The Cornish Lady

by Nicola Pryce

  ‘Angelica, take off the cloak – and your wig. Where’s the bonnet?’

  ‘I don’t know. It must have fallen off – perhaps when I jumped?’ My hands were trembling. I fitted the exact description of the woman Henry had given them. They would see blood on my cloak and I would be arrested, held by Major Basset’s men. They might shoot me if I ran. The wig was tight, gripping my head, and I pulled it off, shaking my hair free. It felt wonderful to be unconstrained and I turned to the cooling breeze, tossing my squashed ringlets to bring them back to life. I looked round. Henry was staring at me, the shadows from the brazier accentuating his high cheek bones and fine structure of his chin, and I stared back, our eyes locking. His gaze was fierce, devouring, and I caught my breath.

  A faint mewing brought me to my senses and I slipped off the cloak, reaching in the pocket to press Lily to my lips. She smelled of blood and my stomach sickened. Henry turned away. ‘Keep her hidden. Hurry – get aboard Guillemot before anyone sees you. I’ll search her first so you can leave on time.’ He sounded brusque, authoritative. ‘I’m sorry you’ve no escort this time, but the wind’s picking up and the tide’s fast so you’ll make good time. You should be in Truro for twelve, possibly nearer ten. If you don’t want to travel alone…’

  I matched his sudden brusqueness, the searing pain abating. ‘I’m quite happy to travel alone. Just find the man who killed Private Evans – find him and bring him to justice.’ Edgar was by my side and I reached up to kiss him. ‘I wasn’t here tonight, Edgar. I was in Truro – no one must ever know. Promise me you’ll not tell Luke or Mary.’

  He shook the black curls from his forehead, running his hands over his brow. ‘I promise, Angelica. Your secret’s safe.’ He kissed my hand. ‘I don’t deserve you…what you’ve done for me…the fact you’d risk so much…Angelica, I know you think me weak and idle. You think I’ve let you down and I’m spoiling your chances of a good marriage. But I won’t. I promise I won’t. I won’t shame you. Lord Entworth will not find me lacking as a brother.’

  Henry’s face stiffened; his mouth tightened. He sounded formal, stony. ‘If it’s all right by you, Miss Lilly, I’ll walk you to the boat. Thank you for your help. I’m grateful, very grateful – I’m sorry for putting you in such danger. Believe me, your safety is paramount. Forgive the liberty I took. I too will never tell anyone you were here. Your secret will remain safe with me – always.’

  Seagulls were screeching above us in the cold morning air, the ships’ timbers creaking, pulling against the heavy ropes tying them to the quayside. I did not want to leave. I wanted to watch the prisoners caught and marched back to the castle. I wanted to be a witness, tell everyone the truth. I wanted my brother to be freed. Most of all, most terribly, terribly of all, I wanted to stay in the company of Henry Trevelyan.

  Word was spreading, men sitting with their hands on their heads watching us from the decks above. We were walking slowly, Henry staring up at each ship. The gangplank was in place, the master of Guillemot glowering down at us.

  Henry bowed stiffly. ‘A safe journey.’ He turned to the master. ‘Every ship’s to be searched – I’ll search yours first so as not to delay you.’

  The man was huge, his tattooed muscles flexing as he coiled his heavy rope. ‘There’s no bloody Frenchies on my ship. I’d have had the whole bloody lot of them in the water as soon as look at them.’

  ‘They’ve got muskets – but I believe you would!’

  I walked up the gangplank, breathing in the smell of tar and fish. Crates were stacked neatly against the bulwarks, two members of the crew nodding from beneath their bent arms, and I stared back across the rows of ships, searching the faces of the men. Someone was hiding the prisoners – one of these ships, or one anchored off the quay. I wanted to see Private Evans’ killer arrested, handcuffed and brought to justice. Henry went below, the captain shaking his head and scowling, and I breathed in the smell of the fresh fish. The rigging jangled above me, the wind whistling, catching my hair, blowing its salty freshness against my cheek.

  Henry raced up the hatch two steps at a time, pausing before descending the plank. He looked strained, no trace of a smile, and I looked away, trying to ease my scalded heart. He seemed suddenly so distant, almost hostile, not a friend at all.

