Pengelly's Daughter (23 page)

His lips brushed my hair, ‘Our destinies lie entwined, Rose. I know you feel it too – it's in your eyes.'

His breath was hot against my cheek, his lips a fraction from my own, I could almost taste them. I had to stop myself from reaching towards them. The touch of his hands, the passion in his voice, thrilled every part of me. He kissed my ear. ‘We can start afresh, Rose. I needed to clear my name – that's done now. My father's killers have been brought to justice and we can start a new life. I know you hate everything I stand for – you and your father, but I've never sought power, nor do I seek the trappings of great wealth; God knows, I've lived long enough without them. I'll give up my baronetcy – my step-brother can have Polcarrow and we'll start again. I'll get by as a tutor and you can continue your bookkeeping.' His lips lingered against mine, brushing them softly.

Every inch of my body ached for his touch. I could feel the familiar fabric of his jacket, the familiar scent still clinging to it. One more kiss, just one more kiss. To taste the lips that sent re through my body. One more dark, velvety kiss for me to remember. ‘No!' I cried, pulling myself free. Yet even as I tore myself away, I saw the pain in his eyes and struggled to breathe. ‘You're not Jim – and you never can be. Not now. You're Sir James Polcarrow and anything else would be a lie. I'll not live a lie.'

His arms loosened, his jaw stiffened. He lifted his chin and it was Sir James Polcarrow staring at me, his sailor's outt no disguise against generations of aristocratic breeding. I took a deep breath.

‘You're a baronet, born to rank and privilege – you can't pretend otherwise. How long would it be before hardship made you long for your wealth? Before someone treated you as inferior and you told them who you really were? You'd hold our son in your arms and long for him to take his rightful place in the Polcarrow lineage. You aren't Jim and you can't pretend to be – it wouldn't work and it would destroy me watching you pretend for my sake.'

‘I love you, Rose – that's all that matters.'

‘And when your passion's spent? When poverty makes us bitter? You'd yearn for the privilege you take for granted and blame yourself for being a fool.' I saw the mask close over his face, the deep lines set around his mouth. He turned his back and stared across the black sea. I, too, must turn my back and go. It had been a mistake to come. A terrible, terrible mistake.

He swung round, his face full of fury, ‘For God's sake, Rose – if you'll not marry me as Jim, then marry me as James Polcarrow.'

I drew back, shocked. My heart was aching for the sailor who had stolen my heart, not this stranger who shouted so angrily. I did not know him and certainly did not love him. ‘No, Sir James,' I said, every trace of uncertainty vanishing with the breeze. ‘I can never marry you, nor do I wish to. We can never live each other's worlds – I'm the daughter of a dissident boat-builder and I'll not abandon what I hold true. Nor do I want to – I'm proud of who I am. I'm set to challenge the power of the aristocracy, not become one of them.'

‘That's what I love about you.' His voice sounded strangely distant.

‘You don't know me well enough to love me and I don't know you, at all. You're a stranger – your position in society is so completely different from mine. Every one of your sort would loathe me. They'd despise who I was and where I came from. You mistake love for want – and you can nd that in someone else.'

The breeze cooled my cheeks and I was glad of it. I must not stay. I was doing the right thing, I knew I was, but why did it hurt so much? ‘Goodbye, Sir James, I wish you well…and when Father applies for the lease of his boatyard back, please bear us no malice.'

He stared back at me, all trace of emotion gone, his face once more a sombre mask. A gust of wind caught the collar of his shirt and I remembered the gale that had blown so ercely the night we rst met. It seemed an eternity ago. I breathed in the salty air, forcing it deep within my lungs. I am a child of the sea and the wind. I am born with a spirit, free to choose. No man will force me to change who I am. I began to feel calmer and turned to go. As I did, I caught a whisper on the wind.

‘I could never bear you malice. You must know that, Rose.'

Chapter Twenty-seven

I
made my way back to the safety of our cottage, my eyes dry of tears, but the moment I began mounting the stairs, I knew something was wrong. A line of candlelight showed under my door – mufed sounds coming from within.

