But there was bitterness in knowing that she could hold him only with her body; she would cradle his head against her breasts, feel his roughened seaman’s hands caress her flat belly and firm thighs, and she knew with all this he was hers only for these moments ‒ a short time of forgetfulness when his will was bent to hers, and that time was limited, and gradually he would awaken and become aware. And in awareness he would draw back from her, resenting the hold she had taken on him, resenting her domination.
‘Stay with me,’ she would whisper when they were close together, spent and still, a little at peace. ‘Stay with me here … together we could do so much … so much, Paul.’
She could feel the tension of his limbs, and his fingers would bite her flesh with his rejection. ‘With you I could build a kingdom … anywhere but here!’
And they would draw apart, angry with each other, wanting to deny their love, and yet sick at the thought of a parting. Bitterness and desire grew swiftly for them both, and the strange knowledge that beyond desire there was love.
IV
‘She’s called the Dolphin, Jane, and as sweet a craft as I’ve ever laid eyes on … trim and smooth, and as fast as a bird.’
Paul smiled at the recollection; his tone was soft and honeyed, as if he spoke of a woman. They were drinking tea before the fire in Paul’s sitting-room; the kettle was steaming gently on the firecrane. They both knew that in a short time Jane would have to leave, and they were pretending to ignore the fact.
‘You’ve sailed in her?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve put her to sea under Andy Smith. She’s on legitimate fishing business, and the Revenue men can board and search her any time they like. All the better if they do, because I’ve put her out in the Channel to establish an identity as a fishing craft. Let the Revenue men get used to the sight of her … but if it ever comes to a chase, she’s faster than anything on these seas.’
‘I want to see her, Paul!’
He frowned, taking her hand in his and rubbing it gently. ‘You know how I feel about that, Jane. You must have no part in all this … it’s bad enough that you even come to this cottage.’
‘But there must be some way to see the Dolphin ‒ she must come into port somewhere.’
‘Folkestone’s her port ‒ and anywhere else along this coast that the Revenue cutters aren’t.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t see why you couldn’t get a look at her … somewhere hereabouts. I’ll think about it …’
‘If she’s at sea, why are you waiting?’ Jane demanded. ‘Why don’t you bring a cargo over now?’
‘Easy!’ he cautioned. ‘Easy … these things take time. There have to be contacts, a whole new organization. I’m using a different agent in Flushing, different men as porters here ‒ and have to arrange other landing places and hides for the cargo. The bribes have to be passed out with some discretion. There are a hundred details, and this time I can’t afford a slip. This time it’s my own money…’
‘You mean your brother doesn’t know!’ Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re not using the same men? … not buying from the same agent …?’
‘He’ll smell it out, sooner or later, but I’ll keep it from him as long as it’s possible. I’ll go on doing his work for him, taking the commission until my own operations are big enough so that I can throw his orders back in his face.’ He grinned a little. ‘Of course, I won’t get much sleep between the two operations, but what’s sleep compared to money?’
The time had come for her to go; she rose slowly. ‘Why does it matter if he knows? What can he do?’
‘He will try to buy out the lugger ‒ demand a slice in the cargo. James is as eager for money as I am, and if he lays eyes on the Dolphin ‒ especially if he knows I’m running her ‒ then he will have her. Even for the pleasure of taking her away from me he would have her. He’s greedy, is my brother James ‒ and different from the way you and I are greedy, my love.’
She squinted in the cracked and spotted mirror to adjust her hat. Then she turned to him.
‘Paul, I want to come with you!’
‘Where?’
‘When the Dolphin makes the run ‒ when they bring the cargo in.’
His face darkened. ‘Have you gone mad, Jane? That’s no place for you!’
‘I’ve as much right to my place there as you! I want to help ‒ I could act as lookout … or hold a lamp …’
He whistled through his teeth. ‘You little fool! Do you realize you’d be recognized by the men? If anything went wrong you’d be caught and charged as a common smuggler. This is the most dangerous time of the year, when the twilight is long, and the dawn comes early. It’s madness to even think of it.’
