A Cornish Betrothal

by Nicola Pryce

  ‘Yes, I did tell Mrs Oakley it was most likely to be the case. I explained ships that sail without a navy escort – we call them runners – jeopardize their insurance the moment they deviate from the agreed terms of their contract. This war is making the seas very treacherous, though some ports are considered safer than others, and certain routes are deemed less hazardous.’

  ‘What if ships have been delayed by bad weather?’

  ‘Unnecessary delays and unwarranted deviation will invalidate the insurance. The ship’s master agrees the route and appropriate time scale before the ship sets sail but there’s always an allowance for having to shelter from storms.’

  Despite the heat from the fire, I felt chilled to the bone. Constance seemed calmer, as though she had never expected Edmund’s shipment to arrive. ‘So why didn’t Captain Banyan wait to be escorted?’

  Elizabeth clasped her hands as if in prayer. ‘From what Mrs Oakley told me, I understand there was a fierce argument. Philip Daniel offered to pay Captain Banyan a substantial amount of money. I can only imagine that neither of them had sailed those waters for a couple of years and after the miles they’d covered England must have seemed very close. They might have dismissed the warnings as scaremongering.’

  ‘But they should have listened to our navy!’ Constance’s voice was fierce, the steel back in her eyes.

  ‘Indeed they should. But the spices were spoiling – they may have rotted. The delays Mrs Oakley spoke of might have already negated the insurance.’

  She sounded cautious but there was something in her tone. ‘Elizabeth . . . what aren’t you saying?’

  ‘I don’t want to raise your hopes, my dear.’

  ‘Please do . . . please give us every hope. Sofia Oakley’s future depends on this shipment . . . and Elizabeth, Edmund needs this shipment too . . .’ I glanced at Constance. ‘You must have heard the rumours of the family’s financial difficulties?’

  Elizabeth nodded, her heart-shape lips pursing. ‘Yes . . . I have. But I have to say, if this is Edmund’s shipment – and I believe it is – then his claim for insurance might prove difficult.’

  ‘Because there was no escort?’

  Her white bonnet framed her troubled face. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Not entirely. I have grave misgivings about this case. Why didn’t Mr Daniel return to the ship? Was it really to broker new deals, or was it because he knew the ship was likely to be seized by the enemy?’

  Constance gripped my arm. ‘Philip Daniel paid Captain Banyan to endanger the ship but remained behind because he knew it would be taken?’

  Elizabeth ushered us to some chairs and we sat stiffly, waiting as she chose her words.

  ‘I think it very likely that we’ll find Philip Daniel negotiated further insurance in Lisbon – an expensive but valid insurance for the cargo to sail without an escort.’ She reached for the newspaper on the table. ‘Since the Dutch ceded ownership of Ceylon, the supply of spices has increased. Prices have fluctuated and I imagine Philip Daniel was anxious to catch the Christmas market.’

  She turned the pages of the newspaper, running her finger down the print. ‘Cinnamon – 12 shillings a pound, Nutmeg – 33 shillings, Black Ginger £3.5. Here’s more . . . Cinnamon – 30 bales in lots at 12 shillings per pound.’ She looked up. ‘Last year, we were insuring cinnamon at 15 shillings a pound.’

  ‘Surely, if the spices were spoiling he wouldn’t get new insurance?’

  Elizabeth sighed. ‘Not everyone has your goodness, Miss Melville. Merchants can be very underhand. What I’m saying is that he may have re-insured the cargo – and the insurance would cover being lost at sea, or taken as a prize by an enemy ship.’

  ‘He was prepared to send a ship’s crew into danger – a ship with a woman and child onboard?’ It was too awful to consider. ‘Edmund would never want his debt cleared through such disregard for human life.’

  Elizabeth saw my revulsion and her eyes filled with love. ‘It was Captain Banyan who sailed his ship into danger, his decision. I can only imagine he thought the reward worth the danger. But for Mr Daniel to remain in Lisbon seems both cowardly and suspicious. I may be wrong: the cargo may have remained uninsured, in which case neither Sir Edmund nor Mrs Oakley can expect any money. Only time will tell. Shall I ring for refreshments?’

  Shouts were drifting up from the wharf, carts rumbling across the cobbles. Our hot chocolate finished, Constance stood staring down at the huge cranes lifting sacks from out of the ships’ holds.

