The Captain's Girl

by Nicola Pryce

  ‘Every six months. Or whenever they suspect the codes are broken.’ A sudden bang, a loud crash and our eyes caught. Voices were coming from the other side of the wooden partition, heavy footsteps stamping across the adjoining floor. Arnaud leant quickly forward, scooping everything back into the bag. ‘They’re on to us,’ he whispered, blowing out both candles.

  He drew me closer, keeping hold of my hand, leading me across the pitch-black room without making a sound. He stopped and I sensed rather than saw him put his eye to the partition. ‘They’re searching the storeroom,’ he whispered. ‘Have a look – there’s another peephole. Soldiers – a lot of them, fifteen, maybe more.’

  I peered through the tiny hole. The room was full of men in red coats, each holding up a lantern. The light shone on their grim faces, the muskets slung across their shoulders. One man looked particularly familiar. ‘It’s Major Trelawney,’ I whispered.

  ‘It was only a matter of time. He’s been searching for me ever since Nathaniel returned. He’s determined to find me. I never use the front entrance but he clearly has his suspicions.’

  I kept my eye to the tiny hole. Major Trelawney was walking towards us, pointing straight at us. He must have been no more than a foot away, his voice as clear as if he was in the room. ‘It’s my guess this is not the end wall of the warehouse…I believe there’s a hiding place behind here…a hidden room where Madame Merrick can hide them. I believe she brings them food…they probably brought the monk here.’ He reached forward, knocking on the wood. ‘They’ll have a secret way in…it’s here, somewhere, but I’m dammed if I have the patience to find it. Joseph Tregony…?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ A man stepped forward. A huge man, shoulders like an ox.

  ‘Find an axe. Break into the smithy if you must, but bring me back anything we can use to break through this wood. There’s a room behind here…I can feel it.’

  Arnaud squeezed my hand, bringing it to his lips. ‘Are you sure you want this?’ he whispered.

  I felt fearless, the thrill of danger making me feel so alive. I was born for this; my prying eyes, my memory, my terrible desire to see what lay behind closed doors. I had dreamt of this, yearned for this. ‘You know I do,’ I whispered back.

  ‘Then it’s time we took L’Aigrette out of her hiding place – we need to leave Fosse and rather quickly. We need to regroup but, mostly, we need to get this code back to our waiting Irishman.’

  Behind the partition Major Trelawney was shouting instructions. ‘It’ll be some sort of sliding panel. Try sliding the wood sideways…or up and down.’ He tapped the partition next to us. ‘See what I mean? Sounds hollow…there’s a room behind here, I just know it. And that dammed Frenchman is hiding in it.’

  ‘He’s as clever as he is charming,’ whispered Arnaud. ‘We’ve no time at all.’ He put his hand on my arm, ushering me towards the door, grabbing a bag that hung from a hook. Through the darkness came a splitting sound. ‘Quick,’ he said, ‘they’ve got the axe.’

  We rushed down the steep wooden steps, making no sound. Arnaud slid back the panel and peered into the darkness. There was no-one there, just the pitch-black alley, the cobbles and the night-watchmen sitting by their glowing embers. He reached for a large stone by my hand and threw it hard against a barrel. The stone struck with a thud, clattering down to the cobbles and, immediately, two soldiers ran towards it, blowing their whistles. Arnaud grabbed my hand and we ran into the darkness of the opposite direction.

  We were heading down a narrow alley, the stones wet, slippery and covered in slime. Lobster pots were stacked high on both sides, mounds of fishing nets stinking of dead crabs. Ropes lay coiled like sleeping snakes. As we slowed to catch our breath, I recognised the quayside, the stone steps leading down to the river. By the dim light of the oil burner I saw the water lap silently against the second step. ‘Not yet high tide,’ he whispered.

  ‘Where’s L’Aigrette?’ I whispered back.

  He smiled, not his tender smile that came straight from his heart, but his mischievous smile that made my stomach flutter and my senses swirl. ‘Right here – right under their noses,’ he whispered, ‘and we’re in luck – the ferry’s just leaving.’

  Chapter Fifty-four

  We squeezed together into the bow, looking down at the still black water. The lights of Porthruan shone ahead of us; Arnaud’s arm was warm around my shoulders, only the faintest breeze blowing against our faces. It was cold and misty, the water so silent with barely a ripple. Above us a sliver of moon broke through the heavy black clouds and through the river mouth, the sea started to glisten. As the ferry pulled out, I leant against Arnaud, revelling in the smell of the sea, the salt, the sound of the oars.