  ‘You’ll be away first. That way, no harm can come to you. Thank you for your help, I’m very grateful.’ His voice was terse, as if wanting me long gone.

  A small lugger was on the outside of a group of three, her hull barely protruding past the others, but I caught the sudden glimpse of white paint against the black hull. Not a name but a bird painted on the side – a white snow goose with her wings outstretched – and the hairs on my arms rose. I had seen that exact goose before.

  Henry was at the end of the quay talking to Edgar and I thrust Lily at a sailor, scrambling over the rail, running down the gangplank. ‘Henry…Edgar…’ They turned and I whispered, ‘A ship’s moored at the end of the quay with a snow goose painted on her hull. A snow goose…’

  ‘Like the one on the jam pot?’ Henry’s eyes burned mine. ‘That’s got to be the ship.’ He put out his arms, grabbing me by the waist, swinging me round, and I found myself laughing, squealing like one of the nephews as my hair swung loose. His arms were strong, his shirt open at the neck, rolled to his elbows and I thought my heart would burst. In that instant, I knew I loved him – loved his intellect, his strength; I loved his shyness, his manners, his bookish looks. The way he ate, the way he smiled. The small dimple on his left cheek, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. I wanted him to put me down and hold me to him.

  He put me down. ‘Forgive me.’ He bowed formally, holding his whistle to his lips, the sound shrill, urgent and compelling, drawing the whole harbour’s attention. ‘Edgar…bring Major Basset’s men to this quay. Miss Lilly, please return to the ship – get to safety. Stay below deck.’

  His shout rang across the harbour. ‘Everyone below deck – everyone.’

  I hurried down the quayside, forcing back my disappointment. He had been so abrupt, so formal, yet what did I expect? He was doing his duty – his duty, nothing more.

  I sat wedged against a barrel, hugging my knees, watching the curve of the river as we negotiated the bend round Trenwyn House. Egrets watched us from the lower branches, the beehives visible in the orchard beyond. Sheep were grazing, cattle drinking by the water’s edge. The early sun glinted on the house, turning the façade a golden red; smoke was rising from the kitchen chimney, a cockerel crowing, and into my mind came the soft glow of moonlight, the smell of verbena and the scent of roses.

  The path had been glinting, tears stinging my eyes. He had spoken softly, sadness in his voice. The pain of enchantment lingers for ever…I will only ever love one woman – I’ll survive without her love, I may even grow prosperous, but she has my heart and I’ll not marry anyone else.

  I was Angelica Lilly, used to getting what I wanted. Angelica Lilly, spoilt daughter of an exceptionally wealthy man. I could snap my fingers and people would come running. I could do anything I wanted, have anything I wanted. Anything and everything – except Henry Trevelyan; he made that very clear.

  He must have paid well for my passage. A bucket of hot water warmed my feet, a home-spun woollen blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Lily and I had shared a grilled herring, a jug of small beer, an apple and a pear, and I hugged my knees closer, the rhythmical swaying of the ship making me close my eyes.

  They had let the ships go, one by one, until only three remained. We had been the first to go and I had watched each ship hoist her sails and leave. HMS Circe had her gun ports open, Admiral Penrose standing on deck with his telescope to his eye, yet there had been no cannon fire, just a mass of white and red sails catching the last of the tide, passing Black Rock and out to the English Channel or turning north to drift upriver with the incoming tide.

  My tiredness was overwhelming, the gentle rhythm lulling me to sleep. Lily was clean and dry; I would tel
l Molly and Kitty everything – Grace too, but not Father, nor Amelia nor Lady Clarissa. I pulled the blanket round me like a hood and settled to sleep. The crew knew me as Miss Penrow and there were no other passengers to recognize me. Henry had thought of everything.

  The boy in the window, the youth watching my school plays. I remembered him now. I had almost bumped into him that day. He had seemed clumsy and awkward, painfully shy. He had not been wearing his glasses but I remember he was holding them in his hand. Perhaps he had been cleaning them. All that time, Mrs Penhaligan had been looking after me, understanding my heartache; well, my heartache had returned, burning me with its severity.

