Devil's Prize (15 page)

Out on the street once more, her head buzzing with unanswered questions, Jenefer stood for a moment. Why had her letters been sent to London? Why would Mr Vincent not give her the address? If Martin had received her letters, why had he not replied? Where was he? Far from satisfied despite the lawyer’s assurances, Jenefer walked up the narrow slip and into the Packet Office.

Thinking quickly, she explained to the clerk that her fiancé had been a passenger on the Lady Mary, the Packet mentioned in the newspaper as being involved in a skirmish with a French privateer. His voyage to America had been made many weeks earlier. But he should have returned to England by now and the lack of news was causing her grave concern. Would he be so kind as to check the passenger lists for the Lady Mary?

The clerk opened a huge ledger, ran his finger down the page and frowned. ‘What date did he sail?’

Jenefer told him. The clerk turned the pages one at a time running his finger down the list of names.

‘You sure you got the date right?’

‘I’m positive,’ Jenefer said.

With a deepening frown the clerk turned back several pages from his starting point and repeated his check. Then he looked up.

‘I’m sorry, miss. He’s not on the list.’

Jenefer stared at him. ‘That can’t be right. Please will you look again?’

The clerk tapped the ledger with an ink-stained finger. ‘Don’t matter how many times I look, if it isn’t there, it isn’t there.’ He swivelled the ledger, pointing to each column. ‘That’s the ship’s name, that’s the date she sailed and that’s her destination. And this here’s the list of passengers. See his name, do you?’

Jenefer read then re-read the entries. Martin’s name did not appear anywhere. She moistened dry lips. ‘Perhaps – that’s not the only packet sailing for America, is it?’

‘No, there’s –’

‘Then maybe he mistook the name. Would you look to see if he is on the passenger list of any of the others? Please?’

The clerk sucked air through his teeth. ‘Halifax for New York, you said? Only one sailing a month, the Sunday after the first Wednesday.’ He turned pages as he spoke, ran his finger swiftly down the entries then shook his head again.

‘Sorry, miss. His name isn’t there. Wherever he’s gone, it isn’t America, not on a Falmouth packet.’

With the contraband safely stowed aboard the lugger, the crew took turns to stand guard and snatch a few hours’ sleep.

‘Get some rest yourself,’ Hedley advised as he unlocked a door and ushered Devlin into a private part of the house where a room was kept ready for him. ‘You’ll need all your wits about you on the homeward run.’

Removing his boots, Devlin stretched out on top of the counterpane. The mattress was soft, the linen crisp and clean, and having been awake for almost thirty-six hours he was exhausted. Yet his mind would not stop

It seemed he had only just closed his eyes when he heard his uncle’s voice repeating his name, and a hand shaking his shoulder.

‘Time to move if you’re to catch the tide.’

Sitting up, Devlin swung his feet to the floor and rubbed his face, feeling beard stubble rasp against his palms. ‘Coffee?’ he croaked.

‘On the chest. Here.’

Devlin looked up as his uncle thrust a slim package sealed with red wax at him. Stained and filthy, it had clearly passed through many hands on its way here.

‘Hide it well, boy. If you’re caught with it you’re as good as dead.’

Devlin pushed the letter into the sole of his boot, pulled both boots on over his thick socks, stood up and reached for his coffee. ‘They’ll have to catch me first.’

An hour later, after a meal hearty enough to sustain them for a crossing that might take until dawn, the crew hoisted the big lugsail on the foremast. Then they set the main lug and staysail for raising once they had manoeuvred their way out of the harbour, and made ready to cast off.

Devlin bade his uncle goodbye.

‘You watch yourself, boy,’ Hedley muttered as they shook hands. ‘I know family is family and all that. But I hear things. Word is that brother of yours have got grand ideas, but not the money to match. I wouldn’t trust the bugger.’

Devlin’s smile was grim. ‘I haven’t trusted him for twenty years.’

Darkness fell quickly. The wind had backed round to the south west and was blowing strongly. Despite her load of casks, the lugger creamed through the water. Pale clouds chased each other across an inky sky and played hide-and-seek with the stars. Standing at the tiller, keen to get as many sea miles behind them as possible before the moon rose, he sniffed the air.

‘Think it’ll rain, skip?’ Sam murmured beside him.

