Eye of the Wind (7 page)

Melissa shivered, then burned with mortification on his behalf as she imagined his shame, the terrible anxiety, and his fear of exposing the family, especially her mother, to the gossip and censure that would inevitably attend such a process. Why had he not replied to the letters? And if his recent visits to Truro had not been to the bank, then where had he gone?

Setting those letters aside, she picked up the rest of the papers and glanced through them. There were letters from shareholders in the new packet-ship, and from insurance companies. There were invoices and represented accounts marked with red ink from paint shop, rope store, sail maker and foundry, and others concerning the farm.

Dividing them into piles, not allowing herself to look at the totals – she would face that later – she scanned the desktop to make sure nothing had been missed, and glimpsed the distinctive green seal on a folded sheet partially hidden beneath the tray. As she opened and read it, her heart gave a convulsive lurch that left her dizzy and nauseous. This, surely, was what had pushed her father over the edge.

Expressing sincere remorse, aware that the timing was most unfortunate, Thomas Vincent deeply regretted that in view of his own suddenly straitened circumstances due to the unfortunate failure of a business investment, he had no choice but to request most urgently the immediate refund of his loan.

Her father was in debt to a moneylender as well as to the bank? Reading the sum due, Melissa gasped, and sat frozen as fear broke over her in a crushing, suffocating wave. The foundations of her world had shifted. Everything she believed firm and solid had suddenly turned to quicksand. She felt dazed and breathless. A knock on the door made her start violently. She looked up, trying to compose herself, as Addey peered in.

‘There you are. Your mother’s asking for you. Ever so much better she is. Still weak, but I reckon she’s over the worst now. You going to be long in here?’

Melissa had to clear her throat before any sound would emerge from her constricted throat. ‘No. I’ll – I’ll be up in just a moment.’ As the nurse withdrew, Melissa placed her hands flat on the edge of the desktop and pushed herself to her feet.

What was she to do? She had to do something. If she didn’t, her father’s good name would be ruined, and her mother become an object of pity and scorn, gossiped about at assemblies on whose guest lists the Tregonning name would appear less and less. But do what?

She could, of course, call in her uncles, lay the situation before them, and ask for their help. But pride and a determination to protect her father – for clearly he had not confided in them himself – put that out of the question. So did the thought of her aunts’ reactions.

If she could somehow manage to hold things together until George got home … Yet even if there were no delay in the letters reaching him, it would be at least three months before he returned to Cornwall. Neither the bank nor Thomas Vincent would wait that long. Which meant that somehow
she
must raise the money to repay the debts. But how was she to do that? And keep her uncles from finding out? 

Chapter Five

By late afternoon, Melissa was exhausted. She had spent the day either in her father’s study struggling to bring order to the chaos and make a list of how much and to whom money was owed, or sitting with her mother while Addey bustled about seeing to her mistress’s comfort. It wasn’t so much the tasks themselves that Melissa found draining, but the effort of hiding her shock and anxiety at the size of the financial disaster.

‘Looking proper hagged, you are,’ the old nurse announced, returning with a fresh jug of lemonade. ‘How don’t you get a breath of air? Don’t you go telling me you haven’t got time. What with poor master like he is, and your dear mother weak as a kitten, there isn’t that much for you to do.’

Oh Addey, if you only knew.

‘Anyhow, I don’t want you getting ill.

‘I’m never ill.’ Melissa flexed her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tight band of tension that had formed there.

‘Dear life! Don’t go saying things like that!’ the old nurse scolded, looking quickly round for the nearest wood and tapping the bedside table. ‘Don’t you argue neither. I’ll stay with mistress. She’s sleeping lovely now. Mind you, I reckon she’ll have the aches for a few days yet. And she’ll be limp as a rag for a fortnight. But now the fever has broke, the worst is over. Gilbert says master’s sleeping so there isn’t no call for you to feel you got to go and sit with he. You get off out, but mind you take a shawl. The sun might be out, but there’s still an edge to that there wind.’

