Confident she would give up, as any sane person would, he did not look again for almost three minutes. He congratulated himself that he waited that long, having counted out the time to prevent himself turning sooner. He intended counting to five, but could wait no more. Although she was further away, the long straight track provided him a good line of sight and he saw that she continued to follow. Her steps appeared more laboured and she swapped the hand that carried the bag as if her arm ached. His heart told him to ride to her, his head told him to continue on. Cursing, he did the latter.
The gradient of the road rose and fell as Jack slowly followed the contours of the Cornish countryside. He turned around to look behind him again. The brow of the hill obstructed his line of sight and the road was empty. He soothed his horse to be quiet and he strained to listen. The eerie silence concerned him. Although there was some distance between them, he thought he might still hear her footfalls. All was quiet, except for a bat haphazardly flying through the air. He should be pleased, as it appeared she had turned for home just as he had told her. Yet he had a growing concern that all was not well and that she may have fallen victim to a footpad herself. He stopped his horse and was about to turn it around when her figure appeared on the horizon. A little slower, a little more swaying in her rhythm, but it was her all the same. He smiled at her obstinacy as he turned his horse around and rode towards her.
‘I told you to go home,’ he said not unkindly as he looked down on her. She was a little out of breath and had dropped her bag on the ground in relief at his arrival.
‘And I told you I owe you a day’s work.’
‘I admire your work ethic.’
‘Then hire me for a year.’
‘Why would I trust a woman who likes to dress as a boy?’ he asked. Her lack of surprise at his question told him that she had recognised him too.
‘You can trust me,’ she insisted.
‘I have heard those words before. I rarely believe them.’
‘There are many who would take your money and call you a fool for your soft heart. I did not. I have walked miles on an empty belly and chilled to the bone so I would not be in debt to you. If my actions do not show good character, I do not know how to convince you otherwise.’
He considered her reply. She waited patiently, looking hungry and cold.
‘How does five pounds sound for a year’s work?’ He saw her eyes brighten for the first time.
‘If I am to be your housekeeper I expect twelve.’
‘I live in no grand house and have no other servants. Six is fit for a year’s wage.’
‘But I will keep house for you.’
‘I will turn and leave you be,’ he threatened.
‘And return to a house that has no fire or food in the larder.’
He smiled in the darkness. It was as if she had already seen it.
‘My last offer is eight,’ said Jack, reaching down. Jenna nodded her acceptance. ‘I believe I may have offered twelve if you had insisted,’ he teased.
‘And I would have taken five if pressed,’ she replied. She picked up her bag and handed it up to him, then held out her hand. He pulled her up behind him on the horse.
‘You know how to dent a man’s pride,’ he countered.
‘It is not the only thing that I know how to dent if your hands do prove to be quicker than your wit. But I have confidence in you, sir, for you do have a sharp wit which bodes well for the future.’
Jack felt her arms wrap around his waist.
‘In such dire circumstances I am surprised you haggled your price considering I may not have stopped at all.’
‘I knew you would not leave me alone as you did not press your horse to go faster than an elderly mare’s walk.’
‘I hope I have not hired trouble this day,’ he muttered, but this time she did not answer. He felt the warmth of her head lying heavy against his back. It was not an unpleasant feeling and he found himself smiling inwardly. She is not as strong as she pretends to be, Jack thought to himself as he brought her cold hands further around his waist. Holding them tightly against his stomach with one hand, so she would not fall off as she slept, he turned his young gelding in the road and headed for home.
Chapter Five
Jenna opened her eyes and looked around her. Her room was clearly visible in the early morning sunshine and now appeared serviceable and quite ordinary. This was very different from when she arrived last night, when every shadow in the room had appeared threatening and sinister.
She had fallen asleep on the ride, but remembered waking in her new employer’s arms as he carried her to the door. She recalled that his body had smelt of damp horse and leather, whilst his breath held a hint of sweet malt as he spoke. He had placed her on her feet as he opened the door and she had suddenly felt cold without his warm body around her. The strength of the wind, and the deep rumble of the sea in the distance, told her they were near the coast, yet the starless sky did not allow her to see the exterior of the house she was entering.
Inside she was no wiser. Every room was cloaked in darkness, except for the dim, fragile light of a flickering candle as they passed from room to room. The corners remained hidden in the shadows and ordinary objects took on strange shapes and a sinister air. It was sparse, small and lacked any evidence of comfort or permanency. It was as if it were a place to stay and no more, not a home to retreat to or a place to build memories.
After seeing Jack Penhale’s home, she felt she knew no more of the man who employed her. The enormity and vulnerability of her current position, alone with a stranger, suddenly struck her, but if she was in doubt about her decision, her employer was not. In a matter-of-fact way, he told her he would be out for most of the following day and gave her some money to fill the larder while he was gone. After showing her where she would sleep, he bid her a good night and she did not hear from him again.