Devlin nodded. ‘If we’re lucky.’ Cold wet clothes were a small price to pay for the protection afforded by poor visibility.

Hours passed. The wind remained steady, removing the need to change course or continually shift ballast. The crew split the watch, half making any necessary sail adjustments and keeping a lookout, while the others hunkered down out of the wind and dozed.

After midnight, knowing he needed a break, Devlin turned over the helm to Sam. Sitting on one of the casks his thoughts returned yet again of Tamara. To have a child out of wedlock would disgrace her and her family. Yet she had forbidden her mother to tell him.

He could not pretend he didn’t know why. He had rejected her. And he had done so with deliberate cruelty. He had only to close his eyes to see her face: the naked hurt swiftly masked by pride, anger, and contempt. Day and night that image haunted him. When he was busy he could banish her. But the moment his guard dropped …

He had neither time nor energy to spare for guilt. His way of life demanded quick decisions, forced hard choices. Most worked. Those that didn’t he shrugged off. They could not be changed, only learned from. But when he thought of her he felt shame and that made him angry.

He had forced or coerced her. She had led him on. He had expected her to pull away. But she hadn’t and then it was too late and no power on earth could have prevented what happened. Hot, breathless, her mouth so soft on his, she had clung to him. He had never felt, never known – he slammed a door on thoughts he could not afford.

Half the village would say the scandal served her mother right for assuming such fancy airs and graces, and that Tamara deserved the trouble she was in. As if a child were a punishment.

He hadn’t been wanted. He knew how that felt. Would he wish that on his own flesh and blood? His father had resented and blamed him for his mother’s death. His brother loathed him. The feeling was mutual.

How could he be sure the child was his? What if she had been with someone else after him? Did he believe that? He could as soon believe the sun rose in the west. He raked both hands through his hair as his thoughts coiled and writhed like smoke. She had told him she loved him. He knew he inspired fear and respect, even admiration. But love? No one had ever loved him. So how could he believe her?

He thought of Inez and Arf. They had defied his father and taken him in, cared for him. Jared was more of a brother than Thomas had ever been. Yet, despite the warmth and kindness he had enjoyed in their home, he was an outsider. But he was used to that. He had never known any different. He had no fear of solitude. Alone was safer.

‘Skip!’ Ben’s hoarse whisper roused him from his thoughts. ‘A sail.’

On his feet in an instant, Devlin automatically glanced east. The horizon was growing lighter as daybreak approached. ‘Where?’

Ben pointed south-east over the starboard quarter. ‘Could be a free-trader coming from Guernsey.’

Devlin pulled the eye-glass from inside his jacket. ‘Andy, shin up the foremast and take a look.’

Sam and Danny gave him a boost up. Joe and Billy, who had been sleeping, scrambled to their feet.

‘What’s on?’ Billy whispered.

‘Sails,’ Ben told him.

Dropping the glass into Sam’s waiting hands, Andy jumped down. ‘Skip, I can’t swear to it, but she look to me like the
Lark
.’

Standing on top of the casks, Devlin peered through the glass. ‘It is the
Lark
.’

‘Bleddy ‘ell, not again,’ Joe whispered. ‘Talk about bad luck.’

‘Bad luck be damned,’ Devlin muttered. ‘This is no coincidence.’ Snapping the glass shut he returned it to his pocket. ‘I’ll take the helm. Sam, you and Billy run up the jib-topsail. Andy and Joe, set the square topsail. Danny, Ben, check the ropes and sinking stones.’ He heard a sharp intake of breath. But no one spoke as each man hurried about his task.

Dropping the cargo so far from shore would mean it was lost for good, the water too deep to have any chance of finding it again.

‘Right, boys,’ Devlin growled. ‘Let’s shake her off.’

Chapter Fifteen

Wrapped in her counterpane, Tamara sat in her bedroom window with her back against the folded shutter. She hugged her knees as she gazed out over the harbour to the dark restless sea beyond. On the horizon the first glimmers of dawn paled the sky. Another day.

A shuffling in the passage made her turn her head. It was too early for Sally to be bringing her hot chocolate. The door opened and her mother crept in, closing it softly behind her.

‘What is it, Mama? Are you …?’

