The Smuggler's Daughter

by Kerry Barrett

  Simon started putting the papers back into his bag. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘But I’m glad this was helpful.’

  ‘It was great, thank you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about your friend.’

  ‘I’ll try not to.’

  But that was easier said than done. Simon and I said goodbye and I sat in the empty pub, staring at my phone aimlessly, only putting it away when Liv came into the pub.

  I tried to be normal with her, even though I wanted to grab her shoulders and scream at her about the money I’d found. ‘How was your meeting?’

  She gave me a forced-looking smile. ‘Yeah, great. I’ve put in some orders. Let’s hope it pays off, eh? Any customers?’

  ‘A couple,’ I said. ‘Very quiet.’

  She rubbed her eyes, looking exhausted. ‘Thanks anyway.’ She jumped as her phone vibrated in her hand, and she glanced at the screen and sighed.

  ‘Problem?’ I said.

  She didn’t answer, still looking at the message.

  ‘Liv, are you okay?’

  She blinked at me. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I was just … erm. Just work.’

  ‘You’d tell me if anything wasn’t okay, wouldn’t you?’ I said.

  ‘Definitely.’

  But I knew she was lying.

  ‘I need to make a phone call,’ she said. ‘I’ll be upstairs.’

  I heard her slowly walk up to the flat, her steps heavy and sluggish. I had no way of knowing for sure, obviously, but I was certain her message was from Ewan and it was him she was calling now. And that made me think that things were happening tonight. The storm had cleared and the sun had even come out. It was looking like being a calm night.

  Suddenly I made up my mind. Liv was in trouble and I needed to act. Maybe she’d taken off her bracelet. Maybe she hadn’t come to me for help. But she was my best and oldest friend and I was damned if I was going to let something bad happen to her. The way I saw it, I had to catch Ewan and his cronies – yes, even Jed – in the act. If I could stop them somehow, before they got as far as stashing their goods or – I felt dizzy for a second – people – in the pub cellar, then Liv’s involvement would be irrelevant. She might need to give evidence later, but I was fairly sure she’d get away with a rap on the knuckles.

  Decision made, I felt marginally better. Now I just had to come up with a plan.

  Chapter 38

  Emily

  1799

  Arthur was gone ages. Hours and hours. I bit down my rising panic, tried to ignore my hunger and thirst and paced around the tiny hut. One, two steps one way, then the same the other way.

  I scratched drawings on the dusty floor of the shed, a few lines to show the little wagon in my imagination. To remind me what we were aiming for.

  My hunger grew. And my thirst. I was used to being hungry of course, I knew how to ignore an empty belly. But my lips were dry and my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. I felt weak and shaky. What if Arthur didn’t come back?

  After the afternoon slipped into early evening, I made a decision. I had to go and find him. I had to know he was all right. And perhaps that meant we wouldn’t catch Morgan in the act, but so be it.

  I pulled my cloak around myself and crept out into the twilight. The birds in the woods were noisily settling down for the evening, chirruping and tweeting in the branches above. I strained my ears, listening carefully for any sound that could be approaching footsteps.

  As I drew close to the path that led out of the woods and towards Kirrinporth, I heard a twig snap. With my heart beating faster, I drew back into the shadows behind a tree.

  But to my relief, it was Arthur who came into view, scurrying carefully through the dim light.

  I reached out as he passed me and touched his arm and he jumped in fear, stifling a shout as he saw it was me.

  ‘Emily,’ he gasped. ‘Oh my goodness, I thought you were Morgan.’

  I wrapped my arms round him, feeling his heart thumping wildly. ‘Sorry,’ I said quietly. ‘I was scared.’

  Arthur glanced around us fearfully, then he took my hand and in silence we hurried back to the shed.

  Once we were inside, I shut the door and checked it was secure, then I turned to Arthur, throwing my hands out fiercely, showing him I was angry that he’d been away so long.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ he said. ‘I was getting things together. We need to be prepared.’

  He grinned at me and threw me some bread wrapped in cloth, and a flask of water. I drank the water first, then tucked into the bread greedily.

  ‘I packed a bag,’ he said. ‘I thought we should be ready. Just in case. I took some cuttings from the garden. And some seeds.’

