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  ‘Bravo!’ said the philanthropical ladies, and everyone clapped – all except for the minister.

  ‘Mr Stone enjoyed his dip in the Atlantic so much he has decided to go back and make the folk there into decent law-abiding evangelicals,’ said Dr Vyvyan.

  ‘Wasn’t it the very same cove where that incident of so-called cannibalism took place?’ asked one of the doctors’ wives. ‘Some devil chewed a woman’s earlobes off to steal her earrings. One supposes his hands were too cold for the task. Naturally, public opinion is in uproar for miles around.’

  ‘You will no doubt be aware that the victim of the outrage was the wife of Lord S—?’ said Mr Dabb.

  ‘This sort of thing does nothing for the reputation of the Cornish,’ said the doctor’s wife. There were murmurs of agreement.

  ‘It was because of this scandalous behaviour that my husband decided to go to that dreadful cove and begin building his chapel,’ said Mrs Stone.

  ‘I’m not building a chapel in response to sensationalist reports in the Sherborne Mercury,’ said the minister, scowling. Judging by the way the dinner guests glanced at one another, he had spoken out of turn.

  ‘Did you know his lordship has a private agent making investigations?’ said Mr Dabb.

  ‘With all this nonsense about the so-called Porthmorvoren Cannibal, don’t you think the public would be reassured if they encountered our Mary?’ said Miss Vyvyan, smiling at me.

  ‘I don’t suppose you would ever dream of chewing off a fine lady’s ears to steal her earrings, would you, Mary?’ said Mr Dabb. He spoke to me as you would to a naughty child or a simpleton, and he gave me the kind of look that must have made the accused tremble when he sat on the magistrate’s bench.

  ‘Now, now, Mr Dabb!’ said Miss Vyvyan. ‘You’re frightening Mary, who has already shown herself to be a devout Christian.’

  ‘I don’t suppose any of your neighbours have let slip who the cannibal might be?’ Mr Dabb asked me, a nasty look in his eyes. I shook my head.

  ‘Such a terrible loss for Lord S—,’ said Mrs Stone. ‘I understand he is a great patron of the arts, with a fine collection of paintings and rare objets d’art. I hope they’re some solace to him in this sad time. What I find most affecting is that Lord S—’s unfortunate wife was held to be a woman of uncommon beauty. And I must say her reputation was well deserved if the engraved print of her is true to her likeness. She was a religious woman too, of superior blood, and presented at court. I believe his Lordship sent her home to England because he was concerned she might catch a terrible tropical disease.’

  Mrs Stone’s mention of the uncommon beauty jolted me back to that morning on the beach, when I’d crouched by the lifeless body of that very same woman, struck by her rare beauty even in death, and dreaming of the fine life she must have led. Yet I’d searched her body with little more feeling than if she’d been a manikin in a store in Penzance. I thought how these people around that table would look if they’d seen me pull the boots off the noblewoman’s feet, and my heart near came to a stop. It was silent in the room, and I stared down the table, all of a tremble, thinking they might all be looking at me. After a while, I glanced at the minister. He was slumped in his chair, glowering at his wife as she sipped from her wine glass and patted her hair into place.

  Miss Vyvyan broke the silence. ‘My dear Ellie, your only vice is that you are too tender-hearted to see mendacity in others,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid for once I find myself at variance with you. I don’t believe Lord S— is the blameless victim you portray him to be.’

  I could breathe a little more easily now, knowing that none of them thought me responsible for what had happened that morning, not even Mr Dabb, but the hands that had pulled off the lady’s boots were shaking in my lap.

  ‘We must pay due respect to the gentleman, especially at this time of loss,’ said Mr Dabb. ‘He is a Member of Parliament, remember, and the nation owes much of its esteem to the sugar trade, whatever reservations we might have concerning it. We can’t have common people giving up all respect for rank and degree, can we?’

  ‘I can’t vouch for the character of Lord S—, but he has spoken in the House against the emancipation of slaves,’ said Miss Vyvyan. ‘As well he might, given his fortune is founded on their sufferings. As a member of the Abolition Movement, I find myself somewhat at odds with his views. Perhaps you are unaware that six Methodist chapels have been attacked and destroyed in Jamaica where Lord S— has his plantations? The preachers were imprisoned for educating the island’s slaves.’

