Pengelly's Daughter Read online

  Quick as lightning, he was at my side. With the rope round the trunk, he took hold of the end, twisting it into a bowline with strong, swift movements, pulling it rmly to test its strength. There was no doubt it would hold his weight. The voices were getting louder, the lanterns swaying to the rhythm of people running fast. The dogs would be ahead of them and soon approaching but I stood, too appalled to run. I could not believe the sailor was about to descend the cliff.

  ‘Go! For the love of God, go!’ he commanded. ‘Take the path so your scent mixes with other trails. Run! It’s my trail they’re following – the dogs should stop. But run, don’t stop!’

  A wave of fear brought me to my senses and I stumbled blindly through the darkness, my cumbersome boots causing me to trip. As I picked myself up, a shaft of moonlight shone through the parted clouds and I glanced back, bracing myself to see the sailor begin his dangerous descent. He had not moved. He was crouching on the ground, watching me, his black eyes staring into mine. Our eyes locked in an unsmiling stare.

  The barking was getting louder. I ran like never before, running in terror of the dogs, brushing against the thorns with no thought but to reach the safety of the cottage. In the yard, I stood with my back against the closed door, gasping for breath. The house was quiet, Mother and Jenna still undisturbed. As I climbed the stairs, my legs seemed like jelly beneath me. I was safe but, even so, when I pulled the bedclothes round me, my heart was still pounding.

  I could not settle. The look in those black eyes kept lling my mind.

  Chapter Two

  Tuesday 25th June 1793

  Dawn broke at ve. As usual, the same two cockerels vied to rouse the town. Joseph Williams was already stoking the res in the bakehouse and, down by the harbour, an oxen cart was rumbling over the cobbles. The dairy herd would soon be gathering outside my window, but worse than that, Mrs Tregony’s baby had been born during the night and the cries of her newborn infant ltered through the adjoining wall. Ducking under the bedclothes, I pulled the pillow rmly over my head.

  The night had passed in bursts of terrifying dreams. One moment I was being chased by dogs, the next I was watching the sailor dangling over the cliff, his pursuers poised to cut the lifeline that held him hanging above the rocks. I could hardly distinguish the dreams from the truth. But whether he had survived, or was oating head down in the sea, was no longer my concern. I had enough problems of my own.

  There would be no more sleep. The cries from next door sounded like the cries of a baby who would survive and I knew Mother would be lying awake, reliving the heartache of her lost hopes, remembering the awful silences as she cradled yet another lifeless baby in her arms. Jenna knew it too. I heard her close the latch to Mother’s door.

  As she entered my room, her usual, cheerful greeting died on her lips. ‘Jigger me,’ she cried, staring at her brother’s clothes lying in a heap on the oor.

  ‘Jenna! Don’t speak so coarsely – and not so loudly.’

  ‘I’ve a mind to speak more plain than that! How did them clothes get like that?’ She held up the sodden, mud-bespattered clothes, glaring at me across the room. ‘And what’s happened to yer hair?’

  ‘What you don’t know, you can’t fret about.’

  ‘Not fret? It’ll take all morning doing yer hair and all afternoon washing them clothes…and you tell me not to fret?’

  She pursed her lips and began tugging at my tangled hair with more force than usual. Wincing, I said nothing – I was too busy thinking. I needed to nd out exactly how much money we owed Mr Tregellas and while Mother was at work, I would take the opportunity to go through the bills and accounts. But as the day wore on, and the heat of the sun lled the yard, I began to feel listless, unable to concentrate. It was as if some magnet was pulling me back to the tree, compelling me to retrace my steps of the night before.

  I could bear it no longer. I slipped out of the backyard, cutting quickly across the grassy cliff-top. Not a breath of wind blew. No one was about. Only four sheep watched me push through the swathes of owers burning under the midday sun. Yet despite the beauty and the butteries dancing around me, the bitter taste of injustice soured my enjoyment. This was common land, used for generations by the people of Porthruan, but it belonged to the Pendenning Estate and was soon to be enclosed. Fences were already appearing. Sir Charles Cavendish had bought the great hall with its vast estate, seven years ago. He had evicted tenants, Jenna’s family among them, created a vast park, and had returned to London as our Member of Parliament. He had never been seen since. How could that be right? How could one man own everything when so many people had nothing?

