Pengelly's Daughter (19 page)

The servants began sniggering behind their hands, casting ever bolder looks in our direction. As we waited, my fear returned. Was Jim going to blackmail them? Was that why we were here? My heart was racing. I wanted to grab Father and run, but it was too late. Henderson was coming towards us, his mouth rmly pursed. ‘Mr Roskelly will see you in the study – if you'll follow me.'

I took Father's arm, following Jim and Henderson across the hall to a large oak door. The door was ajar. Henderson knocked loudly and coughed, ‘Your guests, Mr Roskelly.'

‘We're not to be disturbed,' a voice replied.

My legs trembled, my heart raced. I looked at Jim, desperate for reassurance, but he was looking straight ahead, the same grim expression on his face, the same taut mouth. What was he planning? He must be condent or he would never have put us in so much danger.

The room was dismal, stuffy, the wood panelling dark and oppressive. Tobacco smoke hung in the air, trapped by the blackened beams of the low ceiling above. Little light penetrated the three large windows – the thick brocade curtains hung in heavy swathes, the enormous drapes darkening the room with their voluminous folds. Three men were staring at us, watching us with evil in their eyes.

Mr Roskelly was much shorter than I remembered, stouter and more orid, with a large nose and red-rimmed eyes. He was standing behind a desk strewn with papers, his weight resting on his hands, his shoulders rounded like a bulldog about to ght. Mr Tregellas stood by the replace, tall and erect, his shoulders squared, his hands held in sts by his side. Across the room, barely visible in the dark recess of the wood panelling, Captain Denville's thick arms were folded like an executioner waiting his commands.

Robert Roskelly's voice was strangely high pitched. ‘How dare you summon me in my own house? Who are you to demand terms?' He held a letter between his rst nger and thumb, holding it away from him as if it would pollute his ne silk sleeve and delicate lace cuff. ‘You've made a serious error,' he said, letting it fall from his ngers.

‘I think not,' replied Jim. ‘An' well you know it.'

‘I know nothing of the kind. Mr Pengelly's been found to be alive which is no great import. Prisoners forget who they are when fever addles their wits – many prisoners adopt the identity of other prisoners for their own gain…and though you may rejoice, it makes absolutely no difference to the law. Mr Pengelly is still a bankrupt and as an escaped prisoner he now faces the gallows – as do you and this woman. You'll swing for this and Miss Pengelly will swing alongside you.'

The room was thick and airless. I could feel the noose tightening round my neck and I staggered forward clutching Father's arm. There was a high-backed chair only feet away and I helped Father to it.

‘D'you take me for a fool?' replied Jim. ‘Stop wasting my time, Mr Roskelly.' He took a step closer, standing face to face with the most powerful man in Fosse. ‘Perhaps you've not read my letter? Perhaps you don't understand how much proof I have that you're behind all this deception an' fraud. Having a man imprisoned for a theft you've committed yourself an' using his ship for smuggling is a felony even you'd swing for – I think you'd best read my letter again, an' change your tone.'

Mr Roskelly's colour deepened. I could see beads of sweat on his upper lip and, for the rst time, I felt hopeful. Perhaps Jim
was
in control. I looked around, my eyes drawn immediately to the space under the table. I caught my breath. Two large mastiffs lay sprawled asleep, pools of drool collecting on the oor by their mouths. They were massive creatures, clearly unchained, and I looked at Jim, trying to warn him they were there. He took no notice. It was as if I did not exist. He did not look at me, or Father. Not once. It was as if he had forgotten we were there. He had sensed his advantage and was pressing on.

‘I've the ledgers, the invoices, all the correspondence regarding the stolen cutter…an' the false bill of sale with both your names on it. I've the testimony of the gaoler an' the two sailors who jumped ship last time
L'Aigrette
unloaded her smuggled goods. They're willin' to testify they served on the stolen cutter under the command of Captain Denville an' can testify they've seen you an' Mr Tregellas aboard ship many times.' In the darkness, Sulio Denville exed his muscles. By the replace, Mr Tregellas's sts tightened as his scowl deepened.

‘Damn you! I've had enough of your insolence,' snapped Mr Roskelly. ‘What is it you want?'

‘I'd have thought that obvious.'

‘Nothing's obvious except you're a villain,' retorted Mr Roskelly, beads of sweat covering his forehead.

‘Well, they say it takes one villain to recognise another,' replied Jim.

