Late Harvest

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  But there might of course be someone down in the cave.

  I had come too far to turn back without making sure. If I couldn’t deliver my warning then I couldn’t, but I had to try to the bitter end. I went to the cliff edge and found the start of the path.

  The path was a good ten or twelve feet wide and basically rock, with only a thin covering of soil and grass. The west wind was steady but not violent. It was safe enough.

  It didn’t feel safe, though. The drop on my left was sheer, and it was a long way down to that wrinkled moonlit sea and the vicious rock fangs that jutted from it, with white spray spurting over them. That edge seemed to draw me, as though the emptiness below wanted me to fill it. Wanted to swallow me whole. The night seemed huge and dangerous. It was a monster that could consume me at a gulp and notice it. I felt small and lost and giddy and terrified.

  But having started, I went on, not walking so much as creeping, keeping close to the other steep face, the one that rose on my right, sweating with fear, feeling my legs tremble.

  I did it for Ralph, not for my oath. Not because I yearned to make love to him, either. No such idea had as much as touched my mind. I wanted to save him from those convict ships. Even those who would condemn me would, I felt sure, have done as much for a loved one. Well, wouldn’t they?

  It seemed a very long way down. But at last I was there, stepping down on to a tiny patch of beach and there was the sea, only yards away, seething over a reef of rocks. I couldn’t tell what the tide was doing. I crossed the little stretch of sand and then stumbled as the ground beneath my feet turned to shingle. I landed on all fours amid big rounded stones and then, scrambling to my feet, I saw a slope of shingle just above me, and there was the cave mouth above that. Then someone was there, coming out of it, staring downwards, demanding angrily: ‘Who’s there? Who is it?’

  I stood up straight. One knee felt as if it had been skinned but I didn’t care, for surely I had recognized the voice and at least this was no Revenue officer. ‘It’s Peggy Bright! I came to warn you! Don’t land anything tonight! Is that Daniel Hopton?’

  ‘Peggy Bright? But what …?’ He was scrambling down. He came close to me, peering into my face in the moonlight. ‘What’s that? Come to warn us? What are you on about?’

  ‘You are Daniel, aren’t you? Daniel Hopton? Don’t land a cargo tonight! The Revenue are on to you! My husband heard it from Benjamin Hartley. You know, the Riding Officer!’

  ‘What?’

  Exasperated and still shaking after my creep down that horrible cliff path, I snapped: ‘Benjamin Hartley told my husband they know about it – isn’t that enough? They saw men being interested in the cave, I suppose, or saw someone clearing rubble off that path or … oh, never mind that.’ Why was Daniel Hopton so slow of wit? ‘The point is that you’re all in danger. Where’s Mr Duggan – Ralph Duggan?’

  ‘On ’un’s way back from Lundy Roads, that’s where he be! Oh, dear heaven, what a tangle!’

  Evading the Law

  ‘Lundy Roads!’ I gasped rather than said it. ‘But that’s hours away! If he went out there tonight …’

  ‘No, he went this mornin’,’ said Hopton. ‘Went off at nine in the Moonlight.’

  ‘And when is Mr Duggan due back? There is to be a landing tonight?’

  ‘Aye. He was to meet a French vessel in Lundy Roads soon as it got dark, transfer the goods and start for here. Some Frenchies are still scared of coming near the English mainland,’ said Hopton. ‘Revenue’ll put a shot through their rigging as soon as look at ’em, if they find one hangin’ round here, and board ’em and grab any cargo they think’s contraband. So Mr Ralph had to go out to Lundy.’

  ‘Does Sir Aubrey Hunt know?’ I asked, bemused.

  ‘Dunno. He hasn’t interfered. Been bribed, maybe, or just don’t realize. There’s always ships anchoring in the Roads, Lundy keeps them sheltered from the Atlantic winds and they can wait for the tide if they’re heading for Barnstaple or whatnot. Sandbanks outside Barnstaple – some bigger ships can only cross at high tide. Mr Duggan, likely enough, just waited in the Roads till dusk.’ Hopton shrugged.

  ‘Where will the Moonlight be now?’

  ‘Well on her way here. Got a following wind.’

  ‘If the landing takes place, you’ll all be caught. I could only get here to warn you because my husband’s away tonight. The Revenue’ll be here any minute – either by sea, or else they’ll send a squad to get you at the clifftop. I don’t know the details. Mr Hartley mentioned the Harpy. But they’ll be here, by land or sea or both, and they’ll pounce.’

