A Cornish Betrothal

by Nicola Pryce

  Luke walked slowly down the stairs and my heart burned like fire. He would never hold me again, never bend to kiss me, never look up from his books and smile his loving smile. We would never sift through hospital statistics again, never discuss the efficacy of different remedies. Never draw maps of where illness was rife – his absolute certainty that particular areas of Truro held sources of contagion.

  ‘I have freed her, Lord Carew, with strict instructions to bear weight on that ankle for only two hours a day. She must take things easily. Use it, but not over-use it. Am I right, Dr Polgas?’

  Emerson Polgas nodded vigorously, holding out his hand to clasp Luke’s. ‘Dr Bohenna, this is an honour.’

  Luke smiled warmly. ‘No, believe me, the honour is all mine.’ He turned to Constance. ‘Miss Melville, I’m very sorry to hear the news of your mother’s death. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help her.’

  ‘Oh, but you did help, Dr Bohenna. Your visit brought her great comfort and relief.’

  He did not look at me. He was looking everywhere but at me. ‘You’re a surgeon, I believe, as well as a physician, Dr Polgas? Physician-in-charge of Port Royal Hospital in Jamaica. I’ve read your Treatise on Marsh Miasma. Your expertise will be highly valued by those of us treating patients returning with such diseases.’

  Emerson Polgas looked surprised. ‘Thank you, I’m honoured – you didn’t find my treatise too controversial?’

  Luke smiled. ‘No, I found it very interesting. You tell us Marsh Miasma is most contagious at night yet those who anchor away from the shore rarely fall foul of the fever. That the source of these fevers remains the same, but the seasons affect the onset of the illness.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And the disease can be on one side of a river, and not the other?’

  ‘Indeed. Whole regiments have suffered on one side of the river, yet those camped on the other side remain unaffected. With the same prevailing winds.’

  ‘With no contagion from person to person?’

  ‘Indeed. Healthy men who enter the marsh can become ill without being in contact with an infected man.’

  ‘So it’s not contagious but maybe something in the marsh itself? And sailors continue to suffer these remitting fevers even after they return to British waters.’ Luke looked up. Mother was standing at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Emerson, how lovely to have you back.’ She began her descent, holding the banister carefully.

  Emerson Polgas bowed. ‘Lady Clarissa, you’ve not changed one little bit. Can it really be ten years?’

  Mother smiled, stopping halfway down the marble stairs. ‘Thank you, how very kind. So Marsh Miasma is not contagious?’

  He nodded, glancing back at Luke. ‘My findings never differed. Those with the disease – and by that I include both remitting and unremitting fever – who left the area where they contracted the disease, never communicated it to others. The foul air of the miasma can be cleared by strong winds and harsh weather conditions, yet the miasma stays within the marsh area. The illness does not spread across the sea, nor does it spread from person to person.’

  Mother was watching me and I forced a smile. Luke kept his eyes firmly on Emerson Polgas. I could hardly breathe watching him standing there so formally, all that honour and stiff resolution. I wanted to cry, I wanted to run to his side. I wanted him to sweep me into Papa’s study and hold me tightly.

  He looked desperate to be elsewhere. ‘My work here centres around the disease caused by putrid and stagnant gutters – the pools of stinking detritus left to rot in our alleys. Illness spreads rapidly – whole households coming down with typhoid and the flux, yet other areas remain unaffected. Unlike the disease of smallpox or influenza – which are definitely contagious – it seems to be the miasma causes the illness. It sounds rather similar to your marshes . . .’

  Emerson Polgas’s hooded eyes sharpened. ‘I understand your advice was to deepen and flush the sewers away from town? You’ve instigated broader streets and the removal of filth – and you want a system of water pumps separate from the drains. I’ve seen your proposals for the new infirmary, Dr Bohenna, and I must say I’m impressed.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Luke nodded at the footman who held out his coat and hat. ‘Most importantly, I believe we should start to inoculate against smallpox. The evidence is now quite compelling.’

  Emerson Polgas raised his eyebrows. ‘A controversial view, I believe, Dr Bohenna?’

  Luke put on his hat and fastened his coat, a slight tightening of his lips. No smile, no glance back at me, just a rigid set to his shoulders and a formal bow. ‘I’m afraid I must leave you . . . I have patients waiting. If you’ll excuse me.’

