The Captain's Girl Read online

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I repeated.

  ‘The lantern’s likely to go out and bats might fly down at you.’

  If she thought she was putting me off, she was not succeeding. ‘I’ll manage.’

  ‘Of course you will,’ she replied, smiling. She handed me a lantern. ‘Just stay very close.’

  I crouched at the tunnel’s entrance, catching Joseph’s eye. ‘My horse’s tethered by the coach-house. Could you stable her tonight and return her to Pendenning? Perhaps you could say you found her wandering?’

  A voice echoed through the tunnel, ‘Keep close, Miss Cavendish.’

  The tunnel smelt damp, airless. It was icily cold, the walls solid stone, the floor roughly hewn flagstones. We were going down, the tunnel widening to the width of two men. I leant forward, bending almost double to avoid the rocks jutting down from above. A drop splashed my cheek and I stopped just in time. A vast pool of water glistened ahead of me; black, stagnant, smelling of damp earth and putrid mud.

  I put down my lantern and pulled up my skirts, hitching them high above my knees. It felt strangely wonderful. No-one was watching me.

  For the first time in my life, I was free.

  Chapter Four

  Rose undid the red scarf from around my eyes and smiled, handing it quickly back to her husband. The wind was blowing against our cheeks, the waves surging against the rocks we were standing on. Everywhere was wet and slimy, covered in cockles, and it was hard not to slip. Rose seemed so sure-footed, Sir James dragging a rowing boat behind him. At the water’s edge, he pushed the boat into the foaming waves. ‘Get in, Miss Cavendish – sit in the bow.’ I held my breath, summoning my courage. As the boat tipped, I gripped the sides, edging forward as Rose and Sir James got in behind me.

  ‘We’re away,’ shouted Rose as Sir James pulled on the oars, skimming through the white foam, the tip of rocks just visible beneath us. Seaweed swirled round the boat, swaying in a black mass. I could see barnacles, limpets, an encrusted chain. The salty air smelt so good. It was so fresh, so raw, a million worlds away from the stuffy rooms I hated so much.

  We were at the widest stretch of the river, pointing east towards Porthruan. Both harbours were busy. Ships lay three abreast along the harbour walls, their masts rocking in the swell of the waves. Vast pulleys stretched high into the air, hoisting sacks onto the decks and into the holds. Men were rolling barrels along the quayside; mules were waiting, their carts piled high with produce. The spray was wetting my cloak, soaking my hood. My boots were wet and muddy, my hem just saved from ruin, yet I felt like pinching myself. I was living, not watching. For once, doing, not dreaming. Across the water, the church bells chimed half past six.

  Sir James pulled hard on the oars, his face streaked with spray. ‘The tide’s on the turn. Where’s L’Aigrette anchored, Rose?’

  ‘This side…behind that brig. I hope she hasn’t left.’ Her words were lost to the wind.

  Sir James heaved on the oars, his pace quickening. The waves were mounting, our boat low in the water. Huge black hulls towered above us, lanterns hanging from their sterns, lights dancing across their decks. It was clearly time to leave. Men were climbing the rigging, heaving on ropes. Shouts were ringing across the darkness, sails unfurling, anchors rising from the water.

  Sir James’ words were clipped with exertion. ‘When we’re aboard…don’t use our names. Captain Lefèvre will recognise us but the crew mustn’t know who we are. Can you see her, Rose?

  ‘She’s there – she hasn’t left.’

  I looked up, my heart sinking. The boat we were rowing to seemed so small – only a tiny one-masted cutter, not a ship at all. I could hardly believe it. ‘Not that one, surely?’

  Rose smiled. ‘Wait till you sail on her.’ We were alongside her now, her black hull glistening in the water beside us. Sir James lifted the oars and grabbed the hull.

  ‘What the hell?’ came a voice from the deck.

  ‘I’ve urgent business with Captain Lefèvre,’ shouted Sir James.

  A second man leant over the rail. ‘And that business is?’ He, too, sounded French and distinctly annoyed.

  ‘Captain Lefèvre, I need to speak to you.’The figure disappeared and a ladder slammed against the hull. It was made of rope, the wooden rungs secured by huge knots. Sir James caught the ladder and pulled it tight, the two boats knocking together in the considerable swell.

