CHAPTER SEVEN
A light sea breeze ruffled Polly's hair as she made her way into the village to buy fish for the ladies' tea. The sun was warm, and she relished in the feel of it on her face, even though she knew that she would pay for it later with a smattering of freckles across her nose. She had forgotten to put on her bonnet before she had left, which was most unlike her. Polly prided herself on always being alert and prepared, but since the night that James Black had re-entered her world, she had become most absent minded.
Her thoughts had drifted to him, more than once, in the past three days. Her daily tasks had taken twice as long as they usually did, because she kept pausing to think on how James now looked, how he sounded, how his blue eyes had remained the same as the boy's she had known, but that he had grown into a man.
And what a man...
For the past few days, the ladies of the boarding house had bombarded her with questions about the handsome Captain, whom they had spied on from the drawing room. From their observations about James, Polly realised that it was not her imagination, but that James was exceedingly handsome.
"Such broad shoulders," Poppy had breathed.
"And eyes that twinkled like a thousand stars in the night's sky," Miss Audrey Dunham, the resident poet, had offered.
"Not to mention his thighs in those breeches."
The final observation had come from Mrs Actrol's companion Beatrice, who had flushed bright red as the ladies had all glanced at her with shock. Beatrice was a very quiet woman, who rarely commented on anything, so Captain Black must have made quite the impression to elicit such a remark.
"Well, it's true," she had stuttered indignantly, her round face flushed. "He had very muscular thighs--you can't deny that fact."
Polly could not deny it, but nor could she deny the fact that she wanted nothing to do with James Black--and least of all, to listen to people wax lyrical about how handsome he was. Luckily, Polly had not seen James since the night that she had thrown him out into the rain, so she supposed that he had slithered back under whatever rock it was that he had crawled out from.
"And good riddance," she whispered aloud to herself; she was glad he was gone again, truly she was.
"Alright Poll, how's things?" Jack Beverley called in greeting, as Polly wound her way down to the small pier where the local fishermen were docking after their morning's work.
"Can't complain," Polly replied with a genuine smile, for she liked Jack. He was typical of the type of man found in Cornwall; rugged and weather-beaten, but kind beneath his rough exterior. "Good catch?"
"Best in years," Jack broke into a smile, which seemed to triple the wrinkles on his lined face. "That lad what moved into the old Smuggler's Cottage on the Cove Road, showed me how to weave a new type of net. It catches the smaller pilchards, as well as the sea bass. He's a genius that lad, so he is."
"Oh?" Polly's heart skipped a beat at this news, as she wondered who exactly this newcomer was. She had a sinking suspicion that she knew; but even James Black wouldn't be so pig-headedly rude as to move to her village. She was here first —the old rules still applied in her opinion.
"Aye, great man," Jack grinned, his smile gap-toothed but sincere. "Then I heard that after he left me, he met old Ned Turnpike, who was making his way to Truro, when Ned's horse done took a fright and Ned lost control of the thing."
"How dreadful," Polly murmured, for Ned was near eighty if he was a day.
"It would 'ave been," Jack replied seriously, "If this lad hadn't jumped into the cart, wrestled the reins from Ned's hands, and brought the beast to heel."
"How wonderful," Polly responded, glad that Ned had been saved, but still worried that his saviour was none other than her nemesis Captain Black. She did not like the thought of any of her neighbours speaking of James Black in such a reverential manner. They were her neighbours, her friends, not his. Polly quickly changed the subject from run-away horses, to the pilchards that Ned had netted. She bought a basketful off the fisherman, before hastily departing to the safety of the village, where she hoped she would hear no more about the heroic newcomer.
"How's a girl?" Mr Lawless, the proprietor of the local inn, The Fisherman's Friend, called as Polly made her way up Shop Street.
"Just fine, Mr Lawless," Polly replied, stopping to talk to the man. "What's happened here?"
Mr Lawless held a hammer in his hand, and was busy mending a rather large hole in the inn's wooden door.