  We were halfway across. Porthruan Harbour looked crowded, a few ships busy with last-minute provisioning but most seemed ready to leave. Men were pacing the decks, watching the sea. Arnaud followed my gaze. ‘They can’t leave until the tide turns and, even then, there’s not enough wind for them to put to sea. They’ve been waiting all day.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ muttered the ferryman. ‘What’s goin’ on? Soldiers scurryin’ everywhere.’ He was facing Fosse and we all turned round, staring back at a line of red coats running along the quayside.

  Some soldiers stood in a half circle, pointing at someone. They raised their muskets, their white sashes glowing in the moonlight. Major Trelawney walked stiffly towards them, the uncanny stillness causing his voice to echo across the river. ‘Stay just where you are. Do not move. My soldiers are trained to shoot.’

  A man in the boat whistled. ‘They’ve got some poor bugger cornered – got their muskets right on him.’

  ‘They’re lookin’ for smugglers,’ said Arnaud, matching their accents exactly. ‘The major’s clampin’ down, hard.’

  He was met by cries of horror. ‘Bloody hell!’…‘Better not be’…‘Shit.’

  The ferryman heaved on the oars, doubling his pace. ‘Not tonight. Ye hear? Not tonight – tell the others.’

  We watched the man come slowly out from behind the barrels. Major Trelawney shook his head and the soldiers once again renewed their search. They split into groups, running everywhere, some jumping onto moored vessels, others looking behind the barrels. Major Trelawney remained standing on the edge of the quay, looking across the river. Boats were rowing upstream, some downstream, but we were the only boat crossing to Porthruan. He seemed to be staring straight at us. His hand stretched out, his finger pointed and a piercing sound filled the air.

  Everyone must have heard it. The soldiers came running back, at least ten of them searching for rowing boats to follow us across. ‘For chrissake, hurry—’ A fellow passenger slipped quickly next to the ferryman and took an oar, heaving the boat through the water. The boat picked up speed and I caught the glint in Arnaud’s eye.

  We were alongside the inner harbour, tying up against the wall. The men leapt from the boat, running quickly up the steep lane and into the night. Arnaud helped me onto the quayside, keeping hold of my hand, leading me quickly to the shadows behind a row of cottages. The path narrowed to a mere track, clinging to the river’s edge. A dense wood lay to our right, the track winding through the trees, staying close to the water. Arnaud held my hand tightly, pulling me after him and I ran like never before, racing behind, dodging the low branches, my hood slipping from my head, my hair falling round my shoulders.

  A stone cottage came into view and we stopped. ‘Are you alright? We’re nearly there.’ I nodded, catching my breath, and we turned to watch the soldiers getting into their requisitioned boats. The clouds had dispersed and it was suddenly so bright, the moon bathing the river in silver light. ‘You see that breakers’ yard?’ I nodded. ‘L’Aigrette’s lying alongside the hulls of those old wrecks. They search every creek and every river but they never think of searching the wrecks.’ He smiled and bent to kiss me, ‘…which is just as well…’ His lips were warm and tender ‘…because it’s very convenient.’ Another kiss, longer this time
and deeper, ‘…and it’s one of my best hiding places…’

  We drew apart and I followed him through the trees, shafts of moonlight lighting our way. The wood was dark, the track barely visible. Beside us the water lapped the lower branches of the trees. Dogs were barking in the distance, lights bobbing up and down on the anchored ships – just like the first time we set sail, yet how different it now felt.

  We turned a bend and the breakers’ yard lay at the entrance to a small wooded creek. It was untidy, cramped, huge piles of rusting shackles, chains and large anchors blocking our way. Planks of wood had been sorted into sizes, spurs and masts lying alongside the yard wall. There were large barrels of rope, coils of chains, two figureheads leaning drunkenly against each other. A huge dog was chained to the entrance, his vicious barking at once turning to ecstatic pleasure. ‘Quiet, Endymion, you’ll alert the soldiers.’

  ‘Endymion?’ I laughed.

  ‘He bays at the moon. I thought it apt. Come, round here …we’ll go round the back.’

