The Captain's Girl Page 2

  ‘Walk on…’ I urged, kicking the mare forward, forcing her down the muddy slipway, keeping her head steady as the inky black water rose above her fetlocks. I knew not to stay on the road – if they came searching, they would come this way. For the past few weeks I had seen wood-smoke rising from these woods. Trees were being cleared; I knew to look for a small path that would take us straight to Polcarrow.

  The path was smaller than I expected, hardly wider than the horse. The light was fading, the trees merging together in the gathering darkness. I could see lamps burning through the trees and knew exactly where I was. We had never been invited to Polcarrow, the animosity between Sir James and Father saw to that, but Arbella and I had gazed down from the hill, studying the stables and the coach-house, thinking she would soon be mistress of the old house. How very secretive she was then; I wished she had told me the truth, but how could she? Everyone had to believe she was to marry Sir James – how else could she run away with the man she truly loved? Her plans must have been so intricate, borne out of desperation, yet now I understood her. Dearest Arbella, to keep so silent, not telling a soul.

  How very different Polcarrow was to Pendenning Hall – here was ancient woodland, a long-established house, a family name stretching back for generations. Our house was so new, Father’s baronetcy straight from the boardroom of the East India Company. Trade, as Mama would say, had she not depended so entirely upon it.

  The mare saw the lights and increased her pace, picking her way more readily through the dense overgrowth. We were heading straight for the stables – unseen, uninvited, a terrible affront, but it was my only chance.

  ‘We’re here – you’ll be safe, now. Sir James’s a good man.’ The boy’s small arms clasped my neck and I felt him shake. ‘You’re safe, I promise. You’ll be well looked after.’ I sounded reassuring, but I was surprised the place seemed deserted, no-one there at all. ‘We just need to find someone.’

  Not far away was a hitching rail and I decided to dismount. Wrapping the boy carefully in my cloak, I slipped from the saddle and carried him in my arms. Lamps were burning either side of the stable entrance; other lanterns lit the path to the house and more lamps burnt against the coach-house, but there was no-one to be seen.

  I crossed the courtyard and entered the stable, at once met by the familiar smell of fresh straw. A well-run stable, that was obvious – no corners cut, no laziness tolerated. Deep straw lined every stall, the horses contentedly nudging their hay-bags. Buckets of water stood inside each gate and newly oiled saddles hung against the dark wooden stalls. My eyes were immediately drawn to two saddles lying on the flagstones. They looked to be flung to the ground and abandoned in haste, clearly at odds with the immaculate surroundings. Stranger still, two black stallions stood bridled and steaming with sweat.

  A tiny glow of light lit the end stall – the flicker of a single lantern. I could hear a woman sobbing and whispered voices. The last two stalls were empty, the voices coming from within the furthest one. I knew I ought to walk away, or make my presence known, but curiosity drew me forward. It was always like this. It would be easy to slip into the second stall, hide in the shadows where no-one would see me. Knowledge was power – I had learnt that as a child. How else could I know the truth from the lies they peddled me? Cocooned in silk, the newspapers hidden? Told only what they wanted me to hear. Without listening at doors I would never know what was really going on.

  I crept silently forward, stepping over the freshly laid straw without a sound. A chink of light showed through the wooden stall and I knelt down to peer through the tiny crack. There were two men, three women and a boy of about twelve. James Polcarrow had his back to me, with Lady Rose Polcarrow by his side. I did not know the blonde woman or the huge red-haired man, but I recognised Alice Polcarrow, Sir James’ stepmother. She was kneeling in the straw, sobbing, clutching her son to her.

  ‘When was this, Alice?’ James Polcarrow sounded furious.

  She looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks, ‘This morning…at ten o’clock.’

  ‘Ben came to you in the garden and gave you this?’ He held up a small brown paper package.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the message was, “You know what to do”.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Alice, Ben’s not the best of messengers, he can barely get his words straight. How do you know what it means?’

  A fresh burst of sobbing met this question. ‘I know exactly what it means,’ she stammered. ‘I’ve been dreading it for months. It’s from Robert – it’s poison. When he was arrested, Robert told me he’d get poison to me, to put in your drink.’