  I loved his seriousness, his flashes of humour – the way he teased me that first night in the garden. He was right, I had felt enchantment – the enchantment of being myself. I had been myself with him right from the start – the real me, no need for a mask, saying what I wanted to say, not biting my lip, scared I might do or say the wrong thing. Our conversation on the ship had left me wanting more – I was almost envious of Edgar, certainly envious of Mary and Luke. I wanted to discuss poetry and philosophy, argue about trade policy long into the night.

  I had no idea the pain of longing could hurt so much. I kept my eyes shut, my heart racing. We were in a room, a slight sea breeze blowing the flimsy curtain. Dawn was breaking, the first pink streaks lighting the night sky. His head was resting on his hand, his eyes burning mine. He was smiling and I was smiling back: smiling and smiling. I was the woman in the poem, the lover in his arms.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Trenwyn House

  Sunday 14th August 1796, 2:00 p.m.

  A sudden jolt woke me. I must have fallen asleep because we were already at the gatehouse, swinging left down the long drive to Trenwyn House. I smoothed my gown, checking my bonnet in the reflection of the window. Bethany was with the driver and I was grateful I had slept without being seen. The fields were baking under the heat of the sun, the sky intensely blue and cloudless; a group of cattle stared up at me from under the branches of the spreading oaks and I felt so happy to be back.

  It was like coming home, yet how different I felt – a world of difference between this journey and the heady exuberance of my first journey with Amelia. Everything had changed. I had changed. I had been so shallow, seeing everything as a prank – a spoilt child, not the woman I was now.

  I heard their shouts before I saw them. The driver pulled hard on the reins and we rumbled to a stop. Young William had Charles in a wheelbarrow, Henry running behind them with a homemade bow. Both had leather pouches brimming with stick arrows, both holding up their bows, ready to shoot.

  ‘The Procurer says you’re to come with us,’ shouted William as Charles tipped out of the wheelbarrow. ‘We’re to take you to our den. But you mustn’t look. Promise you won’t look?’

  They did not blindfold me but marched me through the cow dung to a coppice of newly planted trees. A tarpaulin hung from ropes suspended from the trunks, woodsmoke drifting from the embers of a stone-ringed fire. Two men stood quickly in greeting, Amelia and Charity smiling broadly.

  ‘You’re back – thank goodness for that. We’ve missed you.’ Amelia put down her bow. ‘You remember Frederick, don’t you? And this is our new guest, Capitaine Pierre de la Croix.’

  Of course I remembered Frederick; every girl in school remembered Frederick Carew. We were all in love with him and with good reason too. His youthful good looks may have had us all reaching for our fans, but age had certainly added to his bearing. He was tall, sunburned; even more handsome as he held his son in his arms, the boy’s blond hair and blue eyes mirroring his father’s.

  Captain Pierre de la Croix stood stiffly to attention, his dark hair falling forward as he bowed. He was not in uniform but wore the clothes of an English country squire, his face browned by the sun, etched heavily with lines. He must have been in his late forties, his hair greying, held loosely in place with a black bow at his neck. He had kind eyes, a scar on his cheek, a long nose and bushy black eyebrows. ‘My deelight is mine to meet you,’ he said, bowing again, his eyes full of bewilderment.

  He glanced down and I knew I must join them sitting cross-legged round the fire. Amelia reached for her bow, handing me the curved hazel branch with twine encircling both ends and drew a forked stick from her pouch. ‘You’ve come at just the right time. Here, your job is to keep marauders off.’

  I smiled at Pierre de la Croix as his eyes widened. ‘Who’s The Procurer?’ I asked.

  Frederick looked shocked. ‘Never ask that, Miss Lilly – never seek to know. The Procurer summons and we obey. Those are the rules.’

  Charity was looking lovely in a peach gown, a circlet of flowers framing her blonde hair. ‘How was Truro – did you resolve the boudoir fabric?’

  ‘Yes…it’s all sorted. I’ve put a stop to it.’

  Amelia reached into a large wicker basket. ‘Thank goodness for that,’ she said, bringing out a bowl and lifting the cloth. She smelled the contents with obvious delight. ‘Perfect. Pass the sticks, Frederick. I’m ready.’

