The Black Rocks of Morwenstow

by John Wilcox

  ‘Aye, though I understand that you were carryin’ bales of cotton and they won’t be of much use to folk, after they’ve been thoroughly dowsed in seawater and torn about on the rocks. Now, I must go.’

  ‘Of course. Thank you, Rowena.’

  He watched her as she turned and walked towards the door. She moved with an easy grace that belied her appearance as a country girl and, at the door, she turned and flashed him a warm smile before tripping down the stairs.

  Josh lay back and put a hand to his forehead. So much to consider! First of all there was this strange girl. Eccentric – how dare she read Mary’s letters and then have no shame in admitting it! – but fascinating, too: at times like an urchin, at others a coquettish young woman. Damned attractive, too. Which meant that she was dangerous. He shook his head.

  Then there was the matter of the light that flashed in the storm. Rowena – Emma? – had not answered his questions about it. What’s more, he had now gained another definition of ‘wrecking’ to add to his childhood memories of the deliberate luring of ships onto the rocks. At Key West there was the remarkable practice of waiting for vessels to go aground and then racing to offer assistance – and all licensed by the state, too! Now, here in North Cornwall (or was he now in Devon?) it seemed to refer to something akin to beach scavenging. It was all very confusing.

  Josh stared hard at the ceiling. He had yet to meet his benefactor, the ex-sailor who now practised as a doctor and surgeon. Tentatively, he sought to move his right leg. The pain responded, although perhaps it was less intense now.

  He frowned. Was the man qualified? But then this was such a wild and remote part of England that it probably didn’t matter. In any case, he was completely in his hands. What a strange and mysterious corner of England it was that fate had thrown him into now!

  He must have dozed off because he became startlingly awake as Rowena pushed open his door and bustled in, carrying a tray.

  ‘’Tis only two hours afore we take our midday meal,’ she said, putting down the tray, ‘so I have only given you bread and cheese.’ She bent to put her arms around his shoulders before gently easing him up the bed and slapping an extra pillow behind his head. Josh could not help wondering whether, in the act, she had deliberately buried his head between her breasts. They were small but firm and he enjoyed the experience.

  ‘Mind you,’ she said, ‘’tis best Devon cheese and very fine, local butter.’

  ‘Thank you. Are we in Devon, here, then?’

  ‘Aye, just over the border from Cornwall. In fact, the boundary runs through Morwenstow, where you were shipwrecked, some ten miles away.’

  He began munching and Rowena showed no signs of leaving. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘are there many shipwrecks at Morwenstow, or here, in Hartland, for that matter?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. ’Tis such a terrible coast when the nor’westerly blows. There have been at least three wrecks so far this year on this stretch.’

  ‘What about the crews? Did they survive?’

  She looked away. ‘I can’t be rememberin’ that.’ Suddenly her mood changed and she became restive. ‘Now, I’m sorry, but I have work to do. I shall bring you luncheon in due course.’

  ‘Of course, Rowena. Thank you. I am sorry to be a burden.’

  At the doorway, she shook her head. ‘You are not a burden, Joshua Weyland.’ She seemed to blush, although it may have been a trick of the light. ‘It is good to have thee – you – after such an ordeal you have gone through. We didn’t think that anyone would survive, so …’ Her voice trailed away and she turned abruptly and descended the stairs.

  Sometime in the mid afternoon, Doctor Acland came to visit his patient. He was, indeed, a big man with wide shoulders, a considerable paunch and large hands – more those of a sailor than a surgeon. The nautical link was emphasised by the small, seemingly golden, earring that hung from his left earlobe. His hair was snow white and he boasted mutton chop whiskers and a trimmed beard that seemed to bring into contrast his red face, where broken veins betrayed signs of good living. For movement within the house, he had replaced his crutch with a stout stick.

  ‘I am glad to see you looking considerably better, young man,’ the doctor boomed, putting a hand to Josh’s forehead. ‘How does the leg feel?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I am grateful for your attention. The leg seems to have stopped throbbing and only hurts when I attempt to move it.’

