The Smuggler's Daughter

by Kerry Barrett

  I put in my earbuds, turned my music up loud, and headed outside.

  I glanced back at the pub as I went. The sign swayed gently in the wind, showing the figure of a young girl, bathed in an ethereal glow, perched on the edge of a cliff. I’d not paid much attention to it when we arrived but now I could see that the scenery in the picture was obviously based on the cliffs where I stood. I felt a little flutter of sadness for poor Emily Moon. For what had happened to her.

  I didn’t really want to run along the clifftop because it just reminded me of kissing Jed, but it was better than going along the side of the road to Kirrinporth. So I took a breath, concentrated on the sound of my trainers hitting the ground, and the music in my ears, and started to run.

  The footpath ran alongside the road for a short while, then snaked off across the clifftop. It was easy to follow because the long grass was flattened by ramblers’ feet, and there were occasional signposts telling me I was on the Great Cornwall Way. The cliff edge was about the length of a football pitch away, marked with fairly inadequate wooden posts. There was no one else around and in between songs I could hear the waves crashing down below and the seagulls screeching.

  Running had been a good decision, I thought. I could feel the endorphins doing their job and my mood lifting as I went. Maybe Jed was just busy. It had only been a few hours. It was fine. I had absolutely no reason to worry.

  I would distract myself with more Emily Moon research. I still had no idea what had happened to her and seeing her picture on the pub sign had made me realise I was desperate to find out.

  I ran for about half an hour until I reached a stile and the path turned inland towards another small village that I could see in the distance. Somewhere to explore another day, I thought. The wind had got up, and the sky over the sea was darkening – it looked like more rain was heading our way – so I pulled on the hoodie I’d had tied round my waist and turned back the way I’d come.

  I ran more slowly on the way back, thinking about Emily Moon and the gang of smugglers. I could see how easy it would be to plunge from the clifftop in the dark and I wondered why she’d been up there in the first place – if she had been up there of course. Perhaps she was acting as lookout for the smugglers. Or spying on them.

  With Jed’s warnings about the cliffs not being safe ringing in my ears, as I got closer to the pub, I left the path, and walked carefully towards the edge. It was rockier at this point, with large boulders scattered here and there. Wanting to concentrate properly, I turned off my music and put my earbuds into my pocket, listening to the waves far down below.

  Gingerly, I crept along, watching where I was standing. But the ground beneath my feet seemed firm and I grew in confidence a bit. Maybe it was nothing to do with smugglers at all. Perhaps Emily Moon had just heard the ghost stories and wanted to see for herself. I imagined her coming up here to see where Theodora and Diggory had died. And then I pictured her ghost standing on the cliff edge, crying. Poor girl. I pulled up my hood and hunched down inside my fleece as the wind blew and I shivered, nearly jumping out of my skin as I heard an unearthly cry coming from right beside me.

  Heart thumping, I froze to the spot. The cry came again, a kind of hollow keening wail.

  ‘Jesus,’ I whispered, feeling mildly foolish at how scared I was. It wasn’t even night-time, for goodness’ sake. Were there daytime ghosts?

  Screwing my courage up, I forced myself to turn around to where the noise was coming from, genuinely expecting to come face to face with the spirit of Emily Moon. But to my great relief, there was no one there. Obviously.

  ‘Get a bloody grip, Phoebe,’ I told myself. And then the noise came again, just as the wind whipped my hood from head. But again there was no one there. There was nothing except the boulders scattered around.

  ‘Ah ha,’ I said out loud. The boulder next to where I stood was a particularly big one, its grey surface pocked with hollows and holes. I went to it and touched it. It was cold under my fingers. The wind blew again and as it did, the air rushed through one of the holes in the rock and made the unearthly noise.

  ‘Oh thank goodness,’ I said, laughing with relief and slight embarrassment at my own silliness. The sound of the wind blowing through the rocks must be where the ghost stories came from. Emily Moon didn’t stand on the cliff edge calling to her lost love. Of course she didn’t. She was long-dead and the cries were just the wind.

  But knowing the truth now didn’t stop my legs from trembling or my heart from thumping. Needing a minute to get myself together I sank down on to the grass and sat with my back resting on the boulder, looking out over the sea.

