Devil's Prize

by Jane Jackson

  But these past weeks her own life had changed. She had changed. She had shot a tinner, worked – ineptly – in a stinking pilchard cellar, and bargained herself into a job. She had discovered more than was comfortable about her own limitations and gained insight into the lives of the village women.

  Without Lizzie Clemmow, Ernestine Rowse and Hannah Tresidder she would be in desperate straits. She had no right to judge anyone. Nor could she allow Lizzie to continue worrying, fearing Sam was dead.

  Waiting in the cave, Devlin tried to think ahead. An overcast sky veiled the quarter moon making the lugger difficult to spot. But the lack of wind worried him. They’d have to use the sweeps. Fortunately the pins were padded with oakum so the long oars wouldn’t rattle. But with the crew already short of sleep, prolonged rowing would exhaust them before they got anywhere near the French coast. He could only hope that once away from land and into deep water they would pick up a breeze.

  Alerted by the faint clink of a falling pebble he pressed back against the cave wall. A darker shadow moved across the entrance. Then he heard a whisper.

  ‘Dev?’

  ‘Here.’ Pushing himself away from the rock, Devlin extended his arm and a moment later Jared’s huge hand clasped his.

  ‘What’s on?’

  Grateful for Jared’s brevity, Devlin told him all that had happened.

  ‘Sam, Ben and Joe will be held in Bodmin until we bring Erisey back.’

  ‘You trust Casvellan?’

  ‘What choice do I have? But yes, I do.’

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Aboard the lugger, in the next cove. Jared, I need you with us.’ Having explained the urgency of the situation, Devlin anticipated swift agreement. But as Jared remained silent, Devlin’s surprise turned to angry disappointment.

  ‘Lost your nerve? If that’s what love does –’ He bit the words off, instantly ashamed, not understanding what had prompted them.

  Hearing Jared’s intake of breath he waited for the tongue-lashing he knew he deserved.

  ‘What would you know about love?’

  Jared’s scorn made him even angrier. Clamping down on his temper and other emotions he dared not acknowledge, he forced himself to be calm.

  ‘It’s small compensation for the risk, but I’m paying triple the rate for a smuggling run. Surely a man planning to marry by special licence needs all the money he can get?’ He was putting Jared in an intolerable position. But he had no choice. Jared was worth two men. Without him they had little hope of success. Even with him the entire venture was a desperate gamble.

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Jesus, Devlin!’

  Devlin knew what was on Jared’s mind. Betsy had lost her father and her home. Jared was her security, her future. But when she woke in the morning he would have disappeared and she’d have no idea where he’d gone or if he would return. He thrust the thought aside.

  ‘We have to go now.’ He couldn’t hide his urgency. ‘Someone is bound to notice the lugger is missing and we need to be halfway across the Channel by then.’ Damn it, in all the years they had been running contraband he had always brought them back. Why should this trip be any different? They could do it. Then, once they were home – He tried to imagine then but couldn’t. The pictures wouldn’t come. Refusing to worry and unable to stand the thickening silence he pressed on.

  ‘Casvellan has provided food, ale and blankets. The only thing we’re short of is wet weather gear. The cutter’s crew kept ours.’ He took a breath. ‘So, are you in or out?’

  ‘In. But this is the last –’

  ‘Don’t,’ Devlin interrupted, strain roughening his voice. ‘Please.’ He had damaged their friendship, perhaps irreparably. Yet what could he have done different? ‘Let’s get this over first. Then we can talk –’

  ‘Nothing more to say.’ Jared’s murmur was lost in the darkness.

  Spooning up stew, Thomas chased each mouthful with a gulp of brandy, and brooded. He wouldn’t have thought it possible to hate his brother any more than he already did. But Tamara telling him she was with child by Devlin had added a new and bitter dimension to his loathing. Had she been raped he wouldn’t have minded so much. Knowing she had resisted and been overpowered would have been some small comfort. Damn him. Damn them both. Why couldn’t she have lied?

  Raised voices and a clatter of booted feet in the passage brought his head up as Willie Grose burst in through the door.

  ‘What the hell –?’ Thomas roared.