Tying the ribbons of a chip straw hat under her chin, Melissa swung the fringed silk over her shoulders and set off down the drive. She would have preferred to ride, but that would have meant changing her dress. And as the household kept country hours and dined early, she wouldn’t have time on her return to bathe and change again.

She did not relish the task ahead. But it was only fair that Tom be told of her father’s illness. A far thornier question, and one she had not yet resolved, was whether she should confide to him the financial catastrophe facing the family. It would inevitably affect the yard.

Tom Ferris had worked for Tregonning’s for 40 years. Totally honest, he had never pulled his punches with her father during their private discussions. She had grown quite accustomed to hear them bellowing at one another. But when the men were about, Tom invariably stood firm behind her father and backed his decisions. Though she had seen him literally chewing his tongue on occasions.

The sound of hooves broke into her thoughts. Glancing up, Melissa saw her Uncle Brinley’s gig approaching, drawn by a showy, high-stepping chestnut. Suppressing the flutter of apprehension in her chest, she continued walking toward him, stretching her mouth into a smile of welcome as her thoughts darted in all directions like sparks from a spitting log.

He did not return her smile, his expression set. She curled her fingers into her palm, refusing to speculate on the cause. She would find out soon enough.

‘Ah Melissa, I was just coming to – Whoa there! Stand still, damn you!’ He hauled on the reins and the chestnut danced on the spot, tossing its head and mouthing the bit that sawed at the corners of a foam-flecked mouth that would soon be hard as leather.

Placing one hand on the soft muzzle, Melissa murmured soothingly to the sweating animal. Heavy-handed and impatient, her uncle quickly ruined every new horse he bought, and got rid of them at a huge loss, cursing their poor breeding and the morals of whoever had sold him such rubbish.

‘Your Aunt Louisa was taken ill during the night. I’ve had the doctor to her, and he says it’s this damned influenza. Thought I’d better warn your mother. Know she’s not up to snuff at the moment.’

‘That was kind of you, Uncle Brinley. Unfortunately –’ she made a wry face ‘– your warning comes a little too late I’m afraid.’

‘Already got it, has she? Not surprised. Nothing to her. Like a feather in a breeze. Bad, is she?’

‘Not as bad as we might have expected. The fever has broken, and she’s resting comfortably.’

‘Glad to hear it. You off somewhere in particular? No, don’t suppose you can be or you’d be aboard that great brute of yours. Hardly a suitable mount for a young lady. Still, I don’t suppose it would be easy to find something to fit, you being like you are.’

Too used to his blunt manner to take offence, and ignoring the insinuation that her height was some kind of deformity, which was evidently how he perceived it, Melissa shook her head. ‘I was just getting some fresh air. I’ve been indoors all day.’

‘Father at home? May as well have a chat with him now I’m here. Haven’t seen much of him lately. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if he isn’t avoiding us.’

Her insides giving a sudden and painful lurch, Melissa shook her head again. ‘Oh Uncle Brinley, how can you think such a thing? It’s just that he’s been particularly busy at the yard. But I’m afraid you won’t be able to see him today.’

Brinley Tregonning’s fleshy features drew together in a frown. ‘Oh? Don’t tell me he’s not here again.’

‘No, he’s at home. But he’s not receiving visitors. I’m afraid he’s ill.’

‘He got the influenza as well?’

Still stroking the chestnut’s nose, Melissa blinked away the sharp sting of tears. ‘No, he’s had a stroke.’

‘
What?
Are you sure? I suppose you must be. Had the doctor? Yes, of course you have. Well, what a thing. Damned sorry to hear it.’ His frown sharpened and he stretched his chin forward in the mannerism she knew all too well. ‘Just a minute, when did this happen? Why wasn’t I informed? My brother suffers a stroke, and you’re wandering around out here, taking the air? If I hadn’t come to call on your mother, how long would you have waited before bothering to let me know? What about Marcus? Has he been told?’