‘What is it you want?'

Jim seemed to be enjoying the panic in Robert Roskelly's voice. He paused, and the eyes which had once pierced my soul and very nearly captured my heart turned vengeful and greedy. I had touched his scars. I had felt his pain. I had melted under his kiss. I had so wanted to trust this man, but even before he uttered a word, my heart went numb. A triumphant smile lit up his face. ‘I'd have thought that was obvious, you idiot. I want the cutter. '

Chapter Twenty-one

J
im's treachery sliced through me like a knife. All colour drained from Father's face. He clutched his chest, his sunken cheeks hollow against the deathly pallor of his skin. Crying out, I ran to his side, but Jim was too quick.

He stared at me, his cold eyes hard, his hands already reaching into his jacket. He knotted a scarf around my mouth, forcing my head back. ‘I've had just about all I can take from that clever mouth of yours,' he said as he tugged it tight. ‘If you value your father's life, you'll be quiet for once.' I tried screaming, shouting, twisting myself free, but the scarf was too tight, the knot too rm. He was wrenching my hands behind my back, strapping them to the chair with the strength I knew so well. Once more, I felt the pain of being bound; my hands, my feet lashed to the chair with the rope he had hidden under his jacket. How could I have been so stupid? How could I think to trust him?

Father tried to defend me, his frail form lunging unsteadily forward. ‘For pity's sake, she's a woman, let her go. She can't harm you.' Jim grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back, forcing him down on the chair next to mine.

‘Enough!' he shouted, binding Father's mouth with another scarf. ‘I know Miss Pengelly's capabilities far too well.' Reaching beneath his jacket, he released another rope, shaking it free from its coils with a deft ick. Father put up no resistance, his frail frame bound quickly to the chair by the well-practised hands. Robert Roskelly stood watching from his desk.

‘They're all yours,' said Jim, turning to face him. ‘Do with them what you will.'

William Tregellas scowled down at Father. ‘Your damned daughter's as dangerous as any man – and well you know it. If it hadn't been for her high-handed prying, none of this would have happened and you'd be rotting where we left you.'

‘Hold your tongue, you fool,' snapped Robert Roskelly. He was looking at Jim, his face full of loathing. ‘You demand the cutter, do you? I'll see you hanged rst.'

Jim seemed unperturbed, amused even. With a ourish he drew out a folded paper, smoothing it against the desk. ‘I've a deed of sale drawn in my favour. All I need is your signature.' He turned to Mr Tregellas. ‘I thought six hundred guineas a good price – though obviously I've no intention of paying you anything. This deed's a mere formality.'

Jim's insolence was too much for Mr Tregellas. His twitch was unstoppable. ‘You're a dead man,' he said, his lithe frame lunging across the room at Jim.

As if waiting for his signal, Sulio Denville darted from the shadows, pushing aside a table in his haste, sending a lamp crashing to the ground. His massive shoulders seemed to strain against his jacket, as he stepped slowly forward, a dagger ashing in both hands, which he held rigid in front of him. ‘Now then, sailor boy, let's see what you're made of.'

Both men closed on Jim, murder in their faces. Jim started backing away, his eyes darting from one to another as they slowly forced him towards the corner. He knocked against the large table and stopped, leaning forward, his hands outstretched, swaying from foot to foot. They knew he was trapped and both men drew nearer, Sulio Denville taunting him with his daggers, waiting to strike. As his huge frame lunged forward, Jim dived between them, somersaulting behind the two men, jumping quickly up to face them. Sulio Denville crashed against the table, William Tregellas falling heavily on top of him. They picked themselves up, cursing loudly, their faces purple with fury. Sulio Denville bent to retrieve his fallen daggers.

‘Think you can take on Sulio Denville, do you? Do you? Well, you can think again.' Once more he held his knives in his hands, brandishing them in front of him as he crouched forward. They were huge knives and I watched in horror as the two men began forcing Jim back across the room to the other corner. Step by step, they closed on him again, Sulio Denville almost drooling. ‘Steady does it,' he said. ‘I don't like to rush a killing.'

Bile rose in my throat. I thought I would choke. I began pulling against the chair, struggling with all my might, trying to loosen the bindings. The servants must hear. Surely I could alert them, but there seemed nothing I could do. I tried shouting, screaming, yelling into the gag, but my head was bursting, my breath suffocating, and my cries remain stied, mufed by the scarf which clamped me so tightly. I shut my eyes, waiting for the sounds of killing.

