Smuggler's Kiss (17 page)

‘They want us in the Navy all right and tight,’ growled the pilot. ‘But we don’t want none of them.’

‘Show her,’ the skipper said grimly.

The pilot hesitated, and then turned away from me, stripped off his jerkin and pulled up his coarse linen shirt. His back was a mass of ridges: weals and cuts that had healed into a knotted red and purple mess of scar tissue. I gasped in horror.

‘I’ve a closer acquaintance with the Navy and with the cat-o’-nine-tails than I would like,’ he said. ‘I don’t aim to renew it.’

I sat in silence, thanking God I’d said nothing about scum or deserving flogging. My world view was on its head and I just didn’t know what to think about anything any longer.

We picked Will up at Winspit on a still moonless night.
The Invisible
glided into the rocky cove, the men lowered the boats and filled them with kegs of cognac, packets of snuff and sacks of cocoa beans. I waited eagerly at the rail for the first boat to return, straining for my first glimpse of Will. There! Sitting in the prow of the boat with his back to me, a cap pulled down low over his eyes. He was slighter and slimmer than the other burly smugglers and easy to pick out no matter what disguise he’d put on.

I moved towards him to greet him when he came aboard, feeling a rush of pleasure at the sight of his face, hoping for a smile.

Will was laughing as he climbed aboard, at something the skipper had said to him, but when he saw me his smile faded. I paused, unsure of my welcome. Will nodded briefly at me. ‘Isabelle,’ he said by way of greeting. Then he turned from me, finished his conversation with the skipper and disappeared below without another word or look for me.

I stood at the rail, trembling with disappointment, still hoping to see him emerge once more and seek me out. But he didn’t reappear. I climbed into the rigging to help set the sail as we left the bay again, and then went to my own cabin to sit listlessly on my bunk. ‘I
trusted
him,’ I said to myself. ‘And he rewards me with silence. Why?’

Will left us again just a few days later without having exchanged more than a few words with me. I’d kept my distance from him, confused and hurt.

We were due to run a last cargo into Purbeck four days before Christmas when a fearsome storm blew up. It was the heaviest weather I’d seen and transformed the friendly channel into a heaving, raging blue-green beast. The swell tossed the lugger this way and that as though her bulk were nothing more than a piece of insubstantial driftwood.
The Invisible
’s timbers creaked and groaned as though they would spring apart at any moment. I had not been sea-sick until now, and I’d prided myself on the circumstance. But that night, I had to take several trips to the rail, clinging desperately to the wooden support, shivering, as the waves broke over the ship, sending great torrents of spray crashing down on me, and sheets of water swilling over the deck. I was not alone there, I was comforted to see. Those of the crew who had not been at sea all their lives joined me from time to time, relieving their aching stomachs into the swell.

As we approached land, the sails reefed as small as they would go, and every man on deck to bail and to be on hand to deal with trouble, the skipper shook his head grimly.

‘We can’t attempt this,’ he yelled to the pilot. ‘I won’t risk the ship!’

The pilot shouted his agreement, and the ship swung back out towards the open sea, keeping away from the treacherous coastline lest we should be driven upon the rocks.

‘What shall we do?’ I asked Jacob when he came into the galley, streaming with sea water and chilled through. I poured him a generous tot of rum, and he drank it with a sigh of pleasure. ‘Is Will not awaiting us at Lulworth Cove?’

‘He is, but he’ll know what’s toward when he doesn’t get our signal.’

‘So will we try again tomorrow?’

‘Aye, we will that, if the storm abates. But not Lulworth. It ain’t safe for the landers to be the same place two nights running.’

‘So where then?’

‘I don’t know where the next point is they’ve arranged,’ said Jacob. ‘Skipper’ll know that.’

‘But we’re not in any danger, are we?’ I asked timidly, voicing my real fear.

Jacob grunted. ‘This weather’s never safe,’ he told me. ‘You can’t call it that. But we’ve weathered worse. We’ve got the finest ship and the best men in the channel, I reckon.’

