by John Wilcox
Josh’s mind raced to conjure up a picture of the beautiful young Romany that must have conquered the doctor’s heart eighteen years ago.
‘You see, she will almost certainly fall in love with you and beseech you to take her away from … from …’ he gestured, ‘this dull life in Hartland Quay. She has a romantic disposition but I do not want her hurt in any way. I don’t like this air of violence that you seem to have introduced to us here …’
‘But Doctor …’
‘Well, this may not be your fault, but there are persons here, clearly, who wish you harm. Go with Emma to The Dolphin in Bude – I shall give you a note to the owner – and stay away for, say, three days. Ask your questions amongst the tinners, by all means, but let things settle down here, while I make my own enquiries. Do you agree, sir?’
‘Of course, sir. I presume we could leave tomorrow?’
‘Yes. Go at first light. And for goodness’ sake, be careful how you employ that knife of yours.’
‘Very well, sir.’
Rowena burst into the room carrying a glass of lemonade. ‘I am sure that this tastes much better than your horrible brandy, Papa, but I think I should be allowed to taste it and judge for myself. After all, I am eighteen now.’
Acland shot a meaningful glance to Joshua. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I am going to my bedroom to rest for an hour. Before you prepare the evening meal, Emma – and there will be no cognac for you – Mr Weyland has something to say to you. Then you must get back to the kitchen and get to work.’
They set off next morning as first light was just beginning to bring out the colours of the landscape. The doctor came to the door in his dressing gown to see them leave. ‘Remember, Emma,’ he called as they pulled away, ‘behave yourself.’
‘Of course, Papa.’ She waved and whisked the donkey’s rump with the end of her whip. She tried to disguise her delight at being allowed to leave with Joshua but she failed. Instead, she bobbed up and down beside him, clucking at the donkey and shooting grins at Joshua.
‘Oh do sit still, girl,’ he reproached. ‘You will have the poor old donkey pull us over the edge on the clifftop.’
‘Oh no, I won’t. But don’t you think it such fun, Josh, driving through the countryside on this lovely clifftop on such a fine morning?’
Josh turned his head and looked up to his left where the skyline marched along with them, some two hundred yards above. Yes, there he was. The mysterious figure on horseback, his apparel and appearance too indistinct to give a clue to his identity but, as before, he sat on his mount, with shoulders hunched, his horse keeping pace with them but slowly falling behind, his head turned their way.
‘Rowena,’ said Josh. ‘Look up to your left. Who is that man on horseback? I have seen him several times. He seems to be keeping track of me, somehow.’
She turned and then tossed her head. ‘Oh, that’s Jack Cunningham,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘He likes to ride his horse along the top of the cliff and keep an eye on what is going on in the district. I think he thinks he owns the place but he doesn’t, of course. Father is of much more importance in Hartland than that old man.’
Joshua lifted his eyebrows. ‘He’s not that old, surely?’
‘Oh yes. He is very old. He must be at least forty.’
‘Good Lord, girl. Forty is not old. He is just middle-aged. He must be far younger than your father, though.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. But he doesn’t interest me. Now,’ she put her free hand on his knee. ‘I have brought some food with us so that we can have a picnic, Josh.’ She gurgled with glee. ‘Won’t that be fun, now?’
Josh sighed. ‘Of course, Rowena. What fun!’ He shifted his buttocks on the hard seat and put his hand behind him to check that his knife was in its sheath. He could not but help feeling that the two of them, riding along this little used path halfway down the cliff face, were vulnerable to another attack from whatever malevolent power seemed to pursue him. He fingered his bruised shoulder and grinned involuntarily. Well, this time, he would have Rowena to defend him! He looked at her with affection.
There was a little wind off the sea to stream her hair and she had tied it behind her head with a red ribbon. Her face glowed with health and happiness and he was forced to admit that she was beautiful. What a wonderful catch for someone!
The thought turned his mind towards Mary. Still no letter from her and he had written to her, what was it? At least a week ago. He frowned and turned towards the smiling figure at his side.
‘Rowena,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you posted that letter to Mary?’
