by Nicola Pryce
We walked along the quayside, Bethany a few steps behind us. Elizabeth’s house was the largest in a long row, a vast, red-brick house on three floors with offices below and their living accommodation above. Their main shipping business was in Falmouth where Mr Fox was Consul for the states of America, but they kept a toe-hold in Truro, often visiting the seaman’s hostel and soup kitchen Elizabeth had founded. We walked up the wooden stairs, the sign Fox & Fox Shipping and Insurance Company glinting in the sunlight. Once in her drawing room, she drew me to the fire.
‘Elizabeth, I feel so wretched.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘My love for Edmund wasn’t just a youthful infatuation like Mother thinks – it was real love. We always knew what the other was thinking – we’d often say the same thing at the same time.’ I sank into a chair, my face in my hands. ‘He’s in London, waiting to hear if I’m married . . . whether I’ve waited for him . . .’
Like her starched white bonnet and plain grey dress, the room showed no outward sign of wealth. It was simply furnished with paintings of fully canvased ships sailing across the walls, the pine mantelpiece adorned only by a glass-domed carriage clock and two porcelain figurines. The fire was blazing, yet I felt so cold. She sat by my side. ‘What does Luke say?’
‘We haven’t seen each other to talk, but I know he’ll back away . . . Elizabeth, I’m so torn. I should be happy, but I’m scared. I’m so confused . . .’
She smelled of rose water, her soft hands taking mine. ‘Of course you are, my love. You’re loved by two men, and you love two men. Of course you’re scared and confused. It’s a very difficult state of affairs.’
‘But I can’t love two men – not how they want me to love them, not how I want to love them.’
She paused, her voice soft. ‘For what it’s worth, I believe you can love two men. I believe you can love them quite equally, if very differently. I’m certain of that.’ Her voice grew stronger. ‘But not at the same time.’
‘What if . . .?’ I could hardly voice my fear.
‘What if, when you see Edmund again you don’t feel the same love? Or what if you do feel the same love?’
I took a deep breath. I knew she would understand.
‘Then you must be strong, Amelia. My advice is don’t let Edmund assume you’re going to marry him. Give him time to settle back into Pendowrick but, more importantly, give yourself time to make the right decision.’
‘But I’m his fiancée. I’ve been praying for his return. And would be still. I’d be waiting for him, longing for him – if I hadn’t been so completely assured of his death.’
‘He’s been away a very long time and war changes a man.’
I had to tell her. ‘Elizabeth . . . I’ve already given him reason to hope.’
‘Oh, Amelia! You didn’t tell him about Luke?’
Her sharp intake of breath made my heart race. ‘No . . . I couldn’t. His mother’s very ill. He’s returned to England to find his father and cousin dead and the estate in debt – he’s in London, waiting for my answer, and I couldn’t delay him from coming home any longer.’
She stiffened, a sudden flatness to her voice. ‘Why is he waiting for your answer in London when his family and estate need him?’
It was hard to breathe, even harder to put my feelings into words. ‘My understanding is that if we’re not to be together, he’ll stay in London. And he hates London. He says he’ll move his family up there and he’ll lease Pendowrick. Elizabeth, he can’t do that.’
She grasped my hands. No smile, no laughing eyes, an expression of real gravity. ‘Those are not the thoughts of a rational man. Why burden you with that decision?’
‘That’s why I’m scared. The thought of us being together in Pendowrick is what kept him alive all these years . . . and the thought of being there without me is too wretched for him. It’s not that I don’t love him. I’ve never stopped loving him.’
‘Amelia, it was a very long time ago. You haven’t seen him for six years.’
‘Wives don’t see their husbands yet they don’t desert them. What if we’d been married and I’d had his child, like Charity had Frederick’s? What if I was already living in Pendowrick? I’d be so happy—’
‘But you aren’t, and you don’t have his child. Listen, my love. It was his decision to join the navy.’
