TREACHERY at Porthpenny

Eliza's future looked bright, until a secret threatened to spoil everything

- Sarah Swann

Tuesday 18 July 1662, Cornwall Silhouetted against a cornflower blue sky, the mighty figure of John the huer loomed high on the rocky headland above Porthpenny Bay. Too old to be nimble at sea, he had eyes as sharp as a man half his age and had taken on the role of huer, alerting the fishermen when a shoal appeared. His familiar baritone cry rang out loud and clear with a strong Cornish burr. 'Hevva... hevva!'

Sixteen-year-old Eliza cocked her ear as she scurried up the grassy hill behind the village. 'Here they are!' was the signal the villagers had been waiting for — there were fish in the bay. With a surge of excitement, she clasped her basket to her chest and ran to the summit to join John at the huer's hut.

Out to sea the water had clouded a reddish brown in the summer sun, silvery licks of water catching the light as the pilchards darted this way and that. John and a scattering of women waved branches of yellow gorse to catch the men's attention and alert them that the shoal was moving south.

Setting down her basket, Eliza untied her bonnet and swung it from side to side, her high-pitched voice echoing the cries. 'Heeeevvvvaaaa!'

The prospect of a haul that would stand the village in good stead over summer raised everyone's spirits. The women beamed as they hollered and some broke into a jig, laughing as they flailed their branches. Breathing in the coconut scent of the gorse flowers on the salty breeze, Eliza spied her dear friend Tamsyn Tucker twirling from arm to arm, with her mousy hair loose and linen shift billowing. It seemed hard to believe this whirling dervish was now working as a laced-up housemaid at Tredemon House.