The Highwayman's Curse (12 page)

T
he rest of the day passed without further event. There was no chance for me to speak alone with Bess – always she was with Jeannie or Old Maggie, helping with chores. There was not quite a coldness between us. She smiled when she saw me. But she was busy and did not seem to need to speak with me. It was as though she was settled, in a way that I was not.

What did I wish to say? I cannot be sure. Not to tell Iona's secret, though it was indeed a heavy burden to bear. If I am honest, I know not what Bess's response would have been. She cared little for Iona, perhaps because the girl showed no love for Old Maggie. But Old Maggie showed no love for the girl, nothing but crazy words and fearsome curses – how should Iona have acted differently?

And Bess's admiration for the old woman was something I could not share. I pitied her suffering, but that was all.

I wished Bess did not admire her so. I wished more than ever that we could both go away. But that could not be, not now, for I could not leave Iona to her fate – though I knew not how I could help her. And Bess, it was clear, would not come away.

That night, too, was peaceful enough, with no intrusions, no alarms.

That following night, the Wednesday, however, another cargo was expected. By now I had picked up smatterings of conversation and understood something of what would happen. Calum would go to a place on the cliff and watch for a particular light over the water. This was the sign that the cargo had been offloaded from the cutter sailing from the Isle of Man, or Ireland, and onto a smaller boat. This boat would be manned by two seamen from the cutter, who were in Jock's pay, and would be rowed to our cave at high tide. When Calum saw the signal, he would run back to tell us and we would go down the tunnels as before, and collect the goods when the tide started to fall and the cave would be safe from ambush. Next day, the goods would be taken to nearby towns and sold by Hamish. The blind minister was a useful way to avert the attention of the authorities. No exciseman would dare search a coffin for smuggled goods, and he always had a coffin with him. And Hamish did such things as taking the money to the seamen and learning when the next ship might be passing.

During the Wednesday afternoon, I began to have a sense of the work these people must do if they were to eke a living simply from the farm. It was difficult land, in places soggy marsh, in others stony and fit only for gorse. Mouldy told me that the best and most fertile land was enclosed by Douglas Murdoch's walls, that his cows and sheep grazed the richest grass and his fields grew the sweetest clover and flax for linen. Murdoch even had his own linen mill, though he paid his workers little.

We had to drain a piece of marshy ground for planting. After paring the surface with a hand-plough, we had to divide it into runrigs – so that the water could run along the channels and some kind of crop be grown along the ridges. Quickly, my back became stiff and painful, but if I had thought we could rest when this was finished, I was wrong – we must now dig the last remaining winter turnips from the ground – soft, thin things they were, but better than nothing with all the fodder now gone.

So it was with aching limbs that I went to sleep that night, not heeding the noise of Old Maggie snoring, the rustling in the thatch, or the wind snarling at the shutters.

A
s we had been warned, we were woken in the middle of the night. It was Billy who came banging on our door and led us over to the main cottage, lighting the way with a burning peat torch. Lamplight filled the dwelling and faces glowed. As before, Jeannie gave us food and drink. There was excitement in the air and I felt a sense of why these people did what they did. This was better than farming the waterlogged land around their home. Highway robbery is little different from smuggling, perhaps, and something thrilling rushes through the body when adventure beckons. My doubts slunk to the edges of my mind and I threw myself into the action.

No fear did I feel as we climbed down the rungs and then along the steeply sloping tunnel. It was high tide again and the waves shot fountains into the air as we leapt across the churning passageway. We climbed the few steps and then leapt across again. This time, I did not slip and I had no need of helping hands to pull me onto the ledge. I felt Mouldy slap me on the back. Even Red split his face into a grin on my behalf.

Jock did not come with us this time. Jeannie and his sons had persuaded him not to. I think his head pained him again. Certainly, he pressed his hand frequently to his forehead and seemed not to wish to stand. There was no colour in his leathered face.

Soon, we were in the cave again, a little out of breath, sweating lightly. I looked at Bess and she grinned at me, her black eyes sparkling, cheeks pinked, lips a little apart. Her thick hair was tied behind her with a red kerchief, and shone in the dancing light of the peat torches.

Now it was time for her to squeeze through the narrow space at the bottom of the steps. No one spoke; there was no need. She dropped to the ground, pushed her hands through the hole and wriggled quickly out of sight. A few moments later, she called that she was through. We sent the ropes after her.

As before, we heard the noise of her opening the first box, the lid splintering. As before, we heard her voice as she called out what she had found: malt and bundles of lace this time. As before, we felt the tug when the first bags were filled, and we pulled the bags towards us.

Then, horribly, echoing through the caverns and crevices, caught up in the roaring and crashing of the waves, came a scream. And then another. Some scuffling, and another smaller scream.

A
t first, I could not move. No words would come. We all stared at each other, eyes wide in the torchlight, the shadows casting our faces into the shapes of ghouls. What had happened? My mind fought to make sense of it.

I crouched on the ground and shouted through the opening. “Bess! What has happened? Bess!”

Then her voice, brittle with panic. “A snake! I've been bitten by a snake!”

