He needed to rethink his plan of action.
"I'd offer you a penny for your thoughts, lad," Jack Lawless called from behind the bar, "But from the glum look on your face, I'd wager they're not worth that."
"Do I really look so morose?" James asked with a laugh, allowing Jack to take his empty glass and refill it to the brim with strong, hoppy ale.
"Aye," Jack gave a knowing smile, his blue eyes twinkling. "There's only two problems a man can have to make him look so glum; money or women. Now, by the cut of your vowels, I'd wager it's not the first but rather the latter."
James said nothing in reply, merely raised his eyebrows in acquiescence to the man's superior skills of deduction--though his comment about James' accent irked slightly. He had never quite lost the accent of the aristocracy which he had acquired in Westminster, and he knew that because of it folk like Jack marked him out as different, and branded him--rather unfairly--as a toff.
"So, it's woman troubles," Jack called loudly, attracting the attention of the locals who populated the dark tavern.
"Lud, why don't you just ask the Bristol Post to put it on their front page," James muttered, as the craggy group of fishermen looked up from their pints with interest.
"Enough lip from you, young man," Jack Lawless said, looking a little affronted. "If it's advice you need, then you're in the right place. I'll have you know that I was considered quite the Lothario in my day--women used to fall at my feet quite regularly."
"Only 'cuse you stuck out your leg to trip 'em up," an elderly fisherman called from behind his bushy beard, cackling wickedly at his own joke. His fellow drinkers joined in, their laughs echoing of the wooden beams of the roof, and causing Jack to bristle in annoyance.
"Ignore him," Jack muttered darkly to James, "He's in his cups, I should have cut him off an hour ago."
The bearded fisherman scowled at the inn-keeper's comment, and to prevent the situation from escalating any further, James cut across their sparring match.
"What advice would you give a man who is trying to woo a woman that has not forgiven him for a past transgression?"
"Depends on the transgression, my son," Jack replied sagely, "If it's philandering that caused the upset, then you'll have to sweet talk her."
"It wasn't a roving eye that upset her," James confessed, acutely aware that every ear in the place was listening to him.
"You didn't steal from her, did you?"
James did not even deign to respond to that query with an answer.
"Did you try and pinch her sister's bum?" one man asked, with the look of a man who had once tried that very act himself.
"No."
"Tell her you were just poppin' out for a pint of milk, then disappeared for twenty years?"
"No."
"Accidentally skin her cat?"
"Good God, no!" James looked around the room in shock, feeling genuine pity for the women-folk of St Jarvis if these were the type of acts their men considered "transgressions". "It was nothing illegal, nothing to do with sisters or cats, it was..."
The customers of The Fisherman's Friend looked at him expectantly.
"It was a betrayal of our friendship," he elaborated, not wishing to reveal any more to the men, who were as hungry for gossip as any member of the ton. "I broke her trust in me."
"Aye," Jack looked glum, "That's a hard one to rectify. Have you apologised to her?"
"Yes, but she won't listen. Polly can be quite stubborn."
"Polly Jenkins?" Jack looked at him queerly, the tips of his ears red.
"Yes," James nodded, wondering what had the man so hot under the collar. "We were friends as children--closer than that actually."
"Well, if she won't forgive you, there's good reason." Jack Lawless snapped, turning his back on James to angrily polish a glass with a rag. "Best plan would be to forget all about it and up and leave St Jarvis."
"What?" James looked in confusion at the man who had, just moments ago, been his ally. The other customers of the inn guffawed with laughter, both at the look of confusion on James' face, and the mask of dark anger on Jack's.
"Your friend there thinks that he and Polly are fated," the fisherman with the bushy beard called to James. "He believes 'is own hype--thinks that young Miss Jenkins will fall for him, even though 'es old enough to be her grandfather."
"Hardly her grandfather," Jack interjected, his lined face puce with embarrassment. "Her uncle maybe..."
"Aye, her great-uncle," the bearded fisherman agreed with a laugh.