"Oh we'd some bad 'uns last night, lass," the landlord replied, shaking his head at the memory. "It was just myself at the bar, when some lads out of Castlewaith rolled in, already filled to the gills with drink and looking for trouble."
"Goodness," Polly again found herself murmuring, for Mr Lawless, though sprightly for seventy, would have been no match for three drunk young men. "And they broke your door?"
"They would have broke my neck," Mr Lawless replied, widening his eyes in horror at the memory, "If it wasn't for that Black fellow."
"Oh?" Polly's response was a barely concealed groan of despair; so the mysterious new hero in the village was James.
"He took on all three, and single-handedly ejected them with the only casualty being the door."
"How wonderful," Polly dejectedly replied--another admirer for Captain Black.
"He's a great man," Mr Lawless seemed to miss the flatness of her tone, and his eyes glazed over with admiration for James as he spoke. "And the village is lucky to have him."
Polly couldn't find it within herself to add to Mr Lawless' accolades about the brave Captain, so she merely offered him a tight smile before continuing on her way with a wave.
How dare he, she fumed, as she stormed up the hill toward home. How dare he come to my village and try to steal my friends. James Black was Polly's past, while St Jarvis was her future--she did not want past and present to collide, not when she had finally found a place for her and Emily to call home.
Polly's inner, angry monologue was cut off when she reached the end of Shop Street. Here the road split in two, with the boarding house on one side and the small village church on the other. In the middle of the road, there was a small green, where summer fetes and the like were held. The green was, at that moment, thronged with ladies--her ladies from the boarding house--and at least half a dozen of the local children.
"What's going on?" Polly queried, as she sidled up to the Hamilton twins, who were both staring up into the branches of the ancient, leafy oak which dwarfed the middle of the green.
"Little Lottie Thompson's kitten is stuck up in the tree," Poppy answered, dragging her eyes away from the spectacle to glance at Polly.
"And Captain Black has climbed up to rescue it," Alexandra finished for her twin sister.
"Of course he has," Polly could not help herself from responding darkly. Captain James Black to the rescue, again; it took all her willpower not to sigh with annoyance. Instead she raised her gaze up and saw that the dashing Captain was indeed perched high in the tree top. James had removed his coat and waistcoat, and was dressed only in his shirtsleeves and breeches; a fact which seemed to have enthralled the ladies who milled below.
"I wonder would you be watching if it was Bill Hoper up there?" Polly wondered aloud to the twins, already knowing the answer.
"Obviously not, Poll," Poppy gave a giggle, "Bless poor Bill, but I doubt he would have made it to the first branch, let alone the top of the tree."
The Hamilton twins sniggered at this, then both let out simultaneous shrieks of horror, as the branch that James was perched upon gave an ominous creak. Even Polly, despite her antipathy toward her old friend, felt a jolt of fear as the crack echoed across the green.
If he falls and breaks his neck, it'll be me that has to clean his brains up, she thought to herself, trying to justify the hammering of her heart. She did not care about James; she only cared about him not falling from the tree and traumatising her guests. The last thing she needed was to be proprietress of an empty boarding hous
e...
"Oh, thank goodness, he's got it," Beatrice cried, interrupting Polly's thoughts. Mrs Actrol's companion clapped her hands in glee as James reached out and snared the kitten from the branch above him, grabbing the little thing by the scruff of its neck. Polly bit her lip to keep from laughing as the tiny ball of fur lashed out at James, scraping at him with its claws as James began his descent through the branches. Her laughter quickly died as the end of James' shirt snagged on a branch, pulling it free from his breeches and revealing a rather tantalising glimpse James' of bare, toned stomach. Polly heard several of the nearby ladies gasp at the momentary flash of tanned flesh, and saw that some of the women had obviously been as affected by the spectacle as she.
"Thank goodness the poor kitten is safe," Beatrice finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen. The older woman's face was bright red, and she looked as though she was suffering terribly from the heat. The Hamilton twins had fared no better--both of the twins had cheeks that were flushed and they seemed even giddier than usual.