  I rolled my eyes. He’d said the journey was long and hard. Could seeds and cuttings even survive?

  Arthur smiled at my disbelieving expression. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But they just might grow. These seeds could be the first things we grow in America.’ He looked very pleased with himself. ‘And I brought you this.’

  He showed me a roll of paper and some sticks of charcoal, as well as a bottle of ink and a pen. ‘You can draw the plants,’ he said. ‘Keep a record of everything.’

  I was thrilled. I liked the idea of drawing plants much better than drawing murderers.

  ‘I have all the money I could find. It’s not much,’ he warned. ‘And some of my mother’s jewellery. I thought if we go to Plymouth we can ask around, find out how much we need to get passage on a ship. If we need to, we can find work in Plymouth. Something we can do together. We are a team. And I truly believe if we stay together, we will make a success of this.’

  I felt a flutter of fear. I hoped he was right, but while I was as enthusiastic about travelling to America as he was, I was terrified about what the night might bring. We had to make it through to morning before we made plans.

  ‘Morgan?’ I asked.

  Arthur shook his head. ‘No sign of him. But I spoke to my father.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I said nothing of our plans. I just reminded him to lock the gates.’

  I bit my lip. This all seemed too real now. What if Reverend Pascoe forgot? Or warned Morgan?

  ‘And I saw Mr Trewin,’ Arthur said.

  I gasped. Had he been suspicious that we knew what the smugglers were up to?

  But Arthur grinned. ‘I doffed my hat to him, and asked if he’d seen you on his travels.’

  I widened my eyes, startled by Arthur’s boldness.

  ‘He said he hadn’t seen you, but then he asked was I worried about you.’

  ‘Ohh,’ I breathed. Why would Mr Trewin think Arthur was worried about me, unless …

  ‘I think, perhaps, Morgan has started spreading the word about your tragic accident already.’

  I closed my eyes, wondering if word had got to my mother yet. But I knew this was the only way. Because these were dangerous men we were dealing with and I didn’t want Mam to be at risk if there were any reprisals.

  A thought struck me. ‘Where is your horse?’ I asked Arthur.

  ‘At the inn. I put her in the stables round the back, though. That way no one should really notice she’s there.’

  ‘Good.’ I sighed. Now we just had to wait for nightfall. And hope everything goes as we planned.

  Time passed so slowly I thought I would die of boredom and nerves. Arthur and I talked about Plymouth. I’d never been but he had. He told me what it was like, warning me it was busy and noisy. I felt sick at the thought of being among so many people, but I calmed myself by imagining our new life in America.

  Eventually it got dark and we crept outside of our hut, through the trees and out on to the grass at the top of the cliff. We were both silent, both scared, both gripping each other’s hands tightly.

  We found a spot, behind the rock that Petroc had painted, which was beginning to glow in the darkness, and crouched down to watch the beach. I pulled my cloak around me and Arthur gasped. ‘Look,’ he said, tugging on one side. ‘Yo
u’re glowing.’

  I twisted round and sure enough, my cloak was shining like the rocks. It must have been from when Morgan threw it against the wet paint. I started to take it off but Arthur stopped me.

  ‘You’ll be cold without it. It’s fine – it’s like a disguise.’

  I breathed out slowly. ‘I look like one of Petroc’s ghosts.’

  ‘You could be Theodora and I am Diggory,’ Arthur joked.

  We chuckled for a moment, and I felt my nerves release just a bit, and then movement along the moonlit clifftop caught my eye. ‘Arthur,’ I said quietly, pointing.

  ‘It’s them,’ he said.

  Four figures were making their way down the path to the beach. I recognised Morgan and Petroc – the white streak in Morgan’s hair gleamed in the moonlight, like my cloak. We watched them slowly navigate the steep path.

  ‘I think they’ll take the little boat from the cave and row out to the ship,’ I told Arthur.

  ‘Will they go now? How long before the ship comes?’ Arthur said.

  I shrugged. ‘I can’t see anything yet, can you?’

  Arthur squinted into the horizon. ‘Nothing.’

