Page 41 of The Cornish Widow

Chapter Nineteen

Jack strode along the path from the secret mooring to the kiddley, annoyed that his men hadn’t abided by his orders. The Fly would be perfectly all right left alone in her little harbor, but it still went against the grain to leave her unwatched, and he didn’t want to be long away from her. The old King had drummed it into him as a boy that a good sailor always thought of his ship before anything else, even his wife.

Smoke was rising from the kiddley’s chimney, pale against the darkening sky, and from inside could be heard the carousing of his crew and whatever locals might be present. Yes, they’d had little time for this lately, but nevertheless, they had a run to make tonight and he didn’t want any of them falling overboard drunk halfway across the English Channel.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. A fug of smoke, a mixture from the fire, men’s pipes, ale and sweaty people, greeted him. Oil lamps hung here and there, but the taproom was still for the most part gloomy, and his men kept their heads down, indistinguishable from their friends and neighbors and probably hoping he’d ignore them.

Lovey, situated behind the bar polishing tankards with a grubby rag, met his gaze and gave him an eloquent shrug. She jerked her head towards a table in the corner where Will could be seen, in the act of draining a flagon of ale, a telltale empty brandy glass on the table in front of him. He set his flagon down and met Jack’s accusing stare, an expression of guilt suffusing his face to be quickly followed by a wry grin.

Jack stepped up to the bar and, seizing the wooden mallet Lovey and Daniel used to call time, not that they often did, banged it hard on the bar top. Heads swivelled in his direction and a low, rumbling silence fell. A lot of guilty faces stared at him. Not just his own men’s but those of their neighbors, too.

“Crew of The Fly, out,” was all Jack said, standing with his hands on his hips and glaring at them all. “The tide’s on the turn.”

To do them credit, apart from the odd mutter, there were no complaints, and they all downed the dregs in their flagons or brandy glasses and got to their feet, abandoning their friends, one or two of them a sight unsteadily. Will, sheepish as the others, emerged from behind the table he’d been sharing with young Harry, grabbing his son by the arm and pulling him with him. “Sorry, my luvver,” he said, addressing Jack. “Clean forgot the time, we did. Lovey serves such good eats and such fine ale.”

Lovey, still polishing tankards, gave a snort. “Telled him to get the men back down to the mooring twice, I did, but he don’t think he should listen to what a woman do say.”

By the fire, occupying the warmest seat in the taproom, old Bessie hawked and spat into the fire. “A man needs to know when a woman’s right.” And she fixed Daniel, her nephew, with a jaundiced eye. “Time you boys learned that.”

Will tipped his hat at first Bessie and secondly Lovey. “Sorry, my luvvers. But you do serve the best ale and the best stew around.”

“Don’t let your Eliza hear you say that, Will my lad,” called a voice from one of the darker corners. “She’ll string you up from the yardarm, that she will.”

General laughter all round.

Looking more than a little sheepish, Will pulled his hat down more firmly over his ears and headed for the door.

Jack followed him out into the fresh night air to find his men lighting their lanterns and muttering together about how chilly it had got. Like a load of old women. They needed to be thankful they weren’t laboring down one of the local tin mines. Then they’d have something to complain about. Smuggling had its faults and dangers, but at least they all enjoyed the work.

He shepherded them in the direction of the path to the mooring, irritated by their whispers, burps and heavy footsteps, Will’s included. “Pipe down, can’t you. Or you’ll have the widow in Keynvor Cottage awake and staring out of her window. You’re already enough of a spectacle with all these lights.”

“Want us to fall down and break our legs?” Phoby Geen grumbled. “We wouldn’t be much use to you if’n we did.”

Jack chose to ignore this, and, thankfully, the rest of the men fell silent. Only the scuffing of their boots, loud enough in itself, broke the silence of the night. It was to be hoped the never-ending sound of the waves on the hidden shore, and the wind blowing from the west, would be enough to muffle these noises.

They negotiated the steep path down to the harbor without anyone falling and breaking a leg, to find the tide had dropped enough that a good six feet of the ladder was now exposed. One by one, Jack’s men descended the ladder to the deck and set about preparing the ship to sail.

“I think I’ll go below for a bit,” Will said with a sheepish grin. “You can call me if you need me, but I’m doubting you will.” He disappeared down the narrow companion way at the back of the boat that led to the ship’s one cabin and pulled the hatch over it.

The men had already undone The Fly’s mooring ropes, but left the gig moored where she was, and were now poling her out into more open water. They’d put the sails up once they were clear of the narrow harbor. Jack went to the tiller and took over from Young Harry who went to grab a sweep and help row her out a bit further.

The wind freshened as they emerged from the shelter the headland had afforded them, and at his quiet order, the men soon had the sails unfurled and the spars raised. The wind billowed them out and The Fly came alive, careening across the waves like an excitable filly. Yes. This was just how Jack liked it. Life was for living, and living meant sailing. He didn’t care where to or what for, he just wanted a rolling deck under his feet and the wind in his sails and his hair.

*

Down in thehold, Harriet had uncovered Theo’s mouth but now rested a finger against his lips. He moved his face up close to hers, his excited whisper barely audible. “Are we going to sea, Mama?”

As the only answer to this was yes, she had to nod. “I fear we are.”

Theo wriggled. “Can I go up on deck then and help the men?” His voice rose a little in anticipation, so she jammed her finger harder against his lips.

This time it was she who put her mouth against his ear. “No, you cannot. I don’t think you realise the seriousness of this situation, Theo. This is a smuggler’s ship, I’m certain. Otherwise it wouldn’t be lurking in a secret harbor with a hold full of dubious goods and leaving in the middle of the night. It’s got to be the same ship you and Lydia saw on the day we arrived, and it can’t be a coincidence it’s back here again. Not twice in such a short time. And you’re right about this smelling like your father’s tobacco. It is tobacco, and I daresay it’s being smuggled into France.”

“Are we going to France?” His voice rose again and this time she put her hand over his mouth.

“Keep your voice down or don’t speak at all. Yes. I think we’re bound for France.”

Theo digested this for a minute, and she relaxed her hold on his mouth. “Mama?” This time he did keep to a nearly silent whisper. “Are… are the smugglers dangerous?”