by Summer Devon
Robin didn’t sound disgusted by the thought of manly affection, so Bea must not have added a prurient note to her remarks. What a pity she might be wrong—Carne wasn’t interested in allowing anyone to know him after all. Still Phillip felt a warm rush of gratitude that the bar owner didn’t seem the vengeful sort. “Did Mrs. Pollard say anything else?”
“I don’t think so. We were tired, and it was a long day. And of course quite exciting too,” he hastily added, as if Phillip might be insulted by the slur on his adventure.
Robin clapped his hands. “Ho, hey, professor! I have an idea! Stop the vehicle.”
Phillip applied the brakes. “Calm yourself, Master Robin. Whatever is the matter?”
Robin bounced on the edge of his seat, then grimaced as if he had hit a supporting bar. “I have a plan. You must do this, because who knows how much longer he’ll be ill, and I want to be there when he sees you.”
“I assume you mean Mitchell the son?”
“Ha! He’ll think you’re a ghost. It will be fantastical. You must, please.”
Phillip had every reason in the world to eschew such a childish prank and get his arse out of town as Carne had commanded. But apparently there was just enough of a schoolboy left in him to want to see Mitchell blanch at the sight of him back from the grave. “All right. We’ll pay a visit to Frank Mitchell Junior.”
A few minutes later, they tramped a long path parallel to the beach, leaving the motorcar behind. Robin had reminded him, “We don’t want him to hear that engine. Nothing else in Par Gywnear sounds like your vehicle.”
The Mitchell cottage was larger than Carnes’s, but the roof sagged and tall weeds grew around it. “They don’t bother keepin’ things nice,” Robin whispered. “All the more reason to think they’re going to leave, eh? A widower and his bachelor son. There’s nothing holding them here.”
Phillip wondered how this persuasive young idiot had talked him into this. What would Carne say if he knew that Phillip still lingered and was spying on the man who’d left them trapped in a cave? Phillip gripped the heavy wrench he’d grabbed from among the motorcar’s tools.
Carne would have had plenty to say about reckless fools or stupid actions, no matter that the idea of scaring the devil out of Mitchell immensely appealed to Phillip. He could see himself explaining to Carne and watching that reluctant smile dawn on the rugged face. Oh God, Phillip’s heart squeezed with actual pain. No. He would not indulge in sorrow. A drop of water landed on his cheek. Could he actually be crying and not even notice? No.
He looked up. The day had clouded over entirely. “It’s starting to rain,” he whispered to Robin.
“I’m going to go looking for him. Hold on.” Robin slipped soundlessly away, leaving Phillip alone to contemplate the idiocy of this move. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave Par Gwynear Not now. Not yet.
He heard muffled shouting—the younger Mitchell’s voice. Robin came tearing around the corner, eyes wide. Phillip raised the iron tool, ready to take care of the blighter behind him, but no one appeared.
“Where is he?” Phillip asked.
“Locked in the shed. He heard me and thought I was his father. He started bellowing something fierce.”
“Smart of you to lock him up.”
“I didn’t. Someone else has. Come along, I’ll show you.”
Phillip and Robin walked around the back of the house. Near the noisome privy stood a sturdy stone shed with a roof of gray-green Cornish slate. Unlike most of the property, the shed looked well maintained, and it had a heavy lock on the door that looked almost new.
“Tas?” Mitchell’s voice was muffled by the shed’s walls. “You have to let me out.”
“No,” Robin called out. “I’m not your father. It’s Robin.”
“Robin? Are you alone?”
“Why are you locked up?”
“Of course you’re alone. Naturally no one useful would show up,” Mitchell grumbled. “What are you doing lurking around here, you doyta? Never mind, never mind.” He sounded out of breath. “Let me out. We have to get help as soon as we can. Call on Trennick or that new irritating fellow, Bea’s young man. Someone strong. It might be too late, but we have to get help.”
Robin mimed wide-eyed surprise at Phillip, then shouted, “Why?”
