by Jane Jackson
‘I’ll come at once. Wait,’ she called as he turned away. ‘Did Miss Trevanion want me to bring anything?’
William shrugged uncertainly. ‘She and Mizz Rowse and my ma was all carrying veg and blankets and pans. I had to go to Rowe’s and buy all his bread.’
‘Thank you, William.’ She gave him a penny out of the tin on the shelf. ‘You go on back. Tell her I’m right behind you.’
Sally closed the door behind him. ‘Miss, are you sure –’
Tamara paused briefly in the doorway. ‘He’s out there, Sally. In this. If I don’t keep busy I shall go mad.’
Rolling up four old blankets taken from the chest on the landing, she laced up her second-best boots, buttoned her poppy-red greatcoat, tied a shawl over her head and left the house once more.
Waves crashed over the quay and exploded against the buildings at the back. Shock took her breath as she saw the heap of rubble and wood, all that remained of Devlin’s workshop, and the loft where he had lived, where she had lain with him, loved him.
Refusing even to consider it an omen she told herself it meant nothing. His property, like a dozen others that had been damaged, was simply a casualty of the storm. When he came home he would rebuild.
She closed her eyes and conjured memories. Devlin busy on his boat, a blue checked shirt tight across his broad shoulders, dark curly hair ruffled by the breeze; black brows lifted in mockery, the corners of his mouth tilting as he teased her. He was so strong, so vital. He could not die.
Gasping, she forced herself onward. Jenefer needed her. The rain had stopped again, but the air was heavy with moisture and salt. As she cut through the back streets Tamara caught up with a family she recognised. Husband and wife were hollow-eyed. Each carried a big bundle: all they had had time to grab. Two older children led the younger ones, all of them shaken by the violence that had destroyed their home.
‘Mr Jory, take your family to the chapel,’ Tamara urged, briefly slowing her pace to theirs and shouting above the noise of the wind. ‘Miss Trevanion has arranged food and shelter for those who need somewhere safe. I’m going to help her. I’ll see you there.’
In defiance of the intermittent rain, one of the chapel’s double doors had been fastened back. A black-painted board with ‘All Welcome’ chalked on it was propped just inside, visible to anyone approaching.
In the vestibule, relieved to be out of the buffeting gale, Tamara loosened the shawl and pulled it off as she walked into the chapel.
The building was already half full. Wet and shivering, their faces pinched with shock and pale as wood ash, families sat among their pitifully few possessions. Above the smell of wet clothes and unwashed bodies she scented something savoury and appetising, and saw Lizzie Clemmow with a tray crammed with steaming cups, mugs, and bowls moving from group to group. Ernestine Rowse followed with two large platters piled with hunks of bread smeared with butter and topped with a sliver of cheese.
Craning her neck, Tamara saw Jenefer at the far end standing beside a table on the small platform from which Moses Carthew preached his notoriously threatening sermons. Starting forward she passed sullen-faced Mary-Anne Grose, who jerked her chin towards Jenefer.
‘Who do she think she is? Telling everybody what to do.’
Hands on her hips, Hannah Tresidder rounded on Mary-Anne. ‘Don’t you ever stop bleddy moaning? Doing an ’andsome job she is. Just like that there story in the Bible about the loaves and fishes. Look a’ound, maid.’ Hannah’s gesture encompassed everyone in the chapel. ‘Where’d they be now if ’t wasn’ for Miss Trevanion? Out on the street, wet and cold.’
‘Mr Carthew –’ Mary-Anne began.
‘Him?’ Hannah snorted. ‘Bleddy useless he is. Preach hell and damnation from sunrise to Thursday he would. But where’s he to? Eh? Not in here helping, that’s for sure. Miss Trevanion never belonged in no pilchard cellar, dear of her. But she wasn’t above trying. So stop your craking. I got no patience with it. Worth two of you she is. If you can’t be useful, get on home out of it.’
‘No need to be like that,’ Mary-Anne began, but Hannah was already hurrying away.
Tamara reached the table at which Jenefer, a stained apron covering her gown, was ladling steaming broth from a huge pan into another tray-load of cups and bowls. She glanced up, her face shiny with perspiration. Her smile was warm and conveyed relief.
