Lord Cheriton was sure that smugglers all along the coast would welcome it as a cloak for their vessels loaded with contraband.
An hour passed, then another, and Lord Cheriton was just beginning to wonder whether Tom Johnson had changed his plans, when he heard the sound of ponies coming across the grass and down into the creek.
The men walked in silence as they had the previous time he had listened to them, and he kept his head down and waited.
He thought perhaps they were later than usual, and in fact the animals had been in the creek for less than twenty minutes when the men started moving down to the water’s edge and he knew a boat must be hiding in the shallow water.
Now the orders were ringing out and a few minutes later the first of the tubmen came hurrying up the twisting path to load their kegs onto the nearest ponies.
Lord Cheriton still did not move, but waited.
He was anxious that the boat should not escape with some of the smugglers on board, and most of all he wished to take Tom Johnson prisoner.
Then, almost as if he had arranged it himself, as he was just about to reveal their presence, a wind blew from the sea and lifted the mist.
Lord Cheriton felt the cool air on his face and a moment later when he looked up he could see the stars.
It was then that he shouted,
“Smugglers – you are surrounded! Surrender or you will be shot down!”
There was a moment of panic amongst the men who were loading the kegs onto the ponies, then there was the report of a pistol and a sheet of fire in the darkness.
It was followed by a shot from another smuggler’s gun and the bullet whistled past Lord Cheriton’s ear.
Then his men were returning the fire and everything was confusion and noise.
It was all over in a few minutes.
Eight smugglers lay on the ground. Three were dead, the rest were wounded. The others threw away their arms and the soldiers tied their wrists behind their backs.
One trooper had a wound on his face, which was bleeding, and another had a bullet in his arm, but the rest were completely unharmed.
It was only as Lord Cheriton looked amongst the prisoners that he realised Tom Johnson was not there.
“Where is Johnson?” he asked of a man who looked more intelligent than most of them.
There was no answer and the soldier who had been tying his arms thumped him on the back.
“Answer when you’re spoken to!”
“’E be in France, where ye won’t get him!” the smuggler replied.
“And where is Mr. Farlow?”
Again there was no reply and, although the man was thumped once again, all he could say sulkily was,
“’Ow do I know? He’s not with us – that’s all I can tell you!”
“All right,” Lord Cheriton said. “Take them away and lock them up until the morning.”
He had already arranged with General Oakhampton that a wagon such as was used by the soldiers for manoeuvres would be sent to the village at dawn to convey their prisoners to gaol.
“You can take them to Portsmouth or Chichester – whichever you like,” General Oakhampton had said.
“Send an Officer with the wagon,” Lord Cheriton had suggested, knowing that he himself might have better things to do.
He decided that they could be locked up for the night in one of the stalls of the stables at Larks Hall.
The stables were undamaged and the oak door was so strong that he knew that, if there were sentries posted outside, it would be impossible for the men to escape.
He therefore marched them there as quickly as possible, the wounded being carried by those who were unhurt.
Once they were securely locked in with armed guards outside, he sent several soldiers to collect the horses while he himself turned towards The Hall.
There was a sudden urgency in him to see Wivina, and, although by now the dawn had broken and the sky was golden in the East, he thought it unlikely that she would be awake.
At the same time, he told himself, everything they had done so far had been so unconventional and unusual that she would not think it strange if he called on her before she was up and dressed.
The noise the soldiers had made putting their prisoners in the stables and then marching off to collect the horses must have alerted those sleeping in the house.
As Lord Cheriton reached the front door, it was opened and Pender stood there with Rouse just behind him, both of them peering anxiously with frightened eyes to see who was outside.
“Good-morning, Pender!” Lord Cheriton called out.
“Oh, it’s you, Captain!” the groom exclaimed. “We was a-wonderin’ what was happenin’, and Mrs. Briggs was sore afraid.”
“You can reassure Mrs. Briggs that everything is in order. We have captured a number of smugglers and they will all hang for their crimes,” Lord Cheriton said.
“You’ve captured ’em smugglers? That be good news, sir!”
“Is Miss Wivina awake?”
“She be not here, sir.”
“Not here?” Lord Cheriton asked sharply.
“No, sir. Very worried we’ve all been.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Farlow, ’e comes to the house early this morning, sir, and says as ’ow Master Richard had had an accident,” Pender explained.
“An accident?” Lord Cheriton questioned.
“He arrives with two horses, sir, and I holds them for him while he I hears him through the open door a-tellin’ Miss Wivina as ’ow there’d been an accident and she must come to Master Richard at once!”
“What happened?” Lord Cheriton asked.
He felt like a man who sees the ground suddenly open in front of him.
“Miss Wivina runs to tell Emma what’s happened and tells her to get Master Richard’s room ready,” Pender went on. “Then her rides off with Mr. Farlow and we ain’t had a sight nor a sound of her since!”
“Not heard from her? Not since early this morning?”
“No, sir, an’ not a soul in the village knows of any accident neither.”
