For the next few weeks life at Trescadinnick settled back into its normal routine. Charles asked Sophie not to go out alone for a while. He didn’t really think Nicholas would hurt her, but he still didn’t trust him, and though they had seen nothing of him since he’d stalked out of the house, they knew he was still in Port Felec.
Will Shaw told Hannah that the news of the broken engagement had quickly spread round the village.
‘Dr Bryan’s no gentleman,’ he said. ‘He’s saying that Miss Sophie has jilted him; that she considers herself too superior to marry a simple country doctor now that she’s inherited Trescadinnick.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ retorted Hannah.
‘Maybe,’ agreed Will, ‘but the sympathy is all with him.’
‘She had a change of heart, that’s all,’ Hannah said, wishing she could at least explain to Will what had happened.
Will nodded acceptance of this. ‘Better now than after they’re wed,’ he said, ‘but you should warn her what story is going round. She may find things difficult till it all blows over.’
‘I will,’ said Hannah, and spoke to Sophie that very evening.
‘Dr Bryan is brazening it out,’ Hannah warned her. ‘The blame is being heaped on you; typical Penvarrow, too proud to marry beneath her.’
‘They can say what they like,’ Sophie said. ‘Anyone who knows me, knows that it isn’t true.’
Even so, Sophie had to hold her head high the following Sunday, when several people with whom she would normally chat outside church cut her and turned away. Nicholas was not there that day, so they had no occasion to meet, and as Sunday succeeded Sunday and there was no sign of him, she began to wonder if he had only attended morning service to be seen with her. Surely that couldn’t really be the case, but whatever the reason for his absence, it was a relief not to have to avoid him every Sunday morning.
It was after the service one Sunday, when Sophie was just about to start walking home with Charles and AliceAnne, that Miss Osell came up to sympathize with her about her broken engagement. ‘So uncomfortable for you, a broken engagement,’ she said, her voice consoling, her eyes alight with malice. ‘So close to your wedding day as well.’
‘Thank you for your sympathy, Miss Osell,’ Sophie replied sweetly. ‘But the wedding was still some way off, you know, and really it was all for the best. I doubt if I’d have made a good doctor’s wife.’ Adding with a questioning look, ‘I thought that was probably more in your line?’
Sandra Osell coloured and gave a tinkling little laugh. ‘Oh no, Miss Ross. I shall never marry. My calling is to look after my dear papa. Whereas you, no doubt, may take your pick of suitors. Plenty look for a wealthy wife, do they not... irrespective of her character?’
Sophie held on to the rags of her temper and smiling, said, ‘I really couldn’t say, Miss Osell. But I beg you not to give up hope of a husband yet. Surely someone will marry you... in the end.’ And leaving the rector’s daughter standing speechless, she inclined her head and walked away.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Charles as Sophie came up beside him.
‘Sympathy,’ said Sophie succinctly.
‘Sympathy?’
‘Disguising her jealousy. She wants Nicholas, but he’s never given her the time of day.’ Sophie gave a self-conscious laugh and said, ‘I have to admit it wasn’t a very charitable conversation for a Sunday, though, on either of our parts.’
‘Never mind her,’ Charles said, offering her his arm. ‘Let’s get back home.’ And with AliceAnne skipping along beside they walked companionably up the hill to Trescadinnick.
Back at the house, Sophie went upstairs to tidy her hair for lunch. As always, her fingers brushed the handle of Joss’s room as she passed. The door remained locked. Charles had been determined that they should not tell Louisa or Matty of Sophie’s discoveries, and Sophie agreed with him. But one day, she had promised herself, when she was truly mistress of Trescadinnick, that room would be opened and Joss’s memory should be allowed to drift out through the house that had once been his home.
*
It had been suggested that perhaps Sophie might like to move into the tower bedchamber, which had been Thomas’s. It had been cleaned and polished, its windows thrown open to the fresh sea air, clean curtains fluttering beside them, and fresh hangings on the large old oak bed, but to Sophie it would always be the room her grandfather had died in.
‘Such a fuss about that,’ scoffed Louisa. ‘The tower is the oldest part of the house. Generations of Penvarrows have been born and died in that room. My father was simply the last of many.’
