Chapter 6
SIX
The gaol wasn’t signposted, but Nancy knew where it was.
‘Live ’ere long enough, you see all sorts,’ she muttered as they bustled along the high street and then took a right turn down a narrow lane. As soon as we walked down the lane, the daylight dimmed and our steps were shadowed by tall, brown brick terraces on both sides.
We walked along a quiet terrace to the end building, which was a larger, red brick affair. Its door was heavy, painted a dark blue, with a circular iron door handle. Nancy stepped up to the door and rapped on it.
We listened to the echo of her knock reverberate deep into the building. Nothing happened. We exchanged a glance. Nancy knocked again.
This time, after we’d waited a few moments, we heard the noise of keys jingling and someone on the other side of the door. Nancy stepped back down onto the street.
The door swung open to reveal a stout man in a policeman’s uniform.
‘’Elp you, miss?’ he enquired, blinking in the daylight.
‘Oh. Yes. Good day,’ Nancy began. ‘I am Nancy Willcock of St Nantes, and this is my dear friend, Mrs Tegan Penrose, of Penzance. We believe that you have her husband William Penrose, here, and we have come to ask that he may be released.’
Nancy was using a much more proper accent than she usually did, and it seemed to work, because the policeman nodded and stood aside to let us in.
‘Right y’are. Big fella, is it?’ he asked, gruffly, as they entered. ‘’Ee’s been a right pain in the arse, if you don’t mind my French, missus.’
‘That’s the one,’ Nancy replied. ‘What’s the bail amount?’ She was brisk and businesslike. I wondered if she’d done this before.
My heart was beating in my throat. I was so nervous; the prospect of seeing William again made me want to cry with joy and grief at the same time.
But I was also nervous that the police would want to see some document that would prove William was my husband.
There was no way I could make them believe me, if it came to proof.
‘No bail. ‘’Ee’s not done anything wrong; ’ee just was a nuisance. We thought ’ee was drunk, so we brought ’im in. Fought a bit, but nothin’ terrible. Just as well you found ’im, miss, otherwise we would’ve sent ’im to the workhouse up Exeter way in another day or two.’
The fact that there was no bail required was a huge relief.
I was surprised to see that Nancy had come prepared with some candlesticks and the money she’d earned the day before in Tintagel, reading fortunes and selling remedies, but it wasn’t much.
I’d been so touched that she’d even offered to help me, let alone potentially bail William out of gaol.
But Nancy just said, I took a vow to ’elp the travellers, and ’elp is what I’ll do.
The policeman led us through a reception area with a heavy wooden desk and two leather-topped chairs, and into a back room which featured two cells, barred off with iron doors.
He opened a viewing slot on the door on the right and peered in, then stood aside and gestured to me that I should look inside.
‘That your husband?’ he asked, as I peered into the gloom.
Inside the cell, I could only make out a slumped figure, sitting on a chair. I squinted. It was a man, I could see that, but not much else.
‘I can’t really see him,’ I whispered.
‘Ah.’ The policeman nodded. ‘May I?’ He indicated the spot where I was standing, and I stood aside again. He peered into the viewing slot and addressed the man.
‘Sir. Your wife is here. Kindly stand and come towards the door so that she might see your face,’ he said, firmly.
There was a scuffling noise behind the door.
‘I don’t have a wife. Not anymore,’ a voice replied. It was low and sonorous; a voice that I would have recognised anywhere.
The policeman stood by so that I could look in again.
William De Vere Trevarron’s dark brown eyes met mine in the gloom. The eyes that I knew so well. The eyes that I’d thought I’d never see again.
‘William,’ I breathed. ‘It’s me. Tegan.’
There was a silence.
‘William?’ I whispered. ‘Can you hear me? It’s me, Tegan. I’ve come for you.’
‘Tegan?’ His voice was hoarse. I heard a noise like a thud. I looked in through the flap and saw that he stood with his forehead resting against the iron door. ‘Can it be you?’
‘Yes. I’m here,’ I repeated. My heart swelled at the familiar tone of his voice.
It was him. I hadn’t been sure at first – it was all so unlikely, so ridiculous that I would find William on the other side of that iron door. It should have been someone else; a stranger. I hadn’t been sure until I saw his eyes and heard his voice.
I turned to the policeman.
‘What do I have to do to take him home?’ I asked.
‘Just sign ’im out, miss. Then you’ll be takin’ ’im back to Penzance, will you?’
‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘Back home.’