  Suddenly it all seemed very real, and very dangerous. I thought of Mam all alone in the inn, waiting for Morgan’s cargo, but instead finding the revenue men in the cellar. And possibly facing awkward questions and suspicion herself. Arthur had promised his father would speak up for her – but would he really? Arthur himself always said his father was weak. What if he was too scared to stand up for Mam? I looked at the men, making their way down the path and made a sudden decision.

  I stood up quickly. ‘Stay here,’ I said carefully and quietly.

  Arthur turned to me in confusion as I pulled my cloak off and gave it to him. I didn’t want to be seen.

  ‘What are you doing, Emily? Where are you going?’ Arthur looked bewildered.

  ‘Mam,’ I said.

  He grabbed my hand but I shook him off. This was too important and I had to be fast. I had to make sure everything at the inn was arranged to look as though Mam had no knowledge of what Morgan was doing.

  I hitched up my skirt and ran as fast as I could across the grass, keeping to the shadows at the edge of the trees. I raced past the stables and round the back of the inn. The building was in darkness and I stood for a second, letting my eyes adjust. It was very late now, and I assumed Mam was in bed with enough drink inside her that she wouldn’t hear me.

  Quietly, I felt along the doorframe for the key, grateful for Mam’s habit of leaving the key for anyone to find but also disappointed that she was still so trusting. I opened the door to the inn. I crept inside and into the lounge area, where I hoped the fire would still be smouldering. It was, so I lit a lantern, turned the wick down low and then went back out into the hallway. I paused for a moment at the foot of the steps, listening for any noise from Mam but everything was silent.

  Feeling more confident that she was out cold and unlikely to wake, I made my way to the cellar door and went down the stone stairs, turning my lantern up so it lit the space more brightly. There was the door that I knew now led to the tunnel. There was nothing in front of it, giving it space to open. Mam had rearranged the cellar to give Morgan easy access to the inn. But with everything made so easy for him, it was obvious that my mother was involved. That was what I had to change.

  I put the lantern down and checked the tunnel door. It was unlocked, so I felt along the frame for the key, locked it firmly and put the key back on top of the door. Then I dragged some barrels around the cellar, stacking them in front of the entrance to the tunnel so it was blocked. I kicked away the marks in the dust on the floor that showed they’d only just been moved. I didn’t want there to be any chance of Mam getting into trouble. This way it looked as though she’d had no knowledge of what was going on down on the beach.

  And, I thought with a certain amount satisfaction, now I’d locked the door to the tunnel and blocked it with barrels, there was no escape for Morgan. If he tried to run from the customs men, he’d be trapped on the beach.

  Confident I’d done all I could, I slipped back out of the cellar and locked that door too.

  I went towards the door, then changed my mind. Quietly, I crept up the stairs to Mam’s bedroom. She was lying on her bed, snoring gently. I delved into my pocket and found the small sketches I’d made of her and Da. The ones I’d not hidden in my window seat. I tucked one of her and one of Da under her pillow and kissed her forehead. Then I ran downstairs again, put the lantern out, locked the back door of the inn behind me, replaced the key and took a breath. Time to go.

  I ran all the way back to the clifftop, back to Arthur. I’d not been away long – my breathlessness showed how swiftly I’d moved – but I knew he would be worried.

  I found him crouched behind the rock, watching the beach intently. He jumped when I put my hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Oh thank goodness it’s you,’ he whispered. ‘Did you go to the inn?’

  I nodded. I couldn’t catch enough breath to try to speak, so I mimed turning a key.

  ‘You locked the door to the tunnel?’ He looked impressed. ‘Good thinking.’ He handed me my cloak and I pulled it on, grateful for its warmth because the night was growing cold. ‘Morgan and Petroc are on the beach. The other two men went out in the boat, but they’re not back yet. I can’t see anything.’

  I gestured to show that we should go nearer and he nodded. Slowly we both got on to our bellies, and like worms we wiggled our way to the edge of the cliff. We could see more clearly now. Morgan was sitting on a rock, his gaze fixed out to sea. Petroc was pacing along the shore. Clearly he was getting on Morgan’s nerves, because the taller man kept speaking sharply to him, causing Petroc to stop walking for a moment and then start his pacing again.

