Pengelly's Daughter (45 page)

Her words said, the door opened and Mother ushered James Polcarrow into the room. Madame Merrick swept an elegant curtsey, falling deeply to the oor with the grace of a duchess. Jenna followed suit, biting her bottom lip, concentrating hard on keeping her back straight. I, too, dipped a curtsey, keeping my eyes averted. James Polcarrow glanced eetingly round, looking at odds among the feminine furnishings, his tall frame and broad shoulders somehow too strong and powerful for the delicate room.

‘I don't think you have met my dear friend, Madame Merrick,' said Mother.

‘No,' replied Sir James, bowing formally, ‘I have not yet had that honour – although I know you by your reputation, Madame Merrick. Lady Polcarrow speaks very highly of you.'

‘And of course you know Jenna…'

‘Good evening, Miss Marlow. I hope I nd you well. I did not mean to interrupt your evening,' he said, bowing formally again.

Jenna beamed with pleasure, her eyes sparkling, the dimples in her cheeks creasing. She looked coyly at Madame Merrick as if to remind her not to ogle, but James Polcarrow looked preoccupied. He was not dressed for riding. He was dressed formally in a silk jacket and breeches, his cravat neatly secured by a silver pin, but his hair was rufed, his movements restless. In Mother's beautiful room, he looked like a caged bear – captive and conned. I could feel the tension in his body, my own body responding to his nervousness.

With the briefest of glimpses, he thrust a letter into my hand, his own hand shaking. Our ngers touched. My hands were clammy, my mouth parched. I knew by the frown on his face how serious this letter must be and how only the most pressing business would bring him to my door.

‘I'm very sorry for what this contains, Miss Pengelly, but I feel you have every right to its content – though I wish I could have spared you such unhappiness…' His face was drawn, unsmiling. He would not look at me. His eyes darted around the room, to the window, to the re, to Jenna, to Mother, anywhere except at me. His spoke as if the words were being dragged from him. ‘And I'd have preferred not to witness your distress, but your mother was quite insistent…' He turned abruptly away, looking out of the window, straight-backed, shoulders braced, head high. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stared across the river, the familiar stony mask closing over his face.

Madame Merrick and Mother sat stify in their chairs. Jenna seized her chance, slipping quietly out of the room. I took the letter to the other window. I needed the breeze to cool my forehead and clear my head. There were two pages of tight script, condently written in a owing hand. A knife twisted inside me.

I knew at once it was from Arbella Cavendish.

Chapter Fifty-four

D
ated 22nd August 1973, the letter was addressed from Pendenning Hall. Everything about the quality of the paper and the elegance of her writing spoke of her grace and gentility. I could see her beautiful head bent in concentration, her hair glinting in the sun, her silk sleeves rustling as she leant to dip her pen. Swallowing my jealousy, I began to read.

Dear Sir James,

If I could, in any way, spare you the pain I am about to inict, then please believe me when I say I would have done anything, anything at all in my power, to change the course of events which lead me to take the action I am about to take. You of all people deserve better.
You have shown me nothing but politeness and honour.
You have behaved with the utmost chivalry and yet I am about to treat you so shamefully. I cannot ask your forgiveness because I doubt even you could grant that, but I do ask you for understanding; for a little bit of that compassion for human suffering which I know is in your soul.

From the moment we met, I knew you harboured a cherished wish that I could be yours. To my shame, I tried with your affection and never loved you as you deserved. Believe me when I say there could be no ner man than you, but even at the tender age of seventeen, I already knew the depths of true love. I was not free to love you then, and I am not free to love you now.

The man I love, and with whom I will elope, is the man who will always hold my heart. His name is Morcum Calstock. He was my father's steward before you came to Government House. He is strong and courageous, noble and clever, highly educated, accomplished, and destined for great honours, yet to my parents he is worse than nobody. He has no family to speak of, no fortune, no connections, but his worse crime is that he has no title. My mother made it quite clear I was to marry, if not a duke, at least an earl.

When my father found us together in the gardens of Government House, he dismissed Morcum from the island, and took pains to spread vicious lies and slander about him to all the plantation owners in the area. Morcum's prospects lay in ruins and he had to ee, promising me that when he returned, we would start a new life together back in England. He had returned to the island shortly before you declared your love for me, yet Father's hold over every ship that came and left the island left us desperate for a means to escape.

I dismissed you then, if you recall, telling you that you stood no chance without a title. Imagine my surprise when you revealed your true identity. Suddenly doors seemed to open. I was free to hope and free to dream. Fleeing the island became a possibility, even if I had to lie and use you so shamefully. I could not risk sailing without Father's knowledge, so when you offered me a way to escape, I grasped it.

I knew I could probably persuade Mother to accept a baronetcy even though she aimed for greater glory, so I seized the opportunity of your proposal, gratefully, selshly rejoicing in my good fortune. My plan was to follow you to England, somehow convince you that we had made a mistake, (maybe even tell you the truth) and elope with Morcum before Father had me shipped back to Dominica. I believed that though you would have been appalled by my action, you would be more hurt than heartbroken. But no, I must not lie. The truth is, I had only my own interests in mind.
We were desperate and you were the sacrice.

The weeks following your departure saw the worse storms the island had ever witnessed.
We heard nothing but the loss of ships and as we waited to follow you to England, I began to doubt the success of my plan. I grew fearful and anxious, worrying that your ship had gone down, that you had never returned to England and I would soon have news of your death. But, added to that, Mother began to question whether she had been too hasty in her decision to allow the marriage.

