Pengelly's Daughter (38 page)

‘Morcum Calstock's no
callow
youth,' I replied crossly. ‘He's an authoritative and very capable man. He's kind and courageous and, besides, he wants to…' I stopped mid-sentence, both of them staring at me. I could not reveal Mr Calstock's dreams of becoming an architect – he had told me that in condence and I had no right to betray his condence.

A half-concealed smile played on Father's lips but James Polcarrow looked furious. ‘He wants to what, Miss Pengelly?'

‘It's of no consequence,' I replied, turning my back, walking towards the French window. I needed air. My face was burning and I needed to feel the breeze. The rain had passed, the sun slowly emerging from behind the clouds. The air smelt damp, earthy and renewed. On the path a lady was playing with a small spaniel puppy, just like the one in the portrait. She was throwing a ball to the puppy, laughing with delight, her hair glowing as it caught the sun.

Father cleared his throat. ‘Though, I have to say, Mr Calstock shows great interest in our yard and I may've need of his services myself. I'm sure it won't take much to persuade him to join us – and a man like that would certainly be an asset.' He smiled, adding, as if in afterthought, ‘I hope we don't end up ghtin' over Mr Calstock, Sir James.'

Father's smile was a little too xed and, for a moment, both men stared at each other with thinly veiled hostility. James Polcarrow ran his hand through his hair. ‘Indeed, Mr Pengelly, I've no desire to ght, as you put it. On the contrary, I have here your lease. I've drawn it up myself – the words are taken from a similar lease so it'll be binding. I just need your signature and our business will be complete.' He picked up a parchment from his desk, his scowl deepening.

Father stood with his hands behind his back, his feet apart. ‘Thank you, Sir James, but I've no need for your lease. I'm sure it's kindly meant, but I've no desire for your creek and no need for a log pool.'

I stared at Father in astonishment. How dare he refuse something so freely given and so badly needed? How could he be so pig-headed? Of course we needed that log pool. Anyone with an ounce of sense could see that. Boatyards were going to the wall and only those with sufcient resources were surviving. It was as if he had no sense at all.

‘Father…!' But I was too proud to plead, too ashamed of what James Polcarrow must be thinking. Furious, I bit my tongue.

James Polcarrow was staring at me, a slight rise in his eyebrow. ‘And what about you, Miss Pengelly? Do you think my proposition is a good idea?' He was shielding me from my father, protecting me. I began to speak but Father interrupted me, his voice impatient.

‘We can leave Rose out of this, Sir James – she's a woman and knows nothin' of business.'

I felt suddenly struck, winded. I could not believe what I had heard. I would know nothing? I had no ability, no sense of business? All those years of striving for Father's approval, trying to make up for the son he always wanted, reading his pamphlets, desperately hoping he respected my judgement and valued my opinion! Who was it who had got the business running again? The letters sent? The new contracts? How dare he?

Anger burnt my cheeks. It was all for nothing, the worst kind of betrayal, and to humiliate me in front of James Polcarrow made it even worse.
I
was responsible for getting the commissions.
I
balanced our outgoings with our income. For years,
I
had chased unpaid bills, and bargained for better deals, haggling over the price of our materials. At that moment, I hated Father. I hated him for what he had led me to believe and what he had just taken from me. But I would not be so easily silenced.

‘Father, with the rent so low, we should take it. Other boatyards will jump at the offer – if Nichols gets the lease, it would work against us.'

‘I'll make my own way in this world and I don't need Sir James's charity. I work an honest day and I pay men to do likewise. The days of serfdom are passed. Men shouldn't depend on patronage and favour. My yard'll prosper an' I'll not have other men think I prosper because of James Polcarrow.'

‘I offer a business proposition, Mr Pengelly, that's all.'

‘And like a lap dog, you think I should be grateful for the scraps you throw? Accept with blind obedience and remain faithfully at your heels?'

‘No, of course not. I ask nothing of you and expect nothing in return.'

‘I know very well what you expect in return.'

James Polcarrow's already thunderous face darkened. ‘Have a care, Mr Pengelly. They're already calling you an English Jacobin. These are dangerous times and you're treading a dangerous tightrope.'

