Listlessly, I stood up and as I did so, I noticed that a panel at the end of the window seat was sticking up. I’d obviously dislodged it with my kick. Just what I needed, another thing to feel guilty about. Perhaps I could put it back, without damaging it more? I dropped my necklace into my pocket, and turned my attention to the window. Gently, I pushed the panel downwards and as it clicked into place I realised it was held with a catch. It was supposed to open – I hadn’t broken it at all.
Intrigued, I pushed again and the panel sprang open. It was a little hidden compartment. How exciting. I peered inside, wondering if there was anything in it and hoping for the glimmer of gold or the sparkle of jewels. But no, all that was inside was a roll of cobwebby paper.
Gingerly, I reached in and pulled out the pages, then I sat down on the window seat and unrolled them, sneezing as the dust tickled my nose.
It was lots of little sketches, of people’s faces, and boats on the sea, and a horse and cart travelling across a wide-open expanse of countryside.
‘Sweet,’ I said out loud. They looked very old, but I had no idea when they’d been drawn. My heart, though, was thumping with a flicker of excitement. Emily Moon drew pictures, I remembered. She’d drawn the picture of her mother that I’d seen in the book about Cornish pubs Jed had reserved for me in the library. Had she drawn these? With shaking hands, I leafed through the pictures until I found one that had EM in the corner.
‘Emily Moon,’ I said in delight. ‘Emily bloody Moon.’
And then my phone beeped with a reminder that it was time to open the pub.
‘Shit,’ I muttered. I wanted to have a proper look at these drawings; I didn’t want to serve customers. But I’d promised Liv, and I didn’t want to make things worse between us than they already were. So I tucked the pictures inside the Cornish pubs book, and took it downstairs to the bar.
Chapter 36
Emily
1799
I woke up, stiff as a board and freezing cold in a tumbledown shed we’d found at the edge of the woods. It must have been used by a shepherd, Arthur said, or one of the men who worked in the forest. Either way, it was dry and warmer than being outside all night. I’d urged Arthur to go home, but he’d refused to leave me. Instead he’d pulled my cloak down from the rock where Morgan had left it, and when we’d found the shed, and lain down to sleep, he’d tucked me in like a child.
He was next to me now snoring gently. I watched him for a moment, marvelling at how young he looked, bundled up in his cloak. My heart swelled with love for him. He was so brave and clever.
Obviously feeling my gaze on him, Arthur stirred and opened his eyes.
‘Good morning,’ I whispered.
He sat up. ‘Are you all right?’
I nodded. ‘Are you?’
‘Nervous, cold …’ He rubbed his back. ‘And stiff.’
I giggled, mimicking his gesture to show that I was suffering in the same way. Curled on a hard floor had not been the most comfortable place to sleep.
Arthur looked at me, biting his lip. ‘I’ve done a lot of thinking overnight,’ he said.
If felt nervous. What was he going to say? Had he changed his mind about helping bring Morgan to justice?
‘Remember when we were small and the soldiers returned from fighting in America?’ he said.
I blinked at him. This wasn’t what I’d expected him to say.
‘Remember?’
I thought carefully, shaking my head. I’d only been a baby when that war had ended.
‘I don’t remember them coming home either,’ Arthur said. ‘But I remember the stories they told afterwards.’
I sat up straighter. Now that I did remember. Probably better than Arthur, truth be told. I’d sat in the corner of the inn when the men came to drink, slapping each other on the back, and telling tales of guns and battles and sinking ships. They’d told Da and Mam all about their adventures and the losses they’d suffered. I’d seen injuries compared and heard stories of terrible wounds. I nodded.
‘When you were telling me of your dream world, it reminded me of the stories some of those men told.’
I frowned. What did he mean? My dream world was still and silent, not full of angry soldiers with rifles. But Arthur went on. ‘Not the tales of the fighting, but the stories about the country.’
‘America,’ I said slowly.
‘It’s enormous.’ Arthur looked excited. ‘It’s bigger than we could ever imagine. And there is so much there to discover.’
