Penelope Goes to Portsmouth (12 page)

Water was pouring in. Hannah’s life swirled before her eyes, eyes as full of salt as the ocean. All those years of service and a brief few months of happiness to end in a watery grave. She would never see Sir George again.

She could not swim. The water roared in her ears. She struggled up and her head broke the surface and then down she went again. She fought her way back up. One more look at daylight. Just one more look. And then as she was going down again, hearing a sort of confused shouting, something dug into her back and she felt herself being lifted up through the water. She blinked and found herself staring at the wooden side of a boat. ‘Here’s another,’ shouted a voice. The grappling-iron that was dug into the back of Hannah’s pelisse ripped the thin fabric and she felt herself sinking again and then strong arms seized her. She barked her shins as she was unceremoniously dragged on board and lay in the bottom of the boat, cold and shivering but miraculously alive.

‘Sit up, ma’am,’ ordered a familiar voice, ‘and drink this.’

Hannah sat up and found herself looking into the face of Lord Abernethy. He held a flask of brandy to her lips. Hannah pushed it away. ‘The others,’ she croaked. ‘What of the others?’

‘Why, look about you!’

Hannah looked wildly around. She was in a longboat. Six burly rowers were manning the oars. In the stem was Penelope, white and limp, being cradled in Lord Augustus’s arms. Beside them, Mr Cato was holding Miss Trenton, who was still crying noisily.

Helped by Lord Abernethy, Hannah struggled to join them.

She wanted to ask all sorts of questions, but she felt too tired and ill to manage to say anything. She turned
her head away and was suddenly and violently sick over the side, getting rid of a great deal of sea water.

There was a reception committee waiting for them at the harbour: the local inn-keeper and two maids with blankets to wrap them in, local fishermen to support their faltering footsteps along the quay.

Penelope had recovered consciousness, although she was still being carried by Lord Augustus. Once inside the inn, Lord Abernethy ordered Lord Augustus to carry Penelope up to one of the bedchambers and Hannah to accompany them.

Tears kept pouring down Hannah’s face. She was so glad to be alive. How brightly the fire crackled on the hearth and how sweet to hear the rising storm raging outside the snug inn. ‘Stay beside the fire,’ ordered Lord Abernethy. ‘I have sent to the George in Portsmouth, and to Mr Wilkins as well, for dry clothes for you all.’

Lord Augustus placed Penelope in a chair beside the fire and smoothed the wet hair from her forehead. He suddenly wanted to kiss her but could not because of his watching uncle and Miss Pym.

When the two men had left, Penelope and Hannah stripped off their wet clothes, dried themselves thoroughly, and then, wrapped in blankets, sat by the fire.

‘How were you rescued?’ asked Hannah.

‘Lord Augustus. He can swim. He supported me as best he could. I owe him my life.’

‘Thank goodness that uncle of his came just at the right time,’ said Hannah. ‘Oh, dear Miss Wilkins, I was so sure I was about to die.’

‘But those terrible men. Why did they not see us? And having holed us, why did they not stay to help?’

‘I do not want to alarm you, Miss Wilkins, but I am convinced they came out with the express purpose of trying to drown us. That was no accident. They were able to handle that heavy boat of theirs with ease. Could any of the others swim?’

‘Mr Cato could not and he is such a heavy man that they had great difficulty in rescuing him, or so said Lord Abernethy, particularly as he thought the rescuers were those men who sank us and tried to fight them. But Miss Trenton could. I heard Lord Abernethy say she came swimming alongside, just like a cod in a bonnet.’

Hannah giggled.

Penelope began to laugh as well. Then her face grew serious. ‘We must all get together and try to find out who it was who would wish to harm us.’

‘The only person I can think of is Lady Carsey.’

‘But she is in Esher!’

‘She can travel to Portsmouth just as we did.’

‘But would she risk doing such a thing?’

‘Why not?’ Hannah sniffed. ‘All she has to do is get some of those villainous servants of hers to do it for her, although I did not recognize either of the men in the boat. The brief glimpse I had of them, they looked like smugglers. That is, they looked like fishermen, and villainous-looking fishermen are, I believe, always smugglers.’

‘But how could Lady Carsey find smugglers? You cannot go out in the streets of Portsmouth and say, “I want to hire two smugglers.”’

‘In these years of shortage caused by that wicked French blockade, a surprising number of people, even in London, deal with the smugglers, and do not for one moment consider they are being unpatriotic in doing so. On the contrary, most Englishmen consider it their patriotic right to cheat the taxman. So all people such as Lady Carsey have to do is to put it about that tea or brandy is wanted and that way the smugglers are found.’

