Chapter VIII
VIII
From the start, it was agony. Agony sitting in the cold parlour making small talk with her aged aunt.
Agony meeting for the first time the cold, hard man she was to wed.
Lord Robert Penhelion was considered a fine catch, but Bess knew that even if her heart had not been already pledged, she could never grow to love him.
He was courteous but indifferent, much older than she, and concerned mainly with his duties as a local magistrate, gathering support to become an MP, and running his shipping business.
The only comfort she found from the first meeting was the fact that he was in mourning for his mother, and therefore the wedding would not take place until the autumn.
Three months in which anything could happen, though she only wished for one thing.
To be claimed by James. To be taken away to a new life by the man she loved.
But as the months progressed, a new worry took hold in her mind. Her monthly bloods, usually as regular as clockwork, stopped coming. At first, she thought she had miscounted, then imagined it was on account of the change of diet and environment. But at last, she had to face the shameful truth.
She was with child.
What could she do? It was an unconscionable situation – the worst, most shameful thing that could happen to a woman.
If her mother was here, she would have cast her out; her father would have likely disowned her.
She was sick in her body and terrified in her mind.
And yet, as the weeks went by, she knew that she loved the child growing inside of her more than life itself. Almost… as much as his father.
His father. How she longed to see James again.
Every night, she stared at the model ship, praying that when she ventured out in the morning, she would see the tall riggings of the real one bisecting the sky above the horizon.
But each time, she was disappointed – though not surprised.
She had learned from Lily that Lord Robert had sent the Halcyon on a long voyage around the Horn of Africa to the East Indies, and the ship was unlikely to be back for many months.
How could she endure the waiting – the not knowing if and when James would return?
All the while knowing that Lord Robert’s period of mourning was almost at an end, and he would want to wed and bed her.
Though she had taken Lily into her confidence, the girl was as ignorant about the mysterious workings of pregnancy and marriage as she was.
Lily had proved handy with a needle and had raised the waistline of Bess’s gown to hide her growing bump, but such deception would not be possible when lying with her husband.
If only they had married as soon as she arrived. Then she could have claimed the baby in her belly was his. Other women from time immemorial had done the same, surely. But could she carry out such a deception? Was it already too late?
Never before had Bess felt so alone. There was no one to help her or to confide in, and with each passing day, she grew more and more despondent.
To escape the confines of the house, she took to riding out each morning on the small lanes and paths that went inland or along the cliffs to the village.
It was her one small pleasure, and the little cob kept by her aunt was sturdy and true.
Each day, she ventured further afield, her mind whispering that she should keep going and never return.
But if she did, then James would never find her.
It was imperative that she cling to the unravelling threads of hope.
One morning, she awoke to bright sun and asked the groom to saddle the horse.
He shook his head, advising her that bad weather was coming and that she should not venture out.
‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘I know my way by now, I assure you.’
‘If the mists descend, then it’s on your head, ma’am,’ he said.
‘Then let it be so.’
She rode on, and for a while, the sun shone bright and the sea sparkled in the distance.
But all too soon, she discovered her folly.
Tendrils of mist swept across the moorland like the thick breath of demons, and in a matter of minutes, she could barely see the ears of her mount, let alone find her way across the treacherous ground.
She tried to turn the horse, but the little animal had the bit in his teeth.
All Bess could do was cling to the saddle and hope that he had more sense than she did, and that they would not tumble off the edge of a cliff.
She was right to trust the horse, for before long, she made out the roof of a building, its contours blurred by mist. She could hear the sound of waves – they must be somewhere on the cliffs near Penglas Cove, which she’d been told was a most treacherous place.
A sign swung in the wind with an eerie screech.
The Cross Keys. The horse had found its way to an inn.
‘Are you sure about this?’ she said. For hadn’t she heard rumours that this inn was frequented by smugglers and blaggards like Old John Dog?
But there was no choice. She was wet and cold and lost. She managed to dismount the horse and went to the door of the inn.
‘Please.’ She knocked loudly. ‘Is anyone here?’
After a minute or two, the door was opened by a broad woman in a stuff dress, apron, and lace cap.
‘Lord ‘a’ mercy,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t expecting anyone out in this weather. Let alone a lady. Lord Robert’s betrothed, am I right?’
‘You are,’ Bess said. She swayed on her feet, and the woman took her arm to steady her.
‘Well, maid, come inside where it’s warm,’ she said. ‘Before he sailed, Captain James sent a note saying we was to look out for you if you needed help.’ She frowned down at Bess’s belly. ‘And from the look of things, you need it now.’
Bess blushed, ignoring the woman’s knowing glance. ‘The captain sent a note? To you?’
‘Aye,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Maggie Kernick. Landlady here. I’ve known James since he was this high.’ She held out a hand at her waist. ‘He’s cut from a good cloth, that one.’ She frowned. ‘Much better than his cousin.’
‘James…’ Bess whispered, collapsing on a bench in the common room.
Maggie brought her warm brandy and sat down opposite her.
Already the woman had shown her kindness, and she was trusted by James.
The dam of pent-up emotion burst inside of her and Bess broke down in tears, confessing everything.
Though this woman was of low birth and couldn’t be trusted, there was no one else.
Like a worm inside her gut, the story had to come out.
The older woman held her, stroked her hair.
Then, in a hoarse whisper, asked her if she wanted to be rid of the problem.
‘No!’ Bess said. ‘I mean, it is not the babe I wish to be rid of, rather, my betrothal – and my prospective husband.’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘So you’re in love with Captain James – the babe’s daddy, is that right?’
‘Yes.’ Bess lowered her eyes, her cheeks flushed. ‘On my last night aboard the Halcyon, he promised to come for me. He said he would sail through fire and storm, sail through death to the ends of the earth, but that he would return.’
Maggie patted her hand. ‘Then you’d best pray that he keeps his word.’
‘He will,’ Bess said. ‘But… I don’t know when.’
Maggie sighed. ‘I’m sorry, maid, but it seems you’re in a right pickle then, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Bess agreed. ‘A right pickle.’