by John Wilcox
She seized his arm. ‘No. No. He would have to follow his conscience and hand Father – and Cunningham, of course – over to the militia. You must tell no one, Joshua. No one, please.’
‘Very well. But go now, my dear, while it is still safe. I will communicate with you via the hole in the tree.’ He held her tear-stained face for a moment between his hands, looking into her eyes. ‘Don’t worry. We will find a way out of this, I promise you.’
Slowly, she nodded. ‘I trust you,’ she whispered. She kissed him quickly on the lips and then was gone.
Joshua parted the curtain and looked down. The two dinghies were now rounding the end of the harbour wall, very heavily laden, for the gunnels were virtually lapping the water. He blew out his cheeks. What on earth was he to do?
Well, the first thing was to see what was unloaded and where exactly the contraband was stored. He had retained the telescope and he trained it now on the dinghies as they were hauled a little way up the slipway. They were laden with small barrels and sturdy boxes, so that he couldn’t see the contents, although it seemed clear that the barrels contained wine or spirits, almost certainly French.
Cunningham seemed to have disappeared for the moment and the doctor now appeared to take charge. He put one of the smaller kegs to one side on the slipway – his perquisite? – and directed that the others should go to one of the two huts that had been opened. The boxes were now being levered open and Acland peered inside each one, obviously checking their contents. Satisfied, he gestured for them to go to the second of the unlocked huts.
‘All present and correct, would you say, Weyland?’
He wheeled round, still on his knees, and met the sardonic smile of Captain Jack Cunningham, who had quietly parted the curtain of foliage and was looking down on him. Two of the Preventers quickly appeared on either side of him.
‘You should never use a telescope when you are spying, my boy. Even in the semi-darkness there was enough moonlight to glint off the glass. Foolish of you.’ He turned to the man on his right. ‘Take him to the barracks and lock him in the punishment room. Don’t treat him gently.’
The two men sprang forward and roughly pulled Joshua to his feet. He had just time to kick the telescope into the undergrowth before they dragged him through the hanging branches onto the path, where a length of cord was produced and his wrists were bound tightly behind him. Prodded by cutlasses, he was marched quickly down the track and then up to the barracks. There, he was bundled into a dark room, completely bare of furniture and lit only by a barred window through which pale moonlight filtered. He was thrown down onto the earthen floor, kicked several times and left to lie, without cover of any kind, as the door was locked.
His cheek lying on the beaten earth, Josh lay, cursing. Then, he grimaced. Had Rowena left in time to evade Cunningham and his two men? He tried to concentrate. Yes, she would surely have seen the three leave the quayside and so be able to reach the doctor’s house before she was discovered.
That, however, was small comfort. He was now completely at the mercy of Cunningham. It was a desperate situation. There was no point in worrying about the doctor now. There were more immediate problems to face.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rowena had reached the door of the house when she suddenly remembered that she had left her father’s telescope with Joshua. It was something he used every day and he would undoubtedly miss it if it was not returned to its place on the table in the hall. She turned to retrace her steps but stopped when she heard Cunningham’s voice as he walked up from the harbour. She slipped inside the door, leaving it slightly ajar so that she could see through the gap.
As he came abreast of the doorway, she heard him say ‘… yes, in a bush which hangs over the little path … watching us …’
Horrified, Rowena put her hand to her mouth. Could she overtake them and warn Josh? No. There was now only one way to the bush and Cunningham and his Preventers were ahead of her. To call out would alert not only Cunningham but her father at the quayside.
What to do? Quickly, she made up her mind. Wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders, she pushed the door open a little wider and watched as the two men walked up the hill to where the little trail that clung to the cliff face branched off from the main path. Gently, she pushed the door fully open, slipped through it and closed it behind her. Then, keeping close to the wall, she followed the three men and watched them turn off onto the track.
Damn! There was no way she could warn Josh, all that she could do would be to see where they took him. Keeping a healthy distance, she followed them, slipping into the undergrowth and watching them as they stopped at the bush and pushed into its interior.