I was trying to make sense of what he was saying.
‘I have heard of people there, packing up their belongings and travelling into the unknown,’ he said. ‘They travel and they find somewhere they like the look of, and they build their lives there.’
I breathed out, in astonishment. That sounded exactly as I had imagined it. I wondered if Da’s stories had not been from his imagination after all, but instead him passing on to me what he’d heard. Perhaps as a little girl, I’d thought this new world sounded so perfect that it had to be imaginary.
‘Space and sky,’ I said slowly.
‘Exactly.’ Arthur clutched my hands. ‘I think we should go.’
Now I was really astonished. Go to America? Across the sea? ‘It’s far,’ I stuttered. ‘So far.’
‘We could never return,’ Arthur said. ‘We would have to say farewell to my father, and your mother. We would never see Cornwall again.’
I thought about Mam all alone in the inn and how I would feel to leave her there. But then I thought about staying. I thought about living in the inn and hiding from customers when they got too rowdy. I thought about Arthur being guided into the church by his father instead of spending his days growing fruit and vegetables as he wanted. I thought about everyone calling me the Moon Girl and talking about me as if I wasn’t there, or laughing at me behind my back. And I smiled.
‘America,’ I said. ‘We can go to America.’
Arthur stood up, like he was giving a sermon in his father’s church.
‘At first I thought we had to wait. I thought we would work hard and save enough money for our passage.’
‘On a ship?’ I asked. I’d seen large sailing ships from the shore, of course, but I couldn’t imagine how someone like me would find their way aboard one.
‘They sell tickets in Plymouth,’ Arthur said. ‘But I must warn you, the journey is said to be hard and long.’
I shrugged. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like, and so the idea of a long journey on board a ship held no fear for me.
Arthur continued. ‘I thought you could find a position as a housemaid or kitchen girl – anything that didn’t need much talking. I would finish at school and get taken on as an apprentice to one of the farmers to learn all I could about growing and tending crops. And then we would get married and travel across the ocean to America.’
My heart was thumping. I wanted this so badly I could taste it. I pictured a huge, empty landscape, with our little cart crossing it. Just us. No one else. But while I could see us in America, the bit that stopped my imagination running away with me was Arthur’s plan to find the money. Would anyone in Kirrinporth employ the strange, silent Moon Girl? I doubted it. And would Arthur’s father let him become a farmer’s apprentice instead of a reverend? It seemed unlikely.
Arthur was shaking his head, too.
‘But we must go now,’ he said. ‘We can’t stay.’ He sat down next to me again and turned to face me, his boyish face looking serious and determined in the dim light of the cabin. ‘This will be the one and only night we will spend here,’ he said. He shuffled over on his backside so he was closer to me and took me in his arms. ‘We shall leave Kirrinporth tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ I gasped.
Arthur bit his lip. ‘Remember how Petroc said everyone is involved in this? Mr Trewin? Mr Kirrin?’
Of course I remembered. I nodded.
‘They won’t be happy if Morgan goes to the gallows. I fear they
will come after us. Seek revenge.’
I widened my eyes in shock. I knew Morgan was dangerous, of course I did, I’d experienced his violent nature first-hand. But Mr Trewin? Mr Kirrin? Was this true?
Arthur sighed. ‘I just think we should leave while we can.’
I pulled my cloak up, showing him the dust from where Morgan had thrown it on to the boulder. If everyone thought I was dead, then surely there would be no danger?
‘People think you have fallen from the cliff, you are right. Your cloak may not be there for them to see but I don’t think Morgan will keep quiet about it for long. We should just let everyone believe that.’
‘Mam?’ I mumbled. Would she be grieving for me, even now?
‘Perhaps it’s for the best. Just for the time being.’
I bit my lip. I couldn’t bear to think of my mother weeping for me when she was still grieving for Da. But maybe Arthur was right.
‘Your da?’