Sophie knew that Louisa was right, but even so she chose to stay in her own room, the room that had been her mother’s. It had become her refuge, a place away from her Aunt Louisa, who had a caustic tongue and was still bitter about her inheritance, and from Charles, for whom she recognized she was developing more than cousinly love. She found she was listening for his voice about the house, watching for him to come home, looking for the rare smile that lit his face and made him look so much younger and less careworn. Of course, she knew that he had no such tender feelings for her, still simply regarding her as a cousin he was fond of, but no more, so she was careful not to betray any change in her feelings for him. She didn’t want his pity and was determined not to leave herself open to rejection by him a second time. She realized now that what she had felt for Nicholas was nothing more than infatuation, the infatuation of a young woman meeting with the admiration of a handsome man for the first time, swept away by his good looks and easy charm. She could see now that there was no depth to Nicholas Bryan. He was guided solely by his own selfish desires and she blushed at the thought of how easily he’d manipulated her, and for how she had allowed him to dictate to her with no thought of what she wanted or how she might feel.
The comforting presence of Charles in the house must be enough until, of course, he found someone he wanted to marry, for surely such a man wouldn’t remain a widower for ever, but that, she hoped, was in the distant future. Sophie was determined not to look beyond the next few months. She would spend the summer at Trescadinnick and then decide whether she was going to return to London or make her permanent home in Cornwall.
Gradually the house began to feel like a home once more. Louisa continued to manage the household, but Sophie took on AliceAnne’s education. She enjoyed teaching the little girl and AliceAnne was an eager pupil, longing to learn more about the world beyond Trescadinnick. Together they pored over the old atlas on the schoolroom shelf, and read from a tattered history book with stories about William the Conqueror, Henry VIII and Bonnie Prince Charlie. AliceAnne had a quick brain, and both of them enjoyed the lessons and the time they spent together. Sophie also gave her daily piano lessons and it was clear that AliceAnne had some aptitude. It wasn’t long before she could play simple pieces, delighting both her and her father when she played them for him.
Spring was in the air, but winter had not given up its last grasp on the world and there were days when the wind came in strong gusts off the sea, scurrying dark storm clouds before it – days to stay indoors in the warm, learning to make bread with Mrs Paxton, or to sew with Hannah.
It was late on an afternoon such as this, when the rain was battering the windows and the noise of the wind had risen in a crescendo, that the air was split by an echoing boom, quickly followed by two more, all clearly heard in the Trescadinnick schoolroom. AliceAnne gave a cry of fear. ‘It’s the bangs!’ And she buried her head in Sophie’s lap.
Sophie felt a jolt as well. Charles had told her long ago that if the maroons summoned the lifeboat men, he always went. Would he really venture out in this dreadful weather? She gave AliceAnne a hug and trying to keep her voice steady, she said, ‘Let’s go downstairs and see what’s going on.’ Taking her hand, she led the little girl down into the hall, where they found Charles hurriedly pulling on tarpaulin jacket and trousers over his clothes.
‘Are you going?’ Sophie asked.
‘I must,’ replied Charles. ‘I could be needed.’
‘Don’t go, Papa,’ AliceAnne cried, rushing over to him and clinging on to his arm. ‘I don’t want you to go.’
Charles kneeled down beside her and put his arms round her, drawing her against him for a moment. ‘I have to go, sweetheart,’ he murmured, ‘but I’ll be back soon.’
‘Promise?’
Charles looked at Sophie over his daughter’s head. ‘I promise, I’ll do my best,’ he said, and got to his feet. ‘Now you be a good girl and stay with your Aunt Sophie,’ adding with a meaningful look at Sophie, ‘I know you’ll look after her, Sophie, if... if I’m gone long.’
Sophie, understanding only too well, nodded, and said in a tremulous voice, ‘Come back safe, Charles. We all need you here.’
For a moment their eyes met. ‘I love you, Sophie,’ he said, as he opened the front door and without a backward glance, vanished into the storm.