  Elizabeth’s voice dropped, her hand squeezed mine.

  ‘You looked strained, Amelia. How is Sir Edmund?’ She glanced at Constance. ‘We’re to leave for Falmouth soon. I can’t decide whether to stay for Lady Polgas’s ball or not – though I think not.’ Her eyes held mine. ‘Dr Polgas is expected home very soon. You know what they’re saying?’

  ‘That he’s to apply for the position of physician at the new infirmary? Yes, Lady Polgas has made that very clear.’

  ‘I’m worried about you, my love.’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘Write to me if you don’t want to talk.’

  ‘He’s a broken man,’ I whispered. ‘He’s confused and troubled . . . he’s vulnerable and he’s ill. Severe headaches leave him disoriented and that makes him scared. His sight is bad and his hearing is difficult.’ I reached for my handkerchief, drawing a deep breath. ‘He loves me, Elizabeth . . . and he needs me so much. I can’t abandon him. It would break him completely.’

  She smiled, grasping my hand. ‘I understand, really I do. Does he know about Luke?’

  I shook my head, glancing at Connie. ‘Neither of them do . . . and I want it to stay that way.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘There’s love, and there’s duty, and there’s also pity. Promise me you won’t rush this decision?’

  ‘And there’s also a vow I cannot break,’ I whispered.

  She shook her head and I rose to go, kissing her soft cheek. She did not understand, no one understood. They did not know him as I knew him. He was gentle, he was kind. He was loving and loyal. He was no match for his father, the navy or the brutalities of war. I had sworn to love him. I was his rock. I had to hold fast to my promise.

  Chapter Thirty

  We stopped outside our house. ‘Connie, you go on in. Tell Mother I’m going to visit Mrs Lilly and I’ll be very quick.’

  Mary’s house was just round the corner in Pydar Street, a large ancient house with thick cob walls and mullion windows and five tall chimneys towering above a new slate roof. The iron gutters and downpipes had been newly replaced and the front door recently painted. The brass knocker gleamed in the sunshine and I breathed deeply to steady myself. Luke would not be there, he would be in the rooms he hired behind the library.

  The footman opened the door to the familiar beamed ceiling and gleaming flagstones. The smell of beeswax filled the air and I crossed the hall, passing the grand wooden staircase, and waited to be announced.

  Mary Lilly stood by the fire, her hands stretching out in welcome. ‘Amelia, my dearest. Your mother has just sent word. It’s wonderful news – quite wonderful. And to think Mr Burrows is to pay to publish your book. Oh, my dearest, I am so thrilled for you.’

  I loved her soft Irish lilt, her beautiful white hair, her blue eyes that could shine with such mischief. She had Luke’s smile, the same lines of compassion across her brow, and I forced myself to return her smile.

  A lump caught my throat. ‘I’ve come to ask you if I may dedicate my book to Luke’s father? I’ve changed a few of his remedies . . . and I’ve added others. I’ve brought them up to date . . . I’ve dispensed with the ones that don’t work, but mostly they’re all his . . . and I’d like his name to be remembered.’

  Tears pooled in her eyes. ‘We would consider that a very great honour. Thank you. Luke’s not here, or he would thank you himself.’

  I forced back my tears. ‘Mary, I can’t see Luke . . . not yet. Give me a little time. How is he?’

  Her elegant shoulders
shrugged beneath her embroidered shawl. ‘All that honour and stiff resolution may fool others, but it doesn’t fool his mother. It hides a broken man, my love. This isn’t easy for either of you, and I don’t underestimate the pain you’re both in. It grieves me so badly to witness your terrible heartache – both of you lost souls. But your happiness is all Luke wants, and I want that, too – and you know how I think that should be resolved!’

  A painting of Mr Lilly’s first wife hung on the wall behind her, together with portraits of his daughter, Angelica, and his son, Edgar. They were all so dear to me and I fought the wave of emptiness threatening to engulf me. My heart ached, knowing this would have to be my last visit – it was too painful to come again.

  ‘Mary, could you ask . . . could I please engage Dr Bohenna to see Joseph Oakley in the glove shop on Quay Street? Please ask him to send his account to me, only Mrs Oakley has no money . . . she’s from Portugal.’

  ‘I know very well who she is, my love.’ Her voice was soft, making the ache worse. ‘And I know Mr Joseph Oakley. I’m sorry to hear he’s ill.’