To Mr Lawless' credit, he gave James an apologetic look.
"It's just I am rather fond of Miss Jenkins," he said, "And her sister as well."
"What do you know of Emily?" James asked eagerly. When he had left Newcastle, Emily had been a silent child, who had refused to speak. After meeting her today, and after the initial shock at realising she had recognised him, James had a slight suspicion that Emily was a little different.
"A lovely young woman, in her own right," Mr Lawless professed, taking James' tankard and filling it to the brim once again. "Some people might say that she's a few shillings short of a pound--but I don't stand for talk like that in my pub."
"Of course," James agreed, a feeling of protectiveness for the petite, young woman piercing his heart. At that moment he felt that if anyone tried to disparage Emily before him, that he would run that man through with a sword. His mind drifted to how life must have been for Polly, having to provide not only for herself, but for her sister too. She had done well, despite the lot that life had handed her, though he had no doubt that over the years she had struggled, both emotionally and financially. A wave of guilt, different to the usual guilt he felt when he thought of Polly, washed over him. Before, he had always thought of his act as having been one moment of hurt, but now he saw that the pain he had caused had echoed across the years. If he had not disowned Polly that day, and had returned to her in Newcastle, her life would have been far easier. He would have provided an income and security for the two Jenkins sisters, and their lives--and his--would have taken an easier path.
He could not keep dwelling on the past, however, for it was the present where he needed to do the most work.
"If I could just get her to talk with me," he said aloud, more to himself than to the others, though his fellow drinkers once more took up his cause.
"Mayhap, a bit of an abduction is in order," said the grisly fellow in the corner, the one who had made the cat comment.
"I did say nothing illegal," James replied, wondering how on earth any females still resided in the village, given the male St Jarvians' propensity toward mayhem.
"Nothing illegal about an abduction, as long as you let the lass go in the end," said the bearded fisherman, his eyes twinkling. "And don't try any funny stuff, once you have her alone, or you'll soon find yourself taking a long march across a short cliff."
"Young Squireens have been abducting heiresses for years," Jack added with a wink.
"In Ireland, perhaps," James replied, wondering if he were in his cups, for their plan was starting to sound appealing despite his reservations. "And those men were hung for abducting the Kennedy sisters."
"Hush now, no one's suggesting you hold the girl hostage until she agrees to wed you," Mr Lawless said, looking offended at James' thinking. "Just get her into a carriage, take her somewhere nice, and then you'll have your opportunity to apologise."
It was an absurd idea. Completely ridiculous and morally dubious.
"Aye," James finished off the last of the ale in his glass, and set the tankard down on the bar with a bang. "Alright lads, tell me how to set up an abduction, Cornish style."
CHAPTER NINE
A few days later, as the sun bravely tried to break through a ceiling of cloud, Polly found herself hovering by the church door at the end of Sunday Service. Usually when the Vicar ended his sermon, Polly was the first out of the arched doorway, her apron strings already half-tied in preparation for cooking Sunday dinner.
>
Today, however, she had loitered as the villagers traipsed by the affable, elderly Vicar, Albert Wilpole, and once that last of the stragglers had disappeared down the church lane, Polly had given a discreet cough.
"Oh, Miss Jenkins," the Vicar cried, as he turned to find Polly behind him. "How are you? Did you enjoy my sermon on the Cana Wedding?"
"I did," Polly replied, for the tale of how Christ turned water into wine was one of her favourites from the Bible. Though her mind instantly wondered if she would be able to turn a charred side of beef into something edible, if she didn't hurry back to the boarding house to help Emily with the dinner.
"I'm glad to hear it," the old man replied, his blue eyes twinkling under his bushy grey eyebrows. "Was there something else..?"
Her discomfort must have made it quite obvious that she had something she wished to discuss, though Polly reasoned that the Vicar was probably quite used to people accosting him to share their problems.