  Mother finished her descent of the stairs and tapped Emerson’s arm with her fan. ‘Be warned, my dear, Dr Bohenna is a serious contender for the job you assume is yours.’ She tapped his arm again. ‘Believe me, it is not a foregone conclusion. Dine with us tonight – if your dear mother can spare you. Sir Edmund Melville is expected, and I’d like you to meet him.’

  ‘Lady Clarissa . . . I would dearly love to, but I’m engaged to have dinner with Lieutenant Halliday in the White Hart tonight.’

  Mother’s smile broadened, a conspiratorial glance at Constance. ‘George Halliday? Sir Hugh and Lady Imogine’s son? Well now, how splendid. I haven’t seen George Halliday since he was commissioned. What a lucky coincidence. I shall expect you both at six.’

  Papa pointed Emerson swiftly into his study and Mother drew a contented breath. ‘Not just one, but two highly suitable matches,’ she whispered, lifting the hem of her skirt to admire her bandage-free ankle. ‘Don’t look so stricken, Connie my love, it’s only to please your brother. At least, he must think I have your marriage in mind.’

  Chapter Thirty-two

  My apricot gown glowed in the firelight, the Mechlin lace at my sleeves catching the light. Bethany stood back. ‘No, a little higher. Let me pin it again.’ She was more flustered than usual, running from one of us to the other, tweaking our hair into curls, smoothing our gowns, but I could see her heart was not in it. Nor was mine, though I tried to smile for Connie’s sake.

  Bethany glanced at the gowns abandoned on the bed, the discarded shawls hanging over the chair. We had even changed our minds on how to wear our hair, but now we were finally ready: two elegant ladies in our finest silk, even though we did look pale and less excited than we should.

  We stood in front of the looking glass. ‘Would you like a faint blush of rouge, Miss Melville? Only black drains a lady of all her colour . . .’

  Connie shook her head. ‘No, thank you, Bethany. When I get embarrassed I blush terribly. If either of them—’ She stopped.

  I looked just as pale, just as fearful. ‘Mother’s promised, Connie, and when Mother promises something she never goes back on her word. She’s not matchmaking.’

  Her lips quivered. ‘I think she is . . . Amelia, I made a terrible mistake.’ She glanced at Bethany, now busy at the dressing table, and her voice dropped. ‘I was telling her about the funeral . . . about Reverend Kemp and somehow . . . somehow, I told her how much I loved Adam Kemp. I couldn’t help it. I just came out with it.’

  I held her gaze in the mirror. ‘Don’t give them any undue encouragement . . . just be polite and smile. They’re both charming – George is very like Frederick and you’ve nothing to fear from Emerson. Mother will never force you into a marriage you don’t want.’

  Bethany lit another candle, the wax dripping from the one she held in her hand. As the flame flared, I saw her eyes fill with tears. She picked up my jewellery case and came quickly to my side. Her fingers trembled as she opened it. ‘Do you think you might like to wear these earrings, Miss Carew? As befitting . . .’

  The diamonds glittered on their velvet lining and I nodded, fastening them to my ears. Her voice had rung with hurt, her unsaid words hanging between us. As befitting the next Lady Melville. The clock struck the quarter hour and I knew we must go down.


  ‘You look beautiful, Connie. Come, we better go. Mother asked Edmund to arrive a little earlier.’

  Halfway down the stairs, we stopped. The drawing room door was ajar and we saw Edmund leaning over a newspaper that was lying open on the table. ‘Oh no! Connie, look! He’s reading the paper. Mother must have left it open.’

  Her face fell. ‘He won’t be able to read it – he’s not holding a magnifying glass.’ She sounded as shaken as I felt.

  He turned sharply at our entrance and my fear spiralled. He looked horror-struck, worst of all, a pair of iron-rimmed spectacles sat heavily on his nose.

  ‘Edmund . . . how lovely you’ve come to Truro.’

  His fine silk jacket stretched impeccably over his broad shoulders. He looked elegant, expensively dressed, his waistcoat delicately embroidered, a pair of silver buckles at his knees. His boots were highly polished, his cravat fashionably tied. His short hair was newly washed. A perfect gentleman, expect for the panic behind his new, rather ugly glasses.