  I breathed in deeply, going over my calming techniques. Though I was pretty sure Sandra hadn’t meant for me to use them when I’d been spooked by a ghost.

  It took a few minutes to feel calmer but the deep breathing helped. Once I was back to normal, I went to stand up when I heard a shout from below. This time, thankfully, it was very definitely earthly. But Jed had said the beach was inaccessible. So now, hearing the shouts, I wondered if someone was in trouble. Perhaps a boat had washed up in the tiny cove and couldn’t get out again. Or maybe – my blood ran cold – someone had fallen. I had to see what was happening.

  Very slowly and carefully, I got on to my belly, wriggled right to the edge of the cliff and peered over feeling my head spin as I stared down at the churning waves. To my extreme relief, I couldn’t see any boat. Or anyone clinging to the cliff.

  The shout came again and a laugh this time. That definitely didn’t sound like someone in trouble. I turned my head, trying to ignore the queasiness I was feeling from hanging over the edge of the cliff, and looked. To my astonishment, I saw two men down below in the little cove. One was standing close to the water and the other was sitting on another of the large boulders, smoking a cigarette. They were shouting to each other and laughing. And as I watched them, my heart began thumping again because I recognised them. Both of them. It was Jed and Mark. What on earth were they doing down there?

  Whatever Mark and Jed had been doing, they were finished. Mark stood up from where he sat on the big boulder and threw his cigarette end into the sea. Jed obviously thought that was a bad idea, which despite myself I couldn’t help thinking was quite sweet, so he fished it out again. Then he shoved it down the back of Mark’s T-shirt and the pair of them tussled for a minute like schoolboys.

  Eventually they stopped wrestling, both laughing, and stood looking out to sea. Jed pointed at something and Mark nodded, then they both looked behind them, at the back of the tiny cove. It was a tiny horseshoe bay, the size of a city cul-de-sac. There was a small amount of beach but the sand was grey and coarse, not soft and golden. And most of the cove was scattered with more cement-coloured rocks that had fallen from the cliffs or washed up over the years. From where I lay on top of the cliff, I could see the roof of The Moon Girl, and down to Kirrinporth itself with its houses tumbling down the hill towards the sea. But where Jed and Mark stood was sheltered by the sheer cliffs. A bit further along the path either way and you’d not see them down there. That was interesting.

  The hairs on the back of my neck were prickling. Why had Jed lied to me about the beach being inaccessible? He’d clearly not got there by boat because there was no sign of so much as a rubber dinghy on the tiny patch of sand. What was he doing down there with Mark?

  The wind blew through the rocks again, making the unearthly sound. Smugglers, I thought. Emily Moon was linked with smuggling. What if there was still smuggling going on in Kirrinporth?

  I wriggled backwards, away from the cliff edge and sat up, feeling my head spin again. What was I thinking? Jed was a nice man. He wasn’t a bloody smuggler.

  But, the voice in my head said he’d lied about the beach being out of bounds. And Mark told the ghost story, just like the one Simon said was told to keep people away from the cliffs when the smugglers were doing their thing. And I’d had an uneasy feeling about Ewan since the start.

  I
put my head in my hands. What was wrong with me? First there was the drama with the little girl in the town, and now I thought Jed, Ewan and Mark were modern-day smugglers? Honestly. I didn’t seem to be getting better at all. I was suspicious of everyone, making snap judgements and not thinking things through. I’d never be allowed back to work at this rate.

  I strained my neck to see Jed and Mark again. They weren’t doing anything wrong, I told myself. So what if they were down on the beach by the pub? Perhaps they were birdwatching. Or fishing. Or anything really. Why did I even care? It wasn’t private property. Maybe me talking about the beach last night had made Jed want to investigate. Perhaps he’d just been interested to see if he could get down there because I’d asked him.

  I watched for a second as Jed’s dark hair, and Mark’s gleaming bald head began what was clearly a tricky ascent up an overgrown path to the side of the cliffs. I followed the route they would take with my eyes and realised there was a marker, covered in long grass but easy enough to spot if you knew it was there, just a few feet along from where I sat. That must be where the path came out on to the clifftop. I jumped to my feet, brushing the sandy dirt from my front and behind. For reasons I couldn’t quite understand, I didn’t want to be there when Jed and Mark got to the top.