  ‘There’ll be nothing for them to pounce on up top,’ said Hopton. ‘We’re getting the goods up in two stages. Getting them here from Lundy’s a long job and so is getting them up the cliff, though we should make a fair job with it, with a horse and a wheeled trailer the Hathertons knocked together for us. Still, we reckoned it were best to land them one night and take them up the cliff the next. So no one’s bringing a horse and trailer to the clifftop tonight.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that,’ I said. ‘But whether the Revenue come by land or sea, they’ll surely look into the cave. They mustn’t find anything or anyone here.’

  ‘Quiet!’ Hopton suddenly held up a hand. He caught my shoulder and spun me round. ‘Look!’

  He was pointing upwards. I stared and then saw. At the top of the cliff, something moved against the stars, and then I saw the glimmer of a lantern. ‘That’ll be the Revenue!’ I said and realized as I spoke that I could not now get up the cliff and back to Brownie. I was afraid of the climb back but I had known that I must face it and so I would have done – but for this. Now I was trapped.

  In a whisper, I said: ‘How can we warn Mr Duggan? Why were you left here?’

  ‘The goods need to be landed in stages, by gig. I’m here to light a lantern to help guide the boat in. I come here in my own little gig.’ He pointed again, this time to the far edge of the tiny cove, and I saw that a small boat was lying close in, her bows just out of the water. ‘That’s my little Seabird,’ Hopton said.

  ‘We’ll have to go out and meet the Moonlight,’ I said. ‘Warn them not to make the landing.’

  ‘We? You mean you’re comin’?’

  ‘I’ll have to. I can’t go back up, not with the Revenue men waiting at the top! How I’ll get back to my horse, or get home, I don’t know but for the moment, we’ve got to warn Moonlight.’

  The journey out in Seabird was nearly as alarming as the cliff path.

  The fact was, firstly, that although Daniel Hopton was presumably a competent sailor, since he had sailed here on his own, he was in a dither. ‘It’s all these bloody rocks. The passageway in is good and deep but it b’ain’t straight and it is narrow. All right in daylight; pick your moment when the tide’s not full up and a man can see they damned rocks to either side, but in the dark and havin’ to manage the oars …’

  We inched along. Daniel rowed, warily, constantly looking over his shoulder. The gig had a sail, though it couldn’t be used in these conditions. I took charge of the tiller and kept a lookout, and found that even though the moon was only half full, I could generally make out the rocks, most of which were just clear of the water at this point. I could call warnings.

  ‘Straighten her, Daniel!… No, too much to port … Ware rocks!… ’ A rock like a black fang was sticking out of the water, so near that I was sure I could touch it if I stretched. ‘Careful! Shift to starboard …!’

  Daniel was swearing softly, whether at me or himself or the Seabird, I couldn’t tell and didn’t ask. Fortunately, it wasn’t very far and at last we moved into open water. Daniel continued to row for some way and then, after changing course for a while, said: ‘We can anchor here; it’s shallow enough. Nice handy sandbank. We can signal the Moonlight from here. No point trying to sail further out to meet her. We’d have to tack; we might miss her.’

  When we were anchored, he fetched out a tinderbox and lantern from somewhere, li
t the wick and then set the lantern down near his feet. ‘We’ll signal with that when she comes,’ he said.

  As yet, there was nothing to be seen. And so, nothing to do but wait.

  I sat shivering inside my warm clothes. Much of it was the cold of dread, of course. I was far from home, and worrying badly because I could not begin to imagine how I would get back to collect Brownie and be home at Foxwell before James reappeared, or anyone else noticed that I – and Brownie – were missing. I had done something to my life that was irrevocable and probably catastrophic.

  I could do nothing about it. There we sat, rocking on the swell, listening to the sigh of the sea, watching the half-moon travel slowly across the huge, starlit sky and catch the wave tips with its silver light. Constantly, we scanned the water for signs of other vessels. I was looking for the Waterguard or the Harpy as much as for Moonlight. I could see no trace of any of them, though I knew that against the background of the moving water, a rowing galley, with no sails to show against the sky or in the moonlight, would be hard to see at any distance, and so would the Harpy if she was standing off with sails lowered. Moonlight should be easier, for she would come under sail. But as yet, there was only an empty sea.

