The Black Rocks of Morwenstow

by John Wilcox

  But, there was no doubt about it. In his short stay here, Josh had stumbled upon some kind of criminal activity and had asked enough questions for him to be regarded as a threat to whoever was operating these rings.

  He shook his head. Something was clear: he could not leave until he had unpicked some, at least, of the layers of secrecy that lay over the two villages. No. He could not set off for Dover just yet. But he must see Mary soon and shake off the silken threads that, like a spider’s web, were beginning to bind him to Hartland.

  Mary … he summoned up memories that he had cherished for so long. Mary, with her apple blossom, rounded cheeks, her full breasts and her soft, brown eyes; Mary, the woman he had promised to return to and marry. He sighed. She would have received his letter now and would write back to him immediately, of course. Then, he must, he really must make arrangements to make the long journey to the comparative sanity and tranquillity of the Dover parsonage and life with Mary Jackson.

  Mrs Brown had prepared for them a rabbit and that evening Rowena converted it into a delicious stew for their dinner, swimming in vegetables and spiced with some sort of seasoning that was new to Josh. Damn it! The girl could cook like an angel, too!

  ‘Have you any idea why your father has gone to London?’ he asked her. ‘Is it a journey he often makes?’

  ‘No. He always says he hates going to cities, whether Exeter or London. As far as I know, he had no business in the capital.’

  ‘Hmm. Do you remember, when he urged me to leave here for a couple of days, that he said he had some sort of enquiries to make – this was just after I had been attacked? Could it have been something to do with that, do you think?’

  Rowena puckered her face into a frown. ‘I just don’t know, Josh. My father has always been a man who keeps himself to himself – even from me. He is deeply religious and, as far as I know, had no business interests at all. He is just a country doctor.’

  ‘Of course.’ Josh dipped a piece of bread into the excellent gravy. Looking into the grave face of the young girl opposite, he felt strangely reluctant to cross-examine her. But it must be done. ‘Rowena, do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the night you drove me back here from Morwenstow, the night of the shipwreck?’

  She cast her eyes down. ‘All right.’

  ‘Good. You remember that you told me that you did not know who had saved me from the rock at the foot of the cliff and carried me up what must have been a very slippery and dangerous path to where you waited at the top? You said that you thought they had been two of the Preventers?’

  ‘Er … yes. The gale was blowin’ real fierce and I could not see people properly, particularly as they was wearin’ oilskins and the like.’

  ‘But Mr Hawker and that man, who keeps the inn here, Jacob Millbury, both told me that it was Tom Pengelly and a fellow seaman from the quay, who carried me up. They must have put me in your cart. You obviously knew both men quite well – Tom, very well – yet you say you did not see them or even exchange a word with them when they deposited my unconscious body with you?’

  Rowena’s head was still down but he could see that a tear was coursing its way down her cheek. He hardened his heart and remained silent.

  Then she looked up. ‘I don’t know why you are questioning me in this way, Josh, have I done something wrong? Do you suspect me of bein’ involved in all this law-breakin’ here?’

  ‘Now, Rowena, don’t work your wiles on me. I am not accusing you of anything. But I am trying to get to the bottom of what seems to have been a whole litany of lies told to me about that night. Are you really telling me that you did not recognise at least Tom Pengelly that night?’

  She put her head back and thrust her jaw forward truculently. ‘Yes I am, Joshua Weyland. I was huddled on that donkey cart seat, tryin’ to stop the rain from tricklin’ down my neck. I didn’t care who had put that man in the cart behind me, I just wanted to get on the road back to Hartland Quay and do my father’s biddin’ – which was to bring back anyone to the surgery needing help. There was lots of men millin’ about that clifftop that night. Most of them I couldn’t tell from the Queen of England because they were all huddled, as I said, in oilskins. So that’s that. An’ I’m not tellin’ you no lies, so don’t accuse me of anythin’.’ She ended on a sob.