  ‘Dear God, Alice, your brother’s an evil man – you should’ve told me this long ago.’ James Polcarrow’s jaw clamped tight, his face thunderous.

  ‘I thought it would never happen. I just prayed and prayed, hoping we’d hear of his hanging, but when it was postponed I began to feel such dread. I was going to tell you when I heard he’d escaped from Bodmin, but you left in such a hurry.’

  She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and leant forward, scooping something up from the straw. My heart froze. A spaniel dog lay with his head hanging limply to one side, his big brown eyes glazed and lifeless. She buried her face in its immaculate coat.

  ‘He’s poisoned Hercules as a warning I must do exactly as he says…he told me to use the poison on you, and if I didn’t, he’d take my son. He takes everything – everything. First he killed your father, now my dear, sweet Hercules and he’ll take Francis, I know he will. He just takes and takes and takes. I hate him.’ Pain caught her throat, her words barely audible. ‘He said I’d never see my son again…he’d kidnap Francis, sell him to some ship’s captain.’

  ‘The man’s insane.’

  ‘He’s always controlled me…always. You weren’t here. You were miles away. Your dear father was dead and as Francis’ guardian he took everything into his own hands. He ran the estate with such cruelty and I was powerless to stop him. I thought only to get by until Francis came of age. His greed knows no end – he wants to control Francis just like he controlled me. You’re in his way.’

  I leant back against the wooden stall, clutching the boy closer. They were speaking so quietly, their voices hardly above a whisper. Robert Roskelly – I knew the name. Father had done business with him when he lived at Polcarrow and I had watched him from the window when he had come to dine. Father had liked him but Mama thought him frightful. Neither had spoken of him since he was arrested for the murder of Sir James’ father.

  ‘How did he escape?’ It was Lady Polcarrow’s Cornish accent, the beautiful Rose Pengelly, not three weeks married. ‘Will he come to Fosse, James?’

  ‘No. He’ll not come anywhere near here – he won’t risk being recognised.’

  I peered through the chink again. James Polcarrow was pacing backwards and forwards, one fist tapping his mouth, the other held tightly against his side. Lady Polcarrow was kneeling on the ground, her arms round Alice and Francis. The boy looked petrified. He was tall and dark like his stepbrother. Sir James’ scowl deepened. ‘Alice, have you any idea where your brother would hide? Who would your brother trust with his life?’

  She looked up, pain deep in her eyes, ‘I’ve been trying to think – perhaps Rowen Denville. I think he’d trust her. They were…well…you know, rumour had it…’

  ‘Where does she live?’ James Polcarrow knelt in the straw, encouraging Alice in her distress.

  ‘Falmouth.’

  ‘Then that’s where he’ll be. My guess is he won’t sail until he knows I’m dead and Francis will inherit Polcarrow. Whoever gave Ben that poison will have instructions to wait and see if you use it. If I don’t sicken, he’ll have instructions to take Francis—’

  ‘Dear God, James. No.’

  ‘Our only option is to make them believe you’ve used it. Rose and I will pretend to be ill and while Robert Roskelly waits to hear of our deaths, I’ll go to Falmouth and find Rowen Den
ville. I’ll base my search round her. I will find him, Alice. Your brother will hang for the murder of my father and Francis will come to no harm. That, I promise.’

  I held the boy carefully against me, afraid he might whimper. Sir James turned to the other man. ‘Joseph, send to Truro for Dr Trefusis – we can’t trust any of the local doctors…and stay with Francis at all times. Sleep in his room and never let him out of your sight. Never.’

  ‘Yes, Sir James.’

  He turned to the blonde lady. ‘Jenna, tell everyone Rose and I are fighting for our lives. Insist on being our only nurse and stop anyone coming into our rooms. Cry a lot and say we’re getting worse.’

  ‘Yes, Sir James.’

  ‘Rose,’ his voice once again softened as he looked at his wife. ‘You must stay in our bedroom and make sure you aren’t seen by anyone.’

  Rose Polcarrow looked back at him through the darkness. Her chin lifted, her beautiful eyes flashed. ‘I’m coming with you, James.’

  ‘No, Rose, it’s too dangerous. I insist you stay here.’

