Moon Cutters (3 page)

She shrugged as she avoided Mrs Pridie’s eyes and mumbled something the woman couldn’t possible hear clearly.

She said a small prayer for her mother, lying out there in the open air, oblivious to the cold. She must tell Sir James about her; he would make sure she had a decent burial.

‘Mrs Pridie,’ she said, when the woman reached the door. ‘Where is this place?’

‘Goodness, don’t you know? We’re in Dorset, my dear. And this is Lady Marguerite’s House. If you lie as quiet as a mouse, you can hear the shush of the sea against the shore in Lady Marguerite’s Cove.’

Miranda’s eyelids began to droop. ‘Why does Lady Marguerite have a cove named after her?’

‘She drowned there. She was married to Lord Oliver Fenmore, who built this house for her. He was Sir James’s great-great-grandfather. A proper love match, it was, and that over a hundred-and-fifty year ago. She loved the cove. But one day, when she was seated on a rock, a huge wave reared up from the sea and carried her away. Later, her body was washed ashore, tangled in the seaweed.’

‘How sad.’

‘It’s said that Sir Oliver Fenmore was beside himself, and only the fact that he had a young son and daughter to rear stopped him from going insane. If you listen hard enough, when the moon is full and the night is calm, you can hear Lady Marguerite singing for her lost love to join her. Just remember that the dead can’t hurt you.’

Miranda shivered and pulled the cover up round her ears as the door gently closed after the woman.

Fletcher Taunt heaved a sigh of relief as the
Midnight Star
was tied securely to the shore. Although the ship was heavy with cargo, the tide was high. The flurries of snow-laden wind had thinned out enough for her master to safely berth the ship without having to anchor outside the sand bar that guarded the harbour.

His elegant ship nudged shoulders with vessels of lesser beauty: dusty colliers, a couple of ageing packets and several malodorous fishing smacks.

The
Midnight Star
was an aristocrat of ships. Her long lines and pointed prow balanced out her three tall masts, which thrust as straight as arrows into the sky. He’d won his uncle’s half-share of the ship on the turn of a card. After the flaming row that action had produced, his uncle had accused him of cheating, something Fletcher would have challenged another man for. They’d traded insults and walked off in opposite directions – Fletcher to take possession of the ill-gotten gains that his bloody-mindedness dictated he now kept, and his uncle to his study, to brood over a bottle of good French brandy, no doubt.

They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since.

Fletcher had never really coveted the ship, and if his uncle had sought him out and apologized for his accusation, it would have been over and done with. As it stood, legally, his uncle still owned half the ship, while Fletcher owned the other half, purchased with the part of the legacy that had come from his father, and which his uncle controlled.

But James Fenmore hadn’t pursued his claim. He’d stayed stubbornly silent and had informed his staff not to allow Fletcher entry to his home until he was ready to apologize – not even to collect his clothing.

He absently stroked his three-month growth of beard as the little steam tug chugged off in a fury of dirty smoke, leaving him and his ship to bed down for the night. It had been a long journey from Melbourne town, for on impulse Fletcher has asked the captain to divert, making landfall in Asia, where he’d filled every available space on the ship with anything oriental he could buy.

The gold had already been unloaded in London the day before. It was a relief to get rid of it. Some people would do almost anything to get their hands on gold, even when it was destined for the Royal Mint. Taken from the ship by an official and guarded by several soldiers, it was quickly transferred from the ship to the new Mint at Little Tower Hill, where it had been weighed, recorded and receipted.

The wool bales were legitimate cargo, destined for Barrett and Son’s auction warehouse in Poole, as were the oriental goods. They brought a good profit when sold at auction; so too the bolts of silk.

Passengers and crew were waiting to be given the all-clear from a doctor before stepping ashore. One of the crew was taking the luggage down the gangplank and stacking it on the quayside.

The doctor signed the log and the customs man gave it a cursory glance. Most of the customs officials were more interested in what was being smuggled across the channel, and left for them on the mud flats, than what Fletcher might have hidden in the hold.

There was a continuous battle of wits between customs and local shipping. What Fletcher carried ashore was nobody’s business but his own. Those in positions of power who had involved themselves in the dishonest landing of goods had already taken their cuts and turned a blind eye.