  ‘Well don’t move it, then.’ The tone had a touch of asperity, indicating that this was a man who was used to being obeyed. ‘I will inspect the wound in a moment but it is better for you to stay in bed for the next two days. It will heal itself, but only if you don’t put undue strain on it. Then you can leave your bed and we will get you into an old wheelchair outside, if the weather remains clement. I am a great believer, Weyland, in fresh air as an aid in treating any malady.’

  ‘Quite so, sir. Rowena … er … Emma tells me that you once were a seafaring man yourself.’

  ‘Ah. She talks too much, I fear. Now let us remove the dressing and splints and take a look at that leg. EMMA!’ His voice seemed to shake the house’s foundations. ‘Come here. I need you.’

  The girl arrived and together she and her father untied the bandages holding the splints to the leg and gingerly removed the dressing that covered the wound. Josh winced.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Acland adjusted spectacles to look more carefully. ‘Luckily it is not a break, as you would think. But the wound is quite deep and I have administered iodine to prevent infection. Thankfully there seems to be no more bleeding and I have stitched the skin to close the wound. There is a dressing over all, which we will need to change regularly. No, you were lucky and your strong constitution should help the leg to heal. We must now let nature take its course.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor. But I cannot impose on you. Is there a hospital, perhaps, somewhere near where I could stay while the leg heals? I have money, although not a lot …’

  ‘Good Lord, no sir! You would need to go to Exeter for proper hospital treatment and the journey would be arduous. It would shake the leg and upset all the good work I have done. No, you shall stay here until you can walk properly. And there is no question of payment, thank you. Emma here can look after you. She is a good nurse and we don’t want for money.’

  He smiled at his daughter, who looked sheepishly at the floor, before flashing a quick look of gratification at Joshua. She obviously welcomed the new chore she had acquired.

  ‘You are very kind, Doctor.’

  ‘It is my calling, sir. I am here to heal the sick. Now, try and get some sleep and we will try and get you into a wheelchair in the morning, if you feel up to it. Now, Emma. I leave you to change the dressing, administer a little more iodine and replace the splints. Wash your hands first, of course. You can do all that, can’t you?’

  ‘Of course, Father. I have done it before.’

  ‘Very well. Now sleep, Weyland, when Emma is done with you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Rowena rose, shut the door behind her father and returned to her patient. A small pink tongue – how fascinating, thought Josh – poked between her lips as she set about her work.

  ‘So you are a nurse, too, Rowena. You truly do seem to do everything in this house: cooking, driving the donkey cart, devouring the latest novels and looking after sick patients. My goodness!’

  She replaced her frown of concentration with a smile. ‘Well, there is no one else here to help Father. We do have a woman who comes in from the village on top of the cliff to help with the cleaning, so …’

  ‘What? So Hartland is not here?’

  ‘No. This is called Hartland Quay and is but a hamlet, down here virtually at the foot of the cliffs. It exists as a very small port and a place for lime smeltin’ for minin’. The main village is some mile and a half away up at the top.’

  ‘Ah.’ Josh thought quickly. How to discover if Acland was a trained physician and surgeon without causing offence? He coughed
. ‘So your father has trained you in basic medicine, then?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I am merely a nurse, really.’

  ‘And, surely, an assistant when surgery needs to be done?’

  ‘Well, yes. I suppose so.’

  Josh took a deep breath. ‘It is most unusual to find an ex-seaman practising as a doctor. Did he … er … qualify comparatively recently, after he swallowed the anchor, as we seamen say?’

  ‘No. He was comparatively young when he was at sea …’

  ‘In the Royal Navy?’

  ‘No, on a merchant ship like yours. He was an officer, of course. But he became interested in medicine after his injury.’ She looked up, a pin clenched between her teeth. ‘He studied at one of the great London hospitals and qualified quite quickly. You see,’ she nodded solemnly, ‘my father is a very intelligent and clever man. There are so many things he can do. But he chose to come down here to serve this remote community. And,’ her eyes danced and she smiled, ‘it was here he met my mother.’