“That be true, sir,” Rouse interposed. “I goes down meself to find out what had happened to Master Richard, and all they knows is ’e never turned up at the Vicarage for his lessons.”
Lord Cheriton was very still.
“There is something wrong here,” he said and he was speaking to himself.
“That’s what we thought, sir, and Mrs. Briggs is sure that if Master Richard had been hurted, Miss Wivina would have brought ’im home by now.”
Lord Cheriton stood for a moment looking out at the sunshine.
He had the feeling that Jeffrey Farlow had moved faster than he had anticipated.
In fact, he had committed one of the most unpardonable errors in warfare – he had underestimated his enemy!
Chapter Six
“We are completely becalmed,” Wivina said, looking out through the porthole.
The lugger, with a great deal of tacking, had been moving slowly for nearly two hours, but now she had come to a standstill.
Nothing could be seen outside except a grey mist and there was not even a movement of the water against the sides of the ship.
“I don’t suppose we could swim home,” Richard said miserably.
He had grown more and more depressed as they moved away from the shores of England.
Wivina knew that his wrists were hurting him and the humiliation that he had suffered at the smugglers’ hands rankled so that he was in one of his most despondent moods.
At any other time she would have done her best to cheer him up, but now she felt so desperate herself that there was nothing she could do but sit beside him and pray.
She prayed with her whole heart and soul that somehow, by some miracle, the leopard would come and rescue them, but even as she said the words silently within herself she knew that what she was asking for was impossible.
Even if he knew where they had gone, even if he cou
ld find some way of getting to France, how would he combat the might and strength and indeed the brutality of the smugglers, who would kill anyone who tried to interfere with them?
Wivina told herself that her love had just been a dream, a brief ray of light in the darkness of her life, which now that it was extinguished made her feel even more alone and despairing than she had been before.
For one enchanted moment she had found the man she loved, the man who, incredible though it seemed, loved her.
Then he had gone away as unexpectedly as he had come and there was no future for her except in the hands of Jeffrey Farlow.
Overhead Wivina could hear men giving orders and pulling at the sails, letting them out, she knew, to their full capacity in the hope of catching a breath of wind.
But it was obviously without avail, and a moment later with a sudden constriction of her heart through sheer fear she heard someone clattering down the wooden steps that led to the cabin.
She was afraid of seeing Jeffrey Farlow, but it was in fact one of the smugglers, a taciturn man who had been labouring on one of the farms before he had been pressured into becoming one of the village criminals.
She and Richard watched him apprehensively, but he did not speak to them. When he reached the bottom of the steps he only turned to open a cupboard that was built at the stern end of the cabin.
As he opened the low door, Wivina saw that there were a number of kegs inside and she guessed this was some of the contraband the smugglers were keeping for themselves.
The man lifted a keg onto his shoulder, then more slowly than he had descended, he climbed up again on deck.
“They are going to drink because there is nothing else to do,” Richard suggested.
“They are always drinking to give themselves courage,” Wivina replied. “Mrs. Briggs told me that her nephew never touched a drop of liquor until he became a smuggler and now he comes home drunk and knocks his wife and children about.”
Richard did not reply and she thought perhaps he was thinking of the claret he had drunk when the leopard had dined with them and how they had laughed, talked, and been at ease in a manner which made Wivina feel a glow of warmth even to think of it.
For one moment they had felt free and behaved like normal, civilised people without a dark cloud hovering over them – a cloud of fear.
The lugger was still motionless and now the voices above became louder. Though Wivina could not hear what the men said, she felt that the drink was having its effect on them.
She was sure that their words were slurred, their faces flushed, and they would be lying about perhaps with their backs to the masts or the superstructure, their legs stuck out in front of them, exchanging bawdy remarks with one another.
She knew how much her father would have deprecated such behaviour amongst the younger men in the village who had been decent honest lads until they were led astray by Jeffrey Farlow.
And yet one of them, if not several, had been instrumental in killing her father.
She faced the fact quite fairly and squarely that her father had been murdered because he denounced the smuggling activities of the village, and she knew that the same fate awaited the leopard, should he interfere.
For the first time, instead of praying that he would find them, she prayed that he would not know where they had gone.
‘I love him! Oh, God, keep him safe!’ she murmured beneath her breath.
She told herself that, if anyone had to die, she must be the one to do so, before she was forced into marriage with Jeffrey Farlow.
And yet, how? By what means could she take her life?
Almost as though in answer to her question she heard a sudden commotion up on deck and there was a splash over the side.
Then a man was being cursed for something he had done.
She had no idea what it was, but there was no mistaking the voice of Jeffrey Farlow speaking indignantly and roughly as if he was incensed.
Wivina listened and Richard was listening too, when they heard once again footsteps coming down towards the cabin.
It was a different man from the one who had come before.
This time it was Clem, Mrs. Briggs’s nephew, who had carried Wivina aboard.