  ‘Amelia . . . Connie . . . have you read this? Fox and Fox Insurance are seeking Mr Philip Daniel last seen yesterday on the quayside in Truro.’ He ran a shaking hand across his forehead. ‘Philip Daniel is the man who signed my letter – he’s the agent from Sumatra . . . the one who’s bringing back my shipment.’

  A fine layer of sweat covered his upper lip. His cheeks were flushed, his hands clenching into fists by his side. ‘Why are Fox and Fox seeking Philip Daniel here in Truro? The Swift was bound for Bristol – she can’t have docked here because her hull would be too deep.’ He swung away from us, his shoulders stooping. ‘Something’s happened. I’m sorry . . . please, give me a moment.’

  The fire was blazing, the candelabra glittering above us, and we stood in silence, waiting for his shoulders to straighten and his fists to unfurl. ‘I’m sorry.’ He was fighting his emotion, almost choking on his words. ‘Why are Fox and Fox shipping insurance seeking Philip Daniel?’

  The keepers of secrets, both of us instinctively staying silent. To tell him of our fears just before he faced company would be too unkind: now was not the time to dash his hopes.

  ‘Maybe he’s looking for you . . . perhaps he called into Pendowrick and was told you’d left for town?’

  Connie shook her head. ‘But his letter was sent to Father in London – it was forwarded to Pendowrick. Does Mr Daniel know our Cornish address?’

  Edmund’s face cleared, a new hope to his nod. ‘Yes . . . I believe so. It was a very long time ago, but I believe I told him our estate was in Cornwall and questioned the chance of shipping it to Truro.’ He brought out his handkerchief, blowing his nose. ‘Or maybe he’s been to London. We need this shipment – everything rests on it. I should imagine he’s stored the spices safely in Bristol and wants to hand over the papers. Yes, that must be it.’

  He smiled, adjusting the heavy frames. ‘Amelia, let me look at you. My dearest love, you’re even more beautiful now I can see you properly . . .’ He lifted the frames, dabbing his tears, ‘At least I could . . . there, that’s better. Are these so very terrible? I need to get used to wearing them . . .’

  He was so eager and my heart lurched. His pitted face, the scar above his lip, even the coarseness of his skin was beginning to look familiar. I breathed deeply. I would find a way back to loving him. I could. I would. I had to.

  ‘Not at all. I’m glad they work so well. That newsprint is really quite small – it’s a wonder you can read it.’ I smiled, but he did not smile back. There was a sudden tension in his shoulders, a stiffening of his back.

  In the doorway Mother stood resplendent in her finest blue silk. Matching feathers clustered to one side of her elegantly swept-back hair, a pair of sapphires dangling from her earlobes. Papa stood behind her, bewigged and uncomfortable in his most formal jacket. A gold watch hung from his waistcoat pocket, which he flicked open with one hand.

  ‘Splendid. Excellent timing. Four years too late, but you’re very welcome.’ He strode forward, clasping Edmund by the hand. ‘Very welcome indeed. Excellent. Those glasses actually help, do they?’

  I could see them hiding their shock, both of them glancing away, not wanting to appear discourteous. Edmund’s face was a livid red, his hands twisting against his embroidered waistcoat. ‘Six years since I was last here . . . six very long years . . . interminable years . . . but I’m back now and never has Truro looked more beautiful . . . or Miss Carew.’

  Mother drew herself to her full height, her smile gracious, though it did not reach her eyes. ‘There are going to be seven of us dining tonight,’ she said, folding the newspaper and handing it to the footman.

  A pulse beat in Edmund’s neck. He loosened his collar. ‘Lady Clarissa . . . if you don’t mind . . . I don’t think I can face society just yet. I look well but I find society very difficult. Please, if you don’t mind, I’ll return tomorrow.’ His eyes sought mine in panic.

  Mother’s voice was soothing, full of reassurance. ‘Sir Edmund, I understand. Believe me, I understand. But my advice is to take one small step at a time. What is difficult now will only get more difficult the longer you leave it. Admiral Sir Alexander Pendarvis has told us what you have been through and how it has affected you – indeed how it would affect anyone. I don’t believe in mincing my words. I believe gallant heroes who put their lives at risk for their king and country need to be nurtured back into society. Your terrors will leave you – but only if you allow us to help.’

  He looked shaken, bowing courteously, but I saw panic in his eyes, a sudden hardening of his mouth. ‘Lady Clarissa . . . your kindness means everything. I do not deserve such generosity of spirit.’