Josh almost immediately reappeared, his hands tied behind him and being prodded by cutlasses down the track towards her. She resisted the temptation to run at the two men, screaming and throwing her fists at them, and shrank even further into the long grass that fringed the path, watching as they passed. She waited until Cunningham strode by. No one was carrying the telescope, so she ran up the track, ducked into the hiding place and quickly seized the long glass from where Josh had kicked it into the grass.
Checking to make sure that there was no more human traffic on the track, she ran down the hill to where it met the path that climbed up to the barracks. She easily made out the tall figure of Cunningham striding down to the harbour and then, with more difficulty by the light of the now waning moon, the two Preventers pushing Joshua through the big door leading into the barracks.
Ah, the obvious place to keep him! But she knew that the interior was labyrinthine. In which of the many rooms would they incarcerate him? She could not possibly tell, and so, with great reluctance, she turned and made for the house, once more flitting from doorway to doorway in case the smugglers, having stored the contraband, came back up the street.
Carefully replacing the telescope on its stand, Rowena climbed the stairs to her room and sat by the slightly ajar window waiting for the men to return.
Within the hour, they did so, led by her father and Cunningham speaking in low voices. The two men paused under her window and Rowena gently pulled aside the curtain so that she could hear them. They were talking, of course, about Joshua and she strained to pick up the words that Cunningham was saying.
‘… Off the Point, it’s the only way …’
She drew in her breath in horror. But her father was disagreeing.
‘No, no. There has been enough violence, Jack. Let me have him. If he gives us his word to say nothing, I will make sure he leaves for this fiancée of his in Dover. And even if he did betray us to the militia, who is going to believe the word of an itinerant sailor, who has already made one appearance in court, against that of the local coroner and of the Captain of the Preventers, eh?’
‘I would rather be sure. There won’t be any talking at all if we fling him from the Point.’
‘No. I won’t have that, Jack. I can handle him. Deliver him here in the morning.’
‘Very well, have it your way. But he is an interfering, cocksure little swine and if it goes wrong, I shall blame you and I shall make sure that the truth about Emma gets out.’
‘No, you mustn’t do that, Jack. You promised.’
‘You’re too damned soft, Acland, that’s your trouble. Make sure that Weyland says nothing, or I will make sure for myself. Now I’m off to bed. At least we had a good run tonight.’
‘Aye, I suppose so.’ The doctor’s voice had taken on a tone of great sadness, but Rowena gave it no heed. She rested her head against the soft curtaining and looked unseeingly out into the dark street. What on earth did Cunningham mean by ‘the truth about Emma’? And why was he using it as a threat against her father?
Hearing Acland mount the stairs, she hurriedly closed the window and slipped into bed fully clothed. She heard him softly open the door and, through half-closed eyes, she saw him look down on her, before closing the door and retiring to his own room.
CHAPTER FIF
TEEN
Joshua had been too cold and uncomfortable to sleep on the cold earth and it was, then, a relief when he heard the key grate in the lock and his jailer cry, ‘Get up, you lazy sod. It’s another day and probably your last.’
He had tried, during the course of the long night, to rub the cords that bound his wrists against the bone handle of the knife that still rested in its sheath hanging from his belt at his back, but they resisted all his efforts. He felt quite sure that Cunningham would kill him now. After all, who – apart from Rowena – would miss him? Mary seemed to have given him up and the doctor was clearly in league with the Devil. He would make one last bid for freedom somehow, but how?
They took him, blinking, into the courtyard and he realised that it was shortly after dawn. The sun must have risen, for the sky was that dirty grey that often accompanied the low cloud and light drizzle of an autumn morning in the west of England. So how was he to go?
He realised that it would be by cold steel when he saw Cunningham emerge from the main building. He tensed. A head butt and a kick would perhaps delay the inevitable for a moment, but not for long. Nevertheless, he would administer some sort of pain before he died. The man deserved that, at least.