  She smiled, seeming to take no notice. ‘I won’t let you go alone.’

  I could not believe it. Rose Pengelly, the seamstress’s daughter, contradicting her husband, yet he was smiling back at her; a deep, loving smile, the two of them exchanging a look of such love. The rumours he had hastened their marriage were true – he did love her, he adored her. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the sight of Viscount Vallenforth’s terrible thin lips, curling in their cruel smile.

  Lady Polcarrow’s voice grew urgent. ‘L’Aigrette’s still in harbour, James. I’ve been watching her from the terrace. The wind’s northerly, the tide’s about to turn – it’s perfect for Falmouth. If we hurry we’ll catch Captain Lefèvre.’

  I leant against the stall, holding the boy in the darkness, the sound of their footsteps receding along the cobbles. My mind was racing. Could I? Would I dare? I remembered Arbella’s hastily scribbled note. I had burnt it, as requested, but I remembered every word – we’ll be married straightaway, but so we can’t be traced we’re going to call ourselves Mr and Mrs Smith. We’ve got respectable lodgings in Falmouth, in Upper Street, with Mrs Trewhella, but don’t tell anyone, will you, Cici? Not a soul.

  I took a deep breath. Arbella’s elopement was all the courage I needed. If she could escape, so could I.

  Chapter Three

  Polcarrow

  Thursday 7th November 1793, 5:30 p.m.

  The footman looked incredulous but he took the boy in his arms, gaping in disbelief.

  ‘See to him straightaway, if you don’t mind. He needs urgent attention.’ Behind him, the blonde woman was running down the stairs clutching a pile of clothes. Bobbing a petrified curtsy, she hurried away.

  ‘Could you take me to Sir James?’ I called after her.

  She stopped abruptly. ‘Sir James’s not at home, m’lady,’ she replied with wide-open eyes.

  I crossed the polished black and white marble floor, and lowered my voice. ‘We both know he’s at home and we need to be quick if we’re going to catch the tide.’ She went as white as a sheet but made no protest, turning instead down the panelled corridor. I followed close behind, stopping outside an ornately carved door. ‘Tell him Miss Cavendish would like a word.’

  The remaining colour drained from her face. ‘Miss Celia Cavendish?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied.

  The house was certainly ancient, Sir James’ study particularly dark. Dense wooden panels lined the walls, an assortment of ruffed ancestors peering down from their frames. A large fireplace dominated the furthest wall and heavy beams crossed the low ceiling. The furniture was solid, intricately carved, the flagstones highly polished. Only the drapes looked new. Sir James looked up.

  ‘Miss Cavendish! What brings you bursting in like this?’ For such a young man, James Polcarrow could look stern at the best of times; when he was angry, he looked petrifying.

  ‘Forgive me, Sir James. I’ve just witnessed Viscount Vallenforth whip a boy half to death and I’ve brought him here – for his safety.’

  ‘For his safety?’ His eyes sharpened beneath his frown.

  ‘Well, mine as well, I suppose.’

  Lady Polcarrow was by his side, watching me. She was breathtakingly beautiful – perfect oval face, high cheekbones, her piercingly intelligent eyes somehow magnetic in their power. Her chestnut hair was coiled beneath her lace cap, her gown definitely Marseilles silk. She had risen so far, but with looks like that, it was hardly surprising. We knew one another only slightly from when she worked at the dressmaker’s, but I liked her very much and felt sure I could trust her.

  ‘I imagine Viscount Vallenforth does that rather a lot,’ she said with evident distaste.

  ‘I can’t go back, Lady Polcarrow.’

  ‘How can we help?’ Her voice was cautious, wariness darkening those beautiful eyes.

  ‘Take me with you to Falmouth,’ I said, watching their astonished faces. ‘Forgive me…I know it was wrong to listen – I was searching for a groom and heard you talking. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I heard everything. As it happens, it quite suits my plans. When we get to Falmouth, I’ll leave you in peace and your secret will remain safe.’

  Sir James looked furious. ‘Miss Cavendish, if you think for one moment—’

  ‘No, wait, James…’ Rose Polcarrow put her hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Miss Cavendish must need our help very badly, or she’d never suggest such an idea. How’s the boy?’