‘You suppose I’d let myself get caught? ‒ not with Blonde Bess! Your men wouldn’t recognize me. I’ll borrow Patrick’s clothes, and ride astride …’
‘No, Jane!’ he caught her roughly by the arm, and hustled her out to the stable; she struggled irritably to shake him off, but he held her, his fingers pinching her skin through the cloth of her habit. He helped her to mount, and then looked up into her angry face.
‘Don’t forget that I’m master of this operation ‒ and my orders are obeyed! Just don’t forget it, Jane!’
He gave Blonde Bess a smack on the rump, and the chestnut moved off smartly. He stood and watched as Jane, all sense of caution and discretion gone, dug her heels in and headed for the fence. In full view of anyone who might have been looking from the village in the direction of Paul’s cottage, she put Blonde Bess over the jump. It should have been scrambled and ill-prepared, but somehow it managed not to be. Bess took it with confidence and grace.
‘Well,’ Paul muttered, looking after her, ‘if you don’t get yourself hung as a smuggler, you’ll surely break your neck! You little fool!’ He slammed the kitchen door behind him.
‘And sweet heaven why did I have to love you!’
***
She made no attempt to hold Blonde Bess in check after the first jump; the animal became the expression of her rage against Paul. Speed and movement were needed. She wanted to leave the memory of his dictates, wanted to tire herself and exhaust the emotion that she knew was childish and dangerous, and which she could not yet control. She put Bess recklessly over fences and dykes she could never attempt before, feeling the mare respond instantly to her touch, rejoicing in the way she gathered herself up for each obstacle, and took it without a change of rhythm.
Robert Turnbull was waiting where the road forked to Blake’s Reach. He was riding his bay, Roger, a powerful horse, sixteen hands high, and broad in the chest. Robert sat astride him calmly; it was impossible to guess how long he might have been waiting.
He raised his hat.
‘You jump well, Jane,’ he said as she came up beside him.
She was breathing heavily, not pleased to see him and trying to hide it. ‘Bess likes it,’ she said shortly. ‘I have to hold her in …’
He smiled. ‘Well … she’s young, too.’
Jane jerked her head abruptly. ‘Will you come and have breakfast? ‒ it’s only a mile from here …?’ She tried to make her tone gracious, and didn’t succeed.
‘I’d be delighted to …’ he said. It wasn’t the answer she expected, and she almost betrayed her surprise.
‘We’d better hurry, then,’ she said. ‘Kate’s food is bad enough at the best of times, but uneatable when it gets cold.’ She urged Bess forward.
He turned Roger and hurried to catch up with her. ‘I would ride with you some morning if I knew where you were,’ he said. ‘Do you come by here often.’
She spurred Bess to a canter. ‘I’m here often enough … you can ride with me if you find me,’ she called back over her shoulder.
With a stifled curse, Robert followed her.
It wasn’t the first time they had met on the Marsh early in the morning. She knew it had been Robert’s habit for many years to ride before he started the day’s business in Watchbell Street. At first she had encountered him in plac
es she expected he would be ‒ generally on a road that led directly to Rye. Then it seemed as if he had started a game of hide and seek with her, appearing in places he would never normally go. And now, to-day, here he was well past Blake’s Reach and on this little-used road that led directly from the house to Old Romney. She was suddenly fearful, dreading to feel these brilliant dark eyes fixed on hers again, fearful of reading in them what he knew.
Robert Turnbull, without appearing to ask for information, seemed to know what went on behind every closed door across the Marsh. It was very possible, she thought, that he also knew she went to see Paul at Old Romney. There was no getting away from the man. Wherever she turned, there he was … polite, helpful, kindly. And he seemed to know the thoughts in her head before she had time to form them.
