Remember Me - Lesley Pearse [178]
‘I did have strong feelings for him, and he for me,’ she said with a shrug. ‘But it could never be. And he’s not a gutless wonder. I insisted that he wasn’t to try and contact me.’
During her time in Newgate Mary had tried not to hope Tench might turn up to see her. And in the prison it was easy to see he belonged to a different world.
However, now she was free, looking for all the world like a respectable widow, she couldn’t help but drift into little day-dreams of him coming up to London to claim her and whisking her off to a country cottage. At times she even believed she’d changed so much that she could become the perfect wife for an officer.
‘You are right. It couldn’t be,’ Boswell agreed, disappointing Mary somewhat. ‘I’ve had my share of falling for unsuitable ladies, and it brings nothing but grief on both sides.’ He took her hand and squeezed it in sympathy. ‘Grief is something we should all try to avoid. Whatever our age or circumstance.’
Although on the face of it his remarks were only about her relationship with Watkin Tench, Mary had a feeling Boswell meant more. The earlier mention of marriage had been a joke, but she had a feeling he was also trying to sound her out to see if she expected him to propose to her. She thought it would be wise to make it clear that wasn’t her aim.
‘Well, tell me, O Wise One!’ she joked. ‘What sort of a man is likely to make me happy?’
Boswell pondered on this gravely for a moment or two. ‘A sea-going one, I’d say,’ he said eventually. ‘A well-set-up mariner. Perhaps a widower, who would be less likely to feel aggrieved that you have a past. Not more than thirty-five. Young enough to want a family.’
‘You wouldn’t happen to know him already?’ she asked laughingly, for he spoke as if he knew the very man.
‘No, my dear, sadly I don’t,’ he chuckled. ‘I’m just a romantic old fool who would like to see a happy ending for you. But to my mind, one of the best things about life is that one never knows what is around the next corner.’
Chapter twenty-two
‘That wretched man again!’ Mrs Wilkes exclaimed in exasperation at the hammering on her front door. ‘Only yesterday I tried to tell him he wasn’t doing your reputation any good by calling here at all hours. And here he is again, on a Sunday!’
It was 18 August and very hot. Mrs Wilkes and Mary were sitting out in the cool of the backyard with some sewing. They had been talking about Mary’s friends still in Newgate. Mary had become a little tearful, afraid that their pardon would never come and that they would begin to believe she had stopped caring for them.
Mrs Wilkes, like Boswell, thought visiting was a bad idea, given the high risk of infection, but she offered to write them a letter for Mary. At the moment they heard the rapping on the door, Mary was thinking of all the things she had to tell them.
Mary smiled at her landlady’s outburst, for she knew perfectly well that Mrs Wilkes enjoyed having neighbours gossiping about Boswell calling so often. He was, after all, famous and a gentleman, and noon, whether it was Sunday or not, was a respectable time to call.
‘I’ll go,’ Mary said, getting up. ‘Shall I tell him to go away?’
‘No, of course not,’ Mrs Wilkes said hurriedly. ‘You must take him into the parlour and I’ll bring you in some tea.’
But Boswell was not alone this time. He had a burly, florid-faced man with him, who in a somewhat loud checked jacket, matching breeches and a very poorly fitting dull brown wig, looked like a tradesman.
‘Good day, Mary,’ Boswell said, lifting his hat. She thought he looked flustered. ‘This is Mr Castel, a glazier by trade, and a native of Fowey. He wishes to give you certain news of your family, and he insisted we came right away to see you.’
Mary looked from one man’s face to the other, noting how hot and agitated they both looked. Boswell clearly wasn’t happy about this man’s insistence on coming to see her, and she guessed he suspected some kind of confidence trick. There had been several occasions previously when people had come to him claiming they knew Mary