Frederick faced him. “Everything, I think. You are the members of the borough I hope to represent, after all.”
“Represent ’ow?” he asked. “By returnin’ to London after ’ee win and never comin’ back? Just like the last one?”
Frederick opened his mouth to respond, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. How oftenwouldhe be in Cornwall if he somehow emerged victorious? In truth, when he had decided to come to Cornwall, he had envisioned returning toLondon as soon as he was elected—and managing things from there.
Mr. Tregenza took his hesitation as a response in and of itself and returned to his hammering.
“What do ’ee care about we?” a fisherman asked. “We can’t vote for ’ee.”
This was not going the way Frederick had hoped it would. He took in a large breath and faced the group of fishers, for Mr. Tregenza had long since moved on from the failed conversation.
“Listen,” Frederick said, “I understand that you have no reason to care whether I live or die—much less whether I am elected. You do not know me, and I am new to Trelowen—and to many of the issues you face. All I ask is that you join me on this beach on Saturday. Hear what I have to say, and I will hear whatyouhave to say.”
“I don’t think ’ee’ll like that much,” the large man joked to the group.
“Perhaps not,” Frederick acknowledged. “But I shall hear you, all the same.”
Three of the men looked somewhat impressed by this—and the others every bit as skeptical.
“There will be food and drink and good company,” Frederick added.
“Wrasslin’?” asked one of the men.
Frederick’s brow knit. “Wrassling?”
“Cornish wrestlin’, sir,” another replied with a grin.
The fact that the group was beginning to warm up to the idea made Frederick eager to appease them.
“If you would like that,” Frederick said, “I don’t see why not.”
“And will’eebe wrasslin’?” The fisher who askedwas lanky.
Frederick hesitated, but at the sight of all sets of curious eyes on him, he nodded. “If you will show me the way of it, I shall gladly…wrassle.”
The number of grins that accompanied this offer made Frederick both happy and wary.
“We ’ave work, sir,” Mr. Tregenza said, rising from his boat behind Frederick. “I know it be different where ’ee come from, but ’ere, we don’t ’ave time to make merry whenever we wish.”
The smiles from the group faded.
Frederick was losing them. Mrs. Tonkin had been right. Mr. Tregenza must be convinced, or none of them would come.
“Perhaps we could help you finish your work,” Frederick suggested.
Mr. Tregenza’s eyes narrowed at him. “’Ee?”
Frederick opened his mouth to clarify that he had rather been thinking of a group effort on the part of the villagers.
Mr. Tregenza gave a small scoff and turned away, satisfied that Frederick had not meant to help.
“Yes,” Frederick hurried to say, for there was no backing down now. “I will gladly help you—if you will, again, show me the way of it.”
He would undoubtedly regret the offer, but he could not let this small victory slip through his fingers when he was so close. Were wars not won with a hundred small victories?
Mr. Tregenza turned toward him, looking him over with an evaluating gaze, just as he had done upon first being addressed. “Do ’ee mean that?”
Frederick put out his hand, which was encased in a leather glove.
