Pengelly's Daughter Page 9

  There were three men. The youngest jumped from the seat, adding his volley of oaths to the noise and confusion. Grabbing the halters of the leading horses, he struggled against them as they tossed their heads. Their eyes were white with fright, their nostrils ared. ‘There’s a bloody tree down,’ he called. ‘That’s why the bleedin’ cart’s over.’

  Next to the driver, a guard sat with a blunderbuss across his lap. A thick-set man with heavy features, he seemed oblivious to the lurching of the carriage but remained chewing tobacco, slowly, deliberately, his eyes widening as he stared straight at me. I stared back, my heart sickening – it was the gaol coach, denitely the gaol coach. The front looked like any other coach but behind the driver’s seat, a grid of iron bars formed a heavy cage. Small, cramped, bolted with chains. Someone was in there.

  I tried twisting myself free, pulling frantically at my bindings. I arched my back, kicking, twisting, digging my heels in the dust beneath me, but nothing would loosen the ties binding me to the cart. Worse than that, the more I wrenched, the more my skirt rose up my legs, exposing my ankles. The two drivers stared with amazement and I watched in horror as they came gawping towards me, their eyes so incredulous they seemed to bulge.

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ Their eyes travelled over my body, taking in every detail. They were smiling, licking their lips, appraising me like a cow in a market stall.

  ‘Untie me, you idiots.’ My fear was mounting, my mouth dry. The men did not move, but stood as if statues, staring down at me, lust glazing their eyes. I was furious, so furious. Furious with them, furious with Jim, furious with myself. I had been so stupid to trust him. ‘Untie me now, or there’ll be trouble,’ I shouted louder.

  As if in answer to my prayer, a donkey cart stopped behind the coach and a huge man with auburn hair jumped quickly from it. He came running towards me, pushing past the drivers who still stood gawping. Falling quickly to his knees in the dirt before me, he stretched forward, undoing my wrists. ‘Ye’ll be alright now, miss,’ he said quietly, ‘here, let me get ye untied…’

  His kindness brought tears to my eyes. I could not speak but smiled my thanks and he smiled shyly back, averting his eyes as he straightened my dress and replaced my chu. His touch was gentle for such a huge man and as he leant over to undo my ropes, I saw the concern in his eyes. He must have been about twenty. He wore no hat, his hair tied loosely behind his neck, his complexion freckled by the sun. Over his working-man’s breeches he wore a leather apron and large belt.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I said at last, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.

  ‘Joseph Dunn, miss,’ he said courteously.

  I rubbed the red marks on my wrists and found I was shivering. Joseph Dunn took off his jacket, placing it gently round my shoulders before helping me up. It was a thick jacket, smelling of horses and it swamped me completely.

  The two drivers were still gawping. Joseph swung round to face them, his sts clenched by his sides. ‘What are ye staring at?’ he said angrily. ‘Leave her be – ye should be ashamed at yerselves. And if that’s yer coach – why’s the door wide open?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Porthruan

  7:30 p.m.

  Mother and Madame Merrick were both downstairs, still shocked by the terrible incident. Jenna had given them some camomile infusion and was sitting next to me, watching me drink mine. She looked incredulous. ‘Go on…his name was Joseph Dunn…what happened next?’

  ‘After he untied the ropes and set me free, he just turned to the drivers and asked them why the cage was empty.’

  ‘How frightening. Go on…’

  ‘They found the guard bound and gagged, lying face down in the dirt. The highwayman had taken the key and freed the prisoner. The two drivers searched everywhere but the highwayman and prisoner had vanished – there were no tracks – nothing.’

  ‘Why’d a highwayman take a prisoner?’

  ‘If I knew that, Jenna, I would have told the constable.’ I sighed. It had been a long day of questioning and not all of it as well-meaning as Jenna’s.

  ‘I’m sorry ye’re upset – we’re all upset. Even Madame Merrick’s that concerned – well was concerned till she found someone else to collect her cotton!’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘She blames herself – I heard her telling Mrs Pengelly it was her what made ye put the purse down yer bodice. She knows ye was only protecting her money – refusing to give it to the highwayman…What did he look like?’

