Devil's Prize (11 page)

Raising her head, Tamara looked directly at Devlin. Coward. He heard her voice as clearly as if she had spoken, yet her lips hadn’t moved. Then she turned and gave Thomas her hand. He murmured something to which she responded with a polite nod as he led her out onto the floor.

The orchestra struck up with an opening chord and the dance began. Devlin strode towards the door. People looked up, saw his expression and stepped aside. No one tried to stop him.

As she and Lizzie approached the quay Jenefer heard women’s voices, raucous and uninhibited as they laughed and chatted.

Built at the rear of the quay a few yards from the harbour wall, the pilchard cellar had huge wooden double doors mounted on iron wheels. Rolled back as they were now, they revealed granite walls glistening with salt and fish scales.

The instant the women saw her they fell silent. Schooled in social etiquette, Jenefer knew how to put strangers at their ease. But instinct told her that party manners would not work here. Self-conscious, acutely aware of being out of place, she cleared her throat.

‘Good morning.’ Her voice sounded tight and a flush climbed her throat. One or two mumbled a greeting then fell silent. They were as uncomfortable as she was. She should leave, go back to the cottage. But then what? She needed money and this was the only place she could earn any.

The stone floor ran with a mixture of salt water, blood, and oil oozing from the large square piles of gutted pilchards layered with salt stacked against the back wall. The stench was overpowering. Jenefer felt her stomach contract. She swallowed hard.

‘This ’ere’s a towzer,’ Lizzie Clemmow handed Jenefer a rough apron. ‘He’ll keep the worst off.’

As she tied the coarse sacking over her oldest bodice and petticoat, Jenefer shivered. Even her thick woollen shawl, crossed in front and knotted behind, wasn’t enough to keep out the cold breeze that ruffled the grey water with white caps that slapped against the quay.

A stocky woman wearing several ragged kerchiefs over a brown bodice and serge petticoat shoved her way through the silent group to stand directly in front of Jenefer.

‘Well?’ She planted her hands on broad hips. ‘What d’you want? There idn nothing ’ere for the likes of you.’

Jenefer was startled and bewildered by the woman’s open hostility. ‘I’ve come to work.’

‘Ha! What would you know about work?’

‘Shut your gob, Mary-Anne,’ Lizzie retorted, steering Jenefer towards a pile of fish stacked against back wall. ‘Always making trouble, you are.’

‘She got no business ’ere,’ Mary-Anne insisted, looking to the other women for support.

‘She got as much right as you or anyone else,’ Lizzie snapped.

‘Always on the drip you are, Mary-Anne,’ someone added wearily.

‘Poor soul just lost her father,’ said a voice at the back.

Mary-Anne whirled on the speaker. ‘She idn the only one. Least he died in his own bed. Weeks it was before my Charlie was found. Or ’ave you forgot that?’

‘Some chance,’ a voice muttered. ‘Wi’ you always throwing it up to us.’

The women returned to their work and the buzz of conversation resumed. But Jenefer was aware of sidelong glances and whispers.

‘Make no mind, miss,’ Lizzie murmured. ‘Mary-Anne is always craking up ‘bout something.’

‘Was Charlie her husband?’

Pursing her lips Lizzie gave a brief nod. ‘Drowned, he did. Washed up down Rinsey way a couple of weeks ago, what was left of’n.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jenefer said. ‘Does she have any children?’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘Good job too. Charlie Grose was a ’andful on ’is own. Mind your feet now, ’tis some skiddery.’

Lizzie explained that the pilchards had been gutted and bulked to allow the layers of salt to soak all the blood and moisture out of them. Now they needed to be packed in barrels.

‘Lay the pilchards in a circle, heads to the edge, tails to the centre, see?’ Lizzie demonstrated, her movements quick and sure. ‘Each hogshead do hold about three thousand. When ’tis full, he’s moved back there,’ she gestured, ‘and the pressing stone is put on top. The train oil comes out of they holes down the sides.’

‘What happens to the oil?’ Jenefer asked, dreading having to touch the wet, cold, salted fish.

Lizzie glanced up. ‘We do keep some to use for lamps. The rest is saved in barrels and took by sea to Penzance. Then it go by schooner up to London. Mind the salt now. Brush’n off to the side. ’Tis scarce so we have to use’n again. All right? I’ll leave you get on.’

‘Mrs Clemmow?’ Jenefer tore her gaze from the oozing pile. ‘How – how much will I be paid?’