Her smile diminished a fraction but her eyes still danced. ‘No, dear Joshua,’ she said. She felt under her cloak and produced the envelope, now somewhat creased and with the flap tattered and stuck down with tape. She held it up, almost as a trophy. ‘I thought it would go quicker if we posted it from Bude. A much bigger town, of course, with a better postal service.’
‘What? You thought nothing of the kind. You swore to me that you had posted it. And – look – it has been opened and the flap stuck down with paper tape. Did you open it and read it?’
The girl’s face flushed. ‘Yes, of course, I did. But I didn’t alter any of it. I just wanted to see if you mentioned me in it.’
Josh shook his head. ‘You had no right to do that, my girl. Of course I did not mention you. There was no reason why I should. Rowena, you are incorrigible.’
She hung her head and did her best to look crestfallen. ‘Josh. Why didn’t you mention me?’ Then more shyly. ‘Do I mean nothing to you?’
‘That is not the point. Of course I am fond of you and grateful to you for looking after me. But – and I don’t know how many times I have to repeat this – I am engaged to be married to someone else. And I intend to keep my vows to her.’
A thundercloud descended onto Rowena’s face. One tear glistened in the corner of her eye and then rolled down her cheek. Her head fell forward and she spoke in little more than a whisper. ‘But, Josh. I love you. I really do. I would make a much better wife for you than this fat Mary.’
‘Do not call her that. There can be no question of that. I intend to marry Mary Jackson and that is that. Now, there can be no more question of love, Rowena. We must be together now for at least two days. I promised your father that I would respect your … your … innocence and you told him that you would behave yourself. Now let’s get on and say no more about it. But give me that letter. I will make sure that it is posted.’
They rode together in silence, broken only by an occasional sob from Rowena. But, eventually, her sunny disposition, the beauty of the day with an early autumn sun casting a warm glow, and the sound of two skylarks singing their way to the heavens from the field next to the track, banished her gloom.
‘You are quite right, Joshua,’ she said, eventually. ‘I am sorry I did not post the letter – although I brought it today to make sure it went from Bude. And I had no right to read it. Now,’ she turned to him, her teeth gleaming in a face-splitting smile, ‘let us be friends and enjoy our outing.’
He seized her hand. ‘Good girl. Let us do just that.’ He was silent for a moment while he thought. Then: ‘I still wonder why Cunningham seems to have been watching me almost since my arrival. Do you think he is behind the attack on me?’
She shook her head decidedly. ‘No. He would not do that. As captain of the Preventers he virtually represents the law here. Anyway, when we met him, I was sure that he had taken a liking to you. He even tried to teach you to fence, did he not?’
‘He did, indeed. Oh, Rowena. I don’t know what to think. This is a very strange part of England. I do not understand it at all.’
She patted his knee. ‘You will become used to it and its strange ways the longer you stay. And I shall be looking after you all the time. You will not be attacked again, I vouch for it.’
‘Ah, what better guarantee of safety could there be than having you at my side …’ He laughed.
She looked at hi
m sharply. ‘Are you making fun of me, Josh? I don’t like that.’
He sucked in his breath. ‘Oh, certainly not, my dear. Certainly not.’
They jogged along in silence for a while, Josh looking out at sea and studying the various white sails that marked the progress of ships up the Bristol Channel. The sea was a lustrous dark blue, marked only occasionally by the occasional white flick of a wave top. It seemed impossible that this passage of water could have turned so recently into a screaming, raging, ship-breaking sea.
He held up his hand. ‘We have to pass Morwenstow on the way south to Bude, don’t we?’
She nodded.
‘Good. Then let us pay a call on the Reverend Hawker. He sounds a fascinating character and I would love to talk to him.’
She shook her head. ‘He is likely to be out, making his rounds of the parish …’Tis a big territory he must cover …’
‘Let us call, anyway.’
Rowena frowned but did not argue further and, within the hour, they were turning down that steep path from the cluster of dwellings on the heath, down towards the Hawker vicarage and its nearby church and graveyard, nestling by the stream in a cleft in the cliff side.
