‘It’s wild. You’ll be soaked.’
‘I’m already soaked, and I’m coming with you.’
There was no time for argument. The full force of the storm hit them on the headland by St Piran’s, driving rain, a southerly wind blowing directly in from the Channel, blowing the boat straight at The Beasts. On the harbour, a small group of people had already gathered.
‘Bligh,’ Treeve said again, his fists clenched as he made his way towards them. ‘They know he was out. Look, Ned Nancarrow and Ezerah Chegwin right at the front.’
Both men eyed Treeve fearfully, shrugging when he demanded to know how many were on board. ‘Six, I reckon Captain Penhaligon.’ Phin stepped out of the shadows. ‘They’ll be on to The Beasts in minutes, and the tide is against them. Even if they can cling on, the rocks will be under water in less than an hour. What are we to do?’
‘Nothing to be done now,’ Nancarrow said.
A round curse greeted this, and Emily stared in astonishment as Jago Bligh appeared on the harbour wall. ‘You see,’ he said, addressing Treeve, who looked every bit as astounded, directly, ‘I didn’t lie. That’s my brother out there. I’ll launch my boat out. Who’s with me?’
‘The wind is against us, Jago. No, wait,’ Treeve added, grabbing the man by the sleeve. ‘I don’t mean we should do nothing, but it would be madness to try to take a boat out in these conditions.’
‘But not one of them can swim,’ Jago said desperately.
‘It’s not so far at the moment, with the tide still low. If one of us could swim out with a rope? Tie it to the rocks, somehow? Is anyone fit for it?’ Treeve looked around, but every man looked either helpless or shamefaced. Not one stepped forward. ‘Fetch me a stout rope,’ he shouted to Phin, bracing himself, and stripping off his coat. ‘Knot one end to one of the rings on the harbour wall, give me the rest, I’ll put it around my waist.’
‘No! Wait! Let me!’ Galvanised into action, Emily pulled off her cloak.
‘Emily! No!’
‘You can’t swim, it looks like no one here can swim, but I can.’
‘I can’t let you do this. The waves—look at them. And the tide is coming in fast.’
‘I know how to swim against it.’ Emily handed her cloak to an astonished Ned Nancarrow, then kicked off her shoes and stockings, leaving her in her nightgown. ‘Give me the rope, Treeve.’
‘No, it’s far too dangerous.’
‘Yet you were going to risk it.’
‘These are my people, Emily.’
‘They’re mine too.’ She pulled him to one side, speaking urgently. ‘Treeve, that’s Kensa and Jack’s father out there. And who knows what other husbands and fathers.’
‘But...’
‘Your brother drowned out there, on those rocks,’ she said desperately. ‘Do you want to take the risk of going the same way? Listen to me! These are your people, you said it yourself. They need you to be here for them in the future.’
‘I can’t let you risk your neck, Emily, I can’t...’
‘I won’t drown,’ she said, turning her back on the swelling sea, refusing to allow her fears to show in her voice or on her face. ‘I’m not a fool, you know that I’ve been raised to respect the sea, I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think I could pull it off. Treeve,’ she said again, urgently, ‘I have to do this, because no one else can. Give me the damned rope.’
‘Emily...’
‘This is your home now. You know it, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. Do you want your tenure to begin with six deaths? I can do this. I can.’
* * *
Out at sea, a wail was heard, a thud and a crack, and the boat was on The Beasts. Treeve knew in his heart that he wouldn’t make it, but to allow Emily to try—every fibre of his being rebelled. Yet if she did not try, they would lose all six men. ‘Tie it around your waist, so we can pull you back in if you get into trouble. If you do make it, as soon as you’re on the rocks, pray that some of the crew have made it too, get them to hold it taut and I’ll follow you out.’ It was the best he could do. He had to trust her confidence in her ability. ‘Phin, make damned sure that rope holds firm.’
Stripping to his breeches and shirt, he forced himself to smile grimly at Emily.
‘Trust me,’ she said.