‘Thank you so much for coming.’
‘I was glad to. I need to be busy. It’s the only way I –’ Tamara cut herself off and took a breath. ‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Quite a few people have minor injuries. Almost everyone has cuts and bruises either from things falling on them, or because they tripped on debris in the streets on their way here. Dr Avers was in earlier and treated some. But he’s been called away. I don’t like asking you to go out again, but you know Roz Trevaskis and I don’t. Her salves and ointments would really help –’
‘I’ll go and ask her to come down,’ Tamara said and turned to retrace her steps. As she eased her way through towards the door, more people were arriving, hesitating at the entrance. She saw the relief on their faces as Lizzie Clemmow called them by name and urged them to come inside.
‘Find yourselves a seat,’ Lizzie called. ‘I’ll be there d’rectly. Soon as I got some more broth, all right?’
Covering her head with the shawl and tying the ends at the back, Tamara made her way toward the seaward end of the village where Roz lived with her mother and younger brother. Their home was a cramped and dark cob-walled cottage behind the Five Mackerel inn.
As she reached the corner, her streaming eyes narrowed against the raging wind, and she saw that the outermost in a row of three small dwellings on the seawall had disappeared. The second had lost its roof and with each mountainous wave more masonry was torn from the walls and swept away by the seething water.
An old man stood in the doorway of the innermost cottage. Spray cascaded over the roof drenching the man and woman pleading with him. Two fishermen joined them, pointing to the foaming turbulence in the harbour, but still the old man shook his head.
A gigantic wave reared over the cottage. Grabbing the couple the fishermen ran, dragging them up toward the road. The breaker smashed onto the cottage, flinging sheets of spray high into the salt-laden air. Some spilled into the harbour the rest retreated taking the roof with it. There was no sign of the old man.
Horrified, powerless to help, Tamara forced her shaking legs to move. She could do nothing here, and Jenefer needed Roz. She dropped her gaze as she passed the couple, not wanting to intrude on the woman’s grief as the man tried to comfort her. It had happened so fast. The little house had been there one minute, yet between one breath and the next, half of it had been washed away.
Storms were a regular occurrence every winter and the village was grateful for the bounty they brought. But she had never seen seas like this. Devlin was out there. What chance did he have in the lugger when a much bigger troopship had foundered? Panic beat like dark wings in her head. Her breath sobbed as she fought overwhelming dread.
If she gave in to fear, acknowledged the possibility – the likelihood – that he might not get back … no! She had to trust, to believe he would survive. She couldn’t pray. Her own mother had called her wicked and thoughtless and selfish. Why would God listen to such as she? All she could do was have faith in Devlin, in his skill and his strength. Out there with only half a crew, the other half depending for their freedom on his return, he needed all of it, and more.
Trembling, she pounded on Roz’s door. Roz opened it. Behind her Tamara glimpsed Mary Trevaskis, open-mouthed and snoring in a chair by the fire.
‘Jenefer Trevanion needs your help.’ Steadying her voice, Tamara quickly explained.
Roz studied her, then gave a brief nod.
‘My boots are muddy so I’ll wait out here,’ Tamara said to spare her friend. She had never been invited inside. Understanding why, she felt no resentment.
&n
bsp; A few moments later Roz emerged carrying a basket containing jars and bottles. She wore her overlarge coat and a faded poke bonnet tied under her chin. Without a word she slipped her arm through Tamara’s. Huddled close, they hurried back towards the chapel.
Midday came and went. As word spread through the village more people arrived at the chapel. Though the number of homes completely devastated was relatively few, many more had lost chimneys or tiles, or had their windows smashed. The thatched roofs of two houses had been ripped off and straw lay scattered in drifts and clumps along the full length of the street.
Some people came seeking the comfort of company while they wait for the gale to ease. Few arrived empty-handed. Several brought food; others clothes outgrown or saved to be cut down.
Roz moved quietly and efficiently from one group to the next. She bathed cuts and grazes with a lotion of marigold and goldenseal, then applied a soothing salve and bandages where needed.
