Pengelly's Daughter (42 page)

Sulio Denville leant across the table, his eyebrows slicing angrily across his forehead. His beard was grey and wiry, several of his teeth missing. He glared at Thomas Warren. ‘You said they owned it.'

‘The whore's lying. For chrissake, I was there. I saw her. It was her, alright. Beat it out of her – you'll see I'm right.'

‘I'm not lying…and I'll do anything you ask. I'll write to Father but he'll know something's wrong. He'll go to the constable and have the town searched…he'll know to alert everybody...' My mouth felt bruised, every muscle in my body aching. I knew these men were ruthless. ‘Please, please let me go.' I pleaded. ‘The creek was bought in Sir James's name – he owns the creek.' I was struggling to hold back my tears.

‘Don't trust a word she says.' Beads of sweat were glistening on Thomas Warren's bald head. Wiping his brow with his shirt sleeve, he lurched as the ship rolled. ‘She's a lying whore.'

‘No, it's the truth, I promise. On Father's life, I promise.'

Sulio Denville slammed his huge hands on the table. ‘Dammit!' He stood glaring at Thomas Warren across the table. ‘She may be tellin' the truth. Why didn't you conrm it, you damn fool? You said they owned it.'

‘I thought…'

‘Either way, it makes no difference – your father's got the lease so we'll re-lease it from him. He won't see you again till we have an agreement.'

My mind was racing. Thomas Warren had never returned to Polcarrow, so they had no idea Father had refused the lease. ‘No…' I said, ‘Father's been in Mevagissey and hasn't signed the lease. A meeting's been planned for next week – I presume that's when he'll be offered the creek.'

‘Presume be dammed, you conniving bitch,' Thomas Warren hissed in my ear. ‘Your father's your puppet – everyone knows who runs that yard.' He paused, his eyes glinting. ‘Your father doesn't even know about the log pool, does he?' He gripped my hair, forcing back my head, ‘You haven't told him, have you?'

‘No,' I replied, turning my face from his stinking breath.

‘That's more like it – we'll get the lease for ourselves.' A gleam crossed Sulio Denville's eyes. ‘Zack, get to Polcarrow and ask to lease the creek.' Zack had been watching from the shadows. I saw him nod, unsmiling. Sulio Denville's eyes narrowed, tobacco fumes swirling round his face. ‘But that's not goin' to help you,
Miss Pengelly
,' he said, drawing the smoke into his mouth. ‘You know too much so you're comin' to the Ivory Coast.'

I tried to scream but Thomas Warren's hands clamped my mouth, his hand forcing my chin upwards, hurting my neck. The cabin was rolling, pitching in the swell and I could hardly breathe: my legs were tied so securely, my arms bound behind my back, I could not wrench free.

‘It's not that easy,' he said, my head pinned against him. ‘James Polcarrow's too infatuated with this bitch. He knows she wants the lease and he won't give it to anyone else – not until he's discussed it with her. The only way we'll keep that dammed man at bay is if the bitch writes to say she no longer wants it.'

Sulio Denville's eyes remained narrowed. ‘That'll work well for us – she can tell Polcarrow to lease the creek to Zack. We'll change his name, make out he's a timber merchant – that way we'll be sure to get it.' Grabbing some paper, he checked to see if both sides were clear of writing and my hands were freed from their bindings. As I stretched my arms, rubbing my wrists, I felt a pistol press against my back.

‘Write only what I say,' said Thomas Warren, his lips brushing against my hair. ‘We've a long voyage ahead and we wouldn't want you to get hurt. Not for what I've got in mind. No, we're going to have to keep you as fresh as a daisy, my little beauty, because in case you've forgotten, we've unnished business…' Slamming down the pistol, he seized my hair, twisting it painfully in his hands as he piled it on top of my head. Forcing my head against the table, he began to lick the back of my neck, his foul rasping tongue making me want to retch.

‘For chrissake, get on with the letter,' snapped Sulio Denville.

Thomas Warren released me and I seized the quill, trying to steady my shaking hand. He coughed, clearing his throat. ‘Write this…
Dear Sir James…You will think it strange for me to change my mind, especially as I've been so adamant
…. No, don't write adamant, write…
especially as I thought I wanted the creek so badly. However
—'

‘Wait!' I cried, my hands still shaking, ‘you're going too fast…'

‘
However, I have found a timber merchant in Plymouth and have decided to buy our logs directly from him as I trust him to supply us with the quality we seek
…'

‘The tip's smudging – the end's too blunt,' I cried, throwing down the pen.