“Tell her to take hold o' a rope and we will pull her back through the tunnel,” said Thomas.

But Bess's voice came back, weaker now. “I can't see, Will. The torch fell. Help me! I can't see…”

“Bess! Listen! You must tie the rope to your wrist and we will pull you.”

“Will! I am … I feel … dizzy. I can't…” And then there was a scuffling sound, a soft thud, and silence. I had not thought a snakebite to be so dangerous, so fast acting. Perhaps she had fallen into a faint from the fear.

I pulled my jacket off and dropped to my hands and knees. Already, my chest felt tight. Already, my breathing was faster. I must somehow squeeze through that narrow space. It could be done. Bess had not found it difficult – but I was somewhat broader. Could I do it?

There was no choice. Stretching my arms in front of me, I plunged into that dark space. At first, I could see nothing. Utter blackness pressed down on me. The rock felt cold against my hands as I pulled myself along, using my toes to push. My face was inches from the tunnel floor and only inches more separated the back of my head from the rock face above me.

Panic rushed through me and I struggled for breath. At that moment, some dust or grit entered my mouth and I coughed. There was no room to draw enough air and, as I choked, I felt the rock close in round me, darker, colder, harder, heavier. I needed to push myself upwards, to give my chest room to move, but I could not do so, for above me was rock.

The thick rope underneath my body lay still and useless, pressing on my ribs. I pulled myself forwards with my hands and pushed with my feet, scraping desperately on the floor of the tunnel. I must move faster. Still there was darkness in front of me, dust in my throat, no room for my shoulders to move.

Now the passage narrowed further, sloping downwards. Surely my shoulders could not go through this space? My feet could get no purchase now on the grit and dust. I felt around frantically with my fingers, looking for something to grasp, in front of me, or to the sides, or above. Yes! A rocky overhang. I gripped it hard and tried to pull. With my arms outstretched and my shoulders squeezed together, I thought now that I could not move, or even scream.

I was stuck. My eyes were wide open, but only speckled blackness spun round me. For some moments I felt that I was spinning too. No longer could I feel the hard walls, the rocks pressing against my body; no longer could I smell the dust, taste the grit between my teeth. My body softened. The black became red, rushing across my eyes. Fear was still there, but it seemed somehow to matter less. I think if this is how we die then death is not so fearsome after all. I felt my mind spin, closed my eyes and let myself slowly drift. No longer did I need any air.

“Will!” From far away, I heard my name called. “Will! Please!” It was Bess, her voice weak. And now terror rushed back and with one last effort, I pulled, squeezing myself past the narrowing until the tunnel opened out – a little, but it was enough. I could breathe again. Now my heart beat fast, as I sensed how close I had come to death, how nearly I had given in to it.

Forgetting that there would be a drop at the end of the tunnel, I fell headfirst for a few feet, my hands landing painfully on the rough rock floor. I gasped the air, fresh air straight from the sea.

The darkness here was not so deep. No moonlight shone directly into the cave but I could make out the mouth of it, see the ebony waves glinting under the waxing moon. A groan to my right told me where Bess was, but before I moved to her I heard Thomas shout to me, “Pull the rope.” This I did, and almost immediately a burning torch spiralled towards me along the tunnel. I caught it and looked around.

Bess was crouched against the wall, surrounded by scattered packages. The snake was nowhere to be seen.

“It's in the box,” she muttered. Her voice sounded thread-thin, ready to snap, her breathing fast and shallow. I fought to control my fears – the bite from a snake in this country would not usually kill, I thought, but I was not sure.

She looked up at me as I crouched beside her. “It's my hand,” she whispered, holding her left wrist in her right. I raised it and held the torch near by. Two tiny puncture marks sat on the fleshy part under her thumb. “I can't see properly, Will,” she said. “I'm going blind!”

I pulled her hand to my mouth and clamped my lips over the puncture wounds, sucking as hard as I could, then spitting, spitting, spitting over and over again onto the floor. I knew not what else to do. I could see that her hand was swollen, her wrist too. Then a sudden memory came to me of one of my father's stablemen doing something when a hound was bitten by a snake. I needed a knife.

Peering around with the torch, I found the blade she had been using to break open the box. Holding my breath and clenching my teeth, I quickly slashed her hand, just above the snake bite. She gasped and snatched her hand away. Blood pumped out. Placing the torch against the side of the box, I whipped the kerchief from my neck and tore it into two pieces. One I quickly bound round the highest part of her arm, allowing the blood to flow freely from her hand onto the ground. After a few moments, I made the other one into a pad and pressed it on the wound. “Hold tight to that, Bess,” I urged.

A voice came thinly along the tunnel. “What's happening?”

“I'll tie her hands to the end of the rope. When I tell you, pull.”

“The snake!” slurred Bess now. The snake. It must be killed, or we would not be able to come here again in safety. I peered into the box. Nothing. I held the torch closer. Something flickered in a corner. A shadow? Was it my imagination? I held the brand closer still.