‘Better to tread a tightrope of me own makin' than to dance to another man's tune.'

‘You risk imprisonment.'

‘I risk enslavement.'

James Polcarrow could no longer contain his fury. His eyes ashed. ‘You don't even know the meaning of that word, or if you did, you wouldn't use it so lightly. I'm sorry you're not taking up my offer – it seems our business is at an end. Good day, Mr Pengelly.' He turned his back, his hands clenched by his sides.

What had Father done? What pig-headed stubbornness had made him refuse? James Polcarrow had just offered Father probably the most valuable lease in Fosse. James Polcarrow knew its worth. He could have kept it for himself and yet he had been prepared to offer it to Father. And to be met with such rudeness! I was furious. Furious with Father's overblown self-importance. And to humiliate me like that about Mr Calstock – a man I had only just met?

I marched in front of Father, storming across the hall, my footsteps echoing in the vast expanse.
Knows nothing about business
? Who did he think had kept the boatyard from bankruptcy for so long? If Father had been left in charge, no bills would have been paid, no accounts settled and our boatyard would have been bankrupt long before Mr Tregellas stole the cutter – and even that would not have ruined us, if Father had been insured.

I was so furious I thought I would go straight home but, reaching the bottom step, I breathed in the earthy dampness and slowed my pace. I could not let history repeat itself. I would have to see Father secure the insurance.

Ben was running towards me, his boots caked with mud. He had a smudge of earth across his left cheek. ‘Are ye alright, Miss Rose'annon? Only you look s-s-so sad. Don't be sad.'

‘I'm not sad, I'm cross – but it's lovely to see you.'

‘We're diggin' up where the old cottages burnt down. See all those men with w-w-wheelbarrows? We're making it at so we can make a new garden.'

Following his pointing nger I saw the charred rubble of the old cottages had been cleared and work was in progress. A team of men were levelling the ground, their wheelbarrows carting and dumping great mounds of earth. Mr Moyle looked to be measuring while the lady gave directions. Father came slowly towards us.

‘Hello, Mr Pengelly, we're buildin' a new garden.'

‘So I see, Ben.'

‘It's goin' to be sunken with arbours an' arches an' a sundial in the middle – but the best bit's the wall round it! A wall! Ye can grow just about anythin' with a wall round it. Oh look, here's Hercules…'

In great danger of his large paws tripping over his long ears, the little spaniel puppy was charging across the grass, his sole intention to reach Ben. Tail wagging, body shaking, he threw himself at Ben's feet, rolling over with all four legs in the air, his little round belly soft and inviting.

‘'Tis Lady Polcarrow's dog – look how soft he is…but he's my friend an' likes to have his tummy tickled.'

Father looked puzzled. ‘Lady Polcarrow's dog? Is that Lady Polcarrow?' We looked across at the auburn-haired lady, watching her point to the ground, then up to the air as if indicating an arch. I must have spent too long in Madame Merrick's company because my rst thought was how dowdy her gown was. ‘I'm surprised Sir James lets her remain – I'd have thought he'd have sent her packin' a long time ago.'

‘Oh no,' cried Ben, ‘d-d-don't say such things…Lady Polcarrow's a lovely lady and Sir James is very kind to her – and he's kind to Master Francis. He bought them Hercules – he mustn't send them away…he mustn't…' He grabbed the puppy and clasped him.

Once again, I was furious with Father's lack of judgement. ‘Of course he won't send her away – not now he's given her a garden.'

‘'Tis not her garden, 'tis his garden – he asked her to plan it, that's all. He wants a rose garden…he wants a red rose always on his desk…but ye can get lovely yellow and orange roses…so we're growin' them all – but we'll pick the red ones for his desk.

Father was watching me, his eyes boring into mine. He cleared his throat, ‘Why'd he want a
rose
on his desk?' I said nothing but I could feel my cheeks ushing. His eyes narrowed. ‘There are rumours in this town which I've chosen to ignore. Take care, Rose. Sir James is a determined man and men like that
always
get what they want.'

I could not believe my ears. ‘How dare you!' I retorted.

Ben's stricken face crumpled. He inched as if in pain. The puppy started whimpering but I could not stay to comfort them. Grabbing my skirts, I ran down the drive, frustration making my blood boil.

