Ripples in the Sand (The Sea Witch Voyages) (23 page)

Fifty One

The return to Appledore in the carriage was a silent trip. Carter Trevithick was not speaking to Jesamiah, Jesamiah would only grunt at Tiola and Rue was wishing he had stayed at Tawford Barton.

“I prefer boats,” Rue remarked to break the uneasy tension, “this lurching goes in the wrong direction. Side to side, not up and downs.”

Tiola was the only one to smile. “It is better than walking.” She slid the window curtain aside and peered out at the night. They were opposite Bideford, the town a-twinkle with lantern lights. Somewhere along here had been that accident yesterday. The two horses pulling this vehicle were swinging along at a steady jog trot, not going very fast, the sound of their eight hooves scrunching on the stones and mud, soporific in its rhythmic unity. The carriage slowed to a walk, was turning, and the rumble of the wheels and hoof beats changed to a hollow ring as the coachman pushed into a trot over Bideford Bridge.

“Why won’t you do as we ask?” Carter said as the carriage swung into Bideford High Street and moved on at a steady pace through the town.

“I told you why.”

“What was it you were asked to do?” Tiola said suspiciously, wondering as she spoke that maybe it was not a good idea to ask.

“Nothing,” came the reply from both Carter and Jesamiah together.

What are you keeping from me, Jesamiah?

Just told you, nothing.

Tiola looked at her husband with the stern gaze of a schoolmistress chastising a wayward pupil. He had been in a foul mood from the moment he had stepped into this carriage.

“Your brother wants me to get involved in something I don’t want to get involved in.”

“Something illegal?”

Jesamiah grimaced. “Very illegal.”

“And we are no longer doing the illegal things,” Rue offered, leaning slightly forward. “We do not take the risks, now, as once we did.”

“No. We do not.” Tiola’s reply was firm. Final. “I do not wish to be a widow when not even six months married.”

Carter sighed, the term ‘rowing a scuppered boat’ came to mind, and as Tiola had done, he pulled aside the curtain and peered out into the darkness. The carriage was at a walk now, the horses pushing into the breast straps to pull the vehicle up the hill, the driver shouting a few words of encouragement. Tiola leaned forward and touched Carter’s knee. “Neither does your wife wish to be a widow, or your sister to lose a brother.”

Without thinking, Carter retorted, “Unless your coward of a husband helps us, you will be doing just that, sister. Ben is in gaol. He will hang for sure.”

“How dare you, you fokken bastard!” Jesamiah roared, reaching forward and setting one hand around Carter’s throat.

“I’ll call you coward as I wish!” Carter gurgled, his hands going to Jesamiah’s neck. “Coward, you bastard coward!”

Rue was trying to stand, to pull the two men apart, the carriage was swaying and lurching.

“
Stop it!
” Tiola’s voice rang out with all the authority of her Craft. “Stop this. Sit down. All of you.”

Like whipped dogs, tails between their legs, the three men sat. “Behaving like children squabbling over honey cakes will not benefit anyone.” Tiola waited for the huffs of indignation to subside. “Now, tell me calmly without glowering at each other. Carter?”

Her brother told her what Winnard Doone had discovered. “All we can do to save Ben is get him out of there.”

“Not necessarily,” Jesamiah countered. “Most judges are not averse to bribery.”

“Oh, so you would be willing to pay a sum for the release of all of them?” Carter sneered. “For we could not pay only Ben’s way. My name would be shit around here were I to do that!”

“If I had to, aye. Rather that than get you into trouble again. Look mate,” Jesamiah spread his hand, palm upwards, fingers wide, emphasising his point, “the militia are already watching you. One false step and you will have a noose around your neck as quick as blinking.”

“Which is why Sir Ailie asked you to help.” Carter was determined to persist.

“No. Which is why when I spoke in private to the Doones, they explained how they were going to sort the matter. So leave it, stay out of it, and do as you are advised.”

Carter slumped back in the seat, his arms folded. “Pah! I do not take orders from you. A coward.”

Tiola was worried. Jesamiah could see the fear in her eyes as she asked,
Sir Ailie is truly to see to this? Ben will be safe?

Trust me, sweetheart, the Doones have everything in hand.