‘Same as the rest of us,’ Lizzie replied. ‘Fourpence each hogshead.’

Thomas Varcoe crossed his legs and looked at the man on the far side of the desk who wore the king’s coat denoting his rank as a collector.

‘You’re new to this area, Mr Eddy. You want to make your mark and clear this part of the coast of smugglers. I can help you achieve that.’ He flicked a speck of lint from his breeches.

The Customs Officer leaned back in his chair. His expression was sceptical, but Thomas saw the gleam of interest in his eyes. ‘Indeed, Mr …? I didn’t catch your name.’

‘I didn’t give it. My name doesn’t matter. My information does.’

‘What information is that?’

‘You’ve heard of Devlin Varcoe?’

The officer’s face darkened. ‘Who hasn’t?’

‘How would you like to be the man who catches him?’

Eddy snorted. ‘Plenty have tried.’

‘But they didn’t have your advantage.’

‘What’s that then?’

‘What if I were to tell you that he will shortly be making a run to Roscoff?’

‘You’re sure about this?’

Thomas suppressed a smile. ‘I am absolutely certain.’

‘How?’

‘Mr Eddy,’ Thomas interrupted. ‘You and I both know that despite your best efforts, and those of your colleagues at Penzance and Falmouth, you will never be able to stop the trade in contraband. The rewards are too great for all involved. There will always be some brave or foolhardy sailor willing to risk the rope in order to turn a profit, just as there will always be men of substance willing to invest in those cargoes. A man of good sense would not waste his time trying to achieve the impossible.’

‘So what are you offering?’

‘In exchange for information that will guarantee you the capture of a notorious smuggler, you might be prepared to relax your vigilance on certain days of the month, for which you would, of course, be amply rewarded.’ Thomas paused, watching the Customs officer whose frown indicated rapid thought.

‘Are you offering me a bribe?’

Thomas smiled. He saw through the bluster to the underlying interest and clamped down hard on his growing excitement. ‘I wouldn’t be so foolish, Mr Eddy,’ he said smoothly. ‘I had the pleasure of dealing with several of your predecessors, men whose salary rarely reflected the demands and unsociable nature of their work. They appreciated being able to spend two or three evenings a month in the bosom of their family while enjoying several glasses of fine cognac. I’m told their wives and daughters were delighted with the gifts of silk and lace. This war has made such luxuries dreadfully expensive.’

‘My predecessors here?’

‘Indeed,’ Thomas lied. ‘Men who understood the natural right of Cornishmen to buy what they want as cheaply as possible. I’m sure you will not expect me to name names.’

‘No, of course not,’ Eddy said hastily.

Thomas pressed home his advantage. ‘We are the only two people in this room. What is said between us remains between us.’ He sat back.

The officer tapped his fingers on the table while he thought. Then he bent forward. ‘When?’

Thomas mirrored his quarry’s position, leaning forward and lowering his voice. ‘I’ll send word to you of the exact date. Obviously it will be dependent on the weather. Now, as I understand it, to secure a conviction the boat must be carrying contraband loaded and paid for in France. However, if I am to lose not only my investment but also the profit I would have made, then I think it only fair that you should provide the cash to pay for the contraband.’

The officer’s brows shot up, then he frowned. ‘I don’t –’

‘Think for a moment,’ Thomas interrupted. ‘No Preventive Officer has managed to catch Devil Varcoe. But you can. You will. Your name will be spoken with awe. You’ll be famous as the man who captured the most notorious smuggler in the whole of west Cornwall.’

Thomas watched Eddy’s ruddy face, and saw the instant the prospect of fame, reward and possible promotion triumphed over anxiety about finding the money and the dubious legality of the enterprise.

‘Mrs Eddy would surely like that.’ He sounded wistful.

‘Imagine how proud she’ll be,’ Thomas urged. ‘How happy.’

The expressions that passed across the officer’s face revealed more than he realised about his domestic situation. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘I knew I was right to come. Mr Eddy, you are destined for great things.’ Thomas rose.

The Customs officer pushed himself out of his chair then frowned. ‘What if he has time to drop the cargo overboard? I’ll have paid –’

‘Don’t worry,’ Thomas soothed. ‘I’ll see to it you’re not out of pocket.’

‘Yes, but the way I hear it, Cornish juries never convict smugglers.’

‘If a signal fire is lit on-shore, it won’t matter if he’s dropped the cargo. And with Sir Edward Pengarrick on the bench –’ Thomas smiled. ‘He’s waited years for this.’

