"I've never seen her before in my life."
The cruel way that he had dismissed Polly, beautiful, brave, wilful Polly, tore at his soul, and James knew that he had to find her to apologise and beg for her forgiveness. Seized with energy, he devised a rather haphazard plan, which involved stealing coins from the purse in his uncle's desk and taking the first coach he could find to Newcastle, for surely she would have returned there. In his mind's eye, he envisaged that his passage to Newcastle would take no more than two days, but in reality, it was nearly a week later when he arrived at the door of the Jenkin's ramshackle house on Strawberry Lane.
He was exhausted and covered with grime from the dusty roads, but hope filled him at the thought of seeing Polly again.
"'O's that?"
Ted Jenkins, his face bloated and red from drink, opened the door to James' knocking.
"James Livingstone, sir," the young man started, for the whiff of gin of Ted was enough to knock a horse out. "I'm here to see Polly."
"Well you'll be waiting, if it's Polly you're looking for." Ted spat on the ground in disgust. "She left months ago with the half-wit, haven't seen 'em since."
"Haven't seen them since...?"
"February. And good riddance to them--no appreciation for their poor pa, who worked his fingers to the bones to put food on the table for them."
Ted shut the door with a bang, leaving James outside in the lane. How could he have been so stupid? There was no other reason for Polly to have travelled all the way to London, other than that she was fleeing from Ted. Where was she now?
James grasped at straws, trying to think. Polly could be anywhere--London, Bristol, or even France, for all he knew. When she had disappeared that night in the Dean's Yard, she must have known that he would never have had any hope of finding her and she had not called out to tell him.
James began to walk aimlessly toward the docks, unsure of what his next step would be. He was half thinking of throwing himself into the deep, murky waters of the Tyne, when a jovial voice called out.
"What-ho, now there's a strapping lad. Tell me boy, are you employed?"
James shook his head in response to the older gentleman, who was kitted out in the uniform of the Royal Navy.
"A big, strong buck like you, with nothing to do?" the man feigned horror, "Have you not heard we're at war, man? Get yourself down to Spencer Quay, my son, they're signing up tars this minute."
With a wave, the man continued weaving his way through the crowds, hailing down every healthy looking man he passed.
It was like a sign from God, James decided as he made his way to Spencer Dock; the thought of being marooned at sea for months, or even years, quite appealed to his melancholy state. He made his way to the small office on the quayside, where a surly sailor, greeted him.
"What's yer name?" he said with disinterest, looking down at the sheaf of paper on his desk, which bore at least two dozen names .
"James Liv—" James paused, for after nearly four years, the response of Livingstone had almost tripped off his tongue without thought.
"Wassamater, you forgot your name?" the man guffawed with amusement.
"No sir, I have not," James replied, "My name is James Black."
And I'll never forget that again, he thought with determination.
CHAPTER FIVE
Polly Jenkins was not one for nostalgia--she was a hardworking, practical woman of eight and twenty, who was far happier when acting rather than ruminating. But sometimes, on days when the demands of the boarding house that she ran were fewer than usual, she found her mind wandering. Often when this happened, she would pull herself out of it quite quickly, for she knew where her mind wanted to wander...
It wanted to traipse back through a decade of memories, to the place where her heart had broken so thoroughly that she thought she might die.
Well I didn't die, she would think mulishly, I was simply reborn. A different girl had left the Dean's Yard more than ten years ago than the one who had entered it full of hope and love, and Polly would remind herself that this was for the best. The world could be a cruel place, and 'twas better to have that fact pierced upon your heart at a young age, for no one else could then break what was already broken.
Of late though--well, since she had arrived in Cornwall, to be precise--Polly had found that her mind wandered rather a lot back to that fateful day, and to all the days before that she had spent with James Black. She supposed it was because of the ring. She had completely forgotten about the ring that James had given her, until she found it nestled in the lining of her battered portmanteau when she arrived in St Jarvis. At the time, she had slipped the ring onto her finger thoughtlessly, so as not to misplace it again before she decided what to do with it. Now however, as her thoughts kept drifting to James Black, and the day that he had broken her heart, she thought that perhaps the ring would have been best left rusting in her travel case.
