Devil's Prize (16 page)

Yet what better cover than for everyone to believe him on the other side of the Atlantic?

‘Skip,’ Sam muttered urgently. ‘They’re almost on us.’

Swiftly wrapping the letters around a lump of iron ballast Devlin dropped them overboard and watched them sink. Then rising to his feet he took the tiller. ‘Drop the sails,’ he ordered. As the lugger slowed, the cutter came up on the weather side. Several of her crew lined the side armed with pistols.

‘We’re done for,’ Andy whispered.

‘Stand fast, boys,’ Devlin said quietly. ‘No resistance, no heroics. Just do what they tell you. They have us now, but they won’t hold us. You have my word on it.’

Back home from Falmouth, reeling from exhaustion and the shock of her discovery, Jenefer collapsed into bed and slept for six hours. Waking with a start just after dawn, her brain seething with questions to which she had no answers, she lit the range and made a pot of tea. Feeling stronger after two cups and some bread and butter, she washed and dressed, put on her hat and coat and hurried through the village, desperate to talk to Betsy.

Inez opened the door to her knock. ‘Miss Jenefer! Dear life! You’re out some early.’

‘Good morning, Mrs Sweet. I’m sorry to call at such an hour, but I need to see my sister.’

Inez shook her head. ‘Better not, miss. Proper poorly she is. Nothing to worry about,’ she added quickly. ‘Just this here chesty cold. ’Tis all round the village. Up half the night coughing she was, poor little maid. Wore her out it did. I mixed up some butter, sugar, and vinegar to soothe her throat. She’s sleeping now. Best leave her be. She’ll get over it all the quicker.’

Bitterly disappointed, Jenefer did her best not to let it show. ‘You’re right. It would be wrong to disturb her. When she wakes up, please tell her I called, and that I hope she feels better very soon.’

‘I’ll tell her the minute she wake. Begging your pardon, miss, but you’re looking a bit wisht yourself. All right, are you?’

‘Just a little tired.’

‘Well, you look after yourself. Wouldn’t do for you to catch it. Leave it a few days. Miss Betsy should be on the mend by then. You can have a nice chat, and I’d take it kindly if you’d stop for a bite of tea.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Sweet. Betsy is very fortunate to have found such kindness.’

‘No such thing,’ Inez’s cheeks pinked as she brushed the compliment aside. ‘A dear little soul she is. Haven’t complained once. Think the world of her we do. So don’t you worry, miss. I’ll take good care of her.’

Envy pierced sharply as Jenefer forced a smile. ‘I never doubted it, Mrs Sweet. How is Jared? Is he recovering?’

‘Better than he was, miss, thank you for asking. Weak as a kitten, mind. Took him quite bad it did. But he’s on the mend now. He do visit with your sister while I’m busy. Does my heart good to hear ’em laughing.’ Inez fiddled with her apron. ‘I know he isn’t what your father would have chose,’ she blurted, ‘but my Jared got a loving heart and he’ll do his best by your sister.’ She sighed and clicked her tongue. ‘Fretting he is, about not being with the others. Can’t wait to get back to sea.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Men! Worse than children, they are.’

Having no man and no child, Jenefer felt ill-equipped to comment. Instead she nodded, made herself smile once more, and turned to go. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Sweet.’

‘Bye, Miss Jenefer. You take care now.’ She closed the door.

Walking back through the village, Jenefer barely noticed the nods and greetings of people passing on their way to work. Though they would always be sisters, Betsy was part of Jared’s family now. They would have first claim on her loyalty. She didn’t begrudge Betsy her happiness. But as life improved for Betsy, for her each day brought a new blow, and this latest was the most devastating.

Martin had not sailed to America. So where had he gone? And why? Why had he lied? Why had he not written a single letter? Why had he proposed marriage only to disappear? If he had lied about where he was going, what else had he lied about? Under these circumstances there could be no blame attached to her if she withdrew from her engagement. But that would remove the last semblance of protection she had. Where was he? Did he intend to return? Was he still alive?

