My Lady Deceiver Read online

  ‘You’re young and single, and need to make your own life. But a woman alone in this land could soon run into trouble. I’d take care of you, Rosie love. I’d be a good husband to you. You know how I feel about you.’

  ‘Aye, I do, but I’m not seeking a husband right now, ta very much.’ Rose was thankful the music was still playing, the children still dancing, so they couldn’t hear this half-whispered proposal. Inside, she was quietly fuming. How dare he choose this fragile moment, when they were all tense and anxious, to again put forward this daft idea of his.

  ‘But you do like me, I know you do.’

  ‘Course I like you, but that’s not the same thing as wanting to marry you.’ How many times had she asked him to step back and allow her some breathing space? He was too pushy by half. ‘Leave it, Joe. Let’s just be friends for now, shall we?’

  And grabbing the children’s hands she again danced and jigged till they were all gasping for breath from the heat and exertion and obliged to sit down again to rest, Rose punishing Joe by sitting with her back to him.

  But the boost to their spirits soon dissipated and the children started moaning and fidgeting once more, Annie doing her utmost to console her tired offspring. ‘It doesn’t matter how long we have to wait, as long as we meet dear Aunt Cassie at the end of it all.’ She handed them each a last biscuit which she’d kept for just such a moment as this, when everyone was at their lowest, smiling at their joyous delight as they munched on the hard ship’s biscuit.

  Rose declined hers, handing it over to Micky as she was nervous of setting off her dry cough again. Besides, she was too busy anxiously watching the doctor who stood at the end of their line to have any appetite. Dressed in a blue uniform, he was rigorously examining every man, woman and child who shuffled before him, presumably checking for physical or mental defects.

  ‘He’s looking for lice and ringworm,’ Annie said, following her daughter’s gaze. ‘At least my children are all clean and free of such pests. Just don’t you dare cough, girl, as you pass by.’

  ‘I won’t, I promise.’

  The doctor unbuttoned a young woman’s coat to run his hands over her belly in such an intimate way that Rose was shocked. ‘What’s he doing now?’

  ‘Checking to see if she’s pregnant, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Annie said. ‘They won’t want the expense of looking after an orphan should the mother not survive the birth.’

  Rose shivered. It all seemed so much worse than she’d imagined or feared. Puzzling chalk marks were drawn onto backs, people pulled out of line and sent off somewhere, perhaps for further examinations.

  ‘He’s written L for lameness on that old man’s back,’ Joe said. ‘Poor soul. He only tripped a little on the top step, but it was enough to condemn him.’

  ‘Wo ist meine Frau?’ cried one man in despair, his wife having vanished from his side.

  One youth was pulled from the line. He looked strong and fit, quite clearly the main breadwinner of the family, but something was chalked on his back and he too was taken away, amid howls of distress.

  Joe muttered under his breath, ‘Let no one say that landing on the shores of the land of the free is either easy or pleasant. Look out, now it’s our turn.’

  ‘Be respectful,’ Annie warned her children. ‘And smile.’

  By a miracle it was soon over and they were through, grinning at each other in relief, having passed the physical exam with flying colours. And Rose had not coughed once. She felt so proud of herself she was positively perky. All that was left now were a few questions to answer, largely a repeat of what they’d been asked at the start of the voyage, and they’d be home and dry.

  The Belsfield family stood before the inspectors, bright-eyed and determined to put on their best show. ‘Did you pay for your own passage?’ they were asked.

  ‘My sister sent me the money,’ Annie politely replied.

  ‘Do you have tickets through to your final destination?’

  ‘We have the money to buy tickets.’

  ‘How much money do you have?’

  Annie showed her purse containing twenty-five dollars, which proved to be a satisfactory sum.

  ‘Where are you going? Where will you live?’

  ‘With my sister, the children’s aunt.’

  ‘Who is she? Where does she live?’ And so the questions continued. Name, age, sex, marital status, nationality, occupation, last residence, destination in America, whether they could read and write. Question after question, Rose filled with admiration for the way her mother remained calm throughout, which gave her the courage to face a similar interrogation.

