The Smuggler's Daughter

by Kerry Barrett

  I rolled on to my side and felt for my phone on the bedside table. Then I spent at least twenty minutes composing and deleting a message to Jed.

  After discarding ‘Thanks for last night!’ (too perky) and ‘I had a good time last night’ (not perky enough) in the end I simply wrote: ‘What are you up to today?’

  I went for a shower and when I got back, Liv was awake. I showed her the message and she nodded approvingly.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘I reckon he’ll reply any second.’

  But he didn’t. He didn’t reply all morning. I moped around the pub looking sorry for myself until Liv took my phone off me and sent me outside to clean the tables in the garden.

  ‘Do your thing,’ she said. ‘Anchor yourself.’

  ‘I don’t want to anchor myself in this moment,’ I grumbled. ‘I should have done that last night.’

  She laughed, then frowned as her own phone beeped and she glanced at the screen.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What?’ Liv’s focus was on her phone.

  ‘What’s the message?’

  She looked up at me, seeming mildly surprised as though she’d forgotten I was there.

  ‘Oh just spam,’ she said. ‘Nothing important.’

  ‘I’ll clean those tables then.’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Can I take my phone?’

  ‘No.’ She shoved it in her pocket and then looked at her own phone again, in her other hand, and did the same with that. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘Go on.’

  I cleaned all the tables and chairs. I dragged a patio heater out of the shed because, let’s face it, it wasn’t always warm. I stood for a little while gazing out over the sea, watching the waves, which today had little white tips, and thinking about Jed. And finally, when all that was done, I went back inside and begged Liv for my phone.

  ‘Has he replied?’ I said as she handed it over. But no. He hadn’t.

  ‘See if he’s read it,’ Liv said. ‘He might be sleeping if he was working last night. Perhaps he’s not seen your message yet.’

  A tiny bit of hope flickered and then died as I saw that the message had been delivered and read just after I sent it.

  Liv made a face. ‘Maybe you should watch some Homes Under the Hammer,’ she said gently. ‘Might take your mind off things.’

  But even that wasn’t appealing. I shook my head.

  ‘Go out for a walk then. Blow away the cobwebs.’

  ‘Actually maybe I’ll go running,’ I said. ‘I’ve not done any exercise since we’ve been here and I need to keep my fitness up or I’ll be in a whole world of pain when I go back to work.’

  Liv looked relieved. ‘That’s a great idea.’

  ‘Want to come?’

  She thought about it for approximately ten seconds. ‘Nope,’ she said. ‘Busy.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  She shrugged. ‘Bit of this, bit of that.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’ll see you later then.’

  ‘Later,’ she said.

  Chapter 23

  Emily

  1799

  I slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning as I thought about Morgan and his henchmen, not to mention their boat and all its cargo, vanishing into thin air. I hoped my sketches would be good enough to help me explain what had happened on the beach, when I spoke to Arthur.

  Mam was in a foul temper the next day. She kept me busy all day with chores and cooking and cleaning and I didn’t get a moment to myself to go and see Arthur. There was no sign of Morgan though, which I was thankful for.

  Sadly my mother’s mood was no better the following day. I helped her sweep the floors though she still barely acknowledged me. She was more gloomy today than angry, though her temper was short so I was very glad indeed when she finally said I could go. I gathered my drawings and headed out to find my friend. I didn’t need to go far. He was on the road from Kirrinporth, walking towards the inn.

  ‘Arthur,’ I said, waving. I was very pleased to see him.

  I rushed over to him and he gave me his usual crooked smile. ‘That’s a nice greeting.’ He squeezed my arm and I flushed at his touch.

  ‘I need to tell you,’ I said. I took a deep breath. ‘Morgan … the boat and the beach …’

  ‘Hold on,’ Arthur said with a frown. ‘Slow down. Take your time. What happened?’

  ‘I went on to the cliffs,’ I began, thinking carefully about each word.

  ‘Oh, Emily.’ He looked disappointed briefly and then resigned. ‘I thought you would.’

  I shrugged. ‘I had to know.’

