Pengelly's Daughter (15 page)

Mother looked unconvinced, the worry in her eyes plain to see, but I felt almost light-hearted with joy. Father was alive. The impossible had come true.

Chapter Sixteen

Monday 1st July 1793 7:00 a.m.

I
woke in a cold sweat. If Sulio Denville was working for Mr Tregellas, there was no-one to turn king's evidence. Mr Tregellas would ourish a bill of sale, claim he did not know it was the same ship, and insist the mistake in Father's identity had nothing to do with him. He would claim the contagious nature of his death meant he had not actually seen the body but he had relied on the prison guards for his information. Robert Roskelly would be the presiding magistrate, Father would go straight back to gaol and be hanged for escaping. It was worse than ever.

My untouched breakfast did not go unnoticed. Mother was watching me intently. As we sat in the ferry, her eyes barely left my face. I was so glad I had not told her – glad she was not feeling the same fear. Besides, what could I tell her? Father was alive but in more danger than ever? Jim was right; if she knew, she would not be able to hide her anxiety.

We reached the warehouse and began climbing the steps. Across the yard, the sound of hammering lled the air and a pang of longing lled my heart. It was as if the boatyard was beckoning me back. Glancing through the arch, I could see the men already hard at work.

‘Mother, I'll only be a minute – I'm going to say hello to Mr Scantlebury.'

Father had owned this boatyard for ten years. He had left Porthruan to start out on his own and his decision had proved sound. His boats were the best to be had and the town soon knew it. His reputation grew, commissions came pouring in and we were set to prosper. We would be prospering still, if the Corporation had not taken against Father. Until that moment, it had been too painful even to look into the yard, let alone walk under the arch, and I had not been back for over a year. I could smell the sawdust, the varnish, the new paint and I breathed it in, delighting in the acrid smell of burning pitch. It was all so familiar, so very dear.

The sign
Tregellas Boatyard
made my blood boil. How dare they steal it from us? This boatyard was in every part of me, just as it was in every part of Father. We were born to build boats, my forefathers before me, each generation seeking new ways to harness the wind, new ways of pitting their wits against the power of the sea. I strode angrily under the arch, my feet following the path I knew so well.

Joseph Melhuish was wielding his hammer against the hot trivet he was forging. His furnace was blazing, with more faggots lying ready to be burnt. Even at this early hour, he was stripped to the waist, his body glistening, a pile of newly crafted shackles cooling on the stones around him. He had known Father for many years and looked pleasantly surprised at my nod of greeting. Two sawyers stood gossiping in the sawpit, a huge oak trunk waiting to be planked. As I passed, I heard their sniggers and caught the insolence in their eyes. ‘What are you staring at?' I snapped, glaring down at them with the full force of my fury.

‘Come on, miss. Who could resist such a pretty sight?' the tallest replied, his eyes as bold as brass.

‘D'you want a boat?' said the other, nding his words so funny he almost choked.

I did not nd him funny. Anyone could see they were lazy and if I had anything to do with the yard they would have gone long ago. Anger made my cheeks burn. This was Father's yard and no-one would take it from us. No, I did not want a boat – I wanted the boatyard. I wanted every hoist and pulley, every plank of timber, every pole and spar. I wanted every coiled chain, every barrel of nails, every shackle, every trunnel, every pot of paint and varnish. I wanted every sack of hemp, every bag of oakum and every last handful of horse hair. I wanted it all back. All of it.

Across the yard, a three-masted lugger was having a nal coat of varnish and the nameplate
Dolphin
nailed into position. The letters were bright blue, the gold background painted with elaborate red and green swirls. There were matching swirls adorning the bowsprit and two dolphins painted either side of the bow, but she was a beautiful boat – despite the nish. Mr Scantlebury came hurrying towards me, his face lled with pleasure. ‘Oh, Miss Pengelly,' he cried, ‘it gladdens my eye to see you.'

‘And mine you, Mr Scantlebury. I shouldn't have left it so long.' I must have been frowning because a shadow fell across his face and he looked at me sadly.