  ‘Are you under contract, expressed or implied, to perform labour in the US?’ Rose was asked. They’d been warned that a ‘yes’ to this was apparently wrong, since the law forbade contract labour. A ‘no’ could result in further questioning in order to prove they wouldn’t be a drain on the state. Rose said, ‘I intend to find work in the US.’ The inspector nodded and put a tick on his form.

  Then came the expected questions about whether they’d ever been in prison, suffered from any deformities or illnesses, been charged with prostitution, or ever supported by charity.

  Annie wisely made no mention of the poor relief she’d received, claiming to be a war widow, which was true, in possession of a small income, which, strictly speaking, was not.

  The children were asked to put blocks into the right shaped holes, to prove they weren’t feeble-minded, and then it was all over.

  ‘Is that it? Are we done?’ Rose asked, a wave of relief and what she could only describe as excitement washing over her. She could even tolerate Joe continuing to make cow’s eyes at her if only they could pass safely out of this terrifying great hall and into her aunt’s waiting arms.

  But she’d reckoned without the dreaded eye test, the most feared examination of all. This was the test for trachoma, an inflammatory coating of the eyes which caused blindness. Annie subjected herself to the test first, keeping her back to the children so they couldn’t see what was happening. Each child was then examined in turn, and under stern instructions from their mother, managed not to cry. Rose came last.

  She stepped forward with some trepidation while doing her best to show the same bravery exhibited by her mother and siblings.

  ‘Put your head back, girl,’ the doctor brusquely instructed, frowning at her.

  She did as she was told, then to her horror he began to roll back her upper lid with what appeared to be a button hook. Never had she known such excruciating pain. She wanted to scream and run, but daren’t move a muscle in case that caused the instrument to do real damage to her eye. The pain was unendurable and Rose couldn’t help but let out a little whimper. The whole process was repeated with the other eye, the doctor peering so closely she could smell his breath. It stank of tobacco and something stale that was deeply repellent.

  Rose was all too aware that her eyes were indeed somewhat red-rimmed, due to her recent cold. She was wondering whether to explain this to the doctor when he suddenly turned her about, chalked something on her back, then she was being led away and pushed into a wire holding area with a dozen other people.

  Startled by this turn of events, she turned to a woman sobbing pitifully beside her. ‘What’s happening? What is this place? It looks like some sort of cage. What is it for? Are we to be examined again?’

  But the woman was shaking her head in great distress. ‘No, this is to keep us all together until they can put us back on board.’

  Back on board!

  Rose stared at the woman in shocked disbelief. She could hear her mother calling to her, screaming as she was physically restrained by two officials from running to her daughter. Rose saw Joe quickly rescue Annie from this rough treatment to fold her mother safely in his own arms, his horrified gaze seeming to burn into hers. Micky stood paralysed with shock while Mary wailed like a banshee. The smaller children all burst into noisy tears at witnessing such a distressing scene, without understanding an
y of what was going on.

  But Rose understood perfectly. In that instant she realised she’d been rejected. She would not be entering America to start a new life after all, but sent back to England on the very next ship. Alone.

  Chapter Two

  Bryce Tregowan glanced at the mantel clock and smothered a sigh. It would be an hour or more before he could tactfully withdraw, no doubt following several rubbers of bridge, a piano recital, or whatever other cultural delight Mama considered suitable to entertain her guests this evening. The room was abuzz with conversation, footmen refilling half-empty wine glasses, maids dressed in their best black bombazine with white starched aprons, constantly replacing empty plates with full ones. How he loathed these long drawn-out dinner parties. He had no quarrel with Mrs Pascoe’s excellent turbot, or the haunch of mutton, roast pheasant and cheeseboard that had followed, although he’d happily left the meringues à la crème to the ladies. But he was bored rigid by the idle gossip that characterised these functions. Generally this revolved around who would be holding the next soirée or card party, the latest scandalous affair, engagement or marriage, or more entertaining still, what everyone thought of the vicar’s sermon.

