The Cornish Rebel by Nicola Pryce

Author:Nicola Pryce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Corvus

Chapter Twenty-five

An air of expectation greeted us, loud voices echoing round the entrance of the assembly rooms. Built as a theatre, the balcony above was already full, a sea of faces peering down at us. The room was crowded and stuffy. Aunt Hetty had wanted no one to see us arrive and we had almost left it too late. Edging our way along the back of the room we found the last free seats. ‘Goodness . . . I didn’t think there would be this many here! There’s far more interest than I expected. Surely they can’t all want to bid for the tollgates?’

Six seats were arranged in a row on the raised stage. A group of men were talking with their backs to us, all referring to their fob watches. The clerk’s table was on one side, a large map pinned to a wooden board on the other. The man in a brown corduroy jacket looked familiar and I recognised him as Mr Cartwright who had given Benedict the papers to sign. Standing to the front of the stage, he rang a hand bell and as the shouts turned to whispers the men took their seats.

‘If we could start . . .’ Mr Cartwright looked round for confirmation. Sitting in the middle of the row of seats, a tall, slim man in his late forties scowled his consent.

‘That’s Lord Entworth,’ whispered Aunt Hetty. ‘It was his protégée who caused all the problems. His land is south of mine – just the other side of the creek. He’s the Turnpike Trust’s chairman.’

‘So it’s in his interest to build this road.’

She drew a deep breath. ‘Next to him is Mr Alfred Horner who holds a high position in the Falmouth Packet Company. His niece was one of my pupils before she asked to be removed.’

I looked at the rotund man in a brown wig. ‘So it’s in his interest to build the road.’

Her mouth tightened. ‘The man next to him, I wasn’t expecting to see. He’s Mr Henry Trevelyan who owns the Jane O’Leary. He’s Angelica’s husband. He has extensive business interests and owns a vast number of wharfs.’

A handsome, well-dressed man, Henry Trevelyan looked to be in his early thirties. He glanced up through steel-rimmed spectacles – an honest face, serious, but kind. ‘I don’t know the man in the green jacket,’ Aunt Hetty continued. ‘I’ve never seen him before. But the one with the grey hair at the very end is Sir Charles Montague – and his interest lies in the Post Office.’

‘I’m beginning to see a pattern, Aunt Hetty.’

Her frown deepened. ‘I think we must assume this is not just a consultation meeting to show the route. They’ve already made up their minds. Mr Aubyn was right. This meeting is to seek tenders.’

Lord Entworth rose and the room went silent. Dressed in silk, he flicked the lace at his sleeve. Looking down at the crowd as if wishing to be elsewhere, he almost snarled, ‘This new road we’re proposing is well overdue.

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