Had she heard him right? Had he really said he loved her? For a moment Sophie stood transfixed and then she rushed to the door, heaving it open against the strength of the wind, and ran out into the rain, but he had disappeared into the night. Slowly, she turned, her hair dripping about her face, her clothes already soaked by the torrential downpour, and went back into the house. AliceAnne was standing where she had left her.
‘That was silly of me, AliceAnne. Now I’m all wet. I think I’ll have to go and get changed. Why don’t you run and ask Hannah to bring some tea and pikelets into the drawing room and we’ll have them by the fire?’ Sophie didn’t want tea or crumpets, but it gave the child something to do while she went upstairs to put on dry clothes.
I love you, Sophie. Charles’s words echoed in her head. Had he really said them? Did he really mean them? Joy flooded through her, only to be dashed to nothing by the thought that he was going to risk his life in a small open boat in a heavy sea, to try and save the lives of others. Of course, he might not have to go. Surely they’d have a full crew, with men from the fishing fleet. All the other volunteers would go, people like farmer Will Shaw and postman Fred Polmire, and if necessary she knew Charles would too, in the hope of saving lives.
Will Shaw! Poor Hannah! She must find her straight away.
Charles hurried along the cliff path to the village. The wind tore at his clothes and the rain drove into his face, making it difficult to see where he was going. But he knew the path well enough and it was far quicker to go that way than down the lane. When he reached the stone steps down into the village he joined others who were hurrying to the harbour, not only the lifeboat men, but those alerted to the disaster by the maroons who’d come to hear the news.
Martin Penlee was standing in the doorway of the inn, and for a moment Charles took shelter from the rain beside him. ‘What’s gone down?’ Charles asked.
‘Distress flares nor-norwest out beyond Felec Head,’ Martin replied. ‘Coaster driven onshore by Brea Head, I shouldn’t wonder. Be rough going out that way in this gale.’
Together the two men followed the other lifeboat men hurrying from The Clipper to Anvil Cove where the lifeboat, Lady Margaret, waited in her stone boathouse. Cork life jackets were handed out and the crew put them on, securing them firmly over their waterproofs. Coxswain Joe Fraser was counting heads.
‘Where’s Dan Martell?’ Joe Fraser demanded. ‘And Alfred? Alfred Dawes?’
‘Couldn’t rouse neither of ’em, Skipper,’ answered Peter Daniels, the second coxswain. ‘Banged on their doors, but no lights came on, and Davy Knight’s got a broken leg. He won’t be comin’.’
‘So we’re at least two short, if not three,’ growled Joe.
Charles stepped forward. ‘I’m here, Joe, if you want me.’
‘Give Mr Leroy a life jacket, Peter,’ ordered Joe, and moments later Charles had struggled into the jacket, fashioned from rings of cork, and joined the group hauling Lady Margaret out of the boathouse on her launching carriage.
He didn’t hear a second volunteer offer his services. Joe Fraser looked at the man and realized it was Dr Bryan.
‘You got any sea-going experience?’ he asked. The last thing he wanted was a totally inexperienced man who might be more of a liability than an asset in the boat.
‘No,’ admitted Nicholas, ‘but I am a doctor. I could be useful, and I’ll follow your orders in the boat.’
There was no time to lose and they were still a man short, so Joe made his decision. ‘Grab a life jacket,’ he said, ‘fast as you like.’
Nicholas had volunteered on impulse. He had come to the harbour to see why the maroons had been fired and he was not dressed for an open boat at sea, but following the crowd heading to Anvil Cove he got there in time to hear Charles Leroy volunteer and the germ of an idea took root. Even before he had thought it through, he had volunteered to go as well. Who could tell what accident might happen in an open boat in a heavy sea? Moments later, he too was equipped with some waterproof clothing and a cork life jacket and was back on the beach.
Willing hands had rolled the Lady Margaret down the slipway towards the tumult of the sea and she was ready to launch. Open to the seas, she was double-banked with space for twelve oarsmen. The masts had already been stepped, and the sails were ready to unfurl the instant they were clear of the rocky shore and out on clear water.