  ‘Go first,’ urged Rose. ‘Hold very tight as the rope can get slippery. Sir James will keep it steady.’ I pulled my hood over my head, grabbing the ladder tightly.

  The sea looked ominously dark, the boats rising and falling at different times. The swell was lifting first one, then the other and it was hard to judge the timing. I put my foot on the bottom rung and held my breath. On the second rung, I felt my boot tug against my skirt and realised I had caught my hem. I tried kicking my foot free, but the corduroy was wet and clinging to my leg. I tried again. I had never done anything like this before. I had rowed the Thames at Richmond, but never dangled from a boat in open sea.

  My only option was to tug my skirt free but the waves were swirling beneath me, and letting go with one hand much harder than I thought. The captain was watching from above, James Polcarrow standing in the boat below; both men must think me so foolish. Only Rose would understand how difficult it was, hauling yourself up a swaying ladder in a heavy riding dress. I pulled at my skirt but a large wave rolled beneath me, swinging me violently round, knocking me against the hull.

  The captain swung himself over the side; one hand holding the ladder, the other reaching towards me. ‘Give me your hand,’ he said, leaning as far down as he could.

  I would have reached up, but another, stronger, wave crashed the two boats together and I clung even tighter to the rope, scared to be thrown off balance. I was normally so fearless, but the waves were unpredictable, and the foaming black sea suddenly so terrifying. I looked up, preparing to reach out my hand, but Captain Lefèvre was already halfway down the ladder, his arm encircling my waist. His strong arm held me, his body safe behind me and I began kicking my foot free. At once, I heard his command. ‘Put your arms round my neck.’

  His arm loosened from my waist and reached round my thighs, gripping me tightly and I could do nothing but comply. I slid my hands round his neck and felt myself lifted effortlessly up the ladder, pinned closely against his chest. At the top he swung me over the rail, holding me carefully until my feet touched the deck. I looked up. His eyes were searching the shadows beneath my hood and I turned swiftly away, pulling my cloak closely round me.

  Though he could not see me, I saw him clearly. He was tall, fine-boned, his clean-shaven face browned by the sun. Wisps of brown hair blew across his face, the rest tied neatly in a bow behind his neck. His jacket was blue silk, well cut, made only for him. His breeches were leather, his boots highly polished. His movements were quick, decisive, his body at one with the swaying boat. Already he was helping Rose over the side. I saw him nod to Sir James but when he looked back at me, his eyes looked watchful.

  ‘This way, mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘Down this hatchway – but I’ll leave you to yourself, this time.’

  The steps opened to a small kitchen, an iron stove standing at its centre, a black pipe leading to the deck above. Cooking utensils hung from large brass hooks and plates and pans lay neatly stowed behind carved wooden grilles. Bottles of wine lay cradled in a curved rack and lemons swung freely in a knotted rope. Rose and Sir James gave it barely a glance but I was struck by the beauty of the glass-fronted cabinets.

  ‘Go through, mademoiselle,’ he said, pointing the way.

  A brass lantern drenched the cabin with light. It was bigger than I expected and just as intricate. There were no windows, but a raised hatch and a table beneath it. Everywhere was wood – all highly polished and gleaming in the lamplight. Down both sides of the table carved benches were upholstered in rich blue velvet. It was so neat, so compact. Another lantern hung above a desk in the c
orner, the swaying light making the clock and barometer glint. Shelves of books filled the alcoves, the desk covered with overlapping charts. A pair of compasses lay open, a book creased along its spine.

  Rose Polcarrow was already seated, Sir James on the bench opposite. ‘We need to go to Falmouth, and we need to go now,’ he said as we entered.

  Captain Lefèvre did not reply but I thought I saw a flicker of annoyance cross his eyes. He was young for a ship’s captain. I expected him coarser, a lot more whiskered – certainly a lot less refined. He turned quickly and mounted the steps, calling loudly from the top step. ‘Set sail for Falmouth.’

  ‘Falmouth?’ came the astonished reply.

  ‘You heard me.’

  Lady Polcarrow patted the bench next to her. ‘Come and sit here.’

  I slipped next to her on the plush cushion. ‘Your boat’s certainly very beautiful, Lady Polcarrow.’

  She smiled proudly. ‘My father built her. She’ll do eleven knots when pushed.’