‘What about you? What do you get out of it.?’

Thomas flicked his nails across his sleeve. ‘Devlin Varcoe cheated me. He took what was mine.’

‘You know he’ll hang?’

‘I hope so, Mr Eddy. I hope so.’

Chapter Eleven

‘Don’t take on, miss,’ Lizzie murmured as Jenefer fought tears. ‘They don’t mean nothing by it. ’Tis just – well – ‘

‘I’m too slow.’ Never in her life had Jenefer felt so wretchedly cold and tired.

‘You’ll be quicker once you get the hang of it. We been doing it years.’

Jenefer shivered, pulling her shawl closer. ‘You’re very kind, Lizzie. But I’ve been here a week now. Mr Tonkin has moved me from one job to another and I’ve been hopeless at all of them, especially the packing.’ Though she had done her best, the other women had each filled a hogshead before she had managed to set half a dozen layers.

‘Well, ’tisn’t no wonder. You never done nothing like this before.’ Lizzie dropped her voice to a murmur. ‘I tell ’e what. You pass ‘em to me, I’ll pack ’em, and we’ll split the money. All right?’

Jenefer accepted gratefully. But Lizzie’s generosity provoked comments that varied from mocking to spiteful.

‘Shut yer yap, the lot of ’ee,’ Lizzie snapped. ‘No one asked you for help so you got no call to complain.’ As the mutters subsided she turned to Jenefer whose face was burning. ‘Make no mind,’ she advised quietly. ‘They do tease anyone new.’

Jenefer knew perfectly well that the women resented her presence among them as much as she hated having to be there. She also realised that she had put her new neighbour in a very uncomfortable position. Yet without Lizzie’s assistance it would take her all day to fill one hogshead: hours of backbreaking labour for fourpence.

She would never get used to such work. It was boring, repetitive, and disgusting. ‘How do you face this every day?’ she asked quietly.

Lizzie’s expression reflected surprise at the question. ‘Glad of it, we are. Usually the shoals come between harvest and Hallowe’en. ’Tis rare the fish coming December-time so we been lucky that way. But there won’t be no more now. Still, we’ve made good money. Good job too. What with the poor ’arvest and the bleddy war, prices ’ave gone up dreadful.’

‘If the pilchards have finished what will you do now?’

‘Once the nets been dried they’ll be put up in the lofts and we’ll mend ‘em ready for next year. It don’t pay much, but ’tis nice to have a bit of company and a chat.’

For the first time Jenefer understood how her birth and position had cushioned her from the harsh reality of life for most women in the village. Her hands were numb with cold and stung from the salt. Despite the thick protective apron, every day the bottom of her petticoat was splattered and her shoes soaked with the stinking liquid continually running across the stone floor. No wonder the women all wore thick woollen stockings and wooden clogs or heavy half-boots that laced up the front like those of farm labourers. She breathed deeply, inhaling dank chilly air that stank of fish. Would she ever get the foul stench out of her nostrils?

By the time they left the cellars to walk home, Jenefer had come to a decision. ‘Lizzie, I’m really grateful, but you can’t go on helping me. It will cost you too much.’ Lizzie opened her mouth but Jenefer wouldn’t let her speak. ‘I don’t just mean money. Apart from the fact that you’re really good at what you do and I’m useless, if you spend any more time with me you’ll lose your friends. I don’t want that to happen. I’m going to look for something else.’

Lizzie’s forehead puckered. ‘Like what? If you don’t mind me asking,’ she added hurriedly.

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Jenefer smiled. ‘You’ve been so kind. I don’t know what I’d have done –’

‘No such thing!’ Lizzie blushed.

‘Anyway, it’s painfully clear I’m more hindrance than help in the cellars. I’ve been trying to think of alternatives. There must be something I can do to earn money.’

‘Good with a needle, are you?’ Lizzie suggested.

Jenefer shook her head. ‘No, that’s Betsy’s talent. She’s wonderful. She does all sorts from dressmaking to embroidering cushion covers. And she can paint.’

‘I ’spect it helped after the accident,’ Lizzie said. ‘Took her out of herself. After I lost my youngest to fever I’d ‘ave gone mad if it hadn’t been for Ernestine. Had me making new shirts for Sam and William. Good as gold she was. Any’ow, if you can’t sew, what can you do?’