My anxiety turned to panic. Father had accepted your disguise as being part of a boyish prank; he himself had run away to sea and saw your spirit for adventure as a worthy attribute, but Mother was beginning to waver. Even now I thank God we heard nothing of the fact that you were a convict on the run. It was only because your estate neighboured my uncle's that kept my mother from cancelling the engagement.
You will wonder why I bother to write what must now seem irrelevant, but I need you to know the depth of my desperation, seeing my one chance of happiness unravelling before me. There were rumours Morcum was back on the island and Mother was watching me like a hawk. I was conned to the house, followed everywhere, my maid now my gaoler.

Believe me, what I did next I blush to remember and I blush with shame as I write. Only desperation could have made me sacrice my good name, and only my own self-interest would make me sacrice yours. I used you with no compunction. You, who would never have acted in such a way and could not defend yourself.
You, who had done me no harm and had only sought my good opinion.

I told my parents we must make haste and leave for England because I was carrying your child. This will shock you, I know. My hand shakes knowing the anger this will evoke.
Your honour is in doubt even as my name is in ruins.

You will ask yourself how I could even countenance the idea, let alone execute my plan, but once my mind was made up, I found it was easy. I revelled in my mother's fury. I rejoiced in Father's inability to control me. There was nothing they could do. I was ruined, unt for any earl or passing duke. The only way they could salvage the situation was to hurry me onto a ship and come in search of you. And that is what they did, advertising and proclaiming the marriage to everyone before you had a chance to change your mind.

That you never guessed my treachery is what makes me feel so guilty. I could tell at once your affections for me had changed.
There was no love in your eyes, no joy in your greeting. Yet you kept your word and would not break our engagement, and my heart ached, knowing you deserved so much better.

Time is running short. I will arrange for you to get this letter well after we have ed. Morcum sailed soon after we left Dominica and followed me to Fosse.
We met soon after he arrived – outside a dressmaker's shop in town. He has since sent me word and we sail tonight – though when and where we are to go shall remain our secret.

Please nd it in your heart to forgive me in time, or, if you cannot forgive me, please understand that my actions are born out of desperation. I leave you with joy in my heart and happiness in my step and I can only wish that soon, you too, have the same good fortune in loving someone as deeply as I love Morcum Calstock.

Yours in haste,

Arbella Cavendish

My eyes raced across the tightly written script, gasping with amazement every time she sought to justify her actions. How dare she use James Polcarrow so abominably? Lie so blatantly? Fool everyone so openly and completely? I looked up. James Polcarrow was watching me, his blue eyes staring from across the room.

‘I'm sorry you had to nd out this way,' he said softly. ‘It seems Morcum Calstock is an unprincipled man.' His face was rigid with control.

I stared back at his ne features; his strong jaw, straight nose, dark eyebrows and the shock of unruly hair that had yet to be tamed. My heart was leaping, whirling, doing somersaults in my chest. ‘I couldn't care less about Morcum Calstock. Father will be disappointed though – in fact I'd like to see his face when he nds out Morcum Calstock's only interest in the yard was because it was next to a dressmaker!'

‘You're not upset by the letter?'

‘Of course I am. I'm absolutely furious – though not with Morcum Calstock. He means nothing to me and never has.'

Mother and Madame Merrick had not spoken. Like dressmakers' dummies, they sat unmoving, unspeaking, staring straight into the ickering re. Mother had long ago given up all pretence of sewing. Their backs were turned, their eyes averted, but never had two pairs of ears been more eager to hear, four eyes more desperate to look. I could only guess the thoughts rushing through their minds, their instincts telling them this unprecedented visit had something to do with the suddenly discarded wedding gown.

The clock ticked across the silent room as James Polcarrow fought to control his emotions.

‘You knew about her deception…?' There was accusation in his voice, even betrayal.

‘Yes.'

‘When?'

‘The night of the creek.'

‘Yet you said nothing?'

‘Of course I said nothing. I assumed you knew!'

He looked saddened, hurt, his eyes full of disappointment. ‘And you believed me capable of abandoning her?'

My heart dived. Yes, I had believed him capable; I had listened to tattle and not my heart. In my hand, the letter trembled. ‘I could not love a man capable of abandoning a woman and her unborn child,' I whispered.

His eyes blazed, burning like they did in my dreams. ‘And I could not love a woman capable of less.'

Our hearts were calling to each other across the silent room. Aching for each other, speaking without talking, loving without touching, held rigid by protocol and formality. I wanted him to take me in his arms, feel his lips against mine. I wanted to feel the strength of his body pressing against me. Two hearts beating with the same beat. Two lovers joined as one. Two souls united by destiny.

Madame Merrick reached for her fan. Mother's eyes were full of tears. She picked up her sewing but I could see she held her needle in her left hand. I found I was smiling. Smiling and smiling, like Mr Pitt with a stolen sardine.

James's eyes held mine. His frown disappeared. His smile was tentative, shy, slightly secretive but, as it grew, it lled his face with such joy, smoothing away all pain. In that moment, I saw the man he should always have been, the man he really was, and I loved him so tenderly, so passionately, so terrifyingly completely, that my heart lurched in pain.

Outside, dusk had fallen. A slight drizzle had dampened the cobbles and cooled the air. It would soon be time to shut the windows, light the candles, draw across the shutters. Mother would ask Sam to see Madame Merrick safely home and Sir James Polcarrow would bow politely, bid me goodnight and mount his horse. This life-changing, wonderful day would soon be over.

James was still smiling as he turned to Mother, ‘Would it be too much to ask if I may visit you again?' His voice was courteous, full of love.

Mother smiled, her beautiful face as ushed as mine. ‘Course it wouldn't, Sir James. Ye just come when ye like – ye know ye'll always be welcome in my home. Come tomorrow – we'll be here, won't we, Rose?'

The End