Remember Me - Lesley Pearse [159]
He launched into an explanation about a letter to Henry Dundas, to which he still hadn’t received a reply. It seemed to Mary that his earlier claims at what a good friend this man was were probably exaggerated.
But then Boswell put the brown parcel he was carrying down on the table. ‘Something for you, my dear. It isn’t new, but I hope it will cheer you.’
Mary opened it, and gasped in surprise to find it was a dress, probably a cast-off from one of his daughters, she thought. It was pale blue and the low neckline was trimmed with white lace.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said, blushing with embarrassment. It was in fact the kind of dress any woman would dream about, but it was surely intended for a lady of quality taking afternoon tea or a walk in a park, not for a prisoner in Newgate who had lice in her hair. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Boswell, but I’m not sure it’s suitable for me.’
‘My friends call me Bozzie,’ he said reprovingly. ‘I consider you a friend. And of course it’s suitable for you, you are still a young woman, and with freedom ahead of you. I shall enjoy seeing you wear it.’
‘Will I really be freed?’ she said, putting the dress to one side and sitting down. ‘And if I am, what will I do?’
‘I am certain you will walk free,’ he said firmly. ‘And I am your friend, so I shall make arrangements for somewhere for you to stay. It will give me great pleasure to be able to show you London properly.’
‘I couldn’t expect you to do that, sir,’ she said, a little alarmed. ‘I’d be more than happy to get a job as a housemaid or seamstress.’
He put one of his soft podgy hands over hers. ‘You will need a little pampering before you can work,’ he said, looking into her eyes. ‘You are skin and bone, you need feeding up, a tonic to purge your blood. You will also have to learn London ways.’
Mary had a sudden, sharp picture of Lieutenant Graham. Did Mr Boswell believe he was going to take her as a mistress?
While she knew that if he did get her pardoned her gratitude would compel her to go along with it, the thought revolted her. He was fat, his breath smelled of drink, and she didn’t think she could even bear to kiss him, let alone lie with him.
‘I must make my own way in the world,’ she said after a second’s thought. ‘I am so grateful to you, Bozzie, but if I do leave here, I shan’t lean on you.’
He laughed, and tickled her under the chin. ‘Smile for me, Mary. You are a pretty woman when that doleful expression vanishes. Do not be too hasty, for London is a harsh place without a friend.’
He changed the subject then, much to Mary’s relief, and spoke of his planned holiday to Cornwall.
Just the mention of Cornwall was enough to evoke vivid mental pictures of home for Mary. It was just about seven years since she’d boarded the boat for Plymouth, and Dolly’s words, ‘You could travel the whole world and never find a place as pretty as Fowey’, came back to her.
She had travelled the world now, and it was true, she had never seen anywhere so pretty. If she shut her eyes she could see the sea sparkling under the summer sun, smell the seaweed, hear the gulls.
‘I’ve never been to Truro, Falmouth or Land’s End,’ she said, when Boswell told her these were places he intended to visit.
‘No!’ he said in surprise. ‘Really?’
‘You will understand why when you visit them,’ she said, and smiled because despite his age he had a very boyish enthusiasm for life. ‘They might not be far away in miles from Fowey, but the roads are bad, little more than tracks.’
‘There have been riots in Truro,’ he said with a sigh. ‘The Army had to be called to quell them. But then there have been riots everywhere since you’ve been away. England has been affected by the revolution in France, I suspect, so much dissatisfaction and unrest.’
Mary knew Boswell read a great many newspapers. One of the things she liked best about his visits was the chance to talk about what was going on outside the prison walls. She might have her four friends for company, but their conversation was very limited. She was tired of discussing their escape, and