A Bouquet of Thorns (19 page)

Rose, for her part, was playing the game. Each time she went out, sometimes on Tansy or sometimes taking the wagonette, she gave Charles her route or destination, returning at the estimated time. Once or twice, with his permission, she rode into Tavistock, spent some while shopping, and returned with her purchases to show him. It meant she was out most of the day, all in preparation for when she would receive news through Molly of Captain and Mrs Bradley's stay at Rosebank Hall.

The message from Richard and Elizabeth Pencarrow came at last. Rose tore open the envelope as she took it from Molly's outstretched hand, her pulse vibrating at her temples. Was it from them, or had someone replied to her enquiries regarding Gospel? Would she drown in bitter disappointment, or rise on a wave of hope? She gasped with relief. The Bradleys were coming the following week and Rose was welcome to come on any day.

Announcing to Charles that she was going into town, Rose set out in the direction of Tavistock. She was reasonably confident that Charles would not follow, but she nevertheless felt a nervous sweat flush her skin. She must make her outing as legitimate as possible and so she stopped at Tor Quarry at Merrivale to enquire how the new business was faring – their use of powder from Cherrybrook providing a valid excuse – so that she could provide proof that she had at least ridden that far. She also had about her person a couple of trinkets she had previously bought at Tavistock market and had secreted from Charles, but would reveal to him at once upon her return as evidence of her claimed visit to the town.

She heard laughter as she rode up the track to Rosebank Hall, and discovered the happy party on the lawn at the front of the farmhouse. It was the very end of August, and the almost continuous rain throughout the summer had not allowed the general air temperature to rise. So even though the sun was shining brilliantly from a duck-egg blue sky, it was not warm enough to necessitate any protection from the heat when sitting outside. Not that there was much sitting being done! Chantal Pencarrow was racing about the grass with a lean young boy who appeared a couple of years her junior. They were engaged in a game of tag, evidently indulging a pretty little girl of about four years old and also a toddler who were both attempting to join in, to the pure joy of the younger dog Rose had seen on her previous visit. Chasing with them was a man, almost as tall as Richard Pencarrow, Rose judged, though Richard himself was nowhere to be seen, and as he ran and dodged about, Rose realized the man was carrying in his arms a delighted baby Hannah Pencarrow. Two kitchen chairs stood empty by a small table set with drinks, but two others were occupied by Elizabeth and another woman of about thirty years old, petite, beautiful, sophisticated in a dress of ruched pale blue silk, yet laughing uproariously at the antics of the man and the children in front of her.

Rose's heart contracted painfully, for wasn't this the scene of domestic bliss she had once imagined for herself and Charles? Alas, it could never be . . . And the children – ah,
girl
children – who were not only loved and appreciated by their own fathers, but by others as well, since she realized that the man playing with Hannah must be none other than Captain Adam Bradley.

Tansy shied at the shrieks of hilarity from the lively group before them, and Rose slid from her back and patted her neck reassuringly as the mare shook her head with a snort. When Rose turned round, Elizabeth was coming up to her, arms open to welcome her like a long-lost friend, with Captain Bradley close on her heels.

‘Rose, this is Adam,' Elizabeth introduced him as she released Rose from her embrace.

The captain's face was still flushed with merriment and he had to catch his breath as he approached. His otherwise full head of mid-brown hair showed only the slightest sign of receding, and that, together with the lines about his eyes, put him at about forty. A handsome man still, though in a totally different way from Richard Pencarrow's dark and brooding good looks, he instantly inspired an awesome respect which anyone but Rose might have found daunting. His expression became more serious, though his warm, honest chestnut eyes still smiled at her, and his mouth was a strong curve of even white teeth.

‘Mrs Chadwick – Rose, if I may be so bold,' he said with a quiet confidence, passing the child in his arms to her mother, Rose noticed, in a somewhat awkward fashion. As he shook Rose's right hand in his with a firm grip, he grasped her forearm with his left hand in a gesture of sincerity. Except that the gloved hand was rigid and didn't actually grasp her at all. ‘Would you mind if I remove my coat?' he asked politely. ‘Running about with the children . . .'