His face was red and he looked rather more stupid than usual and Wivina was sure that what drink he had taken had been too much for him.
He did not look at her and she thought he was ashamed. He went to the cupboard as the other smuggler had done and took out another keg.
He set it down at the foot of the steps, and then turning towards the bench on which they were sitting, he pulled out a drawer that was fitted beneath it.
Watching him, Wivina saw him hesitate, then he took out a long-barrelled pistol and inserted it into the belt he wore round his waist.
Still without looking at Wivina or Richard, he picked up the keg, put it on his shoulder and climbed up the wooden steps.
“Clem must have dropped his pistol overboard,” Richard said, which was just what Wivina had thought herself. “That is why Farlow was cursing him.”
“He has had too much to drink,” Wivina said in a low voice.
Richard did not speak for a moment, then he said almost in a whisper,
“Perhaps there is more than one pistol in that drawer.”
Wivina stared at him.
“You look,” Richard said, still almost beneath his breath. “They might hear me moving about and become suspicious.”
Wivina rose to her feet and on tiptoe moved along the cabin to the drawer that Clem had left half open.
She pulled it a little wider and saw that Richard had been right.
There were quite a number of pistols in the drawer, some of them large and bulky, and some of them lighter like those the men wore in their belts.
She stood looking at them for a moment, then took the smallest she could see.
“Bullets!” she heard Richard whisper and she found them in a package of greased paper in a corner of the drawer.
She took two and carried them and the pistol back to her brother.
“Do you know how to load it?” she asked.
“Of course!”
He inserted a bullet into the chamber, then tried to put the pistol in his pocket. But it was too large and after a struggle he held it helplessly in his hand.
Then he said to Wivina,
“You must carry it under your cloak. He will not see it there.”
She did not argue, but merely took the pistol from him and he slipped the spare bullet into his pocket.
He had hardly done so when once again there were footsteps on the stairway and Wivina looked round to see with a sudden sinking of her heart the polished Hessians that Jeffrey Farlow wore to imitate the gentleman.
He came down rather slowly into the cabin and, because she was so frightened of him, she thought that his face was that of a devil as he looked at her.
“I’m afraid the crossing is going to take longer than I anticipated,” he said, “and there’s no food aboard. Would you like a drink?”
“No – thank you,” Wivina said quickly.
“What about you, my young cock?” Jeffrey Farlow asked Richard. “You’re old enough to enjoy a dram or two.”
“We neither of us wish to drink contraband liquor,” Wivina said coldly.
Jeffrey Farlow laughed.
“It warms your belly whether duty’s been paid on it or not, Little Miss Prude!” he scoffed. “Well, I’ll give you a slap-up meal in Roscoff when we do arrive.”
“Is that where we are going?” Richard asked.
“A home away from home,” Jeffrey Farlow answered. “You’ll be able to go through the warehouses and I’ll treat you to anything you fancy.”
He was looking at Wivina as he spoke, but she turned her face away from him, vividly conscious that under her cloak she held the pistol hidden in her skirts.
She was wondering what would happen if she fired it at him. If she killed him, would the smugglers take th
em home or would they wreak vengeance on her and Richard for losing their leader?
She dared not take the chance of finding out.
Besides, everything that was sensitive in her shrank from taking life, even the life of Jeffrey Farlow.
“You’ll not find me ungenerous,” he was saying, as if he was following the train of his own thoughts, “and I might, if you ask me nicely, build you a house at Roscoff. That way you’d have one on each side of the Channel! What do you say to that?”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Wivina said proudly. “You had no right to bring us here, and let me say again, I would rather die than marry you!”
“You’ll marry me,” Jeffrey Farlow said. “I’ve wanted you a long time, Wivina, and you ought to know by now that I always get what I want.”
“I loathe you!” she exclaimed violently.
He chuckled.
“I’ll teach you to love me. All women want a master and that’s what you’ve found in me.”
He looked at her as he spoke, but she dared not meet his eyes. What she saw only revolted her and made her feel as if he was already touching her. She wanted to scream at the sheer terror of it.
She thought he took a step forward almost as if he would put his arms round her. Then, as if he had changed his mind, he smiled unpleasantly at them both and then walked back towards the stairway.
“If you prefer to go thirsty that’s your look-out,” he said. “But if you change your minds, give me a shout.”
He climbed the steps as he spoke and with a sigh of relief Wivina saw the last glimmer of his polished boots as he disappeared above.
She turned to look at Richard.
“Why did you not shoot the swine?” he asked.
“I thought of it,” Wivina answered, “but I was too afraid of what the smugglers would then do to us.”
“Perhaps I had better have a pistol too,” Richard suggested.
“There is nowhere for you to hide it,” Wivina answered. “I will keep this one concealed, and I meant it, Richard, when I said that I would kill myself rather than marry him!”
Richard did not speak, but Wivina thought that he went very pale.
Then after a moment he asked almost savagely,
Love and the Loathsome Leopard Page 12