by Dawn Harris
‘Well, that is something exciting to tell Richard in my next letter.’ With a sigh, she added, ‘I must tell him about the Saxborough ring too.’ Tears welled in her eyes, and she quickly brushed them away. ‘I keep thinking about Tom - he was such an agreeable boy, with so much to look forward to, and he never had a life at all.’ When I mentioned there was still no sign of wreckage from the yacht, she suggested, ‘Perhaps the French took it to use for smuggling.’ I sat staring into the fire for a moment, not having thought of that.
Around ten Julia sent a message to the stables, where Mudd was waiting. The wind had increased in the past hour, and as I looked out the window at the swaying trees, thinking we were in for another gale, I noticed a faint light bobbing about in the distance. Pointing it out to Julia, I asked what she made of it.
‘It’s probably smugglers,’ she said without interest. As we stood watching, the light suddenly disappeared. ‘Oh well, it’s gone now,’ Julia said.
‘Yes, but it was near Smith’s farm and he’s been hiding smuggled goods on my land. This could be my chance to catch him red-handed—’
‘You’re not going down there at this time of night, surely.’
‘It’s my property, Julia.’
‘I really don’t think you should go. Smugglers don’t take kindly to interference - not from anyone.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep well out of sight. If smuggled goods are being taken on or off my land, I’ll send for the Riding Officer.’ I hoped it wouldn’t be too difficult to find Thorpe at this time of night.
Julia walked out the house with me, and as I took Orlando’s reins from Mudd and climbed into the saddle, she urged, ‘Take good care of her ladyship, Mudd. Come back here if you need help.’
There was enough moonlight for me to see my groom’s eyebrows shoot up, and when I told him what I’d seen and that I intended to find out if Smith was involved, he gazed out towards the coast and said respectfully, ‘I can’t see a light, my lady.’
‘No, it’s gone now, but it was there.’
Waving goodbye to Julia, we set off down the drive and headed for the coast, but on reaching the cliff top, there was still no sign of the light. The south westerly wind was strengthening rapidly, breakers thundered onto the shore, and then the moon emerged from behind a cloud, and I saw what the darkness had kept hidden. A small brig, driven into Hokewell Bay by the gale, was listing badly. I guessed it had struck the underwater ledge that ran along this part of the coast, and that the light I’d seen had come from this vessel, before it began to heel over.
Ferocious, towering waves, whipped up by the wind, smashed into the stricken ship, sending columns of spray hurtling high into the air. Thinking of the men on the brig, I shouted above the wind, one hand clinging to my hat, ‘John, fetch Mr Thorpe. I’ll get help from Smith’s farm.’
‘He’ll be at the inn this time of night, my lady.’
‘His sons might be home. They’ll be of more use than their father.’
As he galloped along the cliff top, I leant down to open the gate at the back of Smith’s farm, walked Orlando through, closed the gate and cantered up to the house. Riding past the pond I saw the water overflowing onto the surrounding grass. I’d caught Smith with smuggled goods at last. But I didn’t stop. The men on the brig were fighting for their lives.
Reaching the farmhouse, I rapped on the door with the top of my riding whip, but did not dismount. Smith opened it, tankard in hand. When he saw me his eyes widened, and he quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, for his clothes were filthy, he stank of ale, and he wouldn’t be much use if he was drunk.
‘Where are your sons?’ I demanded.
‘Well, the young ones are in bed, and my two eldest are out courting.’
I groaned inwardly. ‘Well, you’ll have to do. You have a rope on the farm?’
He eyed me warily. ‘All farmers have ropes, my lady.’
‘Fetch it then. And come with me.’
‘Why? Where are we going?’ When I told him about the brig his face lit up. ‘I’ll fetch my coat, my lady. We can’t let those poor devils drown can we.’ It wasn’t the sailors he was thinking of, as I well knew, but the cargo they carried, and how much money he could make.
I had never seen him move so fast. He was outside in less than a minute, and ran off to the barn, quickly returning with a long rope.
‘What do you use that for?’ I asked.
