A bundle of old letters lay on the table between us, loosely tied with string. ‘I didn’t look at them,’ I told Lucy again. ‘Nor did Jared, except just to see what they were. I promise.’
‘I don’t think I’d care any more if you had.’ She pushed her fringe back wearily, quite unlike her usual vigorous gesture. I wished for the hundredth time she’d just get her hair cut, at least at the front if she wanted to grow the rest of it long. ‘Olly West is a total bastard,’ she repeated. ‘I don’t know what we do about Jed, but I can’t help being quite glad that man hasn’t got these any more.’
‘You knew he had your letters?’
‘Oh, God, yes. I’ve known ever since he took them. I told him I didn’t give a damn. He could publish them as a serial in the Times for all I cared. But Olly’s not one to take no for an answer. Just on his own he’s enough to drive a girl to America, even if nothing else had happened at all.’
‘Did you know about the goblet?’
‘No. Oh, I’d have recognised it if I’d seen it, but I’ve never been into Olly West’s private office. I don’t go near that man if I can help it. That goblet used to be at Ravnscar, you know. My father kept it for whisky, which he didn’t drink often, but he never used it for anything else.’
‘So how did it get from Ravnscar to Ferdy’s Landing?’
She didn’t answer. This is stupid, I thought. I’m sick of treating her life story as if it were the Eleusinian mysteries. After all, I’ve told her all about me. Aloud, I said, ‘Maybe I should tell you that I know quite a lot about you and Nicky Hawkins.’
‘Jared told you?’
‘Yes. Why not? He isn’t sworn to secrecy. And being your friend, naturally I was interested.’ It’s odd how a completely normal statement, or so it seemed to me, can sound so sacrilegious. I’d said it now, and I was feeling irritable because I was worried about other things. I plunged on. ‘You know what? I think you ought to talk about yourself a bit more. All this reticence just isn’t healthy. Keeping it to yourself the way you do: well, it can’t be doing you any good.’
I waited to see if she’d walk out, or hit me. She did neither. She stared down at the letters, biting her lip. Then she swept them off the table and put them on the bench beside her, out of sight. ‘You’re not the first person to tell me that. My friend Io – the one I shared my apartment with in New York – she said just the same. You want to know how Nicky came to have that goblet?’
‘Yes.’
I’d almost given up waiting by the time she answered me. ‘When we were young, Nicky was my friend. My only real friend you could say. I was hurt when he came back to live at Ferdy’s Landing and didn’t visit. I went to see him. He wasn’t very friendly. The only person he’d have around was Jed. Jed was just a kid, but kind of wild, I guess. In the end I talked Nick into coming up here, but when he arrived I didn’t really know what to say to him. He said could he look round the place again? We’d played hide-and-seek all over, you see, when we were kids. So I got to showing him around, and we were kind of remembering stuff, and we started talking. We were in the Great Hall, and the goblet was there by my father’s chair. Pappa used to have a dram sometimes late at night. It was left from that.
‘Nicky said, “That’s the goblet from the Cortes, isn’t it?” And I said, yes, and I asked him how he knew. He told me the story.
‘It was in the year 1703, when Roderick Morgan was Master of Ravnscar, and James Hawkins lived down at the Landing. They were both buccaneers, of course, but Morgan was abreast of the new era. He’d been educated in England, and he corresponded with Pepys, Addison and Defoe. He married an English captain’s daughter. His sons all went to Eton and his daughter married an earl. He built himself a trading office and warehouses down by the new commercial harbour in St Brandons. It was he that commissioned Queen Anne Terrace to be built – you know – the street just down from Government House, overlooking the harbour. Number One was to be his town house, and the others were the first spec-built houses in Hy Brasil. They say Roderick Morgan was a bit of a dandy. His wig and snuffbox are in my father’s dressing-room, if you want to look sometime. He had several ships, and if nearly half of them had log books and bills of lading for anyone to read – well, who was going to ask questions about the rest?