This morning the sound of his leaving woke her. She stretched and smiled as she realised she was now quite alone. For the first time since her hurried marriage more than two years before, she felt at peace and safe. She was free from her husband’s beatings, free from his parents’ insults and free from Hobba’s wooden spoon. Jenna allowed herself one more delicious stretch in bed and then eased her feet out from beneath the sheets to the cold wooden floor below.
Jack’s small cottage was indeed sited near the coast. Although the wind had eased, the roar of the sea remained and its presence provided a permanent moving backdrop to his home. She spent the first day cleaning the cottage and buying supplies from the small neighbouring village of Lanros. When Jack returned he had a warm meal waiting and a fire lit. He appeared surprised at the subtle change an airing and an early fire could make to the comfort of a house, but he seemed content when he settled himself before the fire after he finished his meal.
The first evening she left him to his own thoughts, but as the week progressed, the awkwardness of sharing a home with someone she did not know well lessened, and she began to relax.
Jenna learned that the cottage was called the Captain’s Cottage, as it was built by a sea captain for his wife. It was said that she would sit at the window and watch for his ship to appear on the horizon, waiting for its return to port after yet another long and arduous journey. One day the ship did not return and the sea captain’s wife could bear to live there no more. When asked, Jack was evasive about how he came to possess it or how long he had lived there, but did tell her he planned to farm the land. Jenna knew better than to press her employer and did not question him further. In fact, it suited her not to pry as although they talked of many things, both were reluctant to share their history with the other.
Jack spent two days a week working on the land. He mended gates, fixed barns and trimmed hedges, which pleased the tenants of the neighbouring farms. Jenna knew that Cornish folk did not like to see land neglected and were glad that the new tenant of the Captain’s Cottage was taking an interest in it. However, Jenna knew he spent the other
five days somewhere other than tending to his land. Where he went was a mystery to her. He would leave early but the times he returned varied. Sometimes he would be hungry, other times he would not and Jenna noticed that if it rained his clothes were only occasionally wet, which suggested that sometimes he was outside a great deal, yet other times indoors. She did not know how he earned his money as he was not gentry, nor did he appear to have regular labourer’s hours. If he intended to farm the land, thought Jenna, he would have to buy a plough soon. If he ploughed too late the fields would have to remain fallow for another year. The one time she did ask where he was going, he told her he was looking for farm stock that would be suitable to rear on a coastal farm. He must have found it very difficult, for he never returned with any. The longer she lived with him, the more of a mystery he became to her. So when a visitor came calling several weeks later, Jenna’s interest was stirred.
Jack arrived home earlier than expected and in the company of a well-spoken gentleman dressed in well-made clothes. Taken by surprise at the appearance of a guest, Jenna took his hat and coat, fumbling a little as she did so.
‘My friend is hungry, Jenna. Please bring us a tray,’ Jack said as he took off his own hat and coat. She looked at him in horror. She knew what Jack and Mrs Hobba ate. She knew what Henry, his parents and her own parents would eat, but she had no idea what a gentleman would consider suitable to eat mid-afternoon.
Jack saw her dilemma and came to her aid. ‘Bread and mutton will suffice, and perhaps some port.’ He showed the man into the adjacent room and just as he shut the door, Jack gave her a reassuring smile. The sudden, intimate curve of his lips caught her off guard, and left her staring blindly at the closed wooden door, before she came to her senses and turned stiffly away.
Jenna entered the room some minutes later with a tray laden with food and port. She was aware that Jack’s visitor looked at her thoughtfully as, with great care, she laid out the plates.
‘How are you finding it here?’
She looked up, only to find it was not her he was addressing.
‘It will suffice,’ Jack replied.
‘It is a windy place to live.’
‘Only in winter.’
The conversation appeared stilted and trivial, so when Jenna left it was only natural that she should press her ear up against the door to learn more about her new employer and his only visitor. It was as she suspected, the conversation flowed much easier when she was out of the room.
‘Friend, I offered you a housekeeper but you refused.’
‘I did not plan to have one, but circumstances changed.’
‘A comely wench, perhaps it is not only housekeeping duties she undertakes. Bedchambers are cold places in winter without a woman to hold.’
Jenna, indignant at the insult, snorted with contempt – although the idea of lying with Jack was not an unpleasant one. In fact, her heart began to race at the very thought of it.
‘She is my housekeeper, no more.’ Silence followed. Fearful she was missing out, Jenna pressed her ear harder against the door. ‘I suspect her legs are bowed beneath her skirts,’ Jack continued, ‘and she has a problem with wind.’ The door opened and Jack’s smile broadened as he saw Jenna’s bowed head and hunched shoulders. Her face flushed with the colour of guilt. She had been caught.
‘Eavesdroppers hear no good about themselves,’ he told her.
‘How did you know I was listening?’
‘Because it is something I would have done in your position.’ Jack held out some coins. ‘I would like to talk in private,’ he said more seriously. ‘Go to Lanros and treat yourself.’
Confused, Jenna frowned.
‘To what?’ she asked.
Jack shrugged; he did not appear used to women asking him what they should buy.
‘Do you like sweetmeats?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I have never eaten one.’
