A Shocking Delight

by Beverley, Jo

  Those men “practicing” on ropes. They’d been preparing. Would David be climbing a rope in the dark?

  She desperately wanted to dress and rush out to protect him, but what on earth could she do but be trouble?

  Trust, he’d once said, and now she knew what he’d meant. She had to trust in his skill and competence even though she felt as if doing nothing could drive her mad.

  No question of returning to bed. Pointless though it was, she had to sit by the window, to stare into the darkness and listen, praying not to hear gunshots.

  She didn’t dare light a candle. Her clock ticked so slowly, then chimed twice. Two in the morning and all’s well. That would be the cry in London, and it would have reassured her to hear it here. Here she had no idea if all was well or not. She fumbled for her clothes and dressed.

  If anything did go amiss, she wanted to be ready to go to him.

  * * *

  The church clock chimed two, and people began to slip out of houses, heading for their positions on cliffs or beach. David was already on the cliff top in front of Crag Wyvern. His eyes were well adjusted to the dark, but he could see little. The damned cloud stole the starlight. That concealed the Marianne and the gathering Horde, but it could hide danger, too. He felt blindfolded.

  As always, they mostly communicated by sounds—the yips and hoots of night creatures told him when groups were in place. Occasionally a pinhole in a closed lantern would send a specific message. Thus far all was well, but those brief flashes seemed too bright in the dense dark. If Lloyd had caught wind of the truth, he’d see the signals, and even though the Horde had its own code, he’d know something was up—and where.

  The Marianne had flashed a brief message that she was in position out at sea. He hadn’t signaled for her to come in yet. His people weren’t all in place and he hadn’t received confirmation that the perimeter was clear, that there was no sign of Lloyd and his men nearby.

  A prickling on his neck was warning of danger, but was that a real premonition or because Lucy being nearby made him nervous? She wouldn’t be involved, she must be fast asleep, but her presence was disturbing his mind when it needed to be clear and focused. He could almost hear Mel growl to put it out of mind. When captaining a run, put everything else out of mind.

  “Nothing from the Crag?” he murmured to the boy stationed beside him to look in that direction.

  “No, cap’n,” said Jack Applin, bursting with pride to be given this responsibility. He was a good lad, despite his father’s recklessness.

  It was time, but David hadn’t been told the ropemen were ready. If anything went wrong, many of the men on the beach could escape a trap by going up the ropes.

  He spoke to another boy. “Watch over to your right, to the top of Puck’s Point. Tell me as soon as you see a light.”

  “Aye, aye, cap’n.”

  Young eyes, best and keenest around, but giving them these tasks kept some of the boys out of danger. No matter what he commanded, all but the youngest, and some girls, too, came out to take part. Well, he’d done the same as a lad, and so had Susan sometimes.

  He swept his spyglass across the invisible horizon, straining for a glimpse of the navy ship. The Taurus had sailed east and not been seen to return, but that prickling was warning of something.

  Damnation.

  This was no time to let love turn him into a nervous ditherer.

  * * *

  Lucy was by the window, straining to hear anything. It would all be happening on the beach, however, over the hill. Would the sound of a gunshot travel here?

  Somewhere an owl hooted, and then there was an odd noise like a bark, but not. Perhaps a fox or badger. She knew they were nocturnal, but not what sound they made. She didn’t know this world at all.

  Then she saw another flicker of light out near the stables. Were the horses back already? Was that good news, or had something gone wrong?

  The light near the stables began to wave wildly.

  An alarm signal?

  What should she do?

  She leaned out, trying to see more, then started at a loud clatter below her window. It sounded as if someone had knocked over a bucket or tool.

  “Help! Please!” someone called, but managing to do it quietly.

  She tried to be as quiet. “Who is it? What’s the matter?”

  “Captain Drake,” the hoarse voice called. “Need help.”

  David! Not David, but someone on his behalf. Was he wounded?