  Even now Bryce was finding great difficulty concentrating on the animated chatter of the lady on his right, whose name had already shockingly slipped his mind. Smiling and nodding he watched her mouth move, speaking words that failed to penetrate as his mind was busily engaged elsewhere. He was contemplating an appointment with his solicitor on the morrow when he would put forward his plan of acquiring a chandler’s business in nearby Fowey. Bryce was intrigued by the prospect, believing it long past time he took control of his own future. He did note that his companion’s lips were thin and rather prissy, not at all the kind of mouth he would wish to kiss, and her hair a most unnatural shade of red.

  ‘Will you be going up to town for the new season?’ she asked, intruding upon his thoughts.

  ‘I fear I have pressing business matters to attend to,’ Bryce apologised.

  She made a little moue with the pursed lips. ‘We shall be going up as soon as Easter is over. Mama insists I be properly presented. What a bore if you aren’t going to be around,’ she simpered. ‘May I dare to hope you might come up later? I’m quite looking forward to all the dances and parties, but I swear I’m nervous that I shan’t know a soul, and it would be so good to see a familiar face.’

  Bryce managed to smile and offer some platitude or other, but once again his attention drifted elsewhere as she carried on talking.

  As he had now reached the ripe old age of twenty-three, dearest Mama was constantly presenting him with possible candidates for matrimony. But if Bryce dreamt of a woman likely to capture his heart it would be someone with a natural warmth and gentleness, not this prattling scatterbrain, although he certainly had no plans at present of even looking. Being blessed with a mother who seemed to make a career out of matrimony had rather turned him against it.

  ‘What on earth do you call this?’ As if on cue her strident tones rang out in a room that had suddenly gone ominously silent. ‘I quite clearly ordered a muscat. Take this bottle back and change it at once.’

  Stifling a groan, Bryce studiously closed his ears as his mother proceeded to harangue Rowell, the butler, the poor man having inadvertently brought the wrong dessert wine. She was ever a stickler for following the niceties of etiquette to the letter, if only to prove her own role in society. Penver Court, his stepfather’s fine Queen Anne mansion, seemed to be bursting at the seams with maids and footmen; a constantly changing tribe of servants forever under a fellow’s feet, opening doors you didn’t want opening, telling him what he should, or more likely should not, be doing, wearing or eating. And he dreaded to think how this merry band was all paid for.

  A light voice, filled with teasing banter, whispered in his ear. ‘I do so admire the way Aunt Lydia makes everyone scurry to do her bidding, as if she were a duchess and not simply the second wife of a baronet?’

  ‘She can be quite formidable, that is true,’ Bryce sorrowfully agreed before grinning good-naturedly at his cousin. ‘And do you wish to emulate her success, Gwenna, on this, your second season? A pity you didn’t take on the first, but perhaps you are saving yourself for my brother?’

  Tossing her golden curls, she lifted a rather plump chin in defiance. ‘I may well consider him. You know that I love you both, with all my heart, and would marry either one of you handsome Tregowan brothers. But I need to consider that the name is not truly your own, and Jago has no hope of inheriting the title.’

  ‘Ah, I do see there can be no true value in an adopted name, however well connected, without a title attached to it.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh, one hand pressed to his chest. ‘Then I must prepare my heart to be broken.’

  Gwenna frowned. ‘If you are making fun of me, that is most unkind. Jago may be well known for his cruel wit, but I thought better of you, Bryce.’

  ‘I dare say you could manage to overlook my brother’s personal flaws if he were able to offer compensation in a more substantial currency? Such matters as wealth and land most likely weigh large in your list of attributes required in a husband?’

  ‘No woman worth her salt would marry a pauper.’

  ‘Heaven forfend,’ Bryce dryly remarked. ‘The value of hard cash can never be underestimated. It has ever been prevalent in my mother’s mind when considering a new husband, and certainly her reasoning behind insisting we take Sir Ralph’s name. Remind me, this particular marriage has lasted now for how long?’ He shook his head in despair as he watched Lady Tregowan bring Gladys the maid running with a snap of her fingers, and begin to berate the poor girl for not removing the cruet and bread basket. ‘Is it ten years? I forget.’