Patrick brewed the chocolate that morning, and it was good. Kate’s bread was still warm from the oven, and not yet lumpy. Jane piled honey on it, and her mood began to soften. Robert had been talking of nothing in particular, and her suspicion and tension left her.
Then suddenly he put his cup down; the action, unnecessarily sharp, made her look at him questioningly.
‘There’s been a great deal of activity on the coast lately … and it’s late in the season for it.’
‘You mean shipping?’ she said carefully. ‘I thought summer was the best time …’
‘No, my dear, I mean smuggling. It tapers off, you know, during the summer. These calm clear nights with long twilights give the captains very little time to make their rendezvous on the coast and land the cargo before they’re sighted by Revenue cruisers. The Revenue cruisers grow a little more daring, too, with the shorter nights, and besides, there’s less excuse for them to lay up in port for bad weather or repairs.’
‘Oh …’ she said faintly, nodding, and striving to hold down the wave of apprehension that swept through her.
‘Yes …’ He gestured to her for permission to use his pipe. Then he began to fill it, deliberately concentrating on it, and looking away from her. ‘Yes …’ he repeated, ‘‒ and the Dragoons become more co-operative with the Riding Officers during this season. On a winter’s night they don’t enjoy the discomforts of chasing smugglers they’re not sure are there at all. But of course, if they capture a cargo they share the proceeds, and its not a bad sport for a summer’s night. They’d be a great deal more use to the Revenue if only the poor fools would realize that it’s in their own interest to make sure the Dragoons always got their fair share of the spoils. There’s discontent over that question … which, of course, is an aid to the smugglers.’
He looked at her from behind the light haze of smoke.
‘Do you see much of Paul Fletcher, Jane?’ It was lightly spoken.
She shrugged, not so much afraid now that the question had come into the open, but she wondered how much Robert knew, and how much he should be answered.
‘Oh …’ she said, ‘… I see him now and then. He has rather an attachment to William. He brought him some white mice when we first came. When he’s passing he sometimes comes into the stable. He tried to give me advice on the vegetable plot …’ She added quickly, ‘I told you, I think, that Sir James Fletcher came here …’
He waved the last aside. ‘Sir James being here isn’t important. Whatever he is or isn’t behind that bombast, he’s a respected man in these parts ‒ I should know, because I handle his affairs. But Paul ‒ that’s another matter …’
She drummed the table with her finger tips. ‘Yes …?’
‘Let’s look at it as people like myself see it, Jane. Paul Fletcher lost money in the Indies, and comes back here, penniless and in debt, to a place that he’s known to dislike. He gave it out that he was making charts of the Caribbean … well, and good, except that we know he can’t make any money from that.’
‘So …?’
‘So he has all the qualities needed to make an extremely successful smuggler! He’s learned organization and discipline from the Navy, he’s intelligent and ‒ I imagine ‒ brave. He’s a good sailor, and knows every inch of this coast. And from a small boy he’s been a leader … he’s made even his brother seem slow and a trifle dull … for which, of course, Sir James hasn’t forgiven him!’
‘So …’ she measured her words carefully. ‘… So you think Paul Fletcher is responsible for the increased smuggling this season?’
He shrugged. ‘A guess, my dear … only a guess, but I’ve shown you the reasons why I think as I do. He’s daring … not reckless, but daring … and I’m afraid he’ll be caught.’
‘And do you tell this to everyone?’ she said sharply. ‘Do you tell enough people so that however lazy or frightened the Preventive Officers are they’ll have to make some effort to catch him? Is that what you do, Robert?’
He shook his head. ‘My thoughts and deductions are only for you, Jane. You’re so new here … and rumour and gossip take little account of the truth, as Anne learned. I would not like to see the Blake name involved …’
She stood up. ‘Are you the conscience of this family? Are you its guardian … or are you waiting to see the final end of it?’
‘Jane!’
‘Do I understand you? Are you saying that Sir James, who’s a bully and a braggart, may come into my drawing-room, but that Paul may not stand in the stable yard for fear the sacred Blake name might be contaminated?’