Thomas studied his reflection in the mirror, made a minor adjustment to his neck cloth, then nodded in satisfaction. He turned aside, lifted his frock coat from the hanger, pushed his arms into the sleeves and settled the padded shoulders over his own narrow sloping ones.

Should he wait until the capture was confirmed? Surely there was no need. His arrangement with Mr Eddy, the newly appointed Supervisor of Customs responsible for this area of coast, was watertight. Besides, with captured smugglers always landed either at Mousehole or Porthleven, it might be days before the news reached Porthinnis. Why should he wait? He had achieved the first of his objectives. He was finally rid of his hated brother.

Now for the second: Tamara Gillis. At the dance he had watched her, seen her gaze follow Devlin. He had glimpsed the flash of anger. There had been something else, something too swiftly gone for him to recognize it. He dismissed it for it didn’t matter. He had an ally in her mother.

Morwenna Gillis was desperate for her daughter to marry well. But Tamara’s willfulness made families with eligible sons wary. They might like her charm, and even smile at her high spirits. But few would risk their family’s future on a girl so determined to go her own way.

With no family – other than his soon-to-be-dead brother and his uncle permanently settled on the other side of the Channel in Roscoff – Thomas was free to please himself. He had wanted Tamara for years. Saying nothing, fearful of his father’s ridicule or his brother’s mockery, he had watched her grow from a coltish girl into a confident and striking young woman.

Taking over the business after his father’s death should have brought him wealth and status. But things had gone wrong, people had let him down, and the resulting financial mess had left him terrified all his plans would come to nothing.

Now all that was firmly in the past. Within days the lugger’s capture would be confirmed. Within a couple of weeks, a month at the most, his brother would be dangling from the hangman’s rope with a broken neck, or locked in the hold of a convict ship on his way to some godforsaken country on the other side of the world.

Thomas smiled. Everything Devlin owned would be his. As was his right. Things would be very different then. Oh yes. Certain people would regret their lack of respect. He would enjoy taking his revenge. But that would wait, and be all the sweeter for it. First he would marry.

For months he had played Morwenna Gillis like a fish, invariably polite even when her simpering curdled his stomach, paying her compliments, listening to her inane remarks, and only then making his bow to Tamara. And she, the little hussy, murmured a greeting with barely a glance in his direction.

But that was about to change. Today she would notice him all right. Imagining the scene, the shock his news would provoke, himself solemn and restrained, dignified in the face of loss, he shuddered with pleasure. 

Chapter Sixteen

Sitting at the table in the living room, her sketch pad open in front of her, Tamara turned a pencil between her fingers and gazed out of the window. What was she to do? What could she do? Devlin had made his feelings abundantly clear. Won’t be bullied and can’t be bought.

Despite the shock and grievous pain of his rejection, she still loved him. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. But she couldn’t simply turn it off, any more than she could turn off her hurt and anger. She admired his refusal of whatever bribe her mother had offered. What if he had accepted? She would have achieved her dearest wish – Devlin Varcoe as her husband. At what cost though?

Why waste time on such thoughts? He had turned her mother down, and she would have expected no less. 

Regardless of how wrong she had been about his feelings for her, his integrity was one thing she could be certain of. In his own way he was the most honourable man she had ever met.

The laws he broke were bad laws made by men who had no idea of what life was like for ordinary people. The officers who enforced those laws took a share of the value of the cargo seized, contraband other men had risked their lives to bring over from France. Those same officers were rewarded with £20 for every man they gave up to the press gang. Where was the honesty or the justice in that? Perhaps she was a fool. She had been called worse. But though Devlin had broken her heart, she could not hate him.

Nor did she want her parents to suffer because of her actions, which they would if she didn’t marry quickly. But wed Thomas Varcoe? Why not? Devlin did not want her. But marry a man she didn’t trust, who made her flesh creep? How could she? Yet what other course was open to her? If she ran, where could she go? How could she support herself? If she went to the Parish her mother would die of shame. Besides, the Overseers would demand to know the name of the baby’s father. If she refused to tell them, they would either withhold relief or take the baby away.