He caught her to him in a fierce hug. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’
Emily touched his face briefly, the strangest of expressions on her face. Then she turned away. His heart in his mouth, Treeve watched her wade into the sea, making steady progress as far as the harbour wall, where the waters were calmer. But the moment she was beyond a wave hit her. She dived under it, disappearing from view for a long, terrifying moment. He saw her head bob up, then watched, terrified to take his eyes off the receding figure, lest he lose sight of her for ever.
Around him, the crowd had grown, it seemed like the whole village had turned out. He could hear the shouts of the crew, hear Phin’s running commentary as figures appeared on the emerging rocks, speculation as to who was safe, who was in the water, but he kept his eyes fixed on Emily. She knew what she was doing, he very quickly realised from her stop-start progress, not fighting the waves but waiting on them passing, then using the gap between to swim out. Fifty yards, sixty at the most, it felt like a lifetime before she made it to The Beasts, but he was in the water the moment he saw her tiny figure being hauled up, holding on to the rope, feeling it tauten as the sailors pulled it tight, allowing him to battle out to join her.
* * *
It took less than half an hour for the crew to haul themselves along the rope to safety, but by then the tide was already covering The Beasts. Treeve was the last out of the water, following closely behind Emily, who also clung to the rope now, exhausted by her efforts. As the pair of them staggered out, Derwa Nancarrow hurried over to Emily, shrouding her in her abandoned cloak before her slight figure in the tatters of her translucent nightgown could be seen.
‘I’ll take her back to her cottage,’ she said to Treeve, gently coaxing Emily to take a sip of hot rum.
‘Thank you. Go with Derwa,’ he said, when Emily demurred, desperate to have her warm and dry, and out of earshot. Now that everyone was safe he was furious with the villagers. ‘Please,’ he added softly, for her ears only. ‘I can’t let the events of the evening pass without comment.’
He watched her go, making her way slowly up Budoc Lane, a frail, fragile figure, fading into the darkness of the night. Yet she had been a tower of strength and fortitude out there on the rocks, encouraging the more reluctant men into the sea, who would have clung to The Beasts despite the fact that they were fast being swallowed by the waters. A lump rose in his throat. If he had lost her—it didn’t bear thinking of. His heart felt as if it was being squeezed. He would not lose her. Never.
The urge to run after her, to abandon the crowd and postpone his unpleasant duty was nigh on irresistible, but he knew from long years of experience, that his words would have a strength, here in the immediate emotional aftermath, that they would lose in the cold light of day. So he turned around, and an expectant hush fell as he surveyed the circle of men and woman around him in the lantern light.
‘Now that you are safe, gentlemen,’ Treeve said, ‘I think it’s time for me to lay my cards on the table. This will be the last cargo of contraband which you will attempt to land at Porth Karrek. That so-called tradition is now at an end, and if I discover that any of you have failed to heed this command, let me assure you that I will not hesitate to bring the full weight of the law to bear on you.’
He waited, but no one had anything to say, none but Jago and Phin, saturated from his role as the anchor man on the end of the rope, meeting his eye. The wind had died down, the hushing of the waves against the harbour wall counting out the silence in the salty night air. Ironically, if they had set sail an hour later, the crew would have landed
safely.
‘I don’t give a damn how you dispose of the cargo when it is washed ashore. I don’t give a damn what you do with the existing supplies in the Ship, Nancarrow, or in that shop of yours, Chegwin, but I want all of it out of Porth Karrek by the end of the week. Do I make myself clear?’
‘It’s all very well for you, Captain Penhaligon, but you don’t understand how things are here.’ Ned Nancarrow finally spoke up. ‘You have your fine job in the Royal Navy, you don’t have to worry about putting bread on the table, and when you go back to sea at the end of the year, you won’t care a damn about this place. What difference does it make to you, whether I pay duty on the brandy I sell, you won’t be here to know any different.’
‘I’ll know,’ Jago said, to Treeve’s surprise. ‘And I’ll make sure that the captain knows. I owe him that, after tonight.’
‘Thank you, Jago, but there’s no need. I won’t be re-joining my ship at the end of the year.’