‘I can’t see any nasty surprises lined up on shore, Fletcher,’ George Mainwaring murmured on passing, and the captain took up a stance opposite the gangplank to help the ladies ashore. George Mainwaring was ten years older than Fletcher, and Fletcher had been taking instruction from him for the past two years. He travelled as the owner, not wishing to take over the management of the craft but learning as much seamanship and navigation as he could. Eventually, he would apply for a master’s ticket, since they attracted the respect of the men who crewed the ships.

Another officer and two of the crew stood at the bottom of the plank, to offer a similar courtesy and help the passengers with their luggage. There were only a few passengers left, for some had disembarked in London.

Fletcher tried not to grin when Alice Puckingham brushed the back of her hand across his trouser front on the way past. She was a handsome woman, one skilled in many ways, and undervalued by her rather rotund husband. She looked well in a travelling dress and hooded cloak edged with fur, which was a little unfashionable. No doubt she would soon take advantage of her husband’s wealth in that regard.

Alice had been sent to Australia after being convicted of stealing. She’d wed the wealthy woolgrower she’d been assigned to as a servant and was returning to England in the guise of a respectable woman of means. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Taunt. It was nice to be in such …
expert
hands.’

Fletcher answered, ‘It was my pleasure, Mrs Puckingham. The smooth running of the ship and the real safety and comfort of her passengers resides solely in her captain’s specialized knowledge of the sea and his capable hands as he interprets the moods of wind, weather and tides.’

He reminded himself not to be so pompous when she gave a little grin and said, ‘Oh, I’ve already thanked the captain for his management of weather and tides, his capable hands and his valuable services,’ she cooed.

George Mainwaring allowed his left eyebrow to lift a fraction, but otherwise his face maintained an innocent expression.

‘Which is more than I can call on myself to do, since I was sick for most of the way,’ Mr Puckingham said sourly. ‘I don’t know how you fellows put up with all that bouncing around. As for myself, I’ll be glad to get on dry land and have a bed that doesn’t pitch and toss.’

Fletcher exchanged a glance with George. No wonder Alice Puckingham had been such a busy lady, he thought.

When the ship had been unloaded, the crew were given a chitty to take to the agent’s office to collect their pay. He’d added a bonus. It would ensure that most of them would return. George Mainwaring set the ship’s watch and proceeded to the captain’s cabin, where George poured them a glass of brandy. Fletcher opened a wooden trunk with a false bottom and took out a box disguised as a book – one hollowed out and filled with small golden nuggets. He grunted as he set it down.

After a moment, the ship gave a barely discernible dip. The deck above them creaked, and there came a rap at the door.

‘Who is it?’ George called out.

‘Seaman Baines … Sir Oswald is here, Captain.’

‘Thank you, Baines; allow him to pass.’

A man entered, his face shaded by a tall hat. Removing it, he smiled at them both before his eyes fell on the box. ‘How many ounces?’

George gave him an approximate. They all knew how much the box held; any adjustments would be made in the long term, should they be needed.

The man took a small wooden abacus from his pocket and did a rapid calculation. He named a price he was prepared to pay, then said, ‘I take it the amounts will be deposited to the usual three accounts?’

Fletcher looked at George, who nodded at their visitor. The gold was transferred into two canvas sacks, and the book joined several others like it on a shelf.

When the man gave a low whistle, two men came in and the gold was carried outside. So gently that they barely heard a scuffle, it was lowered into a dingy on the harbour side of the ship.

The man smiled. ‘I have on me the deeds to Monksfoot Abbey. The quicker the purchase is finalized, the sooner you can take up residence, Fletcher. I can redirect the draft and witness your signature now if you like.’

When Fletcher murmured his assent, the man pulled pen and inkstand towards him and wrote a figure on two bank drafts. He pushed the pieces of paper across the table. Fletcher took possession of the deeds and smiled. ‘It feels surprisingly good to own some property of my own at last.’

‘Congratulations on the purchase, Fletcher,’ the man said. ‘Even though Monksfoot Abbey is in need of some repair, you got it at a bargain price.’

‘Silas could have got more from my uncle for it.’