‘For chrissake sake, woman – it's your heavy hand,' Sulio Denville shouted, crossing the cabin to open a drawer, his gait swaying with the movement of the ship. The storm must have intensied. It must be well into the night. Through the aft windows, I could see lanterns burning on the stern. I dipped the new pen into the ink and waited for Thomas Warren to continue.

‘…
and though I said I wanted the lease, please feel free to offer it to someone else. However, I do have a friend who would benet from a log pool. His name is Zach Trewellyn…Yours, in gratitude, Rosehannon Pengelly
…'

I nished writing the letter. Nothing I had written would alert James Polcarrow. He would assume I had tried to reason with Father but had been unsuccessful in persuading him to change his mind. He would merely think I was bringing the whole business to an end and would never know how much danger I was in. James Polcarrow was my only hope. I needed him more than I had ever needed anyone, yet the formality of my letter meant he would never guess my danger. I took a deep breath, signing the letter with shaking hands.

Sulio Denville grabbed it from my hand, holding it to the light, his face furious. ‘What's this nonsense?' he said, slamming it down on the table. ‘Have you lost your senses?'

Both men were staring at the drawing of a rose I had hastily sketched under my name. I, too, looked at it, my voice breaking. ‘I'm sorry – it's a childish habit I haven't yet broken. My name's Rose and I often do it without thinking…it was foolish of me…I can rewrite the letter if you like.' My heart was pounding.
Please, let them believe me. Please
.

Sulio Denville frowned. He glanced at the brass clock on the panel above the desk. ‘Oh, for God's sake, woman – we haven't time,' he said, folding the paper and sealing it with wax. He handed it to Thomas Warren. ‘It's already past one, so you'll have to hurry. Leave the letter so James Polcarrow gets it after we've sailed. And get a message to Roskelly. Make sure he knows about the creek…and, for chrissake, be back by four.' His eyes turned to me.

‘Zack, before you leave, get this woman below and hide her well. I don't want any of the men seein' her – it's a long journey and we'll want her for ourselves.'

All my childhood, I had imagined evil in the shape of goblins, pixies and phantoms that lurked in shadows, hiding in crevices to catch me unawares. But the look that passed between those three men was worse than any evil I could ever have imagined.

Man's inhumanity to man.

Chapter Fifty-one

B
ound in a sack and tossed over Zack Denville's shoulders, I was powerless to struggle. With every new turn I could feel we were going deeper into the hold. When the lack of height meant he could no longer stand, Zack dragged me along like a bag of provisions. He spoke to no-one and I heard no voices.

The sack was suffocating, the smell unbearable. The ship was lurching and I could feel Zack stumbling to keep his balance. My back banged painfully against something hard and furious squawking lled the air. My head was spinning, my nausea rising, the gag around my mouth so tight I knew I would choke if I vomited. I wanted to scream, ght back, but I was trussed so tightly I could barely move.

The dragging stopped and I felt myself being wedged into a tiny space. A space so small, my knees were jammed so I could not move. For a moment I lay suffocating in the darkness, rolling with the motion of the ship, the damp sack pressing against my face. I thought he had gone and I had been left alone but, suddenly, the sack was ripped open, the damp cloth removed from my face. As if drowning, I gulped the rancid air, feeling Zack drag a wet chain across my body, securing it rmly to a shackle beside me. For a moment, I was relieved: I was gagged, I was bound, but at least I could breathe.

I watched the lantern sway across the vast hold, Zack's huge outline bending double under the close connes of the deck above. The darkness enveloped me and I was left crammed into a space hardly big enough for a dog. I knew which ship it was – the huge three-masted barque lying off Porthruan. I recognised the large windows in the stern which Father had studied so carefully. I remember thinking it was destined for a long voyage, but had never imagined it to be a slave ship.

Shackles and chains lay in coils around me. I could feel the slaves' fear. Suffering had seeped deep into the timbers, and lay thick in the air around me. I could smell death, pain, agony, absorbed by the black hull, once so lovingly carved and meticulously crafted. I was one of them now. I was at the mercy of men who knew no mercy.