The crew scrambled aboard and took up their positions at the oars. The pounding waves splintered and shattered on the rocks that surrounded the cove, flinging spray and spume into the darkening sky, but most of the men were old hands and they had the launch of the Lady Margaret down to a fine art. The launching party pulled the boat off the trolley and she hit the waves bow on, to be tossed high on an incoming roller before slamming down into a trough beyond.
Charles had never been launched into such a wild sea and he feared that unless they could pull away quickly from the beach they would be wrecked themselves.
At a roar from Fraser, the oars were shipped and the crew began to heave in unison, trying to pull the boat clear of the incoming sea before she was turned broadside on and overturned, drowning them all. Charles gripped his oar and keeping time with his pair, pulled until his arms ached, struggling to keep the rhythm as the boat pitched its way forward. Cresting the breaking waves, and rowing into the teeth of the gale, was one of the most dangerous parts of the launch. Joe Fraser roared at them, his voice hoarse, in his determination to be heard above the thunder of the waves, and they laboured at their oars, pulling for dear life to get beyond the rocks and broken water and out towards the open sea.
Nicholas saw the seas piling up round them, breaker after breaker threatening to bury them as they struggled to pull free, and terror welled up inside him. He was going to drown. He couldn’t swim. He was wearing a life jacket, but in the roiling sea about them he knew it wouldn’t keep his head above water. Only Will Shaw, chanting the rhythm of the oars beside him, kept him in time with the rest of the crew. The oar was heavy and slippery in his hands and he longed to let it go, but inexperienced as he was, he realized that would be disastrous and had to keep pulling. Suddenly they burst out of the cove, rising on a wave, surfing down its back into a valley of green water, only to rise on the next wave to be buffeted by the wind. But for now they were clear of the rocks and headed out to sea.
Immediately the boat passed Anvil Rock and the dark needles of rock just below the surface that surrounded it, Fraser gave the order to hoist the sails. With the oars shipped inboard and the lifeboat now under sail, the coxswain stood in the stern, clinging to the rudder lines as he did his best to steer a course through the mountainous seas to take the Lady Margaret and her crew out towards the distressed ship.
Charles watched the expert seamanship of the coxswain and his second as they ordered the reefing of the sails, leaving mere rags of canvas to carry them along. The boat carried swinging storm lanterns, giving minimal light for the coxswain to check the compass as they headed out to sea. As the darkness deepened, their swinging circles of light cast moving shadows across the faces of the men as they strained to see out over the heaving water. At first Charles thought he must be mistaken, but as the lantern swung again he saw and recognized the man seated two thwarts in front of him, and it was only then that he realized Nicholas Bryan was also aboard. He sat beside Will Shaw, his face a deathly white beneath his sou’wester, his body rigid with fear.
He must be another extra volunteer, thought Charles. He’s clearly not one of the regular crew.
As if he’d felt eyes upon him, Nicholas turned stiffly and looked back along the boat, his expression hostile when he saw who was watching him, and then looked away.
The rain had eased a little, but the wind was still as strong and the sea as rough. Ahead of them there was another burst of flame that burned for several minutes, illuminating the drifting ship, before it was quenched by the sea. She was a small cargo ship and it was clear that the storm had damaged her superstructure. One mast was snapped off, its cross-trees smashed across the deck, and they could see that she must already be holed as she was listing heavily. Unable to steer away from the lee shore, she was being driven by wind and tide towards the cliffs that dropped sheer into the water, and it wouldn’t be long before she was cast up on the rocks at their feet.
The Lady Margaret was making good headway now, and her crew heard a ragged cheer go up from the sailors, as they saw her lights and ran to lean over the rails and call for help.
‘We’ll try and go alongside,’ called Joe Fraser. ‘Ready the lines.’
The regular crew knew the drill and stood by to throw lines to the waiting sailors, but the sea was too rough to get close enough. Joe took Lady Margaret round again, and as they passed under her stern Charles saw the name Minerva painted in curved gold letters on her stern, and his heart missed a beat. Their ship! And she was going to be a total wreck. They’d be lucky if they could save anything of her cargo, even if she stranded within reach of the shore rather than the reef that ran out from the cliff. But then, at this rate, he’d be lucky to survive himself!