  Frederick must have scraped the sticks with a knife, stripping each of their bark and pointing them like the arrows. He began handing them to her, one by one, and Captain de la Croix’s face fell. Amelia was shaping a soft substance round the tip of each twig. ‘I’ve never seen such hideous material,’ she said as she handed us each a stick.

  Frederick took his, expertly twisting it above the embers of the fire to show us what to do. The green sap hissed, the white goo setting solid as the scent of burned sugar filled the air. ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Mallow root – those marsh mallows growing by the lake. I boil the roots and pulp them, then strain them and let them dry. Then I whip them up with sugar and egg white…quite stiff because they mustn’t be too runny…but sometimes I have to add a little water – wait Capitaine de la Croix…it’s too hot. You need to let it cool.’

  His bewilderment was clearly turning to panic. ‘It ees to eat?’

  ‘Indeed it is to eat,’ replied Amelia with her most enchanting smile. ‘Here, boys, I’ve done you two each.’

  I did not know the French for radical, free-thinking children brought up in nature so I just shrugged and smiled in what I hope looked like encouragement. Frederick licked his fingers and reached for his bow. He positioned an arrow, drawing it tightly back. ‘Stay very still…over your shoulders… marauders coming. At least ten of them…don’t move.’ He shot his arrow and behind me I heard the stampede of cattle.

  Amelia reached for her bow. ‘I’ve got the others covered. Oh, look – is that Father coming back?’ A horse was thundering along the turnpike, a cloud of dust billowing behind it. ‘He’s been in Falmouth. Oh goodness, Angelica, you won’t have heard the news, will you? There was a terrific fire last night…we saw the flames from here. It was on the promontory – it looked like the castle…but not the keep. We think it must have been those old buildings by the gatehouse. Frederick woke because he thought he heard cannon fire – he thought it was an invasion but it was relatively short-lived. Father and William went first thing this morning to see what happened.’

  Frederick threw a bucket of sand over the dying fire. ‘Father shouldn’t gallop at his age. It’s dangerous. I thought Mamma forbade it.’

  ‘She does,’ replied Amelia. ‘You take William, I’ll take Charles. Captain de la Croix, would you mind carrying Young Henry?’

  He looked relieved, putting down the blackened offering as if given a reprieve. ‘My pleasure, Miss Carew – on my back like a horse?’ He laughed, obviously trying to get into the spirit of things.

  Amelia’s smile was bewitching. ‘No – on your shoulders, Captain de la Croix, if you wouldn’t mind – Henry prefers giraffes.’

  Lord Carew summoned us all to the drawing room. Lady Clarissa looked up, catching her reflection in the gilt mirror. She rearranged the two roses in her hair and smiled. ‘It can’t be that serious if he has time to check Aco
rn first. That piglet has doubled in size.’

  The scent of roses drifted through the open windows, the river sparkling blue in the sun. The children were playing with Jethro on the lawn and I breathed deep for courage. Edgar’s identity could not remain hidden for much longer: sooner or later it would come to light. Frederick and Captain de la Croix were standing by the mantelpiece, Charity and Amelia sitting on the chaises longues. ‘Here’s Papa now.’

  Lord Carew had removed his jacket and wig, his trusted red felt hat back in place. He drew out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, his face more florid than ever. ‘A sorry business, I’m afraid. Your compatriots made another dash for freedom last night, Captain de la Croix.’

  Frederick swung round. ‘Never! Were they captured? Tell me they didn’t escape?’

  ‘No they didn’t escape. They were captured. A sorry business all round.’ He nodded at Captain de la Croix. ‘Sir – I appreciate this is hard for you, please sit if you wish. You are our guest and nothing will alter that. This changes nothing – except perhaps that you’re safer here than anywhere else at this moment.’

  Frederick nodded, indicating a chair to Captain de la Croix who shook his head. ‘That fire was part of it, Father? Who caught them? How far did they get?’

  ‘I regret to say they reached the harbour. They were on board a ship waiting to leave.’ He shook his head. ‘They’re claiming complete innocence…they say they knew nothing prior to the escape. They said the first thing they knew was when a guard opened the central hatch and handed them weapons.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘They’re denying everything – especially the murders.’