  ‘It’s alright, I’m here.’ A man was walking towards us, hardly visible in the dark. A large man, broad shoulders, thick-set neck and white hair beneath his cap. I had already seen the wagon and recognised him at once. ‘You’ve brought the Pendenning maid, I see.’ His voice was gruff, his scowl more visible as he came nearer.

  Arnaud drew me closer, his arm around my shoulders. ‘It’s alright…she’s one of us, now. We’re gathering to regroup. Is Jacques on board?’

  Jago shook his head. ‘Left just after you did. Said he’d be back – I’m expecting him any day.’

  ‘He’ll not be back. We’ve got soldiers on our trail and it won’t take them long to find us. You heard the dogs? They’ll follow us straight here.’

  ‘Regrouping, ye say?’

  ‘We certainly are.’

  Jago unchained the dog who bounded ahead, leading us round the front of the cottage and down some steps along a stone jetty. He was a huge dog, very nimble, constantly looking over his shoulder to see what kept us. The hulks lay crammed together in a jumbled mess – rotting planks, burnt timbers, masts at half tilt and spurs at all angles. The creek was wooded and dark, the stones wet. Jago stepped onto the blackened ribs of the nearest hull and held out his hand. ‘Mind you don’t slip, lass.’

  We crossed the steeply angled deck of the next ship and stopped. L’Aigrette was tied alongside, her decks covered by rotting nets, her mast completely hidden by a criss-cross of broken yard-arms. Arnaud stood behind me, his arms encircling me. ‘Here she is,’ he whispered. ‘Welcome home, dearest Cécile.’

  I knew he would lift me up and carry me over the gunwale. Of course he would. Jago frowned and shook his head. Endymion barked, wagging his tail. He was a brute of a dog; shaggy coat, huge paws, teeth designed to bite. He ran straight along the deck, jumping onto the coach roof and leaping to the bow as if taking up his position of command.

  Arnaud put me down. ‘The tide’s turned.’ He was watching a log bob slowly towards the river mouth. ‘We’ll pole her out – Jago, pole from the bow. Cécile, take the helm, I’ll tell you exactly where to point. I’ll pole from the stern so I’ll be right behind you. When we’ve cleared the hulks, set the sails to starboard – there’s just the slightest southerly so we’ll make the most of it.’

  The two men began untying the ropes, hauling away the nets that covered her decks, hurling everything onto the adjacent wreck – crates and lobster pots, old planks left lying at odd angles. She had been well disguised and as the sacking was removed, she looked pristine again, her sleek black hull almost indistinguishable in the inky water. The only thing that remained covered was her name painted on the stern. Jago stood at the bow, a huge pole in his hand; Arnaud was on the stern, heaving his pole against the jetty behind us. ‘We’re off,’ he said. ‘Are you alright, Cécile?’

  I nodded, holding the tiller firmly in both hands. Inch by inch, the boat edged slowly forward, slipping silently from her eerie graveyard. ‘Just hold her steady…once we’ve cleared these hulks we’ll swing round.’

  The mouth of the creek was barely wider than the boat. L’Aigrette lay straight across it, pushed sideways by the tide. Jago ran to starboard, jamming his pole against a disused jetty on the bank opposite. ‘Now swing right round.’ Arnaud was right behind me, ‘…keep pointing to the church.’ He joined Jago on starboard, both heaving on their poles, stretching high in the air as they thrust them against the stones opposite.

  The bow swung round to face the narrow gap that would take us out to open sea. To our right the lights of Fosse, to our left the harbour of Porthruan. We were at the widest part of the river, the tide with us. Arnaud stood with one leg on the deck, the other on the gunwale. His hair was ruffled, his eyes alight. ‘There’s hardly any wind – we’ll need every breath. Hold her steady while we get the sails up.’

  I nodded, keeping my course towards the narrow entrance. Jago and Arnaud hauled in unison, heaving up the sails and securing them in place. We were inching forward. The turn of the tide; no wind, no other boats, just L’Aigrette unfurling her sails, ready to slip out on a breath and the daring of her captain.

  A light flashed. A blast of gunshot. Another red flash, another and another. ‘Jesu…what the hell…?’ Jago crouched to the deck. ‘Get down, both of you.’

  The soldiers were running along the harbour wall. Another flash, another shot. Arnaud tied the last rope and leapt to my side. ‘I thought we’d have more time.’ He took the tiller, heading across the river, the smell of cordite drifting towards us. Men were shouting from the moored ships, dogs barking, Endidymon standing on the deck, barking furiously back.