‘He should never have gone. He was too gentle for the navy. I wrote begging him to come home but he didn’t get my letters – none of them. Instead, he tried even harder to be brave and accepted by the men. Captain Owen’s report said Edmund insisted on being part of the landing party and I think it was because he wanted to prove his courage.’
A maid brought in a jug of freshly squeezed lemonade and Elizabeth smiled her thanks. ‘Lemons straight off the ship.’ She poured me a glass. ‘My advice is to give yourself plenty of time. He must understand the situation you’re in now.’
I sipped my lemonade. ‘Two years ago . . . eighteen months ago, all I wanted to do was to be Edmund’s wife and live in Pendowrick.’
‘But now you see yourself by Luke’s side, helping him in the infirmary and his growing medical practice. Those are two very different lives. That’s why you need time – time and courage – and better sleep, by the look of you.’
‘I swore an oath – oh, Elizabeth . . . if I’m to live up on the moors, I’ll need someone to organize my herbs. I must supply the new infirmary . . .’
‘That’s far too far ahead. You’ve plenty of time for all that.’
‘What about Sofia Oakley? Mother’s going to put her name forward for matron at the infirmary.’
‘An excellent choice. She’s an intelligent, compassionate woman who’s known suffering. I think she’d make an excellent matron.’
I nodded. ‘I’ll see if I can find her a position in an apothecary shop so she can get references.’ I stood up to leave. ‘Have you heard from her ship’s insurance company?’
She shook her head. ‘No, and I must warn you, I think her case is a lost one. I can’t vouch for her, nobody can. The East India Company refuses all claimants with no proof of identity – we all do.’ Her voice dropped. ‘Ships that break from a convoy and sail without naval escort invalidate their terms of insurance. The contracts are very specific. If a ship makes a deviation from the chartered course, or remains too long in port, the insurer can’t be held liable for any claims arising from these deviations.’
Chapter Sixteen
We parted on the quay, Bethany and I heading home in silence. Halfway across the square, my heart leapt. Luke was waiting by the church railings, his face drawn, a deep furrow creasing his forehead. He bowed formally, without his usual smile. His voice was terse, full of despair.
‘Abdominal crush injuries with extensive internal bleeding. I was able to give him enough laudanum to ease the pain, but there was nothing else I could do.’
‘You eased his pain. That’s all he could ask.’
Luke drew me along the railings to the privacy of a large tree. Bethany held back, pretending to examine her shoe, and we stood in awkward silence. He looked drawn, the dusting of freckles on his cheeks and nose more noticeable, the auburn tints to his sideburns accentuating his pallor. I wanted him to hold me, feel his strong arms around me. I wanted him to hurry me inside to the fire, sit me down to listen to his plans on how to prevent accidents on the quayside. Instead, he ran his finger under his starched white cravat, swallowing hard. His voice was soft, hardly above a whisper.
‘Amelia . . . we need to talk.’
I followed him to the church porch and we sat on the bench. He reached for my hands, putting them to his lips. His voice was hoarse, choked with emotion. ‘Edmund came into your life before me, and as such, I knew he always came first. I’ve always understood that. From the moment we met, I knew our friendship was . . . that all I could hope for . . . was to comfort you in your loss. Never once did I assume to step into Edmund’s shoes.’
A pulse was racin
g in his neck, his cheeks flushed. ‘Time began to heal, and our friendship began to develop. When his death was confirmed . . . when Sir Alex left you in no doubt . . . well, that night I vowed to Edmund – to a man I didn’t know but who had loved you so intensely and who’d lost his life fighting for his country – that I would look after you for him. That I would love you, honour you and cherish you. I vowed to his departed soul that I’d never seek to replace him in your heart . . . that I’d only seek to lodge beside him, and I would do everything in my power to bring you the happiness he would have brought you.’
‘Luke . . . stop . . . don’t . . . please don’t.’
He handed me his large white handkerchief and I pressed it to my face. His mouth tightened, his chest rising and falling. ‘Your happiness is all I’ve ever wanted . . . Edmund’s return is a miracle and we must rejoice in that. But I find I cannot. I cannot rejoice in the return of a man I see only as a threat. I feel such fear, such unpardonable jealousy. I can’t lose you now . . .’