‘I always has a good rope my lady, in case of shipwrecks,’ he told me innocently. ‘What with me being so near the coast.’ I had no doubt he used it for hauling tubs up the cliff, but I said nothing. He looked up at me, a hint of slyness creeping into his voice, ‘My wife’s sending one of the boys to the village to rouse the good folk there, so there’s no need for you to stay, my lady. What I mean is, there’ll be things not fit for you to see. Dead bodies aren’t a pretty sight.’
‘Don’t waste your breath, Smith. I’ve no intention of going home.’ He glowered and protested, only quietening down when he saw I meant what I said.
I didn’t tell him I’d sent Mudd to find the Riding Officer, fearing he would refuse to come, for Thorpe would stop any looting of cargo. I made Smith keep up with me as I rode back across the farm, going just fast enough to force him to run, still carrying the heavy rope.
When we reached the cliff top he was gasping for breath, and I stopped for a moment. The wind, still increasing in strength, nearly tore my hat off. The ship was leaning at a perilous angle now, being pounded by monstrous seas. As I watched, one wave bigger than all the rest sent it clean over on its side.
Moonlight illuminated things I will never forget, and would have given much not to see. Men struck by pieces of wreckage, others jumping into the water, or engulfed by gigantic breakers, and worst of all, the piercing screams carried to us by the gale.
Smith yelled above the wind, ‘This is no place for you, my—’
‘I told you before, I’m staying.’
‘You shouldn’t be out alone this time of night.’
I stared down at him. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Not me, my lady. I’m just thinking of your safety.’
I didn’t answer him. There was something red in the sea about half way between the ship and us. I shouted, ‘There’s a man in the water.’ I pointed, and saw from his face that he’d spotted the man too. ‘Come on,’ I urged. ‘Let’s get down to the beach.’
The chine at Hokewell Bay was almost directly behind Smith’s farm and we were soon on the sands. Orlando was used to the beach, and the thundering of the waves didn’t worry him. He wouldn’t let me down. Smith was a different matter, yet he was the only hope this man had. I would do what I could, but I didn’t have a man’s strength, and that’s what was needed here.
As we hurried along the beach Smith drew my attention to two bodies floating face down in the water. We couldn’t help them, and if they had tried to swim ashore and failed, what chance did this other man have?
I ordered Smith to give me the rope, and he handed it up, quite unconcerned. I tied one end round the pommel of my sidesaddle just as Smith, who was watching the breakers, yelled, ‘There he is, coming in on a wave.’
This was what I had been hoping for. Only as everyone who lived on this coast well knew, the wave might bring him in, but the savage undertow would just as quickly drag him back out again. I’d heard many tales of men who thought themselves safely on shore, only to be viciously drawn back into the sea and never seen again. It had almost happened to me too, after Smith felled me with that piece of cliff.
Now this man was fighting for his life as I had done, and I was determined he would survive. I gave Smith the other end of the rope, urging him to tie it round his waist. ‘When the wave brings that man in,’ I shouted, ‘grab him.’
‘Me?’ he gulped, his eyes almost popping out of his head. ‘I c-cant. The undertow will get me. I’ll drown.’
‘Not if you tie the rope securely. Orlando wi
ll pull you back if you get into trouble.’
He began to bluster, ‘But - but - I’ll have to take my shirt off, and that wouldn’t be seemly in front of your ladyship.’
‘This is a crisis Smith, and I am willing to put up with it.’
He stood there, ashen-faced in the moonlight, wringing his hands. ‘I can’t do it by myself. I can’t.’
‘You won’t be on your own, Smith. I’m here.’
He was visibly shaking, but he didn’t try to run off, knowing I would stop him. ‘If you don’t help this man he’ll drown like the others.’
Smith turned to me, his eyes stretched wide with terror. ‘I don’t care if he drowns. He’s nothing to me, is he. I’ve got a wife and ten children to feed. I’m not going in that water.’
‘For once in your life Smith, do something useful. You won’t drown. Orlando and I will keep you safe.’ He watched the breakers thundering relentlessly onto the beach, looked back at me, and quite suddenly, his legs buckled under him, and he sank onto the sand in a crumpled heap. He had fainted.