"I wanted to talk to you about forgiveness," she said, feeling a little foolish but determined to say her piece. "A person from my past has returned, seeking forgiveness for a betrayal that happened years ago--and I'm finding it difficult to grant it."
"Ah, this would be Captain Black?"
Lud, Polly scowled, there truly were no secrets in a small village. Her thoughts must have been written across her face, for the Vicar gave a chuckle that shook his whole frame.
"No one has told me about it, so don't fret," he said, placing a consoling arm on her elbow. "Nor am I omnipotent--I leave that up to my employer. I quite simply used the power of deduction, which is easily done in a town with a population of less than one hundred."
"Oh," Polly felt a little cheered at his words, for she did not wish to be the subject of the village's gossip-mongers. "Thank you Vicar, and, yes you're right. It is Captain Black that I'm having a devil of a time trying to forgive."
"What was it that he did, child?"
"He denied he knew me, when I needed him the most," Polly said simply; for on that day she had desperately needed James.
"Oh," to Polly's surprise the Vicar looked delighted at this statement.
"Forgive me, Miss Jenkins," he said with a rather self-conscious laugh. "It's just rarely am I asked for help with matters that run parallel to scripture. Do you know, yesterday one of our flock sought me out for help on improving his tillage yields? Tillage I know nothing about, but denial of the one we love..."
"Peter," Polly clicked her fingers, in a way that was most unladylike, but was the only reaction suited to the bolt of understanding she felt at his words.
"Indeed," the Vicar looked most pleased. "Three times he denied Christ at a time when Christ needed him most, and yet when he sought forgiveness, it was granted."
"I'm not Jesus though," Polly replied a little stupidly.
"Nor am I," the elderly man slapped his rather rotund belly, which was straining at the ties of his cassock. "Though despite that, I still strive to try to be just a little bit like him. What do you stand to lose if you forgive this Captain Black?"
Polly had no answer, for she knew that the only thing she would lose was the resentment she had held on to for so long.
"And what do you stand to gain?"
"Well, if nothing else, a good night's sleep," Polly replied with a snort, for she spent most nights tossing and turning, troubled by the thought of James Black in his cottage, mere minutes down the road.
"One can't put a price on a peaceful sleep," Mr Wilpole said with an encouraging smile. "And you can't hold on to anger forever; for in the end, it will destroy you and not the person it's directed toward. Has the Captain asked you to forgive him?"
"Yes," Polly nodded.
"Then forgive him lass," the Vicar stated simply. "It's always better to forgive, even where there is no apology offered."
Polly bit her lip, her mind clouded with thoughts and arguments against following Mr Wilpole's advice. Just as she was about to reply, the Vicar cast his eyes toward the boarding house and gave an alarmed cry.
"Is that smoke coming from your kitchen?" he asked, peering across the green.
"My beef," Polly called, lifting up her skirts and hurrying across the green, waving goodbye to the Vicar as she went. When she pushed her way into the kitchen she found Emily standing by the stove, tears streaming down her face and smoke bill.
"I've ruined everything," her sister said with a hiccough.
"Don't be silly," Polly placated her, "It's just a side of beef. Run down to the pier and see if you can pick up a sea-bass or two. I'll pop them on some leeks from the garden, and they'll be cooked within the hour."
Emily took the small coin purse that Polly proffered, and hurried from the kitchen, eager to be of help.
No sooner had she gone through the back door of the kitchen than Olive, Duchess of Everleigh, came through it.
"Oh, there you are, Polly," Olive said, as though she had been looking everywhere for her.
"Yes, here I am. In my kitchen, who would have thought it?"
Her nerves were still a trifle raw from her conversation with the Vicar, and when Olive raised her eyebrows in surprise, Polly apologised.
"I am sorry," she said, taking a seat at the wooden table and gesturing for Olive to sit too. "I've just had an awful lot going on, what with..."
"Captain Black bursting back into your life?"
Olive's green eyes danced with mischief as she finished Polly's sentence, and Polly knew that her friend was simply dying to hear everything.