‘Right you are.’ The policeman sighed. ‘You can tell ’im that we don’t appreciate drunkards in Tintagel, as well. This is a nice village. If ’ee wants to go around pretendin’ ’ee’s the lord of the manor, ’ee can do it down south.’
‘Of course, officer,’ I replied, following him to the heavy wooden desk where he gestured for me to sit down. Nancy followed and stood behind me.
The policeman passed me a piece of paper and showed me where to sign.
‘This says that I’m releasin’ your husband to your custody. Write your name an’ address there.’ He pointed to a blank space. On the spur of the moment, I conjured up a fake address and wrote it down.
Well, that was that. I’d committed a crime. Perjured myself, or something similar, but I didn’t care. I was already in 1867 under false pretences, and I didn’t have any intention to stay any longer than I had to.
‘Right then. Wait here an’ I’ll get ’im.’ The man heaved himself up from behind the desk and went back to the cells.
‘That’s ’im, then? Your Lord Trevarron?’ Nancy murmured as we waited. I nodded.
‘Yes.’ My heart was still pounding.
‘Dear Lord.’ She crossed herself. ‘You really weren’t makin’ it up.’
They waited in silence, but William didn’t appear. Finally, after about ten minutes, the policeman returned, looking chagrined.
‘’Ee won’t come.’ he said. ‘Says ’ee’d rather stay in the cell.’
‘What?’ I gasped.
The policeman shrugged. ‘Can’t say I get a lot o’ people what want to stay in the cells, especially if they ’ad a nice young lady like you to go ’ome with. But, there’s no way o’ knowin’ what’s in people’s minds.’
‘Can I see him?’ I asked.
‘Aye. Maybe you should go an’ speak to ’im, miss.’ He led me back to where we’d just been. ‘I’ll give you a moment,’ he added, kindly.
I stood outside of the iron door again and looked inside the cell.
‘William. What’s wrong?’ I asked quietly. He was pacing the cell like an agitated bear; his footsteps rung out heavily on the stone floor.
‘Go away,’ he grumbled, glancing up at the cell door and then back at his feet. ‘I don’t want to see you, Tegan. And I don’t want you to see me like this.’
‘What? No. I’m not leaving you. Don’t be silly.’ I watched as he continued to pace the small cell. ‘You’ve been released. You can come with me.’
I deliberately resisted using the phrase you can come home, because I was afraid of what he might say.
William’s home was Trevarron House, after all.
I didn’t want the police to think that William was still delusional for thinking that he was the Lord of Trevarron, even though he was – just, in the wrong time.
‘I don’t want to. Go away.’ He turned his back to me. I could see the anger in his rigid shoulders; the stiffness in his gait that showed his tension.
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ I hissed in a low voice, so that the policeman couldn’t hear. ‘William. This is a gaol. You can’t stay here.’
‘Tegan. Leave me alone,’ he repeated. ‘I forbid you to stay here any longer. Do as I say!’
‘Do you realise what will happen to you if you stay here?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘You’ll get sent to the workhouse, or an asylum, if they think you’re mad enough. At the moment they just think you had a few too many drinks. For goodness’ sake, William. Come with me!’
‘I don’t know what a workhouse is, but whatever it is, they wouldn’t dare. I am Lord of Trevarron!’ William raised his voice; I shushed him.
‘William. They can take you to a place and imprison you there just for being poor and drunk and, in their eyes, worthless. They can make you do manual labour for years. You wouldn’t have any choice in the matter,’ I whispered.
‘I know you’re confused. I know that you don’t understand what happened.
But you have to come with me, or you won’t survive. ’
‘Such places can’t exist,’ he scoffed, but there was doubt at the edge of his voice.
‘Tegan. I am not confused. I am livid!’ He banged his fist against the cell door, and I jumped back in shock.
‘How could you know what I feel? A few days ago I was the Lord of Trevarron. In the course of knowing you, I found myself under suspicion by the police, chased through the grounds of my ancestral home and then, through some kind of witchcraft, I find myself in those same grounds, but treated as a beggar by people I have no recognition of!’ He had raised his voice again and I shushed him, terrified that the policeman might hear and decide to send William to the asylum.
‘William, please be quiet!’ I hissed, but he laughed dully.
‘You would have me be quiet? Why? How much worse can this be?’ He came to the cell door and stared out at me aggressively.
‘Tegan. I am furious with you! I will not be quiet because you say so. I don’t know where I am – or, when…
but I wish to be looked at pityingly by you less than any potential horror this environment can provide me with.
So, please, leave me here, and forget that we ever met.
I will endure whatever this place has in store for me. ’