Penelope wrinkled her nose. ‘But if it is so simple, why are so few of them caught? I mean, could not the excisemen simply pose as customers?’

‘One brave excisemen did so. He testified in court against them. The following day his wife and children were murdered. They exact a terrible revenge. Everyone turns a blind eye to smuggling. What is the harm in a few bottles of brandy? That is how they look at it. And then few deal with them direct. The innkeepers and wine merchants and grocers often buy from the smugglers; often, I gather from what I have read, are
forced
to buy from the smugglers. If Lady Carsey is at the back of this, then I do not think she quite knows what a hornets’ nest she will have stirred up.’

They fell silent and then gradually both of them, overcome with fatigue, fell asleep, to be roused an hour later with the arrival of an anxious Benjamin bearing their trunks.

Briefly Hannah told him what had happened, forcing herself to form each word clearly so that he could read her lips, for she was too tired to write it all
down. She then dismissed the footman and she and Penelope dressed and went downstairs.

Mr John Fotheringay lounged at his ease in the coffee room at the George and waited for the news of any drownings. He did not want to ask outright and so draw attention to himself. He looked at his watch and then tucked it back into his waistcoat pocket. Nine o’clock in the evening, a raging storm blowing outside, and not a sign of the stage-coach passengers. Things were looking hopeful. So hopeful that he began to dream that the smugglers had been drowned as well. He had felt uneasy about using them.

The minutes ticked slowly by. People came and went. He shifted uneasily. His aunt could not possibly expect him to remain there all night. He decided he would need to ask some questions after all.

And then a party of young men came in, shouting for the manager and demanding rooms. The manager hurried up. ‘We’re all fully booked, sirs,’ he said. ‘Or that is, I think we are.’

‘Think you are?’ demanded the leader of the party. ‘Speak up, fellow. You either know if you have rooms or not.’

‘Fact is,’ said the manager, ‘several of the guests took a boat out in the storm along the coast and their luggage was sent for, but one of my waiters told me he had heard they had all been drowned. But I cannot give up their rooms to anyone else until I hear for sure.’

It was not a confirmation of drowning, but the weary Mr Fotheringay decided gladly that it was. He
made his way back to Lady Carsey and told her cheerfully that all had been killed. She appeared neither glad nor relieved, merely indifferent. ‘Here is the rest of the gold. You had better go and pay off the smugglers,’ she said, holding out a bag.

‘Do I have to?’ said Mr Fotheringay uneasily. ‘You are coming with me, ain’t you?’

‘Not I. This town wearies me. I shall leave for Esher tomorrow.’

Sulkily, Mr Fotheringay took the gold and, wrapping his cloak tightly about him, he headed out into the rain-swept streets of Portsmouth. He lost his way several times in the dark and was soaked to the skin by the time he found Sheep Street. He shivered as he knocked at the door of the building he had visited the night before. No one answered. He went into the gin-shop next door and asked for Josiah. He received first a blank look and then was told to be on his way. There were several evil-looking men in the shop, standing and listening.

‘Two men,’ said Mr Fotheringay desperately. ‘Josiah and Ben. The house to the right.’

A thin man with a pock-marked face walked up to him. ‘See here,’ he said. ‘There’s no one there and never ’as been, so ’op it.’

Mr Fotheringay left and stood outside in the driving rain wondering what to do. The bag of gold was heavy in his pocket. Then he began to feel more cheerful. If the smugglers had wanted their money, they would have been there. Therefore, they must either have been drowned as well or decided to have nothing
more to do with the matter. As far as his aunt was concerned, the gold had been paid over. He would keep it himself and take himself off to London, just in case she found out he had double-crossed her.

The smugglers had watched the rescue of the party from the shore. Both were uneasy. They never credited the rescuers with knowing about the storm that was blowing up but decided someone must have informed on them, and so they decided to lie low. They would stay away from their lodgings for that night, or at least until they were sure they were safe. If the mysterious woman who had employed them wanted them to try again, she could seek them out.

An hour after Mr Fotheringay had left the inn, the nearly-drowned party arrived, accompanied by Mr Wilkins. Upon receiving Lord Abernethy’s message, he had come to Croombe to collect his daughter. But Penelope had insisted on returning with the others to the George. Someone, she said firmly, had tried to kill them, and they all had not yet had a chance to discuss it.

‘Are you sure it was not just a pair of fools, playing a shabby trick?’ asked Hannah. ‘I thought at first that Lady Carsey might have found out where we were and sent someone after us. But now that I am warm and recovered, it seems too Gothic a notion.’

