Summer Darkness, Winter Light

by Sylvia Halliday

  Allegra scowled, feeling the beginnings of trepidation. The ship carried no colors, no flag to identify its home country or port. There could be no reason for it to be in this isolated place—no reason except one. She remembered what Papa had said, whenever he read of a new customs tax imposed on goods coming to England: thanks to the heavy duties, smuggling was almost a national vocation!

  She shaded her eyes and peered up at the sky. The sun was already high. Midmorning, she reckoned. She had slept late. She wondered how early Grey had left, how soon he could possibly return. In the meantime, if she and Tom Wickham could convince the smugglers that they meant them no harm, they might be safe enough.

  Wickham! She scanned the scene with a frantic eye, belatedly recalling that his desperate cry had wakened her. Suddenly the group of seamen parted, and she saw him in their midst. He was barefooted; he had tied the remains of his cravat around his injured ankle for a brace. His coat was torn, and the pockets bulged oddly. He smiled at Allegra in reassurance and took a few limping steps in her direction.

  Just then, one of the smugglers stretched out a foot and thrust it in front of Wickham’s leg. The poor man tripped and fell heavily, sprawling forward on his face. From out of his pockets spilled handfuls of mussels. He struggled to stand up; the seaman shoved him down again, to the accompaniment of raucous laughter from his companions.

  “Oh, you villains!” cried Allegra, reaching for the dagger in her bodice. “Devil take it,” she muttered. If her ugly intruder hadn’t found the blade already, it was still on the floor of the cave, where she’d dropped it last night. She hurried to Wickham and knelt before him. “Tom, are you hurt?”

  He shook his head and waved an arm toward the assembled men. “Not at all. My comrades and I were having a friendly conversation. I merely told these fine gentlemen how you and I were washed overboard, and were planning to go for help as soon as my ankle would allow me to travel.” He scooped up the mussels from the beach, returned them to his pockets, and stood up, helping Allegra to her feet. “Now, if you gentlemen will permit us to have our breakfast, you may go on about your business with no hindrance from us.” He offered his arm to Allegra. “Come, my dear.”

  His cool assurance bolstered her own courage. She reached for his arm, but felt it roughly jerked away by the seaman in the bonnet. “Breakfast later,” he said. “First, I be wanting my refreshment. A sweet taste o’ this wench.”

  Wickham drew himself up and glared at the man. “That good woman is my wife,” he announced. “You will show her the respect due a lady.” Again he offered his arm. “Come, madam.”

  Allegra exhaled a long breath as the seaman released her and fell back, shamefaced. Thanks be to God that Wickham’s ruse had discouraged the villain. “Husband,” she said, and took his arm.

  They had scarcely taken half a dozen steps up the beach, however, when one of the other men cried out. “Hold, blast ye!”

  Reluctantly they turned. The seamen were advancing on them, their faces dark and filled with menace. Wickham maintained his proud stance in the face of this new danger. “You have aught to say, my good man?” he asked.

  The seaman grinned unexpectedly, revealing rotted teeth. He jerked his head in the direction of the man in the bonnet. “I goes along wi’ Gregory here. My jockum be mighty hungry arter a long voyage.” He clutched at his groin and joggled it suggestively.

  “Why, as to that,” said another, leering at Allegra, “I’m for a little sport. And what’s the ’arm? ’Taint as though she be an unspoiled dell, what don’t know the touch of a man.” He scampered forward and tried to grab Allegra.

  “No, damn you, you cowardly louts!” Tom Wickham gave him a violent push to the ground and thrust Allegra behind him. “When you can, run for the cave,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “We might be able to hold them off at the entrance.”

  She nodded, praying that her knife was still there.

  Another sailor tried to rush Wickham. He struck the seaman full in the face with his clenched fist and grunted in satisfaction as the man went down. Arms poised to strike again, he whirled to another. Just then, a large rock came flying through the air at him. Wickham cried out, clutched at his temple, and sank to his knees, blood pouring from between his fingers.