  ‘Hark a minute,’ Willie panted. ‘Wait till you hear what I got to say. Be glad I come over, you will.’

  ‘Get on with it then,’ Thomas snarled.

  ‘I just come from the Five Mackerel. One of Casvellan’s stable lads was in supping ale while he waited for a carthorse to be shod. We got talking and he said he’d seen the prison cart arrive this morning and three of your brother’s crew was put aboard in chains.’

  ‘What d’you mean, three? He usually sails with –’

  ‘That’s all there was, just the three. Sam Clemmow, Ben Tozer, and Joe Ince.’

  ‘What about my brother? Wasn’t he –?’

  ‘See, that’s what’s strange. The boy said he seen your brother yesterday. Afternoon it was, and him guarded by two dragoons. One had a pistol pointed at ’n. But he never got in the wagon. The boy haven’t seen hide nor hair of ’n since. ‘

  Not dead, and not on his way to gaol. So where was Devlin? Fear made Thomas queasy. The food and brandy curdling in his stomach, Thomas pushed his plate away, threw down his napkin, and rose from the table.

  ‘That bit o’ news have got to be worth the price of a drink or two,’ Willie said. ‘Go back again, shall I? See if there’s any word about where the others is to?’

  Taking coins from the cache in the side-table, Thomas dropped them into Willie’s dirt-ingrained palm. ‘Find out what you can, but keep your mouth shut.’

  Within the hour Thomas was astride his horse and riding hard for Porthleven. Despite the air’s chilly bite he arrived at the harbour sweating profusely. Not from the activity, but dread of what Devlin would do if he learned who had betrayed him. Pausing outside the Customs House he removed his beaver hat and wiped his forehead and upper lip with a handkerchief. After taking a few moments to compose himself he entered the building.

  As an anxious clerk opened the door to Eddy’s office, Thomas saw the supervisor sitting behind his desk, his face dark red with anger. Anger that would be turned on him unless he was quick to deflect it.

  ‘Well, Mr Eddy.’ Tucking his hat under his arm he tugged off his York tan gloves and slapped them against his thigh. ‘I have been hearing the wildest stories.’

  ‘I daresay you have, sir. And they are no stranger than the truth. All that money!’ He slammed his hand onto the desk, making Thomas flinch. ‘And nothing to show for it. Not a single cask. They dumped the lot over the side. But at least I had prisoners. Where are they now? Tell me that! Gone, that’s where!’ he snarled before Thomas had a chance to say a word.

  ‘Casvellan sent a letter.’ Eddy rummaged among the mess of papers on his desk. ‘Ordered me to have them brought to Trescowe under guard. He’s the justice so I couldn’t argue. I couldn’t have kept them here anyway. Where am I supposed to hold six prisoners? And now the boat’s gone as well. It was here last night. Now it’s gone. I’ve had men out asking. Waste of time. Nobody saw anything. They never do. That boat would have fetched a tidy sum at auction. Even sharing it with the cutter’s captain and crew, I would have recouped something. Where did it go? Who’s had it?’

  Thomas’s mind raced, fuelled first by terror then by fury. ‘I think I know,’ he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Casvellan ordered the crew taken to him? He’s sending them to Roscoff for contraband.’

  ‘Casvellan?’ Eddy frowned as he considered. ‘I’d be very surprised. I’ve never met the man, but from what I’ve heard he’s straight as a die. Nothing’s been s
aid to me about him being involved with the trade.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Thomas retorted, convinced now. What other explanation could there be? ‘No one would ever suspect him. Why else would he have kept Devlin Varcoe out of gaol?’

  Eddy’s head came up, his eyes sharp with curiosity. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I have my sources,’ Thomas sat back. ‘For instance, I know that of the six men taken under guard to Casvellan’s house, only three were put aboard the prison wagon this morning. Where are the other three? And where is Devlin Varcoe? They were all at Trescowe yesterday. Now they’ve vanished. I’m telling you, Casvellan has them making a run.’

  ‘Just say you’re right –’

  ‘I am, and I’ll prove it. Varcoe will be returning with a cargo of contraband either tomorrow or the night after. Write me an order for Lieutenant Crocker to call out the dragoons. I’ll have it delivered as soon as I get back to Porthinnis. You’ll get your contraband. And I’ll see Varcoe on the end of a rope. He won’t cheat me again.’

