Moon Cutters (4 page)

Bailey fiddled with his cuffs for a moment. ‘Mistakes and accidents can occur from time to time, but one does one’s best. My men have a good record at catching the thieving bastards who bring illicit goods into the country without paying the due taxes.’ His mouth pinched with frustration. Being honest could be a liability since everyone knew that several of those working under Bailey were on the take. Then the man’s glance flicked to Fletcher and his eyes narrowed as he grated out, ‘Now I must go. Another time perhaps, Mr Taunt. Obviously I was given the wrong information this time. I must warn you, though: my pistol cannot tell the difference between a smuggler and a gentleman.’

Sir Oswald gazed up at him. ‘Nor mine between an officer of the crown and a beggar. Are you threatening us?’

Fletcher chuckled after Bailey turned on his heel and left. ‘There’s nothing more tedious than a man who justifies his faults by imagining he has more integrity in him than the other fellow, when really he just has less humanity. I sense my uncle’s hand behind this. I wonder what he’d do if they found something and threw me in jail.’

George clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Sir James knows damn well you’ll never be caught, and he still wants his half of the ship back. If you were arrested for smuggling gold, he’d make sure he was the magistrate hearing the case, and he’d seize the
Midnight Star
.’

Oswald chuckled. ‘Your uncle will have a fit when he discovers you’ve bought Monksfoot Abbey, lock, stock and barrel.’

Grinning, Fletcher patted the deeds, now held safely in the deep, inside pocket of his waistcoat. Monksfoot wasn’t a large residence, but it was of comfortable size. He calculated that in another eighteen months or so, if his luck held, he’d have enough money to repair the place. I’m taking the dingy into Axe Cove. I’m going to tie her up next to the
Wild Rose
and say hello to Silas.’

‘Silas was hoping you’d visit. Don’t put it off, because he has something he needs to say to you, and little time in which to say it.’

‘Likewise. I enjoy his company, and have done since I was a boy. I used to enjoy hearing about his travels then; now he enjoys hearing of mine, though mine are not as embellished as his. What about you, George? Come with me if you like.’

‘I’m going to seek out a pot of ale and a willing woman for a fond farewell, and in that order.’

‘Anyone I know?’

George grinned. ‘Strike while the iron’s hot, I always say.’

‘Just be careful the iron doesn’t rise up and strike you first,’ he said.

A thin mist vaporized from the cold grey surface of the sea, and Fletcher pulled his greatcoat around him as he made his way round the coast. The wind was fitful, his progress slow, and he wondered if he’d made a mistake in using the
Midnight Star
’s dingy. The light was fading rapidly as he rounded an outcrop of rock.

As luck would have it, the tide turned and began to surge back towards the shore. The current carried him straight into Axe Cove. The small harbour was aptly named. Viewed from the top of the cliff, the cove was shaped like the head of the tool it had been named after. The narrow end was a deeper passage worn in the sea bed, and the blade end fanned out into a curving sandy beach.

Where the cliff dipped towards the water, there was a jetty, and a track that meandered up towards Monksfoot Abbey and past the drying shed. A strong smell of seaweed lingered in the air. Axe Cove trapped the weed, especially after a storm. Gathered up by the villagers, it was soaked to rid it of salt, then dried in a long shed before being crushed and sold to farmers for fertilizer.

Monksfoot Abbey came into sight. It was a solid, oblong building with a coach-house and stables off to one side. It had an air of secrecy about it. As he strode along the track, a light appeared in the porch and a pair of dogs headed towards him, barking rustily. They were well past their prime and had never been blessed with proper names. They were known as Dog and Dog.

He stopped, allowing them to inhale his scent and recognize him as friend or foe. As they nosed at his ankles, their tails began to wag. Only then did he take the liberty of fondling their ears. When he got closer, a man with a pistol trained on him stepped from the gloomy depths of the porch. ‘Identify yourself.’

‘Fletcher Taunt … I’ve bought the place.’ Fletcher patted his pocket, reassuring himself. ‘I have the deeds to Monksfoot here, with my name on it, and not a penny owing.’

‘Aye, so I’d heard.’

‘So soon? I’ve just finalized the transaction. How are you, Tom?’

‘Fair to middling, I reckon. The cold gets to your bones this time of year. I thought it might be you, Mr Taunt. We saw the
Midnight Star
sail past earlier. Silas said he hoped you’d come to see him tonight.’