  ‘Not, Mr Oakley – his grandson, young Joe. He wheezes when he coughs and his lips turn blue. It’s not a rattling cough – and there’s no bark to it. There’s no hoop, but his breathing sounds rasping and I’d like Luke to see him.’

  She glanced at the longcase clock with its elaborate dial of painted ships. ‘I’ll tell Luke the moment he comes home – that is, if he comes home. If he doesn’t, I’ll send word. Rest assured, Luke will treat the boy for you.’

  Three other paintings adorned the wall: roses from the rose garden in Trenywn House, my last birthday present to her. I had painted them at Luke’s request and I could not help but look at them. Her hand slipped through my arm. ‘He’s to leave Truro, my love. He says he has to go back to Falmouth.’

  ‘He can’t! Mary, he has to stay. He can’t leave . . . what about the infirmary?’

  Her hand tightened. ‘He says he needs to go where he can no longer look for you – not be in places that constantly remind him of you. I wish he’d just come out and tell you how he really feels . . . Honestly, my love, he worships the ground you walk on. He’ll never be free from the love he bears you, but oh no, it’s all about Sir Edmund being your first and true love. I want to shake him, my dear. He needs to fight for you, not back away like some defeated wrestler.’

  A sob caught in my throat and her arms folded round me. She held me to her. ‘I’m so sorry, I spoke out of turn . . . Do what you have to do my love, and leave Luke in my care. Perhaps he’s right; perhaps Sir Edmund does have prior claim to your heart. Forgive a doting mother and leave Luke to me. I’ll see he comes to no harm.’

  I walked back hardly knowing where I was. The door to our house flew open, and my two nephews hurtled towards me. ‘Aunt Amelia . . . Aunt Amelia . . .you’re here at last. We’ve been waiting simply ages.’

  They held up two small wooden ships. ‘Uncle Emerson is back. Look what he’s brought us. See these sails? They’ve got tiny ropes that you can pull.’ My hands were grabbed and they dragged me towards the house. ‘Mama cried when he arrived. Honest, you think she’d be happy, but all she could do was cry!’

  ‘People cry when they’re happy, William.’

  He seemed relieved. ‘Is that why you’re crying?’

  Henry smiled up at me. ‘We’ve been playing wiv the ark . . . wiv Miss Melville.’

  ‘We’ve been using our ships as a naval escort. Grampa suggested that.’

  Mother stood smiling in the hall, her large white apron tied tightly round her. In her hand she held a letter. ‘I’ve just received this recipe from Il Professor. It’s for biscotti di Saronno,’ she said, stumbling slightly with the pronunciation. ‘We need mandorle – that’s almonds, I believe. Oh, and you’ll like this, boys . . . we’re going to need sugar and lemon.’

  Through the open door, Papa and Connie were arranging the bone animals in pairs on the gangplank. ‘Of course, some say piglets should be weaned at twenty-one days, but I say twenty-eight days at the earliest. What do you say, Miss Melville?’

  Connie paused. ‘I’ve never considered it before . . . What if there’s a discrepancy in size, Lord Carew? Could you wean the fattest piglets at twenty-one days and leave the smallest piglets for another week?’

  ‘My dear, how very sensible.’

  I turned at the sound of knocking on the front door. The footman took a note from the errand boy and handed it to Mother. Her eyebrows rose, a slight tightening of her mouth.

  ‘Edmund is in town.’ She glanced at the letter again. ‘He’s staying at the Red Lion and begs to be remembered to us.’

  I caught my breath. ‘He’s come to town? So soon? He must have followed us straight here.’ I tried to hide my sudden fear. Mother was watching me carefully and I knew I must smile. ‘That’s very good news . . . he must be feeling better. I’m glad he’s come.’

  ‘Splendid, then I shall invite him to join us for dinner tomorrow.’ She put the letter down on the silver dish. ‘Now, boys, how about we make a start on these biscotti di Saronno for Uncle Emerson?’

  The clock chimed eleven and I stared down at the stack of numbered pages. The fire was crackling, shadows dancing on the ceiling above. Lighting another candle, I drew my shawl closer, dipping my pen into the ink. There was still so much I needed to include.