He was safe enough for the minute, and slipping from the saddle, I picked up the coil of rope Smith had dropped, and walked Orlando close to the water’s edge, where terrifying, mountainous waves crashed onto the sand with such force I could feel the power of them through the very soles of my feet. Orlando whinnied a little in alarm, and I put my head against his to calm him.
As the next big wave rose and rushed towards us, I gazed out past it to where I’d last seen the man swimming. The wind kept blowing my hair across my face, but I caught a brief glimpse of red, losing sight of him once more as the next wave began to draw itself up to a terrifying height. I glanced up at the empty cliff top, wishing Thorpe would make haste, and as the sea receded, walked a yard or two forward on the wet sand.
My skirts, already sodden from the spray, clung to my legs and the wind had finally claimed my hat, sending it flying toward the cliffs like a large exotic bird. I waited anxiously, moving my feet constantly to stop them sinking into the wet sand. The wave began to curl over at the top, slowly at first, before racing forward at a frightening speed, sweeping the man in. I knew I only had this one chance to save him.
The terror I’d felt when I’d almost drowned on this beach, the despair, the bursting lungs, were all so vivid in my mind, I ran a little further into the foaming sea, and as he hurtled forward, I threw the rope towards him with every ounce of strength I possessed. Turning quickly, I hastened back to the water’s edge, still clinging to Orlando reins.
Somehow the man caught the rope, and he hung onto it, even when the savage undertow strove to drag him back into the sea. Hundreds of little stones and shells rocketed past him through the wet sand into the bottom of the next breaker, but the instant that wave began to curl over, I walked Orlando slowly away from the sea, pulling the man safely onto the shore.
The seaman lay on his back gasping for breath, his chest heaving. Kneeling beside him, I rolled his body over, and when he finally stopped coughing and spluttering, I helped him to sit up. He began thanking me volubly in French, speaking far too quickly, the wind whipping away much of what he said. Father had not had a flair for languages, and having educated me himself, French was not my strong point either. I looked back out to sea for more survivors, and the man shook his head at me, using a word I recognised.
‘Mort?’ I repeated, and he nodded. I thought they probably were all dead, as he said; it was incredible that anyone had survived at all.
He started talking again, and I was trying to make sense of it when Mudd and Mr Reevers galloped onto the beach. Mr Reevers, having bumped into Mudd on his way home, had come to help. ‘Thorpe’s not far behind with his men.’
‘It’s too late I think,’ I said. ‘This Frenchman says all the others are dead.’
Mr Reevers glanced at the two bodies, then at Smith, a perplexed expression on his face. ‘Isn’t that your bad tenant?’
‘Regrettably,’ I admitted.
‘Is he hurt?’
‘No. He fainted.’
At which point Smith came to with a groan, sat up, scratched his head, looked at the sea, remembered why he was there, and leapt up. To stop him running off, I directed him to take Orlando up to the top of the beach and look after him.
When the Frenchman began talking again, Mr Reevers answered him in fluent French, before turning to me. ‘He says you saved his life.’
‘I threw him a rope, that’s all. Fortunately he held on to it.’
Eyeing me thoughtfully, he looked at the breakers crashing onto the sand, and said, ‘He wishes to express his gratitude.’
‘Tell him I was glad to do it.’ He was a Frenchman, and our enemy, but I could not have stood by and watched him drown.
The Frenchman told Mr Reevers the captain had been washed overboard by a huge wave. The brig had come from Bordeaux, and was breaking up when he left it. He thought the cargo, French wine, would be lost too. Not the news Smith hoped to hear. Nor was that the end of Smith’s troubles on this night, although he didn’t yet know it.
Heavy clouds began to obscure the moon just as Thorpe came onto the beach with eight men, all carrying flaming torches. I quickly apprised him of the situation, and he asked the Frenchman a few questions, with Mr Reevers’s assistance. The man was shivering uncontrollably now, and Mr Reevers said to Thorpe, ‘If I take him back to Ledstone, you can interrogate him in the morning.’ This being agreed, Mr Reevers explained it all to the sailor, then bowed in my direction. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’
Only then did I become conscious that my clothes were saturated, and my hair a mass of knotted tangles. Mr Reevers must have noticed too, but all he said was, ‘I hope to see you soon in happier circumstances.’ Climbing into the saddle, he reached down and hauled the Frenchman up behind him as if he weighed no more than a baby.