  Skylarks were singing above me, their song lling the air. Crossing the stile, I climbed the cliff path, the sun hot against my skin. I was wearing my green cotton dress, the lightest of my three dresses. It used to be my favourite, but now I was ashamed it was wearing so thin. Even with Jenna’s care, the lace at my elbow was greying, the black stitching on the bodice faded and dull. Checking to make sure only the sheep were watching, I stripped off my chu, removed my bonnet and despite Jenna’s dire warnings, shook my hair free from its hold. It felt wonderful to be so unconned.

  Only the faintest breeze blew. There was no sign of the storm that had lashed the cliffs the night before. It was peaceful and still. Waves lapped the rocks and sunlight glinted on the sea, like thousands of glass shards. I shaded my eyes, scanning the horizon, skimming the water’s edge for a lifeless body. Drawing closer to the tree, I began searching the ground, hoping not to nd signs of a struggle. Nothing seemed untoward. There was no rope round the trunk, no blood stains, nothing – just a mass of muddy footprints, their indentations still damp in the shadows beneath the overhanging branches.

  Relieved, I edged round the tree, making my way to the place where I had caught the rope. The shade was so dark I saw nothing at rst, but as I looked closer I saw something on the ground and caught my breath, my heart beginning to race. A beautiful red rose was lying where I had knelt the night before and my hands began to tremble as I picked it up. Breathing in its heady fragrance, I brushed it against my face, feeling the velvet softness of the petals against my lips. The scent was intoxicating, dangerous, yet the very danger seemed exciting, sending frissons of pleasure tingling through my body.

  I began smiling at the audacity of the sailor. But as I held the rose, I noticed the thorns had been removed by a knife and a vision of his dagger ashed through my mind. The sailor was a violent and desperate man, and I, Rosehannon Pengelly, clever, articulate and well educated, should know better than to be beguiled by a rose from such a man.

  Above me, a rustle in the leaves caught my attention and I glanced up to the overhanging branch. I jumped in fright. Through the dappled light, I saw the dark shape of the sailor standing in the tree. He was watching me. ‘You’re quite safe – I’ve no dagger this time,’ he said, landing a few paces in front of me, his tall frame towering above me.

  A shaft of sunlight shone on his white shirt. It was unbuttoned at the neck and loosely tucked into his breeches. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow. He was younger than I thought, probably late twenties. Around his neck was a red scarf. His face was coarsened by the sun, his chin unshaven, a small scar visible on his forehead. His hair was black, his brows dark, his expression grim and resolute. He stood staring at me through intensely blue eyes. ‘By way of thanking you,’ he said, pointing to the rose. ‘I’m in your debt, ma’am. My name’s Jim.’ He bowed formally, his eyes never leaving my face.

  ‘Jim who?’ I found myself replying.

  ‘I’m known only as Jim.’

  ‘Then you must have something to hide,’ I replied abruptly. His accent was local, his words softly spoken, but he had startled me and I did not like the way he was looking at me.

  ‘Perhaps I’d have done better to have left you to the mob.’

  ‘I’m grateful you didn’t.’ His face remained impassive, stony, his eyes lingerin
g on my face before he looked out to sea. ‘Thanks to you, I got back to my ship.’

  He sounded so assured, so familiar. He had been waiting for me and, like a fool, I had walked straight into his trap. I did not like to be second-guessed and I certainly did not like to be spied on. With a sickening thud, I realised he would have seen me throw off my chu.

  ‘Don’t insult me!’ I snapped, covering my shoulders and replacing my bonnet.

  ‘Insult you?’ He sounded genuinely surprised, ‘How’d I insult you?’

  ‘What ship would be waiting in a lee gale? No boat would survive the rocks down there and no master would endanger his ship – or her crew – in weather like last night. You couldn’t have had a ship waiting.’ I saw his eyes widening at the truth of my words and faced him in triumph. ‘You hid in the tree, didn’t you?’

  ‘That I did.’ He was staring back at me, no hint of a smile.

  ‘Why go to so much trouble – tying the rope round the tree?’