  Cackling in triumph, Gregory darted forward and kicked him as he sat bent over on the sand. “Be we cowardly louts? Or just brethren o’ the sea? Share and share alike is my motto. Aye, shipmates? And if this here gentleman be calling us friend, why then he’ll share his lady. And wi’ a right good will. Aye, mate?” he asked Wickham, giving him another savage kick.

  “For God’s sake, Allegra, run!” he gasped.

  But it was too late. She found herself surrounded by ugly, grinning faces. She spun around, seeking an avenue of escape. It was useless. She cried out in panic as she felt her arms grabbed from behind and held firmly. “Filthy dogs! Let me go!”

  Wickham growled in fury and struggled to his feet, lashing out at the sailors around him. Once more he was beaten to the ground and forcibly held back by several of the men.

  Gregory scraped off his red bonnet and bowed to Wickham, a mocking smile on his face. “Your worship,” he said. “We gives you the right to watch us play in-and-in wi’ your lady.” He turned to the others. “Bein’ as how I found her first, I take the first turn.” He fumbled with his breeches, uncovered his straining member, and nodded at his fellows. “Lift her up.”

  Allegra shrieked as she felt her ankles grabbed by two of the sailors, her body raised off the ground, her legs spread wide. She writhed and jerked convulsively, cringing as Gregory slid his rough hands along her skirts and pushed them up to her hips.

  He ran his hands along her naked thighs and snickered. “I likes my wenches small, so’s they scream when I go in ’em. Be you small, woman?”

  Another sailor stepped forward, one finger held up in an obscene gesture. “I’ll find out for ye, Gregory lad. Tuck back her skirts to her prat, and we’ll see what kind o’ pintle-case be there.”

  “Damn you! Damn you!” Wickham fought against his captors, nearly choking on his outrage.

  “Avast, ye scurvy devils! Did I set ye to work, or to go whoring?” A man in a large cocked hat came storming up the beach and angrily smacked the head of one of the men who held Wickham. “Leave off!” he roared. “Be ye men, or red savages? Loose the wench!”

  Allegra gasped in relief, shaking and sobbing as she felt herself lowered to the ground. She smoothed down her skirts with trembling hands and rubbed her arms; her flesh felt soiled by the vile touch of these men. She ran to Tom Wickham and knelt before him. “Did they hurt you?”

  He put his arm around her and gave her a comforting hug. “I was teased by my schoolfellows many a time,” he said. “It hurt worse.”

  The man in the cocked hat scowled at Gregory and jerked his thumb in Tom and Allegra’s direction. “Now, who be these two?”

  Gregory cleared his throat and kicked at the sand. “Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but they be travelers, washed up from a passing ship. I found the woman in the cave.”

  Tom set his chin in a hard line. “We were quite prepared to let you go on your way,” he said. “We had no quarrel with you. But these ruffians chose to make free with my wife.” Even with the blood still oozing down his cheek, he managed to look dignified.

  Allegra hesitated for only a minute, then pulled Papa’s handkerchief from her pocket. She dabbed carefully at Wickham’s bloody face, then folded the handkerchief into a bandage and tied it around his temples. “Why don’t you leave us in peace?” she muttered.

  The captain scratched his chin. “We be on a bit o’ business, you understand.”

  Tom sighed in annoyance. “If you’ve brought in half the tea of the Indies, it matters naught to us! Carry on your business, and then leave. We’re only hoping to be rescued.”

  Gregory swore softly. “Cap’n, we can’t leave ’em here.”

  “We’ll send ’em off, then. Toward th
e village.”

  “But Cap’n, such a pretty wench. And we be long at sea. A little sport afore we sends ’em off. Why not?”

  “Well…” The captain wavered, his dark eyes surveying Allegra in a way that made her shiver.

  The seaman with the rotted teeth stepped forward and tugged at his forelock. “Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but arter we lets ’em go, what’s to keep ’em from tellin’ of this place? And ’twere the best spot we ever come across.”

  “And growing more chancy with every trip,” grumbled the captain. “I be thinking ’tis time to find another anchorage.”

  “All the more reason to let us go, then,” said Tom.