  Riding away with the signed order in his pocket, Thomas’s mood swung wildly between elation and panic. Devlin must die. His own future depended on it.

  After delivering Devlin’s message to Jared, Jenefer had hurried back to the cottage and crawled into bed, shivering as much from nerves as from cold. But sleep had been impossible. She knew now where Martin was and what he’d been doing. But that knowledge only made her feelings about him even more confused.

  For months he had braved discovery and death on a daily basis. She could not begin to imagine what life must have been like for him, living a lie, having to keep moving, always at risk of betrayal. How had he managed to survive? Of course she wanted him to come back safely. But if he did, what then? She was betrothed to a man she didn’t know.

  It was a little after three o’clock when she walked up the path to the thatched house next to the boatyard. A thick veil of cloud hid the sun and the milky sky was luminescent. With no wind to carry it away the sound of hammering and the rhythmic scrape of a saw seemed very loud.

  Devlin had warned her to tell no one. But he should have reached Roscoff by now. She knew what it meant to be denied the truth: to live with fear and anxiety. Why should Tamara suffer that? Yet Jenefer still wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing.

  The young maid who answered her knock looked tired and harassed. Jenefer’s twinge of sympathy made her realise how much more aware of others she had become.

  ‘Good afternoon.’ She met the girl’s gaze with a smile. ‘Is Miss Gillis at home?’

  Before the maid could reply, Tamara’s mother appeared in the hall behind her. ‘Miss Trevanion. This is a pleasant surprise. My goodness, you poor girl, what a time you’ve had. Is it true you’ve been working in Mr Casvellan’s pilchard cellars?’

  Detecting relish beneath the spurious sympathy Jenefer’s smile faded but she kept her voice level. ‘Briefly. I wasn’t very adept at it. Is Tamara at home, Mrs Gillis?’

  Morwenna waved the maid away. ‘Go back up, Sally. I’ll be with you shortly.’ She turned again to Jenefer. ‘I’m afraid not. And you find me in the middle of preparations for her wedding.’

  Stunned, Jenefer could only stare at her. ‘Wedding?’ She managed finally.

  ‘Indeed.’ Morwenna beamed as she clasped her hands over her lace-frilled bosom. ‘Mr Thomas Varcoe offered for Tamara and she has accepted him. Naturally, due to the difficult circumstances, it will be a quieter wedding than her father and I would have wished.’

  ‘Difficult?’ Jenefer repeated faintly, thinking of the rumours and astounded that Tamara’s mother would mention such matters at all, let alone to a relative stranger. For although they lived in the same village social meetings between the Gillis and Trevanion families had been rare.

  ‘Yes,’ Morwenna nodded with great solemnity. ‘It is quite a tragedy. His brother is missing and we must prepare ourselves for the worst.’ She sighed, shaking her head. ‘But life must go on.’ Her brave smile implied valiant effort for her daughter’s sake. ‘It is, I’m sure, what Devlin would have wanted.’

  For a moment Jenefer was speechless. Then courtesy and her mother’s training came to her rescue. ‘My apologies. I have come at a bad time. I – I – wish them very happy.’ She turned away.

  ‘Will you not leave a message?’ Morwenna could not contain her curiosity. ‘Tell me and I will tell my daughter the moment she returns. I am very busy but –’

  ‘Thank you, no.’ Jenefer edged away.

  ‘It’s not your sister, is it? I hear she’s been poorly. Betsy is such a dear girl. Tamara is very fond of her.’

  Beginning to wish she hadn’t come, Jenefer continued backing down the path. ‘She’s much better, thank you.’

  ‘Tamara will be glad to hear it. Good day to you, Miss Trevanion.’ The door closed with a snap.

  Perhaps it was as well that Tamara was out. If Devlin were killed bringing Martin home, Tamara would be no worse off than she was now. Why tell her he was alive when by tomorrow or the night after he might not be? She had accepted Thomas Varcoe? Why would she have done that? It didn’t make sense.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Earlier that afternoon, her nerves shredded by her mother’s ceaseless instructions, these interspersed with reminders of her good fortune, Tamara had begged to be excused.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mama, but I have a dreadful headache.’