Tamara deliberately kept herself occupied. Two o’clock came, then three. To her intense relief there was plenty to do. Barely aware of her surroundings, or of the other women’s chatter, she chopped vegetables, sliced bread, folded squares of torn sheet into pads, and wound strips of linen into bandages. Then she began drying the cups and bowls Sarah had just washed.
She glanced up startled as the cloth was taken out of her hands.
‘It’s time you had a rest,’ Jenefer said gently.
‘I’m all right,’ Tamara protested. She had to keep busy. Devlin.
Pushing her down onto a chair, Jenefer thrust a cup of savoury vegetable broth into her hand. ‘No you aren’t. You’re as white as that sheet,’ she said softly. Straightening up she glanced round. ‘Is there any more bread?’
Lizzie hurried towards the table carrying a large cloth-wrapped parcel. ‘Tide’s turned and the wind’s dropping,’ she announced. ‘Here’s three barley and one wheat. Ernie says that’s the last he can do today. Still we shouldn’t need –’ As Jenefer moved aside and Lizzie saw Tamara, she frowned. ‘Dear life, miss, you do look –’
‘Tired, I know,’ Tamara pulled a wry face raised the cup. ‘Miss Trevanion is feeding me.’
‘The broth’ll do for a start, but you need more than that,’ Lizzie said. Swiftly slicing the fresh wheat loaf she spread one piece with butter then thrust it at Tamara forcing her to take it.
‘I really don’t –’
‘Yes you do,’ Lizzie was firm. ‘Come on now. You got to think of –’ She stopped, a blush colouring her cheeks, and turned to Jenefer. ‘Tell her, miss.’
‘Lizzie’s right,’ Jenefer said. ‘You’ve worked as hard as anyone here. And I doubt you had very much sleep.’ As Tamara moved one shoulder, she added softly. ‘I imagine the noise of the storm was very upsetting for your mother.’
Glancing up, Tamara saw understanding and sympathy in both women’s faces. Her eyes prickled and she looked quickly away, not wanting to appear weak. She had never wept easily. And though these past weeks her emotions had risen much closer to the surface and were far harder to control, she would not start now, especially in public.
‘You got to look after yourself,’ Lizzie whispered. ‘’Specially now.’
Jenefer nodded. ‘The day’s not over yet.’
Tamara cleared her throat to try and dislodge the choking lump. ‘Thank you.’ The broth was hot and tasty. She swallowed and felt its heat soothe and settle her stomach. Putting the cup on the table she took a bite of the buttered bread.
Ernestine bustled up, her round face flushed. ‘Mizz Trevanion, George said he just seen Mr Casvellan coming up the street. On one of his hunters he is, leading a pack mule with two great baskets –’ She broke off as the justice entered. The chatter died away leaving the chapel silent but for the rushing of the wind outside and the wail of a hungry baby.
Tamara didn’t move. Her chair on the platform at one side of the table allowed her to watch the justice’s approach. People edged away, the women bobbing, the men knuckling their foreheads. She saw Roz glance up, then quickly bend her head as she continued applying salve to the back of Minnie Kessell’s arthritic hand. But in that instant Roz’s expression, normally guarded, betrayed her and Tamara’s heart went out to her friend.
As Casvellan reached her Jenefer straightened up and wiped both hands on her apron. One hand rose as if to check her hair, but she quickly dropped it again and made a curtsey.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’
‘Miss Trevanion, I must congratulate you. All this,’ his gesture encompassed blanket-wrapped families and the women moving among them with trays of mugs and bowls, and platters of bread and butter. ‘It’s quite remarkable.’
‘You are kind to say so, sir. But I cannot take all the credit. Almost everyone in the village has contributed in one way or another.’
‘Following your example, Miss Trevanion.’ he smiled. ‘I am reliably informed.’
As Jenefer acknowledged the compliment, Tamara studied the justice’s face. Had he seen Roz? Did he know? His expression gave nothing away, but he would be aware that everyone was watching him. He was the law and, as virtually the whole community had some connection with free trading, few villagers felt easy in his presence.
‘I understand a troopship ran aground during the night?’
‘So I believe, sir,’ Jenefer replied.
‘Survivors?’