I could not breathe for the pain, the love in his eyes, the way he was trying to control his voice. I loved him so completely; I loved his compassion, his intellect, his humility. The way his eyes lit up when they smiled, the way they deepened to pools of sorrow. I loved his humour, the way he teased me. The way he adored his mother. The goodness of his soul.
‘Luke, I’m so sorry. I never thought this would happen. Never. But put yourself in my place. Or rather, put yourself in Edmund’s place. How would you feel if I had deserted you . . . if you had lived through hell . . . every day, with only one thought in mind . . . to return home . . . wanting, desperately praying . . . that the woman who had sworn to love you had not turned her back on you but had stayed true?’
He leaned forward, his head in his hands. He was breathing deeply, his shoulders heaving. ‘You can be released from your betrothal . . . you were very young . . . I know you loved him, but . . . after so long you are under no obligation. By all means . . . if you find he is still . . . if you find you love him more than me . . . then I will understand . . . I’ll back away. I’ll come to terms with the fact that I have lost you to a former love . . . and I will understand. But this sense of duty . . . Amelia, he is not your husband . . . you did not marry him.’
I could not breathe for the pain. ‘Luke, you swore an oath to Edmund’s departed soul . . . but what if I swore an oath to Edmund himself. Here, in this very church . . . kneeling at the altar. What if we recited wedding vows . . . together . . . kneel ing with God as our witness? What if I swore in the sight of God that I would love, honour and obey Edmund Melville until death us did part?’
He gripped his head, his cry tearing my heart. ‘You were . . . married?’
I could not speak, tears rolling down my cheeks. I had finally spoken the words no one else had ever heard. The weight I had carried – the terrible burden only three other people knew – crushing me, haunting me, dictating my every move.
‘He came back to Cornwall . . . Sir Richard relented and they came down for Christmas. He was here for my nineteenth birthday and we thought, well, I thought, Edmund was to remain in Cornwall, but it was not to be the case.’
He clutched his head in his hands. ‘Amelia . . . just tell me. You were married?’
‘In all but legalities. A secret marriage.’
‘But how? Why? Who would conduct such a service? You should have told me.’ His clenched fist shook against his mouth. ‘He made you marry him – but why not wait for your parents? Why did he force you into marriage?’
‘He didn’t, Luke . . . and it wasn’t legally binding . . . we knew that would come later, or rather we hoped it would. It was our fear driving us. And he didn’t force me, it was my suggestion. We’d not seen each other for two years – it was the Christmas of our nineteenth birthdays. I think they’d been testing us – keeping us apart. Yet when we met again, our love was stronger than ever. We hoped Sir Richard would let Edmund stay in Cornwall, but he just stood by our fireplace and announced his intention to send him to Sumatra—’
‘Sumatra?’
‘To learn the spice trade at first hand just as Sir Richard had been sent by his father. Francis was to go, too. There was a merchant out there who’d defrauded them – shipments and payments had gone astray and Sir Richard wanted Edmund and Francis to get redress – to make new contacts . . . to forge more contracts.’
‘So you married in secret?’
‘Edmund was petrified of the thought of going to Sumatra – especially with Francis. He had a dream he’d never return – that he’d succumb to some tropical disease and never come back to marry me. Luke, I know this is so hard for you . . . you’ve been honest with me, and I must be honest with you.’
‘Yes . . . please . . . continue.’ He swallowed hard, staring down at his feet.
‘Edmund only ever wanted to live in Cornwall and make a success of his estate. Being in London was doing him harm. He was over-shadowed by Francis – he believed Sir Richard thought ill of him but he put on a brave face. Then, that Christmas . . . when we should have been so happy . . . Sir Richard announced his plan to my parents in our house. It came straight out of the blue, like a death blow to our marriage. My parents were furious but Sir Richard insisted there was time for Edmund and Francis to get back before any wedding.’
