by Nicola Pryce
‘Oh, sorry my dear, my hearing’s not what it was. You’ll need a pass an’ you’ll need an escort.’ He shuffled us through a side door to a desk in the gatehouse and began rummaging through the drawers, searching a carved box to find a stamp. Finally he picked up a quill and dipped it in the ink. ‘I’m Private Mallory and no one goes anywhere without me giving them a pass. Your names, if you please?’
I bit my lip but Mrs Bohenna spoke loudly and clearly. ‘I’m Mrs Bohenna – Dr Bohenna’s mother, and this is Miss Ellis – the prisoner’s sister.’
‘Well, well, the pleasure’s all mine – Dr Bohenna’s mother, indeed. You must be so proud – your son’s both a gentleman and a saint – an’ that’s God’s honest truth. Here we are, all stamped and correct.’
The entry book duly signed, Private Mallory stood under the arch of the gatehouse and blew a shrill whistle. The courtyard looked deserted and ramshackle, a limping soldier making his way towards us. One red-brick building looked serviceable but everywhere else seemed in a state of disrepair: windows were broken, doors hanging from their hinges. Tattered signs hung crookedly over unpainted doors, the words Stores and Munitions barely readable. Untidy piles lay covered by large tarpaulins, empty barrels lying on their sides. Crates were stacked under a makeshift wooden roof, bales of straw left haphazardly under the shelter of the over-hanging buttress. Horse dung carpeted the cobbles, weeds blooming between the uneven stones, poppies blowing against an upturned cart.
The soldier was making his way slowly; his gait looked painful, his uniform in the same state of disarray. Stains streaked his jacket, his buttons dull, his boots scuffed. ‘Private Evans will take you from here.’ Private Mallory’s smile lit his face. ‘He’s Welsh, mind, and no one in their right mind like the Welsh – but he’s one of the good ones. He’s got six kittens in that guardhouse of his – daft old bugger.’
An open field lay between us and the castle’s keep. Sheep were grazing the tufts of grass, chickens scratching the dirt by the outer walls. Cows were chewing the cud, three horses at grass behind a stout ring-fence. The wind was fiercer, the smell of salt stronger. We were on the highest point of the rocky promontory, surrounded by sea. Huge cannons stood evenly spaced along the battery, pairs of guards standing at ease alongside them. Ahead of us, the castle looked foreboding; long slits sinking deep into the thick granite walls, the tiniest of windows, a flag flying from the battlements.
Private Evans stopped to draw breath, his toothless smile designed to bring comfort. His jacket was undone, the inside pocket bulging and squirming. ‘Not all six are in the box,’ he wheezed. ‘This one likes my pocket.’ He lifted out a tiny grey kitten and held it by the neck, kissing it softly. ‘I’ve called her Lily – ye can take yer pick of the rest, but this one’s staying with me.’
Two tiny blue eyes stared back at me. ‘Lily?’
‘After my mother – she was a real beauty, just like this little mite.’ I smiled, but hardly heard him. A shield of the Tudor Arms was carved above the gate, hideous gargoyles staring down at me. A heavily studded oak door stood shut in front of us, the wooden portcullis doing its job to strike terror. It had to be a mistake – a terrible prank. I stepped forward, thinking to climb the staircase, but Private Evans stopped me. ‘No, not the living quarters, my dear – the prison’s down here.’ I followed, swallowing my fear as a separate door took us spiralling down a set of stone steps. We were going deeper and deeper, leaving the light behind us.
Two guards stood with their shoulders slumped, easing themselves to attention as they saw us approach. In the flicker of the rush light, a thick oak door with a small grille and large iron bolts blocked our way. ‘These gentlemen will take ye from here. A good day to ye, ladies. And all the more pleasant for your company.’
Our pass duly studied, the new guards opened the door to a dimly lit corridor with worn flagstones and smooth granite walls, the air so rancid it was barely breathable. The musty dampness stung my nostrils, the fat from the candles making me want to retch. Two shut doors led from the right, two more rush lights burning against the wall, and I caught my breath, my fear doubling. Light permeated the darkness at the end of the corridor and we walked slowly towards it, the corridor ending in a large room with a huge stone fireplace and an arched brick ceiling. Light was filtering through a small mullion window, the panes dirty, smothered with cobwebs, and I caught the outline of a carved Tudor rose.