I nodded, not entirely reassured. The floor lifted, tilting so violently that even my clutch on the table didn’t stop me staggering sideways. Jacob caught at my wrist to steady me with one hand, while holding his rum safe with the other. He grinned a little. ‘Looking a bit green, girl,’ he commented.

‘Feeling pretty green,’ I admitted, willing my rebellious stomach to quieten. My head swam unpleasantly as the ship rolled and lurched once more.

Jacob downed his drink and rose to go, but I caught his sleeve. ‘What about Will?’ I asked. ‘Is he safe on shore in this storm, waiting for us?’

‘Oh, Will always stays safe,’ said Jacob, patting my hand. ‘He’s got more lives than a cat, that lad. Don’t you worry. No storm or excise man will get him. Now you stay in here where it’s safe and out of everyone’s way.’

He disappeared out into the howling storm, banging the door behind him. I shivered in the blast of cold air that had swirled in.

The storm raged on and we couldn’t make the landing the next day either. I thought of Will waiting in the rain and the wind and the dark with a train of pack ponies for the second night running, watching this storm enrage the sea, transforming it into a white-crested roaring monster. I could imagine how the waves must be hurling themselves against the cliffs where he waited as if it wished to tear them down. But perhaps at least the Preventives would keep to their cosy firesides in such weather and he need not fear them tonight.

The storm blew itself out some time late in the second night. The sea, swift to grow unruly, was also quick to calm itself again. The swell diminished and the white horses faded from the waves, leaving
The Invisible
wallowing in a heavy swell. We could once more unreef the sail and head for the next night’s rendezvous.

‘Where is it we’ll make shore tonight?’ I asked the pilot, going to stand beside him as he pored over his charts.

Fred sighed and shook his head slightly. ‘Dancing Ledge,’ he said. ‘It’s never my first choice of landfall. It’s isolated, right enough, and well-hidden. Only the quarry ships use it and that by daylight. But it’s an evil stretch of coast, with rogue currents and a liberal sprinkling of rocks that would tear the hull open.’

I’d never heard him express himself with less than absolute confidence before. ‘Surely there must be another choice, then?’ I asked, appalled.

‘It’s the spot we agreed for the third night,’ he said. ‘And though it’s tricky, the Philistines won’t guess that we’ll attempt it in big seas. So likely we’ll come off well. And it’s our last run this side of Christmas, so we could do with that. We’re all looking forward to seeing our families.’

His words reminded me that I still didn’t know what I was to do with the week ahead. I thought of my family celebrating quietly without me, and my heart ached with longing. The fact that they thought me dead seemed suddenly infamous. Could I not seek them out, spend some time with them?

But as always when this thought rose in my mind, I remembered that if I returned to my family, I would no longer be able to escape my duty. I hardened my heart and closed my mind to my past life.

It was in considerable trepidation that I watched the shore draw nearer that evening. The wind had freshened once more with the coming of darkness, and the decks heaved beneath my feet.

While we were still out at sea, Jacob took me up to the look-out to help him spot Will’s signal. It wasn’t often I climbed up here, nor was it my favourite spot on the ship, but I could manage the climb without paralysing attacks of vertigo now. I stood at the swaying look-out, feeling exposed and vulnerable each time the mast swung out across the sea, clinging on tightly as I scanned the horizon for the flash of blue we expected.

‘There!’ I cried at last, pointing to the spot where I’d seen it. Jacob followed the direction of my arm, and just caught the last of the blue fading away in the deep darkness.

‘It’s sharp-sighted you are,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘As for me, I must be getting old. Time was I never missed the flink.’

The bearing was taken from the flink and we approached land. As we drew closer, I could hear the roar and drag of the open sea breaking against rock. My anxiety grew as we approached the landing place. Two spout lanterns had been lit to guide us, and the skipper was battling wind and waves to stay on course.

The skipper spun the wheel, the men dropped the sails and the ship swept around in the swell. In the gloom, a bare ledge of rock loomed up, side-on to the ship. This landing place was wide open to the unruly sea. A huge fender of twisted ropes was strung across the rock to prevent ships being ground against it by the waves that pounded the shore.