Like a child, I closed my eyes, shutting them tightly to block out the terror. As a little girl I would think myself in a safe place. I would imagine Father holding me, laughing at my foolishness, telling me there were no such things as demons. But it was not Father who was holding me now. It was James Polcarrow whose strong arms folded round me in the darkness, his lips brushing my forehead. James Polcarrow, keeping me safe, never letting me go.

Above the moaning of timbers and clucking of hens, I could hear pigs squealing and cows stamping in their stalls. I could see nothing, but strained my ears to hear, every new noise making me turn in its direction. Rats were everywhere. One ran over my legs and for once I was grateful for the sack. It was unbearably hot and wet. Dampness rose from my dress and I found myself blushing in helpless shame.

He would not come. There were only three more hours before the tide turned. He would get the letter too late and would never nd me. No-one would ever know where I had gone. But perhaps Jenna would think to alert him? Jenna and Mother would be so worried – they must be doing everything in their power to nd me. The thought of them made my tears ow.

I had no concept of time. Perhaps an hour passed, perhaps several. I had no way of telling. My ngers were numb, all feeling in my legs gone. The ropes were biting into my wrists, the chain pressing heavily against my body. Jenna would not alert James Polcarrow – she would think I was with him. I had spent too many moonlit nights in his company and she had been aware of every single one of them. Her loyalty was too strong. I knew she would shield me from my parents. She would be waiting in my room, furious with me, ready to scold me, ready to hold me.

My body was shaking, my face burning. I was thirsty. My lips were crushed, my tongue swollen. I was shaking with cold yet felt unbearably hot. I could feel my mind begin to wander and shut my eyes, going deeper into my safe world again – deeper into the arms of James Polcarrow. I was past pretending. I ached for him. He was as much part of me as I was myself. I could see him leading me to a low couch covered in soft blue velvet. We were on the cutter, the waves rocking, the cabin gently rolling. He was smiling…his eyes burning...

I must have passed out. I woke to hear voices and see a lantern swaying above the steps to the upper deck. I started writhing in the sack, grunting and moaning, but any sound I made was drowned by the chickens and pigs. I tried twisting, jangling the chain, but I could not move. The light dimmed and I was left in darkness, tears rolling down my cheeks.

Once again the lantern swung across the hatch. The voices had returned. I could hear heavy objects being scraped across the deck. This time the men were climbing down the steps. A int was struck and the lantern, hanging from the deck, began to glow, its light ickering steadily across the vast hold.

‘She's here somewhere – look again. Look down here…and behind the pigs. Here, give me the lamp. We're not leaving this ship until we nd her…even if we have to start all over again.' It was the voice of James Polcarrow.

‘Don't tell me they put slaves down here as well…'

‘They cram them anywhere and everywhere – even on those platforms where they can't even sit. Look under all the sacking and pull out those crates. She's here. I know she's here.'

‘They're pistols, Sir James – the ship's loaded with rearms.'

I could see the lamp coming nearer. My body was shaking, tears streaming down my face. James Polcarrow was coming. Bent double, he was thrusting his lantern into every corner, looking behind each timber, searching every possible place. Soon, he would nd me. Soon, I would feel his strong arms around me. I should never have doubted he would come. I watched him pause, wiping the sweat from his brow, his handkerchief catching the light. The lamp shone on his jacket and I could see he was formally dressed. He lifted the lantern and, through the darkness, our eyes met.

He said nothing, but crouched by my side, his eyes black in the half-light. I saw his jaw tighten, his face change from relief to anger. Immediately he rose, turning his back on me, handing Joseph his dagger. ‘Use this to cut the ropes,' he said, ‘wrap her in your jacket and keep her warm. Take her straight to her mother.'

Joseph cut the gag, cradling my head in his hands, soothing me as if I were a child. ‘Ye'll be alright now, Miss Pengelly,' he whispered gently. ‘I'll get ye back to Jenna – she'll know what to do.' Once again his kind hands helped me. He reached across, pulling back the chain, his face angry with compassion. Ripping through the sack he freed my hands. Turning me gently, he cut the straps that bound my legs. If he noticed my soiled dress, he made no sign. I felt too numb to move, too exhausted to help. I wanted to smile, to thank him but, more than anything, I wanted to cry. James Polcarrow was making his way down the hold, away from me.