Pengelly's Daughter (24 page)

Reaching for more paper, I sharpened my quill. I would write rst to the tanneries of Truro, then to the sailmakers of Fosse and Porthruan, asking each of them how much they would pay, per cartload, and agree the higher price.

My temples were beginning to throb. I needed air and, besides, I needed to check the quality of the latest batch of hemp. Stepping out into the yard, I blinked in the brilliant sunshine, surprised to see three tall masts soaring above the houses. I had not seen the ship dock against the town quay. She was huge – quite the largest ship to dock for some time. I nodded to the men and smiled at Tom. ‘She must be a beauty,' I said as we gazed up at the mastheads.

‘Uncle says nigh on six hundred ton. They rowed her in – must've been tight.' He seemed so condent, turning from a boy to a youth, shooting upwards, outgrowing yet more clothes. ‘She's from the Indies, I believe.'

‘She's ying some handsome ags. Have you done those calculations yet, Tom?'

‘Oh aye, Miss Pengelly…well…they'll be done for Sunday!'

I left Tom to his caulking and returned to the ofce. An idea had long been gnawing at my thoughts. We should buy timber when it was a good price and store it for future use. Father had been made bankrupt because we owed too much money to one man and timber merchants were notorious for charging high prices. A couple of boatyards dealt directly with timber suppliers, so why not us? Buying logs cheaper would not only save us money but ensure the supply we needed. We could even make a prot by selling surplus cuts back to the block makers.

What we needed was somewhere to store the timber. Somewhere the logs could season. I picked up the most recent copy of the
Fosse Gazette
and turned to the page I had earmarked, staring down at the small advertisement for a creek and surrounding woodland. It was to be sold at auction and was
unsuitable for dwellings, pasture or livestock because, being tidal, it was completely submerged at the height of the tide
.

I knew the creek and knew it would make a perfect log pool, but if I told people why I wanted it, anyone I asked would buy it for themselves. We had no money, so would have to lease it, but who could buy it? I stared at the advertisement. The creek had once belonged to the Polcarrow estate and was surrounded by Polcarrow land. Perhaps they wanted it back? The solution seemed obvious, but thinking about it made my heart hammer. I felt sick with nerves. Could I write to Sir James? Dare I ask such a favour of the man I had shunned so completely?

I crossed to the window and stared across the yard. If I delayed, we might miss this chance for ever. Father would never ask, or even approve for that matter. I took a deep breath. This was nonsense – the future of the boatyard was too important to let Father's scruples, or my pride, stand in its way. This was purely business: I would write to Sir James Polcarrow and ask that if he was interested in buying back the creek, we would like to have rst offer on the lease.

Every time I began my letter, I saw the anger in his eyes and my hand trembled. The oor was littered with my failed attempts. I had walked away, believing I would never see him again, yet here I was, already asking something from him. He would despise me. I picked up my quill, writing quickly and rmly, sealing it without re-reading it. Jimmy Tregony was sitting on the steps outside. ‘Take this to the gatekeeper of Polcarrow. Be quick – tell him it's for Sir James Polcarrow.'

‘Right away, Miss Pengelly.'

What had I done? What would Father think? The thought of Father saddened me. His slow return to health still kept him from the yard. He remained in the cramped parlour, surrounded by his correspondence and newspapers, but it was not the lack of opportunity keeping me from him. His constant chiding of Mother irritated me. Never before would I think to conceal anything from him, yet watching Jimmy run under the arch, I knew to keep silent. I would have to tell him – but not now. Not if Sir James Polcarrow was going to be involved.

The reply to my letter seemed exceptionally prompt. Catching his breath, Jimmy handed me a small, folded note. A jolt of pain shot through me and I stared at the same neat handwriting, my throat tightening. But a glance at the stamp of the Polcarrow crest brought me quickly to my senses. The note was brief and to the point. It suggested I came to the ofce at Polcarrow within the hour. It was all so quick, so sudden, but it was just as well – it would leave me very little time to change my mind and no time at all to return to Porthruan to change my dress.

Not that I wanted to. My old green dress would do perfectly well for a business discussion concerning a log pool.

Chapter Twenty-nine

I
would take my letters to the posthouse on my way. Gathering them up carefully, I put them in my basket and crossed the yard. The day was getting hotter; Joseph Melhuish halfway through a jug of ale. He nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. I could not imagine how he worked at his furnace on a day like this. Jimmy Tregony had fully recovered from his errand and joined his steps with mine. He removed his cap and smiled. ‘D'ye want me to take them letters, Miss Pengelly?'

The letters were too important to let out of my sight. ‘No, Jimmy. I need to pay for them but wait just a moment while I see Madame Merrick – then we can go past the frigate.'

‘I've heard she's a thirty-two gunner.'

‘As many as that? Well, let's count them.'

Madame Merrick looked up as I entered the room, her dress rustling as she moved. It was made of very ne silk. She was wearing a piece of cloth wrapped several times round her head. A small arrangement of feathers uttered on one side with what looked like a diamond brooch, pinning everything in place. It was surprisingly elegant but I must have looked surprised.

‘It's a
turban
, Miss Pengelly, though I do not expect you to have seen one before. Those in the
higher
ranks of society know what it is.'

‘And how are the higher ranks of society, Madame Merrick? How's Lady April Cavendish?'

Mother and Elowyn stopped tting fabric against a dressmaker's dummy. Mother had pins in her mouth. She shook her head slowly, her lips pursed not only by the pins it held. Elowyn smiled broadly.

‘I believe she is quite well, thank you,' Madame Merrick replied coldly.

‘She's not yet called?'

‘No, but she has sent her housekeeper, Mrs Jennings.'

