Smuggler's Kiss Page 7

  ‘I can’t stay,’ I heard him say. ‘I’m so sorry! But you should be asleep, Beth. You can look at the parcels in the morning.’

  He stepped outside, pulled the door to behind him and walked back to me without a word. As we left, I glanced up at the window and saw a child’s face pressed against the dark glass of a window in the upper storey. ‘Who is that?’ I asked Will.

  ‘You don’t need to know,’ he said sharply, pulling his cap down lower. He walked swiftly, avoiding further questions. I was puzzled. Who was the little girl? Why did he have a key to that house?

  ‘You are a strange person,’ I told him at last, breaking the long silence. ‘So harsh and unsympathetic. And yet capable of kindness to those degraded people.’

  Will glanced sharply at me. ‘There’s no contradiction,’ he said quietly. ‘I merely save my compassion for those in want. I don’t waste it on those who already spend far too much time feeling sorry for themselves.’

  His words silenced me. I was rebuked, and wondered if he would still be so unpitying if he knew my whole story.

  Will struck out across fields again and then joined a cliff path, heading west. ‘I don’t think I can walk much further,’ I told him.

  ‘Just around the next headland, and then we walk down to the sea,’ he replied.

  ‘Down hill,’ I sighed in relief. ‘Thank goodness.’ I was hopeful that my ordeal was almost over. We passed a barn, and I noticed a movement on the far side. A gentle whicker told me there were horses or ponies on the far side. I could hear them stirring.

  At the end of the far field we climbed a gate and the field dropped away to nothingness in the gloom. I hesitated at the top, trying to get my bearings, but Will began to descend the steep slope. The land seemed to drop away at my feet into a deep ravine filled with a threatening darkness. To our left, I could make out rocky headlands stretching out into the black sea.

  ‘Come, Isabelle,’ said Will impatiently. ‘The ship is in. We need to be away.’

  ‘How can you know that?’ I asked, puzzled.

  ‘You heard the ponies waiting behind the barn. Listen!’ he pointed down into the darkness of the ravine, but I could hear nothing except the plaintive bleating of sheep on the far side of the ravine. I shook my head.

  ‘The landers are down there already,’ said Will. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  Gingerly, I stepped down the beginning of the slope. Contrary to my expectation, the ground didn’t drop away completely as I’d expected. A narrow path wound down in a zigzag through the ridged meadow. I could just make out the darker line of it snaking through the rough winter grass. I stepped out more quickly and followed Will downwards. At every steep twist in the path, I slowed, catching hold of clumps of grass to keep my balance. The drop below us made me feel giddy each time I looked down. We went down and down and down until my legs began to shake and I was afraid of falling.

  ‘Please wait!’ I gasped, as I bent over, trying to steady my trembling limbs. Will paused, restless in his haste. ‘Are … we … nearly down yet?’ I asked.

  Will shrugged. ‘Halfway?’ he said. ‘But it gets steeper from now on. I thought you wanted to walk downhill?’

  I groaned. ‘What was that?’ I asked suddenly, pointing down the ravine towards the sea. Will turned to look where I had pointed, but it had already vanished. ‘A blue flash,’ I said.

  The flare had been tiny; a mere pinprick of light, that rose silently into the air and vanished.

  ‘That’ll be The Invisible,’ said Will. ‘Signalling the landers.’

  We stood close together on the narrow path, staring into the darkness. I was breathing heavily, but Will seemed unaffected by the climb.

  ‘Why is it blue?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s a pistol shot, but no barrel, just powder in the pan,’ he explained briefly. ‘You won’t see the answering flink from here.’

  I followed him on downwards. The path wound through bramble and hawthorn patches now, the narrow track slick with mud. Several times I grasped at plants to catch my balance and spiked my hands. I gasped and caught at Will instead.

  ‘Anyone would think you were being tortured!’ he said, taking my hand.

  ‘I am,’ I told him, grasping his hand gratefully and using it to steady myself as the path plunged ever more steeply down into the valley.

  ‘Will, are the landers really going to carry the kegs up here?’ I asked, pausing again. ‘It’s so steep.’