  Compassion immediately consumed Josh. ‘Oh, I am sorry, Rowena, I really am. Of course I believe you. I just had to ask you the questions. And, it so happens that there are so many to ask.’

  ‘Well, don’t expect me to know all the answers, because I don’t.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ His mind raced. What she had said was perfectly believable. Why had he felt that she was lying? He must make amends.

  ‘Of one thing, I am certain,’ he said.

  She looked up with that half-frightened, half-truculent look on her face with which he had grown so familiar. ‘What’s that, then?’

  ‘This stew is delicious. There is no doubt about it. You are a better cook than Mary Jackson, I have to admit it.’

  He knew she would be pleased and she was. The frown disappeared and her eyes lit up. ‘Oh, Josh. You’re just sayin’ that to make up. I know.’

  ‘No, I am not. Rowena, Emma Acland, you can frighten a milling crowd of Preventers, who were about to hack me to pieces, you can make delicious coffee, you can tend a wounded man as though you had passed through medical school and you can turn an old field animal into the best rabbit stew I have ever tasted. You are, without doubt, a marvel.’

  ‘Oh, Josh,’ her eyes were watering again. ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Will you sleep with me tonight, then?’

  He could not prevent the grin from stealing across his face. The sheer cheek of her! The fundamental honesty that always seemed to motivate her. Why did he ever think that she could lie? If she had a thought, she had to express it. She could not, surely, dissemble to save her life.

  He leant across and took her hand. She immediately grasped it tightly, as though to make sure that the answer she would get would be the one she wanted.

  ‘No, my dear girl, I will not. And you know why. You may not believe it, but I am an honourable man. I gave my word to Mary, two years ago when I set off to the other side of the world, and I must keep it.’ He sighed. ‘Even though you are the best cook and the most desirable young woman in the world, I must be true to Mary.’ He shook the hand that held his so tightly. ‘You must understand that, Rowena.’

  The tears were coursing down her cheeks again now. ‘Of course I understand, Josh. Goodness knows, you’ve told me enough times.’ She smiled through the tears. ‘But Josh, I am a virgin, I promise you. No man has ever known me. I do feel … I don’t know what the word is except that old-fashioned one: love. I do love you. And if I am to lose my maidenhood I want it to be to you. Even if you have to leave me afterwards for your Mary. Please, let me know you tonight. It will probably be our only chance. And I don’t want to be deflowered by any other man than you. I promise you.’

  Josh felt temptation rise within him like the high tide rushing round the harbour wall of Hartland Quay. She was so desirable and he had been chaste for so long. He gulped. The doctor need never know. And, for that matter, neither need Mary. Just one night … ! Then he shook his head.

  ‘No, Rowena. I could never do it. For one thing, after one night with you I could never just walk away. And, you must realise, that I must walk away. I know I must sound like a prudish prig, but I have given Mary my word. I am so, so sorry. In fact, more sorry than you could ever know. And you have given me the highest compliment a woman can pay a man.’

  She took out her handkerchief and blew her nose noisily. ‘You are indeed an honourable man, Josh. And I respect you for it. We will say no more on the matter.’ She tried to smile through her tears. ‘Would you like some more stew?’

  He kissed her chastely on the cheek when they parted on the stairway and he climbed into bed wonder
ing if he had done the right thing. He realised that he was now in love with Rowena Acland and just hoped he could control his emotions long enough not to break his word to Mary.

  The next morning brought a letter addressed to him carrying a Dover postmark. He did not, however, recognise the handwriting. In fact, it was from Mrs Jackson, Mary’s mother. She was so glad to hear from him, she said, and Mary would write soon. She was away for a few days and would respond on her return. It was a mercy and a blessing from God that he had survived the shipwreck. Mary would no doubt say more in her letter.

  He folded it and put it inside his jacket, but he knew that Rowena would find it and read it. Ah well, that did not matter now. Yet he felt strangely depressed in absorbing the message. It was short and to the point – and, of course, it did not come from Mary. But it seemed strangely cold and compared sadly with Rowena’s spoken passion of the previous evening. He took it out and read it again and then put his head in his hands. Oh God! Was he making a big mistake?