‘I will tell him that I am seeking my fortune elsewhere. Once we’re settled we can write to them and let them know we are safe. My father can tell your mother.’
‘Money?’ I asked. How would we pay for this?
‘I will ask my father,’ Arthur said. ‘And if he cannot help, I will sell my belongings. I have some jewellery that was my mother’s, I have my horse.’
‘For me?’ I said softly. I couldn’t believe he was willing to sacrifice so much.
‘For us,’ he said.
We kissed and I felt lighter than I had since Da had been killed. Suddenly I had a future, something to look forward to. Something to work for.
My stomach grumbled loudly, breaking the mood. Arthur and I both laughed. ‘I’m hungry too,’ he said. He got to his feet. ‘We have a long wait until nightfall. You stay here. Don’t go anywhere because we don’t know if Morgan or his men will be roaming around the clifftop. I will go home and find some food.’
I didn’t want him to go, but I knew he was right.
‘I’ll ask a few people if they’ve seen you,’ he said. ‘Start to spread the word that you’re missing.’
I nodded, trying not to cry. I didn’t want him to leave me here alone. What if Morgan came? What if something happened to Arthur and he didn’t come back? I felt an urge to gather him to me and keep him with me, to keep him safe. I didn’t want him going back to Kirrinporth where Morgan and Mr Trewin and Mr Kirrin and goodness knows who else were free as birds to snatch him and hurt him.
He saw the fear in my eyes and bent down to kiss me softly. ‘Stay quiet,’ he said. ‘No one will know you’re here, if you don’t make a sound.’
I gave him a withering look. I was hardly about to start chattering now, was I? He chuckled and, with a certain reluctance, I gave a small smile, too.
‘Stay safe,’ he said. ‘I will return in an hour.’
But he didn’t.
Chapter 37
Phoebe
2019
The lunchtime rush at The Moon Girl was an older couple who’d been out for a walk and clearly only came in to use the loo but felt obliged to order a coffee, and two geeky-looking students wearing hiking boots and waterproofs, and with university-branded rucksacks on their backs, who had pints of lager and chatted loudly and enthusiastically about rock formations. That was it. Two coffees and two pints of lager. Wherever that money in the cellar had come from, it most certainly wasn’t from the takings at the pub.
I stayed behind the bar, glancing at the book and wondering if I could get the pictures out while there were customers here. I didn’t want to risk them getting beer spilled on them so I left them where they were, and spent my time worrying about Liv instead. More than once I took my phone out to call her and tell her I’d found the money, but then put it away again. What would be gained by confronting her?
Just as I was losing the will to live with the students’ chatter, the door opened and in came Simon the vicar. I greeted him like a long-lost friend. He ordered a Guinness and when I looked alarmed at the prospect of pulling his pint, he came round to my side of the bar and did it for me.
I was impressed and told him so.
He grinned. ‘I worked in pubs when I was younger.’
‘Well I wouldn’t have expected that.’
‘We’re just normal people, you know. We men of the cloth.’
‘Apparently so.’
Simon held his pint up so I could admire it. ‘Still got it.’ He took a sip and smacked his lips. ‘Now, delicious as this is, I didn’t just come in for a drink. I brought you something.’
He put down the glass and want back round to where he’d left his bag. Looking triumphant, he pulled out a sheaf of yellowing pages, tied together with a cord.
‘This,’ he said, putting it down on the bar, ‘is the memoir of Reverend Horace Pascoe, vicar of this parish in the 1790s.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ I breathed. ‘Arthur’s father? Have I got that right?’
I pulled the papers towards me. It was typewritten and I looked at Simon questioningly.
‘Some eager parishioner typed it up in the 1970s, I think,’ he said. ‘It’s genuine though. I’ve also got this …’
He dug in his bag again and this time produced a small leather-bound notebook, in a ziplock sandwich bag. ‘This is the original,’ he said. ‘It’s really delicate so I’ve been keeping it in this bag to protect it. I’ve cross-referenced it with the typewritten version and it all seems accurate.’