Jenefer shrugged. ‘Figures. I was always good at figures. After the accident I took charge of the housekeeping. My mother had taught me how to manage the household accounts. Then Papa was in such a state I had to take on his business accounts as well.’

‘There you are then,’ Lizzie gave a satisfied nod.

‘Yes, but where –’

‘I tell you where you could try. Percy Tresidder been in the bed for near on two weeks. Started off with a cold he did. But when I went up the shop yesterday, Hannah was saying ’tis gone to ’is chest and he’ve got some awful fever. She’ve even had the doctor to’n. ’Tis taking all ’er time to run the shop. And Perce isn’t in no fit state to do nothing.’

‘It’s the end of the months. All the accounts should be sent out and there’ll be suppliers to pay,’ Jenefer felt hope rising like a tide.

‘Tight as a gin, Hannah is,’ Lizzie warned. ‘She don’t like parting with money.’

‘That’s all right. I’d be willing to accept part of the payment in groceries,’ Jenefer said.

Lizzie grinned. ‘You would? Just you remember, she need you as much as you need the work.’

‘Miss Trevanion!’

As both women glanced over their shoulders, Jenefer saw Devlin Varcoe coming up the street.

‘Wish me luck,’ Jenefer said as Lizzie moved away, then wished she hadn’t in case Devlin had heard.

‘You’ll be fine.’ Nodding a greeting to Devlin, Lizzie headed towards the cobbled lane that led to the cottages.

Though Devlin’s stained canvas smock, thick trousers, and long boots showed he’d been working, Jenefer was horribly aware of her shabby, splattered skirt and ruined shoes as his long stride shortened the distance between them. Still, at least this encounter spared her the embarrassment of seeking him out.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Varcoe. I wonder if you could spare me a few moments?’

‘It would be my pleasure, Miss Trevanion.’

Her blush deepened at his mockery. She knew the stiffness in her manner was totally out of keeping with her appearance and her new situation, but it had been automatic, an attempt at self-protection.

‘Settled in all right?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ She walked ahead of him down the narrow alley and, pulling the key from the pocket inside her skirt, opened the door and went directly to the table where she had left the two lanterns and tinderbox.

‘Please come in.’ Unaccountably her hands were shaking, but after three attempts she managed to strike a spark. Within moments mellow light replaced the gloom. As she hung one lantern over a nail in the beam she saw him looking around, saw the room through his eyes. Sparsely furnished with shabby mismatched items salvaged from a heap of discards piled in the barn.

‘You’ve made it very comfortable,’ he said.

She glanced up quickly. Was he serious? It could hardly be more basic. Yet he sounded as if he meant it. Though with Devlin Varcoe one could never be sure.

He turned to face her, one dark brow climbing, and the room seemed suddenly smaller. His physical presence was overpowering. She moved away towards the range, widening the distance between them. Reaching up she took her purse from the mantle-shelf.

‘I was hoping to see you.’ As soon as the words were out she wished them unsaid. She caught the glimmer of surprise in his gaze and bent her head quickly as she tipped coins into her palm. She held her hand out towards him. ‘I’d like to you to accept this.’

Glancing from her hand to her face he folded his arms. ‘Why?’

The tone of that single word was enough to tighten Jenefer’s skin and a sensation like icy water trickled down her spine. ‘It’s a quarter’s rent.’

His expression hardened. ‘I don’t want your money.’

‘I appreciate your kindness, Mr Varcoe.’ She swallowed, forcing herself to hold a gaze that had become cool and unreadable. ‘But I cannot allow you to be out of pocket. Nor would it do for people to get the wrong idea.’

‘Wrong idea?’ He tilted his head. ‘And what would that be, Miss Trevanion?’

‘Please don’t play games with me.’ He flinched. Jenefer was sure of it. But his gaze was so steady, so coldly implacable that she knew she was mistaken. It had been a trick of light and shadow. ‘I must pay you rent, otherwise –’

‘Otherwise what?’ he interrupted brusquely. ‘How will the village know whether you do or you don’t? It’s not my custom to spread my private business around the village. Is it yours?’

Jenefer flushed. ‘Of course not. But you are being wilfully blind if you cannot see that the change in my circumstances is bound to be a topic of conversation.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m engaged to be married, Mr Varcoe. Now more than ever my behaviour will be scrutinised. People love to gossip. I prefer not to give them ammunition.’

Devlin shrugged. ‘I don’t give a toss what people say.’