  ‘These are weighty matters for a dinner party,’ said Mr Dabb, smiling and looking around the table.

  ‘Perhaps you believe women are not competent to debate the duties of legislators, Mr Dabb?’ said Miss Vyvyan. ‘Would you prefer to continue the discussion later when the gentlemen retire for cigars?’

  ‘I do not say that, madam,’ he answered.

  ‘Mr Stone might want to convert the people of Porthmorvoren, but I take more of a scientific interest,’ said Dr Vyvyan, heading off the quarrel. ‘I’m thinking of contributing a paper on the unique epidemiology of the inhabitants of that cove to a new journal in London. Have you gentlemen come across The Lancet?’

  Dr Vyvyan’s doctor friends said they most certainly had. They began talking about dropsy, malaria, yellow fever and the like. I reached for a wine glass. The serving girls had been topping up the glasses whenever my head was turned, so I had no idea how much I’d drunk. I took a big glug, but it did little to steady my nerves, which had been on edge since Mr Dabb had turned on me.

  ‘Consider the environment,’ said Dr Vyvyan. ‘A moist and enervating climate, overcrowded cottages packed closely together and insanitary conditions. What better way to allow the easy communication of contagious diseases?’ He sounded quite pleased about the diseases. ‘What’s more, there’s a higher than usual incidence of intermarriage among the inhabitants. I’ve no doubt my records could form the basis of a study into hereditary patterns of disease. In fact, I sometimes aspire to publish a larger and more ambitious volume, perhaps taking in the entire west Cornish littoral. The idea would be to classify the country people’s racial characteristics, and discuss how these correspond with their intellectual and moral faculties.’

  ‘I hear the cove is also infested with mermaids,’ said Mrs Stone. One of the philanthropical ladies rolled her eyes at this.

  ‘Oh yes, and half the families in the village will tell you they are of mermaid descent,’ said Dr Vyvyan. ‘Every cove in Cornwall has its own mermaid legend, derived from smugglers’ stories designed to keep rivals away from the shores where they ply their trade.’

  ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Dr Vyvyan,’ Mrs Stone said. ‘I much prefer to believe the cove is haunted by sirens.’ She laughed too loudly, and I saw she was quite drunk.

  The servant girls were putting out bowls of nuts, sweetmeats and fruit. Next they placed a ship with three masts made out of spun sugar in the middle of the table. I’d seen the like once in a shop window in Penzance. Would the food ever stop coming? My dress was already stretched tight across my belly and my insides were churning. If I’d been forced to stay in Newlyn for another week, I’d have needed to take out my dresses.

  ‘Oh, but it seems a shame to eat it!’ said one of the doctors’ wives, gazing at the sugar ship. But Dr Vyvyan was already tapping it with a spoon to break it into small pieces. The tray was passed around so we could put some onto our dessert plates.

  Mr Dabb coughed, and looked at Gideon. ‘Will you not take a drink, parson?’ he asked.

  ‘No alcohol is permitted to pass my husband’s lips,’ said Mrs Stone.

  ‘Most commendable,’ said Mr Dabb, swirling the brandy in his glass before downing it in one. ‘Mr Stone, I wish you good fortune in reforming the manners of the cannibals in that cove of yours,’ he said. ‘It’s a worthy project to instil frugality and prudence among people of that ilk. Our ends are one and the same, yours and mine, although w
e work through different channels.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand you,’ said Gideon.

  ‘What I mean to say, sir, is that in my travels up and down this land, I’ve seen how a dose of evangelicalism can transform the indigent class of people into productive, sober and self-reliant individuals. The nation is on a path of progress, even here in Cornwall. For evidence, you’ve only to look at the steam pumps in the mines hereabouts. All over England we have new roads and canals. You must visit the north when you have leisure and witness the factories that have sprung up there. The efficiencies of these institutions in comparison with home looms and cottage industry is the wonder of the age. Dare I propose that this nation can lead the world into a new era, and improve the conditions of the poor as we make progress?’