‘We have to get him out of here,’ I whispered as Mary held her handkerchief against her nose.
Benches were stacked on top of each other, pushed to one side; a long trestle table lay in the centre and arched alcoves bit deep into the granite walls. A group of guards were playing dice in the corner and shook their heads. ‘He’s next door,’ and we returned to the dim corridors and stood outside the first shut door. The guard knocked, opening it slowly. ‘There’s visitors fer ye, Mr Trevelyan. Not prison visitors – they want ye personally.’
The reply came instantly: ‘Allow them in.’ His voice made my heart thump. He sounded so authoritative, ready to take command.
‘Henry Trevelyan will help get him out of here – he’s a good man, I know he is,’ I whispered.
The guard stood to one side and we stepped into the small room, the high, pointed window grilled and barred. A desk stood in the corner, a table and chair. In a deep recess, I caught the outline of a bed, a wooden chest, and a washstand with a jug and basin – a prison cell, but no sign of Edgar. Henry looked up, no trace of a smile.
‘Oh, thank goodness – Mr Trevelyan. You’ve got him released? Edgar’s gone?’
Henry Trevelyan bowed stiffly, formally, remaining behind the desk as he took our permit from the guard. He nodded in dismissal. ‘Thank you. You may leave us. I’ll vouch for their presence.’ A ring of keys lay on the desk in front of him, heavy keys full of malice, and my heart ripped. Treachery screamed from the hostility of his stiff shoulders, the damp walls of the prison beginning to close round me.
His dark jacket and breeches were barely visible against the blackness. His silk cravat was neatly folded, his white shirt well laundered, his chin closely shaven. His short hair looked newly washed, his glasses catching the light from the single candle burning on the desk. ‘You’ve made very good time – I’m glad you got my message.’ His voice was firm, no trace of the man who had laughed at me in the moonlight. He pointed to an open grille and I gripped my skirt. ‘Your brother’s in there. Mrs Bohenna, may I introduce myself? I’m Henry Trevelyan—’ He stopped, his eyes boring into mine. ‘Dr Bohenna is with him – go through, the grille’s not locked.’
Edgar lay slumped on the floor, his dishevelled hair falling over his face, and I thought I would scream. His eyes flashed with fright. He was shaking, his hands trembling. I burst into tears and he began to wail, high-pitched howling echoing round the cell, and my fear turned to fury. I rushed towards him. ‘He’s petrified…he’s ill – we have to get him out of here – get him out – now.’
Mrs Bohenna flung off her bonnet and rushed to Edgar. ‘Dear Lord, would you just look at the poor boy. Has he a fever? Those shakes are so violent – why look at him, he’s just skin and bones!’
Her voice must have soothed him; he stopped howling, holding out his arms to sob against her shoulder, and she held him to her, pulling back his hair, kissing his forehead. ‘Hush now, Edgar, my love. Hush now. We’ll get you out of here.’
Luke Bohenna drew me away, leaving his mother cradling Edgar in her arms, and we watched from the open grille. Edgar seemed calmer, his shaking subsiding, his eyes glazing over. Luke cleared his throat.
‘Miss Lilly, I’m sorry we meet again under such circumstances.’
I looked deep into the eyes of my dearest childhood friend – Luke Bohenna, always dependable, always correct; keeping us all from mischief, catching me when I jumped from the trees he told me not to climb. I wanted him to hold me now, not stand so stiff and formal.
‘I’m Angelica, Luke – I’m
not Miss Lilly.’ He put his arm around my shoulder and I leaned against him, forcing back my tears. He had changed, but only slightly. His brow was furrowed, his hair receding. He had put on a little weight and was no longer the thin waif we teased for quickly outgrowing his clothes. ‘Luke, I’m so glad you’re here. Edgar’s drinking too much. He’s very thin…and he’s changed so much…I’m worried about him…’
Henry Trevelyan was watching us from the desk and I walked quickly towards him. ‘Henry, who should we ask to release him? Is it Captain Fenshaw? Has he been sent for? Whoever arrested him was clearly mistaken – Edgar may be a drunk, but he’s not a thief. Where’s Sir Jacob? Is he here, too?’