  In the dimness, Daniel Hopton said: ‘Mrs Bright …’

  ‘Yes, Mr Hopton?’

  ‘There’s something I want to tell ’ee. I think ’ee’ve a right to know, though it can’t make any difference to anyone now. You’ll likely want to push me overside when I tell ’ee, but better not. Unless you want to handle the Seabird alone.’

  ‘Hardly. What’s all this, Mr Hopton?’

  ‘Someone ought to know. Mr Ralph ought to only I can’t get up the nerve to tell ’un, even though I did it for him as much as anyone.’

  ‘Mr Hopton, what on earth – or on sea – are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s funny,’ said Daniel ruminatively. ‘Don’t think I’d ever have got to the point, only it’s kind of queer out here, on the sea, in the moonlight. Nothing’s real, like. It’s as if we’re out of the world. It’s easier to say things. As though they somehow won’t get heard in the everyday.’

  ‘What is it that you want to say, Mr Hopton?

  ‘That Laurence Wheelwright. Someone paid for Maisie Cutler and the case was shelved, but folk are still wondering, was it him, and if it was, how did he manage when he didn’t leave the barn roof? I swore on oath that he never. But he did. For a while. So I think it was him. He made me swear I’d never tell. He said, he knew I was mixed up in smuggling.’

  ‘How did he know that?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, half a dozen ways, I think. He said he’d seen me down at the quay one day, with Mr Hatherton and Mr Josiah Duggan, and Maisie’d told him if he wanted cheap baccy, to ask me about it. You know how it is. More people know about it than don’t, hereabouts.’

  Unexpectedly, Daniel spat over the side. Then he said: ‘Laurence said to me that if I ever told anyone he hadn’t stayed all the time on that there barn roof, he’d split. He’d have me, and the Duggans and the Hathertons and all the rest, in gaol in five minutes, he said. So I said what he wanted. I protected us all – Mr Ralph and his father as well. But I know your engagement was broken, and there’s them that say you and Mr Ralph didn’t want that. I’m sorry.’

  I was silent, thinking of what might have been, and should have been, but for that one lie. But if Laurence Wheelwright had carried out his threat, it would have come to the same thing. I would have lost Ralph.

  I said: ‘It’s all right.’

  Time couldn’t be unravelled; I knew that. For a moment, I had felt a thrust of pain, strong enough to make my stomach muscles clench, but it was fading now. After all, like everyone else, I had long felt sure that Laurence Wheelwright was guilty. I had long suspected that Daniel Hopton, for whatever reason, had perjured himself. He had now told me why. That was all.

  ‘You’ll tell Mr Ralph?’ Daniel asked nervously.

  ‘Do you want him to know?’

  ‘I dunno. But Philip got blamed for Maisie. Best not, perhaps. Don’t know why I told you but there’s something about this empty sea and the moon …’

  ‘The sea’s not so empty,’ I said. ‘Look. Is that Moonlight?’ Daniel got cautiously to his feet, to stare where I was pointing. I said: ‘I won’t tell Ralph Duggan unless somehow need arises. Philip is all right. He’s in Antigua, doing well. Is she the Moonlight?’

  ‘Aye. I reckon.’

  I was on my feet too. The mass of shadow approaching from the south-west was gathering shape.

  ‘But I can’t see her sails,’ I said.

  ‘Black sails, for this work,’ said Daniel, snatching out the lantern from between his feet and holding it high, using a shutter to make what was evidently a coded signal. I could see the vessel’s figurehead now and had realized that above it, a deeper darkness against the night sky, blanking out the stars, was actually a sail. She changed course and came alongside. Daniel shouted: ‘Moonlight ahoy! Seabird here! Daniel Hopton! Danger!’

  There was an answering shout that I couldn’t make out and then the moon showed us a man leaning over the rail above us and then Ralph’s voice said: ‘What is it? What’s wrong, Dan?’

  ‘Ralph! It’s Peggy here! The Revenue are on to you – I came to warn you! There’re Revenue men on the clifftop now!’

  ‘Peggy! How did you get here?’

  Calling, I had moved position to be heard more clearly and I had made the dinghy lurch. Daniel pulled me down and started to call explanations of his own. I stayed seated this time but broke in now and then, with extra details, ending: ‘It’s as likely as not that the Waterguard are about! You’ve got to get away from here! You mustn’t go through with the landing!’