  ‘Ah,’ Josh returned the smile. ‘A love match, of course.’

  ‘Oh yes, though, of course, I never knew her. But I visit her grave regularly.’

  ‘Of course. Tell me, where was your father injured? Where was he shipwrecked?’

  She shook her head. ‘At Bude. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it, so I don’t press him.’ Quickly she replaced the splints and tied them together with new bandages. Then she patted her work and smiled. ‘There you are, Sir Joshua, all clean and tidy and ready to go into your wheelchair when you are better.’

  Josh frowned as a quick pang rose from the wound – more of discomfort than actual pain. ‘Thank you, Rowena,’ he said. ‘Now, I mustn’t keep you. I know you have much to do.’

  ‘Yes.’ She frowned and stood still for a moment, as though uncertain of her next move. Then she moved forward, bent her head and planted a quick kiss on his forehead, before swiftly moving through the doorway and skipping down the stairs.

  Josh smiled and touched the drop of moisture that she had planted above his left eye. What a fascinating creature! He felt desire begin to grow within him as he recalled her wide eyes, as she bent down to plant the kiss. Then the frown returned as he realised that he had not thought about Mary at all since he had arrived in this strange house. Guilt consumed him. Before he had sailed he had scrawled a quick message to her to say that he had shipped aboard The Lucy. What if she had read in some journal that the ship had been wrecked? She could think him dead. He must write to her immediately. Damn, that meant recalling Rowena!

  Softly he called, then, when there was no reply, he lifted his voice. ‘Rowena.’

  ‘Yes, I am coming, Josh.’

  He could tell that she was running up the stairs. ‘Are you in pain?’ she cried as she entered the room.

  Josh felt suitably ashamed. ‘No, no. Sorry. But I have just realised – I should have asked you before – is it possible to have pen, ink and some notepaper, so that I can write a letter?’

  Immediately, Rowena’s expression changed. Hands on hips she said, ‘You want to write to fat Mary, I suppose?’

  Josh winced. ‘Oh, please, Rowena, don’t call her that. Let me repeat that she is not fat and it is most disrespectful of you to refer to her so. And yes, I must write to her. She will know by now that I sailed here on The Lucy. It would be terrible if she read about the shipwreck in a newspaper and thought that I had drowned. You must see that I have to write to her right away.’

  Rowena’s face was now a picture of misery. She nodded gloomily. ‘Yes, I suppose so. I shall bring you writing materials. After all, I have nothing else to do …’

  ‘I am sorry to …’ but the girl had disappeared through the door and was clumping loudly down the stairway, in great contrast to the light steps with which she had descended a few moments before.

  Josh penned his letter with great care, telling Mary all that had befallen him. However, he made no mention of Rowena. Somehow, it seemed unseemly to put her forward as though she was an important member of the household. She was, after all, just a young girl, who was helping her father. That was all there was to it. Was that not so?

  He handed the letter to Rowena when she brought him his supper.

  ‘I hate to add to your labours, Rowena,’ he said, ‘but could I ask you to post this letter for me as soon as possible?’

  ‘Very well.’ She scanned the address. ‘Ah, she lives in Dover, then, does she? Quite a long way away from here, then.’ She seemed pleased by the discovery. ‘Yes, I will post it tomorrow. It means going up the hill to the village.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry to impose on you.’

  She shook her head, so that her hair floated up from her shoulders. ‘No. No. It is no trouble.’

  Josh cleared his throat. ‘Now, Rowena,’ he began awkwardly, ‘You won’t open the envelope to read—’

  She stamped her foot. ‘Of course not. I only read the others because … because they had been smudged by the seawater and I wanted to make sure you would be able to read them.’ There were tears in her eyes.

  He extended a hand. ‘Oh, I am sorry, Rowena. Now, please don’t be upset. And thank you for the supper. It looks delicious. Did you cook it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She forced a smile. ‘And I vow I am a better cook than your Mary.’

  He sampled a little of the roast chicken, desperately anxious to make amends. ‘Oh, undoubtedly. Delicious. Thank you again. Why don’t you stay and talk awhile while I eat? If you have time, that is.’