‘Can we stop by the church? I would like to look at the churchyard.’
They descended and Josh looked around him keenly. There were some freshly dug graves. ‘They are what was left of your shipmates,’ explained Rowena. ‘The Reverend always buries in his churchyard whatever remains from shipwrecks here. He makes no charge on the parish funds for that. He considers it his duty. He is a good man. Later he will put up a cross or even perhaps a stone to commemorate the men who died.’
‘Yes, he sounds a good man.’ But Joshua was not, for once, interested in what had become of the mortal remains of his shipmates. He was looking for another, single grave. He found it in a corner of the graveyard, under a yew tree. It looked freshly tended, for flowers had been laid on its surface. A simple gravestone stood at its head, stating: ‘Josephine Mulrooney 1806–1824. She gave her life to produce life.’
He turned his head to look at Rowena. ‘Poor girl,’ he said, ‘she was only eighteen when she died. What does that dedication mean, I wonder?’
‘Oh, I suppose she must have died in childbirth. Like my mother did. Shall we call at the house now?’
He looked at her keenly. She expressed no obvious sadness and obviously had no idea that this was the grave of her real mother. ‘Yes, of course. You go on ahead and knock on the door. I can manage on my own.’
She skipped away and, after a brief consultation on the doorstep, turned back to him. ‘Mrs Hawker says that the Reverend is on the clifftop, in his special hideaway. She thinks he is writing poetry. Do you still want to disturb him?’
‘Oh dear. Would he mind, do you think?’
‘I don’t know, but he is an even-tempered man. I know where his little cave is. But you must hold onto me. It can be dangerous for it is right on the cliff edge. Hold my hand tightly, now, Joshua.’
There followed a brief and, for Josh, awkward, scramble across the gorse high above the sea, where, down below, the wreckage of The Lucy lay, still caught between the black rocks, looking like the vertebrae of some giant leviathan. He gripped Rowena’s hand tightly as he limped along. Only a slightly worn piece of grass, winding suddenly and almost vertically down the cliff face, showed where the Reverend Hawker took refuge. It proved to be a hidden and deep indentation in the rock, the sides of which had been roughly lined with timber and fronted with a two-piece door, the top half of which had been left open so the occupant could look out at the seascape.
The Vicar of Morwenstow was, indeed, in residence as Rowena handed Josh down to the flat piece of rock that afforded an entrance. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Opium,’ she whispered. The moist, sweet smell met them as they stood, a trifle uncertainly, at the entrance.
‘May we disturb you, Reverend?’ called Rowena.
‘Ah, Emma. You never disturb me. Come on in, if you can find room.’
There was, indeed, little space to spare in the domed interior. Hawker had constructed a simple bench against the walls of his tiny retreat and there was just room for them to sit down beside him. He was a large, stout man, dressed comfortably, if untheologically, in an old fisherman’s sweater and wrinkled sea boots that came up to his thighs. His kind, open face, unfashionably bore no heavy whiskers and he was smoking a long clay pipe from the bowl of which soft, white smoke emerged from time to time as he drew on it.
He waved away the smoke and eased along the bench to make room for them. ‘You are most welcome, Emma,’ he said. ‘And,’ he looked down at Josh’s crutch, ‘I think I know who you are, young man. Joshua Weyland, is it not?’ He extended a hand, which Josh grasped.
‘It is, indeed, Reverend,’ said Josh, thrusting out his crutch so that it touched the other side of the little cavern. ‘And I do apologise if we are interrupting some great work of literary conception.’
The clergyman threw back his head and laughed heartily. ‘Oh, I wish that were so. Most of the time I just sit here, you know, occasionally working on a piece of very second-rate poetry or, even worse, a third-rate sermon. Or, most of the time, smoking this old pipe and looking out at God’s glorious creation of this wonderful ocean.’
He gestured towards where the sea glinted in deepest blue through the half open wooden door. ‘Oh,’ Hawker waved away the smoke, ‘I do hope you don’t mind this indulgence of mine. Some people do, you know.’
‘Not at all, sir. I sometimes indulged when I was in China.’