“Those idiots, Treleaven and his professor. Hasn’t anyone noticed they’re gone? They’re stuck in a cave. It’s probably too late for them, but we have to get help. Don’t get Jacobs. He’s with Gwalather.”
“First you tell me why you’re locked up?”
“Damnation, Robin Hammett, you addled boba, get help!”
“After you tell me who put you in that shed.”
A long silence. “My father. He didn’t want me going for help because…because…” Mitchell’s voice broke. A moment later, he sounded like his usual irritable self, “Never mind. Come now, boy, just open the damned door if you can. Or run fast and get someone who’ll be of use.”
A fine drizzle misted them, but occasional gusts of wind promised worse. Phillip glanced toward the place where they’d hidden his motorcar. “I’ll go get something,” he told Robin. It would give him a chance to cover the poor vehicle.
“Who’s that?” Mitchell shouted.
Robin raised his brows at Phillip, who nodded back. They both believed Mitchell told the truth. “It is I, Mr. Singleton,” Phillip called. “We thought you’d abandoned us to our fate. I beg your pardon for thinking so ill of you.”
“You’re not dead!” Mitchell sounded almost annoyed. “By Christ, I thought I had your death on my conscience. You’re safe,” he said, and now he sounded closer to happy.
“Yes, and I’m going to go find a way to release you.”
“Then we should find Carne,” Robin said. “He’ll know what to do.”
Phillip kept his voice low. “I’m not sure that’s a—”
“Aye,” Mitchell called. “’Tis a good idea. Thank the Lord he’s alive. He’ll have a plan. But first I tear Gwalather to little pieces and stomp on the remains.”
Now Robin said, “Oh no, that’s not a—”
Mitchell shouted on, the door shuddering from the strength of his shoulder battering against it. “Gwalather has turned my own father against me!”
“And you’ll see justice done, but now is the time to calm yourself and make a plan.” Phillip pried once more on the hasp the lock was bolted through, and with a sudden screech, nails parted from wood. The door popped open, and Mitchell stumbled out with a roar. He was unshaven, shaggy-haired, unwashed, and as angry as a badger emerging from its den.
He glared at Phillip and then at Robin, who edged back a step. “I’m going to kill him,” he repeated, and started to charge forward.
Phillip put up his hand to stop him. “Gwalather is with your father on a boat right now. Why don’t you take the opportunity to get yourself some food and drink and tell us everything that transpired after you left the cave?”
Mitchell paused, nodded, and shambled toward the house, leaving them to follow or not. Entering the Mitchell’s domicile was akin to walking into a sardine tin. As spacious as the house appeared from the outside, the inside was crowded with piles of junk to maneuver around. A pair of trolls might live here.
Mitchell got a bottle from a cupboard and drank straight from it. Phillip winced. The last thing they needed was a drunken angry man. Then he uncovered a loaf of bread and began to rip off bits and jam them into his mouth.
He gestured with a piece of bread as he spoke. “I went to my father to help figure out how to get you rescued without letting the whole village see Gwalather’s stash.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “Should’ve gone straight to the tavern, but I thought my tas would have a plan how we could save you but keep the loot private.”
“But he was in on it with Gwalather and didn’t tell you,” Robin chimed in. “I’m not sorry for you. All of you were hidin’ things from the rest of us. Serves you right you got double-crossed.”
<
br /> “Shut up, you green-eared tacker,” Mitchell snapped.
Possessing more excitement than good sense, Robin forged on. “And you wanted to keep the rest of the stuff from us too, else you wouldn’t have gone straight to your tas, you great dobeck! Should’ve left you locked in the shed.”
Mitchell growled, literally, and took a menacing step toward the youth.
Phillip stepped between them. “No one’s a dobeck or a green-eared tacker. Calm yourselves and let’s behave like gentlemen, shall we?” He looked from one to the other. “I believe we’re all in agreement the, ah, imported goods should have been shared and that Carne and I shouldn’t have been left to die in a cave. Most definitely the second. But we may progress rationally to a way to divide the spoils that’s fair to everyone. Receiving some sort of recompense from Gwalather rather than a knife to his throat would be a much more logical response, wouldn’t it?”