  ‘Twelve. You were eleven and Jago thirteen. And I was seven, looking upon you both as my heroes since dear Aunt Lydia took me under her wing, a poor little orphan with little memory of my own parents.’

  Bryce looked at her askance. ‘Poor little orphan? Perhaps you should not play that sympathy card too often, dearest, since your late papa left you very comfortably provided for, if sadly unprotected. Too much, perhaps, for a young gel who must watch out for fortune-hunters.’

  Gwenna’s blue eyes glittered. ‘One can never have too much. If I did not “take”, as you call it, in my first season, it was because I had not yet found a man worthy of me. I intend to marry well, the richest husband I can find. Money should marry money.’

  ‘Which is where this conversation began, I believe, with your wish to emulate Mama.’

  ‘You should be proud of her for having risen so high. Was she not suffering from the ignominies of a scandalous divorce when she married Sir Ralph?’

  ‘I will admit that my mother does possess a strange fascination for changing husbands rather too frequently, although that particular one was a rogue of the first quarter. Fortunately, most of her marriages have proved profitable, so considered a success in her terms,’ Bryce added with a touch of droll humour. Less successful so far as himself and his brother were concerned, bringing a lack of permanence to their young lives, and a feeling that they really couldn’t depend upon anyone but themselves. Although perhaps he’d coped better than Jago, for whom a constantly changing father figure had done no good at all.

  Gwenna gave a dreamy little smile. ‘What an exciting time that was when we all settled here, to live at Penver Court.’

  Bryce was frowning, not quite sharing this viewpoint. He recalled a tension in the air between the newly-weds from the start, a sense that each had not attained quite what they’d hoped for from the match, although his mother had certainly enjoyed playing the titled lady. ‘Unsurprisingly, this latest union did not receive the same unalloyed joy from the baronet’s own son, resulting in an estrangement that has lasted to this day, as you well know.’

  ‘Foolish young man,’ Gwenna snapped, very much imitating her aunt’s sharp tone, as she did her manners and behaviour in many other ways, Bryce had
often noticed. Now she dropped her voice still lower. ‘Is it true that Sir Ralph has written to his son in recent months, begging him to come home?’

  Bryce sighed. He felt only pity for the portly, bewhiskered old man seated beside his mother, his faded grey eyes glazed as if in some world of his own. Big-boned, with a bulbous nose and bald pate, it was certainly not Sir Ralph’s appearance which had persuaded his ambitious mother to marry a man a good twenty years older than herself. ‘I really couldn’t say, but why should he not? A man deserves to have his family about him.’

  ‘Ah, but the inheritance – I don’t mean the title, or even the house, which I know will automatically go to the son, but much of the land was to be divided between the pair of you, was it not? And a sizeable sum in hard cash? Now Aunt Lydia is fearful you will have your noses pushed out, were the son to return.’

  The frown had changed to a dangerous scowl, Bryce’s tone turning hard and condemning. ‘It is no fault of mine if my mother suffers from such false delusions. I have no wish to raid the family silver and fully intend to make my own way in the world, as is only right and proper. I would go so far as to say that Mama’s entry into the upper classes has done us few favours. What we have gained in security we have surely lost in freedom. Jago may enjoy playing the role of landed gentleman, I prefer to depend upon my own skills to forge a future for myself. I am certainly not expecting handouts from a stepfather who misguidedly fell for my mother’s rapacious charms.’

  ‘I meant no offence,’ Gwenna huffed, her lovely blue eyes widening in faux innocence. ‘I’m concerned for you both, that is all.’

  Bryce managed a wry smile. More likely she was thinking of her own ambitions, rather than theirs. ‘You have always demonstrated a salacious appetite for gossip, Gwenna, which is most unbecoming, and unworthy of you. Do not, I beg you, imitate Mama in every degree. It would be wise to exercise a little more control and think for yourself now and again, if that is possible.’

  ‘How dare you!’