Devil's Prize

by Jane Jackson

  ‘I called at your house. But your mother said –’

  ‘Is Betsy –?’

  Jenefer shook her head. ‘No, she’s much better. I came – I hoped to see you.’

  ‘Me? Why?’

  After a quick glance round Jenefer blurted, ‘He’s alive.’

  A rushing sound like a great waterfall filled Tamara’s head. She heard a gasping cry, and realised with faint surprise that it had come from her throat. The ground tilted under her feet and an arm gripped her around the waist.

  ‘I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have – are you ill?’

  Swallowing her nausea, her skin prickling, Tamara sucked in a deep breath. ‘No, I’m all right. It was just – please, could we go to your house? I need to know – and it won’t be possible – my mother –’

  ‘Of course. Here, take my arm.’

  Tamara’s legs felt boneless. Her shift clung to her clammy skin, and her throat was parched. But none of it mattered. She had believed. And she was right. Devlin was alive.

  They cut across the quay. The water in the harbour was eerily smooth. It reminded her of pitch then of black satin.

  A few minutes later they turned into the opeway that led to Devlin’s cottage. Once inside, Tamara sank onto a chair and watched Jenefer shovel coal onto the embers, open the damper, and pull the kettle over the flames.

  ‘You are sure?’ Tamara asked, desperate for reassurance as Jenefer took off her coat and flung it over the banister rail. ‘It isn’t just a rumour?’

  ‘No, I’m sure. I’ve seen him.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here. He came here. He wanted me to take a message to Jared Sweet.’

  Tamara stood up, but swayed as her head spun and quickly sat down again, supporting her head on her hands. Anxiety coursed through her.

  ‘Don’t try to move until you’ve had some tea,’ Jenefer warned.

  ‘But he’s all right? He’s not injured?’

  ‘There were bruises on his face and temple –’ Jenefer set the kettle down and put the lid on the small teapot. ‘Forgive me, but – Is it true what your mother told me? That you are to be married to Thomas Varcoe?’

  Her mother. Tamara pushed her fingers through her hair. Reluctant to get involved in explanations she raised her eyes. She cared little for what people thought of her, but hoped she might still protect her parents. ‘It’s difficult – complicated –’

  Jenefer tipped milk into each cup then poured the tea. As she pushed the cup across, Tamara saw her hand was shaking.

  ‘I know. It’s hard to keep secrets in this village. You mentioned rumours. I heard one. I was not gossiping,’ she added quickly. ‘I was in the shop and couldn’t help overhearing. It – they were saying –’

  ‘About me?’ Lifting her cup with both hands Tamara sipped. With each mouthful of hot tea she felt her strength returning.

  Sitting opposite, Jenefer nodded. ‘You – and Devlin.’

  ‘Ah.’ Tamara met her gaze directly. ‘I love him. But he –’ To her horror her voice cracked. She put her trembling lips to the cup, swallowed more tea, and with it the lump in her throat.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jenefer said.

  ‘Why did he want Jared?’ Tamara lowered the cup, clattering it onto the saucer. ‘Oh God, surely he can’t be making another run? But if he is –’ Her head hurt and she rested on her hands as she tried to work it out.

  ‘When Thomas came to our house he told my mother that Devlin was either dead or a prisoner. If he believes that, then he can’t have put up the money. So who has?’ She looked up. ‘What if Thomas lied? What if he does know Devlin’s alive? What if he’s found out Devlin is making a run for someone else? Thomas hates his brother. While I was up on the moor I saw Willie Grose push something under Lt Crocker’s door.’ Tamara gazed at Jenefer. ‘Willie wouldn’t do that on his own account. Thomas must have sent him.’

  ‘Devlin is making another run,’ Jenefer said. ‘But it’s not for contraband. He’s trying to rescue a Government agent.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I didn’t want to take the message so he was forced to tell me. But he swore me to secrecy.’

  ‘What was the message?’

  ‘Just that Jared should meet him.’

  ‘Did he say where?’

  Jenefer shook her head. ‘He said Jared would know, but it was safer for me not to.’

