . .’
‘For years I’ve prayed for Edmund’s safe return. What if my prayers are finally to be answered? What if fate brought me that letter as a warning not to make a mistake?’
I could see his ship ploughing the waves, Edmund staring up at the moon, the deck rising and falling beneath his feet. The wind was on his cheek, blowing his black curls from off his face. I could see him suddenly so clearly, looking up at the stars pointing him home to me, and to his beloved Pendowrick.
‘Our love was not just a youthful infatuation – it was real, very real. I may no longer be this girl in the painting and Edmund certainly won’t be the idealistic youth who left, but our souls have always been, and will always be, united. I vowed to love him, Mother, and he vowed to love me. And that vow must hold. I must wait for him to come back . . .’ I would not cry. I must not cry.
She put my portrait on the desk, sighing deeply. ‘So the heartache must start again – you will spend your days waiting for Edmund and Luke will retreat into his work and wait for you forever.’
Bethany was waiting at the top of the stairs, her red-rimmed eyes avoiding mine. Mother took her arm and turned. ‘Dr Nankivell suggests we should host the next infirmary committee meeting here, on account of my foot. I’ll make sure you have a moment alone with Luke.’
The lump in my throat made it too hard to reply.
Bethany’s lips quivered. ‘Can I bring you something, Miss Amelia? Maybe some buttered eggs or some warm milk?’
I wanted to curl into a tight ball and cry. ‘Just some hawthorn tea – no buttered eggs.’
Hawthorn heals the heart and lifts the spirit. The pain of loss can be as severe as physical pain. One drop of the tincture to be added to warm water or tea. Alternatively, steep half a teaspoon of crushed dried berries in a cup of hot water, wait ten minutes and sweeten with honey.
THE LADY HERBALIST
Chapter Eleven
Town House, Truro
Saturday 13th January 1798, 11 a.m.
I pulled on my new gloves and picked up my basket. Bethany was well wrapped against the wind, almost swamped by her warm woollen cloak and sturdy boots. She tied the ribbons on her hat and took hold of Mother’s brimming basket.
‘No ’tis not too heavy – though ’tis that full. There’s potatoes and turnips . . . and eggs and apples from the gardens in Trenwyn. There’s cheese . . . and Lady Clarissa wanted me to bring this honey as well as the whortleberry jam . . . and there’s gingerbread for the young lad. You say she’s Portuguese, yet she comes from Africa?’
‘Yes, she sailed from Mombasa . . . and that’s in Africa, but her family were Portuguese. Here, let me take those eggs.’ My basket seemed empty by comparison, just two bottles of cough elixir I had prepared for Sofia Oakley’s son and Papa’s leather gloves which had needed mending for over a year. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot . . .’
Rushing back into the sitting room, I picked up the two bone horses I had wrapped in a piece of fine silk and kissed Mother goodbye. I needed to be out in the air though the wind was fierce as we hurried down the busy street. Market day always brought crowds and though it was tempting to avoid the crush, I wanted to thank Sofia Oakley properly and enquire about her son. She had shown such kindness over my letter and I wanted to repay her.
It was surprisingly deserted, only a few carts on the cobbles ahead. The wind was whistling down the river, the rigging jangling on the ships as we hurried along the quayside. We reached the shop and through the window saw Sofia Oakley and her mother-in-law sitting on stools in front of a glowing grate. Pushing open the door, we were grateful for the warmth.
They rose at once, ‘’Tis that cold, so it is . . . Oh, Miss Carew, what a pleasure . . .’ The elder Mrs Oakley smiled shyly, curtseying before coming to shut the door.
Sofia Oakley also curtseyed. ‘Please, come nearer the fire . . . let me add some more wood . . .’
Though they tried not to, both cast glances at Bethany’s heavy basket. I drew out Papa’s gloves. ‘There’s a small tear in the right forefinger. Mother wonders if you could mend them . . . but really, she’s sent us with this selection from our kitchen garden in Trenwyn. We’re so grateful for your . . . your kindness in going to so much trouble with my letter.’
Sofia Oakley called to Joe to take the basket through to the back. His dark eyes widened in his pale face. He must have been about twelve, wearing the same tight jacket and breeches I had seen him in before. Sofia seemed lost for words. ‘Please . . . this is too generous . . . will you thank Lady Clarissa. Such generosity . . .’
‘You’re welcome to thank her for yourself. I know she would enjoy some company. She meant what she said about you telling her of your travels. I, too, would like to hear . . .’
Mrs Oakley smoothed her apron. ‘May I offer you some . . . ?’
‘Perhaps just a seat by your fire for a few moments? I can see you’re busy with your gloves. You lived in Mombasa – such an exotic-sounding name. Was the journey eventful? Only my brother Frederick would have us all believe the sea is always calm and the sun always shines.’