  ‘Jenna, he was wearing a mask and had a scarf over his face. I didn’t see him at all…but he was violent and cruel.’ My voice broke, ‘And I hate him for what he did to Ben.’

  ‘How’s Ben?’ she said softly.

  ‘Terrible. Completely petried – and it’s all my fault. He’ll never trust me again.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. How was you to know there was a highway man?’ She pushed back the hair that had fallen over my face, wiping a tear from my cheek.

  ‘I should never have asked Ben to come.’

  ‘’T weren’t your fault.’

  It was my fault and I would never forgive myself. And I would never forgive Jim. I had found Ben in the wood, whimpering and shaking, tied to a tree. His best Sunday breeches soiled by his fear, his lovingly polished boots scuffed and spoilt. He had cried as I released him. Couldn’t do nothin’, Miss Rose’annon, he had sobbed. Couldn’t do nothin’ – nothin’ to save you. I had led him straight into danger as if I had pointed the pistol and secured the ropes. I would never forgive myself.

  We had tried to gather up as many of the owers as we could, but most of them were ruined. Joseph Dunn took us home and I had cradled Ben in my arms, trying to soothe his fears. ‘I’ll never let anyone hurt you again,’ I had promised. An empty promise. I knew I had no chance of protecting him, not now we were grown.

  The evening sunshine was fading, the room beginning to darken. It had been a horrible, violent day – one I would never forget. And behind all the violence was Jim. ‘Jenna, you can take all your brother’s clothes back,’ I said, rubbing the marks still left on my wrists.

  A look of relief ashed across her face. ‘Thank Jesu…it’s about time ye came to yer senses.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve come to my senses. I’ll never need them again.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunday 30th June 1793 11:30 a.m.

  A steady grey drizzle was falling against the window. I could hear church bells ringing across the river. Burying my head under the covers, I had no intention of getting up. Mother had come into my room before she had left for church, but with no will to face her, I had lain pretending to be asleep. Jenna’s bucket was clattering above the clucking of the hens and I could hear her talking to Mrs Tregony over the yard wall. There would be a lot of chattering going on out there, that was for certain.

  All night I had re-lived the violence of Jim’s actions, the harshness of his grip, the pain in my wrists as he bound me with his rope. I could not get Ben’s stricken face out of my mind, but what hurt me most was why Jim had not explained his plan to me. Why had he caught me so unaware and used me so violently? I had trusted him and he had not trusted me in return. Somehow that made it worse.

  Jenna was making her way slowly up the stairs. She entered my room, a steaming bowl of soup balancing on a large tray. Putting it on the oor, she began ufng up my pillows.

  ‘I’m not hungry, Jenna.’

  ‘Have just a bit.’

  ‘I can’t face it,’ I said, lying back against the pillows.

  ‘Ye must have something or ye’ll fade away.’ She crossed the room and opened the window. Immediately she clapped her hands. ‘Shooo…Go away – that’s hens’ food not yers. Honest to God, that black and white tom’s getting that bold ye’d think he lives here.’

  ‘That’s because you encourage him.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Yes you do. I’ve seen the scraps you leave for him.’

  ‘Well, he’s
that hungry, poor mite.’ She frowned across at me. ‘Try some at least. This’ll pass – and soon there’ll be no more tongue-wagging.’ She started busying herself with my clothes, brushing the dust off my red dress. I hated that dress now: it felt so tainted.

  ‘What are they saying? The truth, please, Jenna.’

  ‘They do say the drovers saw it all. They do say the highwayman tried to rob ye with a pistol and threatened ye…but ye put up such a ght – screaming and thrashing, but ye wouldn’t give him yer money. They do say…’ Jenna stopped, biting her lips.

  ‘What do they say?’

  ‘They say the highwayman was that overcome with yer beauty that he…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was going to ravish ye…and ’twas only because the gaol coach came he couldn’t…and he was that cross with them, he let the prisoner go. There, ye asked, I told.’

  ‘Then my reputation’s in tatters and I won’t be able to face the town.’

  ‘Yer reputation ain’t in tatters – I may not be as clever as ye, but I know that for sure. There’s talk ye put up a real ght.’