Damn the insurance. Damn Father. And damn James Polcarrow.

Chapter Forty-seven

Wednesday 21st August 1793 11:00 a.m.

I
still could not settle. I had spent the previous day walking the cliffs, lying in the ower-lled meadow, watching the skylarks singing above me. I had sat by the sea's edge, clambering over rock pools, disturbing the crabs, all the while nursing my grievance. Yet somehow I had returned to the yard.

The keel pieces had arrived and the new sawyers were preparing the pit. Father and Mr Scantlebury were going over every inch of the elm trunks, searching for aws, but I hardly cared. Even the good news that Mr Ferris was prepared to offer upward of thirty shillings a cartload for our bark chippings did not excite me the way it should have done. Father's words still hurt and resentment was taking its toll.

It was hot and airless: I needed to get out. Besides, the thought of Thomas Warren's threats still rang in my ears and I needed to check if Madame Merrick was properly insured. A re in the warehouse would ruin her, and if Father did not value me – or even pay me for that matter – then I was free to go when and where I liked.

Without even glancing at the new timber, I crossed the yard. Tom and Mr Melhuish were deep in conversation, shackles of various sizes lying in piles around them. Tom saw me and smiled. Mr Melhuish nodded. I would have nodded back, but there was a playfulness in his glance of appraisal, his eyes lingering too long on my new gown. I was just about to turn my back when I saw his smile fade and a frown cross his face.

Mr Calstock was walking towards me, a small packet held carefully in his hands. He was wearing a well-cut corduroy jacket and doeskin breeches, a simple cravat and the same tall hat. He bowed in greeting, the sun catching the light in his hair. ‘Good morning, Miss Pengelly, I hope I nd you well.'

‘Very well, thank you, Mr Calstock,' I said, smiling, suddenly very glad to see him.

He, too, stood smiling. Nodding to the other two men, he held up the parcel he was carrying. ‘These are for you, Miss Pengelly – they're sugar bonbons. I hope you like them.'

The pouch was made of ne cream silk, tied with pink ribbon, and as he placed it in my hands, I felt a rush of almost child-like pleasure. ‘Sugar bonbons...for me, Mr Calstock?'

‘Sugar-coated almonds. They're to say thank you for directing me to my new lodgings – your map was excellent and my room's very comfortable. They're meant for your desk, but I see you're leaving. Can I have the pleasure of accompanying you somewhere, Miss Pengelly?'

‘I'm only going up those steps, Mr Calstock.'

‘Then I'll just have to accompany you to the steps,' he said, proffering his arm, ‘though I'd prefer it was further.'

This was only the second time we had met, yet somehow I felt at ease with this handsome stranger who had rendered me such a service. I liked his eyes. I liked the way he looked at me. He was not pushy – just kind. He spoke and treated me with respect and his friendliness was refreshing. Compared to the way Mr Melhuish's eyes had become so bold, I could not take exception to the way Mr Calstock smiled at me at all.

Tom had worked wonders on Madame Merrick's rickety steps. Elowyn had insisted Madame Merrick's grand cus­tomers could easily fall and hurt themselves and Madame Merrick had taken heed, but even more impressive was the freshly painted red sign, gleaming above the door. Madame Merrick's name was clearly displayed in large gold letters: underneath were those of her patrons – Lady April Cavendish, Miss Celia Cavendish and Lady Cavendish.

I took a moment reading the colourful new sign before climbing the staircase, leaving Mr Calstock smiling up from the ground below. I was just about to say goodbye when a grand carriage came slowly across the yard, stopping right next to the steps below. Tom and Mr Melhuish immediately stopped their conversation, all of us watching the immaculately dressed footman dismount from the back and run quickly to the door to pull down the steps for the three ladies inside.

First to emerge was Miss Celia Cavendish. Shaking the creases from her beautiful cream gown, she looked around, shading her eyes from the sun. Tom bowed very low, his awe plain to see and Mr Melhuish bowed likewise – though not so low. Celia Cavendish adjusted her bonnet and turned, briey acknowledging their greeting with a discreet nod, before looking up at the gleaming new sign, smiling as she saw her name.