Her smile broke my heart. ‘That’s because he’s protecting you. Everyone fears the sea – or at least they should.’ She drew up another stool and sat by my side.
‘Was your journey difficult?’
‘Yes.’ She picked up her needle, resuming her stitching. ‘The ship we came on was an East India ship. Captain Banyan hadn’t used his full quota so there was room on board for my silks. He offered me good terms and I checked the ship thoroughly – it seemed sound, the hold was dry and the cargo looked well stored and not going to break free. The crew were from the East Indies but Captain B
anyan was from Bristol so I took my chance.’
‘A very brave decision.’
‘I kept the best of our silk but sold the rest. I had the rolls double-wrapped and sealed in caskets. I brought what I could from the house – my carpets, our clothes, some of my—’ She stopped.
Mrs Oakley put her hand on Sofia’s shoulder. ‘She bought keepsakes of her lost children – their favourite toys . . . their riding crops – and yet they were all lost.’
Sofia wiped her tears. ‘Captain Banyan was impatient to set sail. The winds were favourable – he’d been delayed too long by bad weather and he was anxious to make up time. I’d never sailed before and I found him gruff . . . often unshirted, and I thought him uncouth. But he turned out to be a gentleman of the truest kind.’
‘He was good to you?’
‘Yes, indeed. He gave us a small berth and did his best to keep us comfortable. There were four other passengers but we kept to ourselves. That was ten months ago, I was newly bereaved and I wanted no company.’ She looked up. ‘Merchant ships can take a year to reach their intended port – sometimes as much as eighteen months.’
The kindness in her eyes made me catch my breath. In the midst of her misfortune, she was giving me hope.
‘At first Joseph flourished, but as the seas grew rougher the quality of the food deteriorated and we both took ill – sometimes for long periods. Then we’d anchor in some palm-fringed bay and small boats would come from nowhere. We’d lean over the ship’s side and haggle for fresh provisions, swinging our baskets down for them to be filled. Then we’d dine on pineapples and coconuts and Captain Banyan would make us eat lemons and mangos and freshly cooked fish.’
‘That sounds like my brothers. Is this too painful? Only I do love to hear talk of the sea.’
She shook her head. ‘We rarely docked – only for repairs. Captain Banyan had been in the British Navy and was wary of marsh fever.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I shall never set foot on a ship again. Never.’
‘But you arrived safely. Once you’ve sold your silks you’ll be able to—’
She shook her head, her dark brows creasing. Her full red lips looked striking against the pallor of her cheeks. Her beauty was fragile, her dignity extraordinary. ‘Our troubles started in Lisbon. The ship was boarded by an officer of the British Navy who examined our cargo. He was very pleasant – charming, in fact – but very stern. He refused to allow us to leave port until the other ships arrived. His ship was on convoy duty. He told Captain Banyan that Spanish privateers had been sighted and all British ships going to England must wait for his escort.’
‘He stopped you leaving, Mrs Oakley?’
She frowned, shaking her head. ‘I wish he had . . . Captain Banyan insisted on going. One of the passengers was adamant his cargo must get to Bristol. I heard them arguing. He offered Captain Banyan a substantial inducement and further payment once the cargo was sold. The spices were spoiling and would be worthless with further delay. The voyage had already taken too long.’
‘So you left without a navy escort?’
She gripped her hands together. ‘Yes, and exactly what they said would happen did happen. They used false colours, a huge English Jack . . . a series of flags saying they needed to come alongside to give us important mail. I didn’t see it, but Joe did. I was in my cabin, packing the last of our things. We were in sight of England – the Isles of Scilly.’
It was the oldest ruse in the book. The moment he knew my brothers were to join the navy, Uncle Alex had sat them down and told them everything to watch for – false colours, the ruse of passing across mail. Never trust a loan ship. Never believe the signals.
‘Captain Banyan resisted. He tried to fend them off and they killed him . . . they thrust a sword straight through his heart right in front of Joe. I thought they’d kill us too. They rounded us up and I thought we’d die. I pleaded and pleaded. I was on my knees, begging them not to take the life of my son. I could see England . . . we were so nearly there. I knew enough Spanish to tell them I’d lost everything and that if it was just me I wouldn’t mind dying, but they had to save my son.’
My stomach twisted. ‘And they let you go?’
‘Just the passengers, not the crew. We were forced down a flimsy rope ladder into a rowing boat. Land was visible and the sea was calm. There were four of us – thrown into a rowing boat with nothing but what we were wearing. I don’t think anyone has ever rowed so fast.’
‘And they took the ship as a prize?’
The dark curls on her brow nodded. ‘The ship was called Isabella – I only saw that once we were in the boat. They’d covered the name with canvas.’
‘But the insurance should still stand. Have you claimed for your silks?’