He had not intended to say any such thing, but Emily was right. These were his people. They needed him. They needed him, not another version of his father, or Austol. Emily had been right about that too. ‘I’ve decided to stay here in Porth Karrek,’ Treeve said, smiling at the villagers now, ‘and I warn you now, there are going to be some changes, positive changes. I intend to build a lighthouse on The Beasts, and a stronger harbour wall for a start.’
There was a collective gasp of astonishment, then a cheer, then a volley of questions. He spoke. He had no idea what he said, but he was aware of his hand being shaken, his back pummelled. He was, belatedly, being made extremely welcome, but he had no time to savour the moment. The most important person in the world was not here, and he had to be with her. Now!
‘Reverend Maddern,’ he exclaimed, as the minister arrived breathlessly. ‘Your timing is excellent. I think a prayer for the safe delivery of these men is in order.’
As heads were bowed, Treeve made his escape, passing Derwa Nancarrow return from tending to Emily on the way. He had forgotten all about the woman. Nodding at her, hurrying on his way, he wondered wryly what she would have told her husband, if he had come bursting in on Emily while she was still there. But what the devil did it matter! Soon, everyone would know.
Shivering, he became aware of his sodden clothes, the sting of the cuts and grazes on his arms and legs, the rope burns on his hands. He should go home, have a bath, wait until the morning. But he couldn’t wait. Out there, at the mercy of the elements, with life and death on a knife’s edge, he had seen quite clearly what he had known in his bones from the day he first set eyes on Emily. Tonight was a turning point. He had faced danger before, had battled the sea countless times, never fearlessly for only fools were fearless, but heedless of his own safety, putting his ship and his men first, always. But this was different. It was not a matter of duty to save Emily. It was a matter of love.
As he approached her cottage, he wondered if he was being precipitate. But when the world could change in the blink of an eye, why wait to say what was in your heart? He simply couldn’t bear to waste another second.
* * *
Emily, shivering and wrapped in a blanket, watched impassively while Derwa Nancarrow stoked the fire, filled the kettle and set it to boil. She was aware of the woman eying her possessions, her work table, her tea caddy, the clothes in the closet which she rummaged through to find a clean nightgown, but she was too stunned and shaken by events to care. Now that she was safe, now that it was over, she was astounded by what she had done, amazed at her calm, the reserves of strength she had been able to summon. In the face of the sailors’ terror she had been confident, reassuring, fooling herself as well as them into believing that all would be well, everyone would be safe. And they were, every last one of them, but it could so easily have been otherwise. Closing her eyes, she could see the waves crashing on the rocks, feel the undertow and fierce tug of the current, the thick taste of salt in her throat.
She shivered violently. They were safe. All of them, the sailors, herself and Treeve. Treeve, who had been at her side, fighting for every life despite the fact that he couldn’t swim, despite the fact that his brother had drowned on those very rocks. She had thrown herself into the water for the sake of the men in the boat and their wives and children. But most of all, she had risked her life for Treeve, and he had risked his life to keep her safe. His faith in her had been the rock on which she had relied. Treeve, who said he couldn’t bear to lose her. Any more than she could bear to lose him. She shivered again, violently. They were safe. Safe. Safe.
‘Drink this, Miss Faulkner.’
A cup of tea was pressed into her trembling hands. It rattled in the saucer as she took it. It burned her lips. ‘Emily,’ she croaked.
‘Then you must call me Derwa. Is this your handiwork?’ she asked, indicating the table. ‘It’s very beautiful. I had no idea. You’re a deep one, aren’t you? I knew you could swim. Kensa and Jack Bligh let slip to my two that you’d taught them. But it took real guts to go into the sea tonight. You must have been terrified.’
Emily shuddered. ‘There was no one else.’
‘But there should have been. I’ve two boys, Miss Faulkner, and they’ll be old enough to go to sea before I know it. I won’t let them go without learning to swim. Will you teach them?’
Tears burned in Emily’s eyes. She had longed for this olive branch. ‘When it’s warmer, they can learn,’ she said.