  ‘If Thomas has alerted Lt Crocker to call out the dragoons, Devlin will be sailing into a trap.’ Cold rage at Thomas’s duplicity had banished all trace of her faintness and the tea had given her energy. She felt strong, determined, and impatient. ‘Thomas said Devlin was either a prisoner or dead. If he was a prisoner, how did he get free? Someone in authority must be involved in this. Devlin must have made some kind of bargain and his side of it is to rescue this agent.’

  ‘But what if …?’

  ‘He’ll do it,’ Tamara insisted. ‘He’s the bravest, most skilled seaman on this coast.’ Then she noticed Jenefer was shaking.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  Jenefer looked up. She was laughing, but her face was creased with anguish and tears streaked her cheeks. ‘Do you know who this agent is?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Tamara was bewildered. ‘How could I?’

  ‘I do. His name is Martin Erisey.’

  Startled because she recognised the name, Tamara tried to recall where and when she had heard it. As realisation dawned, she gazed at Jenefer, tightness gathering at the base of her skull. ‘But … isn’t he …’

  ‘The man to whom I am betrothed? The man with a life I knew nothing about? A man who has lied to me since the day we met?’ As Jenefer’s voice climbed, Tamara reached across the table to touch her arm. ‘Yes, that’s Martin Erisey. I wish him no harm. Indeed, I hope he escapes, and survives the voyage home. But as for our engagement – I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

  ‘This is not the time for such decisions,’ Tamara said gently. ‘I must go. I need to warn Devlin about –’

  ‘You can’t. It’s too late. He came last night. If Jared went to meet him, surely they will have sailed at once?’

  Tamara sank back. ‘Of course they would. He wouldn’t dare wait. The risk of being seen, or someone talking –’

  ‘I should go and see Betsy. She will be so worried. I’m ashamed I haven’t told her –’

  ‘Devlin swore you to secrecy for good reason.’ Tamara raised her hand to forestall Jenefer before she could speak. ‘I know why you told me, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough. But God willing they should be back before dawn tomorrow. It might be better if you wait until then. You’re under great strain –’

  Jenefer’s mouth twisted. ‘After all that’s happened these past months I should be used to that.’

  Tamara buttoned her coat. ‘I must go home. I was only going out for an hour and my mother will be fretting.’

  Jenefer followed her to the door. ‘What will you do about Thomas?’

  Tamara shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I can’t think about that now.’

  As she closed the front door Tamara saw Sally emerge from the kitchen clutching some burning feathers and a small dark bottle.

  ‘Oh, miss, thank God you’re home,’ the maid whispered. ‘In some state she is. She’s shouting for her drops. But I didn’t like to –’

  ‘That’s all right, Sally. I’ll see to it. Just give me a moment.’

  ‘Tamara? Is that you?’

  Crossing to the bottom of the stairs and gesturing for Sally to go on up, Tamara called. ‘Yes, Mama. I’m just coming.’

  ‘How could you!’ Morwenna cried as Tamara entered. Lying on her bed with several pillows at her back, she inhaled the smoke as Sally passed the feathers under her nose, grimacing and pushing the maid’s hand away. ‘Where are my drops? I need my drops.’

  Tamara took the bottle from the maid. ‘Go on downstairs,’ she said softly.

  ‘Want me to leave the feathers, miss?’ />
  ‘No, take them with you.’

  As Sally scuttled out and Tamara closed the door behind her, Morwenna pressed a tear-soaked ball of cambric to her nose. ‘Be back in an hour I said. But you’ve been gone over two. I’ve been almost out of my mind with worry.’

  Measuring five drops of laudanum into a small glass of water, Tamara carried it across to where her mother lay. Morwenna snatched it and drained the contents, then sank back against the mound of pillows. Retrieving the glass, Tamara sat on the side of the bed. Her mother’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen almost shut. Concern replaced her initial impatience.

  ‘Why, Mama?’ she asked gently. ‘I told you I was going for a walk. You know how I lose track of time –’

  Morwenna’s face crumpled. ‘I thought you’d run away,’ she sobbed. ‘I was afraid you weren’t coming back. People would ask where you were and there’d be a scandal and I couldn’t face it, Tamara. It would be the death of me.’