‘Hawkins was a different character altogether. He’d lost his right hand in a skirmish off the Orinoco River, and instead he wore a hook.’
‘Oh come on, Lucy. Not a hook! You’re not asking me to believe that?’
‘I’m not asking you to believe anything; I’m telling you the story. He sailed his own ships, and there was nowhere in the seven seas he hadn’t voyaged and plundered. They say he took a British man o’ war just out from Trinidad, though he only had six men and a jolly-boat, and he made his prisoners sail it home under his own command. When the top peak of Despair heaved over the horizon, he made every man of them walk the plank. They say he was marooned for a year on Ascension, when his crew mutinied because he wanted to sail them out of the Atlantic. When the mutineers got home to Hy Brasil their wives took pity on Hawkins, and forced their men at gunpoint to go back south and fetch their captain home. The acting captain was a woman called Laura Lee who was Hawkins’ mistress down at the Landing. She bore him ten children, I believe, and in the end he married her, but I’ve heard too that he had as many descendents over again in ports from Rio to Riga, at least that’s what they say. Drink was his downfall. Drink, and lust for treasure, and the cards.
‘He used to gamble with Morgan, in winter when they were both at home. Dice, cribbage, picquet and two-handed ruff. They say in Ogg’s Cove that maybe Morgan marked the cards. I don’t believe that, but it was known he had the luck of the devil; they used to say it was the devil’s luck went with the treasure of Ravnscar, and maybe it still is. So the years went by, and Hawkins gambled away his treasures and his land. Even the house at Ferdy’s Landing was held under mortgage. Hawkins was a desperate man.
‘The green goblet was his talisman. When he played he’d drink from that cup and not from any other. He’d wear his black hatband, and a certain patch over his eye, and odd stockings, and the green goblet was the one cup he’d drink from. He thought it held his luck in it. The night came when he had nothing left to pledge. It all belonged to Morgan. So Hawkins pledged his green glass goblet, and Morgan dealt the cards, and they played. And Hawkins lost, so Morgan took the goblet away with him, back up to the castle of Ravnscar, and he put it on the table in his room before he went to sleep. And the next morning Morgan was found lying in his great four-poster bed – the one I sleep in now – with his throat cut. What’s more, all the deeds of the mortgages were gone from Morgan’s desk, and Hawkins’ notes of hand, and no one ever saw them again. There was nothing left written to prove that Hawkins owed Morgan anything. So Hawkins got back all he had lost, all except for the glass goblet which hadn’t been touched. It was still there on the table by the bed. So it stayed up at Ravnscar, and it never left the castle again until Nicky Hawkins came home.
‘Nicky told me all that. I said to him, “Well, maybe you should take it back.” I didn’t say, but we both were thinking, that all the land and ships that James Hawkins once owned were gone now anyway, everything but the old house at Ferdy’s Landing, and that was pretty much falling down. Nicky said no, the goblet had been won in fair play, and it could only be got back the same way again. “Do you play cards?” he asked me.
‘“Only beggar-my-neighbour,” I said to him.
‘He thought that was so funny. I was offended, but not much. Where would I have learned to gamble, for God’s sake? “All right,” Nicky said. “I’ll play beggar-my-neighbour with you, and the winner takes the cup.”
‘So we played. At first I was winning, and I thought the game was mine. Nick only had one card in his hand. A knave, it turned out. He got a queen back from me, and then he went on winning, and so it went, to and fro, until I’d lost all my cards. So I gave him the goblet, and he took it back to Fe
rdy’s Landing. He kept it on the mantelpiece with a couple of matchboxes in it.’
It seemed an odd way to put it, so I asked, ‘Why two matchboxes?’
‘One with matches in, of course, on top. The one underneath was always the same one. Bryant and May Safety Matches. He kept other stuff in there.
‘A few days later I went to Ferdy’s Landing. I felt we’d more or less got back to being friends again. Not quite. The place was filthy. Jed was there, sweeping the floor. After a bit Nicky sent him off, and then he said, “I’ve got a pack of cards too. Do you want to play beggar-my-neighbour again?”