  The captain shook his head. “Not yet.” He gestured down the beach toward the cave. “Bring ’em along until we be done unloading. Then I’ll think on what to do with ’em.” They were marched at a brisk pace toward the cavern, Tom struggling valiantly to keep up with his injured ankle. Allegra was dismayed to find that her knife was gone, though Tom’s shoes still lay discarded in the corner.

  The captain signaled to the men in the boat that had just come ashore. At once, several seamen picked up something that appeared to be a broad, heavy platform and started up the beach with it. With a great deal of swearing and sweating, they carried the contrivance into the cave and placed it across the deep pit.

  Allegra had to admire the cleverness of the rogues as they crossed the crude “bridge” to the tunnel beyond. They had a safe and secure lair for their dishonest traffic. The tunnel was light enough to see their way; small openings in the cliff above let in the daylight. It was only when the passageway opened up to a huge underground cavern, which echoed with their voices, that the smugglers struck flint to the many torches that lined the walls.

  The captain pointed to a corner of the cavern that was farthest away from the entrance. “Put ’em there,” he said. “There be no way they can escape without our seeing.”

  Allegra and Tom sank to the ground, grateful to be ignored while the smugglers went about their business. There were a great many boxes and bales to be carried in and stacked inside the cavern. From the markings on some of the chests, Allegra guessed the contents to be calico. It was a contraband Indian cloth that many American and English women wore and used in their furnishings, despite the laws against it. There seemed to be boxes of tea, besides. And—from the pungent smell that soon filled the cave—tobacco as well.

  Tom Wickham flexed his bandaged ankle and scowled. “I made a mess of it, as is my wont. A clumsy knight errant. I couldn’t even warn you properly when I saw that lout, Gregory, go into the cave.”

  He couldn’t be reproaching himself! Not after all his gallantry. “No, no,” she protested. “Your alarum woke me. The villain would have overpowered me else, while I slept.”

  He scratched at his ear, his face reddening. “Your…your pardon for my presumption. To call you wife. I thought it might help to save you.”

  She hid her smile as best she could. His boyish embarrassment was oddly charming. “It was very noble of you. Have you a wife?”

  “No.”

  “A sweetheart, then?”

  “In the past. But…A looby like me…I’m not so great a catch.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she chided gently. “I’m sure that any young lady would be proud to be seen on your arm.” Oh, dear, she thought, seeing his face turn a deeper shade of red, she shouldn’t have said that! Tom Wickham was far too artless to accept such a personal remark. She cleared her throat and made a great show of watching the seamen at their tasks. “The ship rode low,” she said at last. “I think it will take them all day to unload it.”

  He nodded. “All to the good. I saw Grey leave before daybreak. I feel sure he’ll return with help long before nightfall. In the meanwhile, would you care for some breakfast?” He grinned and pulled a few of the mussels from his coat pocket. “They clung to all the rocks on the edge of the water. ’Twas simple enough to gather them. I knew you’d be hungry when you awoke.”

  “But you must have walked far. And with your injury. How kind of you.”

  He waved away her compliment. “My mother taught me to be chivalrous. Now…” He looked around the cave to see if they were being watched, then fished in the pocket of his waistcoat and produced his penknife. “I should have preferred my mussels steamed over a fire. And we could use a bit of water to wash off the sand, but ’tis sustenance.”

  Hiding the penknife from the view of the smugglers, they managed to feed themselves after a fashion. Allegra used her skirts to clean the shells as well as she could, then handed them to Tom, who inserted the point of his knife between the shells and gave the blade a quick twist to open the mussel. They soon had mastered the knack of swallowing the slippery bivalves without chewing, so as not to grind their teeth on sand. It was a strangely jolly meal, for all their predicament. A warm interlude of companionship that left them smiling and sated.

  But as the afternoon dragged on, Allegra began to grow more and more uneasy. Though Tom seemed to make an effort to be cheerful for her sake, she could read concern in his face, as well. The smugglers had spoken several times about their confederates: men from the nearby villages who would come with wagons and transport the goods to Norwich for sale.