  ‘Get down, dog!’ yelled Jago. He grabbed the dog and crouched low at the bow. ‘They’re getting into boats. They’re rowing over.’ He looked up. ‘Come on, girl…fill your sails… you know you can.’

  Major Trelawney stood on the harbour wall, pointing straight at us. A soldier ran to his side and saluted. He was holding a burning torch. Major Trelawney grabbed it and started waving it from side to side. Arnaud put his hand on my shoulder. ‘What’s he playing at?’ The torch was raised for three counts…down for two. Up for three…down for two.

  ‘He’s signalling the forts – Jesu, he’s got the guns working.’ On either side of the narrow gap a light signalled back, first one side, then the other. Moonlight shone on the cliffs, lighting up the stone batteries, the crenulated walls. We could see soldiers running along the battlements, lamps swinging in their hands. ‘They’re loadin’ up the canon.’

  The other soldiers were back in their boats, kneeling in the bows, their muskets pointing towards us. They were making headway, their oars splashing noisily towards us but the firing had stopped. ‘They know we’ll have to tack soon. We can’t risk the cannons – we’ll be a sitting duck.’

  At once I remembered. ‘We need Major Trelawney’s code…’ My mind was racing. What had he said? ‘The naval code – that should clear us.’

  Arnaud smiled. ‘Three lights abreast each other, port and starboard,’ he shouted. ‘Hold this course, Cécile…’

  I held the tiller with white knuckles. I felt a pull and looked up. L’Aigrette’s sails had caught the slight breeze and were tilting to one side, leaning with the wind. Water rippled against the bow, a slight, but steady wake.

  Arnaud lit the lanterns and began securing them to the gunwales. He was working fast, jumping onto the coach roof, running along the deck. ‘If this doesn’t work, we’ve got enough wind to gibe. We’ll go up river and hide…Get ready, Cécile…you’ll have to swing her round…but not now…wait for my command.’ He tied the last lantern and looked round. The soldiers were local men, born to row these waters. Their boats were racing behind us, their muskets pointing straight at us. More soldiers lined Porthruan Harbour.

  Arnaud stood on the coach roof, leaning against the mast. ‘We must hold our nerve. They’re not firing because Major Trelawney expects us to surrender. He wants us alive.’


  The way he smiled, the way he stood; I knew he had done this many times before. Not here, perhaps, but this was his life and this was to be my life; slipping from under gunfire, the smell of cordite. I relished the danger; I accepted the risks. My cheeks were flushed, the thrill of adventure coursing through my veins.

  Sailors’ shouts echoed across the water. Angry shouts, encouraging the soldiers to row faster. No other ships were leaving. Even if they could, Major Trelawney would have told them to wait. He had the river mouth covered, the moon in his favour. Silver light bathed the river, L’Aigrette an easy target. Arnaud’s lanterns were in place, shining brightly. All we could do was hold our nerve and wait to see what Major Trelawney would do.

  He raised his torch, up, down, up, down, three times. Behind us the sound of splashing stopped and the oarsmen leant forward to catch their breath. Jago left Endymion to stand sentry on the bow. Shaking his head vigorously, he joined us in the cockpit. Arnaud put his arms around me, holding me tightly. His hair was tousled, his eyes full of mischief.

  ‘He’s called off the batteries. Take her out, Cécile. Take her out right under their noses.’ He smiled at Jago. ‘Poor Major Trelawney, he doesn’t deserve this – he’s really rather a nice man.’

  ‘Nice man be buggered,’ grumbled Jago. ‘And it’s all coming back to me – why I stopped sailing with you, Captain Lefèvre.’

  Arnaud’s laughter drifted over the water. ‘You love it, Jago…and you miss it.’

  The sails were filling, the ripples getting deeper. L’Aigrette was flying. The fastest cutter in the channel was taking her leave. I held the tiller, pointing her out to open sea. As we passed between the forts Arnaud raised his hand in salute to the soldiers looking down from the batteries. I returned his smile. Living not watching, doing not dreaming. I could feel the tide pulling us, the sudden swell of the waves as we reached open sea. The air smelt so fresh, so full of adventure. I was smiling. Smiling and smiling. No more stuffy rooms, no more embroidery. No more jumping to Mother’s command. No more peering out of windows. No more yearning for the man I could never have.