‘He could have, but he decided not to sell it to him. Somebody told him your uncle intended to pull the place down.’

Fletcher grinned. ‘Sir James is given to odd notions at times. I believe Silas’s heir is in America doing missionary work, much to his disgust. According to him, the man’s got no intention of returning to Britain. Silas is disgruntled by the thought that his relative is a preacher, and the man intends to spend Silas’s hard-earned cash on the poor when he dies. However, kin is kin.’

‘Quite. However, not everything in this life always goes as planned.’ Sir Oswald took out his watch and gazed at it. ‘It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, sirs. I must warn you. I’ve heard you’re due a visit from our friends in about half an hour.’

George said with a sigh, ‘Thanks … That’s ruined my plans for the evening.’

And those of Fletcher, who looked at his watch and also heaved a sigh. ‘I hope they get it over with quickly so there’s still some light left. You go ashore, George. I’ll stay. You got a good thumping last time, I seem to recall, so it must be my turn. I do understand my uncle’s need to disrupt my life as often as possible, though. I wish I had the means to reciprocate.’

George shrugged. ‘You won his share of the ship fair and square. I was there – and I wasn’t the only one who witnessed it. But you know as well as I do that this harassment will continue until one of you gives in. No … I’ll stay with you.’

Unexpectedly, Oswald asked, ‘Will they find anything?’

‘It’s highly unlikely, but last time they ruined a couple of sails for no reason at all, and they cost a fortune to replace.’

‘Then I’ll stay, too. There is no man more respectable of reputation than I. You can pour us a brandy if you would, George. Fletcher, you can break out the cards.’

It was not long before feet thumped across the deck and down the short ladder. The cabin doors were flung open with some force, and Fletcher found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol. He took a mildly indignant stance in case the owner of the pistol had a nervous trigger finger, and gazed up into a pair of steely blue eyes. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’

‘Customs. We’re looking for contraband.’

Fletcher jerked his thumb at George Mainwaring. ‘The master of this ship is there. I’m merely the owner.’

George didn’t even turn a hair. ‘The revenue men have already inspected the cargo in London. I have the certificate.’ George threw a card down on the deck and reached for several sovereigns. He slipped them into his waistcoat pocket. ‘I’m afraid you’re out, Sir Oswald.’

‘Damn and blast it, Captain; that’s the second time tonight. The interruption put me off my stroke.’ Sir Oswald looked up at the customs officer and scowled. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr Bailey? Haven’t you got a home to go to?’

‘I didn’t know you were on board the
Midnight Star
, sir.’

‘There’s no reason why you should know, is there? I should think it was none of your damned business. Point that gun somewhere else, would you; else I’ll haul you up in front of a magistrate for using threatening behaviour.’

Bailey did as he was told. ‘I’m sorry, sir; we had a tip-off that the
Midnight Star
was carrying gold.’

Fletcher stood, stretching lazily to his full height, a hard-muscled six feet. ‘Of course we were carrying gold. We’re licensed to do so by the Royal Mint. For obvious reasons, we usually keep such a consignment quiet. Would you mind telling me where you got your information from?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. Where is the gold now?’

‘I have no idea. Safely in the Royal Mint, I should imagine. Your informer forgot to tell you it was off-loaded in London early this morning.’

Bailey lost his air of authority, and Fletcher almost felt sorry for the man. After a moment, he suggested, ‘Hurry up and do your search if you must. I intend to go ashore once I’ve won my money back from Mainwaring. Why don’t you join us? It’s your deal, isn’t it, Oswald?’

‘Let’s up the stakes, shall we, gentlemen?’ Sir Oswald expertly shuffled the cards and began to deal them.

Bailey said quickly, ‘Count me out, Sir Oswald. I’ve got other business to take care of.’

Sir Oswald didn’t look up. ‘What about your search, Bailey? I’ve received complaints from ship owners that you’ve been a little too zealous on occasion and have caused unnecessary damage. One or two are thinking of presenting a case before the magistrate’s court to seek redress. I’ve told them to count themselves lucky that we have an honest and fair man in charge of the port, and one who doesn’t court favours.’ Oswald gazed up at him, his eyes sharp. ‘You
don’t
court favours, do you, man?’