He put the fate of the cargo and the Minerva herself out of his mind. The priority now was to take the crew off and carry them safely back to Port Felec, and that, Charles could see, would be no easy task. Lady Margaret was in great danger of being smashed against Minerva’s hull as the seas threw them together. Even as they approached a second time, the Minerva gave a shudder, and sank lower in the water, and the cries of her crew came in desperation across the water.
Joe Fraser ordered the sails to be lowered, and this time when they approached the wreck the oars were shipped, and they rowed the lifeboat as close as they dared in a desperate attempt to hold the boat steady on the swell of the sea and effect a rescue.
‘Ready the lines,’ cried Peter Daniels.
Again men were ready to toss ropes to the men on the stricken ship, and though this time they were closer, the lines still fell short. Another rumble came from within the belly of the ship and her bow dipped deeper into the sea. Suddenly one of Minerva’s crew tied a rope round his waist and without warning jumped into the sea, disappearing into the water between the two boats. At first Charles thought he must have jumped to his death, but suddenly Martin Penlee, holding one of the lanterns over the side and peering into the water, gave a cry. ‘There he is!’ He picked up a cork lifebelt and fastening a line to it, tossed it towards the man struggling to swim in the surging water. He grabbed it and clung on tightly as they pulled him through the water to the side of the boat and heaved him aboard. He was gasping for breath, and while he vomited seawater over the side, Peter Daniels grabbed the line from round his waist and started to haul on it. Fred Polmire tail-ended the rope and together they pulled it inboard, bringing in the heavier rope attached to it, which they made fast round a thwart. With a shout and a wave, they signalled to the Minerva’s crew to slide down this rope to the safety of the lifeboat. The rope pulled taut as the sea pulled the lifeboat away, but with a yell the first crewman swung himself onto the rope and clinging on for dear life above the surging water, he swung down and was gathered into the arms of Peter Daniels.
‘How many more?’ Daniels demanded.
‘Six,’ gasped the man. ‘The rest...’
Another shout and the next man was on his way down, clinging to the rope with hands and feet, swiftly followed by the rest. The Minerva continued to drift and the crew of the Lady Margaret struggled manfully to keep her on station as each man slithered down the rope. As the last man began his descent the Minerva began to roll. The rope stretched to breaking, snapped with a sound like a gunshot and with a scream the last crewman fell into the sea.
‘Pull!’ bellowed Joe Fraser. And they pulled, heaving on the oars to carry Lady Margaret away from the sinking ship. The sea boiled round them as the Minerva rolled slowly over until she was on her side, and then with a strange sucking sound she slipped beneath the waves and disappeared, leaving only a whirlpool swirling behind her.
They could feel the lifeboat being drawn back into the vortex Minerva had created as she sank into her grave, and they pulled for their very lives until at length they were clear and Joe Fraser called for them to rest on their oars. There was no sign of the man who had fallen in and everyone aboard knew that there never would be.
The coxswain ordered the sails hoisted again and they began the long beat back to Anvil Cove. The rescued sailors huddled together for warmth, frozen in the chill of March. They had been on the drifting ship for several hours, not daring to go below for fear of being trapped and drowned.
Peter Daniels spoke to the man who had risked his life jumping to bring them the line attached to the rescue rope. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘We hit a rock coming round Brea Head. Though we sailed on, we were holed below the water line and began taking on water. The cargo shifted and we began to list. We were getting the sails down when the mast snapped, just like that!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Broke clean away and landed on the deck. Two men killed outright and another two swept overboard, but we could do nothing for them.’ He buried his head in his hands. ‘Good men all,’ he said.
‘It was your jump that saved the rest of you.’ Daniels rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘We couldn’t get close enough to throw you a line.’
‘You, Dr Bryan,’ Peter Daniels called to Nicholas. ‘See what you can do for these men. They’re all in a pretty bad way.’
Nicholas did what he could for the rescued men, who huddled together in a vain effort to keep warm, but had little to offer them apart from a mouthful of brandy each from the supply kept for just this purpose. All the way back to Anvil Cove, they were drenched by the sea breaking over the Lady Margaret’s bow, slapping the crew and nearly swamping the boat. Every man prayed as he clung to his thwart to avoid being washed overboard by the fearsome waves.
