Pengelly's Daughter (27 page)

Mother came running. Not knowing whether to crane her neck out of the window or rst remove her apron, she decided to do both at the same time. ‘I can't be sure,' she said, struggling with the ensuing knot, ‘there are four ladies in the carriage. I can see Mrs Jennings but, no, I don't think it's Lady April.'

Even so, Madame Merrick's long wait for patronage seemed to be over. She ew to the looking glass to adjust her turban, her deft ngers tweaking the feathers back into place. As I watched her anxiety, I too, felt strangely nervous. My heart began thumping. It was as if some visceral warning was telling me I was about to come face to face with the last woman on earth I wanted to see. I stood staring at the four women, knowing that to leave so abruptly would draw attention to myself but to stay would be almost unbearable.

Leading the party was a tall, middle-aged woman, wearing a plain, high-necked black gown and a simple bonnet, edged in purple ribbon. She was pointing towards the steps in a condent manner and I guessed she must be Mrs Jennings. Following her was a large woman whose voluminous gown, and ying ribbons, made her look like a ship in full sail. It was hard to see her face under her very elaborate hat, but the glimpse I caught of her puckered lips suggested displeasure.

Behind them, two other ladies walked arm in arm. Mr Melhuish, his glistening, bare chest hardly concealed by his smithy's apron, bowed in greeting and I saw them glance at each other in evident amusement. They were both about my age. The taller of them was wearing a lemon silk gown, trimmed with lace, and a straw bonnet, bedecked with ribbons. She was elegant and lively but even her grace, and evident wealth, paled into insignicance compared to the woman by her side. I had never seen anyone more beautiful.

Her companion was wearing a powder-blue dress, a cream, silk chu and a bonnet decorated with silk owers. Holding up her lace parasol to shade her face from the sun, her hair shone like ripe corn. As she walked, soft ringlets danced against her face. She was dainty, fragile, looking for all the world like a golden angel, and I stared at her, stabs of envy pricking my heart.

Elowyn opened the door and curtseyed so deeply I thought she had fainted. Mrs Jennings looked round the room, her severe features relaxing when she saw Madame Merrick. ‘Good morning, Madame Merrick…' She had barely begun her introduction before the older woman, gasping heavily from the exertion of climbing the steps, cut her short. ‘Mrs Jenkins, I cannot believe you've brought us to such an appal­ling place with
naked men
loitering in the courtyard – girls, no need to look again. What sort of example is that for these young ladies? And that smell of burning tar. Get me my salts. There must be other dressmakers in this hellhole of a town.'

‘There may be, my lady, but they are not as good,' Mrs Jennings replied, helping Lady Cavendish to her salts. ‘Madame Merrick is superior to anyone, or else Lady April would not insist we came.'

‘
Madame
Merrick?' cried Lady Cavendish, her eyes widening in horror. Her jaw slackened, her chins wobbled. She stared at Madame Merrick. ‘Don't tell me you have bought me to a place where there are
Frenchies
! If my husband knew I was within ten feet of a
Frenchie
he would…'

‘Would what, Aunt Martha?' said the taller of the two young ladies, stepping forward. ‘Send in one of his frigates? I hardly think that would solve our problem.' She smiled at Madame Merrick. ‘I am Miss Celia Cavendish, this lady is my aunt, Lady Cavendish, and this is my cousin, Miss Arbella Cavendish.' She squeezed her cousin's arm before continuing with a broad smile. ‘And we are here on very important business – my cousin would like to be tted for her wedding gown.'

A cry of delight escaped Madame Merrick's lips. Clasping her hands, she beamed with pleasure. Elowyn stood transxed, gazing in delight and I, too, could not take my eyes off Miss Arbella Cavendish, that rst spark of envy now aming like re.

She was even more beautiful the closer you looked. Her face was a perfect oval, her eyes as blue as the dress she wore, her lips soft and delicately pouting. Her hair brought sunshine into the room. She was poised, elegant and walked with such grace, she could have been gliding. I was mesmerised, unable to take my eyes off her, furious I could not nd any fault. She curtseyed to Madame Merrick and smiled at Mother without a trace of arrogance or rudeness. My mouth went dry. I never thought she would be so beautiful – nor so fragile.

