Pengelly's Daughter (30 page)

‘This is better,' I heard Father say, but I could not reply. James Polcarrow sat down, looking quickly up to survey the hall, and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. The bright ribbons on my bonnet were acting like a beacon and his eyes were drawn straight to me. I saw them widen in surprise and looked quickly away.

Viscount Vallenforth got to his feet and the room went silent. ‘Gentlemen,' he said in a bored tone, ‘as a representative of His Majesty's government, I am here to endorse the government's candidate, Mr George Wyndham – a man with impeccable credentials.' With that, he sat down and replaced the cane across his knees.

Sir Charles must have been expecting a longer speech. He seemed caught unprepared. The evening was obviously turning out very badly and his displeasure was evident. He hesitated, frowning at the crowd, as if waiting for something. At length, a single cry went up. ‘You'll see us right, Sir Charles.' It was a half-hearted cry, with all the insincerity of a paid supporter.

‘Not enough grog as yet,' muttered Father with a hint of a smile.

‘Gentlemen, I have known Mr Wyndham for over twenty years,' began Sir Charles. ‘He is a man of great courage and great vision – clearly a man of business.' There were murmurs of approval, Sir Charles lifting his hand as if to stop them. ‘His rise to prominence lies in his ability to predict the future of our country. He believes, as do I, that we must steer this country to greater prosperity.' A roar of approval made Sir Charles nod in agreement.

Father leant towards me. ‘I'm surprised he didn't say Mr Wyndham could walk on water.'

‘Hush, Father, or you'll be arrested and thrown back in gaol.' Jugs of ale were being distributed round the hall. Father took one, raising it to me in mock salute.

‘To our Mr Wyndham,' he said, smiling with his old sarcasm.

I felt suddenly tense, glancing up at Sir James, anxious to see if he had seen Father's mocking salute. For some reason, I could not bear for him to think ill of Father. But Sir James was staring straight ahead, his nely chiselled prole set in a rm, unyielding frown.

Mr Wyndham got to his feet, motioning to a servant to bring a decanter and glass. The contents consumed, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and began speaking in an unfamiliar accent. I believe he came from the Midlands.

‘Viscount Vallenforth, Sir Charles, what's a man to say after such praise has been lavished on him? But it's true. My prosperity is well known – and my prosperity will lead to your prosperity. It's no secret I own a vast number of shipyards and a vast number of ships. It's no secret I've a vast number of contacts. Contacts I'll use for this town, gentlemen. You'll grow rich. You'll prosper. You'll reap huge rewards in having me as your representative in Parliament.
Contacts for Contracts
– those are my words and that's my election promise.'

An excited uproar met these closing remarks. Everyone except Father and I jumped up, clapping their hands, stomping their feet; greed and self-interest showing on every face. Mr Wyndham smiled, holding up his hand to quieten the crowd though it was obvious he was lapping it up like a cat with cream.

Father remained unimpressed. ‘Sir Charles best be careful – he'll be late for the dinner he's hostin' for the squires and freeholders. There's no more than a handful here who can claim voting rights. It's a sham and till we get the vote, it'll remain a sham. Universal suffrage must come, Rose – it has to.'

Mr Drew and Mr Warleggan raced up the steps to shake Mr Wyndham's hand. Everyone was slapping each other's backs, congratulating themselves for their very good fortune. Jugs of ale were once more passed round the room. The noise was unbearable, the smell of stale sweat beginning to be intolerable. I looked at Father, alarmed at how ushed he had become. He was sweating profusely, his eyes feverish, and I decided we should leave. I looked for the easiest way out, but my eyes once again caught those of James Polcarrow.

He was staring at me with the same look he had given me on the cliff top – that look which held such pain. I felt winded, unable to breathe, as if a knife was ripping through me, making me reel. I stared back into those reproachful eyes, my heart hammering. He seemed so hurt, so alone, his eyes accusing me of deserting him. I had to tear my eyes away.

The mayor and town clerk were trying to bring some order to the proceedings, Sir Charles and Mr Wyndham both consulting their fob watches. Father shook his head and would not hear of leaving. ‘No, Rose, not as things are gettin' interesting.'