‘Well, treat yourself to some and then you will know.’
Jenna’s fingers closed over the coins in her palm. Silas once asked her to steal a box of sweetmeats when she was a child. She did not want to, so she took a long time looking at the stall. Her brother finally gave up waiting for her and Jenna left without stealing anything, just as she hoped. Thanks to Jack, she was now able to buy a box. As she collected her shawl, she had the sudden urge for him to think well of her. She could not explain it, but for some reason it mattered greatly.
She turned to him. ‘I don’t have bowed legs or suffer from wind. I wanted you to know that.’
The corner of his lip lifted slightly. ‘I know,’ he said quietly, before shutting the door.
Jack watched her from the window as she walked towards Lanros. The wind twisted her long hair and buffeted her dress about her legs. She had a spring in her step, like a child who had been given a treat. He wondered what sort of childhood she had had for her to feel such pleasure at being treated.
He turned to his friend. ‘She has gone, Enoch. We can talk now.’
He found Sir Enoch Pickering staring at him, deep in thought. Jack knew him well enough to know that Enoch would soon voice what was on his mind. Instead of pressing him, Jack selected two glasses and began to pour them each some port.
They had worked together on many occasions as Enoch had commissioned Jack’s services several times in recent years. It was at Enoch’s request he was in this part of Cornwall now. They both wanted to bring an end to the smuggling trade and while Jack was the one to get his hands dirty, Enoch watched silently from the sidelines. However, at the end of each mission he always paid Jack well for his thief-taking services and often referred his rich friends to him. The arrest of the odd debtor or poacher for Enoch’s affluent friends helped Jack put food on the table in lean times. Lean times such as now, when no one was willing to share what they knew. Jack respected Enoch and his vision regarding the smuggling trade, however he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what was on his mind now.
‘It is dangerous to have another person here,’ said Enoch. ‘Do you know much about her?’
Jack paused before answering. ‘She is a widow,’ he said, carefully replacing the bottle of port. ‘Her husband was called Henry Kestle. He was hanged at Goverek gibbet for poaching a few weeks ago.’
‘His name sounds familiar. I believe he offered information to Captain Henley a while back, but disappeared shortly afterwards.’
‘He knew about the smuggling trade around here?’
‘We will never know. Although, I would be willing to wager there are few men who do not know something about it. Strange that he was hanged. I know that poaching is a hanging offence, but leniency is usually shown.’
‘I understand he was a troublemaker. Perhaps the judge felt it was time that he paid with his life.’
‘And now you have his widow under your roof. You are taking a risk, Jack.’
‘In what way?’ Jack offered his friend a glass of port.
‘She may be involved in the smuggling trade. She may be a spy.’
A deep furrow marked Jack’s brow. ‘Jenna has given me no reason for concern. I will not turn her out now.’ He heard Enoch suck air through his teeth. ‘But I will remain vigilant, Enoch.’
‘Are you sure that your bed is not crying out for warmth and damaging your judgement in such matters?’
‘November has a habit of bringing a chill to the bed, but a warming pan will suffice for now.’ The other man laughed into his port, but Jack was not so jovial. ‘Captain Henley almost gave me away in the Tolbridge Inn.’
‘I will speak to him.’
‘I have spent the last few weeks mixing with the local folk here. I do not need the head of the land guard being loose with his tongue.’
‘He is struggling. It seems everyone in Cornwall is connected in some way. He does not have enough men to enforce the prevention of contraband. He has one man to guard each four-mile stretch. At the moment, if he discovers a landing site, he can call upon the dragoons for help, but it is only a m
atter of time before they are sent to America to help quell the rebellion there.’
‘Enough young lives have already been wasted in that unjust war.’
‘Every war has a side that believes it is unjust. Henley’s task is difficult now and will be impossible once they leave.’
‘Smuggling is only profitable because of the high taxes the government places on imported goods. If the taxes are lowered there would be no profit to be made.’
‘War is expensive and needs to be paid for. We need the money from the taxes to pay for our wars.’
‘Yet the government is unable to collect it because imports are smuggled into the country under the cover of night.’
Enoch nodded in agreement, tore off some bread and took a bite.
‘When the majority of the population lives in poverty,’ Jack continued, ‘it is little wonder that men in need of money cannot resist such a window of opportunity.’
‘I do not always agree with the members of parliament who make rules for the majority,’ said Enoch. ‘Unfortunately not all have the skills to see the world through another class’s eyes. I can offer advice but my job is to assist, not to persuade them to change policies. I have only asked for your help because the major traders in tea and brandy are losing huge sums each year due to the smuggling trade in England.’ He waved a chunk of bread at Jack. ‘And Cornwall harbours the worst culprits, with its numerous hidden coves and miles of coastline. But now I discover that you are beginning to sound like you condone the free traders.’
‘I don’t condone the trade, but I understand what drives it. One needs to understand the enemy if one is to find its weakness.’
His friend narrowed his eyes. ‘And what of your weakness, Jack?’
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