Pengelly's Daughter (40 page)

Handing the pouch to Jenna, I wiped my mouth, trying to rid myself of the taste. ‘I can't eat them Jenna – I should never have accepted them. They're tainted. All I can taste is the blood of slaves.'

Chapter Forty-eight

Thursday 22nd August 1793 5:00 a.m.

T
he early light of dawn crept through the casement. The dairy herd was ready for milking, the cows moaning impatiently below my window. I should have been grateful it was the last time I would wake to the sound of their bells, but my heart felt heavy.

Father had once again made it clear Mother was to end her employment with Madame Merrick. She was to lay down her needles and resume her duties as mistress of Coombe House. In an angry tirade, he had insisted the servants would need supervising and that she should be at home for anyone who called. He, and he alone, would provide for his wife and family.

No-one spoke at breakfast. Jenna cleared away the last of the plates, her face pale through lack of sleep. Mother remained withdrawn, her tone resigned. She spoke softly to Jenna, giving a few last-minute instructions: Sam would come with a cart, they might need a few journeys, but everything should be cleared by noon. The next time we sat down for a meal would be in Coombe House. In the meantime, Mother would spend her last day with Madame Merrick and I would go as usual to the yard with Father.

We did not speak as we crossed the river. Father's face was stony, his expression resolute. Mother gazed across the river mouth and out to sea, her restless hands pulling at the cloak she wrapped around her. It was a grey day with black clouds heavy above us, the southerly wind whipping the waves, the sea getting rougher. More ships than usual crowded the river. Barges, brimming with tin, were rafted together, waiting for reloading onto ships that would take them to London. Several ne cutters, at least four brigs, and a naval brigantine lay at anchor, their masts tall above us. The ferryman dodged their hulls, cursing them for lying across his route. Even the sight of an imposing three-masted barque did not tempt Father out of his sulky silence. I could see him study it carefully, but he would not share his thoughts.

Neither did we speak as we crossed the town. We walked quickly, lost in our own thoughts, each step increasing my sadness. I could feel Mother's emptiness. At the foot of the steps, I paused, telling Father I would not be long. I followed Mother through the door, with the gleaming new sign hanging so proudly above. Word had been sent to Madame Merrick so she knew it was to be Mother's last day. Elowyn's face crumpled at our entrance and Mother rushed to put her arms around her, but she said nothing. I knew she could not speak; her heart was too full of longing.

The four commissioned gowns hung gracefully on the dressmakers' dummies. Mother insisted they needed another week's work but, to my mind, they looked perfect. Arbella's dress was breath-taking. Shimmering even in the dull light, the silk had a glow of its own. Lace covered the whole of the bodice and exquisitely embroidered owers, with pearls in their centre, decorated the neckline. The sleeves were delicately puffed, caught into layers of lace below the elbows. The skirt fell in soft folds. It was delicate, exquisite, and perfect for her. Mother, Elowyn and Mrs Mellows had gone through to the back and I found myself alone with Madame Merrick.

She stood behind me and cleared her throat. ‘I shall miss your mother considerably. There is
much
still to be done and I shall have to do it
all
myself now. But I have to thank you for your
intervention
…without you, the gowns would never have been nished and I would have been in
difculties
…' She stopped, blinking for a moment before getting out her handkerchief. ‘I am not insensible to what I owe you. First the patronage…then your insistence your mother should remain…and
look
, I have a letter from
Sir James Polcarrow
. I am to go to Polcarrow to measure Lady Polcarrow for some new gowns. Her name will be added to my list of
patrons
and if I could
only
nd another seamstress as good as your dear mother, my business is set to thrive.' Trying to maintain her composure, she struggled to nd her words. ‘Eva is a lucky lady, Miss Pengelly – she is very
fortunate
to have you as a daughter…and I, in my turn, have been very fortunate to have had your
intervention
. If I had been lucky enough to have had a daughter, I would
wish
her to be like you.'

I thought my heart would burst. Though her lips were pursed, I could see them tremble and I knew what it had cost to say those words. I had learnt so much from this extraordinary woman and, though we often did not see eye to eye, I realised the respect I had for her had long since turned to affection. To her obvious surprise, I reached forward to kiss her on the cheek.

Raising her lorgnettes and both eyebrows, she stared at me with that cool, hard look that always made me think she could read my mind. She had attended to her face with extra care: she wore more rouge than usual and a thin pencilled line had been drawn through her eyebrows. She had extraordinarily high cheekbones and a good complexion, but even behind the rouge, she looked strained. I knew she was a woman who would always put on a brave face.

‘Madame Merrick,' I said, looking straight into those hooded eyes, ‘You may nd I haven't quite nished
intervening
just yet.'

Her focus sharpened. ‘Indeed, Miss Pengelly?' she said slowly, a icker of understanding crossing her unsmiling eyes. ‘Now, why does that not surprise me?'

I put my nger to my lips. Mother came through from the back room, tying her apron round her for the last time. Elowyn was inconsolable.

The yard was already busy but, entering the ofce, I could see immediately Father had not been at his desk. He was pacing the room and at my entrance turned abruptly round, squaring his shoulders, a frown clouding his face. I watched as he put his hands behind his back, his feet apart. I had been expecting this. I recognised his stance and was ready for what was to come. ‘This is your last day in the yard, Rosehannon. Your place is now at home with your mother. A boatyard's not a suitable place for a woman – a child perhaps, but not a woman. You distract the men too much.'

‘They shouldn't look. It's not my fault they can't keep their eyes to themselves.'