  ‘If people see something, they believe it. If they see a rope going over a cliff, they’ll think I’ve used it. The dogs can sniff an’ bark all they like, but they’ll call them off. Meanwhile I get to look at my pursuers.’

  It was a clever move – dangerous but clever. ‘And did you?’

  ‘I did.’ His sts clenched by his sides, a look of hatred ashing across his face. He turned away, picking up a stone, aiming it at another before sending both ying over the cliff to the rocks below.

  ‘And did you know them?’

  ‘No.’

  His look had frightened me but the coldness in his voice now scared me. I had been very foolish to come and even more foolish to speak to him. I would leave him to his hatred. Gathering up my skirts, I began stepping over the gnarled roots. I was almost clear of the tree when his words ripped right through me. ‘Goodbye, Miss Pengelly.’

  I swung round. ‘How d’you know my name?’

  ‘I asked,’ he replied, his face impassive.

  ‘What d’you mean you asked?’

  ‘In Porthruan, I asked the men in the tavern.’

  ‘What? You just happened to ask who is the lady who runs around at night dressed in breeches?’ I was furious – furious and scared.

  ‘No, I asked who was the most beautiful woman in Porthruan an’ they all agreed – must be Pengelly’s daughter.’ He was tall, assured, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the blue of the sea, his arms crossed, his head ung back, staring at me with those piercing, blue eyes. ‘They also said you were proud, too clever by half, had a sharp tongue in your head, an’ I’d stand no chance of winning your favour – I’d be wasting my time. Seems no man will ever be good enough for Miss Rosehannon Pengelly.’ His eyes did not waver. But nor did mine.

  ‘Well they were right,’ I said, inging the rose in the dirt by his feet.

  My head was pounding. I did not have airs and graces. I did not have a sharp tongue. I was educated, certainly, but why should a woman not be educated? And why should I not have opinions? My stomach was tightening with every step. How dare he bandy my name about. What if someone had seen us? What if they were already talking about us in the tavern?

  The air was thick with lassitude as I made my way slowly up the cobbles. Sleeping dogs lay stretched in the shade and only a handful of women sat in their doorways, their lace bobbins, for once, hanging idle. I nodded, even summoning up a smile where necessary, desperately hoping tongues were not already wagging, but at the bend in the road my heart sank – Jimmy Tregony stood holding the reins of a pony and trap.

  Stepping out of our front door was the last man in the world I wanted to see. It was too late, he had seen me and there was to be no escape. I had always disliked William Tregellas, but seeing him now, I hated him. He knew he was in good shape for a man of his years. His well-cut frock coat emphasised the broadness of his shoulders and his breeches, tucked into riding boots despite the heat, must have been chosen to emphasise the slimness of his hips. His silk cravat, mother-of-pearl buttons and silver buckles screamed his ever-increasing wealth, but it had not always been like this. Father would never have approved.

  Mother was wringing her hands. She could barely conceal her panic. ‘Oh, there you are, Rosehannon – Mr Tregellas’s been waiting for nearly half an hour. Have you done all the errands I sent you on?’

  ‘Yes, Mother, all complete,’ I replied, grasping the excuse she had just handed me.

  Mr Tregellas bowed slowly, his hat barely moving, his pale-grey eyes unblinking, like the grass snake I had been watching in the meadow the day before. ‘Miss Pengelly, you seem unwell.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, relieved to have an excuse to cut short our conversation, ‘this heat’s given me a terrible headache. I need to go indoors to rest.’

  ‘I can’t think what madness persuaded you to go out in the rst place.’ He kept his eyes on my face though I had long since looked away. ‘We can’t have you falling ill so near to your birthday – not now I’m looking forward to celebrating it with you.’ Mother’s small frame seemed to shrink even further and my unease turned to nausea. I needed to breathe, but the air was hot and stiing. Mr Tregellas saw me sway and held out his hand.

  ‘I’m ne, thank you, Mr Tregellas,’ I replied, inching from his touch. My sharp tone must have angered him. His thin lips creased into a false smile and I could hear Father’s voice warning me never to trust a man whose smile did not reach his eyes. Yet Father had trusted him.

