‘You have to drop this,’ I told him.
He looked taken aback. ‘Drop it? Madam, you’ve made a fool of me.’
‘So you would have me and the men who’ve risked their lives for your profit all winter hang for your pride?’ I asked him. ‘There were no goods stolen from your house. That is pure fabrication to give you a reason to pursue me.’
Mr Holbrook didn’t reply for a moment, he looked at me measuringly. I saw him quite differently now. Once I’d seen him as a harmless older man; quite kind even. Now I saw a man who was happy to exploit the men who worked for him; even to betray them to get his way. Who had almost certainly attempted to turn his own agent in to collect a reward. It shouldn’t surprise me that he would lie to see his young bride hang. All because he couldn’t keep his hands off even younger women.
My mother was wrong, I thought to myself. You do meet pirates at the Bath assemblies. I married one I met there in the mistaken belief he was a gentleman.
‘No,’ said Mr Holbrook at last. ‘You have robbed me, you know.’
‘The marriage settlement? That’s true, though it was never my intention. If I engage to return that to you, will you then drop the other charges against me? And against the others?’
Mr Holbrook thought again, his wily eyes watching me closely. ‘Maybe,’ he said at last.
‘Maybe isn’t good enough,’ I told him. ‘I need your written promise.’
‘I can drop the charges against you,’ Mr Holbrook said. ‘Marlow and the other smugglers are out of my hands.’
‘But not beyond your influence, I think.’
He smiled smugly. ‘Perhaps. But I cannot give any kind of written promise.’
‘No, I can see that,’ I frowned. ‘But will you agree to release me?’
‘From the charges I will. And from our sham of a marriage. I already have the annulment papers. I have no wish to take smuggler’s leavings.’
I ignored the unjustified slur upon my virtue. His words couldn’t hurt me. I wondered whether I should point out that his own considerable wealth appeared to come from smuggling, even though he didn’t carry the kegs himself, but I refrained. There was no need for a petty exchange of insults. Especially when he might be doing what I wanted. Instead, I fixed upon the point that interested me most. ‘The marriage can be annulled?’
‘Being unconsummated.’ Mr Holbrook winced. ‘Yes, it can.’ He flicked open his snuff box and inhaled a pinch, dusting his fingers off on a fine lace pocket-handkerchief afterwards. I recognized the handkerchief as one of a batch we’d smuggled across from France before Christmas.
‘So I’d be free?’ I asked him.
‘You sound unnecessarily pleased, madam. Please restrain such vulgar joy in my presence. And if you dream of a bridal with young William Marlow, you can put that out of your mind for good.’
He paused, clearly enjoying the shock that I hadn’t succeeded in hiding from my face. ‘Oh yes, I know all about you two cooing and billing like lovebirds on board that ship,’ he said harshly. ‘Marlow is not my only man aboard.’ My mind was darting about at once, trying to guess who else on board had been directly in Holbrook’s pay. But Holbrook leaned forward, drawing my attention back to himself: ‘Marlow will hang sooner or later,’ he said softly.
I shivered at the menace in his voice and the terrible image of Will swinging at the end of a noose. I swallowed and managed to keep my voice almost steady as I replied: ‘You know nothing about me or my dreams.’
My father’s lawyer cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I looked towards him and he rustled his papers. ‘Shall we look at that annulment form?’ he asked Mr Holbrook.
‘Let us do so,’ he responded.
The negotiations lasted some time. I was dropping with tiredness by the time my parents bustled me into a chaise and we set out for the inn they were staying in. My father was regarding me with deep reproach. I looked away.
‘I hope you are pleased with yourself, Isabelle,’ he said sternly. ‘You have reduced your entire family to poverty on a whim. We can no longer even afford to stay in such an inn as this.’ My mother began to weep, a handkerchief held to her eyes. ‘You have broken your mother’s heart,’ my father continued. ‘Your sister’s prospects have been utterly ruined. All for what? We could have got you off the charge, if only you had kept to the story we prepared for you.’