Starting, Morwenna whirled round, pressing one hand to the ruffles over her bosom. ‘Oh, what a shock you gave me!’ she whispered. ‘What are you doing? Why are you out of bed?’

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Tamara said.

‘Hush! Keep your voice down.’ Her mother’s was a harsh whisper. ‘Do you want to wake the entire household?’

Tamara sighed inwardly. It was more than likely that everyone in the house was already awake. Sally would be downstairs cleaning out the grates, lighting the fires and heating water. Her father had always been an early riser. No doubt he was drinking his morning tea downstairs in his study. As to herself, she often crept out at sunrise to saddle her mare and enjoy a gallop on the moor. Though she was careful to return home in time to wash and change before her mother emerged from her room where she would have lingered over her morning tea then spent an hour dressing.

‘I’m not surprised you can’t sleep,’ Morwenna huffed, ‘considering all you have on your conscience. If indeed you have given a thought to the grief you are causing your father and me.’

Knowing any response would add fuel to the flames of her mother’s anger and anxiety, Tamara spoke the truth. ‘I think of little else, Mama. But why have you come? Are you unwell? Do you want me to …?’

‘What I want is to have a private conversation with you.’ Gathering up her voluminous bedgown, Morwenna moved round the foot of the bed and sank onto the rumpled blankets. The grey light from the window fell across her face as she glared at her daughter.

‘I fear for my health and it’s all your fault. I can’t sleep, I have such flutterings and palpitations.’ Her voice broke on a sob and she pressed a square of lace-edged cambric to her nose.

Tamara swung her legs to the floor. ‘I’m sorry you feel so poorly. Shall I fetch some –’

‘You stay exactly where you are. I didn’t come in here to talk about my suffering. Though this dreadful business has put years on me. Years!’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘I’m here because decisions have to be made.’

Watching her mother sit straighter and drop her hands to her lap where they fretted holes in the delicate handkerchief, Tamara felt her stomach tighten into a knot.

‘I went to see that man.’ Morwenna’s eyes narrowed and her mouth pursed. ‘
Mr
Devlin Varcoe.’

Tamara caught her breath. ‘ Mama, I asked you not to –’

‘Someone has to sort out this mess if we’re not to be the talk of the village. And I won’t have it. Do you hear? Your father and I have a position to uphold. I will not have our name dragged through the mud and sniggered over. I won’t!’

Anxious at the deepening colour suffusing her mother’s face, Tamara started to rise.

‘You stay where you are, miss,’ Morwenna snapped. ‘I haven’t finished.’ She wiped her nose. ‘I had every right to speak to him. But I could have spared myself the trouble. He is the rudest, most disobliging man it has ever been my misfortune to meet. And if I never see him again it will be too soon. He had the effrontery to ask why I had come, not you. Do you know what he said?’ Spittle flecked her lips and her chest heaved with indignation. ‘He said he won’t be bullied and cannot be bought. Can you believe that? How he had the nerve – Never, never have I been so mortified.’ She buried her face in her hands.

Tamara closed her eyes, her heart sinking like a stone as she pictured her mother haranguing Devlin. For the man who had so easily rejected her shy declaration of love, her mother’s shrill demands would have posed no problem whatever. The chilling contempt of his response made her shiver and she drew the counterpane close around her shoulders. Aching to escape, she knew she must stay.

Her mother sat up. ‘Though I did my best he will take no responsibility.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘Still, you must marry someone. And it will have to be soon, if you – and we – are not to be the talk of the village. I have lain awake half the night worrying. And I think I have it.’

Won’t be bullied and cannot be bought. Had her mother tried to bribe him into marriage? Feeling a quaking in her chest Tamara clenched her teeth, teetering between wild laughter and shattering sobs. Her mother had done the one thing certain to make him refuse.

‘Are you listening, Tamara?’

She swallowed hard. ‘Yes, Mama. You said you have it.’ Cold sweat beaded her hairline and upper lip. Beneath the counterpane her nightdress stuck to clammy skin while she trembled. Her head felt light and her stomach queasy. ‘What do you have?’

‘The answer, of course. You must have noticed that Thomas Varcoe has been very particular in his attentions to you these past months.’

She had noticed. Though she had neither sought nor welcomed his interest. ‘I did nothing to encourage him.’