Suddenly there was silence. The three men stood motionless, frozen to the spot. At rst I could not understand their sudden stillness but then I saw the pistol Jim was holding in his hand. It was the same pistol he had pointed at Ben.

‘Stand back, you fools, killing me would be pointless. All the evidence – the ledgers, the letters, the men's testimonies, the afdavit signed by Mr Pengelly, everything is with the Vice Sheriff of Cornwall, Lord St John Stevens. It's in a locked box an' if I don't meet him tomorrow, he's to unlock the box an' act accordingly. There's no doubt of your guilt an' no doubt of the consequences. You've no choice. D'you really think me such a fool I wouldn't cover my back? You've no option but sign the deed.'

He pointed the pistol at Sulio Denville. ‘Throw those down.'

Sulio Denville spat in disgust. His daggers struck the agstones and Jim reached to retrieve them, the pistol pointing at Mr Tregellas. ‘Now, sign the deed.'

‘Not until you return the evidence.'

‘I've already told you. When you've signed, I'll tell you where to meet me.'

‘You really believe I'd trust you?'

‘You've no option.'

‘What about them?' Mr Tregellas nodded in our direction.

‘Captain Denville knows what to do with them,' replied Jim coldly.

I could scarcely breathe. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would burst. Mr Tregellas walked stify over to the desk, glaring at Mr Roskelly as he picked up the quill, dipping it angrily in the inkwell before scratching his name. ‘If you double-cross me, you're a dead man. I'll hunt you down.'

Jim watched him sign. ‘Now you, Mr Roskelly – you're joint owner of
L'Aigrette
, I believe.'

‘May you rot in hell,' muttered Robert Roskelly.

Yes, well may you rot in hell, I thought.

We were in the greatest danger – somehow we needed to alert the servants. Henderson had seen us come in so he must be waiting for us to leave. I had to warn him, but how? I looked across the room, desperately searching for the bell pull. Father was looking straight at me. Some colour had returned to his cheeks and though he still looked gravely shaken, he seemed to be trying to tell me something. He kept lifting his eyebrows, looking from me to the dogs. At rst, I could not understand his meaning but then I realised they were still sleeping, oblivious to the commotion around them. That could not be right.

Jim picked up the deed of sale, examining it carefully before sliding it into his jacket. ‘I'm obliged, gentlemen, an' should you ever run short of brandy, or silk, or salt, you're only to ask. I can't guarantee you special rates but I'd be happy to do business…'

‘Insolent dog! Do you really think you'll get away with this?'

‘I do. I've every intention of spending the rest of my life in comfort.' Jim examined the pistol, turning it over in his hands, polishing the barrel on his sleeve.

‘Get out, you bastard.'

‘I'm afraid, I'm not nished yet, Mr Roskelly – I've more business to discuss.' Jim ran a hand through his hair, straightening the scarf round his neck, brushing the dust from his sleeve. ‘It may not be obvious but I've expensive tastes…an' though the revenue from this cutter will provide a fair income, it's not enough. I need a bit more.'

Mr Roskelly's eyes narrowed. ‘Damn your impertinence! I'll not be blackmailed.'

Jim drew up a chair and leant back, the pistol on the desk in front of him. ‘Won't you? I suggest you listen to what I've got to say. You see, I've particular good eyesight, Mr Roskelly, especially at night when no-one's meant to be watching an' people get hurt. There's always a nook or doorway to squeeze into, barrels to hide behind – as a young man, I often saw things I could turn to my advantage. Your friend, Mr Tregellas, may not know what I'm about, but you do, don't you? An' so does Sulio Denville. You'll have to go back a long time, mind, but I'm sure your memory's as good as mine.'

The room was darkening, the heavy curtains blocking the fading light. Beads of sweat glistened on Robert Roskelly's brow and I was surprised to see Mr Tregellas watching Jim as intently as Father. Jim's voice remained expressionless. ‘I'm talking about eleven years ago – but you remember it well, don't you, Mr Roskelly? Mr Denville?' he glanced across the room at Sulio Denville, now lost in the shadows of the wood panelling. ‘I can remember it as if it was yesterday, but my memory could be dulled by a monthly stipend. A man with a regular income can forget dark nights an' false accusations of violence and robbery.'