‘But of course.' She smiled sweetly, for though she was perplexed by his character and in particular by his stiff left hand, she had taken an instinctive liking to him.

‘Thank you.'

He was slipping with just a little difficulty out of his coat, when the woman Rose assumed was his wife came up behind him and greeted her with such affection that she might have known Rose all her life. Then she turned easily to help her husband, and as the left coat sleeve slid from his hand, the cuff of the glove was rolled back, and Rose saw with amazement that the hand was made not of flesh and blood, but of metal.

Captain Bradley caught her eye with the hint of a wry smile. ‘Ah, you've discovered my little secret. An accident at sea that nearly cost me my life
and
my sanity. And would have done so, had it not been for my wife here.'

His arm went about the exquisite woman's waist and she leant against him, the love that they shared seeming to flutter in the air about them, such an intuition between them that Rose felt a lump swell in her throat. Of envy, perhaps, but also of relief, since it was this well-balanced, mature man, who had clearly known his own share of tragedy, who would hopefully be taking up Seth's cause.

‘Do come and have some lemonade,' Elizabeth invited her, jiggling Hannah in her arms. ‘You must be thirsty after that long ride.'

‘Could I put Tansy in the stable first, please?'

‘Of course. You know where it is.'

Rose settled Tansy in the now empty stable, as the farm horses, of which she knew there were two, were both out working. Richard had fields in the valley where he grew the fodder for his increasing flock of sheep and the few cattle that were currently grazing on the moor, as well as for the two house cows that were kept at the farm for the family's domestic use. Rose knew relatively little of farming, but it was obvious Richard worked like a slave to make ends meet, supplemented by what Elizabeth made from her herbal remedies and her services as the local midwife. It was a hard life, made even worse by the bad weather that summer and the threat of cheaper wool and tinned meat imports from America and Australia, and there was even talk now of developing refrigeration units that in a few years' time would bring frozen meat from these continents in record time on steamships. Nonetheless, Richard and Elizabeth appeared supremely happy together, and once again Rose cursed Fate for denying her such contentment.

‘Beth has told us all about you,' Rebecca Bradley announced quite openly as Rose joined them on the lawn. ‘And we're so sorry about your situation, my dear.' She leant forward, squeezing Rose's arm, her sapphire eyes soft with understanding. ‘But you're amongst friends now.'

The woman spoke with such compassion that Rose indeed took heart, her fears that Charles might find her out melting to dust. They sat, sipping the cool, bittersweet lemonade for some time before retiring to the farmhouse kitchen for a simple lunch. With so many young children, it was hardly a quiet affair, but none of the adults seemed to mind a jot. Indeed, they encouraged the two older children to join in their conversation, and even the younger members of the Bradley family, four-year-old Charlotte, and James, who was not quite two, were not expected to sit in silence. Rose wondered ruefully if Charles would ever have allowed Alice to dine with them before she reached the sensible age of sixteen. But she would never know . . .

It was when the table was cleared, the washing-up completed, that Adam took Rose's elbow. ‘I think we should sit down and talk now, Rose,' he said quietly. ‘Richard wouldn't mind us using his office, would he, Beth? And I'd like to make some notes as we talk.'

‘Yes, of course. Help yourself to pen and paper. There should be some on the desk. We'll take the children for a walk, shall we, Becky?'

‘This way, Rose,' Adam invited her. They crossed through a large hallway with a massive, heavy front door and a solidly turned wooden banister to the staircase – nothing as grand as Fencott Place, but impressive, nevertheless. But the house had an air of having seen better days, carpets with threadbare patches and the whole place spartanly furnished. Richard's office was no different, and a pile of papers was neatly arranged on the desk.

‘Better not disturb those,' Adam observed as he indicated that Rose should be seated. Then he put on his spectacles and took up one of two fountain pens that lay on the desk. ‘Hmm, when will they invent one of these things that doesn't leak all over the place?' he grumbled, looking at the instant ink stains on his fingers. ‘Prefer a quill myself. Now then.' He drew Richard's writing pad towards him, and tested the pen on a sheet of paper. When he was satisfied, he looked up, staring deep into Rose's eyes. ‘Begin at the beginning. Take your time. Tell me everything you know.'