  I presumed that was good. ‘Your father must be very clever. Did he build her for you?’

  She smiled across at her new husband. ‘She was meant for the Revenue but was stolen. Sir James tracked her down and bought her for me. We’ve not been long off her. We spent the first nights of our marriage on her – Captain Lefèvre sailed us to Jersey.’ I saw another look of love pass between them and a knot of jealousy tightened in my stomach. I could not help it. I felt hollow, as if betrayed. If Lady Polcarrow knew of Viscount Vallenforth’s cruelty, then Mama must also have heard the rumours.

  Captain Lefèvre was halfway across the cabin, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm, two glasses held in each hand. They were exquisite glasses, very finely engraved, and as he put them down I recognised the opaque, twisted stems at once – David Wolffe, Mama’s favourite engraver. I watched him pour the wine, the dark red liquid making the cupids blush. ‘Good wine requires good glasses, don’t you think?’ he said, smiling at me.

  He was clearly at ease with his new companions, showing no surprise that Rose was dressed as a man, but sat leaning back against the velvet cushion, his outstretched arm resting on the polished table, his thumb and forefinger slowly turning the glass in front of him.

  ‘I’m afraid Captain Lefèvre has rather expensive tastes,’ laughed Sir James, holding his wine to the light. ‘Though I’m not complaining. I met Captain Lefèvre when we were bidding for the cutter. He was determined to outbid me – gave me quite a run.’ He took a sip of his wine and smiled appreciatively. ‘In the end, we had to compromise. I would buy her, but Captain Lefèvre would be her master. As it happened, it’s quite the best solution. But I think you win, don’t you, Arnaud? Your money stays safely in the bank and you get to sail her!’

  ‘I win indeed, Sir James,’ Arnaud Lefèvre replied, raising his glass and sipping his wine slowly.

  ‘And with all that money in the bank, you can afford the finest wines and the very best brandy. Not that I’d have it any other way – I’m quite happy to be the recipient of your trading, but that last crate of cognac cost me a fortune!’

  Captain Lefèvre’s smile broadened. ‘We could halve the price, Sir James.’

  ‘Halve the price and be had for smuggling? You know my rules – everything above board. If I’m to stand for Parliament, my boat must pay His Majesty’s taxes. Where were you bound?’

  ‘Jersey – I’ve several consignments to collect and deliver.’ His blue eyes remained creased in their laughter lines, looking out from beneath their dark lashes. ‘Fortunately, the war’s not stopping people buying – trade’s good and there’s profit to be had. But I’m forgetting my manners…would you like something to eat? I’ve cold roast beef, or I could boil you some fresh crab?’ His English was fluent, his French accent making his words sound strangely intimate.

  ‘I’ll have anything you can lay your hands on. I’ve ridden straight from Bodmin and not eaten since breakfast – I’m starving.’ Sir James took another sip of wine, turning back to me. ‘You must taste Captain Lefèvre’s food – it’s quite outstanding. He dives for his own lobsters and cooks them to perfection.’

  I smiled, shaking my head, my mind wrestling away the thought of Arnaud Lefèvre, stripped naked to the waist, diving from a rock into clear blue water. It was hot in the cabin, too hot, the oil lamps burning, the stove giving off far too much heat. I felt on fire beneath my cloak. I wanted to rip it off but Captain Lefèvre was looking at me. There was something too watchful about him – something too impeccable, too correct. Sir James may believe he did not smuggle, but I was sure he must.

  ‘Are you too warm? May I take your cloak, Miss…?’ It was as if he could read my thoughts.

  ‘No, thank you…and nothing to eat…It’s…Miss Smith.’ I felt suddenly so foolish, regretting my lack of imagination.

  We were well underway, the cabin rising and falling, my stomach matching the movement of the boat – dipping, swaying, going up, lurching down, the circular movement taking my stomach with it. It had been a mistake to drink my wine. My lips felt dry, my mouth full of salt and I gripped the stem of my glass, breathing deeply. What was the point of a strong will, if it was accompanied by a weak stomach?

  ‘Nothing to eat at all?’ Captain Lefèvre sounded disappointed.