James Polcarrow stood to address the crowd, his face as dark as thunder. The effect was immediate, the fury in his face making even the paid hecklers hold their tongues. Eyebrows rose and an expectant silence lled the hall. The mayor cast a look of desperate resignation at Sir Charles and cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen, if you could resume your seats, our next candidate to speak is Sir James Polcarrow.'

James Polcarrow began slowly. ‘Gentlemen, I've been away from this town for eleven years and on my return I nd the port in decline and the spirit of its people broken. I nd poverty the like of which we have never seen before. I nd dwellings t only for rats and I nd corruption and self-interest in those who have thrust themselves into positions of power.'

A shock of disapproval greeted his words but James Polcarrow stood resolute. ‘What have you done to this town, to its people?' he said, raising his voice to be heard. ‘Or should I ask what have you done
for
this town? I'll tell you what you've done – you've done nothing but serve your own interests. We are blessed with one of the largest natural harbours in Cornwall yet the port is in decline.'

He waited for the outcry to die down. ‘It is woefully under-used – merchants cannot capitalise on its deep waters; the roads are nearly impassable. Why haven't you invested in a new turnpike, or a canal to Truro? Or new quays? Why haven't you grasped the opportunity that the mines offer? Importing coal or exporting copper? Why no trade in limestone? So many lost opportunities.'

He held out his nger, sweeping it along the lines of chairs, seemingly pointing at every man present. ‘The answer lies in your own self-interest. The Corporation has grown greedy and, while you prosper, the town starves. While you dine on suckling pig, the town's children scratch limpets from the rocks.' A cry of outrage lled the hall, almost everyone jumping to their feet, clenching their sts. Amidst all the stamping and waving of papers, Father's colour drained. James Polcarrow took no notice of the angry shouts but lifted his hand, his voice calm above the protest. ‘Perhaps those of you who protest so loudly are members of the lucky few who benet from gifts of favour?' The mood had changed. A number of reddened faces glared back at James Polcarrow but there were those who had started to smile.

Father was not one. ‘What's the man up to?' he said. ‘Gamekeepers don't turn poacher!'

I could not reply. A deep hollowness lled me, a terrible, terrible longing.

James Polcarrow stared down at the members of the Corporation, ‘Perhaps you hope to prosper from the new warehouse that will store your salt? The Mediterranean trade is threatened and our shermen are looking to sell their pilchards to the Indies. They'll need twice as much salt to sustain the longer voyage and you'll be happy to supply it – at your own price.'

Sir Charles Cavendish could take no more. Grabbing his cane, he heaved himself out of the chair. Mr George Wyndham likewise got to his feet, followed by Viscount Vallenforth. ‘This is preposterous,' he fumed. ‘I'll not listen to another word.' He turned to the mayor, who looked just as furious. ‘Finish this debacle at once.'

James Polcarrow stopped the mayor with a look. ‘I know I keep you from an important dinner engagement, Sir Charles, but I'm not nished and if you leave now, Mr Wyndham will never know of what I am about to accuse him.'

George Wyndham's face was purple with rage. ‘There's nothing you can accuse me of,' he retorted, his eyes showing the fear his voice belied.

James Polcarrow stood tall. He shrugged his shoulders, his face turning stony. ‘You can either stay to defend yourself, or you can leave me to what I have to say. Either way, I've not nished.'

Chapter Thirty-six

T
he three men resumed their seats, knowing the mood had changed. Hushed whispers and incredulous faces stared back at James Polcarrow, but there were more smiles than frowns.

His voice soared across the hall, ‘Your election promise may be
contacts for contracts
, but will you really share your boatyard contracts with the ship-builders of Fosse? And if you
did
bring our boatyards commissions, would you pay the highest rate or keep the cost deliberately low so that the excellent ships they build can be sold on at a huge prot?' I heard Father's sharp intake of breath. He was staring at Sir James in amazement.

‘Would your new contracts be for warehouses to prot from the West Indies sugar trade? Why are we not putting our efforts into rening our own sugar beet that grows so well on this land? Others are trying it, so why not us? Why should sugar merchants and warehouse owners prot, while the labouring poor starve through want of employment?'