"Are you quite alright, Polly?" the voice of Olive, Duchess of Everleigh, broke through Polly's thoughts, drawing her back from the past.
"Yes," Polly smiled at her friend, who was seated in the drawing room of the boarding house that Polly ran sipping on afternoon tea. To Olive's left sat Lady Jane Payne, a slight woman, with thick chestnut tresses, and huge eyes that appeared magnified behind her spectacles. "I was merely thinking of Mrs Actrol's reading this evening."
"That's reason enough for your glazed eyes," Olive laughed, causing Jane to splutter with indignation.
Mrs Actrol was the resident author of the boarding house, whose works Jane greatly admired. Polly, who had always adored reading, also adored the Gothic novels that the acerbic woman wrote, though she knew they were thought of as outlandish in some quarters.
"Oh, I only jest, Jane dear," Olive said with a wave of her hand. "You know that I adore Mrs A--though she does seem to have based a lot of this next work on the first days of my marriage..."
Olive and Polly had originally met under rather unusual circumstances. Olive, who had not wished to marry her betrothed, the Duke of Everleigh, had vanished on their wedding night, when the ship that was to take the newlyweds to France, sank off the Cornish coast. The runaway Duchess had made her way to St Jarvis, where she had taken over the running of a boarding house with a reputation for hosting an eclectic mix of young ladies during the summer months. Her husband, who had discovered his wife's whereabouts, had sent Polly ahead of him to keep a watchful eye over Olive, until such time as he could come to fetch her back. During that time, Polly and Olive had formed a deep friendship, which was sealed when Polly politely pointed a pistol at the Duke on Olive's behalf. Luckily the newlyweds had reconciled their differences, and Polly had been left to run the boarding house.
"Art quite often imitates life," Jane pointed out reasonably, still unwilling to hear a bad word about her favourite author. "And besides, your marriage did have rather a dramatic start--it made the papers for weeks."
"Oh, those rags will make a story out of anything," Olive replied with a wave of her hand, though the pale skin of her cheeks glowed rosily with embarrassment, for--as Polly knew--she now quite regretted the anxiety she had caused her husband. "As your husband well knows..."
Polly snorted with delight--Jane's husband, Lord Payne, had been quite the rakehell before he settled down with the bluestocking Jane. In fact, their marriage had only come about because Lord Payne's father had threatened to cut him off, after one of his escapades had ended in a much-publicised carriage crash. The story of how Lord Payne had smashed his new, extremely expensive Phaeton to smithereens, had graced the papers for weeks. Jane had agreed to pretend to become his betrothed, thus lending him a veneer of much needed respectability, but the mismatched pair had fallen hopelessly in love.
"Yes, he does," Jane rolled her eyes and set her teacup down, "And as does poor Hestia;the papers are filled with her marriage to Falconbridge. I know it must upset her terribly, though she weathers it well. She and the Marquess are so looking forward to the
reading later."
"And I am looking forward to seeing them both again," Polly answered honestly, reaching for the teapot and topping up all three cups with a hot drop. Polly had met the new Lady Delaney before her marriage to the Marquess of Falconbridge--when Hestia had worked as Jane's companion. She was looking forward to seeing how the young woman had adapted to her new role as Marchioness.
"What's that Polly?" the Duchess had been watching Polly pour the tea with curious eyes, her gaze fixed upon the ring upon Polly's finger.
"This old thing?" Polly, glanced down at the gem on her finger, which was glittering in the afternoon's sun. "It's a costume piece a friend gave to me, many moons ago. It's made of paste, I think, though I polished it last night and it has come up lovely."
The ring, even though fake, was a heavy thing. It featured a rather ostentatious yellow stone, set into a false gold setting. It looked years old, which was why Polly had always thought it had weathered so well--craftsmen of old knew how to make things that lasted, not like today's modern wares.