Round and round her thoughts churned, all questions and no answers. Dropping her pencil she rested her elbows on the table and pressed fingertips to her aching temples.

The door opened. ‘Beg pardon, ma’am, but Mr Varcoe’s here.’

Tamara’s heart lurched and she looked up, hope defying reason.

Sally shot her a glance of apology. ‘Mr Thomas Varcoe.’

Morwenna sniffed. ‘Wait one moment, Sally. Then show him in.’

Bobbing a curtsey, the maid left. As the door closed behind her, Morwenna adjusted her cap and her kerchief.

‘We must be thankful that at least one Varcoe knows how to conduct himself.’ She disposed herself more formally on the sofa. ‘Sit up straight, Tamara. Pinch your cheeks, you’re far too pale. It’s not at all becoming. And for goodness’ sake
smile
.’

 The door opened. ‘Ah, Mr Varcoe,’ she simpered as Sally stood back to allow Thomas to enter. ‘What a delightful surprise.’

‘You are kind to say so, ma’am.’ Thomas bowed. ‘It is always a pleasure to see you. And Miss Gillis, of course.’ He inclined his head.

Though he did not attempt to hold her gaze there was a glitter in his eyes that made Tamara instantly uneasy.

He flicked up his coat tails and seated himself in an armchair, his high shirt points and carefully arranged neckcloth framing his face. ‘I fear, ma’am, that I am the bearer of bad news.’ Adopting a sombre expression he gave his head a small shake. ‘But perhaps I should come back when your husband is …’

‘My husband is engaged in business at the boatyard and may be some hours,’ Morwenna said quickly. ‘As you are here, why don’t you tell me and I will inform him when he returns.’

‘Very well. It is no secret, ma’am, that my brother and I are not close. Yet I take no pleasure in the news that while he and his crew were bringing back a cargo from Roscoff, they were apprehended by one of the Revenue cutters.’

Tamara felt the blood drain from her face. She stared blindly at the table as a silent explosion of light filled her head and black spots danced across her vision. Bathed in icy perspiration, her shift clinging to damp skin, she willed herself not to faint. Devlin captured? Had there been a fight? Was he injured? Where had he been taken?

She clenched her teeth so hard that pain lanced through her jaw and temple. But it steadied her. To occupy her hands so their tremor would not betray her she took up her pencil again, turning it in her fingers. She could feel Thomas’s gaze. He wanted her to ask. And she was desperate to know. But instinct kept her silent. Her mother felt no such reserve.

With a dramatic gesture Morwenna pressed a hand to her bosom. ‘My dear Mr Varcoe, what dreadful tidings. And your cargo? Was that seized as well?’

Tamara closed her eyes, biting the inside of her lip. Did her mother not realise how her question betrayed her? Her first concern was not for the men who had been taken; men from the village; men with parents, wives and families; but for the money the cargo represented.

‘That is more than likely,’ Thomas said. ‘Even if the crew managed to drop the casks before they were captured, I doubt there is any possibility they can be recovered.’ He spread his hands. ‘I felt I should come and tell you at once. Clearly my brother will not now have need of the boat your husband is currently building. Indeed, if he is convicted – which I fear is certain – his lugger will be sawn into three parts so it can never again be used to run contraband.’

‘What of your brother?’ Morwenna asked belatedly. ‘What will happen to him?’

Thomas’s shoulders rose and fell. ‘I fear the worst, ma’am. But even if he does not hang –’

‘Oh!’ Morwenna gasped.

‘Pardon me, I did not intend to cause you distress.’

‘Indeed, it is a shock. But pray continue. After all,’ she darted a meaningful glance at Tamara, ‘this must be far more painful for you than for us.’