Jesamiah stared out of the window so that Tiola would not read his expression. It was not being called a coward that had infuriated him, but Carter’s stupid babbling, and being placed in a situation of coercion. The bastards; the utter fokken bastards! If it were not for Tiola’s sickness he would take her aboard
Sea Witch
right now, sail away tonight, and devil take the lot of them, their politics, scheming and their sodding treason. But he couldn’t risk her health, possibly even her life should her illness return. If he simply refused Doone’s ‘request’ her life might equally end on the gallows. His too, not that it would matter then. Without Tiola he had no wish to live anyway. He stared out of the window, fuming with anger. He was caught in stays, and he knew it. Aye, no wonder his mood was foul.

Fifty Two

Jesamiah had gone with Rue to satisfy himself that all was well aboard the
Sea Witch
before the tide level fell too low, and to sort one or two other pressing matters. Trudging through wet sand was all very well, but it did so make a mess of one’s footwear. Leaving Rue in charge aboard, with specific orders, was no difficulty. Jesamiah trusted his friend and second in command implicitly, but it remained a captain’s duty to ensure that everything was in order.

Returning to the inn he could see Tiola standing in the window of their room. He waved, but perhaps she did not see him for there was no responded greeting. As Jesamiah walked in through the door, Carter turned his back pretending – not very convincingly – to not notice his entrance. Equally as ostentatiously, Jesamiah ignored his brother-in-law and went straight up the stairs. He found Tiola still wearing her best silk gown, gazing out over the estuary, her shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders.

“I’d’ve thought you would have stepped out of that dress, sweetheart. It looks mighty pretty, but not as comfortable as your usual clothes.” He grinned, “And nowhere near as enticing as wearing nothing at all.” He started removing his own fancy clothing. Finch would give him a solid piece of his mind when he discovered that Jesamiah had been across to the ship wearing them. There was mud, and a tar stain, on the white breeches, and the shoes were muddy and scuffed. Jesamiah paused before unlacing his shirt. He cocked his head on one side. Tiola had not moved away from the window.

“Sweetheart?” He went behind her, curved his arms around her waist, drawing her into him. “I want to help Ben, believe me I do, but Carter’s idea of storming the gaol with pistols blazing is not a practical one. All that will achieve is all of us dead.”

She nodded, but said nothing. He kissed her neck. “Sir Ailie has a plan, leave it to him, eh?”

Again she nodded.

“I liked him,” Jesamiah persisted. “And the ladies. Jennet is a rum old biddy ain’t she?”

Still no reaction. He trundled her around, set one finger beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down, I’m sorry I continue to let you down. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She stared downward, not meeting his gaze. A tear eased from beneath her lashes and trickled slowly down her cheek. “No,” she said, “I am the one who should be sorry. It was my fault, I started it all. But…” she looked up, her dark, beautiful eyes meeting his, and she curled her arms around his neck, her mouth going to his.

~ …But I do so love you, Jesamiah. I do so, so, love you. ~

He fumbled with the lacing on her gown; cursed at the tight-pulled ribbons. He tried again; gave up. Stripping his own breeches, he gently pushed her against the wall, and lifting her skirts and petticoats, not caring how much he crumpled the expensive silk, took her quickly, her responsive passion as breathless as his own. With other women, the whores and bawdies, sex was nothing more than a need, and the women vessels in which to empty that need. Tiola was different. She was his wife, his love, his very life – with her, sex was the joyous pleasure of sharing and showing physical love. For her, he would do anything. Even face death itself, or allow himself to become embroiled in the Jacobite cause, and high treason.

Fifty Three

They lay in the bed, legs and arms entwined, their hot bodies rapidly cooling in the cold night air, even though Jesamiah had pulled the heavy bed covers over their nakedness and half closed the drapes around the bed tester partially enclosing them in a warmer cocoon. Their second lovemaking had been lingering, erotic and exquisite. The two lanterns that remained lit cast shadows over their clothes, which were scattered on the floor, the moonlight peeping in through the unshuttered windows a marker for the passage of time. It was quiet downstairs, although there was a muted ripple of laughter and the sound of someone coughing. One or two people finishing their drinks before Pegget closed up. Awake, Jesamiah was hungry; his stomach grumbled.