‘No, of course not. What I mean is I would never have informed him and not you.’ Watching a little of the tension leave him, she understood why, given the rivalry between the brothers, her father had not felt able to confide in either of them. ‘Uncle Brinley, I can only apologise. It only happened this morning. Naturally I sent for Dr Wherry at once –’

‘Don’t like the fellow myself, got some odd notions. But Louisa seems happy with him, and from what she tells me he’s been kind to your mother.’

‘Indeed, without his understanding I really don’t know if my mother would –’ Cutting herself short, Melissa drew a deep breath. ‘My father was taken ill at breakfast. Dr Wherry came within the hour. I cannot speak highly enough –’ She stopped again, swallowing hard. ‘He advised me to send for George.’

Her uncle’s face slackened as he recognised the implication. ‘Did he now?’ He cleared his throat several times. ‘Does he say –? Did he give any indication – how long?’

‘He’s coming back tomorrow morning.’

Brinley nodded. ‘How’s your mother taken it?’

Melissa moistened her lips. ‘I haven’t told her yet. The fever – she’s still very weak. I didn’t want – it seemed wiser to wait a day or two, let her recover her strength.’

He pursed his lips. ‘Hmm. I daresay that’s best. An event like this, on top of what happened a twelvemonth ago – well, you know what I mean.’

‘I was going to write to Uncle Marcus this evening and ask young John to take it round. But I think perhaps Aunt Lucy in Plymouth should be told as well.’

‘Yes, well, no need to trouble yourself over Marcus. I’ll drive over now and tell him myself. I’ll drop your Aunt Lucy a line as well if you like. Daresay you’ve got more than enough to do.’

‘You’re sure you don’t mind, Uncle Brinley? It’s really my responsibility.’

‘Nothing of the kind. Don’t give it another thought. You have quite enough on your plate. Wherry’s coming back tomorrow morning, you say? Then I’ll do the same. Maybe have a word with him myself.’ He gathered in the reins, and Melissa winced inwardly as the chestnut’s head was jerked up, its eye rolling nervously and showing white. ‘Can I give you a ride back to the house?’

Melissa would have liked to decline. But if she refused, her uncle would probably try to turn the gig in the drive and he lacked the skill to do so without terrifying the horse and resorting to the whip. Besides, the time their conversation had taken meant that it was too late now for her to walk to the yard. She would have to see Tom tomorrow instead. After all, it was unlikely there would be any change between now and then.

‘Thank you, Uncle Brinley. That’s very kind.’ She climbed up quickly beside him. After circling the wide, paved sweep, he dropped her off at the front steps.

‘Tell your mother I called, and that I’ll look in tomorrow to see how she is.’

Thanking him once more, she watched him drive away at a spanking pace, and knew her uncle to be saddened by the news while still relishing the fact that being first to know allowed him particular authority as he conveyed the tidings to the rest of the family.

After rinsing the film of sweat and sawdust from his face, Gabriel slipped the braces from his shoulders, pulled his shirt free, and flapped it to shake off the shavings. This would be the first time he’d been seen in the village. There was no chance of his presence going unremarked. His height and the fact that he was a stranger were all too obvious.

Though with his stubble, long hair, and working clothes he might appear to be just another shipyard worker, to arrive filthy and unkempt would hardly allay the villagers’ suspicion. Wiping his face on his shirt tail, he tucked it once more into his breeches and, shouldering his braces, slipped on his waistcoat. Then, loosing his hair, he raked it through with his home-made comb and tied it back again.

‘Dear life!’ Tansey hooted. ‘What’re you up to? Going looking for a lightskirt, are you?’

‘Father!’ Billy blushed scarlet.

‘It’s all right, Billy,’ Gabriel said. ‘Just ask your father how I buy food if they won’t let me in the shop?’

‘Well, I tell you, pretty yourself up any more and they won’t let you out again!’ Tansey gave a great cackle of laughter.