  ‘My dear girl, why didn’t you say so? Here, come and lie down. I will ring for Sally to fetch –’

  ‘No, Mama, thank you. I will be better much sooner if I walk in the fresh air.’

  ‘You do look pale. Very well then, go out if you must. But make sure you wrap up warm. I cannot be doing with you catching a chill. And while you walk, try to recover your spirits. You should remember your good fortune. When I think –’ She shuddered. ‘I shall expect you back in an hour. No later, mind. I need you here. There is so much to do.’

  ‘I only distract you, Mama. You will get on far better without me.’

  As she fastened her green jacket, Tamara tried to feel grateful that her family would be spared disgrace. Thomas had held her hand and promised to take care of her. But while his mouth smiled his eyes had raged. Recalling the touch of his soft damp fingers made her flesh creep.

  Once out of the house she walked quickly up onto the moor, her favourite refuge since her early teens. She loved the space and solitude. Usually, being up here able to look down onto the village, the harbour and beyond to the sea, allowed her to distance herself from whatever troubled her. It put problems into perspective. But today there was no escape from what she had done.

  Though there had been no alternative to accepting Thomas, every fibre of her being rebelled. But Devlin hadn’t wanted her. Even if he still lived he was bound for prison, and then – there was no if. He was alive. He was. Had he been killed, she would have sensed it. She would know.

  What could she do but marry Thomas? But how would she bear to? She hugged herself, the ache almost unbearable. She yearned for Devlin, grieved for Devlin. But she also felt something deeper than loss, darker than grief. It was fear: a premonition of something terrible.

  She tried to persuade herself such imaginings were due to shock, or her condition, the pressures of a marriage she dreaded yet could not avoid. But in her heart she knew it was none of those things.

  She tilted her head back. The air was totally still. She could hear the harsh cawing of rooks. Yet the nearest trees were at Trescowe, a quarter of a mile away. Her eyes flew open and every muscle in her body tightened. She looked around, desperately seeking an explanation for her unease.

  Her gaze swept over the village from the cottages on the seawall, tiers of houses separated by alleys, the church, the chapel, Thomas Varcoe’s house, then down again to the harbour and quay. Seeing Devlin’s workshop with the net store and his loft above, memories flooded back. And with the images came sensation as she relived all that she had felt. Her heart swelled as if it
would burst and a low cry escaped before she could stop it. Biting hard on her lower lip she choked down sobs, her chest heaving with the effort. Blinking away tears she dared not allow to fall – for her mother might notice and that would provoke a tirade – she focused on the barking shed, then the pilchard cellars, then her father’s boatyard.

  She started to turn away but her attention was caught by a figure skulking by the bushes near the gate of Lieutenant Crocker’s house. She watched the figure hurry up the path and push something beneath the door.

  Raising her hands to shade her eyes as the man scurried down the road, she recognised the way he moved. According to Roz, Willie Grose liked to tell anyone who would listen that he was Mr Varcoe’s right-hand man. Yet she had just seen him at the Riding Officer’s door.

  Had he and Thomas fallen out? Was this an act of revenge? She ought to warn Thomas. But he would want to know how she knew. Where had she been that allowed her to see this occurrence? He had already annoyed her by telling her mother he didn’t approve of young women risking their safety and their reputation by going out without a chaperone.

  She started walking, the path so familiar she was barely aware of it.

  Marriage to Thomas would be a cage to which he held the only key. Watching his face when she told him of her condition, she had seen his fury. No matter what he told her mother, or his promises to protect and care for her, she was under no illusions. Her whole family was in his debt. But it was she who would pay. She would be his property to use as he chose. How would she bear it? At least she would have her baby. Wouldn’t she?

  ‘Miss Gillis?’

  Startled, Tamara glanced up. It took her a moment to realise she had reached the crossroads, then another to recognise Betsy’s sister. But what was she doing here? As Tamara’s gaze sharpened so did her instincts. But Jenefer spoke first.