He rose also, shrugging again. ‘Make of it what you will! There’s nothing more for me to say!’
They looked at each other, silently. There was a challenge now between them, and even this, strangely, drew them closer.
V
Behind them Jane and Paul could hear the horses pulling at the sparse grass that grew on the sand dunes; compact grey clouds had closed in overhead and the Channel was flecked with whitecaps. They crouched in the shelter of a steep bank, and Jane reached out to take the glass from Paul.
‘There she is, Jane ‒ the Dolphin! And as pretty a thing as I’ve seen …’
Jane swung the heavy glass, and could see nothing but the suddenly magnified grey swell; then there was the horizon and the darkening sky. She dropped it briefly, sighted the distant lugger again, then put it back to her eye. Suddenly the light, graceful lines of the vessel sprang up to meet her.
She watched the slow plunge and dip; the sails seemed curiously white against the grey backdrop. Her hull was painted black, and the long bowsprit was red. She tried to count the gunports, then the glass tilted and focused on the name lettered in gold ‒ Dolphin.
She gave a short gasp of excitement.
‘One hundred and thirteen tons burthen,’ Paul said. ‘Twelve guns, not counting the swivels, and thirty hands. I’ll take on thirty or forty more men for the passage to Flushing. That should be enough to handle the cargo quickly, and with good weather the Dolphin will be back here in two ‒ maybe three ‒ days.’
‘Where will the extra men come from,’ she said, flexing her arms to ease the weight of the glass.
‘Swing over landwards to the right. That village there ‒ got it? ‒ that’s Barham-in-the-Marsh. Most of the extra men will come from there, and that’s where I’ll unload the cargo … unless the Preventive Officers are waiting for it too.’
She moved the glass over it carefully. It was a village of grey stone, grey slate roofs touched in places with moss, whitewashed doors, and nets the colours of seaweed spread to dry. It lay in a crescent around a shallow indent, and upturned fishing boats were drawn in on the shingle. Wooden breakwaters ran downwards from high watermark across the shingle and disappeared into the surf. Broad-winged gulls wheeled over the roof tops and around the grey square-towered church. The cottages, the church walls, the cobblestoned street had been pitted by a thousand storms sweeping in from the Channel. Here no trees could survive the winds; over to the west she saw the finger of the Dungeness foreland poking out into the sea.
‘I’ve got labourers coming from some of the farms round Lydd ‒ over there to the west. They’ll help unload th
e small boats and lead the horses. The hide is over by Ivychurch, or if that road isn’t safe, we’ll make for a place just this side of Hythe.’
‘The Dolphin’s been fishing this water now for a couple of days,’ he added. ‘There shouldn’t be anything new for the Revenue cruisers in the sight of her hove-to off this shore.’
‘How close in will she come?’
‘I can’t risk her closer than a half-mile off shore. She draws too much to make it safe. The shingle bars build up around here, and keep shifting.’
‘How many boats from the village will you use?’
‘All of them. Practically the whole village will help ‒ even the women. We’ll signal the Dolphin from the church tower.’
She put down the glass, turning to him. ‘Aren’t you afraid someone will inform? If the whole village knows …?’
He looked at her sideways, faintly amused. ‘There are hundreds of villages along this coast-line that support themselves on smuggling, and an informer has a pretty sorry time. Those among them who don’t like it, take care to keep their windows shut tight and the blankets over their ears.’
He laughed then, at the concern in her face. ‘Don’t worry, Jane ‒ it’s a discreet little village. It’s been handling contraband cargoes for as long as it’s stood there.’
He got to his feet, and put out his hand to help her.
‘You must be on your way now. I’ll guide you back to the road, but I won’t come farther than that. There’s no sense in us being seen riding together ‒ besides, I should turn back to Barham. There are one or two people I must see again before the Dolphin leaves for Flushing.’
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