  I shook my head. It was definitely getting rougher – the table sloping dangerously towards me, the wine in my glass at a terrible angle. The others seemed oblivious, Sir James and Rose sitting back, enjoying their wine. Captain Lefèvre was busy in the kitchen, opening drawers, reaching for utensils, standing quite upright among all the pitching. At last he finished and came swaying back, placing a huge platter on the table in front of us.

  ‘That looks good,’ said Sir James, reaching forward with a smile.

  I could barely look. A huge pile of roast beef lay bleeding in front of me. It could have been raw. ‘How long’s this journey going to take?’ I managed to ask.

  Captain Lefèvre seemed amused, ‘Our passage? No more than three hours – we’ve got wind and tide—’

  ‘Three hours!’ The beef was swimming in front of me. I put my hand across my mouth.

  ‘Quick!’ whispered Rose, sliding her arm beneath my elbow, ‘Come with me. You need some air.’

  Chapter Five

  On board L’Aigrette

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

  The fresh air helped, but not completely. Two sailors sat in the open cockpit, one holding the tiller, the other coiling a rope round a wooden peg. There was no moon, no stars, just the vast darkness and the wind whipping the waves into curving white crests. Spray crashed against the bow, the bowsprit plunging beneath the water. ‘This can’t be safe,’ I said, clutching Rose’s arm. ‘We’re sliding into the sea.’

  She smiled, genuinely amused. ‘This’s gentle, I promise – the wind’s perfect. The boat’s designed to sail like this.’ The larger of the two sailors finished coiling the rope and stood to let us sit, but Rose shook her head, leading me instead to the high side of the boat. She beckoned me down. ‘Squeeze yourself here – wedge your feet against the coach roof. There you are – you’ll be quite safe. My father always designs boats with high bulwarks – it gives this sense of security.’ I did as I was told but was not convinced. Foam frothed across the lower deck, spilling out through the gaps in the side.

  ‘That can’t be right.’

  She laughed again. ‘We’re not going to sink – she’s fast, that’s all. You can see why the Revenue wants her back – her name’s Egret and she’s flying.’ The boat did seem to be flying, her sails arching above us like wings. Rose Polcarrow seemed so at ease, her legs in their borrowed breeches crossed in front of her, her eyes shining. ‘Have you been to Falmouth before?’

  I shook my head. The truth was I had not even been to Truro. We had sailed from London to Fosse, five months before and, apart from church, and a few rare visits to the dressmaker, we had been nowhere. Mother had accepted no invitations to socialise with anyon
e from the town and Father’s dislike of the Polcarrows denied us our nearest neighbours. Even during my uncle and aunt’s visit, we had not ventured out of the park. ‘Mother only came to Cornwall because Viscount Vallenforth’s father suggested our marriage.’ The nausea in my stomach increased.

  Rose stiffened. ‘I’ve only seen Viscount Vallenforth once, but I didn’t like what I saw.’ Her well-known hatred for the aristocracy rang in her voice. ‘If you really don’t like him, then you should refuse to marry him – we’re not chattel to be bartered with. You should just say no.’ Her father was a dissident boat builder, known for his radical views, her mother, a dressmaker; she was proud, quick-tempered and questioning. Just the sort of woman Mama sought to keep me from.

  ‘It’s not that easy – I wish it was. We’ve always known Mama will choose who we marry.’ Was it pity, contempt or a flash of irritation crossing those eyes? I felt strangely belittled. She had no idea what my life was like. She had risen from her father’s bankruptcy; her skilled book-keeping paying her bills, but I could do nothing. I was a pawn in my parents’ hand, my marriage serving solely to align our family with those in power. Could she not see I had no say? Why else would I be running away? I gripped the polished wood, breathing the salt-laden air. It was the air I so longed to breathe. ‘Why does Sir James dislike me so much?’

  The wind blew her hat, her collar flapped against her face. She seemed genuinely surprised. ‘D’you really not know?’ She frowned, looking away.

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘It’s not you he dislikes, it’s your father.’ She turned to face me, ‘Your father, Robert Roskelly and their two land agents have formed a company called St Austell Trading. Your father owns the greatest share, but between them, they’ve taken the leases of large parcels of Polcarrow land – land they should never have been offered. It’s rich in china clay and the leases are illegal. James wants the leases declared void. He’s contesting them and intends to drag your father through the courts.’