Sitting up, he parted the brocade curtains and looked around for his breeches, shivered with rousing excitement as Tiola smoothed his back with her hands. The skin there bore the scars of past cruelties, and the bruising on his shoulder and arm was a livid reminder of recent events. “I have a salve for these,” she said kissing the damaged skin, “shall I fetch it?”

He relished her touch, wanted more, but stoically rolled from the bed and stood up. “As much as I want to take you again, and again, my belly thinks my throat has been cut. Let me call down for some food. Assuming your brother will pay attention to me. He would rather I was left to starve on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean, I think.”

Tiola sighed. She would like to contradict the statement but Carter was in a stupid, misguided, blind temper. She cared for Ben too, desperately wanted to see him safe – to see him! Jesamiah was right though. Crashing about like a horse chased by a hornet was not the way to go about it.

“No,” she said, swinging her legs from the bed. “I will fetch something. You stay here.” Patting the rumpled bed she giggled impishly and pulled on an undershift and her dressing gown. Enough to make her look outwardly respectable, assuming no one noticed her loose, tumbled hair and the glow on her skin.

From the doorway she blew Jesamiah a kiss, and unexpectedly met Pegget on the stairs. The woman grinned and handed her a laden tray.

“I took the liberty of bringing you both a cold supper.” She giggled, her entire face lighting with merriment. “Indoor sport requires good vittles an’ drink.”

“And I thought this inn was not a bawdy house! Shame on you!” Tiola teased as she took the tray. “Is my brother somewhat calmer now? I am as alarmed about Ben as is he, but to march to Barnstaple will only make matters worse.”

“I as tried tellin’ the daft man, but he’s as set as a bollard. Would he listen to I?” Pegget raised her arms in the air in exasperation. “He were blatherin’ about stormin’ the gaol to any as would listen. Half the custom is now scared as ‘ow the militia might come in a’cause o’ his ballin’, so they has gone early to they beds.”

“And Carter?” Tiola suddenly felt afraid; she shivered. “He has not been fool enough to go to Barnstaple has he?”

“Oh, no worry over that, m’dear; he’s snorin’ next to the inglenook. I made cert’n there were more ‘than brandy in ‘is drink. Though I at times think he deserves it, I has nay wish t’ see him hang.”

Reassured, Tiola smiled. “Jesamiah says Sir Ailie Doone has a plan to help. My husband trusts him although I am not so certain of the man’s motives. There is something I cannot see about him which troubles me.”

Pegget bent forward and kissed Tiola’s cheek. “Bless you, Sir Ailie be our only hope in Devon. Without him I’ve no idea how we would manage.”

Tiola forced a smile; that was as may be, but he was concealing something, and she liked it not.

Pegget indicated the tray. “You’d best get them vittles to thy man, else he might find his energy flagging.”

“I do not think there will be risk of that,” Tiola giggled; added with a grin, “my husband’s flagpole is always upright, even when I would prefer it to remain at half mast!”

Fifty Four

Gravel rattling against the window glass awoke Jesamiah. He rolled from the bed and padded across the room feeling the bite of cold air on his naked skin. He shivered and glanced at the hearth fire; only a fading glow of one remaining log atop a pile of ash, not enough to give heat or light. More little stones. Looking out into the side alley, he saw Jasper staring up, a shielded lantern in his hand. Throwing the window open Jesamiah leaned out.

“Five minutes. Wait for me at the quay.” He ducked inside, closed the window and finding his tinderbox on the dressing table, lit a single candle and dressed quickly.

“What is it?” The cold air had roused Tiola, sleepily she half sat up, peering over the bed covers. “Is something amiss?”

Buckling on his belt as he crossed the room, Jesamiah leant over the bed and kissed her. “Something I need attend aboard
Sea Witch
. Ship matters, nothing for you to worry about.”

“Can Rue not deal with it?”

“Probably, but these things are my responsibility.” He paused, encircled her shoulders, running his cold hands down her spine, across her warm skin. So very tempting to get undressed again and climb into bed. He kissed her mouth, gently pushed her down and tucked the covers around her. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. When I get back I’ll never go away again, I promise.”

Already drifting, she murmured, “You never keep your promises.”

He kissed the top of her head, hesitated, uncertain whether to say more. Decided against. “This time I will. On my life I swear, this time I will.”