By the time they were in sight of the beach, the rain had ceased and a half-moon sailed out from the ragged clouds still being driven across the sky. As they rounded the headland they could see lights on the beach, and the crowd of people gathered there.
They still had to run the boat in through the breakers and onto the beach and that, they all knew, was going to be a rough ride. Joe Fraser went head to wind so they could furl the sails and unstep the masts. With the rescued men aboard there was little room to manoeuvre, and Charles moved out of the way of the crew who were dealing with the sails and stood in the waist of the boat, waiting to resume his seat. The moon had disappeared behind a cloud and in that instant of darkness Nicholas, who had been waiting his chance, came up behind Charles and punched him violently in the kidneys. Charles gasped and staggered, clutching at air as the boat heaved on an incoming wave and he felt himself falling. A second punch followed the first and then Charles was hoisted off his feet and over the gunwale. In desperation he kicked back at his attacker, bringing his boot up hard into his groin even as he fell into the icy cauldron of the sea. He didn’t hear the agonized screech that Nicholas gave as he doubled up in pain and falling against the side of the boat, vomited into the sea. At that moment the Lady Margaret was inundated by a mountainous wave that broke over the boat, its waters cascading over the crew and sweeping Nicholas over the side.
‘Man overboard!’ cried Fred Polmire, who had seen the wave take him. He rushed to peer into the heaving water, but he could see nothing. The Lady Margaret had swung round on the tumult of the sea and Nicholas had disappeared. ‘Man overboard!’ Fred shouted again. Peter Daniels grabbed a storm lantern and held it aloft, straining to see the bob of a head above the water, but there was nothing. Two of the crew grabbed the other two lanterns and leaned out as far as they dared, swinging the lanterns to try and catch sight of someone in the water, but there was nothing to see but the swirling waves.
‘Too late for him now,’ cried Joe Fraser. ‘Ship oars.’
The crew followed his orders and the Lady Margaret negotiated the dangerous run into the mouth of the cove, running aground on the beach. The incoming waves still lifted her stern, but there were plenty of strong arms ready to haul her clear of the waves. They were home. The crowd surrounded her, wives and mothers reaching for their loved ones who staggered out onto the beach, returned safe home from the sea. Willing hands helped the rescued crew of the Minerva out of the boat and led them, cold, wet and shaking, along the path to the harbour and the welcome warmth of The Clipper.
Joe Fraser and Peter Daniels stood with Fred Polmire beside the lifeboat, and from habit Joe counted heads. Were there two missing, or had he miscounted with all the people milling about on the beach? Yes, that had to be it. It was bad enough to have lost one man to the sea, but he was sure he hadn’t lost two.
He turned to Fred Polmire. ‘What happened out there, Fred?’ he demanded.
‘Not sure, Skipper, but the doctor suddenly gave a shriek. For some reason he was leaning over the side. Then that big wave broke over us and when we steadied again, I realized he was gone.’
‘But what was he doing?’
‘Think he was being sick. It was pretty rough out there and he’s not a sailor, is he? ’Less you’re used to a sea like that, it can bring your guts up.’
‘You think he was leaning over the side to be sick?’
‘I don’t know, Skip, it was all so quick. One minute he was there and the next he was gone.’
‘And no sign of him in the water,’ Joe said bleakly.
‘Tide’s on the ebb. He must’ve been sucked under and dragged out.’ Seeing the coxswain’s agony, he added, ‘But don’t you blame yourself, Skipper. No more you could do by then and it was your job to bring the rest of us in safe. If we’d gone broadside to they rollers, we’d all have been done for. He had a life jacket on, didn’t he? So, maybe he’ll swim ashore somewhere.’
‘If he can swim,’ said Peter Daniels gloomily. ‘But Fred’s right, Joe, you made the right call. There was not much we could do for him once he was in the water in the dark. You were right to make sure everyone else in the boat was safe. No point in rescuing the others to lose them coming into the beach.’
Joe Fraser knew they were right, but it didn’t make it any easier. Until now, in all their attempted rescues, he’d never lost a man from his crew. Nicholas Bryan was the first and he felt the full weight of that responsibility.