‘So you decided to take things into your own hands . . .’
I nodded. ‘Edmund seemed changed when I saw him . . . somehow lost and more vulnerable. He hated London but he knew it wasn’t for ever . . . but at that sudden announcement he became distraught – he told me how being in London scared him and the thought of sailing to Sumatra with Francis petrified him. He always called me his rock. He needed to know I would never desert him.’
‘So you decided to marry – in secret . . .’
‘Yes. But it wasn’t that simple. We were just nineteen, from well-known and respected families, and we only had three days before they were to return to London. No church dignitary would marry us . . . certainly not my brother, though I begged him so hard.’
‘So you’re not married?’
‘We met here, in this porch. My maid was about to leave our employment. She was to marry a butcher and they were our witnesses . . . Luke, it wasn’t a real marriage in the eyes of the law, but it was a real marriage to us. We knelt at the altar and repeated our vows with our hands on the Bible . . . and every Sunday since, I’ve sat staring at the altar, praying for his safe return. Until I met you . . .’
‘And now your prayers have been answered – in time to stop you making a terrible mistake. Is that how you see it?’ His voice sounded harsh and my heart burned.
‘Why else would his letter reach me when it did?’
He grasped my hands, holding them in his – strong, dependable, healing hands.
‘Then I must wish you every happiness.’
‘Luke, how can you say that? How can I be happy?’
‘Because, my darling, my happiness depends on your happiness. And you’re quite right. What I see as terrible timing might indeed be divine intervention. Much better to halt anything between us, now, than to have you lying in my arms, longing for another man.’
I could not speak, I could only howl into his starched white handkerchief.
‘I’ll always be here for you, Amelia. I’ll do everything in my power to help you . . . should you require my help as a physician, that is, but we both know . . . that I have to . . . need to . . . distance myself from you for my own well-being as well as for yours. But mainly, for Edmund’s. You need time to rediscover your great love. Forgive me, I must go.’ He kissed my hand one last time, his voice hoarse, his words wrung from him. I could not breathe; my throat so tight I felt I was suffocating.
Bethany touched my elbow and I looked up. Luke was no longer with me, his thick black coat and wide-brimmed hat lost to the crowd. She gripped my arm and I felt myself guided towards the house. I could hear nothing, see nothing, just fight the agony of heartbreak as th
e man I loved walked purposefully away.
Borage: a heart-centred herb used to aid bravery in difficult times. Roman soldiers are said to have consumed borage wine before going to war. Certainly, tea made from both the leaves and the flowers of borage can be used for those seeking courage.
THE LADY HERBALIST
Chapter Seventeen
Town House, Truro
Sunday 4th February 1798, 11 a.m.
Two whole weeks of standing at the window waiting for a letter, fourteen days of stomach-churning expectation. Mother rustled the pages of her newspaper.
‘There’s another advertisement warning against rogue practitioners – Dr Nankivell certainly doesn’t mince his words. Well, well, look at this – it’s The Galleon’s announcement. Lady Polgas is to host a ball to honour the homecoming of her son, Dr Emerson Polgas, who has spent the last ten years serving his king and country.’ She peered over the top of the page. ‘A charity ball to raise funds for the infirmary. Finally, it seems, Lady Polgas is to raise some money!’
She glanced towards the door. The footman held out a tray, a slight tremble in her hands as she picked up a letter. Her sudden swallow churned my stomach. ‘It’s not his writing,’ she said, as she handed it to me.
It was from Constance, the address smudged as if tears had splashed the ink.
Pendowrick Hall
3th February 1798
My dearest Amelia,
Edmund is home. He arrived four days ago, and my instant joy has turned to the gravest concern. He failed to come down for dinner and I found him lying on his bed. He was delirious, drenched with sweat, and I had to call for a basin of water to sponge his face. He’s been given a bottle of quinine by a doctor in the Admiralty and they call his illness Undulating Fever. He told me he has had similar attacks, and not to worry – that it would pass.