  ‘Your extraordinary bravery under fire is what we must dwell on. The enthusiasm of a youth, too impatient to go to war to bid goodbye to his fiancée, will, in time, be forgiven.’

  She had said it. Dear God, she had said it. Reprimanding him as if he was still in the nursery. I could hardly contain the thumping of my heart. I knew I must go to him, stand by his side, let him know I held no such poor opinion of his sudden departure.

  Edmund lifted his chin, as if awaiting the next blow. ‘Thank you for speaking so candidly, Lady Clarissa.’

  Papa nodded, smiling with the same slight reserve. ‘Stay, Sir Edmund, though by all means feel free to leave us if you must – rest assured you will be among friends. Dr Polgas has worked in the navy his whole career. He’s recently returned from Jamaica and if anyone understands the inflictions of the Tropics, he does. And we’re to be joined by Lieutenant George Halliday. I believe you know the latter, if not the former.’

  Mother put out her arm, leading Edmund to the window. ‘Lieutenant Halliday has extremely good credentials,’ she said softly, glancing back at Connie. ‘He’s well connected and in need of a wife to help him spend the rather large amount of prize money he’s accrued.’ Her voice dropped even lower. ‘Dr Polgas is already family, and also in want of a wife. Stay for your sister’s sake. Approve one of them and leave the rest to me.’

  The clock struck six and through the open door we heard two men leaving their coats with the footman in the hall.

  Just one glance at Emerson Polgas and we knew Lady Polgas had instructed him what to wear. His dark blue silk jacket had a cut-away collar, deep lapels and brass buttons that looked almost, but not quite, like a naval uniform. A gold pin held his immaculately folded silk necktie in place; his damask waistcoat was finely embroidered, his breeches elegant, his shoes polished and new. He looked poised and elegant, his hair worn short, greying at the temples, his slightly hooded eyes glancing straight at Edmund.

  Younger by ten years, Lieutenant George Halliday stood resplendent in full navy uniform. A friend from childhood, I caught the same charming smile, the polite but shy glance he risked at Connie. He had the same mass of blond hair he had had as a youth, the same ruddy complexion, the familiar round cheeks and boyish dimples.

  ‘Lady Clarissa, thank you for inviting me. It’s such a pleasure to see you
all again.’ The same charming voice, another shy glance at Connie. ‘Miss Melville, this is indeed an honour.’ He bowed to Edmund. ‘Sir Edmund, I’ve heard about your exploits . . . we’ve all heard . . . Suffice it to say it’s men like you who make our navy great.’

  ‘I hardly think—’

  ‘Your valour can only be admired . . . your escape, well, little did we know all those years ago how things would turn out.’ He tapped his jacket. ‘Gieves did a splendid job, didn’t he?’ He turned to address us all. ‘The last time we met, we were being measured for our uniforms.’

  He risked another glance at Constance and Mother smiled. ‘Miss Melville is staying with us for a while – after the recent sad death of her mother.’

  His bow was respectful, immediate kindness in his voice. ‘Please accept my sincere condolences, Miss Melville.’

  Constance forced a smile. ‘Thank you. Are you in Truro for long?’

  ‘My ship’s undergoing repairs in Plymouth so I’ve a week, maybe ten days. This is my first long shore leave for four years.’

  ‘Splendid, let’s make the most of it.’ Papa stood by the table, a silver cup poised above the glass punch bowl. ‘Rum for you navy men . . . just a drop or two of brandy . . . lemons . . . and sugar. I have this recipe from Lady Pendarvis and I must say it’s rather good.’

  My heart was thumping so hard I thought it might burst. Edmund was smiling but in the mirror I could see his hands clenched into fists behind his back. His knuckles looked white, his breathing laboured. Mother was wrong to put him through this, and I was wrong not to intervene. I should have stopped her; he was not ready, he would freeze, forget his words. He needed more time.

  Papa handed a glass of punch to George Halliday. ‘You shared a tailor? Splendid cut – very fine.’

  ‘I’ve since had the cuffs and lapel changed to blue, but you were right, Edmund. You warned me not to have it lined with silk and I took no notice.’ He smiled at Mother. ‘The Tars don’t like any undue signs of wealth – it’s inappropriate and Sir Edmund knew that. You’ve to earn their respect, not parade around in velvet collars and silk-lined pockets.’