‘…and this is Miss Pengelly…my
bookkeeper
.' I heard Madame Merrick say.

I curtseyed, and as all four ladies turned their astonished eyes on me, I found myself blushing, averting my gaze, deeply ashamed of my shabby dress.

‘How very extraordinary,' Celia Cavendish replied, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘I don't know what I would do if I had to keep accounts.'

‘You would employ someone to do them, I suppose,' I found myself replying a little more tartly than I intended.

‘Yes, I suppose I would, Miss Pengelly,' she said, smiling despite my abrupt tone. ‘But all the same, you must be very clever. I like the idea of a woman bookkeeper – it sounds different and rather thrilling.'

I looked across at the woman whose father I hated, whose family epitomised everything that was bad with our society, yet strangely, I found myself smiling back into those lively eyes. Miss Celia Cavendish had taken me completely by surprise.

Lady Cavendish was fanning herself furiously. ‘I do not know what I'm doing here. I can't believe this woman has anything like the quality of fabric we require and I, for one, consider this an appalling waste of time. What my dear sister, Lady April, was thinking in sending us here, is quite beyond me. I propose we go to Truro. Or Bath. Yes, I propose we go to Bath.'

‘Aunt Martha, there's no need to rush off. Rest awhile and at least see what Madame Merrick has to offer.' Celia Cavendish's well-modulated accent was clipped with impatience.

Lady Cavendish snorted but sat nevertheless in the chair Elowyn offered, heaving the vast expanse of her dress around her and folding her arms across her ample bosom. ‘Mrs Merrick,' she said through tight lips, ‘let me speak plainly. I'm not talking about
shing town fabric
– my daughter requires the very best. I am the wife of Rear Admiral Sir George Cavendish, soon to be Lord Cavendish, and my daughter, Miss Arbella, is to wed Sir James Polcarrow. We are talking about a dress t for the next
Lady
Polcarrow.'

The colour drained from Mother's face. She put out her hand to steady herself, her eyes turning in painful anticipation towards me. I kept my face composed, even managing a smile, but my eyes must have given me away.
Yes
, they said,
so much for thinking James Polcarrow was honourable
.

Madame Merrick was clasping her hands in excitement. ‘Oh, Miss Cavendish, may I congratulate you? May I wish you every felicitation? Let me assure you that, if you were to choose
me
to make your wedding gown, I would make one of the
nest
quality and of the very
latest
fashion. Allow me the honour of showing you what I can offer…but, dear me, I am forgetting myself, can I offer you tea? Lady Cavendish, do you care to take a dish of
tea
?'

Lady Cavendish screwed up her nose like a pug dog. ‘Tea…! Why would I want tea? Do you have punch, Mrs Merrick?'

Madame Merrick looked thunderstruck. ‘Lady Cavendish …we do not do…that is…I have not yet…
started
to serve punch. We are
soon
to get a punch bowl but at present we have
no
punch…' Her mouth was quivering.

‘Tea would be perfect,' cut in Miss Cavendish. ‘I would love to take tea and Miss Arbella would too, wouldn't you, Arbella? And I'm sure Mrs Jennings is ready for a dish of tea.' The impatient note in Celia Cavendish's voice was plain to everyone and I looked at her with renewed interest.

The tea duly enjoyed, Madame Merrick got down to business. Elowyn kept scurrying backwards and forwards, fetching the latest fashion plates and heavy rolls of material and with the ourish of a magician, Madame Merrick unrolled her nest silks. Her new supplier had shipped some top-quality fabric and even Lady Cavendish stopped her sulks and sat up, her attention caught at last.

‘Of course, I do have one
particularly
ne roll of silk which I have put aside for my most
esteemed
customer.' Madame Merrick turned to Celia Cavendish and lowered her voice. ‘You will know the lady, Miss Cavendish, as she moves in the
highest
circles – and I mean the
very highest
.' She smiled conspiratorially before turning back to Lady Cavendish. ‘So perhaps, if you do not mind, Lady Cavendish, I will not show you that roll.'

‘But I do mind, Mrs Merrick, I mind very much. Are you saying the future Lady Polcarrow does not deserve the very best of your silks?'