  ‘Mr Tregellas has called to tell us Sir Charles Cavendish is expected from London,’ said Mother quietly. ‘The town’s that packed. There’s a bi-election meeting tomorrow night and there’s likely to be trouble. There’ve been ghts already, what with the navy in town – and Mr Tregellas is telling us to stay indoors.’ She looked distraught, knowing any mention of the election would rouse anger in me. She was right.

  ‘Then Sir Charles would be wiser not to distribute so much free ale and grog. People who have so little will naturally drink to excess. Perhaps if Sir Charles spent more time down here, with the people he’s meant to represent, he could nd better ways to relieve their misery – more appropriate ways of gaining their support.’ I said it before I could stop myself. I bit my tongue but already I could see Mother wincing.

  The lines round Mr Tregellas’s mouth hardened. ‘I can see you’ve been too long in the sun, Miss Pengelly. You need to rest.’ His face furious, he snatched the reins from Jimmy Tregony. Mounting the trap, he lashed the whip. ‘Good day,’ he said curtly.

  The trap jolted forward and I watched his receding back with an equal mix of fear and loathing. Holding out her hands to help Mother, Jenna’s eyes were deep with reproach and, immediately, I regretted my words. My anger would get us nowhere. No, worse than that, it could plunge us into even greater poverty. They had every reason to look at me like that.

  Yet why should I not have an opinion? I had the education and intelligence of any man, so why must I always stay silent? Besides, everything was not lost. I had been handed the one piece of knowledge I needed most. Tomorrow night, Mr Tregellas would be at the meeting and his study would be empty. Tomorrow would be my chance.

  Chapter Three

  Wednesday 26th June 1793

  I tried to make amends with Jenna, sitting patiently on the three-legged stool while her deft hands brought order to my hair.

  ‘They do say Madame Merrick’s a spy…d’you think she spies for the French?’ she muttered, her mouth full of hairpins. ‘They do say she’s the centre of a smuggling gang.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past her.’

  ‘…and there’s talk she’s the fancy woman of three rich men.’

  ‘What? Madame Merrick? No, surely not…well maybe she is…!’

  ‘They do say she ran off as a young woman and married an English sea captain.’

  ‘Jenna, you must be nished by now!’

  Pursing her lips, she tugged my hair and I knew I was to be held captive a little
bit longer. ‘Mrs Pengelly says I’m as good as any of them seamstresses Madame Merrick employs but that’s only ’cos Mrs Pengelly taught me so well.’

  ‘I hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to leave us and join Madame Merrick?’

  ‘Might...depends…’ Jenna tucked the last ringlet into the clasp and stood behind me, admiring her handiwork. Our eyes caught in the mirror. ‘No, course I won’t,’ she said. ‘Things will turn out right – honest they will.’

  ‘Perhaps I need to be more like Madame Merrick?’

  ‘Well, they do say she’s that clever – everyone’s buying her gowns...’ She paused as Mother’s voice echoed up the stairs.

  ‘Rosehannon, what’s keeping you? I can’t be late…if you’re not ready, I’ll take the ferry on my own.’

  I hurried downstairs. We needed Mother’s job and we needed Madame Merrick, but as far as I was concerned, putting Madame Merrick’s accounts in order was proving more trouble than it was worth. The sooner I was nished, the better.

  Fosse and Porthruan glower at each other across the river mouth, Fosse condent in its greater prosperity. You are either from Fosse or Porthruan, but with the ferry so well established, people nd work where they can. Father and I were born in Porthruan: Mother’s family moved there when she was a small child. I was ten years old when Father moved us to Fosse and although Mother’s heart will always remain in Porthruan, my loyalties will always be to Fosse.

  We left the ferry and made our way past the malt house, the sweet smell of barley lling the air. It was a bright morning with a cloudless sky and even at this early hour the sun felt warm on my face. Fosse was always busy and today was no exception. The road was teeming. Tradesmen were straining under baskets piled high with produce and a cart was already blocking the way. A crowd was forming and as people pushed passed, tempers began to are. A mule driver stared down at me, and as I returned his glare, he spat at my feet, his foul spittle narrowly missing my shoes. Two men were rolling a barrel towards us.