‘No, you did not,’ Morwenna scolded. ‘And we must be thankful your coolness did not put him off. Indeed, I do believe it may have increased his regard. You must accept him.’

Stunned, Tamara raised her head. ‘But – he has made me no offer.’

Morwenna clicked her tongue. ‘Don’t be so difficult. That is a mere detail. A little encouragement is all that is needed to bring him to the point.’

‘Are you – ’ Tamara was about to say ‘serious’. But her mother’s determined frown and jutting chin were answer enough. She bit her lower lip hard as she fought the urge to scream. Her eyes stung and burned with tears she would not allow to fall. ‘And what of my condition?’

Busily adjusting folds of material over her knees, Morwenna did not look up. ‘If we are quick there will be no need for him to know.’

Appalled, Tamara stared at her mother. ‘Mama, we cannot –’

Morwenna wasn’t listening. ‘He must be brought up to the mark as soon as possible. Indeed, it will answer very well. Then should the child bear any likeness to – that man,’ she shuddered, ‘it should not occasion comment.’

‘Devlin has stronger features,’ Tamara murmured. He was stronger in every respect, his build, his personality, and his character.

‘For heaven’s sake, Tamara! The similarities outweigh the differences, and that’s all that matters.’

‘But they loathe each other.’

‘What had that to do with anything? And why should it concern us? As a matter of fact, it is all to the good.’ Morwenna’s mouth curled in a knowing smile. ‘Devlin Varcoe will not tell his brother or anyone else the truth. His pride would not allow it. As for Thomas, what possible purpose would be served in telling him?’

‘Mama, I can’t –’

‘You will do as you are told! It is your wilful, shameless behaviour that put us in this position. Now I have found a solution that will answer all the difficulties the least you can do is show some gratitude. I will hear no more argument, Tamara. You will marry Thomas Varcoe, and that’s an end to it.

‘She’s gaining, skip,’ Sam said quietly.

Devlin glanced over his shoulder. Sam was right. Despite cramming every spare stitch of canvas onto masts now creaking in protest under the strain, the weight of the cargo held the lugger low in the water. This not only slowed her down, it meant her angle – despite shifting ballast to compensate – allowed the choppy water to slop in over the lee rail.

Despite desperate efforts on the pump, the water was coming in as fast as it was being forced out. Meanwhile the cutter was shortening the distance between them.

Though dawn had broken, a thick blanket of cloud hovered over the eastern horizon masking the rising sun. From behind it golden rays lit fast-moving, ragged-edged billows blowing up from the west, painting them orange and purple.

‘What’s the
Lark
doing out here, anyhow?’ Devlin heard Joe ask. ‘Falmouth’s her area. She got no business down this end.’

‘The cutter knew we’d be here,’ Devlin said grimly. ‘Someone betrayed us.’

‘Yes, but who, skip?’ Billy panted as he worked the pump. ‘It wasn’t none of us,’ he added quickly.

‘I know that.’ Devlin was impatient. ‘Right now I’ve no idea.’ His first thought, God help him, had been his brother. Yet he could not imagine Thomas paying for, then forfeiting, a cargo, not to mention the profit he would lose. So if not Thomas, then whom? ‘But I’ll find out. And when I do that person will wish he had never been born.’ Glimpsing the looks his crew exchanged he knew they were remembering Charlie Grose.

‘That’s for later. Right now the cutter captain thinks he knows who we are. But unless he gets close enough to see our faces he can’t be certain.’ Devlin had always kept the lugger free of a name or any recognizable feature. Her black hull and dark brown sails made her indistinguishable from any of the hundreds of Mount’s Bay boats.

‘Shall us black up, skip?’ Ben asked.

‘You all know the law,’ Devlin warned. ‘Get caught with a blackened face while smuggling and you’ll be hanged.’

‘If they catch us we’ll hang anyway,’ Danny said.

‘They got an eye glass aboard same as you, skip,’ Andy said. ‘But if we’re blacked up they can’t tell who we are.’

Devlin gave a brief nod. ‘The soot bag is up fore’ard. Sam, take the helm. Andy, here’s my glass. Let me know when they ready the guns. Billy, you stay on the pump. The rest of you get the casks over the side.’ Though they groaned they didn’t hesitate. By dumping the cargo they were throwing away much-needed money. But to be captured with contraband on board would mean at the very least transportation, at worst the noose.