"Are you certain it's costume?" Olive's eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline, and her green eyes followed the arc of Polly's hand with awe as she placed the teapot upon the tray. "It doesn't look it; I swear,I think it's a diamond."
"A diamond?" Polly snorted with disbelief, casting her gaze down to her hand. "The boy who gave it to me hadn't tuppence to rub together, let alone a diamond to throw away!"
"A boy gave it to you?"
"Perhaps he didn't know its worth?"
Both Olive and Jane had spoken at the same time, leaving Polly feeling rather confused. She did not know why she had mentioned that James Black had gifted her the ring; she had not spoken of him since she had watched him walk away, almost a decade before, not even to Emily, who had known him.
"How would one tell if a diamond was real?" Polly asked, not because she wished to know, but because she was more inclined to follow the path that Olive's question led to, rather than Jane's.
"A real diamond can cut glass," Jane, who was practically a walking encyclopedia answered immediately. "May I see?"
Jane held out a hesitant hand and reluctantly Polly removed the ring from her finger and handed it over to her bespectacled friend. Jane held the ring up to the light, squinting at it over the rim of her glasses.
"Goodness Polly--I think it's baroque!"
"Oh, it's not broken, it's just rather old," Polly replied soothingly to her excited friend.
"No, no," Jane's face flushed. "Not broke, baroque. It's a style of design from the seventeenth century. Do you see the detail of the floral carvings along the bezel? It's extraordinary in its detail, it must have taken months to make."
Polly nodded, feeling a little foolish as she looked at the ring with new eyes; it was an extraordinary piece of craftsmanship for a supposed piece of costume jewellery. How had she carried it around for so long not realising what it was?
"Detail like that is typical of a baroque piece," Jane explained cheerfully, "Oh, and I've no doubt that the stone is a diamond, Polly. Do you have any glass that we can test it on?"
"The window pane?" Polly shrugged, "Though I don't know what the landlord will say if he finds out that I've scratched his window."
"I'll deal with Julian if the matter arises," Jane laughed, for Julian, Viscount Jarvis, was Jane's brother as well as Polly's landlord.
Jane walked over to the bay window, closely followed by Polly and Olive, then leaned over and dragged the corner of the ring's bright, yellow stone along the glass window pane. It left a very deep, straight line in its wake.
"Heavens, it is real," Polly whispered, taking a step backward as though the ring was cursed. Heavens knew how much the thing was worth. She thought fleetingly of all the hardship that she and Emily had endured before Polly had entered the employ of the Duke of Everleigh, and how she could have sold the blooming thing and made their lives so much easier. She quickly dismissed the thought, for the path of life that she and Emily had taken had brought them to the safe harbour of St Jarvis, and they were stronger, kinder women for having endured the hard times.
"Who did you say gave this to you?" Olive asked curiously, wrenching Polly from her thoughts as Jane handed the ring back to her.
"A friend," Polly whispered, slipping the heavy thing back over her finger. "Years ago, when we were both children. It belonged to his mother..."
"Who was his mother and how did she come to possess such a thing?" Jane pondered, not realising the weight of her question.
Mrs Flora Black had been an idol of sorts to the young Polly Jenkins, who had often wondered over the years how such a proud, educated woman had been led astray by the Earl of Ludlow. The man must have been a rake of the highest order, to have abandoned his mistress and son to a life of poverty.
"His mother was, I think, the mistress of an Earl," Polly whispered, her hand gripping the back of the overstuffed chair that she stood beside. "When I was twelve, Mrs Black died and a man came to take James away to London. He must have been a steward of some sort, now that I look back on it, but at the time I was too young to understand. Before James left Newcastle, he gave me this ring to remember him by. I can only assume that the Earl gave it to James' mother..."
"Who was the Earl, Polly?" Olive asked, her eyes wide at the tale. "Goodness, perhaps we know him? Perhaps we know this James fellow too?"