Luke came to my side, his voice soft but firm. That was what had changed most about him – he sounded authoritative, a man whose words were listened to. ‘Edgar’s not under Captain Fenshaw’s jurisdiction, Angelica. If he was, he’d be in the cells of the guardhouse. These cellars are the old kitchens – they’ve only been made into prisons from necessity. They may be guarded by the soldiers but they’re under the jurisdiction of the Transport Board. Sir Alexander Pendarvis commissioned them and he takes full command.’
‘But Sir Alex may be away for a month! We can’t wait for him – we have to get Edgar released. I can pay any amount of surety – whatever’s necessary. Henry, can you help? They seem to trust you. Who do I pay to get my brother released? The man who arrested him clearly wants money, so he can have money – we’ll give him everything he wants.’
Luke held Henry Trevelyan’s eye. ‘This isn’t about money, Angelica – if it was, I would have already paid.’
Henry was looking down, staring at the papers on the desk, and I fought to breathe. ‘Surely, it’s no different than bail? Who arrested him? Which idiot thinks my brother’s a highway robber?’
Henry Trevelyan’s stony face was answer enough. ‘I arrested him, Miss Lilly.’
The sternness in his voice, his absolute authority…‘You did?’ I needed to steady my voice, show no sign of the pain. ‘On whose authority did you arrest my brother?’
Luke drew up a chair but I shook my head. I would stand face to face with this man who masqueraded as a coachman, spying on innocent people.
‘On my authority, Miss Lilly. Sir Alex has appointed me agent in his absence. I represent the Transport Board and take full responsibility for the French prisoners in the castle – and any other business pertaining to prisoners brought here under the Conventions of War.’ His eyes scorched mine yet I would not look away.
‘My brother has nothing whatsoever to do with the Conventions of War – and well you know, Mr Trevelyan,’ I snapped.
He readjusted his glasses. ‘I wish that was the case, Miss Lilly, but I’m afraid it isn’t. For nearly three weeks, I’ve been investigating the reports of robberies from coaches and inns. In each case, they point to a man with a French accent.’
‘My brother is not French, Mr Trevelyan.’ Anger spurred me, yet my fear was spiralling.
‘Rumours are spreading that escaped French prisoners have made their way to Falmouth and are stealing anything they can to fund a ship to take them home. That includes robbing coaches – so, in the early hours of this morning, I set a trap.’
‘You set a trap?’ I could not believe it. He was so barefaced, so underhand.
‘Very few coaches left Falmouth last week but once the rain stopped, many thought to start their journeys. I knew with all the muddy ruts any highwayman could expect to have easy pickings and it took hardly any time at all for him to fall into my lap.’
‘Your lap?’ The worn flagstones spun beneath me. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Trevelyan – you set a trap and an innocent man falls into your lap?’ Furious tears blurred my eyes. I never knew I could feel this angry.
‘Not an innocent man, Miss Lilly. Your brother was masked and had a scarf covering his chin; he was on a horse and he was brandishing a pistol. Not only that, he was shouting in a French accent, telling everyone in the coach he would kill them if they didn’t hand over their valuables.’ His voice had been matter-of-fact and detached, yet now it softened. ‘I’m very sorry, Miss Lilly, I know how awful this is for you, but it’s the truth.’
‘How can it be the truth? Who else was there?’
‘That’s where we’re very fortunate. No one else saw the incident so I was able to bring him straight here – otherwise, he’d be in the town prison. He was drunk, acting like a madman, his shouting alone enough to get him arrested. It was sheer chance he chose my carriage first – if he’d chosen any other he’d be on his way to the gallows.’
I kept my voice icy calm, though my heart was hammering. ‘You arrested him with no one else present, Mr Trevelyan?’
‘I did.’
‘Then you can just unarrest him.’
His look did not waver; those eyes that had once held such laughter, now hard and unyielding. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can. It’s in your power. You can just say you made a mistake.’
‘I didn’t make a mistake, Miss Lilly.’
‘But it’s your word against his. Edgar was drunk and you set a trap – he probably just staggered towards your coach and, suddenly, he’s arrested and you’ve got your French highwayman.’
Henry Trevelyan shook his head, pointing to an oak chest. ‘No, Miss Lilly. I can show you the mask, the scarf and the pistol. They’re under lock and key. His horse is in the paddock.’