It was the snake. Coiled in a corner, its tiny eyes staring, its tongue flickering. I had never been so close to such a creature. I knew not what sort it was – its black zigzag markings meant nothing to me. All I know is that it looked evil.

Without thinking on it further, I thrust the torch with lightning speed into the dark corner. Almost as fast, the snake moved, but not fast enough. It seemed to me that it screamed, but I do not think this possible. With a sizzle and a brief horrible writhing, it was dead. I clamped my mouth shut, or I think I would have vomited.

It was as I was about to turn away that I saw a piece of paper in the box. At first, I thought it must have been part of some wrapping, but it was not like any of the material on the goods that lay scattered about.

“Hurry,” whispered Bess. “Please.”

I picked up the paper and was about to put it in my pocket. For she was right – we must hurry. I didn't know how the snakebite would affect her but I knew we must leave this place as quickly as possible. But as I took the paper, my eyes caught the words scrawled on it. In the light of the fading torch I read them.

I burned them then, holding the corner of the paper until every word had vanished into charcoal nothing. No one would ever read those words.

N
ow I forced my mind to other matters. Though my heart raced with a terrible panic, I leant the torch against the wall and turned to Bess, grasping her beneath the arms.

She was too weak to stand. Half carrying her, I dragged her to the opening. I grabbed the rope that dangled there and tied her wrists tightly to it, telling her to continue pressing the pad on her cut. I then hoisted her body up onto the ledge and held her while the men pulled the rope, firmly. I winced for her pain as she was hauled over the stony surface.

As I prepared to return through the tunnel myself, I tried to quell my horror of the narrow space, the pressing rocks. I had done it once so I knew it could be done.

But it was not to be. Not yet. For another shout came, followed instantly by a rope and then another, each with a bag tied to it.

“Load the cargo, lad!” called Thomas.

“But she needs attention! And fast!” I shouted in return.

“Then ye'd better load the cargo fast, had ye no'?”

Angrily, I stuffed the packages into the bags and shouted that they were ready. They disappeared rapidly and I heard the rattling of stones as they tumbled along the passage. For some moments, I was alone. The torch burned more dimly now but a soft moonlight shone from the sea and it was enough. The waves breathed, in and out, in and out, sighing. Every now and then, a larger wave gasped, and then spat against the opening to the cave. The surface of the sea was several feet below the bottom of the cave entrance – no boat could reach it now.

Behind me I heard the ropes being thrown back again, and again I filled the bags with cargo, forcing as much as I could into each.

We must hurry! They did not care enough for Bess. They did not care as I did what happened to her. They needed us, but not so much that they would sacrifice anything to save our lives. Did Bess understand this too? That they were not her kin, no part of her life and story. Their hatreds and their loves were not hers or mine.

I fumed, muttering under my breath. “Hurry! For God's sake, hurry! Why do they not hurry?”

At last, I had loaded the last package into a bag and all the bags had disappeared. Now, I hoisted myself into the opening and, taking a deep breath, I placed my arms in front of me once more and began to squeeze along the tunnel. The rock hung above me. How heavy it must be! What if it fell? What if even a part of it fell? I would be crushed and soon I would be nothing but a skeleton. How quickly would I die? I tried to reason with myself – this tunnel must have been here for longer than man's memory, many hundreds of years. Yet, caves and tunnels sometimes fall. It must have happened before that a person was inside a cave when it collapsed.

My struggle made me breathe faster. But there was no room! My chest was being crushed under the weight of my own body. I wished to pull my arms under me, to push my body up a little, to find space to draw air. But I could not.

I heard their voices urging me on. Not Bess's – no sound did I hear from her. Then, without warning, my fingers touched a rope. I grasped it and felt my arms being tugged forward, my body following. I screwed my face against the pain as I was dragged over the sharp rock face. And now I could feel warm air on my face. I was through!

As I tumbled into their rough hands, I barely heard their words of praise. Such words meant nothing, for I believe they cared more for their cargo than for Bess's safety. Wiping some smears of blood from my hands and brushing grit from where it had sunk into my body, I looked at Bess, where she slumped against a wall, blood staining her clothes. Calum watched her with some fear, I think. But only Red acted: he hoisted her upwards and over his shoulder. I opened my mouth to say that I would carry her, that he should not, but he was stronger than I.

And he was now urging the others to follow. So I believe he did not think ill of her. There was no greedy look in his eyes and it came to me then that he had not looked at her in that unpleasant way since the second evening. I was glad to see him carry her now, as he was strong as a carthorse. Picking up a bag, I followed close behind and we both urged the others on.

Indeed, I was glad of his strength when we came to the place where we must twice cross the roaring waves. There was less to fear now, with the tide much lower, but still I could hear the echoing crashes of the waves further down the tunnel, and every now and then spray spat into the air beside us. There was not even time for me to wonder how he would cross with Bess on his shoulder: he simply ran and leapt over, landing with his legs bent, as if on steel springs. We followed, throwing our burdens across for Billy to catch on the other side.

In this way, we came quickly to the rungs set in the vertical wall and soon we were hauling ourselves into the main cottage once more.