  She turned to run out of the room, but was instantly frustrated by the dark. She fumbled her way to her door and opened it. Blessed sanity, a small lamp lit the corridor and stairwell. It didn’t provide much light, but after such darkness it was enough. She ran down the stairs and toward the back of the house.

  The kitchen was dark, the fire cold and no lamp lit. No servants, either. All out enjoying the exciting folly of the Freetrade. She thought of running back up again in search of the family, but the need had seemed urgent. David could be bleeding to death out there. Her heart beat fit to burst as she felt her way around the table and to the door. She opened it.

  “Who’s there?” she gasped. “Where are you?”

  She saw the glimmer of the lantern to her left, and the man gasped, “Here . . . wounded . . .”

  She stumbled toward the voice, straining to see. As she did so, an arm came around her waist and a heavy hand covered her mouth before she could scream.

  “Don’t struggle, Lucy. I don’t want you hurt.”

  She knew that voice. Her father! She tried to shout at him through the hand, kicking in hope of striking him, wishing she was wearing boots and not slippers.

  Finally she was able to whirl around. For a moment her mouth was free. She sucked in breath to scream, but a cloth was thrust into her mouth and she was wound in a cloth like a swaddled baby or a corpse in a shroud, helpless.

  Her father. Efficient as always. She could at least growl.

  “I’m sorry, pet,” he said softly, touching her hair. “I’d rather have tried sense, but I know how one is when besotted. People are coming. Make haste, but carefully.”

  The man who’d captured her picked her up in his arms and carried her after her father, who carried a shielded lantern. Just two? Surely she could escape two.

  David . . .

  But David wasn’t in danger. This had been a trick, and she’d fallen for it.

  She heard noises from the house. Someone called from a window, “Is anyone out there?” Henry or Sir Nathaniel.

  Amelia called, “What’s happening out there?”

  All in the house, all doubtless in their nightwear. They’d probably take silence as reassurance, and if they went out to investigate, there’d be nothing to see. A sensible heroine would have managed to leave some sign, if only a slipper, but hers were still laced on.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  She couldn’t be snatched like this without anyone knowing.

  But yes, she could. Everyone around here was either involved in the smuggling or carefully paying no attention to noises. Perhaps Amelia and Henry had been awake as she had been, listening, but once silence fell they’d assume all was well.

  She growled again and squirmed out of pure fury. How dare her father treat her this way? Like a child!

  And why? He wanted her to marry a lord.

  He must have discovered she’d come here, so perhaps it was simply outrage at that. Whatever his reasons, this couldn’t work. He couldn’t keep her trussed up forever. As soon as she was free she’d return to David and never speak to her father again.

  Better by far to escape now.

  Where in the village were they?

  Her father was leading the way, carrying the lantern low with only one window open, so it cast little light. She tried to remember the direction she’d walked with David. When her porter had to turn sideways a little so her head and feet cleared the sides, she realized they were on the narrow path between the gardens. The maneuver brough
t her feet closer to her father. With relish, she drew in her legs and kicked him as hard as she could, truly wishing she wore boots.

  He stumbled forward, but got his balance and turned, his face grotesque in the lantern light from below.

  But his voice was gentle. “Ah, pet, that’s why it had to be this way. You’re my blood and bone and bound to fight. But you can’t win this battle.”

  “Oh, yes, I can,” she tried, but it came out as a mumble.

  He stroked her hair again.

  She wished she could spit at him.

  He turned to walk on, and she made herself calm down.

  His blood and bone, was she? Then she could be as steady as he. She took slow breaths and thought.

  Her knife! Her journal was back in her room, but her penknife was in her pocket. She was swaddled, but not tightly, so her arms could move. She wriggled around, hoping the man thought she was struggling, and finally got her hand into her pocket. She grasped her knife and pulled it out, trying to think how best to use it.