‘Hah, good morning, Weyland.’ Cunningham sauntered over, scratching his unshaven chin. ‘You will never know how lucky you are, my snivelling Second Mate. You are not going to die, at least, not yet. The doctor, old fool that he is, has spoken for you. But let me tell you this.’
The large man, usually so elegant, but now dishevelled, clad in a dirty shirt and with his breath smelling of alcohol – French brandy? – pulled Joshua close to his face and spoke slowly and very quietly. ‘If you try and tell anyone what you saw last night,’ he said, ‘you won’t be believed, for it will be only your word against that of the doctor and myself. But if you try, I will tear out your throat as I did Drake’s.’ He held up his hook. ‘And I will hang you from the same tree where I strung up young Drake. So get out of here and find your whore in Kent, or wherever she is. And stay there.’
He flung Josh away from him so that the young man staggered and nearly fell. ‘Take him to the doctor’s house,’ Cunningham snarled, ‘but don’t let anyone see you doing it.’ Then he strode away.
Joshua realised that he had been holding his breath and he exhaled now and shook his head. So he was not to die! And he owed his life to Doctor Acland – or, more likely, Rowena.
It was too early for anyone to be about in the little hamlet and no one saw the two Preventers throw him against the door of the doctor’s house, knee him in the groin and then raise the knocker and let it fall. It was a wide-eyed Rowena who opened the door almost instantaneously and put her arms around Joshua and then helped him inside.
She turned to the Preventers. ‘Get away from here and, if you value your lives, never let me see you again.’ Her face was white but her eyes, cold black, were flashing. They turned and made off, walking quickly.
‘Bring him into the surgery, Emma, and please don’t make such a noise, so early in the morning.’ The doctor’s voice was cool and balanced, almost mellifluous. Josh, still bent over from the blow to his genitals, staggered into the surgery and sat on the edge of a chair, turning his back and mutely offering up his wrists so that his bindings could be cut.
‘Did those swines hurt you, Josh?’ Rowena was full of concern.
Josh shook his head. ‘I think not,’ he muttered. ‘Nothing serious. I will live.’ He looked up at Rowena beseechingly. ‘Would it be possible to have a cup of tea, do you think? I have had nothing to eat or drink for some time now.’ He realised that he sounded pathetic but he did not care.
He looked up at the doctor as Rowena scuttled off to the kitchen. ‘So, Doctor,’ he said. ‘What do you propose to do with me now? I know everything, as, of course, you are aware.’
The doctor nodded and, rather unexpectedly, asked, ‘How is your leg now?’
‘What? Oh, much better I think, thank you. I can walk and even run.’
‘Good. Now we should talk. Thanks to you and your interference here, young man, Emma knows everything. Which is not what I intended, but it can’t be helped now. Actually, she does not quite know …’ The doctor’s voice broke for a moment before he resumed ‘… everything. She overheard a conversation I had with Cunningham last night and she has demanded to know the meaning of it. I told her I would tell her after your arrival this morning, for, thanks to your activities here, Weyland, I feel I must now make a clean breast of … as I said … everything. In fact, it will be almost a relief.’
He looked up and gave Rowena a weary smile as she bustled back into the room. ‘Ah, tea and scones for us all. Well done, dear. I realise I am quite hungry too. Please pour and let us be comfortable before I make my, er, confession.’
Joshua looked frowningly from father to daughter. He thought that he knew what would be coming but not, perhaps, ‘everything’, whatever that was. He sipped the tea gratefully and took a huge bite from the scone. He could hardly refrain from smiling as he savoured the rapid transformation from near execution in a cold courtyard at dawn to taking tea in the comfort of an English country cottage. But the doctor was beginning.
‘I must first of all confess,’ he said, his face quite grey in the bleak light that came through the windows, ‘that I have shamelessly been a customer of the smugglers that have always operated, it seems, on this coast.’ He waved his hand. ‘You can see that I have a liking for fine china and other foreign objets d’art and you yourself, Weyland, have sampled my, ah, imported French cognac.’
