by Rebecca King
A strong gust of chill wind swept over them, teasing the edges of their cloaks and reminding everyone of the urgency of their situation. Sensing Harriett’s hesitation, Peter stepped forward.
“Hugo, why don’t you go and rejoin your men? We can meet up with the carriage and make our own way back to Willowbrook. Edward and I are both armed, so can deal with any challenges thrown our way.” He knew his suggestion would be accepted by the sheer relief that was visible on Hugo’s face.
“If you are sure ...” Hugo began, torn between his responsibility to his men and his duty toward Jemima and her small entourage.
“I’m sure,” Jemima said, meeting Hugo’s questioning gaze with calm reassurance.
“The next couple of days will be arduous,” Hugo warned, his voice heavily laced with apology. “But the sooner you are out of the area, the safer you will be. Please forgive me for abandoning you so abruptly, but I really do need to check on my men.”
“Go!” Jemima ordered with a soft smile, pushing him in the direction of the village they had just left.
Without hesitation, he spun on his heel and left the party alone. They watched him disappear over the horizon before turning toward Harriet, who was still standing with them. By forcing Hugo to leave, they had effectively made Harriett’s decision for her. Unless she was prepared to argue her way through a solid line of Redcoats, she now had no choice but to go to Willowbrook with them.
“Thank you,” Peter whispered to her, knowing she was fully aware of what they had just done.
“For what?” Harriett replied, confused.
“For giving yourself a chance.” With that he turned around, held a hand out for Jemima and resumed the journey to Tintagel.
Harriett followed hesitantly, aware that Edward and Eliza had fallen in behind her, probably to stop her turning around and running after Hugo.
By the time they reached the rough stone path running along the cliff tops close to Tintagel, a thick sea mist had crept inland, encasing everything in its thick fog of confusion.
“This is the last thing the Redcoats need,” Edward announced with a baleful glance at the white sky.
“It will be here for a while by the feel of it,” Harriett said. Nobody thought to question her.
“We only have to go round the coast and take the pathway down to the estuary, which we can follow inland to Tintagel,” Edward announced from the back of the ground, aware of the despondency that had settled over the group just as the mist had settled around them.
Nobody bothered to reply to him. They were all wet with dewy moisture and could barely see the path in front of them.
The stiff breeze blowing inland had turned considerably colder, leaving them all exhausted, frozen and soaking wet. There was very little anyone could find that was positive in their situation.
“What’s that?” Harriett gasped, drawing to a halt and staring into the mist behind her.
“What?” Jemima whispered, moving closer to Harriett and trying to peer through the gloom. She couldn’t see anything, but strained her ears to listen for anything beyond the crashing of the waves of the rocks far beneath them.
After several minutes, Peter shook his head. “I can’t hear anything,” he said, turning away and tugging Jemima with him, clearly expecting Harriett to catch up.
“Wait!” The urgency in Harriett’s voice was not lost on anyone.
From his place at the back of the group, Edward tried to peer through the fog toward Peter, his own senses suddenly warning him that danger was imminent.
A swift flurry of movement behind him alerted him to the danger – but it was too late. The thud of the large object that hit the back of his head was heard even through the low howl of the increasing winds.
Edward hit the ground with a dull thud. His body was dragged away from the group and vanished into the thick fog.
“Edward?” Eliza tried to peer through the gloom for signs of him. “Edward!” she screamed, when he didn’t immediately respond. They had all heard the heavy thud. “Oh God, Peter,” Eliza gasped, wondering if Edward had fallen off the cliff. She moved to stand where Edward had been, desperately trying to see through the gloom for any sign of him.
All sorts of thoughts flickered through her mind as she began to search the area, her hands held out before her as she tried to find him.
“Edward, answer me!” Her heart pounded heavily in her chest. Edward wouldn’t simply vanish; he wouldn’t leave her. Where could he be? She took several steps forward and was abruptly swallowed by the thick fog.
“Eliza?” Harriett called, her voice rising in panic. She too had heard the thud and wondered what had happened to Edward to make him ignore Eliza’s pleas.