‘Gabe Ennis!’ Tom shouted from the doorway of his office. ‘Here a minute.’

‘Want for us to wait, do you?’ Walter grunted, as the two shipwrights and two apprentices started for the gate. Men from other parts of the yard and the packet were already on their way out.

‘No,’ Gabriel shook his head. ‘You go on.’

‘Right, well, see you tomorrow.’ Clicking his tongue, Tansey winked. ‘And if you’re late, we’ll know –’

‘Shut up, father,’ Billy growled, flushing.

‘Git on, boy. Just because you don’t know what it’s for don’t mean Gabe got to spend his nights alone.’

‘He knows,’ Gabriel replied, winning a look of desperate gratitude from the youth whose blush belied his powerful build. ‘He’s just choosy.’ Cuffing Billy lightly on the shoulder, he murmured, ‘Best way to be.’ Then, leaving them, he crossed to the foreman’s office.

Taking coins from a small box, Tom dropped them onto Gabriel’s palm, then closed the lid and turned the key. ‘You done all right.’

With a brief nod, Gabriel slipped the money into his pocket. ‘You make that?’ Made of oak bound with iron, the box was a perfectly crafted miniature of a seaman’s chest.

Tom shrugged. ‘’Tisn’t nothing special.’

Gabriel raised his eyes to meet the foreman’s. ‘It is. You made any more?’

‘A couple. Me missus wanted one for her sewing. Why? What’s it to you? ‘

‘Nothing, except it’s a beautiful piece of work.’ He raised a hand. ‘See you in the morning.’

There were still plenty of people about, more than he would have wished. As he walked along the cobbled street, head down and shoulders slightly hunched, he sensed their curiosity. Who was he? Where had he come from? Why was he here? What did he want? A number of villagers would have the answers within an hour as men from the yard told their families about the newcomer. By this time tomorrow, human nature would have ensured that the news had spread to everyone else.

A gasp and muffled giggles made him glance up and he stopped abruptly, just in time to avoid a collision with two girls. Both wore calico skirts, one a rusty orange, the other light blue, with matching low-necked cotton bodices. And each had a white muslin kerchief about her shoulders, crossed over her bosom and tied at the back.

Their hair, a mass of short, frizzy curls over the top and sides, had been left long at the back and tortured into two thick ringlets that hung over each shoulder: a style that society women had begun to abandon at least five years ago. Yet these girls, so bold with their knowing eyes and teasing smiles, clearly thought themselves to be highly fashionable.

‘Beg pardon,’ he growled, knuckling his forehead, and stepped out into the road, careful not to meet their eyes. He heard whispers then more muffled giggles as they went on their way. It was only to be expected. The same thing had happened in France. A male stranger who was neither green youth nor old curmudgeon, and apparently without ties, was likely to have money to spend and was therefore an attractive proposition no matter what he looked like.

The street slanted inward to the middle where a narrow channel carried away rainwater and anything else flung into it from the cottages, ale houses, and shops that lined both sides. Stepping over it, Gabriel ducked his head and walked in through the open door of the bakery. Even at this late hour the scent of fresh bread still hung in the air, overlaid by the mouth-watering, hunger-sharpening aroma of hot savoury pasties.

A short, plump woman wearing a white apron over a grey dimity gown, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, was bent over a large sack of flour, struggling to move it from just inside the door to the area behind the counter where several others were already stacked against the wall.

Stepping forward, Gabriel muttered, ‘By your leave,’ lifted the sack from her hands and in two strides placed it against the others, then retreated to stand just inside the door. ‘Mrs Mitchell?’

‘My dear soul! Where’d you spring from then?’ A light coating of flour clung to her round, rosy face now glowing crimson from her exertions. Straightening up, she puffed out her breath as she pressed her hands to the small of her back, then tucked up the wisps and tendrils that had worked free from the loose bun high on her head. ‘