"Who told you?" she asked wearily.
"Ruan, but he's such a bore, he won't tell me anything bar that Captain Black was your childhood friend," Olive replied with a slight pout at her husband's chivalrous behaviour. "Is Captain Black the boy that gave you the ring?"
Polly nodded and her friend clapped her hands with glee.
"Oh, this is simply marvellous--and he's so handsome. Don't you think he's handsome?"
"Yes," Polly admitted, dropping her head into her hands in despair.
"Oh," Olive was startled by her reaction. "Don't get upset Polly, I was just jesting with you. Is he horrible? Is that it? If so, I shall have Ruan run him out of town. Well, out of village at any rate."
Polly laughed, giving her friend a slightly watery smile. It was lovely to have a friend so close that they were willing to have a person run out of town on your behalf. Polly hadn't had a friend so loyal since...
"He's not horrible," she said, plucking at the material of her dress as she spoke. "He broke my heart a long time ago, and I'm having trouble forgiving him--though I shall."
"Do you love him?" Olive asked, so seriously that Polly let out a whoop of laughter in response.
"Love him?" she shook her head in amusement, "I no longer know him. The last time we spoke was fifteen years ago, when he was taken away by Ludlow's steward. Then when I saw him next, he gave me the cut--as they say in town..."
"Ludlow?" Olive seized on the name, her eyes lighting up with interest. "The Earl of Ludlow, is that Black's father? You said that you could not recall his name!"
"Of course I did," Polly laughed at her friend's look of consternation. "For look at you, you're near quivering with excitement at the news. I didn't have you down as a tabby, Olive."
"I'm not, upon my life I'm not--well maybe just a tad," Olive laughed, a mischievous expression on her face. "It's just queer, that's all. One usually hears whispers of illegitimate sons, especially when they are taken in by the family, but I have never heard a mention of James. Does he speak with them, do you know?"
"I don't," Polly admitted, "I know nothing of him."
"It's just strange, and what a pity for the family that James was not the true heir, for his half-brother..."
Olive trailed off mysteriously, casting her eyes away from Polly.
"What?" Polly had sat up straighter in her seat, eager to hear what had become of James' brother. "Don't say you don't know what has happened to him."
"Of course I know what happened," Olive laughed, "I just wanted to demonstrate to you that there's a bit of a tabby in all of us."
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Polly gestured for Olive to reveal her secrets, hungry for information on James' family. Well, his other family.
"The current Lord Livingstone always had a reputation as a cad. He always ran with a wild set; wine, women, horses, the usual pursuits of wealthy young bucks." Olive continued as her friend hung on her every word. "But as the years progressed, his behaviour became more outrageous. He has near bankrupted the Livingstone estate and it is said, that he has developed an addiction to opium after a carriage accident."
"Oh," Polly tried to find it in her heart to feel pity for the man, but she had met so many of the ton's young bloods, desperate to squander their fortunes, that she found it difficult.
"Such a waste," Olive, whose own father had been a degenerate gambler, rolled her eyes in distaste. "Some men care not for the people who depend on them."
Polly nodded, and would have replied, if Emily had not returned with two sea-bass wrapped in paper. Polly stood, making to get to work, but Olive beat her to it, taking the parcel of fish from Emily and holding it aloft. It really was most unfair, for Olive was a good five inches taller than Polly.
"No," the Duchess of Everleigh said, wagging a finger at Polly as though she were a child. "I'll prepare supper. You take yourself out for a walk, and let someone else take charge for once."
"You can't prepare dinner; you're a Duchess," Polly argued.
"Yes, and before I was a Duchess I was a footman, maid, cook and gardener in my father's house," Olive replied firmly. "I'm well capable of cooking two fish, and besides, I have Emily to help me. Now go."
With a show of reluctance, Polly grabbed her tartan shawl, which was draped on the chair by the stove, and left the house by the back door. She passed through the garden, and out the side-gate, and decided to amble into the village to see if there was anyone about.
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