A Cornish Betrothal Read online

  NICOLA PRYCE trained as a nurse at St Bartholomew’s Hospital in London. She has always loved literature and completed an Open University degree in Humanities. She is a qualified adult literacy support volunteer and lives with her husband in the Blackdown Hills in Somerset. Together they sail the south coast of Cornwall, and the fact that she fell in love with a young Bart’s physician may well have influenced this story.

  Also by Nicola Pryce

  Pengelly’s Daughter

  The Captain’s Girl

  The Cornish Dressmaker

  The Cornish Lady

  Published in paperback in Great Britain in 2020 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

  Copyright © Nicola Pryce 2020

  The moral right of Nicola Pryce to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Paperback ISBN: 978 1 83895 090 3

  E-book ISBN: 978 1 83895 091 0

  Printed in Great Britain

  Corvus

  An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

  Ormond House

  26–27 Boswell Street

  London

  WC1N 3JZ

  www.corvus-books.co.uk

  For my sister, Debbie Snelson,

  and our aunt, Dorothy Johnstone-Hogg

  Family Tree

  TRURO

  TOWN HOUSE, HIGH CROSS

  Dr Emerson Polgas

  Physician, brother of Cordelia Carew

  Seth Mortimer

  Coachman

  Bethany

  Maid

  PERREN PLACE, PYDAR STREET

  Luke Bohenna

  Physician

  QUAYSIDE HOUSE

  George Fox

  Ship broker /Insurer /Importer

  Elizabeth Fox

  Philanthropist /Ship broker

  QUAYSIDE

  Margaret Oakley

  Glovemaker

  Sofia Oakley

  Recently arrived from Portugal

  Joe Oakley

  Twelve-year-old boy

  PENDOWRICK

  Annie Alston

  Housekeeper

  PENDOWRICK RECTORY

  Reverend Arthur Kemp

  Mr Adam Kemp

  FOSSE

  POLCARROW

  Sir James Polcarrow, MP

  Landowner

  Lady Rosehannon Polcarrow

  Ardent campaigner for women’s education

  Admiral Sir Alexander Pendarvis

  Close friend and Amelia’s godfather

  Lady Marie Pendarvis

  Advocate for French prisoners

  Come cheer up, my lads! ’tis to glory we steer,

  To add something more to this wonderful year;

  To honour we call you, not press you like slaves,

  For who are so free as the sons of the waves?

  CHORUS:

  Heart of oak are our ships, heart of oak are our men;

  We always are ready, steady, boys, steady!

  We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again

  ‘Hearts of Oak’ by David Garrick

  New Shoots

  I no longer gaze at the top right-hand drawer of my mahogany dressing table. Six months have passed with Edmund’s letters left folded and unread, the blue ribbon tied in a neat bow. I will no longer read them: I do not need to. They are etched on my heart, some days burning so fiercely I can hardly breathe, other days filling me with a sadness that will never go away. Always they leave me with a glow of pride.

  This letter, too, must join them: all of them wrapped in their silk pouch, no longer to be cried over.

  From Admiral Sir Alexander Pendarvis

  Office of the Admiralty and Marine Affairs

  Whitehall, London

  24th July 1796

  My Dearest Goddaughter,

  You have charged me with telling you the facts and so I will.

  By all accounts, Midshipman Edmund Melville showed unparalleled bravery, distinguishing himself by his actions during the taking of Basse-Terre on Guadeloupe in April 1794. His unwavering courage helped erect the battery and proved the turning point in the capture of the island. His action was highly praised by Admiral Sir John Jervis and Lieutenant-General Sir Charles Grey; indeed, both men mention him in their dispatches.

  Guadeloupe came under British sovereignty and Midshipman Edmund Melville resumed his duties aboard HMS Faith. However, yellow fever and dysentery took their toll on the garrison left holding the fort and by late April, only 13 officers and 174 men were left fit for service.

  Guadeloupe is an island consisting of two very separate territories. Whereas the more mountainous western half was firmly under British control, the eastern side still contained pockets of French nationals determined to recapture the island. A contingent from the garrison was sent to quell these French nationals but their numbers were low, they were outnumbered, and before long found themselves besieged in Fort Fleur d’Epée.

  As no reinforcements were at hand, General Grey gave the order to withdraw the men by sea and it was during the evacuation of the British soldiers that Edmund showed further outstanding courage in the face of peril. His complete disregard for personal safety, his unswerving loyalty to the men in his charge, indeed his absolute determination to go back for the wounded, saved the lives of at least forty men. There is no doubt that he gave his life so that others might live.

  My dearest Amelia, in my capacity of Agent to The Transport Board, I have pursued every possible avenue open to me. The representative I sent to Guadeloupe has assured me he left no stone unturned, though I wish it were otherwise. Two British prisoners were captured on that day, and both subsequently died of their wounds. We have their names and Edmund’s was not one of them. I can tell you with absolute certainty that Midshipman Edmund Melville is not listed in the prison records of Fort Fleur d’Epée on that day, nor in the weeks and months that followed.