He pulled on his boots, slipped into his coat and removing a pouch of coins from one of the pockets left it on the dressing table next to Tiola’s hairbrush. In it, one hundred gold guineas. That should be enough for her, in case… He set his hat on his head, refusing to think further of that, and with one more quick look around the room, took up his pistol and cutlass, blew out the candle and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

The main door was barred, but he had already discovered, by discreetly asking, that the kitchen door into the yard was never bolted. He visited the latrine – there would be little chance to empty bladders once underway – and hurried down the alleyway and across the quay to where Jasper waited. They greeted with a silent nod, and Jasper pointed to the longboat riding the deeper water at the bottom of the stone steps held fast by her painter thread through a mooring ring in the wall.

“Tide is runnin’ well and will be ‘igh
dans une heure, Capitaine
,” Rue said as Jesamiah, with Jasper close behind, waded through a foot of flotsam-matted water and stepped aboard.

Before he had barely seated himself in the sternsheets Isiah Roberts had let go the loose end of the painter, and hand over hand brought it in. The men manning the oars pulled away, their stroke regular and even. The wind coming down straight off the moors hit Jesamiah like a blow in the face as they met the middle of the estuary. He pulled his hat down tighter over his eyes and warmed his hands beneath his armpits. What was left of the night was going to be long and cold. As they rowed past
Sea Witch
he studied her with care and pride; she lay serene at anchor, rocking slightly as the wind buffeted her, little white waves slapping against her hull. She stirred as they passed, pulling at her anchor cables, wanting to be free, to be with him. “Not long now, my beauty,” he muttered, swivelling in his seat to look at her as she fell astern.

As they entered the River Taw the wind dropped a little, the strong current of the tide assisting the rowers as they pulled in steady unison, sending the boat smoothly through the water. Seven miles to Barnstaple. Jesamiah considered raising mast and sail, but decided against. The moon was three quarter full and partially hidden by scudding clouds – thankfully no rain tonight. There was enough light to see by out here in midriver, but that meant there would also be enough light to notice any sails if someone were on the shore watching. Unlikely this low down near the estuary, but as they neared Barnstaple there could be unwanted eyes watching. Add to that it was uncertain what they could meet coming downriver, although river traffic was unlikely until the tide turned. As it was, they were lucky to be the only ones making the voyage upstream, although Rue said several small fishing boats had gone up half an hour previous.

The tide was flooding with a big swell, causing small wind-ruffled waves to skitter around the boat. The men needed minimum effort to row, the boat sliding easily along with the current, and if it were not for the need to keep silent and vigilant Jesamiah might almost have enjoyed himself.

A gunshot! Jesamiah must have been dozing, for the sound made him jump. Muzzy-headed, he peered into the darkness of the leeward bank. “Did you see anything?” he whispered to Rue, beside him at the tiller. All heads were turned towards the direction of the sound, the rowers not breaking their steady rhythm.

“
Non
. Nothing.”

“I think it was over there, Cap’n,” Jasper whispered, pointing to the east bank, although the action was only a movement of silhouette against the river and the darker trees along the bank. “Quite a way off. Someone out poaching perhaps?”

“I could do with a nice bit of rabbit,” a voice grunted from amidships. “Rabbit pie, like me mam used to make.”

“Aye, from what yer pa had poached!”

“Tastes better fer poachin’. Yer know tis fresh caught.”

“‘Specially if made with a nice, thick, ale gravy.”

“With boiled tatties.”

“Pipe down you lot,” Jesamiah rapped, “concentrate on rowing not stuffing yer bellies.”

From the slight shift in the moonlit shadows, Jesamiah reckoned they had been rowing for about three quarters of an hour. Ahead was the last bend curving stoutly towards the east. Time and place to pull to the shore and wait quietly beneath the trees. “We need to be at Barnstaple with the slack tide,” Jesamiah said. “Take this chance to get a few minutes sleep. There will be none once we start this.”

Sailors were used to napping where and when they could. With oars shipped, the painter secured around an overhanging sturdy bough, within moments the men were asleep, slumped over or leaning against each other, arms around themselves for warmth, chins tucked into chests. Jesamiah took another look at the current, still running on the flood. He reckoned another fifteen or twenty minutes until slack water. That would do nicely. He pulled his hat down over his face, closed his eyes, heard the distant chimes of Barnstaple’s Saint Peter’s Church strike the hour of three. Perfect.