Angry, embarrassed, and resenting his refusal to appreciate her difficulties, Jenefer erupted. ‘You don’t have to! You’re a man. Men are allowed a freedom forbidden to women. I, as you see, am not a man, and you must know that my situation is a difficult one. I am doing my best. My life has changed beyond all –’ To her horror she felt the hard knot in her chest climb to her throat as scalding tears pricked her eyes. She forced them back. ‘Please understand,’ she entreated. ‘I must observe standards of proper behaviour.’

‘Do as you please, Miss Trevanion. But I won’t take your money, so find another use for it. I offered you this place because you had lost your father and your home. The offer was made without conditions. I want nothing from you, and you insult me by suggesting otherwise.’ As he reached the door he looked back, his eyes blazing. ‘Ever since your father came back from India your family has lived off the profits of smuggling. How does that fit with proper behaviour?’ He strode out, slamming the door behind him.

Jenefer stood frozen. Insult him? She hadn’t meant – hadn’t intended –. A wave of fury engulfed her. How dare he be angry when her only intention had been to keep their relationship on a businesslike footing? Her hand trembled as she poured the coins back into the purse. He had no right to speak to her so. She was not responsible for her father’s venturing.

Too tired to hold onto her rage, she felt it ebb, and found herself viewing her offer of payment through his eyes. She had simply been trying to do what was right. He had seen it as rejecting a kindness, turning it instead into a business transaction.

He didn’t understand. Pulling the wooden chair from under the table she sank onto it and buried her face in her hands. But the reek of fish forced her head back. She dropped her hands to her lap and closed her eyes.

Their relationship? There was none, never had been, never would be, and she had been foolish to think otherwise. Her suspicion that he felt some attraction to her had been mere wishful thinking. He didn’t. He had made that only too clear. Which was exactly as it should be.

Devlin Varcoe was undeniably an attractive man who, when he chose, displayed surprising charm. But there was a darker side to him that hinted at danger. He was too ruthless, too outspoken: too careless of convention.

Rules, obligations and the demands of her position in society had shaped her life, made her the person she was. But the realisation that in his eyes she was somehow less both unnerved her and sapped her confidence. Her self-image based on how others perceived her was all she had left. Yet such things meant nothing to him.

Suppose, just suppose he actually had been interested. She shook her head. Loneliness and Martin’s prolonged absence lay at the root of such notions. But they were just foolish dreams. It would never have worked.

Marriage to such a man would mean living in fear: fear he might drown or be shot or captured. Fear he would tire of her. She had neither the resource nor the courage for such a life. It was different for Betsy. Jared adored her and she loved him. Jenefer wondered if Devlin Varcoe was capable of loving anyone.

Devlin stormed towards the harbour and his loft. But after unlocking the door and banging it shut behind him he stood still. Why was he angry? By offering to pay him she had intended no offence. She had explained her reasons. And now he thought about them they made good sense, at least from her point of view.

So why was he so angry? As he faced the truth his temper cooled. While he had been standing in his cottage kitchen, observing the efforts she had made to turn an empty shell into a passably comfortable home, his attraction to her had dissolved like morning mist in sunshine.

She was a pretty young woman. Her old clothes and the stink of fish could not hide that. And she was doing her best to adjust. But she would have to let go of the past. As the colonel’s daughter she’d had status. That had died in the flames. Given her current situation, he doubted even Erisey’s return would restore it.

A break in the weather brought brisk mild breezes, fast-moving cloud, and occasional glimpses of wintery sunshine. Discarding their guernseys, Devlin and his men rolled up the sleeves of their woollen shirts. They lifted the pilchard nets out of the lugger and draped them over the harbour wall to dry. All along the small harbour other crews were doing the same. Some hung their nets on ropes slung between the masts, or across spars jammed into crevices in the rock face. Others spread them on south-facing moorland above the cliffs.

In the barking sheds fires were lit under vats filled with water and shredded oak bark. Mackerel nets were brought down from the lofts and steeped in the liquid to preserve them.

While Danny, Billy, Sam, and Joe hauled the dripping nets out of the vats and over a roller to allow them to drain, Andy and Ben dipped the sails. The tanning liquid restored their distinctive brown colour while strengthening the coarse fabric against the harsh effects of wind and salt-spray.

While Devlin made minor repairs to the hull, Jared was in the workshop making new blocks for the mainsail rigging. Then he joined Devlin on the lugger where he spliced and whipped frayed ropes.