I took a deep breath and pulled my cloak closer around me with hands that shook. ‘I would have had to perjure myself and betray my friends,’ I told him. ‘They would have been punished for what I did! I would have had to remain married to a low scoundrel old enough to be my father. A man who couldn’t even be faithful to me on the day of our wedding!’
‘All men stray, Isabelle,’ said my mother tearfully, emerging from behind her handkerchief. ‘A well-bred wife does not heed such trifles.’
I looked at her in disgust. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her who that other woman was. ‘Even if all this were true,’ I said instead. ‘It was still possible I would have been convicted and hanged. Would you have preferred that, Papa?’
‘It wouldn’t have come to that. And now what shall we do? We face poverty. And you are the last person in the world to tolerate that patiently.’
‘I’ve changed,’ I told him. The chaise pulled up outside an inn and the steps were let down. I was weary through and through. But I had one more thing to say before we left the privacy of the carriage: ‘You brought me up to value wealth, Papa. You and Mama were the ones who spoiled and indulged me and taught me to be heedless and extravagant. And it was you who lost our fortune through speculation. Not me. I would have made amends for you if I could. If the bargain had been bearable. You cannot blame me for this family’s fallen fortune. It was your doing and yours alone.’
I stepped out of the chaise into the noise and bustle of the inn yard. Had my words been too harsh? I knew I had caused my family great anguish this winter; they loved me and had always loved me, despite my spoiled, wilful behaviour. For months they had feared I was dead or kidnapped. I loved them too, of course, with all their faults. But I had spoken nothing but the truth.
As I entered the inn, I realized I was too tired to be reasonable. Without further words, I climbed the stairs to the bedchamber that had been allotted to me and fell into an exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I was up early the next morning with many things on my mind. It was I, not my father, who received the solicitor. He brought the news that I was not required to attend court that morning after all. The case had been dropped.
‘That’s such a relief,’ I sighed. ‘And against the other men? Has the charge of theft and conspiring with me also been dropped?’
‘It has.’
‘And the charge of smuggling?’
‘That still stands. It’s a different charge and will be tried separately.’
‘I see. Yes, that was unavoidable, I suppose. Thank you.’
He got up, bowed and went to the door. There he paused a moment. ‘Please tell your father I shall still need him to remain in Poole for the next couple of days. There will be papers to sign, money to transfer and so on.’ Then he left.
After he was gone, I paced the room restlessly. I was free. It was over. For me anyway; not for the skipper and the others. But I wasn’t in a position to help them any further.
I needed to find Will. I needed the money he held for me. Besides, the questions I longed to put to him burned inside me. I needed to know the truth; the truth about who he was and what he’d done. But there was no way I could find him in a town like Poole. Especially not when he would be hidden behind a disguise and a false name. He would have to come to me.
But the morning went by and he didn’t appear. Eventually, I went outside and walked up and down the street, wondering if he would come and speak to me there.
‘Isabelle, what do you think you are doing out here?’ demanded my father after half an hour or so. He’d come
out to fetch me, looking annoyed.
‘It’s so stuffy in the inn,’ I complained. ‘I needed some fresh air.’
‘Then for pity’s sake go into the garden or open a window!’ he exclaimed. ‘Do not make a spectacle of yourself in the busy street!’
He ushered me back inside, but as soon as his back was turned, I slipped outside once more. I was rewarded almost at once, not by any sight of Will, but of Gentle Jacob who approached me with a smile. ‘Jacob!’ I cried joyfully.
I would have thrown my arms around him in front of everyone, but he forestalled me by tipping his cap to me. ‘Best pretend you don’t know me, Miss Isabelle,’ he said quietly, falling into step beside me.
‘You’re safe then!’ I said, trying to restrain my delight at seeing him. ‘You made it ashore!’
‘I did. Climbed up on a ledge beyond the cove and stayed hid till everyone had cleared off. Then I climbed the cliff and went home.’
‘Did the cold water make you ill?’ I asked.