  If she remembered the village correctly, they would soon have to pass by the front doors of a row of cottages. There would be some people there. There had to be women looking after young children and also those too old for adventure. She need only let out one really strong cry for help to have hope.

  She got her hands together in front and opened the knife, being careful of the sharp blade. She planned her movements and waited for her moment, when they were closest to the houses. Here, as they passed the first doorway.

  Kicking her feet to distract the men, she stabbed the blade up through the cloth, the sharp edge of the blade pointing in the direction of her chin. Then she pulled it forward. It cut cleanly through the layers of cloth. She reached up through the hole with her left hand to grab the rag that tied the cloth in her mouth and then sliced through it with the blade in her right.

  She pulled out the cloth and screamed as loudly as she could. “Help! Help!” Then inspired, she added, “Captain Drake needs you!”

  “Lucy!” her father bellowed, which was stupid of him.

  The man carrying her seemed frozen.

  “This’ll do no good,” her father snapped. “Come on, man. She’s still mostly bound.”

  But people were coming out of buildings, some dressed and some in nightclothes, some with lanterns, but all with a weapon of some kind, from a skillet to a pistol.

  “Don’t hurt them!” she cried, not sure which side she meant. She gathered control. “Put me down,” she said to the man who carried her, “and unwind me.”

  He obeyed, looking at her with wide eyes.

  She realized she was still brandishing the knife, though what he thought she could do with a two-inch blade, she wasn’t sure.

  Once she was untangled she shook herself, wondering what to do now.

  “What’s amiss?” an old man in the crowd asked. “What’s gone wrong?”

  “Nothing to do with the run,” she assured them. “I’m Miss Potter. . . .”

  A woman said. “We know who you are, miss, and reckon your business is the cap’n’s business. What do we do with these ’uns?”

  Lord above. It sounded as if an order to kill would be obeyed.

  “Let them go if they’re willing. Well?” she asked her father. She did her best to send the message not to make a bad situation worse.

  “Damnation, but you’re grand, Lucy. Foolish, but grand.”

  “Perhaps like my mother? She wouldn’t be pleased about this.”

  He flinched. “She would want you out of this mess.”

  “Whatever the truth of that, I’ve made my choice, as she did.”

  He stepped closer and she raised the blade. They both looked at it in astonishment.

  “Perhaps you are suited to be a dragon’s countess, you willful chit. That being the case, call the alarm. The excise man’s alerted.”

  “Your doing?”

  “Yes.”

  She wanted to scream at him, but said, “Leave while you can.”

  She could see him itch to grab for her, despite her knife and the encircling villagers. He was not a man used to defeat. Was he armed? Was his man? Would they fight?

  “Go,” she said, “or I’ll never speak to you again.”

  “Lucy . . .” When she didn’t weaken, he gestured to his man and walked away. The villagers made way to let them through, then closed afterward as if protecting her.

  But they looked to her for orders.

  She remembered what her father had said. Oh, God.

  “How do we call off the run?”

  “It might be too late,” an old man said.

  “We have to try.”

  “There’s a signal from the Crag for that,” he said. “And from some other places. But someone else’ll have to go. I can scarcely walk the street.”

  “I could go, Ma!”

  “And I!”

  “And I!”

  Lucy looked in horror at the eager boys, all in nightshirts, none older than eight, surely. Because the older ones had work to do this night?

  She saw a mother’s hand touch one lad’s hair—the one who’d been spinning—but then the woman said, “Off you go then, Thad, fast as you can to the Crag. You know the door in at the side?”

  The lad nodded, beaming at the treat and ran off.

  “It’s so dark,” Lucy protested.

  “Bless you, miss—he’ll be all right with that. They play in the dark round here, in case.”

  Training to be criminals!

  Two other lads were already off, one carrying a lantern.

  “They’ll give the signal from Puck’s Point, miss. Maybe sooner from there.”

  They were all looking to her for more instructions. She had no idea what to do.

  Then Amelia ran up, lantern in hand. “What’s happening?”