Rose did as she was asked. She explained how Seth had just arrived in Tavistock one evening, a stranger in an unknown town since he was originally from the south-east. He had gone to the Exeter Inn for a drink, but although he had a considerable sum in his pocket – what was left of his army pay and wages from various places where he had obtained casual labour on his travels – he didn't want to squander it and so had asked where he might find cheap lodgings in the town. A drunken gambler in the inn had caused a scene, and when he wanted another drink and Seth had suggested he had already had too much, he punched him in the face. Whereupon the publican had thrown the devil outside.

Later, Seth had gone in search of the backstreet lodgings and came across a man being attacked and robbed. He had chased off the assailant, but the victim had been stabbed. An elderly couple had witnessed the event, but had disappeared, not wanting to get involved, and so Seth had torn at the fellow's clothes to get to his wounds and stem the bleeding. Another man had appeared then, but in the dark, had thought Seth was robbing the chap and had gone to fetch the police, who promptly arrested him.

What Seth hadn't realized was that the rogue whose life he had saved was the drunk, and he swore blind that it was Seth who had robbed him in retaliation for being punched. He claimed that the money in Seth's pocket were the gambling winnings he had been boasting about in the inn and had indeed counted for everyone to see. Seth had tried to explain how the money was his, but by asking for cheap lodgings he had given the impression that only half an hour earlier, he was strapped for cash. And on the blackguard's word, he had been convicted.

Adam seemed so calm and unhurried as Rose related the story that she found herself remembering all sorts of details. Adam made notes as she talked, stopping her occasionally to clarify a fact here and there. It must have been an hour before he sat back in his chair and removed his spectacles.

‘Damned things,' he mumbled with a sheepish smile. ‘Had to give in to them in the end. Couldn't see the navigation charts properly. Or the plans for the steamship I'm having built. Had to give in to that, too. Not that I'd sail the wretched thing myself. Give me sails and the wind any day. But . . .' He pinched his bottom lip between his teeth, a little gesture of hesitation his wife Rebecca had come to know so well. ‘I'm sure you're not interested in that. You want to know what I think.'

Rose was sure her heart had suddenly stopped beating. Adam Bradley was a good man, but he also seemed a realist. She felt the sweat oozing from her palms as he drew in a breath to speak.

‘I understand from Richard you've mentioned a royal pardon?'

Rose's throat had dried like parchment, her voice refusing to work, so she nodded silently in reply.

‘Well, it seems to me the only possible way,' Adam began hesitantly. ‘There are some new laws regarding appeals in the civil courts, but it's quite right that there's no such thing in the criminal justice system. A conviction's a conviction. And unless you can produce absolutely irrefutable new evidence of Mr Collingwood's innocence, you haven't a chance. And even then, it would be one hell of a business.'

Rose felt sick. Was that it, then? She had wanted so much to have faith in the captain, and now it seemed he was turning her down. But then he smiled at her crestfallen expression and, cupping his chin in his right hand, pushed his thumb across his thoughtfully pursed lips.

‘However,' he went on slowly, ‘this is an appalling story, so I'll tell you what I'm going to do. We'll be returning to Morwellham in a couple of days. We have someone, Amy Blatchford – been with us for years – who keeps the house for us there, so Rebecca will be perfectly content there without me and, of course, her parents are only a few minutes' walk away. So I shall go up to London by train and discuss this with my lawyer up there. Find out all I can about what a pardon would entail. I'll do all I can, but I have to say that I don't hold much hope. But just tell me one thing, Rose,' he said levelly, slowly blinking his steady eyes. ‘Do you believe this Seth Collingwood is telling the truth?'

He was staring at her unflinching, his gaze unnerving her. He was testing her, and she met the challenge. ‘Without a doubt,' she replied with conviction. ‘I've been over everything he said a thousand times, and it all makes sense. But apart from that, yes, I do believe him. And you would, too, if you met him. But . . .' She faltered, lowering her eyes. ‘There's just one other thing. He asked me not to tell anyone, but I really think you should know. His real name is Warrington.'