‘Well, did you now? It shows your open mind and good judgement. There is nothing that soothes the mind more than a little opium. Would you care to share a pipe now?’
Josh shook his head. ‘Thank you, sir, but no. We are on our way to Bude.’
‘In fact,’ Rowena interrupted hurriedly, ‘we do not wish to interrupt you, Reverend. We merely wished to pay our respects to you as we were passing your door. And, of course, to convey to you my father’s warmest regards. But we must be on our way.’
Joshua frowned. ‘Well, sir, we certainly do not wish to interrupt your contemplation here. But, I would be most grateful if you could spare me a moment or two to give me your views on something that concerns me deeply.’
‘Oh, Joshua!’ Rowena stamped her foot in frustration.
‘Well, of course.’ The vicar drew on his pipe then carefully laid it to one side. ‘How can I help you?’
Josh took a deep breath and then, slowly and carefully explained his experience of being wrecked at Morwenstow, his memories of the light that lured The Lucy onto the rocks, of his turbulent moments in the surf before he was thrown onto the rock and then his rescue by two men. He then related how Rowena and he had discovered the hole in the ground, halfway up the cliff face, and the ring of ash, which revealed where the brazier had stood in the storm.
‘Before I go on, Reverend,’ said Josh, ‘I understand that you have worked to bring in what is left of my shipmates and to give them a Christian burial. As the last survivor of The Lucy, may I express my thanks to you for that. You are certainly doing the work of the Lord here.’
The vicar nodded slowly. ‘Well, thank you for that Joshua – may I call you that?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Yes. As you know, only too well, this is a terrible coast and many ships founder on it. Before I came here, it was the common usage of the coast to dig, just above the high-water line, a pit on the shore and therein to cast, without inquest or religious rite, the carcasses of shipwrecked men. This was a terrible thing, for which one of us would not wish to “rest as our brethren did”? Now, however, I make it my business to see that these poor unfortunates – such as your shipmates, Joshua – are laid to rest in what I hope is peaceful and certainly hallowed ground.’
‘Indeed, sir. Perhaps I could ask you …’ But the vicar had the biblical bit between his teeth.
‘One man,’ he continued, ‘who, like you, Joshua,
was rescued from these very cruel rocks, quoted to my congregation the words from the Good Book, so very appropriate for a wrecked seaman. I quote: “But there the glorious Lord will be unto us a place of broad rivers and streams; wherein shall go no galley with oars, neither shall gallant ship pass thereby. For the Lord is our judge, the Lord is our law-giver, the Lord is our king, he will save us”.’ Hawker frowned and shook his head. ‘Dash it, I cannot remember more, but you will get the appropriate gist for a seaman, Joshua.’
‘Of course, sir. Of course. Could I just ask you, however—’
‘We really must be going, Joshua, if we are to reach Bude before nightfall.’ Rowena was nodding towards him, meaningfully.
‘Yes, indeed, we must, Reverend.’ Josh took a deep breath. ‘But I would like to ask your advice on something that has been puzzling me, before we leave you.’
‘Of course. Pray continue.’
Ignoring Rowena’s frown, Josh returned to the story of the light and then he recounted the attack on him. ‘I am concerned, sir,’ he said, ‘that because I am trying to discover the true meaning of that light on the cliff side in the storm, I have unleashed some distress amongst people in Hartland Quay, and perhaps even here, that I am trying to reveal wrongdoing. I feel, undoubtedly, that this part of the coast – perhaps even including your parish – has something to hide and is trying to prevent me revealing it.’
A silence fell on the little redoubt and Hawker picked up his pipe, puffed to rekindle the flame, and then replaced it on the bench.
‘If you are saying, Joshua,’ he spoke slowly, ‘that there are wreckers here, in the old-fashioned sense of the word, in that there are people here who would deliberately lure ships onto the rocks, then I would argue that you are wrong. That is a wicked thing to do, which, indeed, now carries a capital punishment.’
‘Well,’ interrupted Josh, ‘why should there be a crime now carrying a hanging on it, if no such crime exists?’