  Because the thought of flight had crossed her mind only to be dismissed, Tamara was able to meet her mother’s fearful gaze. Leaning down she pressed her lips to the puckered forehead. The skin was damp and hot. She took her mother’s hand, hoping the tincture of opium would work quickly.

  ‘Well, here I am,’ she soothed. ‘I’m truly sorry you were so worried.’

  ‘Yes, but where were you?’

  The familiar undertone of complaint was preferable to the abject terror she’d heard in her mother’s voice a moment earlier.

  ‘I met Jenefer Trevanion and she invited me back with her for a cup of tea.’

  ‘She called here while you were out. What did she want?’

  ‘Nothing very much.’ The lie slipped easily from Tamara’s tongue. To protect Devlin she would lie to God Himself. ‘Just to let me know that Betsy is making a good recovery and hopes I may be free to call on her next week.’ She hesitated. ‘Mama, why did you tell Miss Trevanion –’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Her mother demanded. Bright patches of colour bloomed in her cheeks. ‘It’s no more than the truth. And the sooner people know the better.’ Her gaze dropped to Tamara’s waist then slid away. ‘I had every right to tell her.’ She wiped her nose. ‘I hear she’s living in the cottage that man bought when it was a ruin.’

  Tired, wondering whether Devlin had yet reached France, whether he had managed to find Erisey, whether they had got away safely, Tamara held onto her temper.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Well?’ Morwenna prompted, settling herself more comfortably, her eyelids perceptibly heavier. ‘What is it like?

  Tamara had not intended to frighten her mother. But having done so the least she could do now was indulge her curiosity.

  The clock had just struck nine when Tamara said goodnight to her parents and went up to bed. The laudanum’s calming effect had enabled her mother to get up and eat her evening meal, which in turn would help her to sleep.

  A fire in the small grate had taken the chill from her bedroom and flames from the glowing coals added their own light to that of her candle. She was grateful for the warmth. The stresses of the day had left her physically and emotionally exhausted. And when she was tired she always felt cold.

  Carrying a copper warming pan, Sally slid it between the sheets, moved it back and forward then left it as she crossed to take Tamara’s gown.

  Undressed to her shift, Tamara sat in front of her toilet table, opened the drawer and took out her hairbrush.

  Sally closed the wardrobe door.

  ‘Like me to do that, would you miss?’

  ‘Not tonight, I can manage.’ She just wanted to be left alone.

  ‘All right if I go, then?’ Sally crossed to the bed and removed the copper warming pan. ‘I just heard mistress come up.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Still the maid hesitated. ‘You sure I can’t fetch you something, miss? Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you do look awful tired.’

  ‘It’s not been an easy day.’ Swivelling round Tamara forced a smile. ‘I’ll be fine tomorrow. I just need a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘’Night then, miss.’

  ‘Goodnight, Sally.’

  After brushing her hair and exchanging her shift for a nightdress, Tamara blew out the candle and climbed into bed. Lying on her back she rested her right hand on her belly and thought of the child growing inside her and, as she did every night, of Devlin.

  She pictured his face: dark brows raised as he mocked, the hunger in his eyes as he drew her close, the gentle warmth of his lips the first time he had kissed her, the weight and strength and heat of his body. She had felt so safe. Yet the price of those wonderful moments was rejection and bitter anger. It hurt. How it hurt. Hot tears leaked beneath her closed eyelids and slip down her temples into her hair.

  He did not want her, and she must marry his brother. But right now all that mattered was that he returned safely.

  Told by his uncle where Martin was waiting, Devlin had not recognised the dishevelled, unshaven man clad in peasant clothes. Though the local fishermen shook their heads, warning of the coming storm, Devlin knew he dared not wait. The moment Martin was aboard they left.

  Thin, haggard, and clearly exhausted, Martin asked for food, ate what was he was given, then wrapped himself in a blanket and crawled into the sail locker out of the way.

  Forced south by the north-easterly wind, Devlin had to keep tacking. This meant shifting ballast, making the tired men even wearier. As the night wore on and the wind rose to a near gale he ordered both lug sails dropped, leaving just the staysail to maintain their heading. The wind pressure on the masts alone was driving the lugger forward through heaped up seas half the height of the fore mast. Waves breaking all around gleamed white in the darkness and the shrieking wind blew foam in long streaks from the crests.