‘Not I,’ said Jacob with his rumbling laugh. ‘Got up the next morning and did a full day’s work.’
I smiled with pleasure. ‘And the money?’
Jacob lowered his voice. ‘That’s safe. I’m paying some law man to do what he can for our friends. That’s about all I can do. I’m headin’ home today. I stayed in the hope of seeing you.’
‘Oh, I’m so pleased you did! And you are safe? You won’t be arrested?’
Jacob’s eyes twinkled. ‘I wasn’t there, was I?’ he said.
‘What about Will?’ I whispered. ‘I saw him. In the court.’
‘He’s had to go. He nearly got took.’
I clutched Jacob’s arm in alarm, but he patted my hand reassuringly. ‘He’s safe in France by now,’ he said steadily.
‘Jacob,’ I said hesitantly.
‘Yes?’
‘Did he do it?’
‘The murder?’ Jacob’s voice was so low, I had to lean close to him to hear. I nodded.
‘I truly don’t know. There’s been rumours of all kinds since he first come aboard. But there’s not one among us knows the truth. All I can say is, it don’t seem likely to me.’
‘I need to know,’ I said, my voice low.
‘I’d be pleased to be clear about it myself,’ admitted Jacob. ‘But he won’t say a word. And the evidence looks black against him.’
‘I think there could be someone who knows him better than we do,’ I told Jacob. ‘Mind you, I’m far from sure. It’s a very long shot.’
‘Who?’ Jacob looked curious.
‘There was a cottage where we stopped on the way to Chapman’s Pool. Will had a key. There was a child who knew him. Do you know who they might be?’ The thought had been turning over in my mind for a while now. I couldn’t say when it had first come to me. During my illness at some point. I felt there might be someone in that cottage who could shed light on this.
Jacob shook his head blankly. ‘No idea,’ he said.
‘I’d like to go there. To ask them if they know anything of his past. Will you take me? It’s on your way home. I’d go myself, only I’m not sure I can find it.’
‘Will your parents allow that?’ asked Jacob, surprised.
‘I wasn’t planning to ask. Any minute now, my father will come out and take me back inside. Tomorrow or the day after, we are going to a completely different part of the country. It’s now or never. Can we go?’
I tucked my hand into Jacob’s arm and led him down the street, away from the inn.
‘Isabelle, you madcap!’ he protested. ‘You ain’t so much as got food nor nothing! Your pa and ma’ll be mad with worry.’ But he didn’t stop walking and I pressed on quickly.
‘I know,’ I told him. ‘But I have this shawl for warmth, luckily. I may have to borrow a few pennies from you for food.’
Jacob stopped. ‘You can do that,’ he said. ‘But you let them know you’re safe or I’ll not take you.’
In the end, we sent a boy with a message that my parents were not to fret, and I’d be safely home by the following evening. Jacob fetched his gear, all of which fitted into a small satchel that he slung over one shoulder, and we set out.
Jacob begged a ride across Poole harbour in a fishing boat, which he said would save us the best part of a day’s walk across the marshes. Then we struck off across the hills, talking as we went. I described the place I’d visited with Will. Jacob thought it might be near Harman’s Cross, some way inland from his own village. He also told me a few facts about the jury that would try the smugglers.
‘Ten of the twelve buy their Cousin Jacky from the Gentlemen,’ he told me gleefully. ‘Some of ’em are our own customers. One of ’em is one of our landers. They won’t find it easy to prosecute.’
The spring weather was fresh and bright and the walk took us high up onto the downs. I breathed the clear air deep into my lungs and sighed with pleasure. ‘Ah, it’s good to be out again!’ I said.
Jacob smiled. ‘Are you strong enough for this, though?’ he asked. ‘You’ve been very sick.’
‘I don’t have as much strength in me as before the illness,’ I admitted. ‘And my leg still aches. It was badly torn when we were shot out of the boat. I’ll need to rest from time to time.’
I needed to rest more than I’d expected and night had fallen long before we reached Harman’s Cross. Jacob headed away from the village, straight for Worth where he said Ann would get me some hot food and a bed for the night.