  ‘It’s not a route we usually use,’ he admitted. ‘Chapman’s Pool is too steep a climb for regular runs. We have kegs only, no ankers, this trip. And a consignment of snuff. There are reasons why we’ve chosen it.’

  ‘Which you’re not going to share with me?’

  ‘Which I’m not going to share with you,’ he agreed. I reflected that the very steepness of this climb would probably put the Revenue officers off patrolling it. The ponies behind the barn must be the smuggling train, waiting quietly in the darkness to relieve the landers of their load.

  At long last, we reached a bubbling stream that gurgled down the last steep drop to the beach. I sighed with relief, but the scramble down the stream was tricky. To my surprise, Will turned and lifted me down onto the shingle.

  ‘You’ve done well,’ he said briefly. I was stunned into silence, hearing even such mild words of praise from him.

  ‘Who’s there?’ said a gruff voice right behind us. I jumped, but it seemed Will had been expecting it.

  ‘Nick the Knife,’ he said calmly. ‘Crew member, rejoining the ship.’

  ‘And him?’ The shape in the darkness jerked his head towards me.

  Will hesitated a second before replying: ‘Mermaid Jake,’ he replied. ‘Crew member.’

  The man gave a grunt and faded back into the shadows.

  ‘Mermaid Jake?’ I whispered indignantly.

  ‘You don’t have an alias,’ he whispered. ‘It was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment like that. I could hardly tell him “Isabelle, surname unknown, unwilling shipmate”.’

  ‘It’s pathetic,’ I told him.

  ‘Then think of one for yourself next time.’

  ‘What about you? Are you some awe-inspiring knife-thrower or something?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ whispered Will in my ear. Even in the darkness, I could see his eyes crinkling in a smile. ‘We had a contest once. I’m the worst knife-thrower on board. Can’t hit a barn door. Hence the name.’

  I couldn’t help chuckling as I followed Will wearily onto the sand and shingle beach, my boots heavy with mud. But then memories of my last walk onto a shingle beach flooded back. I shivered. I was still alive. I was breathing and moving, tasting the salt air and feeling the exhaustion in my body and the pain in my feet from two days’ walking. I was struck by the same overwhelming realization I’d had over and over again since that night. No matter how difficult things were now, I was so very glad to be alive. Just as long as I could keep the memories at a distance.

  This thought buoyed me up despite my exhaustion. Besides, this beach was very different. This wasn’t deep shingle, it was a mixture of sand and flat stones with large rocks scattered here and there. There were no towering chalk cliffs here either, only short black ones before the land turned into steep grassy hillside beyond. It was a small bay, sheltered and slightly spooky.

  The wind gusted in off the sea, threatening to tear my cap from my head, and I clapped a hand over it to secure it. The sounds of kegs being unloaded from The Invisible carried across the short stretch of water between us.

  The tub boat crunched onto the beach in a surge of waves and frothing surf. The landers ran forward to heave it onto the beach, swiftly setting to work to empty it of kegs. These were carried to the back of the beach and hoisted with ropes up the short cliff to the hillside above where they disappeared into darkness.

  ‘Come on,’ said Will, tugging at my sleeve. ‘The walk is over.’

  He and other men were pushing the boat back into the surf.
I followed them, feeling my heart thump as I stepped into the water and felt the tug of the undertow at my calves. The boat was already slipping out of reach. Will leapt in and turned to beckon me. I froze, still wanting to be helped. To be carried perhaps. Gentle Jacob would have carried me, I was sure. But Will did not.

  ‘Come on, Belle!’ he called imperatively. But his shortening of my name sounded friendly and encouraging.

  Strangely, at that moment when all the men were in the boat, and I had been left behind, I had no thought of making use of the opportunity to flee. I wanted to be in the boat. I took another uncertain step out into the cold, churning water. Will leaned out, held out a hand. I reached out to take it and missed. I launched myself forward and grabbed the side of the boat. Then in a rush of water and a painful thump into the side of the boat, I was somehow scrambling aboard.