Beyond the narrow berth, I could make out the swell surging over other ledges that reached far out into the sea beside us. Even a landlubber like me could see why this was a dangerous spot.

Mooring ropes were flung down to secure
The Invisible
and caught by men who emerged from the shadows. They looped them around great rocks that lay on the ledge for the purpose. The ship groaned against the fender. She still rose and fell in the great waves that washed up to the ledge, and on the far side of the ship they broke over the rail, sending water crashing down upon the deck.

One moment the ledge was below us, the next we dropped so that we were looking up at it. We were at our moorings now, but still the unloading would be treacherous. And as for leaving the shore again; how possible would that be without being dashed upon these dreadful cliffs?

I was right about the unloading. It was dangerous work. The kegs were slung overboard on ropes and the men needed to time the lowering of them very precisely so that the landers could grasp and secure them. I saw one anker crushed between the side of the ship and the fender. I watched from the rail as it burst, spilling its precious contents into the sea to shouts of frustration from the men.

At last the cargo was all ashore. I had scanned the landers, hoping to spot Will among them, but the night was dark, and I had no idea which disguise he was wearing tonight. I thought I could make him out standing on the ledge, wrapped in a dark frieze coat. He was slighter than many of the landers and carried himself very straight, but that was my only clue.

‘We need men,’ someone was shouting across to us. The skipper stood at the rail as the ship rose and fell, one hand cupped to his ear, straining to hear his words.

‘Trouble … revenue … ’ we made out. Most of the words were tossed aside by the wind. ‘Plenty … ponies … four men, more … spare them … ’

‘He needs extra men,’ the skipper relayed to those who hadn’t caught the words. ‘Didn’t hear why, but they’re short of landers to lead the ponies. Any volunteers?’

There was muttering and shaking of heads. It was Christmas Eve on the morrow and
The Invisible
due to sail on to Poole harbour after the drop so the crew members could all reach their families in time for Christmas Day. Few wanted to risk a long exhausting journey inland leading pack ponies and dodging the Revenue.

Harry, however, volunteered at once. His home was at Swanage, only a short walk away.

My heart skipped a beat as I saw him prepared to be helped ashore. The memory of the shattered cask took on appalling significance as they looped ropes about his torso and he prepared to make the jump. Harry climbed to the outside of the rail and clung there precariously, two of his comrades holding him fast. They waited as the ship plunged sickeningly and then lifted once more. Just as it began to sink again, Harry shouted: ‘Now!’ He leapt, the men pushed and Harry flew towards the ledge. He was caught by two landers, staggering against them with the shock of the jolt onto the rock. He was safe.

They freed him swiftly from the rope and it was pulled aboard for the next man. The skipper looked around the assembled crew. ‘No one has to go, but you know as well as I do that this venture is money in all of our pockets. The loss of the cargo would dig deep into our savings.’

Jacob stepped forward. I felt sick with fear and had to fight an urge to beg him not to risk himself. It wasn’t the Revenue officers that troubled me. It was that leap into the abyss that was the transfer to shore.

‘I’ll go,’ Jacob said. ‘It’s only a step home from here after the job’s done.’

The men were preparing to loop the rope about him when I grasped his hand. ‘Take care,’ I begged him.

Jacob’s eyes twinkled at me and a smile crinkled his big beard. ‘I will,’ he promised.

His crew-mates were clapping him on the shoulder and the back, showing their appreciation that he was willing to do this for the rest of them.

The boat rose, the boat fell, and Jacob was perched on that slippery rail, waiting for the right moment. He leapt and I thought he was going to make it. But with a lurch of my stomach, I realized he’d jumped short. He was going to fall into that dreadful gap between ship and rock. I screamed in horror, clutching the rail. Jacob fell down, down, and then just as I thought he was gone, he grasped the very edge of the treacherous ledge of rock and clung on, though the water spouted up through the gap, drenching him.