When I told Thorpe I believed Smith had smuggled goods in his pond, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. ‘Is that so, ma’am?’ He glanced towards my tenant, cowering further along the beach. ‘I must keep watch for bodies or cargo coming ashore. Still there’s no reason why I can’t deal with Smith first.’ He smiled, a look of understanding in his eyes. ‘Would you like to witness what happens, ma’am?’
‘I would,’ I returned emphatically. I was wet and shivering with cold, but I had waited a long time for this moment, and I had no intention of missing it now.
Thorpe beckoned to Smith, who reluctantly led Orlando over. As I took the reins, the Riding Officer told Smith, ‘I’m going to search your farm for contraband.’
‘What now?’ I could hear the panic rising in his voice.
‘Yes,’ Thorpe said. ‘Right now.’
‘B-but it’s too dark. And the moon won’t come out again, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s clouded right over. Best come back in the morning.’
‘You’re forgetting my men have come equipped,’ Thorpe said, indicating the flaming torches.
‘But you need them here. Saving lives is what you should be doing. Lives is more important than tubs of brandy Mr Thorpe, even if they are Frenchies. Besides, I haven’t got anything hidden on my farm.’
‘In that case, you have nothing to worry about, have you.’
Smith whined, ‘It’s all right for you, but I’ve got to get up early in the morning.’
‘Then the sooner we start the better.’
CHAPTER TWENTYTWO
Thorpe called his men together, left two on the beach to watch for bodies or cargo coming ashore, before leading the others up the chine and through the gate on to Smith’s farm. I followed on horseback, accompanied by Mudd. Smith, although concerned by this development, wasn’t as anxious as I’d expected, convinced perhaps that no-one would think of looking in the pond. But when the Riding Officer headed straight for it, I thought Smith was going to faint again. Thorpe’s men circled the pond, holding the flaming torches aloft to give the best light, at which point Smith gave up protesting his innocence.
‘Who
informed on me?’ he demanded angrily. ‘I’ve a right to know.’
Thorpe glanced at me, and I said, ‘You’ve forfeited whatever rights you had Smith. But you may as well know -- I informed Mr Thorpe.’
‘You?’ he gasped. ‘But - how -’ I told him what I’d noticed about his pond, the sediment being higher than it should have been, that the water was sometimes quite low, yet at other times it overflowed, which it was doing now.
‘It was quite simple really,’ I said, not bothering to hide my satisfaction. ‘I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed me.’ He glared up at me, sullen and uncommunicative now. ‘Still, you needn’t worry about your wife and children. They will do very much better without you. And it’s not just hiding smuggled goods you have to worry about. Attempted murder is a capital offence, and- ------’
‘Murder?’ he echoed, startled and alarmed. ‘That had nothing to do with me. It was those Guernsey smugglers who threatened to throw you over the cliff. I didn’t know anything about that until----‘
‘I’m not talking about that. When I was on Hokewell beach you knocked me out with a chunk of cliff and I nearly drowned.’
I heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘You said that was an accident----’ I explained why I knew it wasn’t and his voice rose with fear. ‘That wasn’t me, I swear.’
‘Do you really expect me to believe that? I left Orlando tied to your gate.’
He stared at me, his face a ghastly white. ‘I didn’t know that.’
I shrugged with indifference, for Smith was an habitual liar. Turning to Thorpe, I expressed my sincere thanks and left him to get on with his job. Smith was still protesting his innocence when Mudd and I rode off. Even in the darkness, I could see Mudd was grinning.
‘I do believe you enjoyed that, John.’
‘Well, my lady, it was the look on his face when he learnt you had spotted the stuff was in the pond,’ he chortled.
‘Yes, I found that rather satisfying myself.’
‘If I may so my lady, his lordship himself couldn’t have handled it better.’ I thanked him, for there could be no higher praise. But riding back along the cliff top, I looked out at the wrecked French brig, and thinking of the men who had drowned, Smith’s arrest did not seem quite so important. Those seamen were our enemies, yet they all had families; mothers, wives, children.