Tamara shook her head as Jenefer caught her eye.
‘Sadly no.’
‘What of the dead?’
Jenefer clasped her hands in front of her. ‘Miss Gillis, do you know …?’
Tamara straightened in her chair as Casvellan looked at her. ‘On my way here I saw Dr Trennack on the beach with several men. They were loading the bodies onto one of the farm wagons.’
‘I see.’ Casvellan nodded at her. ‘Thank you.’ He hesitated. Tamara waited, sensing he had another question. But he switched his gaze to Jenefer. ‘There is food, clothing, and blankets on a mule outside. I’m sure you will find a use for them. I had thought that – no matter.’
As he inclined his head and started down the aisle, Tamara realised that the loss of the troopship might have been one reason for his arrival. But he had another. He had come to see if Devlin was back. That was the question he had not asked.
He was the only man with the power to order custody of Devlin and his men transferred from the Supervisor of Customs to himself. It had to be the justice who had freed Devlin and half his crew in order for them to rescue Martin Erisey. And Casvellan was the only man with the power to send the remaining crewmen to gaol as hostages.
He had come to the village because the lugger was overdue. Were it not for the storm Devlin would have been back hours ago. And the dragoons would have been waiting. But sea conditions must have persuaded the lieutenant that a landing was impossible, for she had seen no sign of him or his soldiers.
Now no one knew where Devlin was, or even if he was alive. He was. If anything had happened to him she would know.
The justice had almost reached the door when Arf Sweet burst in. ‘Boat in the bay!’ he panted.
Tamara bolted from her chair, clutching the table as her head spun. Jenefer caught her.
‘It may not be –’
‘Of course it is,’ Tamara cried. ‘No one else would be out there in this. I have to go.’ Grabbing her coat she started down the aisle, pushing her arms into the sleeves as she squeezed past knots of people arguing about whether to stay in the chapel.
‘What’s the bleddy point going down the beach?’ One woman demanded. ‘Want to see ’em drown, do ’ee? ‘Cos that’s what’ll ’appen.’
No, no, it won’t! Tamara told herself, as she took the quickest route. They haven’t come all this way and survived those appalling conditions to fail now. Instinct told her Devlin wouldn’t attempt to come into the harbour. Even though the wind was easing it was still far too dangerous. It was all too likely that the boat would be driven against the quay wall and smashed.
She walked then ran along the narrow streets. Arf had left the chapel immediately after announcing the news. Seeing his stocky figure ahead, she could imagine his anxiety, for it mirrored her own. Willing them to make a safe landfall, terrified they might not. Fearing to watch, yet unable not to. Jared was his only son. Devlin her only love.
She followed him onto the beach. Blowing in from the sea, the wind caught her coat and gown so their skirts flapped behind her. It tugged curls loose from her chignon and she tasted salt on her lips.
The onshore wind meeting the ebbing tide piled the waves high. From beach to horizon the sea was wild and white with foam. As more people arrived, gathering behind her, Tamara caught snatches of their conversations between gusts. She scanned the sea, her gaze sharpening as she glimpsed the lugger. But no sooner had she spotted it, than it vanished, diving into a trough before appearing again on the next crest.
‘Bleddy suicide it is, trying to land in this lot.’
‘Well, they can’t stay out there, can ’em?’
‘Varcoe’s the only man could do it.’
‘He’s the only man would try. Mad he is.’
‘No such thing. But he might ’ave bit off too much this time.’
‘Where’re they to? I can’t see ’em.’
Impatient with the comments and not wanting to be distracted as she willed Devlin to safety, Tamara moved down the beach, never taking her eyes from the small triangle of brown canvas that kept disappearing behind the curling wave-crests.
While she watched her mouth and throat grew dry as she realised that the huge waves were followed at intervals by an even fiercer roller. When it reared, curled and crashed an evil cross-sea raced along the trough.
Devlin was beyond exhaustion. A voyage that usually took then between six and seven hours had already lasted sixteen. He ached in every muscle from the effort of trying to hold a course while Danny, Andy and Billy baled, fighting to keep the sea out of the boat. Erisey was doing his best to help, but weakness made him slow.