  ‘Yes, but it won’t be long before they’re saying I should never have gone in the rst place and I was asking for trouble.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not – it don’t matter. Drink yer broth, it’ll give ye strength. And ye can’t stay here all day…Ye’re going to have to get out of that bed and face the gossip. We’ll take no heed of what people say.’

  She stood ready to defend me, standing so ercely, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hands on hips. Suddenly, I realised how much I loved her, how much Mother and I depended on her. For so many years, I had taken her for granted, yet now I could not imagine life without her.

  ‘Jenna, it won’t always be like this,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘One day I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make sure you’re alright. One day you’ll have your own cottage and a whole brood of children and chickens and as many cats as you can t in the yard. You deserve so much better – I don’t know why you stay with us.’

  She sat on the bed, a slow smile crossing her face. ‘I’ll want a proper bed, mind, not one like this one,’ she said, prodding the mattress. ‘And a proper stove – not one that goes out all the time…one like Mrs Munroe’s at Coombe House and I’ll want a copper pan and kettle and a table…and a big rocking chair and I’ll want me own pump…’

  ‘Steady on, Jenna, I won’t be made of money.’

  ‘Then drink that broth and let me get on with yer hair.’

  Jenna was right. There was nothing to do but to face the sniggers and judgemental looks, the raised eyebrows and nudges. I had done it before and survived and I would just have to do it again. I always left owers on Father’s grave on Sunday, so today would be no exception. Besides, the walk to Porthruan church was only a mile and the fresh air would clear my head.

  The day was mizzling with overcast skies and a damp fog blanketing the cliffs. I decided on my warmer brown dress and my largest bonnet. Wrapping my shawl tightly round me, I headed for the church. Jim’s plan had worked well, there was no denying that. He had freed the prisoner, both of them had escaped, and the men building the enclosures had given exactly the account he wanted. He had been clever, very clever.

  But what was unforgivable was the way he had not conded in me. He should have warned me rst. He should have told me what he intended to do and I would never have taken Ben. He had used me cruelly, with no regard for my safety or reputation, and he had left me to my fate. I would never forgive him. Without Joseph Dunn, anything could have happened.

  The lane was no more than a grassy track. Pools of water had gathered in the ruts and droplets of rain still clung to the ox-eyed daisies as I picked them into a neat bunch. At the wicket gate, my heart sank. There must have been a lot of people at church that morning as the path was a well-churned quagmire. My shoes were already covered with mud, the hem of my dress already soiled and, reluctant to make matters worse, I thought I might just as well try the path that cut through the churchyard a little further up the lane – after all, it could not be any worse.

  The short distance accomplished, I turned inwards, making my way through the dripping overgrowth, a damp, heavy scent lling the air. This part of the churchyard was always full of birds and today was no exception. It was always peaceful here. It was where my grandparents and great-grandparents lay buried and where we had laid Father. It was also where, one by one, we had buried my brothers and sisters. It always saddened me to see their names on the tombstone, the span of their short lives measured in hours and days. As a child I used to run my ngers over their names, trying to touch something of them, feeling guilty only I had survived. I will always feel regret for the brothers and sisters I might have had.

  The square tower of the church was directly ahead, the path leading to the porch no more than ten feet away. I would seek shelter for a while. Crossing the path, my eyes were immediately drawn to two men, half hidden between the porch and the buttress. They were deep in conversation, their backs towards me. Instantly, I recognised them both and ducked behind a large tomb, holding my breath. Mr Tregellas was talking to a man whose bulky gure I would never forget – Mr Sulio Denville.

  I hardly dared move. I crouched where I was, my cheek brushing against wet lichen as I watched the two men responsible for my father’s downfall. Sulio Denville’s huge frame was barely contained in his blue jacket. He was short, thick-set, in his late fties. He wore the hat of a ship’s master, his head beneath it shaven. Large, bushy eyebrows sliced angrily across his forehead, his chin covered by an untidy grey beard. I sank back, leaning against the tomb, ghting to stay calm.

