She was a vision in her pale blue dress, edged in delicate lace, the flowing silk of her skirts emphasising her slenderness and tiny waist. Her long hair had been arranged in a cascade of curls that highlighted her beautiful amber eyes and long elegant neck.
She smiled hesitantly at Dominic, who stood proud and tall as he held out his elbow.
“Ready?” he asked, trying hard not to fidget. He had known she was beautiful, but the woman before him was simply stunning, and he couldn’t wait to see Peter’s face when he first set eyes on her. He felt so proud that he almost felt he would burst out of his shirt. But he didn’t, merely squared his shoulders as far as they would go, and grinned at anyone and everyone.
They stood and waited as Eliza appeared in the doorway of the carriage, gracefully accepting the hand Sebastian offered. In a pale green silk gown, also edged in delicate lace, she was as stunning as her sister. Her hair had been styled more elaborately and elegantly. The small wild flowers liberally dotted throughout her curls gave a gypsy look that accentuated her gorgeous eyes.
Everyone smiled at the smattering of applause, accompanied by ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the crowd as they jostled for position to get a better look at the stunning brides. Children held out their hands, having never seen such beauty before, trying to touch the pretty ladies as they glided past, only to be held back and scolded by their mothers, who wiped tears from their eyes.
With broad grins, Dominic and Sebastian slowly escorted the ladies down the narrow pathway toward the door of the packed church, escorting their precious charges inside to their waiting grooms.
The church was so small that it didn’t have room for an organ, but that didn’t matter. The congregation fell into a stunned silence as they watched first Eliza, then Jemima, glide effortlessly down the aisle on the arms of two very proud men.
Jemima felt the sting of tears as she caught sight of Peter standing tall and resplendent in his elegant suit. His gaze was locked onto her as he watched her approach with nothing less than adoration in his eyes. He closed his mouth as she stopped beside him, and he raised her hand and kissed the back of it. The dark pools of his eyes held the wealth of emotion he couldn’t voice, and he had to cough to clear the lump in his throat.
Eliza drew to a halt beside Edward, who hastily wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and stared lovingly down at the woman beside him. He couldn’t believe this day had finally arrived, and the stunning vision beside him was going to be his wife. Love was such a small word to describe the depth of devotion he had in his heart.
“I love you,” he mouthed silently, watching as Eliza smiled mistily back at him.
Eliza smiled at the gusty wail of the tiny baby behind her, and turned to look at Isobel, proudly holding her son in her arms. Hugo Sebastian Edward Cameron Cavendish had been born two weeks ago, during a particularly heavy thunder storm that was being heralded as the storm of the year.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today -”
The words disappeared into the background as Peter stared at his future wife as she stood bathed in the multi coloured sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window at the far end of the church. To him she looked like
a golden angel as she stood and listened to the service.
Sensing his eyes upon her, Jemima turned and stared into the eyes of the man who held her heart. All the pain, fear, worry and doubt had been banished and replaced by the bright twinkle of absolute joy clearly evident in the loving gaze he made no attempt to break.
A discreet cough behind them was enough to bring them back to the vicar’s solemn words, and they waited for the moment when they would finally bind their lives together; forever.
Although May had been reasonably warm, in Bodmin, dark storm clouds gathered menacingly. The sea fog had rolled further inland than usual, leaving the air moist and humid.
In a solitary cell in the lower regions of the gaol, Rogan Scraggan stared blankly at the wall. He still wasn’t sure how he had managed to lose control so quickly. His biggest mistake was in trusting his right-hand man to ensure that Jemima Trevelisk was hanged. He had stupidly remained in Cornwall to oversee his gang, and had waited anxiously for news of her fate. He had thought that, once convicted and condemned, the gaol would actually carry out the punishment meted out to her. He had never considered that he would be fooled so easily. He should have killed the bitch himself the moment he had laid eyes on her.
At first he had found it funny when she had run, and in her stupidity she had left a trail a mile wide for his men to follow. It hadn’t taken many resources to follow her to Derby, and set about his plans, although she did keep moving around, which was damned inconvenient. But his men did their job, kept an eye on her, kept breathing down her neck and making her unsettled, while they worked out their ultimate plans.
His thoughts immediately turned to his son, and he wondered if it was over yet.
Since his arrival at the gaol, he had been kept away from the other prisoners, mainly for his own safety. There was a lot of anger toward him from the other prisoners who had either been conscripted into joining Scraggan’s gang, or had relatives who had been victims of his ruthless regime. Not wanting to be cheated of the opportunity to carry out the execution, the gaol had kept him in a cell by himself.
All week he had been in a cell at the rear of the gaol, overlooking the inner courtyard. He had heard the hammering and sawing as the gallows had been constructed and, with nothing else to do, had stood on his small wooden cot and stared out through the bars. Only yesterday he had watched first his right-hand man, then his best and most trusted associates, being led out, one by one, to meet their fate.
He felt sick to his stomach. If he had a knife, he would have cut his own throat there and then and saved himself the ordeal that lay ahead. Each man they had hanged yesterday had lingered. With no relatives or friends allowed to watch the hangings, the men had not had anyone to pull their legs and quicken their fate, leaving them to die a slow and painful death.
No sooner had the hangings taken place than gaolers had arrived and moved him to a cell in the darkest reaches of the hellhole and left him. He had been fed a little, and given a little water. That morning, one of the gaolers had informed him that his son was being hanged at first light at Newgate. The gruel they called breakfast that he had thrown at the bars wasn’t any great loss. He didn’t care about anything now anyway. He had nothing left.
His money was gone, stolen by the Redcoats. All his best and most trusted men had been hanged. Even his precious son had been put to death. His home had been raized to the ground by an army determined to ensure anyone who had escaped their net would have no base to work from. Although he would rather have his teeth pulled out than admit it, he had been reduced to nothing.
The sunlight had not even bothered to make an appearance, having long since given way to the continuous drizzle that hung in the air. Although he knew it was going to happen, he still jumped when the heavy iron bolt on the cell door was drawn back, the sound echoing hollowly around the stone walls. He closed his eyes and then glared sullenly at the two men who entered. His small eyes were almost feral as he stared spitefully at them.
They had no doubt he would have killed them had he been given half the chance, and had been alerted to remain on guard to stop him taking his own life.
Scraggan had no doubt they were enjoying being able to mete out justice to one of Cornwall’s most notorious criminals. Still, he may be down but he certainly wasn’t out just yet and he was determined not to go without a fight.
They unchained him from the wall, dragging him unceremoniously across the floor when he refused to walk. He traded curses and insults with the inmates who shouted through the bars at him, dragging his heels to make it harder for the gaolers to lead him. Nevertheless, he was brought before the waiting ironmonger who quickly hammered the chains apart and released the manacles.
Scraggan glared at the two men standing on either side of the ironmonger while he worked, clearly armed with pistols. He had no doubt they would wound him and hang him anyway and, although angry, Scraggan was no idiot and didn’t see why he should make his last few minutes in the world harder than they needed to be. His face was a blank mask of fury as his hands were wrenched roughly behind his back.