  Childhood wheezing: if there is tightness in the chest, pain, trouble sleeping caused by shortness of breath, coughing, wheezing or a whistling sound when exhaling. If the condition be more severe after exertion, or is exacerbated by chilled air, then my advice is to seek the assistance of a physician, or apothecary, who will very likely prescribe tincture of opium for the night. However, there is much relief to be gained from comfrey root, syrup of coltsfoot, mullein and hyssop.

  Comfrey root is both soothing and healing to the lungs. It can be drunk as tea or a decoction. Like mullein and slippery elm, comfrey is a mucilaginous herb, providing a calming effect on irritated lungs . . .

  The pages blurred. It would it be too painful to continue growing my herbs. Nor must I remain on the infirmary committee. Deep inside that shattered, war-scarred shell was the youth I had loved so deeply.

  A tear splashed the page and I reached for my blotter.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Town House, Truro

  Saturday 10th February 1798, 2 p.m.

  We heard them before we saw them, William and Henry skipping by the side of a rather distinguished-looking gentleman, their happy laughter echoing down the street. The man with them was of medium height, elegantly dressed in a dark jacket and breeches, his white cravat folded neatly and secured by a silver pin. He wore no coat, his tall hat resting on his slightly receding hair. His boots were polished, his hands gloved in fine leather. He was closely shaven, and though he was ten years older, and a little stouter, I recognized him at once.

  ‘Well, well, Miss Carew,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘This is such a pleasure. It’s been a rather long time.’

  ‘Emerson, it’s lovely to have you back – the boys have been counting down the days. We all have. May I introduce Miss Constance Melville? Connie . . . this is Dr Polgas.’

  He bowed, smiling broadly. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Miss Melville. I must say, I’ve forgotten how cold England can be.’

  She smiled shyly. ‘Welcome home, Dr Polgas. You survived the Italian biscuits?’

  His laugh was throaty, joyous. ‘They were delicious, thank you.’ He glanced at his nephews, lowering his voice. ‘Fortunately, I’m used to ship’s biscuits!’

  William beamed with pride. ‘Grandmama will be so pleased to see you.’

  His hair was greying at the temples. He had his mother’s long nose and Cordelia’s slightly hooded eyes. His skin was sunburned but not weather-beaten. He looked well, refined and elegant, a man in his prime. ‘Miss Melville, I hate to say this, but you were very young when I saw you last. And I’m thrilled to hear of your brother’s safe return.
’ He glanced at me. ‘I believe Sir Edmund was commended for valour. You must be very proud of him.’

  There was compassion in his glance, a look of understanding, and I smiled back, comforted by the warmth in his eyes. ‘Yes, we are both . . . very proud of him.’

  ‘Mother tells me she’s on the infirmary committee with Lady Clarissa,’ he said in such a way I had to smile.

  ‘Yes. And it makes for some very lively discussions.’

  He rubbed his gloved hands together. ‘Indeed it must. No wonder Dr Nankivell is ready to step down! I must say, this meeting is very fortuitous as we’re on our way to visit you.’

  We reached our house, the white pillars of the portico shining in the sunlight. It was another beautiful day, the sky a brilliant blue. The boys had run ahead and were tearing from room to room, searching for Mother. Papa stood at his study door, greeting Dr Polgas with an affectionate smile. ‘Emerson, dear boy, welcome home. Splendid . . . splendid.’ He put his hand on his shoulder, patting him warmly. ‘When you’ve finished with the ladies, come and have some brandy. Survived the biscuits, did you?’

  Footsteps stopped halfway down the stairs and I looked up. Luke was staring down at us, his dear face frozen in sudden sadness. I had been smiling, laughing at Papa’s invitation. I was carrying hat boxes filled with Connie’s new bonnets. I looked carefree and unconcerned – everything but what I felt. I could see the pain deep in his eyes; we were closing ranks, laughing and joking with Dr Polgas and Edmund’s sister, welcoming them into our family as once we had welcomed him. A well-connected family looking after its own.

  A blush burned my cheeks. I had not known he was coming – this must be his last visit to Mother, his last visit to our house. He looked thinner, his cheeks gaunt and I forced back my tears. There was such anguish in his eyes.

  Papa looked up. ‘Ah, Luke! May I introduce Dr Polgas, Cordelia’s brother . . . my eldest son’s wife – Old Emerson, as opposed to Young Emerson?’ He laughed heartily. ‘Have you freed Lady Clarissa from her shackle, Dr Bohenna?’