‘It's wrong you've so much freedom. You can't continue goin' where and when you please. It's not safe, nor seemly.'

‘I don't need to be chaperoned. I'm never alone. I come to work with you or Mother and if I go into town, I take Jimmy Tregony.' I should not have lied so easily but I had spent too long surviving without a chaperone and, besides, why did he care now? Had Morcum Calstock told him he had seen me alone with two men or mentioned my dreams of running the yard?

‘I shan't always be in the yard, settin' up the Friendly Society will take me away and I'll not always be here to keep an eye on you.'

‘Then stay with us, Father,' I pleaded. ‘Build the boats you're known for. That's what'll secure our future – good boats built to good designs.'

Father's face ushed. ‘That's quite enough – you've grown too bold, too quick to question. Your place's now at home. You've few, if any, domestic skills and it's time you learnt some. You'll not make a good wife if you have all this freedom.'

So that was it. ‘And what if I don't want to make a good wife?'

‘Rosehannon, this nonsense must stop. Morcum Calstock's very taken with you and if he joins the family, he'll run the ofce. He'll do the accounts, pay the men and order our stocks. This is a man's world and no place for a woman.' He walked to his desk, looking down at the piled-up papers. ‘My mind's made up. There'll be no more discussion.'

I paused to take breath. ‘What d'you mean join the family?' Our eyes locked and I had never seen him look more resolute.

‘You know exactly what I mean. There'll be no more discussion.'

‘If you insist, Father…' I replied, trying to sound calm. ‘I'll spend the morning bringing everything up to date and you can ask Mr Calstock to start tomorrow.'

‘I knew you'd be reasonable. I'm proud I've taught you to reason. This is your future – my grandson will inherit my yard.'

So the yard was my dowry and negotiations had already started. ‘Do we know enough about Mr Calstock, Father?' I said, my resentment held in check. ‘After all, we've only just met him. Does he know anything about boat-building – perhaps he's no wish to build boats?'

‘His interest in the yard leaves me in no doubt. Leave the details to me…' A smile began playing on his lips and he looked like he always did when he secured a contract – not arrogant enough to look smug, but complacent enough to look self-satised. ‘It's like a dream come true.'

‘I'm glad for you,' I managed to say.

I took off my bonnet, hanging it on the hook I always used. Straightening my dress, I walked to my bureau for the last time. There was very little to do as everything was up to date. I felt surprisingly calm. A month ago, I would have been angry: I would have been pleading with Father to let me stay, but I had grown tired of struggling in a man's world. It was not my place – I could see that now.

I glanced at Father, reading the newspaper with the condence of a man who had just secured his future. ‘You've the chance of making someone else's dream come true,' I said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

‘How so, Rose?'

‘As you no longer need me, I'm going to start a school of needlework. It won't be my school, of course – it'll be Mother's – but I intend to do all the accounts. I'll set it all up for her. Mother will be the proprietor and as Jenna's so skilful with the needle, she'll be another teacher – she won't be our maid any more…'

Father's newspaper slammed onto the desk, crushed beneath his sts. ‘Absolutely not! I forbid you to talk such nonsense!'

‘As well as doing the accounts, I'll teach the alphabet and any calculations they'll need to learn as I intend our girls to be able to read and write and…'

‘Didn't you hear me? – I forbid any more talk.'

‘We'll start with no more than ve or six girls, chosen by Mother and Madame Merrick. The mornings will be spent in lessons, but the afternoons will be spent making what we'll sell. I intend to make a prot – Mother and Jenna will get a fair wage for a fair day's work and I'll get an income too. I'll order all the materials, balance the books and do the accounts…'

I knew Father would be angry, but I did not expect such icy coldness. ‘Stop at once! Your foolishness has gone far enough. Not another word an' I'll try to forget what's just passed.'

I could not stop myself, excitement making my heart race. We could do it, we really could. ‘As you want Mother and me at home, we'll start our school in Coombe House. We've got far too many rooms – we don't use the half of them. We'll use the top bedrooms – unless you allow us the room next to your study.'

‘I'll not listen to another word.' Rising from his seat, he made for the door. ‘I forbid you to start a school…and the fact you even thought of it being in Coombe House! You're more foolish than I thought.'

‘I hoped you wouldn't refuse, Father, but I suppose I should've known. It was worth asking though…'

He had his hand on the doorknob. ‘Good, I'm glad that's settled.'

‘It's a pity, though…because now I'm going to have to ask Sir James for a suitable place. I know he'll be obliging. In fact, I think we both know how very obliging he'll be – especially when he knows how grateful I'd be to him. He'll nd a place with a very low rent – he may even charge me no rent at all…' All colour drained from Father's cheeks, he looked haunted, too shocked to speak. Making his way slowly back to his desk, he stood leaning on it for support.

‘Father,' I continued with absolute clarity, ‘here's your choice. Either go to Mother and tell her you've just had an idea she should start a School of Needlework in Coombe House, or I shall send word to Sir James.' I hoped I looked convincing, sounded resolute. I had no intention of ever asking Sir James Polcarrow for anything again.

Father's shoulders sagged, his face seemed to age and whereas before I would have done anything to spare him pain, I stood my ground, tightening my lips.

‘Have you discussed this with your mother?'

‘No.'

‘Then she'll never agree to it. If I forbid it, she'll never do it.'

‘Why not make her dreams come true?'

‘Because she doesn't want it.'

‘Of course she wants it – and if you didn't trample on her good nature all the time, you'd know it's exactly what she wants. She's been lonely and neglected for too long and we could put things right.'