‘“What for?” I asked.
‘He said, “How about every time anyone loses cards they take off something they’re wearing, and how about every time anyone wins any they put something back on?” Strip beggar-my-neighbour, in fact. I looked at him. As far as I could see he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe pants underneath, though with Nick one couldn’t be sure. He was barefoot. I was wearing eight separate garments. I agreed.
‘I guess we both cheated. Nobody won. In the end we both lost something we were possibly just as well without. We never finished the game anyway. But that’s neither here nor there. It was the goblet you were asking about.’
‘Can I ask you something else?’
‘Ask what you like. I might not answer.’
‘Did Nicky have any secrets?’
‘Of course. Don’t we all?’
‘I’m not sure. I’d have to think about that. But what I mean is, do you know what Nicky kept down at Ferdy’s Landing that would have made it worth while for Olly West to break in there?’
‘If Olly were a different kind of character, I’d say the answer to that was pretty obvious.’ She gave me a speculating look. ‘Jed didn’t tell you Nick was a dealer?’
For an uncomprehending moment I imagined Nicky foxing the cards at beggar-my-neighbour, then I remembered the matchbox. ‘Oh, you mean drugs?’
‘So Jed didn’t say? Poor kid. Nicky made him swear on a skull right on the stroke of midnight, down among the broken graves in the Hawkins vault under St Bride’s Church, that he’d never breathe a word to a living soul. I was there. Only Nicky knew how to frighten Jed. Give that boy threats or orders and you could be damn sure he’d go off and do the opposite. But try giving him nightmares … Like I say, Nicky knew how to handle Jed.’
I didn’t want to think about Jared’s nightmares, so I said crossly, ‘But how could Nicky deal drugs stuck out at Ferdy’s Landing?’
‘Don’t you know anything? They came by sea, of course. A secluded anchorage, miles from the nearest village, open to the west, close to the main sea routes from South America through to Europe … What more could you ask? Nicky didn’t have a bean. He had to live somehow. When his mother left his father she took Nick back home with her to Colombia. Nick wasn’t short of relations on his mother’s side, so it wasn’t hard for him to fix up contacts. It was a good time too. The market for cocaine was expanding fast. Most of it got sold on, and ended up in Europe, but a bit stayed right here. All Nick needed to do was drop into St Brandons once a week and do a little obvious shopping.’
‘Were you involved?’
‘Oh, no. I didn’t approve, to tell you the truth. But what else could he have done? It’s in our blood in this country; it’s only the product that changes. I suppose I did do some things I wouldn’t do now.’
‘But … I thought it was papers Olly West was supposed to have got hold of. Ishmael thought the government were worried because Jared had taken papers, but there were only your letters, and you wouldn’t have written anything important … what I mean is, anything that would be important to anyone else. Ishmael thought there might be other documents in there, that Jared hadn’t looked at, but there weren’t, only letters from you.’
Lucy frowned. ‘Nicky kept his private papers in his father’s tin army trunk. He kept his accounts in there too. I can remember him doing them. There were a lot of used envelopes with money in, in various currencies. And notes about his contacts, all in code. I remember us making silly jokes about the codes. And there were some family papers too. I think he kept some of the stuff underneath sometimes, too. But that was hidden in various places at different times.’
‘The only time Jared ever tried to open that trunk Nicky boxed his ears. He said it really hurt.’ I looked tentatively at Lucy. ‘Can I ask you … is it true you cheated on Nicky in the end?’
‘If Jed told you, I’m sure he told you the truth.’
I found this enigmatic, and took my courage in my hands and said so.
‘I don’t mind you trusting Jed,’ she answered. ‘I’d ask you to take what some people say with a pinch of salt though.’
‘You’d rather I didn’t talk about it?’
‘Here.’ Lucy got to her feet so suddenly that I jumped. ‘I’m going to let you read something. Wait here.’