  ‘It’s so much more satisfying to do things yourself, isn’t it?’ asked Will with a grin. He clapped me on the shoulder briefly and turned away, taking up an oar and throwing himself into rowing. He was right, yet again. I looked out to sea, towards The Invisible. I hadn’t expected to be so glad to see her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  This time when the ship docked at Cherbourg, no one locked me in the cabin. I didn’t try to escape. I stayed quietly on board and watched the sights and sounds of the foreign harbour; the ships coming and going under the French flag, the small boats bringing in fish, the French women who came to haggle, bargain and carry the fresh goods home to their families.

  I ate the French food that the men brought on board and some of it was familiar. My father had, after all, employed a French chef when we spent the season in London last year.

  We set sail again on a bright late-October morning, nosing quietly out of the still harbour into the fresh choppy sea beyond.

  Jacob approached me where I stood in the bows, looking out towards England. ‘Skipper’s orders, Isabelle,’ he said with an apologetic grin. ‘You’re to take a turn with the chores.’

  I stared at him, thinking he was joking for a minute.

  ‘Chores?’ I asked, mystified.

  ‘We all takes turns,’ Jacob explained. ‘Helping in the galley, swabbing the decks, cleaning the latrines, mending the sails; there’s always work a-plenty to be done. Skipper said to offer you a choice, but thought you might like to help out in the galley.’

  I bit back the indignant objection that rose to my tongue: that these things were servants’ work, and that I was a lady. That these chores would spoil my hands and break my nails. Will was far above me in the rigging, but I knew just how he would look at me if I spoke the words aloud. He never shirked his share of the work, for all he must be as well-born as I.

  ‘We’re all equals on board The Invisible,’ Jacob added as though he could read my thoughts. Perhaps they were written clearly enough on my face for all I hadn’t voiced them. ‘You’re one of us now, and need to take your turn.’

  I looked at Jacob’s rough, kindly face and realized I had no wish to be rude or offensive to him, even if Will wasn’t listening. He’d been more than kind to me. ‘Very well,’ I said slowly, pushing myself upright from where I’d been lounging against the ship’s rail. ‘I’ll help in the galley.’

  If Jacob was surprised at my easy capitulation, he didn’t say so. He merely nodded in the direction of the galley and I headed over, opening the wooden door and stepping down the steps into the low kitchen and mess area.

  The cook, a thin, wiry man with greying hair, looked at me over his shoulder and went back to chopping a large piece of meat with a cleaver. I heard a disparaging sniff. ‘I get the short straw then,’ he muttered.

  ‘The short straw?’ I asked walking towards him. ‘I’ve been asked to help you.’

  ‘That’s what I’m talking about. Just my luck to get the fine lady.’

  ‘Why does everyone think I’ll be useless?’ I asked, annoyed.

  ‘Because you are?’ the cook returned. Then he roared with laughter at the expression on my face. ‘Go on, then. Prove to me you’re not. There’s a pile of dishes to be done in the sink there. You can heat the water in this kettle. When you’ve finished those, the potatoes need preparing for dinner.’

  I filled the kettle in silence and put it over the fire to heat. Then I stacked the dishes ready for washing and scrubbed all the tables which were full of crumbs and grease from the last meal. I tried not to ask the cook where anything was, hunting for it myself, determined to make him change his mind about me. Once the dishes were washed, wiped, stacked neatly away and the potatoes were carefully scrubbed and ready in a cauldron of water, I turned to the cook, knowing the work had taken me a very long time. He was leaning against the counter, watching me, his stained apron removed and thrown over a table.

  ‘Is there anything else that needs doing?’ I asked, bending down to stroke the galley cat who purred up at me.

  Instead of replying, he held out his hand. ‘I’m Harry,’ he said.

  Tentatively, I shook his hand. He smiled.

  I worked in the galley every day after that. The skin on my hands roughened, the potatoes stained my skin, and my nails broke. But the strange thing was, I had a real sense of satisfaction in the work. It was far from arduous; a couple of hours a day at most. Perhaps I once might have found it too much but not now. When Will came in and saw me working, he gave me an approving nod, and forbore to taunt me. Jacob rewarded me with a smile. I was pleased and chose not to ask myself why I was seeking their approval.