Madame Merrick pretended to look mortied. ‘Oh please, do not misunderstand me, Lady Cavendish, it is just that
this
particular silk is very hard to come by. Now the blockade is so effective, few silks of
real
quality are getting through…It is the
nest
Mantua silk, you see, absolutely the
nest
, and therefore
very hard to come by
.' It was masterful; Lady Cavendish demanded to see the silk, insisting they would take it with absolutely no expense spared.

Despite myself, my eyes were drawn once again to Miss Arbella Cavendish. She seemed shy and reserved, letting her mother and cousin do all the talking. She hardly spoke, just nodded and smiled, drinking her tea gracefully. I could not get the feel of her character. I could tell instantly Celia Cavendish was full of spirit, and it was plain to see she found her aunt extremely trying, but Arbella Cavendish seemed strangely distant, staring out of the window more often than looking at the silks. She was very pale and fanned herself frequently, continually seeking the open window for the breeze, if not for the freshness of the air.

The Mantua silk could not fail to impress. As Madame Merrick held up the delicate material and let the silk fall in shimmering folds, Lady Cavendish's eyes feasted with greedy delight. She positively purred. Celia Cavendish clapped her hands in delight. ‘Arbella, you're going to look so beautiful. James Polcarrow is a lucky man and when he sees you wearing this beautiful silk, well…'

Mother looked shocked and caught my eye. I wish she had not looked quite so pained. A furious blush began spreading across my face, burning my cheeks. I turned to the bureau, pretending to busy myself with the accounts.

‘James Polcarrow doesn't know how lucky he is,' Lady Cavendish retorted waspishly. ‘With all her beauty, Arbella could have married a Lord. She could have been a duchess. I'm not saying she's throwing herself away
exactly
, but with all her beauty she should have married a viscount.'

‘Mother, please!' It was the rst time Arbella Cavendish had spoken and her embarrassment was obvious. Celia Cavendish saw her cousin's discomfort and came to her aid.

‘As you're going to look so lovely, I'm going to have to have a new gown, too. I have my eyes on this beautiful blue organza. Aunt Martha, what about you? You and Mother agreed your gown was hopelessly out of date and you need a new gown – if not two. You can go back to Dominica and show them what we're wearing in England these days. Where are those fashion plates, Madame Merrick – the latest ones from France?'

‘Huh! France! Why do you want to wear French designs, Celia? Don't you know we are at war with France? Anyway, I'm not going back to Dominica, not for a long time. I shall be needed here. I will take up residence in Polcarrow and will oversee the rebuilding work.'

‘Rebuilding? I didn't know Sir James was thinking of rebuilding,' replied Celia.

‘Sir James may not yet have thought of rebuilding, but it's quite obvious Arbella cannot possibly live in that hideous, draughty place, crammed so close to the stinking town with the smell of rotting sh on the doorstep. Arbella is used to better things. She'll need a bigger house away from town, on higher ground. We will need a lake and enough parkland to ensure our privacy but at least we shall be nearer to you, Celia – you'd like that, wouldn't you? Not that we expect to spend much time down here in this ridiculous hellhole – no, Sir James will have to buy a London house, too. I can't believe he does not have a London house – but that's so typical of the man. No, I'm in no hurry to return to Dominica – and certainly not until I've made some signicant changes.'

Her outburst was met with complete silence. Celia Cavendish looked stunned, Madame Merrick looked distinctly uncomfortable, Mother nervously averted her eyes and Elowyn's jaw was in danger of catching ies. Only Mrs Jennings had been watching Arbella. She saw the colour drain from her face, watched her sway slightly, and rushing from her chair, offered her arm for support. ‘Are you alright, Miss Cavendish?' she said, leading her to a chair.

‘Yes, quite alright, thank you, Mrs Jennings – only it's rather hot in here.'

‘Perhaps you would like some more tea, Miss Cavendish?'

Arbella Cavendish dabbed a handkerchief against her pale forehead and nodded. ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Jennings, if it's not too much bother.'

I had never really understood the fuss about tea but, as we sipped the amber liquid, peace was restored and spirits lifted. Even Lady Cavendish took a dish as she contemplated the Mantua silk. The conversation became lively, at times distinctly jolly. Mother and Elowyn ran backwards and forwards with material, lace and ribbons until the table groaned under the weight of so much choice.