  Her smile broadened. ‘No, I cannot. I must serve my father. Enjoy the chicken. They roam freely here, so they are usually good.’

  She approached as though to kiss him, then changed her mind and left – skipping lightly down the stairs once again.

  Joshua took a little more of the chicken. It really was good. He shook his head in mock exasperation, but there was a smile on his face.

  That night he woke and lay, his head turning on the pillow, as he searched his brain to reveal why his sleep had been disturbed. Then he realised. It was the light on the cliff face that he had seen from the masthead shortly before the ship hit the rocks. It was only a glimpse and it never reappeared. But Captain Lucas had seen it too and it was the reason why he had changed course. The light burnt in his subconscious and it was as though the thought of it had caused him to wake. He had seen it! He could not have imagined it.

  Could it have been … what was the term used in the olden days? Ah, yes. Could it have been a ‘false light’ – a lantern held aloft to lure the ship onto the rocks of Morwenstow, a light held by modern-day wreckers?

  The thought disturbed him. This part of northern Cornwall was a barren, savage place, judging by its coastline. Were the people who lived here similarly heartless? Not fishermen, of course, for seamen in this modern age would surely not tempt other seafarers to their destruction. And hadn’t whoever had been on the shore that night saved his life by pulling him off that rock? But what of the miners, the ‘tinners’, who lived in these parts and followed such a miserable, low-paid occupation? They would have no such scruples.

  He lay in the darkness staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He vowed that, when he could leave his bed, he would begin the task of trying to solve the mystery of the light that flashed in the storm.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The thought lay with him as he lay fretfully in his bed for the next two days. The following morning broke brightly, with sunlight streaming through his windows. His leg caused only a dull ache now and Joshua decided that the time had come to attempt to be self-sufficient and rise from the bed. He failed. He could slip his good leg to the floor and just about stand but the wounded one could bear no weight and he was forced to hop to the washstand, clinging to whatever piece of furniture was near. Rowena found him swaying precariously on one leg as he tried to wash.

  ‘Joshua Weyland,’ she cried, ‘get back into that bed immediately. Put your arm around my shoulder. Now lean on me and hop. Tha
t’s it.’

  He collapsed onto the bed, grimacing.

  ‘Don’t do that again. Lie here until I bring your breakfast. Now, don’t move.’

  Eventually, she helped him to dress and wash and, with the aid of one of Dr Acland’s crutches, he was able to move to the head of the staircase and somehow navigate his descent. The house was dark and, he noticed, furnished with an eclectic variety of chairs, tables and side pieces, none of them matching and some of them wearing a nautical air. Salvage from shipwrecks, perhaps? What was more impressive, however, was the collection of porcelain and paintings carefully placed on show on walls and tables in the drawing room.

  Outside, the air was cool but refreshing, with the unmistakable tang of the sea making his eyes blink. A wheeled, basketwork chair was waiting, its long, tiller-like handle allowing him to steer the single wheel at its front. Reluctantly, he lurched onto the seat and Rowena took her place to push him from the rear.

  ‘Where would Your Grace wish to go?’ she asked, far too loudly for his comfort.

  ‘Good God,’ he exclaimed. ‘This thing is for elderly folk. I would prefer to hobble on my crutch.’ He made to get out but she pushed him down.

  ‘Father says you must put no strain on your leg so you must stay sitting. Now. Where would you like to go?’

  Josh looked about him. They were in a narrow street, with a row of terraced houses between them and the sea and the cliff face rising behind another, facing terrace. The doctor’s house formed part of the terrace, which seemed to back on to the cliff and at this point rose less sheer. It was distinguished by second- and third-floor windows, which jutted out from the lower floor, dormer-style. It was by far the most distinguished house in the street, but Josh could not help but wonder why the doctor had chosen to live in this tiny hamlet at the foot of the cliff, with so few people to form his patient catchment area.

  ‘This is Hartland Quay,’ he said, ‘so there must be a harbour of sorts. Can we see it?’