  I bounced on my toes and took off, running as fast as I could back towards the pub. As I reached the car park, breathing heavily, I looked back at the cliffs and saw Mark and Jed emerge on to the path by the marker. I’d go down there myself, I thought. Go down to the beach and see what was there.

  Chapter 25

  Emily

  1799

  Arthur was looking at me, bewildered. ‘What? What are you saying, Emily?’

  I threw my arms out, gesturing to take in the room with its white walls, barrels and bottles of drink. ‘This is the inn,’ I said. ‘We came through the cliff and into the pub.’

  Arthur looked round, realisation dawning on his face. ‘The cellar …’ he breathed. ‘How can this be?’

  I made a slope with my arm and walked my fingers up it. Arthur understood.

  ‘That’s why the path was sloping upwards,’ he said. ‘We were going up through the cliff. This is astonishing.’ He was shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite believe it. ‘Astonishing work.’ He put his hand to the wall. ‘It must have taken several men and months of digging to create this. Astonishing.’

  But I wasn’t interested in the work needed to build a tunnel. What was important to me was why there was a tunnel leading from the rocky cove below to my home. And, with a sinking feeling, I understood exactly what was going on.

  ‘This is it,’ I said slowly. ‘Why Da died.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  I didn’t know who had dug the tunnel. Like Arthur had said, nature probably had a hand in it. And perhaps someone stumbled on it one day and realised they could make use of it. ‘This tunnel is old,’ I began.

  ‘I believe there were tunnels used during the Civil War,’ Arthur agreed.

  ‘It’s a path from the sea to the inn.’

  ‘And from the inn, out to Kirrinporth and beyond.’

  ‘Smugglers,’ I said, grim-faced.

  ‘I think this is the proof we were looking for, don’t you?’ said Arthur, and I nodded

  I thought about that awful night, watching my father and Morgan arguing outside the pub and winced. ‘Da said no.’ I stumbled over the words, wanting to make sure Arthur really understood. ‘Morgan asked and Da said no.’

  Arthur nodded, encouraging me to continue.

  ‘He killed him. And now Mam is desperate.’ I rubbed my stomach, showing I meant hungry. ‘He did that. And now she will do what he asks.’

  There was a pause, as Arthur took it all in. ‘He’s evil,’ Arthur said. ‘I really believe that.’

  I thought back to the night Da had died. How he had told Morgan it was too risky, because now he had a wife and a daughter and he didn’t want to do it and I frowned. ‘Da used to help,’ I said, convinced I was right. Morgan had said he never used to worry about the risk so perhaps Da was in on it for a while. Was this all his fault?

  But Arthur shook his head. ‘Everyone was doing it, Emily. You remember what it used to be like? Before they clamped down on it. We all got bits and pieces from free traders. Everyone did it.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  Arthur shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter, Em. It doesn’t. Not now.’

  But I was angry, suddenly. ‘It does,’ I said. Da had adamant that night. He said there was nothing Morgan could do to change his mind. What if he had agreed to help? Things could have been so different. ‘He was too honest,’ I said.

  ‘Good for him.’

  ‘No,’ I almost shouted. ‘Everyone did it. Why not him? He would still be alive.’

  ‘Not now they don’t. Ten years ago, maybe. But things are different now, Emily, and he was right, your da. It is risky. The penalties are too great. Why do you think they sneak around, and tell ghost stories to make sure people keep away if it wasn’t risky? If the revenue men find them, they’ll be hanged. And if your father had got involved, he’d have hanged too. He was right to say no. Even though it cost him his life.’

  ‘I miss him,’ I said. ‘I miss Da.’ I started to cry and Arthur took me in his arms and smoothed my hair and wiped my tears and held me close until my sobs stopped.

  ‘Better?’ he said.