‘No doubt you'd your reasons.' The muscles round his jowls slackened and I thought how much older he looked though he was still a ne man with a powerful frame for his fty years. He and Father had been apprentices together and he had been Father's foreman and senior shipwright ever since we moved to Fosse.

‘Tell me about this lugger,' I said. ‘She's a lot fancier than anything we used to build – she's quite a painted lady – but no doubt under all that paint she's as good as anything we ever built.'

‘Oh, aye, the craftsmanship's the same – though there's been many changes since your father left us.' He put out his arm and I took it, grateful for a sign of our old friendship. ‘Aye, many a change and not all for the better, I can tell you. But it doesn't do to hanker for the past – we must look to our future.'

‘Are you getting good contracts?'

‘Oh, aye, plenty of work, though mostly repairs. This is the only boat we've built this year. She's for a consortium.'

‘All Corporation men I take it!' I could not hide the disgust in my voice. When Father found out, he would spit with fury.

‘Aye, each and every one of them! They're the ones with the money.'

A young lad came tentatively forward, unsure whether he could interrupt. He was wearing a leather apron and carrying a varnish brush. Mr Scantlebury nodded and the boy approached, stopping at a respectable distance to take off his hat. Trying to swap hands, he fumbled and dropped the varnish brush. As he bent to retrieve it, his hat fell off and landed on the brush, sticking to the varnish. In an agony of embarrassment he wrung his hands together, ruining the hat. Finally, he made a polite bow, his face glowing like the tip of Mr Melhuish's poker.

‘This is Tom, my sister's youngest – I'm hoping to make an apprentice of him. Tom, this is Miss Pengelly.'

‘Good mornin', Miss Pengelly,' Tom replied, smiling shyly. ‘Our Elowyn says yer the cleverest lady in England.'

‘Your Elowyn?'

‘She works for Madame Merrick. She says ye add up in yer head and ye're never wrong.'

‘That's enough, lad – go to the sailmakers and tell them we're ready. And put that brush down – no, not there.' As Tom's lanky frame crossed the yard, Mr Scantlebury shook his head. ‘I don't hold out much hope. Mr Tregellas's taken against him and his word's nal. Tom's a good lad but he's all ngers and thumbs and hasn't enough learning. I can't bear to tell my sister for she's pinning her hopes on me.'

‘Is your sister well?'

‘Aye, now she's left that vicious drunk and moved in with me. They're welcome to all I have but I can't promise an apprenticeship.' There was a heaviness about him which had never been there before. If only I could tell him about Father.

‘Is she your design?' I said looking back at the
Dolphin
.

‘Ha!' His frown returned, ‘I only build boats now. No, if she were mine I'd have stepped up her foremast and steeved up her bowsprit –'twould allow for plenty of sail but keep her shorter. Not just for harbouring, but for the dues as well.' It was not like him to be so bitter.

I smiled. ‘Corporation men don't pay harbour dues – you should remember that!'

We walked back across the yard and reached the ofce door. The boatyard leased the ground oor of the warehouse, Madame Merrick leased the rst oor, the sailmakers the large loft above. Mr Scantlebury hesitated. ‘I can't offer you tea or anything as genteel as that,' he said with a wink, shades of his former self showing through, ‘but if you've a minute, will you come in? I could show you a new design I've been working on – though it's between you and me, mind – Mr Tregellas is not to know.'

He rolled out the plans and I could see it was his most ambitious design yet – a one hundred and twenty foot brig. I could hardly believe it. Made from oak and deal, she would have elm for the keel and r for the two masts. His plans detailed everything, even the cordage which was often left to the sailmakers. ‘She'll be nigh on four hundred tons. See the extra studding sails – and the spanker aloft on the gaff?' I nodded, following his nger as he pointed out the details. ‘She'll turn with ease. She's broad in the beam and sits deep in the water – she's heavy, mind, and will withstand any sea. I reckon she'd do eleven knots.'

‘You really think you could build her here?' Excitement made my heart race. It was always like this when I saw new plans. Turning dreams into reality, at drawings into solid ships that would plough the waves and keep their crew safe. I felt so alive.

‘Aye, we can build her right enough – we've the skill and the space.' He looked up as if he dared not raise his hopes.