  ‘Thrashed to within an inch of his life. I can’t go back, Lady Polcarrow – if I do, my parents will take no notice of my pleas. They won’t let me break my engagement – I need leverage, some kind of bargaining power.’

  Lady Polcarrow nodded but James Polcarrow remained thunderous, his handsome face scowling at me with dislike. ‘Miss Cavendish, I’ll take no part in your running away.’

  ‘But she’s welcome to stay here, isn’t she, James?’ Rose Polcarrow clearly understood. She understood and she cared. ‘We can’t do anything now, but when we come back, we’ll try to help…only stay here, don’t go to Falmouth.’

  She meant well, but if they were in Falmouth they could not keep me from my parents. It would only be a matter of time before Father barged his way in and dragged me back. Arbella had known her only hope had been to run. ‘It’s very kind of you, Lady Polcarrow, but my parents will only listen to me if they fear scandal. I have to go to Falmouth and if you don’t take me, I’ll make my own way.’

  ‘Where in Falmouth?’ barked Sir James.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘You’re going to Arbella! How could you be so foolish?’

  ‘Please Sir James, I don’t do this lightly. I know the consequences but I believe I’ll be safe with Arbella and her husband – I have their address.’

  Sir James shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s your choice, Miss Cavendish. Ruin your reputation along with your cousin’s – it’s no concern of mine.’ He turned to Joseph. ‘Move the bookcase, if you don’t mind and when we’re through, put it back exactly as it was. Jenna, if you could order our supper on trays and tell everyone we’ve gone to our room…tell them we woke unwell and you’ve sent for the doctor. We may be gone several days – four, maybe five.’

  Jenna nodded. She was sifting through the pile of clothes, holding up one garment, then another. They were working men’s clothes, coarse jackets and breeches. A pair of boots stood on the floor, two large hats ready on the table and I stared in disbelief, hardly believing my eyes. Jenna was unfastening Lady Polcarrow’s laces, Sir James already pulling off his coat and I turned quickly away, staring at the huge wooden globe in front of me.

  ‘Are you ready, Miss Cavendish?’ The beautifully elegant Rose Polcarrow had disappeared and in her place stood a tall, gangling youth wearing brown corduroy breeches and a worsted-wool jacket. Her hair was scraped back beneath the large hat, her boots scuffed and covered in mud. Gone, too, were Sir James’ finely t
ailored clothes. A sailor stood in his place, wearing a dark blue jacket and baggy breeches, a red scarf tied around his neck. I stared at them, my heart racing.

  ‘Take those diamonds off your ears, Miss Cavendish, and if you value your life, get that ring off your finger. Put them in your purse. Where’s your cloak?’ James Polcarrow opened the top drawer of his desk and began filling a leather pouch with coins.

  ‘I don’t have a purse and the boy’s wrapped in my cloak.’

  ‘Then take this,’ he said, sliding the purse across the desk towards me.

  ‘Thank you. That’s very generous. I’ll pay you straight back.’

  ‘It’s not generous, it’s worth nothing – just pennies and half-pennies but it’s what you’ll need. Hide your jewellery down your bodice and wear this.’ He reached for a cloak folded across the back of a chair. ‘Keep hooded at all times. No-one must know you’re on my boat.’

  I wrapped the cloak around me. It was black and coarse but covered me completely. I lifted the hood to hide my face and turned at the sound of scraping. Joseph had his back against a bookcase and was heaving it slowly away from the dark wooden panelling.

  ‘Thank you Joseph.’ Sir James strode across the hall, buckling up the strap of his leather belt. A large bag lay slung over his shoulder, a pouch hung from his waist. ‘The catch is here – this bit that looks like a knot. Press that and the spring releases.’

  Joseph pressed the knot and a panel sprung open, a dark entrance gaping in front of us. It was about three feet across and as black as a grave. Rose was watching me. ‘It leads down to the sea – to the rocks beneath the rope-walk, but James won’t let you see where it comes out. He’ll blindfold you at the entrance.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I said, my heart hammering.

  ‘It’s cramped and dirty. Water drips from the rocks and there are deep pools of water – your boots’ll get ruined.’