"Is that your Aunt Augusta making her way up the hill?" Polly innocently asked the girls, who paled at the mention of their stern Aunt.
"Oh, Lud. Is it?" Alexandra's blue eyes widened in horror, "She'll lecture us until kingdom come about propriety, and engaging in public spectacles, if she spots us here."
The twins disappeared quickly, followed by Beatrice, who seemed afraid that Mrs Actrol would also catch her in the act of gawping at the local bachelor.
Polly allowed James a moment to bask in glory, watching from under her eyelashes as he handed the rescued kitten to Lottie Thompson, whose cheeks were stained with tears. The little girl glanced up at James with naked admiration, her awe filled gaze so innocent.
He'd make a wonderful father, Polly thought absently as she watched the pair. James had hunkered down, so that he was face to face with the little girl, rather than allowing his tall frame dwarf her, and he was calmly showing Lottie the kitten, explaining that it was unharmed.
Goodness, Polly started, where had that thought come from? She had never before held any inclinations toward motherhood--having already been somewhat of a mother to Emily--but watching James speaking with Lottie stirred something within her. It was like an ache, a longing for a life that at eight and twenty was long out of her reach.
The pining for a family of her own was so sharp that when James finally rose to his feet and ambled across the green to where she stood, Polly's nerves were frayed and her temper short.
"There you are," he said, as he came to a halt before her.
Polly had spent a lifetime wishing she were taller, and now as she gazed up at James Black, she once again cursed her small stature. He was enormous; true, he had been tall as a boy, but he had been lanky with it. As a grown man, James stood well over six foot, with broad shoulders and an athletic, muscular frame. He exuded power and confidence, whilst Polly felt like a child before him.
"Yes," she responded, bristling as his blue eyed gaze seemed to swallow her whole. "Here I am, standing on the green outside my home. And here you are, standing in a place that is not your home, and where there's no welcome for you--though you're too pig-headed to see it."
"Goodbye Captain!"
"Thank you so much, Captain!"
"We're so glad you were here, Captain!"
As though to prove her wrong, half a dozen children filed past Polly and James, each child bestowing smiles and waves upon the latter, chattering loudly about how brave, strong and wonderful Captain Black was. Polly harrumphed with annoyance; what did they know, they were only children.
"Polly," James held out his hand. It was large, tanned from the sun, and rough from years of labour. Polly looked at it, but did not reach for out her own and after a moment James let his arm fall back down to his side, his hand empty.
"I don't know what you think you're about," Polly eventually said, her words laboured and a heavy feeling upon her chest. When had the mere act of speaking become so difficult, she thought, when it had always been as natural to her as breathing? "But whatever it is you're planning Captain, I suggest you reconsider. This is my home now, and you have no right to be here."
"It's a free country." James' words were given mildly, though Polly could see his blue eyes dancing with mischief and a determined set to his jaw. Was he deliberately trying to antagonise her?
"From John O'Groats to Land's End, aye it may be," Polly retorted,her accent taking on a stronger Northern twang in her anger. "But there's a small spot of this great kingdom that belongs only to me, and it's this village James Black. You're not welcome here, so you'd best sling your hook."
In her life time, Polly had taken on many roles as a means to support herself and Emily. She had worked as a seamstress, a shop girl, a lady's companion, and an office clerk for a shipping merchant —though it was the years spent pulling pints in the spit and sawdust taverns of Bristol that truly stood to her now. Polly cast James the same threatening glance that she once cast to drunkards in the Three Tuns on St George's Road in Hotwells. It was a perfect mixture of disdain, mixed with a mildly threatening glare--it had worked wonders on the reprobates in the pub--but James Black did not blink.
"I won't leave until I have won your forgiveness," he stated simply, though the square set of his jaw and the spark in his eyes let Polly know that behind his mild words lay a steely determination.
"If that's all it takes to get you to leave," she huffed, affecting a nonchalance she did not feel, "Then so be it; I forgive you. Now go."