‘Yes, Father,’ Rowena nodded her head, ‘and you may not have realised but I always felt that you were a good customer of the smugglers.’ She quickly added, ‘And I thought none the less of you for that, for smuggling has always been practised here, I knew.’
The doctor nodded his head gravely. ‘Yes, well, thank you for that, my dear. Now, however, there is more. I never wanted to know who was behind the smuggling ring here and I never enquired. It was young Pengelly who would supply me with what I needed, but I knew he was not the leader. I did not, however, ever suspect the commander of the Preventers himself of organising and running the ring.’
‘How did you find out?’ asked Joshua.
‘Yes, well, I am coming to the point of my story. But, pray, do drink your tea, both of you.’
Obediently, they lifted cups to lips.
‘One day,’ the doctor continued, ‘Cunningham came to see me. You will both know that we served together many years ago on a ship of the Blue Cross Line and after our shipwreck he had come to live here where I practised, he commanding the Preventers. His arrival, I may add, was a pure coincidence. So we knew each other well.’
The doctor bit into his scone and brushed the crumbs into his cupped hand fastidiously, depositing them onto his plate. ‘I enjoyed very much living in Hartland Quay, becoming good friends with the Reverend Hawker. He looked after the spiritual well-being of his flock and I their physical health. The problem was that being a country doctor here brought me very little income to fund my, ah, indulgence in good wine and fine art. Inevitably, I ran into debt.
‘News of my position reached Cunningham and, as I say, he came to see me. He revealed that he had established a thriving business by employing people, mainly from the village up above here, in smuggling, aided and abetted by Pengelly and his friend Jem Drake, who led the seafaring side of the smuggling ring, using their local knowledge and fine sailing skills. Do you follow?’
Joshua and Rowena nodded, now completely intrigued by the story being unfolded to them.
‘Cunningham, however, wanted someone who could help him with the … what shall I call it … the administration of this business. Someone who could help with the forensic side of things, the distribution and so on. Would I assume this responsibility? Well, frankly, I had no desire to become so involved, but it offered me a way of paying off my debts, which were now growing, for Cunningham could pay well. So reluctantl
y, I agreed.’
Rowena was now leaning forward and frowning. ‘But, Papa, how could I possibly become involved?’
Acland’s face now seemed quite drawn. ‘Yes, my dear, I am coming to that and I warn you that you will not welcome what I have to tell you.’
‘What is it, Father? What is it?’
‘Be patient, child, I must tell this story in my own way.’
‘I am sorry, Papa. Please continue.’
‘Very well. I was able in this way to pay off my debts and continue to indulge in my purchasing – at very affordable prices, of course – of contraband goods. But I became more and more uneasy at being directly involved in what was – is – a criminal activity. It was all very well being a customer, but very much a different matter being part of the management, so to speak. So I told Cunningham that I wished to discontinue working with him in this matter.’
Joshua leant forward. ‘Which he did not like, presumably?’
The doctor shot him a keen glance. ‘Indeed so. It seems, you see, that I had become invaluable to the running of this disreputable business. So he became threatening.’ Acland turned wearily to his daughter. ‘And this is where you come in, my dear.’
‘What? What? How could I?’
Joshua realised that he knew now what was coming and he bent his head and rested it in his hand.
The old man took a deep breath. ‘If I did not continue helping him, Cunningham swore to tell all world and, indeed, to tell you in particular, that the woman who was my late wife and whom you thought to be your mother, was not, in fact, so.’
Rowena’s jaw dropped. ‘What do you mean? My mother was not my mother.’
‘She never was your mother, my dear. You see,’ the doctor sighed, ‘just as my wife became pregnant with our first and only child, I fell in love with a … a …’ his voiced faded for a moment … ‘a most beautiful Gypsy girl who was passing through the village and I lay with her. So the two women whom I loved desperately became pregnant at roughly the same time. Both, alas, died in childbirth and I was unable to save my wife or our child. But I was able to save you, my dear, although your Gypsy mother died.’