  Could she keep her father’s name out of this? “I can’t explain now. But I got word the Preventive man knows. The run must be canceled. A boy’s gone up to the Crag. Others somewhere—”

  “Puck’s Point, Miss Amelia,” a man said.

  “Good, good,” Amelia said. “I wish Susan was still around. I’ve never done this sort of thing.”

  “Lloyd’ll not be coming through the village way,” a crook-backed man said, leaning heavily on his cane. “There’ll be watchers up there. So likely down by Markem Slide to take ’em from the side.”

  “The next cove over,” Amelia said. “Little more than a fissure, and hard going. We can’t stop them, but if the run’s canceled, they’ll be too late to do harm.”

  “What can we do?” Lucy asked.

  “Nothing more,” Amelia said. “It should be—”

  A boom shook the air.

  “What was that?” Lucy cried.

  “Ship’s cannon,” a man said.

  Chapter 38

  “Please God, no.” Lucy grabbed a lantern from someone’s hand and set off at a run toward Dragon’s Cove.

  She heard Amelia cry, “Lucy!” but she couldn’t stop. She had to be there. If David was injured, she had to be there.

  She realized she still had the open knife clasped in her hand and paused long enough to close it and put it back in her pocket.

  Amelia caught up. “All right, but go more slowly. David doesn’t need to find your corpse.”

  “Like Romeo and Juliet!” Lucy said with a wild laugh.

  “What?” Another cannon boom. “Never mind. Come on.”

  When they reached the ridge where the road sloped down to Dragon’s Cove they saw people coming up. Lanterns hung here and there outside houses, providing some light. Perhaps that was normal here in the night, so to darken them would be suspicious.

  “Run’s off,” a man said, hurrying by, but in an orderly manner. “All to go home.”

  Amelia grabbed another. “Are the goods landed?”

  “Nay. The warning came. Navy’s chasing the Guernsey ship.”

  “Not firing at land?”

  “Nay, they’d n
ot do that.”

  Lucy and Amelia paused for breath, letting the orderly retreat flow past.

  Lucy’s sense of panic eased, but she shivered. “I’m not sure I can live through this again.”

  “You’ll have to,” Amelia said. “And mostly they’re not like this. You’d hardly notice a thing, and the next day the only sign is that everyone’s yawning over their work.”

  “Those children!”

  “Having the night of their lives. It’s in the blood.”

  “In yours, too?”

  “A bit,” Amelia said, “but not enough to take serious risks.”

  “Your family must all know.”

  “About smuggling? Of course.”

  “About David.”

  “It’s not mentioned.”

  “What are they doing now?”

  “They went back to bed. Better not to know.”

  “But you came out.”

  “I needed to know. But we’d better go home.”

  Lucy shook her head. “I can’t.” The flow of people was dwindling, so she wove her way through them down toward the beach.

  Amelia caught up again with the lantern. “David will be up on top. That’s Captain Drake’s position. Observing and directing.”

  “So he’ll be safe?”

  “Of course. Come away.”

  There weren’t many people coming up the road anymore. Those from Dragon’s Cove would have slipped back into their houses. Perhaps some had gone up the ropes to escape another way. The beach ahead was impenetrable darkness. It was impossible to see where land ended and sea began.

  Then the blackness ahead was broken by a bright flame, and night shook under a tremendous boom. A moment later a crash sent bits of rock and dust showering down on the houses.

  People cried out.

  “They’re firing at the village!” Amelia screamed. “Come on!”

  Lucy paused, thinking of all the people in the houses, but they all knew and must do as best they could. She picked up her skirts and raced back up the hill.

  Another thumping boom. No rock and dust pouring down here, thank heavens, but a mighty crack somewhere higher and tumbling rocks that went on and on. Pray God not onto someone’s house. Panting, almost deafened by cannon fire and her own heart, she stumbled over the crest of the hill and stopped, sucking in breaths, listening for another shot.