‘So Arthur’s father kept a diary?’
‘He did.’
‘Does it mention Emily?’
Simon made a face. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ I was absurdly disappointed.
‘But, it does mention Arthur. May I?’
I pushed the bundle of papers towards Simon and he untied them and started leafing through until he found a page, about two-thirds of the way in, marked with a Post-it Note.
‘Here,’ he said.
I leaned over the bar to see where he was pointing. ‘It was around this time that I lost my only son, Arthur,’ I read aloud. ‘I had hoped he would follow me into the church, but he was determined to follow his own path. I never saw him again.’ I paused, feeling sad for this man who long ago said goodbye to his son forever.
‘What does that mean?’ I said, bewildered. ‘Lost him how?’
Simon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It reads almost as though he died, but then the bit about him following his own path sounds as though he just did something other than becoming a vicar.’
I frowned ‘So why do you think this is related to Emily?’
‘Well, because it happened at the same time,’ Simon said. ‘Reverend Pascoe is writing about 1799 here, and that’s the date on Emily’s memorial stone.’
‘If Arthur died, surely he would have a memorial stone too?’ I said thoughtfully. ‘Or a grave?’
‘Perhaps he did – somewhere else in the church maybe, and it’s been lost over the years. Some of the stones in the churchyard are so old that the writing has been worn away.’
‘Would there be a record of a death?’
Simon shrugged. ‘Parish records are patchy when you go back so far.’
‘Maybe he did die when Emily did.’ I said. ‘Perhaps they both fell off the cliff, like the fictional Theodora and Diggory.’
‘A tragedy,’ said Simon, looking genuinely sad for the long-ago teenage lovers.
‘I found pictures,’ I said. ‘I’ve not looked at them all properly yet, but I think Emily drew them.’
‘Oh my days.’ Simon’s expression brightened. ‘Show me.’
I went to get the book and took out the pictures. Then Simon and I sat at a table and spread them all out in front of us. There were a couple of the woman – Janey Moon – whose picture was in the book. We compared the sketches to the reproduction on the page and nodded at each other. They’d definitely been drawn by Emily. There were some of a man, one of which had Amos Moon written in childlike writing along the top. Then there were
some of another man, with a white streak in his hair and rugged good looks that made me think of Ewan Logan and shudder. His picture had Cal Morgan written on it.
‘Look at this one,’ Simon said. It was a sketch of the beach below the pub. On the horizon was a large ship, and a smaller boat was on the shore. A line of men – I could see one of them was Cal Morgan because of his distinctive hair – were unloading cargo.
‘Smugglers,’ I breathed. ‘She drew the smugglers.’
‘This is astonishing,’ Simon said.
I was scanning the other pictures. ‘But did she draw them to show someone what they were doing?’ I wondered aloud. ‘Her version of taking a photograph with her phone? Or was it just for fun – all from her imagination?’
‘What about these ones?’ Simon held up the pictures showing a little covered wagon, heading out into the wilderness. ‘This landscape doesn’t look very Cornish.’
‘It reminds me of something,’ I said. ‘But I can’t think what.’
‘Don’t think about it, and it might come to you.’
I nodded. ‘Thank you for bringing the diary to show me,’ I said. ‘You’ve taken my mind off things and cheered me up.’
‘Were you miserable?’ Simon gave me a steady look that made me think anyone could tell him anything and he wouldn’t be shocked.
‘Not miserable, just worried about my friend Liv.’
‘Is she miserable?’
I shook my head. ‘We had a bit of a falling-out,’ I admitted. ‘She’s doing something I don’t think is the right thing to do.’
‘That’s tricky,’ Simon said.
‘It’s really tricky. I’m just worried she’s going to get into terrible trouble.’
He screwed his nose up. ‘You can’t stop her if she’s set on it,’ he pointed out. ‘And nor should you try really. People have to make their own mistakes.’
‘You’re right.’ I knew he was speaking sense. But I didn’t like it.
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