"I won't be fobbed off that easily," James gave a lazy smile, his gaze so intimate it was almost improper. "You will forgive me properly Polly Jenkins, and when you do I'll make good on my promise to put a ring on your finger."
He was fit for Bedlam, that was the only thing that Polly could think as she digested James' words. Mind you, the fluttering in her chest at his proposal made Polly think that perhaps she was fit for Bedlam too. A sharp retort was on her lips, but it died as a voice broke across them.
"I knew it was you!"
Emily stood a few feet away, her soft face lit up with a smile of happiness that tugged at Polly's heartstrings. Her sister's expression was one of pure joy at having been reunited with her childhood friend, and Polly envied her sister her unsullied memories of James.
"Lud," James looked at Emily, his mouth momentarily open with shock, until it stretched into a smile that matched Emily's own. "Emily Jenkins, as I live and breathe."
"James Black," Emily gave a haphazard curtsey, "It took you much longer to return to us than you said it would."
"Indeed it did," James gave a gallant bow to Emily, who was visibly delighted by the gesture. "And for that I beg your forgiveness."
"There's no need for forgiveness between friends."
Polly envied her sister her straightforward view of the world. For Emily, life was very black and white, whilst Polly knew the world to be painted in shades of grey. Forgiveness was easy for Emily, because she knew it was the right thing to do, and whilst Polly too knew that forgiveness was right, and would ultimately bring her peace, she was loathe to exonerate James from his past sins.
As if reading her mind, James bestowed a loaded look on Polly, as though to say "If your sister can forgive me, then why can't you?".
"Oh, don't be so blooming sanctimonious," Polly exploded, her last nerve severed with just that one glance. She grabbed a rather confused Emily by the hand and dragged her back toward the boarding house, not turning back to look at James. Let him stand there looking foolish, she thought with satisfaction.
"What does sanctimonious mean?" Emily asked, once they were inside the door.
"It means to feel superior to someone," Polly snapped. Usually, she was most patient with Emily, but James had affected her so much that she felt as though her very skin was itching. She could not bear for her sister to begin to question her on why she no longer considered James their friend, for she had never divulged to Emily that she had found James that ev
ening in London. Instead she had told her sister that James could not be found, had told her to forget about him, then taken her to Bristol. Emily's memories of James were untainted by hurt, and to have to explain to her about the betrayal seemed an exhausting prospect.
"That's not like James, to think he's superior," Emily offered unhelpfully.
"Well, perhaps he's changed," Polly retorted, "Lord knows I have."
She had changed completely. She was no longer a naive girl who believed in love, she was a grown woman with a heart that had long ago given up on that idea.
CHAPTER EIGHT
That hadn't gone well, James thought ruefully as he sipped on his tankard of ale. He hadn't intended to annoy Polly, but the challenge in her eyes had set a flame within him. He was, at heart, a man who relished a fight, and a fight for Polly's heart seemed far more appealing than the battles and skirmishes of his Navy career.
He thought back on his intended, and how she had looked in the green. Over the years, when he had thought of his old friend, his mind had concocted a vague picture of what Polly might look like as a woman. His mind had done Polly a disservice, for the image he had carried of a red-haired woman, was nothing in comparison to the Polly Jenkins he had seen today.
She was still petite, but rather like Napoleon, she was larger than life despite her diminutive stature. Her simple day dress, despite its best efforts, had done little to disguise her womanly curves. And her hair...James snorted as he thought on how he had once called it "red". Her hair, free from the cover of a bonnet, was like burnished copper, and it framed her face in lush curls.
Idiot, James thought to himself; he had spent ten years imagining what Polly was like, then had expected her to be exactly like the character he had drawn in his head. It was his own stupid fault that the real Polly had taken him so unawares. During his career, which despite its humble beginnings had been illustrious, James had always felt a strong sense of control. He could command any situation--pirates, cannon fire, Napoleon's ships--and now he found himself flailing at the sight of a pair of mossy, green eyes.
The Captain of Betrayal Page 6