  Less than a month after Midshipman Edmund Melville showed such bravery, French forces led by Victor Hughes counter-attacked and secured the eastern half of the island. They took Fort Fleur d’Epée and it is there that our prisoners were held. Lieutenant Melville was not one of them.

  Seven men went missing from HMS Faith that day and seven British sailors were confirmed buried. The Fort records are very clear and the numbers tally; one officer, and six sailors. The log sent the following day by Captain Owen states Midshipman Edmund Melville as missing, presumed dead, and I must urge you to take heart from the words written alongside – a truly brave man, deserving of the highest honour.

  My dearest Amelia, though it grieves me to speak so plainly, the fighting Edmund encountered was fierce. Two soldiers saw him fall; one was too injured, the other went back to help him but was captured and died later in the fort. Edmund was thrown forward by the force of the cannon and immediately lay lifeless. He did not stir and to this day they believe Edmund Melville died instantly. As a direct result of his brave action, the evacuation was successful. Twenty soldiers were picked up from the water, and another twenty rowed to safety.
r />   What we must conclude from my investigations is that Edmund is at peace, my dearest, and from the depth of my heart I urge you to let him rest. As one who loves you like a father, I urge you to seek your own peace and find new happiness.

  Your Devoted Godfather,

  Alexander Pendarvis

  I was so sure I could never love again. So sure. But nature knows best, sending out her fragile new shoots from what seems like barren wasteland.

  Be watchful for the emergence of new shoots and protect them against the first sign of frost.

  THE LADY HERBALIST

  Chapter One

  Town House, Truro

  Saturday 30th December 1797, 2 p.m.

  ‘There . . . no, a bit higher. Let me fasten it again.’ Bethany’s hands trembled as she re-pinned my brooch. ‘I’m all fingers and thumbs. Honest, it’s like I’ve never done this before.’

  Her eyes caught mine in the mirror. I was wearing my new apricot silk, high-waisted and edged with lace, my hair loosely coiled and threaded with pearls. I looked flushed, almost giddy, my eyes shining like an excited child. She stood back, clasping her hands, and I shook my head at the glittering diamonds. ‘No . . . perhaps not.’

  She nodded, her smile turning conspiratorial. ‘Well, it is ye birthday and ye might very well be given a present of some jewellery . . .’ She put Uncle Alex’s brooch back into its silk-lined box, pursing her lips. ‘You may be given a necklace, or maybe a ring?’

  ‘Bethany!’

  The clock on the mantelpiece chimed two and Bethany ran to the window, peering down with the same jumpy excitement. The pursed lips were back, the terrible attempt to hide her smile. ‘Oh, goodness, he’s come early. Perhaps it’s on account of seeing to Lady Clarissa’s ankle . . . or perhaps he wants a quiet word with Lord Carew? Perhaps he’s got something of great importance to ask?’

  I joined her at the large sash window, my cheeks flushing. She was worse than Mother – they all were: the maids running up and down the sweeping staircase, singing as they dusted, the footmen smiling as they polished the silver. ‘It’s only a small birthday gathering,’ I whispered, trying not to look too eager.

  The day was overcast, a thick blanket of clouds sitting heavily above the town. Men stood hunched against the biting wind, the corner of High Cross almost deserted. Luke was right on time, dressed in his heavy overcoat, his collar pulled up, his hat drawn low over his ears, and I thought my heart would burst. He was smiling up at me, that loving smile that made my whole body flood with warmth.

  ‘Yer mother’s foot’s done very well under Dr Bohenna’s attentive care. His daily visits have made all the difference.’ Bethany was as flushed as I was, and well she might be, all of them thinking I had fallen for their ruse. ‘I do believe Lady Clarissa will soon be up and able to walk on her broken ankle.’

  Luke had not yet knocked on the door and stood smiling up at my window. I leaned against the pane and smiled back. ‘I take it Papa has had no more of those dizzy turns?’

  ‘None that I know of . . .’

  ‘And Cook’s headaches have stopped . . . and Seth’s indigestion is better?’

  Bethany had the grace to giggle. ‘All better. All thanks to Dr Bohenna.’

  The footman must have opened the door because Luke picked up his heavy leather case and disappeared under the pillared portico. Across the square, the stones of St Mary’s church were growing increasingly grey, the spire now swallowed by the darkening sky.

  Our house was set away from the main commerce of the town, one of the few houses to have its own stabling and coach house. Built thirty years ago, Mother had named it ‘Town House’ mainly as a penance. Must we go to the Town House? was her frequent lament. Our country estate, Trenwyn House, was only five miles downriver, but we wintered in Truro like most of society. Neither my farmer father nor my mother – a freethinking believer in Nature – liked the protocol and gossip of town. Society can be very trying, was another frequent saying of theirs and usually I agreed. But not this year. This year had been different. This year I had danced at balls and laughed at plays; I had dressed in my best gowns and attended all the concerts.

  ‘That’s a north wind,’ I said. ‘Those clouds look as if they might bring snow.’

  The trees by the church stood bare of leaves, the tips of the branches rustling in the wind. People were hurrying from the market, men pushing barrels or staggering under furze packs; women were carrying heavy baskets, clutching their woollen shawls tightly to their chests. It had snowed before on my birthday, a fine dusting of white powder covering the vast heaps of coal on the quayside and thin layers of ice on the decks of the ships. Perhaps it would snow today, too.