  ‘My concern is with the life beyond this one, not with filling the pockets of factory owners and speculators,’ Gideon said, leaning across the table towards Mr Dabb. ‘I’ve seen these mills you talk of, with women and children at work all hours of the day and night, risking life and limb. I have no appetite for turning human beings made in God’s image into cripples or slaves of industrial production. What’s more, I ask if it’s fair to subject the poor to standards of behaviour which are not countenanced by their betters.’

  The wine was warm in my veins and I was faint and muzzy with weariness after getting such a shock when the talk had turned to the Porthmorvoren Cannibal, and from being so long among these people far above me in rank. I saw Gideon was no more at home in this company than me. To them he must have seemed ill-bred and churlish, but I saw a man who was not afraid to speak his mind, a man who would not be swayed from the path of Godliness by fine living and false prizes.

  ‘Perhaps we should allow that Mr Stone has a point,’ said Miss Vyvyan. ‘Progress will be gained at too heavy a cost if greed for material wealth takes precedence over all else. And if I might be permitted one last remark in relation to our friend, Lord S—. With my own eyes, I have witnessed worse-than-negro treatment of the poorest class of people right here in Penwith, and it’s my conviction that even the most depraved acts reported in the newspapers are not necessarily proof of a vicious character. Isn’t it possible such deeds are engendered by desperate poverty and ignorance?’

  ‘I shan’t argue with that,’ said Mr Dabb, wiping his shiny forehead with his napkin. ‘People can be reformed and civilised, if we first convert and educate them.’

  After that, the talk turned to safer, more trifling matters, and I was left to my own thoughts. It had grown darker, the candles burnt low and some had sputtered out. It came to me that I had seen Gideon as he truly was that night. I’d heard him speak out for poor people like me, and against our hard task masters. And I saw that he and Mrs Stone didn’t see eye to eye, and that she thwarted him in his desires. They were not happy, but what was that to me? The minister sat so close to me that we were almost touching, yet I felt as far away from him as ever. I looked over at Mrs Stone. She had a fierce look on her face, and held a shard of the sugar ship in her hand. She must have felt my gaze on her, for her head turned and she looked right at me, and as she did so the brittle piece of sugar she was holding shattered, and the broken pieces fell upon the table.

  11

  Mrs Stone and I sat at breakfast. All that could be heard was the chink of spoons in teacups, knives scraping butter onto toast and the ticking of the standing clock.

  ‘I haven’t seen that hair pin before,’ she said, looking at me askance. ‘I wonder if it’s the best choice for today.’

  I should have known better than to wear the pin, but it was Sunday and I was to observe her teach the children. I didn’t want them to know I was a low-born woman.

  ‘We must consider what the children will think of any improper fondness for show. Apart from any other consideration, the benefactors of the Sunday school might see you, and it might reflect badly upon me.’

  Not wanting to cross her, I kept my own counsel.

  ‘If I’m not mistaken that pin is genuine silver, and of a quality I would have thought beyond your means.’

  Was she calling me a thief?

  ‘What is the matter with you this morning, Sister Blight? Have you lost your tongue?’

  ‘Shall I take the pin out?’ I took my napkin from my lap, wiped the butter from my fingers, and threw the napkin on my plate.

  ‘Such peevishness! I hope the blandishments you received from Miss Vyvyan at the dinner party haven’t emboldened you to this unsuitable self-display?’

  I saw she was taunting me out of envy, and made no reply. The air in the little parlour thickened.

  ‘If we’re to instil duty and restraint in the children, we must avoid anything that betokens pride or luxury, which can only equate to idleness and improvidence when worn by the poor.’

  ‘It’s only because I don’t want to go before the children looking shabby.’

  ‘This only proves my point. It is your pride that’s at fault. We must learn to submit to Providence. Might I ask you how you acquired this pin?’

  ‘I bought it with my own money.’

  ‘You would need a great deal of money to afford such an ornament.’

  ‘It was bought second-hand.’

  ‘Be that as it may, I must insist on you removing the pin and replacing it with something plainer,’ she said.

  I stood, pushed back my chair and stormed out of the parlour and upstairs. In the nursery, I threw myself down on the cot in a rage. When my anger was spent, I took the pin out of my hair, and opened the door to go downstairs. Down below, there was a knock on the front door.

  As Mrs Gurney had not yet come, Mrs Stone went to open the door herself. I heard a woman speak, a plain country woman by the sound of her. I waited on the landing to eavesdrop.

  ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, is the minister about? I must speak with him.’

  ‘Would you mind telling me what business you have with the minister?’ asked Mrs Stone.

  ‘I don’t like to say, ma’am.’

  ‘I’m afraid he isn’t at home at present. Would you like to leave a message for him?’

  I went down a few steps until I could see the door and Mrs Stone, and beyond her another woman whom I didn’t know. Her clothes were of the meanest sort, her face drawn and her hair loose and dishevelled. She wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve, and spoke.

  ‘You be his wife, I suppose?’ She looked Mrs Stone up and down quickly.

  ‘Indeed, I am his wife. May I ask from whence you came today?’

  ‘St Buryan. I set off at dawn, leaving my little one with my mother.’

  ‘But that must be fifteen miles or more! And on so warm a morning. You must tell me what has brought you all this way.’

  ‘When will the minister be back? I shall wait for him.’

  ‘The minister is not expected home for a day or two.’

  ‘That’s no use to me,’ the woman said.

  ‘I am not in a position to offer charity, if that’s your purpose in coming here,’ said Mrs Stone.

  The woman shot a look at her. ‘Can I trouble you for a drop of water, at least?’ she asked.

  Mrs Stone turned and walked towards the scullery. When she came back with a tumbler in her hand, I went down the stairs.

  ‘Wait for me in the parlour,’ she told me, as I passed her. I went in, leaving the door a little ajar so I could stand behind it and eavesdrop.

  ‘Would you like to leave your name?’ Mrs Stone asked the woman. ‘So I can inform my husband of your visit.’

  The woman faltered, before saying, ‘Anne Treveil.’ And then I heard the door close.

  On Monday morning, the day before I was to return to Porthmorvoren, Mrs Stone told me she was going out to attend a meeting with Miss Vyvyan and would not be back until late afternoon. I was to consider my instruction over and done with. It meant I would be left alone in the house until Mrs Gurney came two hours later.

  When she left, I was so skittish I hardly knew
what to do with myself. I sat on her settle, which was like her throne, and found out how it felt to be queen of her little house. The place seemed strange now I was alone in it, full of little sounds, soft thumps within the walls, the sighing of a draught in the chimney breast, and all the while the ticking of the clock that stood guard in the room. I fell to wondering what I should do with myself for two whole hours. My thoughts quickly fell upon the one thing I had wanted to do ever since my first morning in the house – to find out what happened to Lady Rosemount at the end of Virtue Rebuked by Mrs Catherine Fitzherbert. The more I tried to will away the notion, the stronger my desire grew. Unable to stop myself, I crept up the stairs, almost every one of which creaked. At the door of Mr and Mrs Stone’s bedroom I stopped, my hand on the handle, and almost lost my nerve.

  Once inside the bedroom, I left the door slightly ajar so I’d be able to hear Mrs Gurney if she showed up earlier than expected. Next, I went to the window and looked down at the street to make sure nobody was coming towards the house. The street was empty, so I opened the doors of the wardrobe and gazed upon Mrs Stone’s frocks hung all in a row. When I’d had my fill of that, I moved over to the chest. On the top she had laid out her boxes of jewellery, a silver hand mirror and little bottles of coloured glass with scented oils in them. I took off the tops and sniffed one or two, but didn’t dare to dab any on my wrists or neck.

  I realised I was only putting off the moment when I must find the book, so I got down on my knees and reached for it under the bed, but there was nothing to be found. Sorely vexed, I lay down on the floor, lifted the counterpane and looked underneath the bed but again found nothing. I knew the book must be somewhere in that room, so I got to my feet to search for it. Hardly daring to draw breath, I opened one of the little drawers at the top of the chest. It was stiff and scraped noisily. Inside were gloves, scarves, muffs and the like, but there was no book. I tried a bigger drawer underneath and found only the minister’s small clothes and stockings. Finally, I tried the very bottom drawer where Mrs Stone kept her neatly folded linen and woollen blankets. I had a hunch and felt underneath the layers of pressed cloth until my fingers butted against the corner of a hard-edged object. Listening for a moment to make sure nobody had come into the house, I pulled out the book, leaving the drawer open so I could put it back quickly, if disturbed.