‘Not entirely,’ said Lord Abernethy. ‘I caught a glimpse of them just before you went down. They looked to me like smugglers. No fishermen would be so callous. Have any of you had any dealings with smugglers?’

‘How could we?’ demanded Hannah impatiently. ‘We have all but lately arrived in Portsmouth.’

‘And someone must have overheard our plans,’ pointed out Mr Cato. ‘Someone knew exactly when we were sailing and from where. Did any of you note anyone paying particular attention to us?’

‘I noticed a young fop in the corner who looked vaguely familiar,’ said Lord Augustus. ‘He kept looking at us but I assumed he was smitten by the fair Miss Wilkins.’

‘So many people were coming and going,’ said Miss Trenton. ‘I should be frightened out of my wits if Mr Cato were not here to protect me.’

Mr Cato beamed and patted her hand.

‘It is getting late and the ladies should be in bed,’ said Lord Abernethy, getting to his feet. ‘Coming, nephew?’

‘I shall stay another night here, Uncle, and join you in the morning,’ said Lord Augustus. He raised Penelope’s hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he turned to Mr Wilkins. ‘I would be honoured, sir, if you would allow me to call on your daughter at, say, four o’clock tomorrow?’

‘Delighted,’ said Mr Wilkins. Penelope blushed.

Lord Abernethy bowed to all and took his leave. Things were getting serious between his nephew and Miss Wilkins. He would call on Mr Wilkins himself in the morning and see what he could do to ruin the budding romance.

7

Mr Wilkins had a busy morning telling friends and acquaintances all over Portsmouth that his daughter was about to become wed to Lord Augustus. He even remembered to tell his wife. Then he decided to go to one of his shops and check the stock, always mindful that he had a business to run, however exalted the company his daughter proposed marrying into might be.

He was wearing an apron and in his shirt-sleeves and balanced precariously on top of a ladder when he heard a slight cough below him and looked down. He turned a shade red with embarrassment when he saw Lord Abernethy.

Mr Wilkins scrambled down the ladder and said with false joviality, ‘You have caught me at my labours, my lord. What can I do for you?’

‘Put on your coat and come with me to the nearest inn. I wish to talk to you,’ said Lord Abernethy.

Mr Wilkins beamed with delight. He would need to get used to being on familiar terms with lords and ladies, he thought happily. He took off his apron and hitched his coat down from a nail behind the shop door and put it on, and then crammed an old-fashioned three-cornered hat on his head.

‘The Feathers is hard by,’ said Lord Abernethy, and without waiting to see if that hostelry suited Mr Wilkins, he walked before him out of the shop at a brisk pace so that Mr Wilkins had to scramble to keep up with him.

They arrived in the coffee room of the Feathers, where Lord Abernethy ordered coffee for both, not asking Mr Wilkins whether such a beverage was to his taste.

‘Now, Mr Wilkins,’ said Lord Abernethy. ‘I will come straight to the point. I have always regarded you as a good sort of fellow in your way. But the sad fact is, I fear my nephew may be stupid enough to propose to your daughter.’

Mr Wilkins stared at him. He decided Lord Abernethy must be indulging in a little spot of banter and gave a dutiful laugh and then said, ‘I am sure you have the right of it, my lord. But don’t go calling Lord Augustus stupid. He is a fine young man and a credit to your family.’

Lord Abernethy picked up his coffee spoon and looked at it as though for inspiration. ‘It will not do,’ he said at last. ‘You appear to have forgot, Mr Wilkins, your daughter’s station in life compared to that of my nephew. Such as we do not marry into families such as yours. Miss Wilkins would be like a fish out of water. She would be much happier marrying one of her own kind.’

Mr Wilkins could hardly believe his ears. Having never before been on social terms with any of the aristocracy, and having become ambitious for his daughter, he had gradually come around to thinking that members of the quality were just like Tom, Dick, or Harry when you got to know them. He looked up and caught the slightly supercilious, slightly patronizing look on Lord Abernethy’s face.

All his fury at a social system that put one above the other because of birth and lineage instead of hard work came rushing back.

‘You have the right of it,’ he shouted, getting to his feet. ‘Demme, Penelope’s too good for your nephew. She comes of good hard-working stock. Why should she throw herself away on a penniless Fribble who can’t do anything at all? Yes, I know he ain’t got a feather to fly with, for I checked up. A pox on you and your kind. Bad cess to you. You may tell that nephew of yours he needn’t bother calling. He won’t be admitted.’

Mr Wilkins stormed out, overturning his chair in his fury.