  And then the ship appeared, far out to sea. I clutched Arthur’s arm and pointed.

  ‘That must be it,’ he said, squinting through the gloom.

  We watched for a while, both of us straining to see. ‘I can hear something,’ Arthur said. And sure enough, the rowing boat came into view, low in the water, thanks to her heavy cargo.

  I hissed at Arthur, giving him a nudge. He had to go as fast as he could. He scrambled to his feet now, looking frightened and very young. ‘I’ll get them to send riding officers and a cutter, if they can.’

  I nodded.

  He gave me a quick, scared smile. ‘I love you, Emily Moon,’ he said.

  I blew him a kiss and clasped my hands to my heart in response, telling him I loved him too.

  Light on his feet, Arthur raced away towards the stables. I sent up a prayer that the customs men would be ready and willing to listen and act and then turned my gaze back to the beach.

  If I’d thought time had gone slowly while we were waiting for night to fall, I’d been wrong. Now the wait was unbearable. Each stroke of the oar was excruciating, each slap of the waves against the prow of the boat like torture. But eventually, the boat reached the beach and Petroc and Morgan waded into the water like I’d seen them do before.

  It took them a while to unload the cargo because there was a lot of it. This time it was mostly packages. Tobacco, I guessed, though I didn’t know for sure.

  Unlike last time, tonight the men didn’t form a chain to pass the packages up the beach to the cave. Instead Morgan and Petroc pushed the little boat back out to sea. With delight, I realised this meant there was more cargo to come, which meant they’d be there for a while yet.

  Petroc fumbled a few times, dropping packets or taking a while to pass them on. He was stalling, I realised. Deliberately taking his time because he knew they had to stay on the beach long enough for the customs men to get there.

  By the time the packets were inside the cave, the boat had reappeared and the whole process started again. This time I could see bottles and barrels. Heavy loads. Again the men formed their line and started taking the contraband into the tunnel. It was hard work, clearly. Their shouts echoed r
ound the cove and once more Petroc was clumsy and unhelpful.

  With tempers obviously fraying, Morgan shouted at his right-hand man. I couldn’t hear what was said, the wind whipped the words from their mouths before they reached me, but the tone was sharp and angry. One of the other men tried to grip Morgan from behind, but the big man shook him off and rounded on Petroc. I was pleased things weren’t going smoothly but I felt fearful for Petroc. I hoped Morgan wouldn’t turn violent.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow. I turned my head and there, snaking down the path, were three, four, five revenue men. I felt weak with relief. We’d done it.

  But down on the beach, things were getting nasty. Morgan had clearly lost his temper completely and launched himself at Petroc. Ignoring the shouts from the other men, Morgan punched poor Petroc in the face and the smaller man fell to the ground like stone. I watched in horror as Morgan pulled out a knife, looming over Petroc. This was all so wrong. Terrified Morgan was going to kill my father’s old friend, I struggled to my feet, my glowing cloak billowing around me.

  I took a breath and, hoping my throat wouldn’t tighten and betray me, I opened my mouth and shouted: ‘Stop!’

  I had no idea if they could hear what I cried, but they must have heard something because Morgan turned towards me. Realising his attacker was distracted, Petroc kicked out and Morgan’s knife fell on to the sand. I watched as Petroc crawled away and melted into the shadows at the edge of the beach. Morgan and the other men were frozen, staring up at me on the clifftop. I could see their frightened faces.

  ‘It’s the Moon girl,’ I heard Morgan shout, a quiver in his normally strident tones. ‘Petroc, it’s the Moon girl.’

  Suddenly I realised what was happening: With the ethereal glow to my cloak, and the moonlight shining on my blonde hair I must have looked like a spirit standing there on the clifftop. I laughed. Finally Morgan would understand how it felt to be scared out of his wits.

  As the smugglers on the beach stared up at me, the revenue men reached them. There were shouts and a scuffle. I crouched back down out of sight to watch, while one revenue man got a punch to the nose that splattered blood across his face and down his red coat. Morgan was shouting for Petroc but the smaller man had vanished. I was pleased he’d got himself away. He wasn’t blameless, but I knew he wasn’t a bad man; he’d just made some foolish choices.