‘And did Mrs Jennings take tea, Madame Merrick?' Elowyn's eyes widened. She clasped her hand across her mouth. Mother's frown deepened.

‘As a matter of fact, she did. I have learnt to take very small steps at a time, Miss Pengelly and perhaps
you
would be wise to do the same.' The old venom had crept back into her tone. Perhaps I had been wrong to tease her. ‘I hear you are planning an
ambitious
venture, Miss Pengelly – a naval brig, no less, rumoured to be the
biggest
ship yet built in Fosse.'

‘We've only ever taken small steps, but to survive as a boatyard, I believe we need the courage to take bigger steps.'

‘Then take care those big steps do not trample on people's goodwill, Miss Pengelly.'

I would have replied with deance, but one look from those hooded eyes brought me sharply to my senses. It was as if she knew I was about to make several members of the Corporation very angry. ‘Thank you, but you needn't worry – the Admiralty want Nickels to have the commission. I doubt it'll ever come our way.'

Mother gasped, but those hawk eyes remained staring at me. ‘One moment,' she said as I turned to go. ‘If you insist on running your father's boatyard, you must, at least,
look
as if you prosper. In return for the Mantua silk, I will design you a
working gown
. The gown will afford me no pleasure but I need not make it – Elowyn needs all the
practice
she can get. This
working gown
will be plain…no frills or ribbons…it will have a short, matching jacket, similar to a riding habit but I insist you tell
nobody
it came from
here
…'

I was completely taken aback. Though her words were said harshly, her offer was so generous I could hardly conceal my gratitude. ‘Thank you...that's very kind of you.'

‘It's not kind at all,' she replied, turning haughtily away. ‘Mr Tregellas's silk is worth far more. If you insist I keep it, then I am merely discharging my debt to you while at the same time making a handsome prot.' She arched her exquisite eyebrow at Mother, who quickly hid her smile.

‘What colour will my new working dress be?' I asked.

‘Red, of course. Fiery red. Nothing else will do.'

‘Fiery red it is, then,' I replied, smiling. I was almost through the door when I remembered why I had come. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. I came to say I think I ought to spend at least a couple of hours each week entering your accounts for you, because if I don't I have a terrible feeling everything will get back in a muddle again. I'll start tomorrow.'

Madame Merrick's second eyebrow shot up and Mother could no longer conceal her smile.

Mother's smile seemed to reect the mood of the whole town. There was always excitement when a large ship put in to port, but a huge naval frigate was likely to cause as much bustle as a carnival.

‘Come on, Jimmy, let's go.'

We pushed our way through the throng of people and crossed the main square. It was busier than I had expected and increasingly dangerous as carts rumbled past, heedless of those around them. We were swept along by the tide of people pushing down to the quayside and I grabbed Jimmy's hand in fear of being separated.

Every food-seller in Fosse seemed determined to gain by the ship's re-provisioning. The roads were blocked, wagons lining up two or three deep. Disorder reigned and scufes broke out between drivers anxious to unload their carts and return with more. Sides of pigs, great rumps of salted meat, sacks of our, piles of vegetables, barrels of ale, even hogsheads of salted pilchards, stood piled high on the wagons. The din was deafening. Everyone was shouting. Beside us, a cartload of chickens squawked in their wicker baskets. As frustration turned to anger and tempers ared, I hung on to Jimmy's hand, darting down a side alley, the huge masts of the frigate looming above us, blocking out the sun.

A delicious smell began wafting over the stench of the sewers, drawing us as surely as the masts of the ship. ‘It's a hog they're roasting, Miss Pengelly. It smells so good.'

‘It certainly does.'

‘It's making me stomach ache.'

‘Perhaps if you make yourself useful, they'll give away scraps.'

We turned the corner. Dwarng the quayside was the biggest, most elaborately carved frigate I had ever seen. She was fully dressed in naval ags, their breath-taking colours glowing brightly in the sun. ‘Each ag means something, Jimmy, that's how ships communicate with each other – that's how they give orders. And that big red ag with the jack means she's under naval command.'

‘Just look at them cannons! Come on, Miss Pengelly, you said we'd count them.'

We counted thirty-two on the gun deck and ten smaller, carriage-mounted guns on the quarter deck and forecastle. We would have counted them all again if a juggler had not arrived to keep Jimmy open-mouthed for the next ve minutes.

I had a chance to study the ship. Father always took me to every ship that docked in Fosse or Porthruan, saying that a boat-builder learns something new from every boat he sees. I knew he would quiz me intently about this frigate, so I started looking carefully at its construction, but with all the crowds it was hard to see the lines of the hull and with all that was going on, hard to concentrate.

Navy men were everywhere, like ants in a nest. Some were rolling barrels up the gangplanks, some stowing provisions. Others were scrubbing the decks or polishing the brass. Many towered above us, high in the rigging, balancing on the footropes, tidying the sails. Above the noise of the crowd, I could hear them chanting as they set about their tasks; the sun reecting on their white trousers. As they sang, they gazed across English soil, happy at last to cast aside the hardships of their long ocean voyage.

‘Want some cockles, miss?' We were being hustled on every side by food-sellers crying their wares. I shook my head.

‘Like a pie, miss?'

I shook my head, then saw the longing in Jimmy's eyes. I checked my purse. ‘Just one for the boy,' I replied.

‘Thank you, miss.' The pie-seller pocketed the coins and handed me a pie.

‘She's a ne ship – d'you know where she's from?' I asked.

‘Dominica.'

‘How come she's docked? Is there a problem?'

‘No problem. She's on escort duty – bringin' a rear admiral to Fosse.'

‘Why would a
rear admiral
come to Fosse?'