‘But it’s just your word against his. There’s no evidence the pistol or the scarf and mask belong to my brother. You could have had them with you, when you set your trap.’
‘Along with the small silver dish and necklace I found in his pocket? That alone would get your brother hanged. Your brother is short of money, Miss Lilly. I believe two or three items have gone missing from houses we’ve visited.’
I took Luke’s proffered chair, the room spinning round me. Mrs Bohenna stood behind me, her hands on my shoulders. But for the comfort of her open palms, I would have put my head between my knees to stop my dizziness. Luke was speaking, his voice tender.
‘Angelica, there’s something you need to know. Edgar shows all the signs of being drunk but if I’m right – and I have every reason to believe I am – what we’re facing is more serious. From what Henry’s told me and the signs I see – his emaciation, his tremors, his high excitability coupled with nervous agitation, his terrors and disinhibited howling – all lead me to believe Edgar is in the clutches of opium.’
I covered my face with my hands – the foul sickly smoke, the fumes rising from the mouthpieces of the brass urns; women sprawling with their bodices gaping, men with their mouths wide open. The pain was so fierce, I wanted to scream.
Luke took my hands. ‘Angelica, I can help – we can all help.’ His voice was loving. ‘Henry’s ordered a better bed and twice-daily hot water. We’ll get a basket of fresh fruit delivered every day and I’ll visit twice a day.’
Tears pooled in Mrs Bohenna’s eyes. ‘Oh, the poor, dear, motherless boy. I’ll come too, Luke – we’ll not leave him alone. I’ll come every morning and nurse the poor boy back to health. I’ll bring the basket and I’ll bring fresh broth. We’ll get him strong again – just you see if we don’t.’
Henry Trevelyan was staring at my hands held so tightly by Luke. He shut his eyes, drawing a deep breath. When he opened them I saw a glimmer of the man whose smile had very nearly stolen my heart.
‘Henry, please let us take him home,’ I whispered. ‘Please say you made a mistake. Please don’t file the report. Please, Henry, let him go. He’s not a bad person – it’s just the alcohol and opium muddling his mind. He can’t have been acting maliciously. He’s innocent – you must know he’s innocent?’
The glimpse of tenderness vanished. Henry Trevelyan’s face grew stony. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Lilly. Your brother was brandishing a pistol and threatening me in French.’
Tears rolled down my cheeks. ‘Please, Henry. Please release him. Please let us take hi
m away.’
His mouth clamped tighter. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Lilly. Your brother must remain my prisoner until Sir Alex returns.’
Deepest anger welled through me, ferocious fire burning my cheeks. How dare he speak to me like that – his previous charm, his smiles and laughter merely a ploy to gain information? I hated him; hated his duplicity, his so-called morality. ‘Mr Trevelyan, you’ve chosen the wrong man to imprison. I’m not without influence. I have powerful friends and they will ensure my brother’s release.’
His voice dropped, his eyes piercing me through his glasses. ‘Miss Lilly, I did not choose your brother, he chose me. And though Lady Clarissa may well turn a blind eye to the theft of her silver dish, Mrs Cornelius has already issued a reward for the recovery of her necklace. If any of your powerful friends think that by threatening me I will keep silent, they will find themselves mistaken. The moment anyone asks me why I arrested your brother, I will furnish them with the full account, together with the details of the stolen goods found in his pocket – and the pistol, scarf and mask.’
Mrs Bohenna squeezed my shoulders. ‘I’ll return this evening with fresh clothes and new linen.’ She turned to Luke. ‘It looks like there might be trouble on the wharf – another grain ship’s arrived and you might be needed. Now, if you could see us out, please, Mr Trevelyan, we’d best be getting back.’
Chapter Twenty
‘Why couldn’t he release him?’ I gulped the salty air as if drowning. How could I have begged like that, demeaned myself for his enjoyment? I was as furious with myself as I was with Henry Trevelyan. ‘Edgar might have behaved badly…in fact, I’ve seen him behave very badly. I know he can be wild and unprincipled, but he has nothing whatsoever to do with the French. If Edgar was dressed as a highwayman, then it can only have been for some stupid prank and anyone in their right mind would recognize it for that – just a terrible, misguided stupid prank – nothing more.’
‘Angelica, how well do you know Henry Trevelyan?’ Mary’s voice was calm, her mouth held tight.