  ‘Have I got it right, Peggy? You’ve left a horse in Culbone Woods and can’t get back to it?’

  ‘Yes. I had to come down the cliff. There was no one at the top to warn. I just hoped I’d find someone at the bottom! I found Daniel!’

  ‘Wait.’

  He withdrew but we could hear him snapping out orders and a voice – I thought it sounded like Luke Hatherton’s – replied. Then he was back, tossing a rope ladder over the side. ‘I’m coming down!’

  A moment later, he had joined us in the gig and was calling up to someone to pull the rope ladder in. He sat down and said: ‘Get that sail up, Dan. We’ve got to get Mrs Bright back to land. Porlock’s nearest. Moonlight’s going to make off towards Steepholm. Hurry!’

  It was done, at remarkable speed. Then the Moonlight was moving away, her dark sails once more set, black against the stars until distance swallowed them. Ralph was getting the Seabird’s anchor up, while Daniel raised her sail. I noticed that this too was dark and would not be easily visible.

  I lent a hand. I could remember, in the past, helping to get up the sails in the Bucket. The business seemed oddly familiar, as though, back then, over fifteen years ago, some part of me had separated from the rest and stayed there. Only part of me, I thought, had journeyed on to marry James and live with him at Foxwell. The rest had remained unchanged, waiting, until need, Ralph’s need, summoned it out of the past.

  When we were under way, Daniel took the tiller. In a low voice, Ralph said: ‘I’ve only understood about half of what Hopton shouted up to me. Now, you tell me all over again, just what happened and how did you come to be here tonight?’

  I told him, as quickly and simply as I could. ‘You shouldn’t have done it!’ he said, horrified. ‘What will James say to this if you don’t get back home in time? Oh, Peggy! I wouldn’t have had you take such a risk for the world! And I’m grateful that you did. I’m lost for words. You should have turned back from the clifftop!’

  ‘I had to do my best. I had to. Where are we going now?’

  ‘Porlock, like I said. Daniel can put us ashore and take this dinghy back to Minehead harbour, where he keeps it. We’ll have to walk back to where you left your horse. It’ll be a long, steep walk, my love, and we have to keep aw
ay from the cliff, though I fancy by the time we get near the danger point, the Revenue men will have given up. It’ll be close on dawn by then. Perhaps you may yet get home in time. I hope so. Why did you do it, Peggy? Risk so much for me?’

  There was a pause. Then I said: ‘You know why. Don’t you?’

  ‘It still like that, is it? Still the same?’

  ‘I wanted to wait. Only, you were so far away and maybe you’d never come back at all – Philip hasn’t. And the years would go by and what would there be for me? People kept saying things like that. My parents. James. So, in the end …’

  ‘I know. Don’t think I’m blaming you.’

  ‘I have the children. I wouldn’t be without them. It’s all so complicated.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be without mine, either. Charlie’s nearly nine now; he’s going to grow up the dead spit of me. Joan’s five, and she favours her mother – and Peggy, Harriet’s a dear soul. I can’t regret marrying her. And we’ve got our twins, too. Ann and Phyllis. There’s no going back.’

  ‘Of course not. But I couldn’t let you be taken – imprisoned – transported. I couldn’t!’ I added: ‘I was terrified, coming down that cliff path. I felt as though the drop over the edge was pulling me towards it! But I had to go on, because I was even more terrified for you.’

  ‘Really?’ Ralph was surprised. ‘But it’s a very good path – wide enough for a big horse!’

  ‘It didn’t feel like that,’ I said in heartfelt tones.

  ‘My poor, gallant Peggy! I can only thank you. And see you safe back to your horse and pray that you get away with this escapade.’

  ‘I hope you get away with it as well. What if the Waterguard see the Moonlight and follow her?’

  ‘She’ll be hard to see, under those black sails,’ said Ralph, and suddenly laughed. ‘But if they do, and chase her, she’ll have the speed of them with this wind. She’ll be away up the channel and slipping out of sight behind Steepholm Island and by the time they get there, there’ll be no sign of her. Then the dawn’ll break and in the distance they’ll maybe catch sight of a ship with red sails seemingly making back from Cardiff, and if they chase her and get close enough to see her name, they’ll find she’s a Danish vessel, carrying a Danish flag.’