Lord Abernethy raised one long white finger as a signal to the waiter to lift the chair from the floor.
Then he leaned back in his own chair and sipped his coffee with enjoyment. Wilkins had reacted just the way he had known he would.

Hannah, Mr Cato, and, to Hannah’s irritation, Miss Trenton, who, it appeared, was still Mr Cato’s pensioner, called on Penelope at one o’clock, Hannah saying they should get their call over early so as to leave the field clear for Lord Augustus later in the afternoon.

‘I think your Lord Augustus may have a proposal of marriage in mind,’ said Hannah to Penelope.

‘I fear not,’ said Penelope. ‘I have just been telling Mama that he plans to re-enlist in the army.’

Miss Trenton emitted a little laugh from the depths of another coal-scuttle bonnet. ‘You are a romantic, Miss Pym. Lord Augustus surely never at any time had any ideas of marriage.’

Mrs Wilkins, a faded, crushed-looking, dumpy little lady who was sitting quietly netting a purse, spoke for the first time. ‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Steady,’ admonished Mr Cato in a whisper.

But to Miss Trenton, Penelope represented all the spoilt misses who had plagued her teaching life. ‘Well, I mean,’ she said with a titter, ‘you can hardly expect an aristocrat to want to marry into such a …’

Her voice trailed away before the sheer fury in Hannah’s eyes.

‘What does she mean?’ asked Mrs Wilkins.

‘She don’t know what she means, ma’am, and that’s a fact,’ said Mr Cato. ‘She ain’t nothing but a poor unemployed governess who rambles on.’

Miss Trenton saw all hopes of marriage floating away. She did not pause to think it was her own fault but only that life was desperately unfair. Her brief bout of humility at the inn had fled. She began to cry, ‘Yow! Yow! Yow!’

‘I see,’ said Mrs Wilkins. ‘Miss Trenton’s almost rude remark was motivated by spite. Is that what you mean, Mr Cato?’

‘Something like that,’ said Mr Cato, as the yowling became subdued sniffles. ‘We don’t pay her any heed, ma’am. She’s always coming out with nasty things. It’s these hats of hers that make it all so odd, as if the coal-scuttle had upped and become malicious.’

‘In any case,’ said Hannah, who felt that Miss Trenton had borne enough, ‘what are your feelings on the matter, Miss Wilkins?’

‘I think everyone is rushing along too fast,’ said Penelope. ‘Papa could talk of nothing else but my forthcoming marriage. I think Lord Augustus likes me as much as any of you. Pray talk of something else.’

Mr Cato and Hannah began to tell Mrs Wilkins in detail about their adventures, Hannah correctly guessing her husband had told her very little. Mrs Wilkins seemed to enjoy it all.

The three visitors finally took their leave and Penelope rushed to her bedroom to put on a new gown of celestial-blue muslin which she could not help hoping would dazzle Lord Augustus.

She was seated in the drawing-room with her mother when her father erupted into the room and stood glaring at her. ‘I have just given the servants
instructions that Lord Augustus is not to be admitted to this house,’ he raged.

‘Why, what has he done?’ asked Penelope.

‘He considers himself too high and mighty for the likes of us, and so that uncle of his told me.’

‘But Lord Augustus did not tell you so himself?’ put in Mrs Wilkins.

Mr Wilkins looked momentarily startled, not being used to much else from his wife but a sort of companionable silence. He stared at her and then stood, opening and shutting his mouth. Then he said, ‘Yes, it was Lord Augustus who told me,’ becoming even more angry at the distress on his daughter’s face, distress caused by the whopping lie he had just told. ‘He was there with his uncle and he laughed at your presumption, my girl.’

‘It is all your fault,’ said Penelope, getting to her feet. ‘I would never have encouraged him, never even have thought of him, had you not gone out of your way to puff me up. Damn him, Papa, and damn you!’

She rushed out of the room.

Mr Wilkins stomped up and down in his agitation. To his surprise, his wife spoke again. ‘When you are lying, Mr Wilkins,’ she said, ‘you always look straight at the person you are lying to, without blinking an eyelid. A most odd thing. I have oft remarked on it.’

‘Mrs Wilkins! Are you trying to tell me that I have just told our daughter a pack of lies?’

Mrs Wilkins calmly drew some silk threads out of her work-box. ‘Not about the uncle, but about the nephew, yes.’

‘How dare you, ma’am.’

‘I wonder.’ Mrs Wilkins picked up a sharp needle and carefully threaded it. ‘I have been frightened of your choleric tempers for so long, but I will not stand by and see our daughter’s happiness ruined through false pride.’