"I can't remember his name," Polly lied, for Olive had just given voice to her worst fear. She did not wish to see James Black, nor the man he had turned into. Entitled, snobbish, condescending; Jane shuddered at what her old friend might be like now, probably far worse than what he had been in London. Perhaps he now had a pot belly from over indulgence, a receding hair line and a bad case of gout--this thought made her smile a little wickedly before she continued; "And I have no idea where James might be--though I wonder if he now realises the worth of the ring?"
"Well, he can't possibly ask for it back, it was a gift," Olive shrugged, as though this solved the matter.
Any more talk of the ring or James was mercifully interrupted by the sound of the Hamilton twins, guests of the boarding house, barrelling through the front door, followed by Emily.
"Gracious," Polly smoothed her skirts, "I hadn't realised the time. I have to start preparing tea and then arrange everything for the reading. Not to mention that we now have two extra guests in Lord and Lady Delaney..."
"Can I be of any help, Polly?" Jane volunteered gamely, but Polly waved her offer away with a grateful smile.
"No duck, but thank you. You'd both best be getting back to Pemberton--I shall see you this evening."
The Duchess and future Duchess left with cheerful waves, leaving Polly to busy herself with the work that needed to be done. The boarding house had once been managed by a rather eccentric lady called Mrs Barker, who had run the inn as a sort of refuge for young ladies with an intellectual disposition. The guests were an eclectic mixture of artists, writers, and ladies who just did not fit in with fashionable set in town. Polly adored the house, which had a library filled with books, and the guests, who had shown her that women were just as capable as men at academics.
At night, when all the guests were sleeping, Polly would often slip down to the library and read by candle-light for hours. As a child, she had longed for enough money to buy a membership to the Literary and Philosophical Society so that she could use their library--now here she was at eight and twenty, with a library all of her own!
"Is it tripe again, Polly?" Emily, as usual had entered the room silently, causing Polly to start when she spoke.
"No, it's haddock," Polly mildly replied, throwing an apron to her younger sister, who wrapped the garment over her dress and began to prep the vegetables. The Jenkins sisters worked in companionable silence, their movements quick and fluid. Emily had come out of her shell since arriving in St Jarvis and was friends with everyone in the village. When they had lived in Bristol, by the port, Polly had been loathe to let the young woman tra
vel too far from their home, for a bustling city was filled with knaves and blackguards, who would prey on a person as soft as Emily.
As the fish stew bubbled merrily in the pot, Emily happily described her afternoon adventures with the Hamilton twins. They had walked down to the cove, on the far side of the village, where Poppy and Alexandra had spent a few hours teaching Emily about the various crustaceans who lived in the water.
Polly felt a stab of guilt, as she watched Emily's animated expression; she should have brought her to a place like St Jarvis years ago. Indeed, just after Polly had begun to work for the Duke of Everleigh, a young fisherman had proposed marriage to her and offered to look after both Polly and Emily in his village on the coast. What had stopped Polly from saying yes was that she strongly believed the only person who knew what was right for Emily was her —though she now realised that her protectiveness had hampered her sister's chances of living a free and happy life.
"Why do you look so sad Polly?" Emily questioned, breaking through her thoughts. "Is it the stew? I know it smells terrible, but I'm sure it will taste divine."
"Away with you saying my stew smells terrible," Polly laughed, swatting at her younger sister with a dishrag. Emily had a talent for making rather blunt observations,the kind that most people would keep to themselves; it was part of her charm. "I'm just feeling sad that we didn't move to St Jarvis years ago, for it's such a lovely place."
"Oh, don't feel sad about that," Emily wore a perplexed look on her innocent face, "You can't change the past silly, so you must not feel sad about it."
Her sister's simple wisdom gave Polly heart, and she scurried about, finishing off tea, with a happier spring in her step. Once all the guests had eaten, the table was cleared and everyone made their way to the drawing room to wait for Mrs Actrol's reading. Polly served tea to her guests and welcomed the Duchess of Everleigh, Lady Payne, and the newlywed Lord and Lady Delaney as they arrived.
The Captain of Betrayal Page 4