  ‘And? What did you find?’

  I looked around me. The road was quiet but back towards Kirrinporth I could see the dust that suggested someone was riding towards us, so I pulled Arthur away from the thoroughfare, up the bank at the side, and found a fallen tree trunk for us to sit on.

  ‘I watched,’ I told him. ‘I was so frightened because of the noises. The wailing noises. I thought it was Diggory and Theodora.’

  ‘Really? There was noise?’

  ‘It was the wind blowing through the holes in the rocks.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Arthur said in triumph. ‘Like when you blow across the top of a bottle. I can’t believe I didn’t work that out.’

  ‘Then I saw the men,’ I said. ‘On the beach – Morgan, and others. I think Petroc was there.’ I squinted my eyes and shrugged, to show it had been hard to see for sure. ‘It was dark.’

  ‘They were on the beach?’

  I pulled out my sketches and handed them to him.

  ‘Look,’ I said. I tapped my finger on the paper. ‘Rowing boat.’ I moved my finger over to where I’d drawn the shadowy larger ship out at sea. ‘Cargo,’ I said.

  ‘And the rowing boat came into the cove?’ Arthur said, looking at the drawings. ‘The cove below the inn? It’s not safe for boats, is it?’

  I shrugged. I’d thought the same as him but the men had obviously known what they were doing because they got there without damaging the boat.

  A thought struck me and I found the picture of the man I’d recognised from the courtyard. I showed Arthur.

  ‘This man was on the boat. I saw him the other day,’ I said.

  Arthur nodded, understanding. ‘Ah, so Morgan clearly needed him for his seafaring skills?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what were they doing on the boat?’

  I mimed moving something from one place to another.

  ‘Bringing something ashore from the bigger ship?’ Arthur said. ‘Smuggling?’

  I bit my lip. ‘I think so.’

  ‘What do you think they were bringing? Bottles? Or packages of tobacco?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, frowning.

  ‘Did you wait for them to come up?’

  This was the important bit. I had to make Arthur understand what had happened. I took a breath. ‘I waited for them to come up from the cove, on to the clifftop, so I could have a proper look,’ I said, painfully slowly. ‘But they didn’t.’

  ‘They didn’t what?’ Arthur leafed through the scraps of paper, puckering his brow as he squinted at the pictures I’d drawn.

  ‘Come up,’ I said. ‘They didn’t come up the cliff and they didn’t go back out to sea.’ I opened my hands to show nothing. ‘Gone.’

  ‘That makes no sense.’

  I made the gesture again. Arthur frowned.

  ‘Could you have fallen asleep?’ he asked.

  I shook my head. ‘No.’

  Arthur looked up as the horseman I’d seen approaching drew nearer. ‘That’s Morgan,’ he said. ‘I recognise his horse. Come.’

  He pulled my arm and we both ducked down behind the tree trunk we’d been sitting on. I wasn’t sure why we hid but it felt like the right thing to do. Morgan thundered past on his horse, its hooves churning up the dirt. He was heading for the inn. I felt sick, thinking of my mam waiting there for him.

  We waited for a few minutes until Morgan w
as out of sight and then Arthur stood up and brushed the dust from his britches.

  ‘Shall we go down on to the beach and see what we can find?’

  ‘Morgan?’

  Arthur looked sheepish. ‘I’m assuming Morgan will be … occupied … for a while.’

  I closed my eyes briefly, hating the thought, but then I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said. We should go while we had the chance.

  ‘Do you know the way down the path?’ Arthur looked a little worried. ‘I’m not always confident with heights.’

  I gave a small laugh. ‘Da used to take me …’

  As we walked back towards the sea, I told him as best I could, about how Da and I would clamber over the rocks to the water when I was little. And Da would show me the sea urchins and starfish that we could find in the pools that gathered when the tide went out.

  ‘I always liked looking for crabs,’ said Arthur.

  ‘I am scared of crabs,’ I admitted, pinching my thumbs and forefingers together. ‘Pincers.’

  Arthur looked at me. ‘Scared of crabs, but not of the man who murdered your father and beat your mother?’