As Thomas bowed his head in acknowledgement, Tamara felt a surge of loathing so powerful that the pencil she was holding snapped in two.

He looked up quickly. ‘My dear Miss Gillis, I have upset you.’

Seeing through his expression of concern to the excitement beneath, Tamara looked directly into his eyes. ‘No, Mr Varcoe. I am stronger than I look.’

Ignoring her mother’s warning glare, Tamara held his gaze. He looked away first, but not quite quickly enough. What she saw tightened her skin in a shiver. He addressed her mother.

‘As I was saying, ma’am, if he escapes the gallows he will face either transportation or many years in prison.’ He shook his head.

‘My dear Mr Varcoe,’ her mother gushed. ‘You have our deepest sympathy.’

Tamara tasted a warm saltiness and realised she had bitten through her flesh. She knew losing his boat would grieve Devlin. But to lose his freedom? He would sooner die.

Bruised and bloody from rough treatment by the cutter’s crew who used their muskets to shove him down the companionway, Devlin ducked his head to avoid empty hammocks and slumped onto one of the mess table benches. Jeered and spat at as they followed, his crew ranged themselves alongside and opposite.

Designed for speed with low freeboard and her guns mounted on the deck, the cutter’s accommodation was all below the waterline. The air was thick with the reek of stale food, wet clothes and unwashed bodies.

One of the cutter’s men emerged from a cabin that another locked up behind him, carrying heavy iron shackles with chains attached.

‘There’s no need –’ Devlin began, gasping as a musket stock cracked against his temple. His head jerked and he felt blood trickle down the side of his face.

‘Shut your mouth! You speak when I say. Prisoners, you are. Smuggler scum. Any of you move while we put the chains on and you’ll get a hammering.’

Another of the cutter’s men laughed. ‘Don’t look so brave now, do ’e.’

Sam growled.

‘Don’t,’ Devlin muttered. ‘I’m all right.’

‘Look at ’n!’ A third man sneered over the clank of the chains as the heavy iron cuffs were locked around Devlin’s wrists and those of his crew. ‘Devil Varcoe. Don’t look like no devil to me. Lost ’is cargo, lost ‘is boat. Soon ’e’ll dance at the end of a rope,’ he mocked in a singsong voice.

As his mates laughed a voice called from above. ‘Are those men secure?’

‘Aye, sir,’ the man nearest the companionway shouted.

‘Then get back up here. I need a crew for the lugger.’

‘You won’t see that no more,
Mister
Varcoe,’ one of the men sniggered as the rest clattered up the companionway. ‘Cut ’n up for kindling they will.’ The hatch slammed shut, leaving Devlin and his men in foetid darkness.

‘What’s on with these ’ere chains?’ Andy whispered. ‘And hitting Skip like that?’

‘Dunno, boy,’ Danny murmured. ‘But something ‘bout all this do stink like a fitcher.’

‘Last time the Rinsey boys was chased,’ Ben said, his voice low, ‘they cut the sinking stones off two strings of casks, heaved them overboard, and the cutter let ‘em go.’

‘Where d’you hear that?’ Billy was sceptical.

‘From my cousin down Mousehole. He heard it from one of the lads who was there.’

‘Skip? Andy hissed. ‘You reck’n we should’ve gived ‘em some casks?’

The chains jingled and clanked as Devlin raked his fingers across his aching skull. Danny was right. Something stank.

‘Don’t be bleddy daft, boy,’ Sam growled. ‘T’wadn luck they found us. They was waiting.’

‘Yes, but how did they know? Who told – ?’

‘What diff’rence do it make?’ Ben cut in. ‘We’re dead men.’

‘That’s enough.’ Devlin spoke quietly, but the men were immediately still. They shrugged off his flashes of temper. They were far more wary of his rage. Rare and tightly controlled, it meant trouble for whoever had crossed him.