Mother was sitting on my bed, her head bowed, clutching my nightdress to her face. She was weeping, her small frame wracked by the violence of her sobs. She looked up, hardly believing her eyes, ‘Oh, Rose, my dearest, I thought ye'd left us.'

I crossed the room, throwing my arms round her, cradling her to me as if she were my child. ‘I'd never leave you, never.'

Her tear-stained face glistened in the candlelight. ‘I…thought…well…Sir James Polcarrow isn't the sort of man many women could refuse.'

My heart froze. Had Jenna told her about the note? Surely not, or they would have tried to stop me. ‘What d'you mean, Mother?'

‘Ye know very well what I mean,' she replied. ‘Not many women would be able to resist the passion of a man like Sir James Polcarrow. I may be getting old and I may
pretend
to be deaf but I'm not blind. A mother knows things without being told. When he visits, he dgets and doesn't concentrate on what he says. His eyes always search for ye, always straying to the door, willing for ye to enter. There's a restlessness about him that speaks of passion and a wildness that makes me believe he'd throw everything to the wind if love was at stake.' She wiped her eyes, blowing her nose on her handkerchief. ‘I saw the look he gave ye – believe me, not many women would be able to resist such a man.'

‘Well, I'm one that can,' I said rmly.

She hesitated, as if wanting to ask me something but not nding the courage to do so. Instead, she grasped my hands and kissed them. ‘I should've known ye're not to be played with. I don't know where ye get your strength, but I admire ye so much.'

‘It doesn't take much strength to resist Sir James Polcarrow,' I lied.

Her gaze was strangely steady. ‘I have to say, I like Sir James – very much – and I don't share yer father's disregard for him. He's served us that well and I'll always welcome him into my house.'

‘I don't disregard him,' I replied, understanding her meaning, ‘but what makes you think his intentions are honourable?'

‘I just feel it. Despite his past, I feel he's honourable – like his father was.'

‘Well, it's neither here nor there, because I'm not prepared to be summoned like a servant and treated as chattel.'

I felt her inch. Her mouth tightened but her voice was gentle, loving, the voice of my childhood. ‘Promise me, ye won't shun marriage for much longer? Without marriage ye'll have no means of support – we've no family, only a distant cousin in Falmouth. If ye don't marry, ye may end with nothing. Ye could be destitute.'

‘I know, you're right, but why should we have to rely on marriage? Have you never thought we deserve the same rights as men?' She inched again. ‘Please don't take badly to my thoughts – I'm not alone. A lot of women believe we've the right to contribute to society and every right to be educated – we just need to make it happen, that's all.'

I could see I was causing her pain. She let go of my hands and smoothed her nightgown, running her ngers down the tiny pin-tucks she had sewn so expertly. I saw the ne tremor in her hands and heard the catch in her voice. ‘Why don't ye let things be? Why always ght everyone, like yer father?'

‘Because we must,' I said gently. ‘Without protest, we've no voice and with no voice we can't make changes.' I took the candle and crossed the room, opening my chest. Hidden among my stockings was the beautiful carved box Father had given me as a child. I kept everything precious in it. I searched for my rescued pamphlet, hurrying straight back. ‘Have a look at this. It's a pamphlet written by a lady called Mary Wollstonecraft. She believes all women should be educated. Here, let me read it to you – it's from
The
Vindication of the Rights of
Women
.'

The tallow candle was smoking badly, emitting only just enough light for me to see. Mother hardly ever read and I knew she would nd the language hard. I curled next to her, starting from the beginning, reading through to the end. Mother said nothing, but listened intently, the frown increasing on her brow. When the candle guttered, I folded the pamphlet. ‘Father doesn't approve – he says it's only t for the re.'

‘I'm not surprised!' replied Mother in the darkness, ‘I don't suppose
any
man would approve! I'm not sure I approve meself or even understand the half of it, but ye can explain another time. We'd better get some sleep now.' She got up to go, carefully easing her back. ‘Good night, dear child.'

‘Good night, Mother.' My dearest mother. She was so fragile, so very precious to me.

At the door she paused. ‘No need to tell yer father,' she said.

She could not see me smiling back in the darkness. Absolutely not. No need to at all.

High Water

Chapter Twenty-eight

Fosse

Monday 12th August 1793 7:00 a.m.

