There were times when Isabella felt like a spoilt child with too many toys. She had more clothes than places to go. She had two horses. She had a gardener who had been told to humour her every whim, which did not endear her to him, for she knew nothing about flowers although she was trying to learn.
Some days she thought she would turn into her own grandmama before she reached twenty years. Time passed slowly like a meandering, infinite summer. Isabella felt suspended, like a dragonfly hovering in one place over the river. There was nothing to complain of save that her life seemed to have little purpose.
Botallick House, Richard’s family home, lay above the mouth of a small creek near Falmouth. The windows at the front of the house faced down to the small quay and natural harbour, where sailing boats and small trading schooners were moored. When Isabella was in the garden she could hear the boats swinging about on their anchor chains, moving and turning on the tide, their rigging clinking and whistling in the wind. It was a comfortable, lazy sound, somehow reassuring for she found sailing folk to be jolly and friendly.
Richard kept his own small sailing boat down there and occasionally Isabella would go out with him if the weather was calm. But she was not a natural sailor; she mistrusted the sea having grown up on the north coast and seen what a calm sea could so quickly turn into.
Her husband, however, was in his element. He respected the sea but appeared to have no fear of the sudden unexpected savageness of tide and wind despite his adventures as a naval captain, which he was fond of recounting to Isabella at length, usually at meal-times.
Unlike her father, who rarely conversed at any length with her mama, Richard would talk animatedly of his plans to Isabella.
‘My love,’ he would burst into the room, disturbing her daydreams, her book-reading or gardening. ‘My love, what did you think of Sir Penrose? I saw that you talked to him at length last night. Women are so good at defining character. Is he trustworthy? Does he have a steady heart, do you think, for the business of investing in trading vessels? Is he a fair and honest man?’
Isabella would consider slowly and seriously for she knew that her husband had already made up his mind and hoped only that she would verify his own opinion. She also suspected that if she had talked too long with any one gentleman at dinner, Richard needed to know what she thought of him. She had learnt to be measured in any approbation and careful over any reservations she might have. Generally, though, she gave her honest opinion, especially if she thought her generous husband was being exploited or that his assessment of character was awry.
Isabella did not believe there was any schooner or brigantine that Richard did not know and revere. He was interested in all manner of shipping and in business he was very astute, this she had learnt before her marriage from her father. Daniel Vyvyan had been so impressed by Richard’s success with trading schooners that he had taken up a partnership in one.
Her husband owned four two-masted schooners of his own which traded around the British Isles, South Wales, the Scottish coast and Ireland. He traded in all manner of diverse goods: coal, tea, slate, furniture, farm implements, drink and foodstuffs.
Richard was Devonshire-born, but as well as inheriting Botallick House he still owned a small family summer house in St Piran where many of his ships were built or refitted. His larger vessels, the three-masted schooners, were jointly owned by three or four families who held shares in the ships. Indeed, Richard had taken out shares in Isabella’s name and taken the time to explain exactly what this meant.
This year he was having a ship built in Prince Edward Island in Canada, for the wood and labour were cheaper. He planned to take emigrants out to the colonies in this new schooner and to bring lumber and exports back in the empty vessels.
The trading ships disgorged such a strange assortment of cargo upon the beaches and harbours. Lisette and Isabella set off sometimes to Falmouth to watch the vessels unload. It was a veritable treasure-trove, a meeting place of diverse utilities and personal items. Candles, salt, bags of nails, soap, a piano, a toy horse, a puncheon of rum.
Smuggling was rife everywhere, but Isabella could not blame these men, for the mines had been closing for years as the tin had dried up. She had heard that the farmers were resorting to violence at the wilful export of foodstuffs needed here at home after poor harvests. Drink, of course, was the most smuggled item. The coastguard had recently found ninety kegs of rum as well as tobacco and wine in a cave just below Botallick House.
All these little things diverted Isabella’s days. They also helped her to view an outside world she had never been a part of, only viewed from a distance, only glimpsed from a vantage point of a large house.
Richard appeared before her one day.
‘Tomorrow,’ he announced excitedly, ‘I have a surprise for you. Leave the morning free, my love. We will ride together into Falmouth.’
‘Tell me!’ Isabella begged. ‘I cannot wait until tomorrow. Please?’
‘Indeed I will not,’ he placed his hand on the back of her neck. He was very pleased with himself, ‘for then it will not be a surprise.’
Isabella moved slightly away, for his hand was heavy. He squeezed her arm. She could not move away again or she would hurt his feelings. The shadow was back; she did not like his touch and tried hard to hide it, not to shiver. His hands were large and in private, in their bed, she felt as if he was going to swallow her. She closed her eyes, banishing the image of a pig bending to the trough. He was so eager and excited and clumsy and she was repelled.
Lisette, without a word exchanged between them, had helped Isabella with this difficulty. She left porter by his bedside so that he often fell asleep before he could turn for her. Lisette also explained to Sir Richard that Isabella had always slept badly and must have a room of her own where she could toss and turn without disturbing him.
Of course this did not stop Richard visiting her, but Lisette, who always seemed to know, would leave her a small glass of milk and brandy. Isabella took it like medicine and it enabled her to float away from her body, to detach herself from what he was doing.
Afterwards, when Richard slept or had gone back to his own room, Isabella would cry silently for a thing that was taken from her, a thing she could hardly bear to give. Then she would be angry with herself. This was her husband. It was his right.
That night, during his expected visit, before the promise of tomorrow, Isabella tried hard to hide her revulsion and the act was blessedly quick. As he slept beside her Isabella tried to think of what his secret could be. She was more than a little intrigued.