  The wounded Preventer arrived later that morning and Rowena changed his dressing. The man briefly sought out Josh to say that none of his comrades in the barracks admitted to knowing anything about the attack on him. The Preventer spoke so earnestly that Josh believed him. If it was not the Preventers, then who the hell was it? He shook his head in bewilderment.

  For the next couple of days, he and Rowena lived together amicably enough, but, of course, at what only could be termed arm’s length. Josh felt that it was probably time to get rid of the irksome splints on his leg but Rowena insisted that he wait until the doctor’s return. He conceded but decided that doing nothing while they waited for Doctor Acland to reappear was not an option for him. It was time, he decided, to talk to Tom Pengelly and also, if possible, the sailor who was his partner on the cliff path on the night of the wreck.

  He decided not to tell Rowena of his intention and slipped out of the house one morning and made his way down to the harbour. Pengelly, however, was not to be seen and nor was anyone who might conceivably be the ‘forgotten man’. He returned disgruntled to the house to find that he had a visitor.

  ‘It’s Jack Cunningham,’ hissed Rowena at the door. ‘He says he has come to see you and won’t tell me what it is about. Be careful with him, Josh, I think he is honest enough but I have become nervous of everyone in this village now. He is waiting for you in the living room.’

  ‘Thank you, Rowena.’

  Cunningham rose as he entered and extended his hand.

  They shook hands and Joshua gestured towards a chair. ‘Do sit down, Captain. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Ah, Joshua, you must call me Jack. I thought we were friends and that is why I have called on you, after that … what shall I call it … fracas on the heath with the tinners the other day.’

  ‘Indeed, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cunningham extended one long, elegantly booted leg. ‘I felt I should explain to you my, ah, seeming resentment of the miners and of their marching through these parishes of Morwenstow and Hartland.’

  Josh frowned. This was unexpected. ‘Please do.’

  ‘When we first met, I explained to you that most of the Preventers’ work lay with preventing smuggling, although we have a responsibility for restricting the wrecking, that is the removal of cargoes from ships that founder on this damned coastline – you know?’

  Josh nodded.

  ‘Strictly speaking, wrecking is illegal. But everyone in Devon and Cornwall – and on the rest of the coastline of Britain for that matter – believes it to be their God-given right to take what the sea throws up to them. So we try and treat this matter with a reasonably light hand. Smuggling, however, is a different matter.’

  He leant forward. ‘When we first met, I tried to portray how seriously smuggling could affect the economy of these islands. Well, it’s become a very serious matter and there is no doubt that a very sophisticated and successful smuggling ring operates on this particular border of the two counties.’

  ‘So I have heard.’

  Cunningham looked up sharply. ‘Oh yes? What exactly have you heard, may I ask?’

  ‘I called on the owner of a tin mine just outside Bude – the man, in fact, who employs those marching tinners. He told me that Morwenstow and Hartland housed just what you described: a ring of well-organised smugglers.’

  ‘Hmm. Did he now? I don’t like my territory having acquired such a reputation. But he was quite right. My sources tell me that there has been an increase in the importation of expensive contraband on this coast in the last few months. It has become worse and my employers in the Revenue are pressing me to put a stop to it.’

  Josh nodded. ‘Well, I can quite understand that.’

  ‘It’s all very well them telling me what to do, but how to do it is a very different matter.’ He leant back and put his fingers together. ‘Just like the wreckers, these smugglers believe that smuggling is their right and is a justifiable way of avoiding unfair taxes.’ He leant forward again to make the point. ‘And so many people of various levels in society are engaged in it that it is very difficult to bring anyone to court. Whatever my men and I do, we seem to be two or three steps behind the smugglers. They are damned well organised and they are getting better at what they do.’

  Josh nodded. Where was all this leading?