  Why would they speak openly of such matters? thought Allegra. Unless…She shivered. Unless they had no fear of being betrayed. What was almost worse, the villains leered and snickered each time they passed her, nudging one another in the ribs and exchanging sly whispers.

  By the time the smugglers had carried in their last box and chest, Allegra knew it must be evening. The last few loads had been accompanied by men holding dark lanterns to guide them through the dimming passageway. She looked at Tom and bit her lip. “So late. Why hasn’t Grey returned by now?”

  He patted her hand. “Soon, I have no doubt.”

  She watched uneasily as the seamen made themselves comfortable, unwrapped packets of food and began to pass around flasks of rum. Clearly, they intended to wait for their accomplices. And if the hours stretched by, and the intoxicating spirits flowed freely…

  “I think they mean to kill us,” she blurted at last.

  Tom shook his head. A red-gold curl drooped over the handkerchief around his temples. “Will you frighten yourself for naught? Why should they? If they meant to, they would have done it long since.”

  “They’re waiting for their friends.” She had a dreadful sense of foreboding. “That pit drops to the bowels of hell itself. Who would ever find us?”

  “Come, come,” he said. “You forget that we are waiting for our friends as well.” He smiled his encouragement. “My mother taught me to look for the bright side.”

  “And in the meantime,” she said bitterly, “will I be their amusement to while away the hours?”

  The smile faded. “As to that, Allegra…” He traced a meandering pattern in the dirt with his finger. “I’ve been dwelling much on that thought in the past hour or so. I feel sure that Grey will come, of course. You mustn’t be afraid. But in the event that…” He hesitated and cleared his throat. “I shall defend you, as best I can. I think you know that. But…” He fastened his blue eyes on hers. They were warm with sympathy. “If…if you should prefer death to dishonor, my two hands are at your service. I’m a clumsy oaf, God knows. But I can do that for you, should it be your wish when the moment comes.”

  “God be merciful,” she whispered, feeling the tears burn in her eyes. “Why are you such a good, kind man?”

  He laughed gently. “I told you. I was raised to be chivalrous.”

  “And I was raised to hate you!” she cried. “You fool! I followed you onto the ship only to kill you.” She buried her face in her hands. “How can you be kind to me when you’re a Wickham and I’m a Baniard?”

  She heard the sharp intake of his breath. “My God! The little girl with the sad eyes.”

  She raised her head and stared at him through her tears. “What do you mean?”

>   “I went down to the quay at Bristol to see your family board the convict ship. You clung to your mother’s skirt, poor little thing.” He swore softly and pounded the dirt with his fist. “They told me later you had died. All of you.”

  “Only I survived. I…” She looked up in alarm as Gregory and several of the other seamen swaggered across the cave toward her. The captain stayed where he was, but his grinning face clearly approved his men’s actions.

  Gregory took a pull from his bottle of rum, tossed it aside, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Give us a kiss, wench,” he said. He clutched Allegra’s shoulders and jerked her to her feet.

  Tom was on his feet as well. “Damn you,” he said, and leapt for Gregory’s throat. A shot rang out. Tom gasped and clutched at his breast.

  Allegra screamed. She felt rough hands on her body—tearing her bodice, pulling her arms, clutching at her hair. A whirlwind of filthy, panting men swirled around her. She prayed God to give her strength to endure.

  There were more shots, echoing against the rock, and suddenly the cave was filled with smoke and noise and confusion. Shouts. Cries. Angry curses. The harsh metallic clash of steel on steel.

  Unexpectedly released, Allegra shrank against the wall of the cave, holding her tattered gown to her breast. There seemed to be dozens of armed men in the cave, battling the smugglers. She saw Baines, the mate. And Jagat Ram, wielding a large blade. She recognized several more of the sailors from Captain Smythe’s ship.

  And then she saw Grey. Tall and strong and noble. He carried a large staff which he used to soundly beat any smugglers foolhardy enough to come at him with knife or sword. “Oh, Grey,” she whispered, and wept for joy.