Taking Liberties. Diana Norman

of Nicholls’s attempt to search her house, were a-brim with tales of smugglers and smuggling.

      She looked covertly towards their wives, who had formed a separate nosegay of their own, to see if they minded. She must be careful; if she was to settle in this area, she must not outrage its female society. Already she had refused all invitations to dance and was emitting no signals saying she wished to flirt, which she did not. Aymer had knocked such playfulness out of her very early on.

      Admiral Edgcumbe, she knew, was merely paying her the attention due to an esteemed guest by a kindly host. The others? Well, she was new on stage and, despite her listlessness and the grey dreariness of her dress, still not totally repulsive.

      Her main concern was Captain Luscombe who’d proved most eager to bring her an ice from the supper table, which, since he had been introduced to her as the officer in charge of Millbay Prison, she had graciously allowed him to do. But as the good captain was a fat fiftyish bachelor, susceptible, as she’d learned from Lady Edgcumbe, to anything in petticoats, she didn’t think the ladies of Plymouth would begrudge her this minor conquest.

      The glance reassured her; the women were serene, they saw her as no threat. Perhaps jealousy was an emotion naval wives could not afford, or was reserved for the unknown women their husbands encountered in other ports. The Admiral and his cronies were being allowed to entertain a newcomer with tales the ladies had heard many times before, while Lady Edgcumbe and her cronies indulged in more interesting local gossip. Satisfied, the Dowager inclined her ear to stories related with affectionate shakes of the head more usually awarded to naughty children.

      It was a relief that Babbs Cove was not the centre of them.

      Babbs Cove? Probably did its share but no more than any other village nearby – that privilege was reserved for Cawsand along the coast in Cornwall, what a smugglin’ nest, its fishermen more familiar with brandy and lace than fish, bold, cunnin’ ruffians that they were. Courageous, though; bitter work to sail to and fro from Roscoff and Cherbourg in winter, got to hand it to ’em. And its women just as audacious …

      ‘Remember old Granny Gymmer? Crossed the sands regularly carrying bottles of Hollands wrapped in a child’s shawl and when the Revenue complimented her on such a nice quiet baby, had the nerve to say: “Ah, but I reckon her do have plenty of spirit in her.”’

      Amused, Diana asked: ‘Why then does Captain Nicholls not devote all his searches to Cawsand if it is so notorious, rather than Babbs Cove?’

      ‘Well, you know these fellows who come from the wrong side of some noble blanket …’

      Mrs Nicholls, it appeared, had made public property of her son’s connection to the Pomeroy name.

      ‘… probably thinks the house would have been his had his great-granny been given her rights. Jealous, like all bastards.’

      Obviously, Captain Nicholls was not liked. Her informants’ antipathy was compounded by his profession. Diana was surprised by their animosity towards an upholder of the law that they had not displayed to the breakers of it. His Majesty’s Royal Navy, it seemed, loathed His Majesty’s Board of Customs. Excisemen could get prize money and bonuses for a successful capture without leaving the comparative safety of home waters. They were the night-soil collectors of maritime society – necessary but not to be fraternized with. There were other sins …

      ‘Limpin’ home in Lancaster after Quiberon Bay, we were,’ the Admiral said, spraying vol-au-vent and resentment, ‘just about to enter harbour when up sails a blasted Revenue cutter, flyin’ the pennant if you please, and you know and I know that’s not allowed ’less they’re in pursuit. “Comin’ aboard to search for contraband,” the ’ciseman says. “You’re damn well not,” I said. I admit we had a few ankers of brandy in the mess, some trinkets for the ladies and God knows what the crew had stowed away, but fightin’ for our country we damn well deserved it. Wasn’t going to let some ribbon-flutterin’ shore-hugger take it for nothin’. “You sheer off,” I told him, “or I’ll turn my guns on ye. An’ haul that damn pennant down.”’

      The anecdote and the applause that greeted it provoked a certain sympathy in the Dowager for that particular exciseman and, had he been more likeable, even for Captain Nicholls himself. Both were pursuing their rightful office, after all. Nevertheless, when she looked around to see if the man had overheard, she was unaccountably relieved to find that he and his mother had gone.

      It took some doing on her part, but at long last she was able to steer the conversation so that someone, not her, mentioned the prisoners of war. As she’d hoped, the Admiral’s memory was pricked.

      ‘By the by, Luscombe, I hear that Howard fella’s inspectin’ prisons in the area. You lettin’ him have a look at Millbay?’

      ‘Thought I might, thought I might,’ Captain Luscombe said. ‘Fearfully overcrowded at the moment, of course, but their lordships seem keen on it; show the fella how the navy runs things, eh?’

      The Dowager was relieved. The name of John Howard had previously been unknown to her, the fame attached to it having sprung up during her incarceration in her husband’s sickroom. Only since being with the Edgcumbes had she learned of the man’s marvels in uncovering the filth, disease and corruption of common prisons and exposing them to the light of publicity. ‘Summoned to the bar of the House, my dear,’ Lady Edgcumbe had told her. ‘Thanked for his contribution to humanity, written a book and I don’t know what-all.’

      She’d been amused to see that the Edgcumbes and their set were no less susceptible to Howard’s celebrity and the general excitement that he was in the area than anyone else. Let the incarcerators of thieves, murderers and debtors tremble at his name; the Admiralty was assured he’d find nothing wrong with its treatment of prisoners of war.

      ‘Rather be in Millbay than Newgate any day,’ said Lord Edgcumbe, voicing the general opinion. ‘Practically wake ’em up with breakfast in bed, don’t ee, Luscombe?’

      Captain Luscombe was not prepared to go as far as that. ‘Haven’t the funds I’d like, my lord, and the overcrowding’s –’

      Lord Edgcumbe overrode him: ‘By the by, Lady Edgcumbe was wonderin’ if she should bring in some goodies for the prisoners when Howard comes, like she did last year. Show the fella we ain’t heartless. Only this mornin’ Lady Stacpoole expressed a wish to accompany her, didn’t you, your ladyship? Thinks the son of one of her old servants is among the Yankees.’

      It had taken considerable and subtle manoeuvring to allow both Lord and Lady Edgcumbe to adopt the idea of a prison visit as their own. At no stage had Diana actually said Martha Grayle was once a servant, she’d merely allowed the Admiral to infer it; her set understood noblesse oblige better than some more intimate interest. She rebuked herself; she was acting from noblesse oblige.

      ‘Servant emigrated to America,’ the Admiral went on. ‘Wrote to her ladyship – was her boy bein’ treated properly by the naughty British? I said you’d produce the lad for her ladyship’s inspection. That’s all right, ain’t it?’

      The Dowager shrugged deprecatingly; such a lot of trouble, but if Captain Luscombe would not mind …

      ‘Dear lady, of course.’ Luscombe was delighted; she should see the prison along with the fella Howard and they’d produce the young man for her. What was the name? Grayle, as in Holy, yes, he’d remember that.

      There was a little teasing: nice for Luscombe to have someone wanting to get into his prison rather than get out. The ladies joined in with mild anxiety on her behalf – was she strong enough? Very well, then soak her handkerchief in vinegar against infection like Lady Edgcumbe had only last Christmas when she’d delivered warm clothing to Millbay’s inmates.

      It was done, accepted without amazement. So easy. There had hardly been need for guile. Diana felt warmly for the normality of these people, their openness, and at the same time regret that the years of her marriage had warped her own character away from the straightforward.

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