Mitchell lifted his lip in a snarl, but Phillip continued. “All the free trading that takes place in Par Gwynear is illegal by the crown’s standards. It’s not as if one might go to court to seek restitution for breaking a deal, so you must work together to come up with a fair solution for all, including the original, um, supplier.”
Robin gazed at him. “My, you have a fancy manner of speaking.”
“Giss on, Professor,” Mitchell muttered before taking another bite of bread.
“Quite right,” Phillip agreed.
“He told you not to talk rubbish,” Robin interpreted.
“I don’t believe I am. At the heart, isn’t it money you crave over revenge? We’ll gather Carne and one or two of the others, then meet your father and Gwalather when they come ashore and find a compromise. Recall I have been badly used by them. They would have left me to die, and yet I’m willing to forgive and forget, well, perhaps not the latter. But I am willing to find a solution that doesn’t involve violence. ”
Mitchell took another drink from the bottle and slammed it on the counter. “Let’s go.”
Phillip noted that he never agreed to eschew violence, but he’d said all he could to convince the man. Perhaps having other level heads involved in the negotiation would keep young Mitchell in check.
Carne again. Was Phillip ready to see him? That last encounter had transpired less than two hours ago, so the answer to that might be a no.
They emerged from the dirty hovel to a sky roiling with rain clouds. The light drizzle had turned steadier. Phillip turned up his collar and winced at the drenching his poor vehicle was about to receive. “We should wait until…” he began, but Mitchell was already striding away—not in the direction of Carne’s house but toward the sea.
“Wait. I thought we agreed.” He trotted alongside the man.
“You talked. I agreed to nothing.” Mitchell hunched his shoulders and moved faster.
Robin fell in alongside Phillip, both of them trailing after the angry bull.
“No stopping a Mitchell once it gets an idea in its head,” Robin said. “Don’t worry, Professor Singleton. We’ll figure something out.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Once Phillip drove away, Carne had no reason to linger in his house. He quickly picked up the rest of the wreckage and then had to get clear of the place where every room had a memory of Phillip imprinted on it. There was the business with Gwalather to tend to. He’d start with that.
But as he hiked over the brow of the hill from where he could see most of Par Gwynear and the harbor below, Carne spotted a ship that had dropped anchor at the mouth of the cove. This was the ship the Concern had been expecting and which he’d once worried Phillip might raise questions about when it arrived.
How long ago it seemed he’d been afraid of the town’s secret leaking to an outsider, when actually it had been only a matter of days. They’d become so close so quickly that, by the end, Carne would have been willing to confide almost anything in the man from London. The speed with which he’d fallen should have told him his feelings were not to be trusted. He’d had an intense and surprising fling with a stranger, no more than that. And now he must put it firmly behind him and focus on business again.
He strode through the drizzle, past the road that led north to Truro. Phillip would be on that road now and getting wet in his open motorcar. What a foolish, impulsive man to drive such a vehicle all over the countryside. That road also led to the old mine where someone might still be watching for Gwalather to return. But likely most of the folks from the village would be down at the shore by now, not only the charter members of the Concern, but everyone. Carne was surprised no one had sounded the horn announcing the ship’s arrival, but perhaps he’d simply missed hearing it with his head stuck down a hole of misery and pathetic self-pity.
He trudged down the steep path to the beach—the last time he’d walked such a path was with Phillip by his side, the pair of them hauling that ridiculous camera equipment to the shallow inlet where no ship ever came. Carne shut the memory from his mind. Below, many of the villagers had gathered on the beach. Those with skiffs rowed out to the ship to transport however much cargo they could load. The rest waited, ready to carry crates to their storage spot.