Frustration welled inside me. I could not bear the thought that Mr Scantlebury's plans could go to waste or, worse still, be built by another yard. I would clear Father's name. I would get this yard back and we would apply to the Admiralty to build this brig.

‘Where's that old Admiralty list?' I asked, rushing to the cabinet. ‘The one we used for that navy repair commission?' It felt so good to be back in the ofce. Nothing had changed; everything was in exactly the same place. ‘Here it is, look, Mr Robert Steppings – Navy Board's Surveyor of Sloops.' I waved the list triumphantly in the air.

‘What're you up to, Miss Rosehannon? You've that look in your eye, like old times.'

Like old times – how good that sounded. I stuffed the list down my bodice and put my ngers to my lips. ‘What list? I see no list. Keep these plans well hidden and promise me you'll not show them to anyone else. I'll tell you everything when I can, but for the moment it's our secret.' I could not wait to tell Father.

Mr Scantlebury's smile faded and his look turned grave. It was as if he knew I was concealing something. ‘I'd trust you with my life, Miss Rosehannon, but be careful not to cross Mr Tregellas. He's not a man to meddle with. Cross him and you're in dangerous waters.'

‘I know,' I said, smiling back at him despite his warning. I was almost at the door, ‘Mr Scantlebury, I can't promise anything but send Tom to me on Saturday and Sunday morning – I'll see what I can do to help his learning.' I turned to go but another thought struck me. ‘And tell Tom to bring Elowyn too – let's see if I can get them both adding up in their heads.'

He nodded but his smile said everything. I even think his back looked straighter and, for some unaccountable reason, mine seemed to be, too. My courage had returned. Whatever it took, I would get our yard back and see justice done for Father.

It was a beautiful, bright morning with clear blue skies. A sudden bright ash caught my eye and I glanced up at the window to see Madame Merrick studying me through her lorgnettes. The sun had caught the glass and though she turned hurriedly away, she saw I had seen her. My heart froze. How long had she been watching me? Worst still, had she seen me study the plans?

Chapter Seventeen

M
adame Merrick made no mention of seeing me in the yard but seemed preoccupied, pacing round the room several times before returning my greeting. ‘Miss Pengelly, I have placed those invoices you wanted on the bureau – they are all in
order
and dated correctly and, as you will notice, they have the
correct
excise stamp on them.' There was something very tense about the way she was watching me.

I walked over to the bureau and studied them. Some attempt had been made to make them look older than a few days, but they would fool nobody. We all knew, however, that the person they were meant to fool had just issued them so no questions would be asked. I just wondered how much she had had to pay. Smuggling, though rife, was still a dangerous pastime. ‘I'm glad you found them, Madame Merrick,' I said, with just a touch of sarcasm.

‘
Indeed
. Now everything is in order.'

‘Where's Mother?'

‘In the tting room. Elowyn is making some adjustments to her gown.' I smiled politely and would have gone through to the sewing room, but Madame Merrick put her exquisitely manicured hand on my sleeve, ‘One moment, Miss Pengelly…
if
you please.'

She crossed to the table and pulled forward two rolls of material and several boxes of lace and brocade. I was astonished when she beckoned me over as I had never discussed fabrics with her, nor knew anything about them. ‘This pale-cream material is cambric and you can see it is very light, easily laundered and
comfortable
to wear,' she said. ‘This fabric, on the other hand, is the
last
of the sprig muslin and is particularly superior. You can tell by the very
ne
selvedge that it is delicately woven and therefore more
expensive
…and
consequently
I would usually reserve it for more
important
clients. However, both fabrics could be made up into a simple chemise gown with perhaps a little brocade at the neckline or lace – or even a chiffon frill.'

I watched her caress the material, carefully trying the various combinations, holding the different brocades and lace against the fabric, dismissing one and then another until she had the best combination. ‘This would make a very pretty gown. I like this best. What do
you
think, Miss Pengelly?' She pointed to the green sprig muslin, a length of white cotton brocade and some green satin ribbon which exactly matched the sprig. I was astonished she was talking to me in such a way and felt rather unnerved.