Pengelly's Daughter by Nicola Pryce Page B

trembling. ‘I’ve been such a fool – getting us into debt to Mr Tregellas.’ She put down her parcel, tucking a loose strand of hair under her bonnet. ‘I thought he was honest and decent, wanting the best for us but, this morning, I saw something in him I didn’t like. There was cruelty in his voice and a look in his eye I’d not seen before. It’s left me thinking I’ve been wrong to encourage your marriage.’
    My heart leapt. ‘You did only what you thought best – it’s me that’s at fault. I’ve never been the daughter you deserve.’
    She swung round to face me, her face full of anguish. ‘Don’t ye say that, not ever. Yes, ye may’ve been more of yer father’s daughter – and perhaps we’ve not shared as much as we could’ve shared, but ye’ve got strengths I could only dream of having. I love all yer learning and clever thoughts – the way ye’re so quick and have such spirit. Honest to God, I couldn’t be more proud of ye.’
    Mother had never spoken to me with such passion before, relapsing into the speech of her youth and I realised I hardly knew her. I felt suddenly so sad, as if I had never heard her speak her mind before. Bathed in the glow of the evening sun, her lovely face had pain deep in her eyes. ‘Did you love Father very much?’ I asked.
    â€˜Yes. Though, sometimes I wish…’ She paused, looking away.
    â€˜Wish what?’
    I watched her choose her words with care. ‘I wish yer father hadn’t been so taken by his anger – always ghting ’gainst those in authority. It weren’t easy, living with someone so set against the Corporation, every day thinking he’d be arrested. I know ye’ve got his passions but I think Madame Merrick’s right – yer father was wrong to encourage ye. Women can’t defy men, especially powerful men – ye know that. Everything we do, or have, the beds we sleep in, the clothes on our backs, the food in our mouths, the wood in the grate; everything depends on them.’
    A shadow fell across the sun and I shivered. She did not need to tell me something I knew so well. ‘Come,’ I said, ‘it’s getting late – let’s go home.’

    From halfway up the hill we could see something was wrong. The door to our cottage was open, Jenna pacing backwards and forwards, wringing her hands in great distress. She saw us and ran towards us, clutching her skirts so high we could see her ankles.
    â€˜Oh, Mrs Pengelly, Miss Rosehannon, thank Jesu ye’re home…There’s been thieves. Two men – I caught the back of them when I came in. They’ve thrown everything all over the place – mattresses, beds, the trunk…They stripped the larder, broken pots, pulled up the oorboards – they’ve took the washing out the bucket and dripped it all over the oor. They emptied the hens from the henhouse…broke eggs…I’ve been that busy clearing up the mess, but I’m feared they’ll be back.’ She held out her hands, grabbing us both, pushing us rmly through the door before fastening the latch.
    â€˜What have they taken? Not that there’s much to take. Did they steal our money?’ Mother rushed to the dresser, taking down the pot that once held calf’s foot jelly, relief ooding her face as it rattled reassuringly in her hands.
    â€˜That’s what’s odd – they had hold of the jar but they didn’t take it. They took nothing. That’s what’s wrong – they’ll be back.’
    I was worried sick at the mention of the washing. Grabbing Jenna by the arm, I pulled her into the kitchen, shutting the door so Mother could not hear. ‘Were your brother’s clothes in the tub? Did they nd the clothes?’
    â€˜Course not. Couldn’t hang them on the line for fear of wagging