The opening to this cave, the one Carne had never shown Phillip, was well hidden behind a rocky outcropping in the opposite direction from the scenic places he had guided him to. It was also some distance from the Mitchell family’s private territory. It galled Carne that Gwalather and Mitchell had carried on gunrunning and who knew what other filthy trade right under his nose. He cared much more about that than the other items Gwalather had hidden for himself. He would make the man pay for it, not by turning him in—smugglers didn’t peach on each other—but by forcing him to give the village its due. But at the moment, he had his own illegal business to tend to.
Carne waved hello to Dolly Bright, the Hennessy sisters, and some of the other women who waited on shore for the men to haul in the cargo. These were strong Cornishwomen with the muscle to carry hundred-pound crates or barrels between them. Their skirts were hiked high and their sleeves rolled to the elbows as they stood with folded arms, chatting together, waiting for the men to row back to shore.
Children and barking dogs ran around several driftwood fires lit to keep the chill at bay and guide the boats to shore as the sky grew ever darker in the midst of day. Some dug clams at the water’s edge and buried them again in the hot sand by the fires to bake for lunch. Everyone had a job to do, even the elderly, who sat and talked and offered drinks of water or beer from a keg brought down to the beach. These were all Carne’s friends and neighbors. His village—or what remained of it now that most young people like Robin went to seek their future in the city. To think, just for a brief moment, he’d imagined leaving such familiar company to travel to faraway places. Ridiculous. This was his home and where he belonged, like it or not.
“Glad you’ve come.” Old Bob Mumford greeted him from his chair near the fire. “Most are out already, and a good thing too, as this storm is rolling in fast.”
Carne cast another glance at the glowering sky that made the water dark gray and the waves turbulent. A rough day to ferry goods from ship to shore, but they had little control over when a ship came in. After receiving written notice from their contact in France, the village could only keep watch for the day or night the ship was sighted offshore. Carne had spotted this one far out as he and Phillip sailed to Kynance Cove the other day, so he’d guessed it would reach them in a day or so.
Kynance Cove… He dragged his mind away from what had happened there. But it was hard to avoid the memories when they were still so fresh. Only yesterday morning, Carne had been with Phillip. Sensations pelted him, stronger than the rain now peppering his skin. Insane that he had done such things with such abandon. He hardly recognized himself in that memory.
No time for daydreams. He saw Billy Crowder pulling his large rowboat into the water and went to join him. It would take both of them to steer the craft to the waiting ship and load it.
“Bad day for a shipment,” Billy remarked. “It’ll be henting soon.”
“Aye, quite a squall,” Carne agreed as rain whipped his face and waves buffeted the boat.
They avoided another cluster of rocks the push of water and wind tried to run the boat onto and reached the large ship anchored in deep water. The crew on deck lowered crates over the side to the small boats bobbing near the hull. Usually the cove waters were calm enough to make offloading fairly easy. In today’s rough water, it was difficult for the skiffs to remain close enough to the ship. A crate lowered in a cradle of ropes from above plummeted as wet rope slipped through the crewman’s hands. The men waiting with hands outstretched yelled as the heavy crate fell. One dove out of the way while the other attempted to steady it and missed. The crate landed in the boat with a crash.
Billy grunted. “He’ll be takin’ on water now.”
Delivering a string of blistering curses, the men pushed off and rowed away from the ship. Trennick and Bart Smith. Carne identified them as they passed. He wondered if anyone still watched over the mine for Gwalather to return and realized he didn’t really care. Maybe it would be best, as Phillip had said, if Gwalather and Jacobs simply left town quietly with their loot.
A couple more boats were loaded without difficulty before another accident occurred. Miscalculation and an unexpected swell driving the skiff away from the ship caused a crate to land in the water. Cursing French sailors tried to haul it up while the men in the boat leaned as far over the edge as they dared to grab for it, but the crate slipped out of its rope cradle and plunged into the water. More shouted curses in French and English sounded over rumbling thunder and the crash of waves against the rocks. The crate might be retrieved later, but if it had split open on underwater rocks, the goods would likely be ruined.