  ‘I am scared,’ I said. ‘But …’ I paused, thinking about the words to say. ‘I want him to pay.’

  We’d reached the top of the cliff. Arthur paused, looking down at the beach below. ‘I’m scared too,’ he admitted. ‘But we can face this together.’

  He held out his hand to me and I took it.

  ‘Please don’t let me go,’ he said. ‘I’m really not looking forward to going down there.’

  I smiled. ‘Come.’

  I led the way down the winding path. Arthur had to drop my hand because we needed to balance and at parts where the way was especially steep, or the ground sandy and gave way beneath our feet, he dropped on to his backside and slid down like a child learning to walk. But we made it down the cliff safely and stood on the beach on wobbly legs. It was a very small cove, a tiny dent in the coastline. It was narrower at the top than where it met the sea, and the beach was dotted with boulders similar to the ones up on top where I’d hidden the night before, but smaller. The cliffs rose up on either side of us like walls in a prison cell, blocking out the weak sun and making me shiver. The tide was on its way out now and the waves were loud as they were sucked away from the rocks.

  ‘Talk me through what happened,’ Arthur said. ‘Let’s re-create it.’

  I closed my eyes, trying to picture it.

  ‘Morgan was here,’ I said, walking over to where I’d seen him standing. ‘And Petroc.’

  Arthur came and stood next to me. ‘Do you have the drawings?’

  I found them in my bag and handed them over, still thinking.

  ‘The boat came,’ I said stretching my hands out as though I was pulling the boat myself. ‘They guided it in.’ I thought a bit more. ‘Deep,’ I said. I touched the side of my hand to my chest to show where the water would reach. ‘Deep.’

  ‘Past those rocks there?’ Arthur pointed to where the receding tide was revealing a bank of jagged stones large enough to tear a hole in the hull of a much bigger boat.

  ‘Yes.’ I turned and looked up the beach. ‘They pulled the boat up.’ I started acting out what I’d seen the men do. ‘Unloading.’

  I position Arthur next to me and pretended to pass him a box, then went to the other side of him and took it, hoping he’d get what I meant.

  ‘A line?’ he said and I nodded, pleased how well he understood.

  Arthur walked up the beach a little way, past where the high-water mark could be seen as a line of shells and seaweed. He looked carefully at the sand as he went and then paused. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘You didn’t dream it.’

  I went over to him and there, on the sand, were lines showing that something heavy had been dragged up the beach. ‘Most of the marks have been kicked over with sand,’ Arthur said. ‘They’re hidden. But they must have missed this bit. Looks like they pulled the boat right up here.’

  ‘So far?’ I said, looking round me in confusion. ‘Why?’ I followed a path with my eyes, from the water, where I’d seen Morgan and Petroc grab the boat, up the beach to the marks by where we stood, and then towards the back of the cove where the sand met the sheer blank face of the cliff. There was nothing. Slowly, I walked towards the back of the cove, looking at the sand as I went, but I couldn’t see any more drag marks. I simply couldn’t understand where they had gone.

  ‘Maybe they’re the ghosts,’ I said carefully. ‘Not Theodora and Diggory.’

  ‘There is no such thing as ghosts,’ he said. ‘So there must be an explanation.’

  I turned and with my back to the sea and my hands on my hips, stared up at the cliff. An explanation, I thought. The cliffs weren’t smooth as they dropped down towards the beach. Their surface was uneven and jagged, with little outcrops and bunches of long rough seagrass growing on them. I gazed at them, wondering how a group of men, a load of smuggled goods and a rowing boat, could simply vanish into the stone. And that’s when I saw it. Below one rocky overhang, draped with grass, was an opening in the cliff.

  ‘Arthur,’ I said. ‘Look.’

  Together, we ran up the beach to the crack in the stone. It was wide – wider than it had looked from where I was standing – and taller than either me or Arthur. I pointed to the gap. Could they have gone in there?