‘What are you going to do about it, hey?’ he shouted.

‘I do not know,’ said Mrs Wilkins sadly. ‘I wish I did.’

Penelope finally dried her eyes, put on a severe grey wool dress that she felt suited her mood better than celestial blue and trailed downstairs again to the drawing-room.

Her mother looked up. ‘Your father has gone,’ she said.

‘I feel so humiliated, so stupid, Mama,’ said Penelope wretchedly.

‘Do you care for this Lord Augustus?’

‘How can I … now?’

‘The way I see it,’ said Mrs Wilkins carefully, ‘is that Mr Wilkins lied to you. Oh no, not about Lord Abernethy, but about Lord Augustus. It is my belief that Lord Abernethy tried to put a stop to what he considered an unsuitable marriage for his nephew, and Mr Wilkins, in a passion of shame, told you that Lord Augustus had joined in the sneering.’

Penelope gave her mother a startled look. Never before had she heard that lady voice what might be construed as a criticism of her husband. Hope rose in
her eyes and then died. She sat down wearily. ‘It is of no use, Mama. Even supposing, just supposing, that Lord Augustus wanted me, I would have to marry into a family that thought I was as common as dirt. In any case, this is all so silly. Lord Augustus himself has said nothing about wanting to marry me.’

‘Nonetheless, this Lord Augustus saved your life. Not only your life but the life of that unfortunate footman. Such are not the actions of a dilettante. How sad if you let one retired admiral come between you without some sort of a fight.’

‘Then shall we admit Lord Augustus when he calls?’

Mrs Wilkins shook her head. ‘Mr Wilkins rules the servants in this household. They would not disobey him. I am not a courageous or resourceful woman, Penelope. But I think Miss Pym is. Why not get James to bring around the fly and drive you to the George? You will feel better if you talk it all over with Miss Pym.’

Penelope flew to her mother and kissed her. ‘I will do that. Better to go somewhere than have the agony of sitting here, hearing him turned away. But if Papa has not been lying, then Lord Augustus will not call anyway.’

‘Your papa was most definitely lying, child.’

Hannah, Mr Cato, and Miss Trenton were at dinner. Miss Trenton was inclined to be lachrymose, Mr Cato having said nothing about her staying on at the inn another day. Somewhere at the back of her mind was the growth of a niggling thought that she had brought it on herself.

All looked up in surprise as Penelope came in and sat down and joined them.

‘What is this?’ asked Hannah, looking at the clock on the wall. ‘You should be at home awaiting Lord Augustus.’

Penelope dismally told them what had happened.

‘I knew it!’ said Hannah. ‘I knew that old stick was out to spoil things. Your mama has the right of it, Miss Wilkins.’

‘But what am I to do?’

‘Let me think,’ said Hannah.

Miss Trenton opened her mouth and then shut it quickly as Mr Cato glared at her. The fact that Mr Cato had obviously expected her to say something spiteful made Miss Trenton feel quite lost and tearful.

‘Let us all take the air,’ said Hannah at last. ‘A little walk down to the harbour to clear our brains.’

Soon they were all walking through the narrow dirty cobbled streets that led to Portsmouth Harbour. The storm had fled, leaving the sky calm and grey, and a thin mist hung in the masts and shrouds of the great ships riding at anchor.

They were all standing in a group when Lady Carsey rounded a corner and saw them. She had been to the smugglers’ address and had found them at home. They had told her that her nephew must have tricked her, and refused to hand back the gold she had already paid them, pointing out they had tried to do what she had ordered. Lady Carsey was clever enough to know she could not take revenge on these smugglers without bringing the whole angry hive of
them down about her ears. Her nephew she would deal with later. The sight of Hannah and the others, however, made her feel quite faint with anger.

She walked quickly and hurriedly away, the hood of her cloak drawn over her face. She would return to Esher, but one day, quite soon, she would seek out Hannah Pym and take her revenge.

Lord Augustus returned to his uncle’s house after having been told by Mr Wilkins’s servants that his presence was not welcome. This made him all the more determined to see Penelope somehow. But that determination soon died when he heard what his uncle had to say, his uncle being every bit as much of a liar as Mr Wilkins.

‘I wish you had called here first,’ said Lord Abernethy, ‘for I had words with Wilkins this morning. The man is a Jacobin. Despises his betters. Said he did not want his daughter to marry a penniless waster. Said his daughter was a minx for leading you on, but that she had no intention of accepting your suit. Miss Penelope appears to think your courtship some sort of joke.’