  I nodded. I was a little embarrassed about showing him my emotions, but I’d enjoyed how he’d held me and now he’d let me go I felt cold. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

  Arthur patted my arm. ‘I will always look after you, Emily Moon,’ he said. ‘You mean the world to me.’

  I looked up at him, my Arthur, who I’d known since I was a little girl and who I loved more than anything else on this earth. There was a look in his eye that I’d not seen before and it both scared and thrilled me. ‘Arthur,’ I began but before I could carry on, he’d gathered me into his arms again and he kissed me. His lips were soft and dry and the kiss was light at first and then deeper as I leaned into him, my heart thumping.

  When we finally broke apart, he grinned at me. ‘I think that means you’re my girl now.’

  I laughed, a little bubble of joy that burst out of me. ‘I’ve always been your girl.’

  Arthur laced his fingers through mine. ‘I am going to marry you one day. You’ll be Emily Pascoe.’

  ‘Emily Moon,’ I said firmly.

  He laughed. ‘Call yourself whatever you want. You’ll be my wife one day. You’ll see.’

  I didn’t argue. I very much hoped he was right. I couldn’t imagine anything nicer than being Arthur’s wife. But talk of weddings seemed a world away from where we were right now – in the cellar, surrounded by illegal goods, with my father dead and my mother drunk and in the pay of criminals. I had no idea what to do about it.

  ‘What now?’ I said to Arthur, looking round at the piles of contraband liquor and what I suspected would be tobacco. ‘Take some? Go to the revenue men?’

  ‘But what if Morgan and his crew realise it’s missing?’

  I bit my lip. If Morgan knew we’d found his smuggled goods, then we’d be in danger; there was no doubt about it.

  ‘He’d move it,’ I said.

  ‘And he’d work out it was us, I’m sure of it,’ said Arthur, alarmed. ‘So should we get the revenue men to come to the pub? Search the cellar?’

  ‘They won’t listen,’ I said despairingly, thinking of Mam and I throwing ourselves on Mr Trewin’s mercy, and being ignored. ‘And Mam …’

  ‘Your mother would be the one in trouble, because she’s the one with the contraband in her cellar.’

  ‘She would hang.’

  Arthur shuddered. ‘So we need to wait, until the next time they’re bringing something in,’ he said thinking carefully. ‘And get the customs men to see it with their own eyes.’

  ‘Maybe Mam knows?’ I asked, remembering how a few days earlier, she had
moved some barrels out of the cellar. She’d said she didn’t want them in the cellar because of damp. But now I wondered if she just didn’t want to have a reason to go down there. She didn’t want to see what was in it. ‘Turning a blind eye,’ I said.

  ‘Wise woman, given the circumstances,’ Arthur said.

  ‘Is that enough?’ I said. Would pretending to be ignorant be enough to stop her going to the gallows? I felt my heart beat faster at the thought.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Arthur. ‘Maybe your mother could speak out against Morgan and his gang. Help the revenue men to catch them? Then perhaps she’d face a lesser punishment.’

  I put my hands on my head in anguish. I didn’t know what to do for the best.

  Arthur put his arms around me again and leaned my head on his chest.

  ‘My father would help her,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it. He could speak to the magistrate on her behalf. Talk of how she was left destitute when your father was killed – by Morgan.’

  ‘Would he?’

  ‘I’m certain. He admires your mother. He’s said it before. Always says she is full of life and determination.’

  ‘She was,’ I said. ‘No longer.’

  ‘I remember when your father died, he was most concerned and said he was even considering visiting the inn himself. Wouldn’t that be a sight to see? A vicar visiting an inn.’

  He laughed, but my mind was still troubled. ‘Could we talk to your father?’ I said. I thought we should see if he would support us and Mam, before we went to the revenue men.

  I trailed off because Arthur had stiffened in my arms. ‘What?’

  He unravelled himself from my embrace and went over to where the bottles of spirit were neatly laid out on the table top.

  ‘This is what you saw them unloading?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, not really understanding what he was doing. I pointed out the barrels and the big tea chests, then the bottles, and the larger packages, that had been inside. Under the table were the chests I’d seen. Their tops were open and inside were more of the same bottles and several similar-sized packages. I assumed they had opened a few to check it was all there.