‘Can you manage a meal and a bed?’

‘Reckon so, seeing you own the place now.’

‘How is Silas? I hear he’s been poorly. I thought to share a jar and a tale with him.’

Tom Pepper grinned widely. ‘He’s as sour as a witch’s tit and hates being confined to bed. There’s life in the old dog yet, though, especially now he knows he won’t have to leave his home to a stranger. Got instructions for you about his funeral, too.’

‘Which are?’

‘He wants to be tied to the mast of the
Wild Rose
and be towed out into the channel and set fire to. He’s reckoned the times and tides, and tells me his ashes will float back into the cove if you do it right. That way he’ll be able to keep an eye on you.’

Fletcher chuckled. ‘I’ll have to try to talk the old fool out of that one. I don’t want him floating around the place telling me what to do every five minutes. Besides, the
Wild Rose
is too sweet a lugger to waste on a funeral.’

‘He thought you’d say that, but it won’t hurt to humour the bugger. He wants to take Dog and Dog with him for company.’

‘We can use the old dingy instead. It’s been beached for over a year, so a small amount of encouragement and it should go up like a torch.’

Five minutes later, Fletcher greeted Silas with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. ‘The best you’ll get from me is to wrap you in your shroud, take you out into the channel in the dingy and bury you at sunset. I might take the preacher to say a sermon over you, as well.’

‘Do that and I’ll come back to life and kick the pair of you overboard,’ Silas growled.

Fletcher was shocked by the change in Silas. He couldn’t be more than sixty, but he’d lost weight and his cheeks had sunk over his bones. Fletcher could almost hear his lungs flapping for air against his rib cage, and his breathing was painful to listen to. He looked like a skeletal child in the large four-poster bed. It was plain to see the Grim Reaper had placed his mark on him.

‘I get tired of lying here.’ He grimaced as he shifted from one hip to the other. ‘I can’t eat, I can’t pee, and I can’t … well, never mind. Just thinking about women hurts. All I can do is fart. It feels as though rats are chewing away at my guts. And I hate having nobody to talk to.’ Silas gazed at him through eyes filled with pain and fatigue, his manner all at once piteous. ‘Will you stay a few days, Fletcher?’

Fletcher felt sorry for the old man, who seemed desperate for company. ‘I can stay longer. George can manage to sail the
Midnight Star
without me, especially on the American run. After all, he’s the one in possession of the seamanship qualifications. If you like, he could inform your nephew of your illness – bring him back, perhaps.’

‘Nay, lad … the man won’t be coming here to visit.’

‘Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable, Silas?’

‘Apart from shooting me through the head like you would a worn-out nag? Take me out on the
Wild Rose
tomorrow. I want to smell the salt and feel the wind on my face just one more time. I asked Tom to take me over to Cherbourg on the next run, but the miserable old bugger refused.’

‘We could go into Poole, and Tom can come with us to help sail her, but only if the snow lets up. George Mainwaring will need the ship’s dinghy back before he sails. I’ll ask the doctor if you’re fit—’

‘Sod the doctor. He can’t cure me; he just fills me up with laudanum to keep me quiet. The medical fraternity like their patients to die in a dignified manner and without kicking up a fuss.’ Silas plucked at Fletcher’s sleeve like a magpie. ‘What did Oswald say to you?’

‘Nothing I didn’t already know. He took my payment for Monksfoot and gave me the deeds. Bailey came sniffing around, looking for trouble, but with Sir Oswald there he couldn’t do much. I think Bailey is in the pay of my uncle.’

‘Could be, but I doubt it. Simon Bailey is as straight as they come. He’s always been a loyal servant to the law. Take my advice, Fletcher. Heal the rift with your uncle before it’s too late and get him out of the smuggling business. It’s getting out of hand. Bailey is one of the new type of law enforcers. He’s an outsider who doesn’t have an emotional connection to the Dorset coast or our local customs. And the authorities are getting tougher. They’d shoot you in the back first and ask the questions afterwards. Give your uncle his half of the ship back. He bought the
Midnight Star
to give you and your mother a legitimate income.’

‘I will … when he apologizes for calling me a cheat.’

‘It doesn’t matter which of you is in the wrong. You’re all he’s got. He brought you up and you owe him some respect.’