  The bright sun shining through my windows woke me very early one morning. I got up, combed my hair, washed my face, pulled on my shirt and hated breeches, and stepped out onto the deck. The skipper was at the wheel and gave me a nod. A man called Fred, whom I’d heard referred to as the pilot, was busy with various instruments.

  It was a still morning, the sun still low but already bright in the east and surprisingly mild for early November. I stretched a little and breathed deeply, feeling inexplicably that life was good.

  Will emerged from the hatch to my left. He slept below decks with the other men; a place they’d never allowed me to see on the grounds that ‘it wouldn’t be fit’. I was restricted to the open deck, the galley, and my own cabin.

  There was a shout from far above us. Giving Will a wave, the look-out began to descend the rigging, as nimble as a monkey. Will nodded and swung himself into the rigging, preparing to climb up. He paused and looked at me. He hadn’t greeted me; until that moment I didn’t even think he’d seen me. There had been a tacit truce between us since our return from the haunting. ‘Come up with me?’ Will asked. ‘There’s a fine view.’

  I looked upwards to the look-out far above us and shuddered. ‘Certainly not,’ I said.

  Will grinned. ‘I dare you,’ he said softly.

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not going to fall for that,’ I told him.

  ‘It’s not as difficult as it looks,’ he assured me. I shook my head. ‘What a shame,’ he said, looking disappointed. ‘I’d an idea you’d more courage than that.’ He began to climb. I stood there feeling I’d failed in some way.

  ‘Oh very well,’ I sighed, grasping a rope and taking a step up. ‘But you’d better make sure I don’t fall.’

  I glanced up as I spoke and caught sight of a triumphant grin on Will’s face. I knew I’d been manipulated. But I began to climb anyway. Perhaps I was pleased that he wanted my company, or perhaps I was keen to test the new strength I felt in myself: the result of all the walking and work. It could have been a mixture of the two, but whatever it was, I found myself stepping nervously from rope to rope, grasping the hold above me firmly, and following Will’s instructions as he led me higher and higher into the rigging.

  ‘The trick is not to look down,’ he told me, climbing beside me, showing me where to step. ‘Just look up.’

  I did as he said and kept climbing, but soon my arms and shoulders were aching with exertion. They began to tremble. ‘I need to rest,’ I said, puffing fo
r breath. ‘This is hard work.’

  Will shook his head at me. ‘No upper body strength,’ he said. ‘Did you never climb trees?’

  I stopped climbing and stared at him in astonishment. ‘Trees? ’ I asked. ‘You can’t be serious? Walks within the grounds on fine days with great care not to muddy our gowns was the most we did.’

  I saw he was laughing at me. Of course he knew I hadn’t climbed trees.

  ‘It explains a great deal though,’ said Will.

  I looked at him suspiciously. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, expecting the worst.

  Will laughed. ‘Nothing unkind, for once,’ he said. ‘Truly, I was just thinking such an upbringing explained your weakness and lack of adventurous spirit.’

  ‘That wasn’t unkind?’ I asked hauling myself up a step or two further. Will kept pace with me easily.

  ‘But you must have felt hemmed in,’ he said. ‘No wonder you were unhappy.’

  ‘Unhappy?’ I echoed. ‘I wasn’t unhappy! I had a wonderful time. I learned with my governess, we had tea with Mama and Papa; I had kittens and many toys. I learned music. And once I left the schoolroom, there were balls, theatre and concerts, dinners, breakfasts, picnics—oh! Every manner of entertainment! I had a wonderful time and am certainly not an object of compassion.’

  Will frowned at me, puzzled. ‘But then why … ?’

  Before he could finish his sentence several things happened in quick succession. A gust of wind broke the stillness of the morning, catching the sails and tilting the ship. The rigging swayed. My foot slipped and as I caught myself from falling by clutching at the ropes, I looked down. At the sight of the deck far below, little ant-sized people scuttling around on it, a burst of sick giddiness rushed at me, turning my muscles to wet porridge. I swayed and moaned. My stomach churned. The strength leeched out of my hands. Their grip loosened. I was going to fall; nothing could stop me.