  I turned back to the warmth of my bedroom. All the fires in the house were blazing, every room filled with warmth and laughter. I caught a glance in the mirror and hardly recognized myself – I looked like a giddy girl of seventeen, not a mature woman of twenty-five.

  Bethany wiped a tear from her eye, her plump cheeks the colour of plums. ‘Miss Amelia, ye must know what’s meant is meant?’

  I smiled at her, warmed by the love in her eyes. Her blush deepened to a fiery red. ‘I’ll bring your shawl down for ye. Ye might need it . . .’

  I flew down the stairs as if I had wings. As a child, Frederick had taught me to slide down the banisters and I had taught each of my nephews in turn. A useful skill, I had assured them, like climbing trees and making bows and arrows from saplings; like rowing and fishing and cooking marshmallows round an open fire. Like rising with the dawn to gather dew-covered herbs, catching the first call of the songbirds, the air so fresh it cut you to breathe.

  The marble floor was gleaming, the mahogany front door polished to a shine. A large parcel rested on the hall table, a footman trying to hide it from my view. The door to my father’s study was ajar, the sounds from within too hard to resist, and I peeped into the room. Papa and Luke were standing with their backs to the roaring fire; both were laughing, Father with a glass of brandy in his hands.

  ‘Amelia, dear child, come in.’ He coughed, smiling at Luke. ‘No need to tell your mother about this.’ He held up his glass, finishing it swiftly. ‘Doctor’s orders, nothing more.’

  Luke bowed formally, his eyes setting me alight. He always dressed smartly, always with the same professional decorum, and I loved him all the more for that. His dark jacket and breeches were good quality, his boots polished and shining; never any silver buckles, just a white cravat, neatly folded and pinned with an enamel pin.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Amelia,’ he said, and my heart leapt even higher.

  There was a time when his smile had been tentative, when he had been too scared to look me in the eye, always glancing down, his natural good manners and shyness at once endearing. But not now. Now, the love in his eyes sent ripples racing through my body: the love of true friendship and complete trust.

  ‘Is that large parcel in the hall from you, Luke?’

  He smiled, shaking his head. ‘I’m afraid not. My present’s in my pocket. Actually, I have two presents for you – and both are in my pocket.’

  ‘Indeed, and what a present it is.’ Papa put down his glass. He was wearing his adored red felt cap and woollen housecoat, his strong farmer’s frame tied like a parcel in gold braid. ‘If you’ll excuse me, my dears, I’ll be in trouble if I don’t get changed. I believe our guests are to arrive any moment.’

  We followed Papa to the door, watching him cross the hall and mount the stairs. Luke reached for my hands, pulling me back out of view of the footman. I knew he would. I had been anticipating this stolen moment all morning. He held my hands to his lips. ‘You look beautiful, Amelia.’ He covered my palm with kisses. ‘I’m sorry, I missed that bit . . . I’ll just have to start again. Happy Birthday, dearest, dearest Amelia.’

  Footsteps hurried across the hall, last-minute instructions echoing up the stairs, and I leaned against Luke’s strong chest, his arms closing round me. His lips brushed my hair.

>   ‘Who did they send you for this time? We haven’t had illness in our house for years, and suddenly we’re falling like a pack of cards! Mother’s quite outrageous.’

  ‘And my mother. They’re in league and thank goodness they are. I think they’re scared that if they didn’t summon me I’d catch my death of cold standing outside, just hoping for a glimpse of you.’

  ‘Except Mother’s foot – that’s real. I saw her fall and how painful it was.’

  His arms tightened. ‘It’s mending well. I’ve forbidden her from climbing any more ladders. Do you think she’ll take my advice?’

  ‘Mother, do what she’s told? The idea’s preposterous.’

  He laughed the soft laugh I loved so well. ‘Amelia, now we’re alone . . . while I have you to myself . . .’ He released his hold, looking deep into my eyes. He seemed hesitant, as if gathering his courage. ‘Your father’s been extremely kind, he’s given me every encouragement . . . both Lord Carew and Lady Clarissa have.’ He knelt down, reaching into his jacket and my heart began thumping, jumping, racing so hard I could hardly breathe. In his hands he clasped a smooth walnut box.

  His bluest eyes searched mine, full of tenderness and understanding. Deep furrows etched his forehead, eight long years of studying and his patients’ suffering leaving their mark. His brown hair was worn short, receding slightly at the temples, his chin was freshly shaven. His cheeks were flushed, a slight tremble in his hand. He was not smiling but looked suddenly nervous. How I loved him. How I adored him.

  A sound of scuffling was followed by a breathless shout. ‘Aunt Amelia . . . Aunt Amelia . . . Oh, here you are – we’ve been looking all over for you.’ My two young nephews beamed with pleasure, their faces flushed from the cold. Their smiles widened. ‘Oh, gosh. Good afternoon, Dr Bohenna, I didn’t see you down there. Have you dropped something? Only we can help you look for it. We’re good at finding things.’