T
he early morning sunlight caught our new sign,
Pengelly Boatyard
, making the paint gleam with promise. But what was the point of a boatyard without commissions? I re-read the letter in my hand. Mr Scantlebury was crossing the yard, his eyes glancing nervously at me as he opened the door. ‘There's thunder in your face, Miss Pengelly.'

‘It's the letter we've been waiting for – from Robert Steppings.'

‘Then not good news, I take it. Ah well, least we tried – though I have to say I'm a little surprised. Mr Steppings seemed much taken with the plans, even led me to believe he was keen on them – aye, well, 'tis not to be, then.'

‘Oh no, Mr Steppings is much taken with your plans – he's very keen.'

Thomas Scantlebury looked puzzled. ‘Then surely that's good?'

‘He wants your brig to be built, but not by us. He says, here, let me read you his exact words, our “
capabilities are insufcient and we have neither the space nor manpower for the undertaking
”. He insists the contract should go to Nickels!'

‘Nickels!' The colour drained from his face, but not before I had glimpsed the joy in his eyes. To have a brig built to your own design and commissioned by the navy was a dream few shipwrights dared to dream. ‘That's poppycock – we've all the capability we need.'

‘This has nothing to do with capability. Nickels has Sir Charles Cavendish's patronage, and Sir Charles has the ear of Mr Pitt. You must've heard the rumours that Charles Cavendish gave over a hundred thousand pounds to the navy – that's how he got his baronetcy.'

‘Then we stand no chance – no chance at all…' Throwing his pack roughly on his desk, he slumped angrily to the chair. His eyes would not meet mine and I knew what I had to say. I had been dreading this all morning.

‘You'll have to transfer to Nickels, Mr Scantlebury. You can't let a chance like this go – they're your plans, it's your ship, and I'd never dream of stopping you.' I hoped I sounded convincing. I felt like pleading with him not to desert us, begging for him to stay. I'd promised Father I would look after the yard until he was t enough to return, but already my actions could lose us our most trusted friend.

‘Aye, 'twould be the most sensible thing…' he replied slowly. ‘But, let's face it, you and I – we're a stubborn pair, no mistaking. I'll build my brig here or not at all.' He looked down, shifting his papers in an attempt to avoid my eyes. ‘'Tis my belief they'll come running. The plans are too good – and they know it.'

My heart soared. I should never have doubted him. ‘But there's something else,' I said quickly. ‘The navy want it coppered.'

‘That makes sense – it'll stop the worms in the warmer seas and add to the ship's speed. They'll be coppering all their ships soon enough.'

‘But it'll add ten per cent to our costs and make it hard to keep the price competitive.'

‘Aye, Miss Pengelly.'

‘But d'you think we can do that?'

He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Pulling a large apron over his head, he passed the ties around his waist, tying them rmly in front. Only the slightest glint in his eye gave him away. ‘I couldn't do it, but then I'm not you, am I, Miss Pengelly? If anyone can nd the money, you can.'

I had long been thinking how to cut costs and my head was jumping. I drew out a large sheet of paper and started writing down my ideas. From now on, I would balance the books meticulously. We would accumulate reserves and never, ever, would our boatyard go bankrupt again. For a start, no credit. Not to anyone until we were in prot. I glanced at the work schedule – all of them seine boats in for repair and maintenance and would soon be needed for the pilchards. All of them belonged to members of the Corporation and all of them would expect credit.

I took a wad of paper. I would write to each member of every consortium, outlining our new terms – cash on completion and a deposit of twenty per cent prior to any work. I knew they would threaten to take their custom elsewhere, but we had to risk it. The pilchards would soon be running and most of the other yards were already full. Surely no-one would risk having their boat unseaworthy for the shoals?

Second on the list – Father never turned away the poorest shermen, but they never paid. That had to stop. We should mend their boats in return for labour. They could work in the sawpit. My head was spinning. Third on the list, how to use what we had more efciently? Father gave away our bark chippings to the sailmakers to preserve the sails, but why allow them free access? It did not make sense. Tanners in Truro needed oak to dye their leather and their businesses were ourishing. The demand for oak chippings was rising.