She had no doubt that Edward had fallen victim to something. Or someone. She jumped as Harrold began to growl and hiss in her arms. His yellow gaze fixed on the swirling fog behind them.
“Eliza?” Peter and Jemima appeared beside her. Harriett threw them a panicked look when Eliza didn’t reply.
“Eliza!” Jemima shouted, her voice deadened by the heavy mist. “Edward, talk to us!” Jemima shouted. “Where are you?”
“Oh God, Peter,” Jemima whispered in horror moments later when neither Edward or Eliza had reappeared.
“Edward, answer me! Eliza, where are you?” Peter’s voice rang loudly through the fog. They paused and waited for any response but could detect nothing. Peter slowly withdrew his gun.
Every hair on Jemima’s neck stood on end. She hated to keep leaning on Peter’s shoulder, but was spooked by the sudden disappearance of two of the most precious people in her life.
She almost screamed when Peter grasped her wrist fiercely, his other hand motioning frantically for her to remain quiet. He gestured to Harriett to come closer to them, and put himself in front of both women, and studied the mist surrounding the path Eliza and Edward had just been standing on.
For Edward not to answer, something was very wrong.
They were out of options. They couldn’t go forward because they were missing two people and couldn’t leave without them. Nor could they go back and leave Eliza and Edward to their fate, whatever that might be. At the moment all he had to go on was a gut instinct that was still screaming at him: that danger was imminent.
His thoughts quickly turned to Hugo. Had he really returned to Padstow? Or had he doubled back, planning to strike while they were isolated on the perilously slippery cliff path? Peter cursed his stupidity in not questioning Hugo further after the cart accident.
Harriett was shivering, her eyes filled with terror as they flicked around, desperately trying to see through the haze.
Jemima studied her friend and tried hard not to be affected by her fear, but felt sick with terror. Although she had lived in Cornwall for many years, she had never grown used to the thick sea fog, which had a tendency to appear unannounced, rolling inland ominously in an impenetrable wall of mist that immediately sucked all warmth out of the day, and turned the skies a forbidding grey. She could feel moisture on her face, although it wasn’t raining. The rocks beneath their feet had already turned wet and slippery and intensely dangerous. Had Edward and Eliza merely slipped off the path?
“Well, well, well, look who we have here.” The eerie voice came out of nowhere, making them all jump. “If it isn’t Jemima Trevelisk, and Lord Harlec. I saw you last night at the inn, and couldn’t believe my eyes!”
Peter froze, and closed his eyes for a brief moment, mentally cursing his luck. He knew that this was the person behind Edward and Eliza’s disappearance.
“Scraggan,” Harriett whispered, her eyes filled with horror as she stared at the darkening shadow emerge from the swirling mist.
“Unless I am mistaken, you should have been hanged in Derby a while back; what went wrong?” Scraggan’s voice was conversational, but lost none of its sinister edge. He clearly didn’t want an answer. “I guess that’s what happens when you send someone else to do a job for you.”
Jemima j
umped, and stared in horror at the outline of the small, wiry man barely visible through the gloom. Peter’s hand briefly encircled Jemima’s. He could feel her fingers trembling and silently willed her to stay calm and trust him to keep her safe.
“It’s about time you showed your face Scraggan,” Peter grumbled, wishing he could slide his arm around Jemima and reassure her, but he daren’t take his eyes off the man before him.
For someone so small, he certainly managed to cause a lot of destruction in people’s lives, Peter mused cynically, eyeing the stick-thin legs of the much shorter man. Height for height, Peter outclassed him. Weight for weight, there was no competition. Despite the physical advantages, Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about facing down Scraggan.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the older man announced evilly, eyeing them all with contempt.
“How did you get through the Redcoats?” Peter asked, thinking of the long, impenetrable line of soldiers that had waited for them to leave Padstow before closing ranks.
“Ha! Redcoats! That idiot bunch are useless. I knew something was happening when word got to us that they were gathering in Bodmin,” Scraggan boasted proudly. “My men were ahead of them and told me where they were camped. They also told me you were still alive and were in Little Petherick, Jemima.”