To tell the truth, I was grateful for it, as well as happy to see her again. She exclaimed over how thin I’d grown, and set to heating a pie for me. I ate well and slept better, and so it was mid-morning the next day before I was knocking on the door of the little cottage I’d seen Will let himself into. I’d asked Jacob to stay nearby but not to come with me, in case his large size was intimidating to the people who lived here.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the kindly middle-aged woman who answered the door.
I smiled at her, wondering where to begin. ‘Hello. My name is Isabelle. I’m a friend of Will’s,’ I said.
As I feared, a shadow crossed her face at once. She tried to close the door.
‘Please!’ I begged, pushing at it. ‘Please! I mean no harm. I just need to talk to you!’
‘I know no one called Will,’ cried the woman alarmed.
‘Then what do you have to be afraid of?’ I asked. ‘I only want to help.’
She stopped trying to push the door shut. ‘Please,’ I said again. ‘He trusted me enough to bring me here once,’ I told her quietly. ‘He’s safely in France now, but there are some things I really need to know.’
The poor woman’s brow was furrowed with doubt and suspicion, but she fell back a step and opened the door.
‘You’d better come in, I suppose,’ she said uncertainly.
I walked in through the door straight into a tiny kitchen. It was clean and bright, with a scrubbed table and some chairs. A fire was burning in the grate and there was a rich smell of baking.
Scattered on the table was a primer, a copybook, and a pencil. Someone had been learning; I guessed the child I’d seen last time I was here.
‘What is it you want from me?’ the woman asked. She had wrapped her hands in her apron and looked scared. I wondered if she could be the child’s mother, but thought she looked too old.
‘May I sit down?’ I asked. She nodded nervously and sat herself on the edge of one seat while I took another. I was glad to take the weight off my aching leg.
‘I’ve been with Will all winter,’ I said. ‘I was with him when he came here and left some things once. I saw he had a key. He spoke to a child called Beth.’
At these words, the woman glanced nervously at the stairs that led up from the back of the kitchen. I continued as though I hadn’t noticed. ‘I think perhaps he came at Christmas too. We were staying nearby and he disappeared for the night. I guessed he came here.’
Her eyes were fixed warily on my face. ‘So
why don’t you ask him what you want to know yourself?’
‘I was with Will on the coast a few weeks ago. They tried to arrest him for murder. He got away. We—that is two of his other friends and I—care about him very much. We wanted to know more about this accusation. It doesn’t seem to fit the person we know. I thought perhaps you might know more than we do.’
‘If he wanted you to know, he’d have told you. I can’t go spilling his life story to strangers,’ she said tearfully. I was upsetting her, I could see.
‘I’m so sorry to come here like this,’ I said. ‘I don’t mean to cause trouble. I just want to understand.’
‘In love with him, are you?’ she asked suddenly.
I blushed and turned my head away. ‘We’re just friends,’ I said.
‘Hmm.’ The woman turned away and put a kettle onto the fire. ‘Tea?’ she asked unexpectedly.
‘Thank you,’ I faltered. I watched as she bustled about getting down cups from the dresser, a milk jug and tea from the larder and setting them onto the table. When the water boiled she poured it into the pot and sat down at the table. She looked straight at me. ‘What do you want to know? I don’t promise to tell you everything; and there’s a lot I don’t know myself.’
‘First of all, who are you and how do you know Will?’ I asked her, relieved that she no longer seemed afraid of me.
‘I was … nursemaid in the household where he grew up. My name is Jane Moorland.’
‘And that household was … ?’
She shook her head.
‘Please,’ I begged. ‘I wondered … whether he was by any chance cousin or brother to … James Marlow?’
Her eyes widened. ‘So you know that, do you?’
‘I guessed. I heard his surname when they tried to arrest him. And then I remembered that he’d been startled when I told him … told him that I’d once been engaged to … ’ I coughed, embarrassed. ‘To James Marlow,’ I admitted.
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