  Arthur, bless him, glanced round and found a piece of driftwood on the beach and some dried-out grass. He handed the wood to me. ‘Hold this,’ he said as he gathered the brown grass into a bundle. Looking round again, he found two sharp pieces of flint near the bottom of the cliff and began striking them together, sending sparks into the air around him.

  ‘Dammit,’ he muttered as the sparks failed to land where he needed them to. He tried again, and this time the pile of grass began to smoulder. Gently he blew on it, turning the smoulder into a flame. ‘Now hold the wood in the fire,’ he said. I did as he said and watched as the wood caught alight at one end. ‘We have a torch,’ said Arthur triumphantly.

  ‘Well done,’ I said, admiringly. I gave it to him, not wanting the flame to scorch my hair.

  ‘Now we can see where we’re going,’ he said.

  Arthur and his makeshift torch went first, through the narrow gap in the rock. For a little way it was narrow – about as wide as my outstretched arms – and dim and then suddenly the passageway opened out into a much wider tunnel.

  ‘Oh,’ I breathed, looking around me in wonder. It wasn’t huge, but it was wide enough for Arthur and I to stand side by side with space to spare. The floor was dry and sandy, and the walls were cool. ‘Did someone make this?’

  Arthur looked impressed. ‘I rather think they did. Or at least, they’ve improved on what nature has provided.’

  He moved the torch gently from one side to another, and in the flickering light of the flame we both looked around us. At one side of the tunnel, propped up on its edge and leaning against the wall, was the rowing boat. Its oars were neatly stacked on top.

  ‘There,’ I said, pointing. My shadow was enormous on the wall of the tunnel, looming over the boat like a sea monster.

  Arthur nodded. ‘But no cargo,’ he said. ‘Shall we keep going?’

  ‘Look. Lantern.’

  There were lanterns carefully placed in small hollows carved out of the stone. Arthur lit the candle inside with his makeshift torch and then stamped out the flame he’d been carrying and threw the stick out of the cave door.

  I was trembling with fear, feeling the weight of the cliffs pressing down from above us, but I nodded. ‘Let’s carry on.’ My hand felt for Arthur’s in the dark and I was relieved when my fingers found his and we gripped each other tight.

  On and on we went, deeper into the cliffs. And up, I thought. We were going up. We couldn’t hear the waves any more. Just the sound of our breathing and my own heart pounding. And then, after a good five minutes that seemed much longer, we came to two roughly made stone steps and a wooden door. We stopped. Arthur’s face
looked pale in the orange light from the lantern.

  ‘Shall we open it?’ he whispered.

  I nodded first then shook my head. ‘No,’ I said, clutching him. ‘Listen first.’

  He put his ear to the wood and listened for a second or two. Then he shook his head. ‘I can’t hear anything.’

  I took a deep breath. It was either go through this door or back through the tunnel and I had to admit, neither seemed an attractive prospect right at this second. ‘Let’s open it,’ I said.

  There was no lock on the door, just a latch. With a slightly shaky hand, I reached out and opened it, pulling the door towards me.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ Arthur said. He stepped over the threshold and I followed. It was a room. A proper room, with distempered walls and a table. There were barrels stacked at one end, a broom leaning against one wall, and on the table were bottles of drink – I wasn’t sure what – and packages.

  ‘Cargo,’ said Arthur. ‘That must be the cargo you saw them unloading.’

  I nodded, but I couldn’t speak. Suddenly everything was clear to me.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Arthur turned to me, his eyes concerned. ‘What’s happened?’

  I took a deep, shuddery breath. ‘I know where we are.’

  ‘Where?’ He looked around himself but he didn’t recognise the room we stood in. Why would he? He’d never been here before. But I had.

  ‘We’re in the inn,’ I said, concentrating on every word. This was important. ‘This is the cellar. I’m home.’

  Chapter 24

  Phoebe

  2019

  My running stuff was at the bottom of my drawer. I pulled it out, and put it on. I glanced out of the window to check the weather and then found a hoodie too, which I tied round my waist. Just in case.

  Liv was nowhere to be seen when I went back downstairs. I’d left my phone on the bar to stop me checking it but now I picked it up and looked at the screen. Nothing. Gah.