Jemima flinched, and knew he was telling the truth. The small hairs crept up on her neck as she realised that they had been watched since their arrival.
“We watched you go to the witch’s house,” Scraggan boasted, turning to nod at the small cliff path not far behind him. “Didn’t take much to see which way you were going, and follow by boat. Rowed straight out of the harbour, we did. Right out from under the Redcoat’s noses, and they didn’t suspect a thing.” Scraggan’s voice was laced with satisfaction.
Peter couldn’t see the cliff path through the mist, but had no doubt it was there. He knew there was no other way Scraggan could have found a way past the Redcoats. He cursed his luck, and made a mental note to remind Hugo to watch out for such things on future operations. Right now though, he had bigger problems.
Peter watched Scraggan saunter toward them. Despite the slippery rocks beneath his feet, the smuggler’s tread was as steady as a mountain goat’s, warning Peter that, should it turn into a physical fight, Scraggan would have the advantage.
“Where are the others?” Peter demanded, staring at the smaller man.
“They’re safe,” Scraggan replied defensively. “I’m not a murderer.”
“No,” Peter agreed, in a tone that was anything but agreeable. “You prefer to get everyone else to do your dirty work for you, don’t you Scraggan?”
Scraggan turned hard eyes on first Peter, then Jemima, smiling when she looked away, clearly scared. “Obviously, I have relied on the wrong people to do a proper job.” He sighed loudly. “It looks like I am going to have to my own dirty work this time.”
Releasing his hold on Jemima, Peter put himself between his love and the imminent threat to her life.
“Aaah, isn’t that cute,” Scraggan snarled, “he’s showing some bravery.”
“Who the hell are you talking to, Scraggan? There is nobody here to listen to you. If you are trying to unnerve us, you are going to have to do better than that.”
Scraggan snorted. “It’s about time we came face to face, Davenport,” he said, drawing to a stop a few feet away; close enough to pose a threat if he decided to lunge at them, but far enough away to be out of Peter’s reach if he decided to throw a punch.
“So, what do you want with us Scraggan? You will get nothing from either Jemima or me, I can promise you that,” Peter announced.
With the fog shrouding them from watchful eyes, Peter knew that everyone’s survival depended upon the next few minutes.
“It’s payback time,” Scraggan snarled, his small, beady eyes almost feral as they glared at Peter. “Did you really think you could evade me?”
“I’m not trying to evade you Scraggan, I’m not frightened of you.” Peter’s voice was full of arrogant dismissal, and to emphasise his point he slowly trailed his condescending gaze from Scraggan’s wild grey hair to the tips of his grubby boots.
“You are the kind of man who enjoys terrorising women,” Peter snapped. “It isn’t brave to chase after a woman, Scraggan. Even you must have enough intelligence to realise that. You aren’t worth bothering with. Without your men, who are undoubtedly busy right now going to Bodmin, you are nothing. Nobody.” He knew that last remark had hit its mark when Scraggan immediately drew himself up to his full height, flicking Jemima a brief look of contempt before seemingly dismissing her as being of little interest.
“I’m not after the bitch, you fool! I never have been. Although, with the trouble she has caused, I should have murdered her the first time I clapped eyes on her,” Scraggan spat with such finality that Peter paused.
“What?” Jemima gasped, unsure she had heard him correctly. She glanced questioningly at Peter. Despite her fear of him, Jemima had to ask. “You weren’t after me?”
“You have no idea, do you?” Scraggan asked, ignoring her and studying Peter closely. He seemed to find this extremely funny.
It wasn’t his hilarity that unnerved Jemima, but the suddenness with which it stopped. One moment, he was laughing almost maniacally, the next he was glaring in cold contempt.
“It’s you I want, Peter Davenport. You owe me,” Scraggan stated flatly, clearly expecting Peter to pay up there and then.
“WHAT?” Peter asked, shaking his head in consternation as he held his hands out. “What the bloody hell do you want from me?”