Derwa nodded, giving her a tight-lipped smile. ‘What we need to do right now is get you warm. Kettle’s boiling again. Shall I help you to wash?’
‘No, please. I’m fine, thank you. It’s very late, you should return home.’
‘If you’re sure?’ Derwa pulled on her shawl, hesitating at the door. ‘What you did, Miss Faulkner—Emily—it proves you’re one of us. We won’t forget it. Thank you.’
The door closed behind her. One of us! Chilled to the bone as she was, Derwa’s words warmed her. If she made Porth Karrek her home, she would be one of them. She would have friends. She would teach the children to swim. When she walked into the baker’s, Eliza Menhenick would bid her good morning and wrap her loaf without having to ask what she wanted. It felt good.
Casting off her blanket, Emily poured hot water into the basin and set about washing the salt, sand, grit and blood away. Where was Treeve? ‘I can’t let the events of the evening pass without comment,’ he’d said. He intended to take the villagers to task. Was he still down at the harbour or had he returned to Karrek House? Was he feeling as she was now, giddy with relief, suddenly full of energy? Euphoric, that was the word, the result of having been so close to not being alive, of having survived what she now saw as a terrifying ordeal. Was he thinking of her, wondering what she was feeling?
Her skin tingling as it thawed from the hot water and the blaze of the fire, she had just pulled on a fresh nightgown when there was a knock at the door. Telling herself it was most likely Derwa coming back to check on her, she opened it hoping that it would be only one person, the person she most wanted to see.
‘Treeve!’
‘Emily!’ He kicked the door shut and pulled her into his arms. ‘Emily, Emily, Emily.’
‘Treeve.’ She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer. ‘Oh, Treeve.’
‘Emily. I can’t believe...’
‘Nor can I. If it was not for you...’
‘No, you. The credit is all yours. You were incredibly brave.’
‘Because of you. Afterwards, when I realised what might have happened...’
He tightened his arms around her waist. ‘It was only afterwards, I realised just how close we had come...’
She buried her cheek against his chest, relishing the reassuringly steady beat of his heart. ‘You’re soaking wet.’
‘I should have changed clothes, but I was desperate to see you. I needed to be here. With you.’ He touched her chee
k. He bent his head. ‘You’re more important than anything else.’
Their lips met. Salt and soap. Heat and cold. The bristle of his beard on her raw skin. It was a survivors’ kiss, lips clinging, bodies pressed tight against one another, hands stroking arms, shoulders, backs, seeking to reassure, to satisfy themselves that they were flesh and blood, safe, together. A survivors’ kiss that deepened into the desire to prove that they were flesh and blood, an irresistible, instinctive urge, to be each other’s flesh and blood. Their kisses became feverish, their breath shallow, as they lost themselves, muttering each other’s name over and over, like an incantation.
There was no moment when they stopped to think, no moment when they considered what they were doing, no point when either of them called a halt. Emily had only an urgent, driving need, to touch, to kiss, to stroke, to be touched, to be kissed, to be stroked, to eliminate every space between them.
She didn’t know how they moved from the door to her bed, tucked in the recess at the back of the room, she didn’t care, save that in the course of the short journey, she had torn the remnants of Treeve’s shirt from him, and he had lost his boots and stockings. She smoothed her hands over his chest, pressed wild kisses to the grazes there, flicked her tongue over his nipples, rubbed her cheek against the coarse hair of his chest. Taste, touch, feel, she wanted it all. She eyed him hungrily, the way his muscles flexed, the dip of his belly, and she tasted him just as voraciously.
She spoke his name, and he spoke hers. He touched her, urgently, covetously, as if she might disappear at any moment, as if he couldn’t believe she was real. Her nightgown fell to the floor, and she was glad to see it go, for it meant he could cup her breasts, take her nipples into his mouth, draw out such sweet, delightful, aching pleasure from her. A tiny ripple of air between them as he released her to remove the last of his clothing, and she could gaze at him blatantly, her belly clenching in response to the thick, jutting length of his arousal.
Invitation to a Cornish Christmas Page 9