‘We’re not dead yet. Nor will we be. Do what they tell you. Defiance will only get you a beating. They’ll land us at Mousehole or Porthleven. If it’s Porthleven we’ll be in Justice Casvellan’s parlour before nightfall.’

‘You want that, skip?’ Surprise made Billy’s whisper a squeak.

‘Better him than Sir Edward Pengarrick,’ Danny murmured. ‘That bastard wouldn’t bother with a trial. He’d hang us just to warn off the others.’

‘Danny!’ Devlin warned. He understood their fear. The fact that he was gambling with their lives as well as his own was a heavy burden. Casvellan had warned him. Should he be caught there would be no assistance. But he had something Casvellan wanted: information.

Immediately Thomas left, Tamara went to her room and opened her closet. Ignoring her poppy-red coat, the colour wrong for her mood, she took out her dark green one. Kicking off her slippers she pushed her feet into brown half-boots and quickly tied the laces, twisted her hair up beneath a dark green velvet hat with a stiff brim, and picked up her tan leather gloves.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Morwenna demanded as she came downstairs.

‘Just for a walk. I have a headache.’

‘Very well, but don’t go far. I would not be surprised if Mr Varcoe calls again later. He will think it only proper to speak to your father. And when he comes you must be here.’

‘If he comes, Mama, surely it will be later this afternoon? I will be back long before then.’ Tamara walked to the front door.

‘So I should think! Well, go if you must. I shall begin making a list. There is so much to be done. Indeed I don’t know how I shall cope with it all. Sally!’

Closing the front door, Tamara took a deep breath. The cold air stung her face and burned her lungs. But for now she was free. Free to fret and worry as she sought a way out of the disaster she had brought upon herself.

She walked up to the crossroads then turned onto the track that led across the moor. This was her favourite place. There were few trees, and those were stunted and leaned away from the prevailing wind. But up here amid the gorse, heather, and bracken where there was so much more sky, she felt able to breathe.

She looked towards the sea, glittering like polished silver beneath a glassy sun. An armada of full-bodied clouds with gleaming white tops and blue-grey undersides sailed across a sky the clear blue of forget-me-nots. As her gaze turned west she saw one particularly dark cloud. It hung low, trailing a thick curtain of rain that hid the distant clusters of houses across the bay.

Where would Devlin be taken? What would happen to him? As she walked anxiety churned both her mind and her stomach. She swallowed hard to suppress the nausea. The sun shone brightly, but inside her warm coat she shivered. Then her gaze sharpened and her heart lifted. Instinct had brought her up here. Now, coming towards her along the track, was the one person to whom she could open her heart. Quickening her pace she waved. After a moment Roz waved back.

‘I was so hoping I might see you.’ Flinging her arms around Roz’s slim shoulders Tamara kissed her cold cheek, and knew immediately all was not well with her friend. But she had learned not to ask.

Roz’s drawn features softened in a brief smile. ‘Now you have.’

Tamara linked their arms, so used to Roz’s shabby serge petticoat, scuffed boots, and too-large coat that she no longer noticed them. Two years ago she had offered Roz some of her own clothes, things she could easily do without and would not miss.

Roz had been silent for a long moment. And Tamara realised what she had done, though with the best of intentions.

‘I didn’t mean – it’s not charity.’

Roz didn’t argue. Her silence said it all.

Tamara held out her hand, relieved as Roz took it. ‘I’m sorry.’

Roz’s smile was wistful as she nodded.

Nothing more had been said. But later at home when she thought it through, Tamara understood, and could have kicked herself for her clumsiness. Of course she hadn’t intended the offer as charity. But, unable to reciprocate, Roz’s acceptance of the cast-off clothes would have unbalanced their relationship.

Despite their different backgrounds, each had instantly recognised a kindred spirit. Both possessed talents they could not explain. Roz had an intuitive understanding of horses. Tamara’s gift was more a sixth sense, a kind of precognition.

Tamara glanced at Roz’s basket as they headed in the direction of the village, out of sight in the valley. ‘Have you been collecting herbs?’