  The muscle-straining pitch and roll added to the crew’s difficulties, forcing them to hold on with one hand and bale with the other. Devlin needed every ounce of his strength to hold the tiller steady while Jared did the work of two men.

  Each time the boat plunged into a trough the wind noise eased before rising again to a thrumming scream as they reached the crest and were hurled down the slope into the next trough. Soaked and chilled, deafened by the gale, Devlin yelled at the men to swap sides and change jobs. He had to keep them moving. He knew how tired they were, and that the urge to sleep was becoming harder to fight.

  By morning the wind had veered towards the south. But instead of blowing itself out it seemed to be strengthening. Running before it, they were in constant danger of a following wave breaking on top of them. The air was thick with spray and hard to breathe. Salt had made Devlin’s eyes sore and they burned with tiredness.

  If he died, who would miss him? His brother certainly wouldn’t. The crew would find work on other boats. Jared would marry Betsy.

  He had worked hard and been successful. Money and reputation had bought him everything he wanted: property, his lugger, and women. He had earned his crew’s respect and loyalty. Jared had been more of a brother to him than Thomas, though he might have damaged their friendship beyond repair.

  Would Tamara miss him? Why should she? She had loved him, and he had thrown her gift back in her face. He wished now – too late – that he’d had her courage. But conditioned from childhood to expect rejection he had kept even those kindest to him at a distance.

  The lugger teetered on a foaming wave-crest. Caught by the wind, it began to twist. Jared lurched to help him and Devlin hauled on the tiller with all his strength as the boat plunged.

  Chapter Twenty

  Gradually Tamara became aware of a loud roaring. She opened her eyes. It was still dark, and the noise was the wind. Suddenly rain splattered like gravel against the window making her jump. Outside she could hear the boom, crash, and hiss of breaking waves.

  Her mother’s shriek catapulted her out of bed and she fumbled for the tinderbox on her nightstand. She had just lit her candle when the
door opened and she saw her father. Hastily dressed in breeches, shirt, and waistcoat he raised the lantern.

  ‘Good, you’re awake. Come and see to your mother. I have to go down to the yard. I’ve got two boats up on props. If this wind gets any stronger –’ He shook his head, superstition stopping him in case voicing his worst fears made them happen.

  ‘Is she ill?’

  ‘She’s afraid the wind will take the roof.’ Anxiety made him terse.

  ‘What time is it, Papa?’ Seizing her robe from the foot of the bed she pulled it on and hastily knotted the sash. Grabbing her candleholder and shielding the flame with one palm she padded barefoot after him.

  ‘About five, I think.’

  That meant another hour until sunrise. Where was Devlin? Was he still off the French coast? Had he reached Cornish waters? Was he caught up in the storm?

  She entered her parents’ room and her mother looked round from the open drawers of a chest. She was clutching an armful of shifts and nightgowns. Her eyes were wide, her frilled bedcap awry. ‘Quick! Empty the closet. We must take everything downstairs before the roof goes. Listen! Can’t you hear it? I need my clothes. I cannot be seen like this. I have a position – my dignity – Come on, Tamara!’

  Terror had put her beyond reason, so Tamara didn’t waste time trying. Crossing to her mother’s side she set down her candle then took the clothes and dropped them on top of the disordered bedcovers.

  ‘I’ll bring them. But first let’s go downstairs to the living room. I’ll make up the fire so you’ll be warm and safe.’ Their arms linked, she drew her mother firmly towards the landing and stairs.

  ‘But the roof – ?’ In the flickering candlelight her mother’s face was haggard with fear.

  ‘Mama,’ Tamara reassured, ‘this house is over fifty years old and has withstood countless storms.’

  Her mother stared at her, plagued by doubt but wanting to believe. ‘But all that groaning and creaking –’

  ‘Is just the wind under the eaves.’

  Tamara opened the living room door and guided her mother to an armchair, then set the candle on a side table. ‘There. It’s much quieter in here. I’ll fetch a blanket so you’ll be comfortable while we wait for it to pass.’