In the small space by Sam’s feet, Devlin removed his boot, retrieved the letter and stuffed it inside his shirt then pulled the boot on again. He could see the craggy cliffs of the Lizard ahead on the starboard beam.

‘Skip!’ Andy yelled. ‘They’re getting ready to –’

The gun’s boom rolled across the water. Devlin saw the splash about fifty yards behind and to port.

‘Bastard’s trying to push us onto the Lizard,’ Ben cried.

‘Get those casks over,’ Devlin snapped.

‘They’re re-loading,’ Andy called.

‘Skip!’ Joe shouted urgently. ‘Squall coming!’

Following Joe’s pointing finger Devlin saw a low-lying mass of purple-black cloud and beneath it a rippling curtain whose lower edge churned the sea into froth. It was heading for them at frightening speed.

‘Get that topsail down! Drop the jib-topsail! Put a reef in both lugs,’ Devlin roared and seized the tiller from Sam. ‘I’ve got her. You help Danny.’ As he spoke the wind suddenly dropped, and the sound of the men’s grunts as they left the cargo to struggle with ropes and canvas seemed unnaturally loud. Watching them, seeing teeth bared with effort in soot-streaked faces, Devlin missed Jared keenly. They were a fine crew and they were doing their best. But there was too much to do and too few of them to do it.

Glancing back he saw the cutter enveloped by the squall as it hurtled towards them. The hissing of a million angry snakes grew louder. ‘Brace yourselves,’ he yelled. The wind returned with a mighty buffeting roar. Canvas snapped and the masts creaked loudly beneath the pressure of the straining sails as the lugger leapt forward.

Rain lashed down. It stung exposed flesh, rinsed off the soot and hit casks and deck like a cascade of lead shot. It pierced canvas smocks, thick oiled wool sweaters and shirts to soak and chill the skin. The noise was deafening, visibility non-existent.

Then, as swiftly as it had begun, the rain stopped as the squall heading towards the coast, masking the land behind its thick veil.

Wiping his wet face, and raking back his dripping hair, Devlin looked over his shoulder. Not only was the cutter still there, it was closer.

‘Come on, move! Get rid of that brandy. Sam, take the helm.’ Another boom echoed across the water. Crouching in the well, Devlin took the letter from inside his shirt. Casvellan had warned him and so had his uncle. Though he dared not keep it, it might yet save them.

Breaking the seal he unfolded the thick damp paper. It wasn’t one letter, but two, one concealed inside the other. On the inside of the outer sheet were a few scrawled words. He tipped it sideways to catch the light and read, Roscoff, end Feb, M.E.

The letter inside was addressed to Lord Grenville. He hesitated, but it was too late now to turn back. Another boom echoed. This time he heard the ball howl past and Danny cursed as it splashed a fountain of water into the boat.

‘Skip,’ Sam’s mutter was urgent. ‘The next one will sink us.’

Icy rage surged through Devlin but he kept his voice low and level. ‘Get the rest of those casks over the side. Sam, prepare to heave to. Danny, wave to let them know we’re surrendering. Clean your faces all of you. Look sharp.’ Turning away he broke the seal.

Ignoring the crew’s mutters and the cutter captain’s bellowed instructions, he skimmed the salutations.

… growing rumours of negotiations between royalist factions and Louis XVI’s brother, the pretender to the throne. But while new landowners fear that a royalist restoration would deprive them of their property, anger and dissatisfaction with the current regime indicates that a military coup appears not merely possible but increasingly likely. One name heard ever more frequently is that of General Napoleon Bonaparte. Despite his young age – he is but nine-and-twenty – he is known to be an exceptional soldier and administrator. His defeat of the royalist uprising in October of last year has fuelled his ambition and must consolidate his claim.

Sir, having become a liability to my sources and with the risk of discovery or betrayal increasing daily, I shall head west. I hope to reach Roscoff by the end of February and pray for safe passage back to England. Your obedient servant, M.E.

M.E.? Devlin heard his uncle’s voice. Some say he’s an army officer, others reckon he’s a merchant or diplomat. M.E.
Martin
?
Martin Erisey
? Jenefer Trevanion’s fiancé? But wasn’t he supposed to be in America on some sort of diplomatic mission?