‘He gets all the respect he deserves. I’ve put aside the money he would have earned from the
Midnight Star
. It’s in the bank under his name, so if anything happens to me, he won’t be able to accuse me of stealing from him. As for giving up the game, I intend to, Silas, just as soon as I’ve earned enough to repair this place and give me something to fall back on. It should take me another eighteen months or so to get on my feet.’

‘You’re just as stubborn as he is, but he’s a wiley old fox.’

‘Aye, Silas, there’s no doubt that I am. He taught me well.’

‘There’s more to running an estate than house and land. You need a woman to warm your bed and children to feed your soul. They’re like pups. They rely on you, take all you can give them and love you in return.’ His eyes took on a dreamy look. ‘When all’s said and done, it’s people who matter … not fame and fortune. Family turns an ordinary man into a good man who knows how to love and forgive.’

‘But a man needs to be able to earn the means to provide for them.’ Remembering that Silas had lost his wife and two children to typhoid, he said, ‘But aye, you’re right, at that.’

‘Then you’ll reconcile with your uncle?’

‘I’ll think on it, Silas.’ He grinned at him. ‘I come here to pay you a visit and in five minutes you’ve already arranged a pleasure cruise for yourself, a wife and a litter of youngsters for me, and a reconciliation with my uncle. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a woman hiding in the cellar waiting to be carried off. Now, stop nagging me and get some rest.’

‘Time enough for that when I’m dead.’ Silas yawned. ‘Come to think of it, I am a bit weary. Go and explore your new home, lad; everything in it is yours, including the dust and dog turds. At least I can die knowing Monksfoot is in good hands. And Fletcher …’ Silas said when he reached the door. ‘I forgot to mention earlier that my nephew in America has died. One of those redskins he was trying to convert had the good sense to fire an arrow through him. Apparently, it went in one ear and out through the other.’

A huff of laughter escaped from Fletcher. ‘Please accept my condolences, if you feel you have need of them.’

‘I don’t. I just want you to know that I’ve made you my heir.’

Fletcher turned to stare at the man, wondering if he’d heard that right. ‘Say that again, in words I can understand.’

‘You heard, all right. I had to leave it to someone. Apart from Tom, who’s already been taken care of, and the lawyer man, you’re the only one who knows that I’ve made you my heir.’

‘What I want to know is why, Silas?’

‘There’s a possibility that we’re related.’

‘How much of one?’

‘Enough for me to think you’re entitled to have my fortune. There will be no further discussion on this. Shut the door when you go out, would you, lad?’ And Silas turned on his side and began to snore.

Deep in the heart of the house, a clock struck the twelfth hour in a regular baritone. It penetrated Miranda’s slumber and brought her awake.

The fire had burned low and the room was filled with a pale, eerie light. Getting out of bed, she scrunched the bottom part of the nightgown into her hand so she wouldn’t trip over it, and moved to the window.

The wound on her head was a constant drumbeat under the bandaging, and the muscle on her thigh ached where the dogs’ teeth had penetrated below the skin.

There had been a fresh fall of snow while she slept. The sky was low and heavy, threatening more. The air in the room was cool, and the nightlight on its saucer fluttered like a frenzied moth trapped in a pool of molten wax.

Anna was asleep on the daybed, but Miranda didn’t wake her. The woman had to work all day and needed her rest. She settled a couple of medium-sized logs on the fire and replaced the spark guard.

Her sister’s breathing was laboured and harsh, the sound reaching her from the room next door. Now and again, a rattling cough disturbed its rhythm. Miranda lit a candle from the nightlight to guide her to where Lucy slept. She placed the back of her hand against her sister’s heated skin.

‘Mama … I’m thirsty,’ Lucy whispered.

Mama! Tears sprang to Miranda’s eyes as she filled a glass with water from a flower-patterned white china jug. The image that came to her mind, of her poor mother lying under the snow in the cold with just the dead infant for company, saddened her.

Lucy tried to gulp the water down and then began to cough.

Propping her sister’s head against her shoulder, Miranda said, ‘Sip it slowly, my love.’

‘I’m hot. I can’t breathe and everything itches.’

‘You’ll feel a little better in a day or two. Sir James left me something to help stop the itch. He said that, however hard it irritates, you mustn’t scratch the spots; otherwise they’ll leave scars.