  Jim must be dead. He must be lying in a ditch, strangled by those huge hands. Sulio Denville’s neck was like a tree trunk, his arms like hams – no-one could better him in a ght. Jim must be dead, this was worse than ever. Without Jim, I had no evidence. No proof against them. The slightest movement made me look round. I could just make out the eeting shape of a man running across the churchyard, ducking behind the gravestones in an effort to remain undetected. He ran quickly, his sure-footed agility making him tread without sound.

  ‘I didn’t expect you’d be so glad to see me,’ Jim whispered as he threw himself beside me.

  ‘I’m not glad to see you, I’m just glad you’re not dead. And if you didn’t still have the ledgers, I’d never want to see you again.’

  ‘It was the only way, Rose. I know I’ve lost your good opinion, but it had to look real.’

  ‘I’ll never forgive you – never. Not after what you did to Ben.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were bringing a simpleton.’

  ‘He’s not a simpleton, he’s my friend. He’s harmless and there was no need to be so cruel.’ He looked tired, his stubble rough, his hair unkempt. I saw his jaw stiffen and his mouth tighten. I looked away. This was only the second time I had seen him in daylight and what I saw did nothing to dispel my unease. There was something forbidding about this man. For a brief, unwanted second I remembered the touch of his hands against my breast. ‘So Sulio Denville gave you the slip, did he?’

  ‘Captain Denville, if you notice – he’s ship’s master now.’

  ‘I don’t see how that’s possible.’

  ‘Sulio Denville wasn’t our prisoner, Rose.’

  ‘Oh, that’s just what I needed to hear. You’ve just ruined my reputation and scared Ben witless – all for nothing. Great plan!’

  ‘Somehow I knew you’d say that.’ He smiled.

  ‘How can you smile when you used me so badly and left me to the mercy of those men?’

  ‘I didn’t leave you to their mercy.’ His face was serious again. ‘I knew you’d be safe with Joseph. He’s known throughout Cornwall for his wrestling skills – he’s a champion.’

  ‘You sent Joseph? I don’t believe you. I think you’re just trying to make me think less badly of you.’

  ‘You can think what you like, but we’
ve no time to argue. I’ve been following Mr Tregellas all morning and he’s led me straight to the man we seek. Captain Sulio may not be our prisoner but we’ve found him at last. He looks well, don’t you think?’ He raised his eyebrow, the small scar disappearing into the creases of his forehead. ‘But then, the proceeds of the black market make most men prosperous – with a fast cutter at his disposal, he can out sail the Revenue.’

  ‘Of course! How stupid of me – he’s master of L’Aigrette, after all.’

  ‘Yes, an’ I’m certain she’ll be anchored up one of these creeks, concealed by the mist. If I follow him, I’ll have a good chance of nding where they’re hiding her.’ He edged forward, peering round the side of the tomb.

  They were still talking, standing under the overhang of the buttress. Sulio Denville was walking backwards and forwards like a caged bear, impatiently shrugging his shoulders, the frown deepening on his already thunderous face. It was obvious they were engrossed in a conversation that pleased neither of them.

  I noticed Jim looking at me, his smile briey returning. ‘I’m surprised you’ve not asked about the prisoner you helped release,’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m sure he was very grateful – grateful and surprised!’

  ‘The poor man was in a terrible state, wracked by coughing an’ very weak. He’s riddled with lice, covered in sores and as light as a feather when I carried him to safety.’

  ‘Poor man.’

  ‘It took me a long time to cut through his chains an’ wash away the prison lth. He was hungry an’ confused, sleeping tfully, often crying out, but by daybreak he seemed much stronger an’ even spoke his name.’

  ‘You tended him all night?’

  ‘Of course – I could never leave anyone in that state.’ I was surprised to see Jim’s face soften. His eyes looked surprisingly tender. Lifting his hand, he placed a nger against my lips, ignoring my glare. ‘What I’m about to say will shock you – really shock you, but you must make no sound. No sudden cry. I hoped to tell you this when we were far from anyone, but we haven’t time – remember, don’t make a sound.’ I nodded and he edged closer. ‘The man we saved was no ordinary prisoner. He’s your father, Rose – Pascoe Pengelly.’