She shook her head, her voice a whisper. ‘No one can help me, Miss Carew. There is no hope. I have no proof of who I am . . . I left everything on the ship. They held a dagger to my neck . . . I just grabbed Joe and didn’t stop to think. When we landed, I went straight to the port authorities and they told me to write to the East India Company.’
‘Well, there you are – surely it’s all in hand?’
She smiled at my obvious naivety. ‘The secretary to the East India Company wrote back. His letter was curt and to the point. I was wasting their time. Did I know how many fabricated claims were made? How many people came forward with false identities? Without proof of who I am, I have no legal way to claim insurance.’
‘But can’t Mr and Mrs Oakley vouch for you?’
‘No one can vouch for me.’ She gripped her mother-in-law’s hand. ‘We met for the first time when I walked through that door. They believe who I am, of course, but they can’t vouch for me. According to the authorities, they’re part of the hoax. Without the ship’s records, there’s no proof I was a passenger on that ship, or that I was bringing any silk.’
I rose to leave. ‘I’m so sorry to hear this. But all may not be lost. I have a very dear friend who might be able to help. Her husband runs a shipping company and they insure all kinds of ships. May I tell her of your trouble? I believe if anyone can help, she can.’
She cleared her throat. ‘Thank you, you’re very kind.’
I reached for my basket. There was no need to ask about Joe’s health as he had coughed throughout our visit. ‘I’ve brought you two bottles of my elixir. A spoonful every four hours might help soothe Joe’s cough.’
Sofia Oakley was on the verge of tears, but she was a proud woman and held tight to her dignity. ‘I can’t thank you enough . . .’
‘And here’s a present for you, Joe. Your mother told us you used to ride . . . that you had a horse. Here, please have these . . .’
His thin fingers caressed the polished white horses, his huge brown eyes the mirror of his mother’s. He could not speak but held them to his heart.
‘What do you say, Joe?’ His mother’s voice sounded strangled.
‘Our horses were white – just like this . . . Thank you, I shall treasure them.’
Sofia Oakley lifted her chin, her extraordinary high cheekbones accentuated by the flickering fire. ‘We can’t accept them – they’re from your ark.’
‘I shall write to Captain de la Croix and ask him for two more. He’s a dear man and he won’t mind one little bit – especially when I tell him why.’
A wistful note crept into her heavy accent. ‘You befriend French prisoners . . . you see only goodness in people. Miss Carew, you have a heart that transcends borders and defies the brutality of war. You counteract man’s inhumanity to man.’ She handed me back the small square of silk the horses had been wrapped in, yet I could see she was enjoying the feel of it.
‘The silk is yours . . . please make something from it. And yes, I do believe we must counteract the atrocities of this war. We must treat our prisoners like we would want our loved ones to be treated. My brother captured Captain de la Croix near Guadeloupe . . . where my fiancé . . . where . . .’
‘You have not heard any more news?�
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‘No.’ I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘I hate this war . . . I hate everything about it. At first I thought I’d hate Captain de la Croix but he’s a good man. But for this war, he’d be our friend and because of the war, he is now our friend. Another woman, far, far away may be harbouring . . . caring for . . . my fiancé Edmund, or, heaven forbid, my three brothers. And that makes it even more important to forgive and extend the hand of friendship to those whom we hold captive.’
Chapter Twelve
Town House, Truro
Sunday 21st January 1798, 12 p.m.
The green feathers on my velvet bonnet ruffled in the wind, the sky a cloudless blue, the sun glinting on the newly painted railings. Above us, the church bells were ringing, the congregation lingering, enjoying the unexpected change in the weather. Mother nodded to yet another acquaintance and I tucked my hands into my muff, knowing we would be detained even longer. I searched again, the same dread and hope churning my stomach: Luke and Mary Lilly were nowhere to be seen.
Horses clattered across the cobbles and I turned to see a familiar coach draw up outside our house. Uncle Alex swiftly alighted, shaking out the creases of his jacket, glancing around, not entering the house but standing on the steps looking in our direction. Our eyes caught and I knew at once it was me he had come to see.
‘Is it? Why, so it is. Look, Amelia, it’s your godfather’s coach. Forgive me, Mrs Mitchem, Mrs Wendbury . . . I must see to my visitor. Amelia, do you see who it is?’
I stood frozen to the spot, unable to move. As if in a dream, I felt my arm taken, Bethany helping both Mother and I across the square. I had long anticipated such a scene – Uncle Alex arriving in haste and holding out a letter; sometimes he would be frowning, shaking his head and mouthing how sorry he was; other times he would be smiling, tears in his eyes. I had imagined it every possible way: Edmund sitting in the carriage with him; Edmund walking in through the front door; Edmund in the study, waiting for me as I returned home; Edmund running across the vast lawn of Trenwyn House, swinging me in his arms.