I sat at the window looking at the trees tossing in the wind. In less than five minutes I heard her thumping down the private staircase again. She ducked under the red velvet curtain that hid the door so that it swirled out into the room, strode across to me, and thrust a single sheet of worn paper in front of my eyes. ‘Read that!’
To Lucy Morgan, Mistress of Ravnscar, from the ancient order of Pirate Kings of Hy Brasil. Midnight, August 30th, 1984.
Inasmuch as our sworn brother Nicholas Hawkins of Ferdy’s Landing was beguiled to his untimely death, we hereby swear vengeance on the author of his betrayal.
We pronounce this doom: that, if the woman who brought about the death of our brother uses her devious arts on any man again, her evil fate will fall, not on herself, but him. To be beloved of her is a perilous road, and the man who treads it will do so to his own destruction. So she willed it once. So let it be, so long as she shall live. This we swear.
As heir of Ravnscar she is sworn to preserve our safety and our secrets. If by making this doom known she brings the forces of the outside world to bear upon us, she knows already the fate that must befall her.
I read it through twice. ‘Crap,’ I said. ‘Lucy, that is the most ridiculous load of sadistic sexist crap I ever read in all my life.’ I’d have torn it up, but she snatched the thing away from me.
‘Sidony, you can’t do that! OK, it’s all you say it is. Sure, it sucks. But this is Hy Brasil you’re in. Maybe it’s also true.’
‘I wouldn’t let myself be put upon by anything as revolting as that anywhere on this entire planet! If it’s crap in Penzance or Islington, it’s crap in Ravnscar. You surely aren’t going to take any notice of that poison pen kind of nastiness. They’re usually written by frustrated spinsters, anyway.’
‘Now who’s being sexist? And they don’t have women in the Pirate Kings.’
‘Looks to me like that’s their problem.’
‘Sidony, it’s nice of you to be angry. It’s nice of you to care. But I’m telling you it’s different here. They mean what they say. Don’t you understand? I’ve had to live with their judgment for the last thirteen years.’
‘For Christ’s sake! You’re not telling me that’s why you won’t go to bed with Colombo? You wouldn’t let those wretched Pirate Kings do that to you? You must be nuts!’
At that point she lost her temper too. ‘Nuts, you think? And what would you feel then, if Colombo just happened to fall over the cliff? What then? You’d say then you didn’t want to live on that sort of planet and therefore it hadn’t really happened.’
‘I wouldn’t say anything of the kind, because it damn well wouldn’t happen! No one’s going to push Colombo off anything! If you mean Mr Baskerville, he wouldn’t, because he likes him. he talked about him when we were having tea and it was bloody obvious he thought Colombo was the rising hope of the stern unbending Hesperides Times. Lucy, you can’t do this to yourself! I mean, I know what happened was awful. I think you’re really brave; Idon’t think I’d ever have faced this place again if it had happened to me. But you can’t let it ru
in the rest of your life! Of course Colombo wants you! There’s nothing wrong about that. I bet he’s frustrated as hell. I would be. Idon’t see why you have to push him off all the time! You’d probably be a lot happier if you didn’t.’
I waited for her to shout back. That’s what Arthur or Jared would have done. Instead she collapsed into a crumpled heap, buried her head in her arms on the table, and burst into hysterical sobbing. I never felt so little feminine solidarity in my life. Ididn’t want her. I wanted Jared, but Jared was in prison. But I couldn’t just tell her to shut up. I took one reluctant step towards her.
There was a faint sound, like an explosion far away. I didn’t exactly hear it, but in a strange way it seemed to vibrate inside the walls. Ginger, curled up on his cushion next to me, sat up, ears pricking. The red curtain rustled, but there was no wind. Ginger leapt off the windowseat and shot underneath the stove. Lucy felt it too. She raised her head, and sat quite still, listening intently. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘I heard something.’
‘Strange,’ said Lucy. She rubbed her eyes, and looked at me. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to weep. I’ll be fine now. I think it’s because you remind me of Io. I haven’t heard from her all this summer.’
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