“You murdered my family,” Scraggan accused, his own voice rising in temper. “My father, both of my brothers, four of my uncles, and destroyed everything we had worked so hard for.” His cold black eyes glared maliciously at Peter. “I want revenge. I want you to suffer. I want you to lose everyone around you whom you hold dear,” he ranted, his voice trembling with fury.
“I haven’t murdered anyone,” Peter argued, wondering if the man was mad.
“Oh, so you call Norfolk justice, do you?”
Peter froze, realising what was behind Scraggan’s hatred. He already knew that Scraggan had been the man who had evaded capture in Norfolk. The man the Star Elite had eventually tracked to Padstow, and had been watching ever since. Clearly, the smuggling gang Dominic and Peter had been sent to Norfolk to capture, were all members of Scraggan’s family.
“You’re smugglers, Scraggan; you cannot expect to commit crimes without being punished at some point in your lives,” Peter reasoned, knowing from the look on Scraggan’s face that he wasn’t listening. “It’s a risk that comes with your – lifestyle. The only person to blame for your loss is yourself, and your family for committing the crimes in the first place,” Peter went on.
“So it’s all right for you to come along and destroy my life, as long as you can go back to your posh estate, with your bitch, and get on with your lives? Well, not while I am around,” Scraggan snarled.
“I was just doing my job,” Peter stated coldly, refusing to bargain with the man.
He was aware that Jemima, standing so quietly beside him, was shaking, whether through cold or fear of Scraggan he couldn’t be sure, but he had to get her, and the others - wherever they were - off the cliffs.
“Well, I’m going to finish you, just like I should have done back in Norfolk,” Scraggan boasted. “I saw the broadsheets heralding the murders of the smuggling gang you broke up. My smuggling gang! My family! You and Dominic Cavendish were national heroes for a while there, but you forgot one thing.” Scraggan thumped his chest heavily. “Me.”
“You were smuggling illegal goods into the country and local people were turning up dead!” Peter argued, refusing to allow Scraggan to justify his depraved behaviour.
“I have never worked out of Norfolk,” Scraggan replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
“But you were there -” Peter shook his head, wondering what Scra
ggan was trying to do. Was he distracting them while he waited for someone else to arrive?
“It wasn’t me, it was my son, Rogan. I left the gang to start up on my own further down the coast. Although we were two separate gangs, we worked together most of the time; that is, until you and Dominic Cavendish showed up. My son watched you and your men murder his uncles; his family. He has never been the same since.” There was a small tinge of loss in his voice that, for one infinitesimal moment, made him sound more human.
“That’s my fault? Your family being brought to justice for murder and smuggling is unfair is it? You should have gone down with them Scraggan. Where were you, by the way? Oh, I know, you were running away to protect yourself.” Peter knew he shouldn’t antagonise the man, but the memory of what he had done to Jemima burned through his veins like molten lava, driving him to irritate Scraggan and, he hoped, make him do something rash. Anything to give him a reason to lift his gun and remove the man from all of their lives.
He wanted to, but he wasn’t a murderer. As much as he hated the man, he wasn’t going to resort to cold-bloodedly shooting an unarmed man. Especially in front of Jemima. He wasn’t going to lower himself to being a murderer, and risk losing her respect, or her love. If he had been on his own, he wouldn’t of hesitated.
If he was completely honest, a part of him wanted to see Scraggan swing from the gallows. He wanted the man to suffer the same fear and misery he had subjected Jemima to in Derby. He wanted Scraggan to spend time in a condemned cell, knowing there was no way out. Peter wanted Scraggan’s final moments to be at the end of a hangman’s noose, knowing that justice had won.
“Strange how you survived, wasn’t it, Scraggan? If you were so close to your family and working together, why did they die and you survive if you didn’t run?” Peter goaded, ignoring Jemima’s warning look.
“I wasn’t there. I had left a few weeks earlier to work for one of the small gangs in Cornwall. They were rumoured to have better goods, fetching a higher price. Perfect for what I needed. It didn’t take much to work my magic and, before long, I had everyone eating out of my hand.” Scraggan’s puffed out his chest, clearly proud of his achievements.