  ‘I have been at my wits’ end in trying to put a dampener on their activities. I have even taken to riding the clifftop between Hartland and Morwenstow at various times of the day in an attempt to pick up clues. I think you may have seen me.’

  ‘Yes, I did. I thought you were watching me.’

  Cunningham’s teeth flashed. ‘Well, indeed, up to a point I was. I knew you had been cast ashore, but your arrival seemed to have stepped up several landings, which we were too late to prevent and I tried to keep an eye on you. But I soon realised that you were not involved.’

  ‘What about the tinners?’

  ‘Ah yes. I was coming to them. I heard that they were marching north. I doubted if they were involved in smuggling in any way, although God knows they could be driven to it by the fall in tin prices. But the last thing I wanted was to have them camped up on our heath, perhaps acting as a diversion to take up our time while contraband was landed. As a result, I decided to stop them coming through this territory. And I would have done so, had you not intervened, Mr Mate.’

  ‘Yes, well. It seemed rather high-handed of you to stop them using the Queen’s highway on their way to find work.’

  ‘I can see how a liberal-minded fellow like you, Josh, would have regarded the matter but, as I say, I was being pushed hard and trying to stop up all the holes I could find. Yes, perhaps I was a little heavy but you must remember that there is no police force here, Josh, no London Peelers, only the militia and us. And we never see the militia. I have a heavy responsibility.’

  Josh nodded slowly. ‘I can sympathise with you there.’ He paused while he pondered how to raise his next point. ‘You may have heard,’ he said, ‘that I was attacked here a few days ago, on the strip of land that juts out between the top of the street and your barracks.’

  Cunningham nodded. ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘The fellow that you wounded told me about this. I am sorry to hear it. If you have any idea who might have been responsible, do tell me and I will take action immediately.’

  Josh looked at him quizzically. ‘So your Preventers wouldn’t have anything to do with it, Jack?’ he asked. ‘Maybe to warn me off making my own enquiries about the shipwreck and so on?’

  ‘Good Lord, no. We only use violence on people who break the law, I assure you.’

  ‘I believe you, but I would dearly love to know who it was. Two men. Quite young as far as I could tell. They were muffled to their eyebrows, but I fought them off and, in fact, one of them should have a nasty bruise on his cheekbone and the other marks of my knife on his arm.’

  ‘In that case, definitely none of my people. I would know if anyone had been hurt in that way. But leave the ma
tter with me. I will put my ear to the ground, so to speak. Not much goes on around here that I don’t know about, except …’ he smiled ruefully, ‘the date and place of the next smuggling run.’

  He rose, making a striking figure in that crowded and darkened sitting room. ‘Now I must be off.’ He thrust out his hand again. ‘I hope we can remain friends. After all, we were both sailors. And I promise that your tinners can march back through my parishes without hindrance – as long as they don’t linger.’

  Josh gripped the hand offered. ‘Very well, Jack. I suppose you could say – and we must say – that we are on the same side. If smuggling was involved in any way with the wreck of The Lucy, then I would certainly like to know. We should work together. If I pick up anything, I will pass it on to you, I promise.’

  ‘Good man. Give my regards, of course, to the doctor when he returns.’

  Josh raised his hand. ‘Just one more moment before you go. Neither his daughter nor I have the remotest idea why Doctor Acland should make this sudden trip to London. I know that you and he are old friends. Did he confide in you why he was making this long journey to the capital?’

  Cunningham shook his head. ‘I fear not. Yes, we were and, indeed, are friends, but perhaps we are not as close as we used to be – and I know he does not consider me a suitable match for Emma, although I keep trying. He keeps himself very much to himself these days, which is a pity. Now I really must go. Goodbye, Mr Mate.’

  ‘Goodbye, Cap’n Jack.’

  As soon as the tall man had left the house, Rowena reappeared.

  ‘What did he want, Josh?’ she asked, her eyes wide.

  Joshua related all that had passed between them.