A murmur of assent lled the hall; heads were nodding. James Polcarrow's voice turned hard. ‘Because Mr Wyndham will prot from the warehouses, just as he prots from the manufacturers who forge his leg irons…from his shipyards that build his slave ships…from the plantations that break the back of every slave that toils under his remorseless lash. Because that is how he makes his money and that, to me, is abhorrent. I will not sanction slavery. That is why I stand against him.'

No need for paid hecklers or false supporters. I had never been in such an angry crowd. James Polcarrow sat in his chair, glaring ahead, his jaw clenched. Father was trying his best to be heard above the now-deafening shouts and I could only just make out what he was saying. ‘That's done it – he's just thrown away any chance he might've had. Those who were waverin' will be against him now. It may delay their dinner, but they'll nish him.'

Raising his hand, George Wyndham stood motioning the room to be quiet. ‘So, gentlemen, it seems we've an abolitionist among our ranks,' he said, with evident enjoyment. ‘Sir James forgets his duty to his country. He'd stem the prosperity of the very country he seeks to represent. Prosperity that builds schools and hospitals. He'd join the lily-livered dissenters and radicals and campaign against the very thing that drives our glorious country to greater prosperity. He'd seek to ruin the economy that spurs our industries and widens our trade and hand it all to the Portuguese or to the Spaniards – or most likely, the
French
.'

Mr Wyndham stabbed his pointed nger in the air. ‘He'd hand it all to the
French
who would steal our prosperity. Stop exporting guns and manufacturing will collapse. Trade will cease. There'd be no cotton, no sugar, no rum and no more tobacco. In short, the government would lose the tax that pays our navy to defend these very shores against our enemies.'

Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, his face ushed. I thought his anger might choke him. Wiping his handkerchief across his face, he stepped forward, inviting the audience into his condence. ‘I'd not vote for a man who puts the welfare of savages above the safety of his country. Who puts my wife and children in danger. These slaves, gentlemen, are born to slavery. They labour under benevolent masters who have only their best interest at heart. They're well looked after…they have employment – a better situation than many of our own labouring poor. They thrive in the heat of a vertical sun. Slaves have been with us since Abraham walked this earth and if the Church approves of slavery, why can't Sir James Polcarrow?'

He sat down amongst an ovation of cheers. Sir Charles Cavendish gave a nod of approval and even Viscount Vallenforth stirred himself enough to turn in his direction. The town clerk stood up to end proceedings but James Polcarrow was already on his feet, holding up his hands.

‘Man's inhumanity to man sickens me,' he replied, with quiet loathing. ‘I've seen rst-hand the brutality of your so-called benevolent masters. I've burnt in the midday sun watching men beaten to death and woman abused. The slaves you speak of are born with the right to be free, with the same right to freedom that you were born with – but you have enslaved them.' He turned to face the hall, his face full of recrimination, ‘And you have enslaved them, because every one of you who does not rise against the slave trade is implicit in their slavery. So, yes, I am an abolitionist and proud to call myself one. Nor will I stop, until every slave ship ceases its heinous trade – until every shackle is broken and every slave freed. I'll not eat a spoonful of sugar, or drink a drop of rum. Nor will I chew or smoke tobacco and I entreat those of you with any decency, or humanity, left in you, to do the same.'

His tone held both accusation and despair. He sat down, staring at the stunned crowd.

A cry rang across the hall. ‘God love you, Sir James.' Sir Charles and Mr Wyndham inched, but it was a sole voice and died quickly on the speaker's lips.

Members of the Corporation rushed to help the scowling Mr Wyndham down the stairs. Men bowed and cleared the way for Sir Charles Cavendish to leave the hall. Alone on the platform, James Polcarrow remained sitting in his chair, seemingly drained of all emotion. I could not speak, the lump in the back of my throat made me want to choke. He seemed so alone. Of all the people in the hall, I was the only one who knew his suffering. I had felt his scars. I had smoothed my hands over his jagged wounds, touching man's inhumanity to man.

Father got up and stretched his back. ‘That was a pretty speech from your friend. Course, it means nothing. Total hypocrisy. He lives off the back of labourers so what's different? Give him longer and he'll revert to type. They always do.'