A Shadow's Bliss (30 page)

The respite was all too brief. The track became harder to follow, at times almost vanishing in the thick turf. The terrain was ever more hilly and broken, and Jonathan had no difficulty understanding why the other waggon should have broken down. Surmounting a rise, the track plunged into a small valley and wandered through a belt of low trees. Without warning the horses were knee-deep in a rushing stream that bisected the track, unseen in the deep shadows. Emerging on the far side, the track became ever more rutted and pot-holed, making it necessary to proceed with caution. Jonathan was uneasily aware that too much time was passing. If he didn't come upon the wrecked waggon soon, he could never hope to be back in Roselley while the light held, and his chances of finding the way home after dark were slim indeed.

Moments later he gave a sigh of relief when a waggon came into view, squatting ignominiously at the side of the track, the front end high in the air. There was no sign of horses or men, but when he shouted an enquiry an untidy scratch wig hove over the side. A bell-mouthed blunderbuss was levelled at him. Narrow dark eyes in a narrow face scanned him suspiciously, and a high-pitched London voice demanded his identity.

His reply appeared to satisfy because the waggoner clambered down, grumbling, “Took yer perishing time!”

“And I've precious little left to get back before the sun goes down. Where's your mate?”

“Rid the horses off, but he'll be back soon. If he don't go boozing. Which wouldn't be the first time.”

“I can't wait. We'd best get started.” He loosened girths and let the team graze. The waggoner began to haul boxes down while airing his grievances about heavy loads, lazy animals, and terrible roads. Listening with half an ear, Jonathan was dismayed by the number of crates, barrels and boxes to be transferred. “What the devil is all this?” he asked.

“Vittles, they said.” The waggoner spat into the road. “By the weight of some of these big 'uns, they must be cast iron 'taters!”

It took an hour's back-breaking labour to load the supplies, and the task wouldn't have been accomplished as rapidly had not the other waggoner returned driving a donkey cart. He was a stout man who sang merrily while he worked, and when they finished and Jonathan was readying his team for the return journey, he chatted with Duster and offered to buy him for sixpence. He looked genuinely disappointed when his offer was refused, but waved and called a good-natured farewell, and for quite some distance Jonathan could hear him singing.

Clouds were building to the east, but luckily the dry weather held. Because of the heavy load, Jonathan had expected the return journey to take more time, but the team proved their worth and moved along steadily. The only difficulty arose when the track led through a patch of low ground that was soggy from the rains. It had presented no difficulty on the eastward journey, but the added weight caused the waggon wheels to sink into the mud and the team was unable to haul it clear. For a time Jonathan thought he was beaten, but fortunately there was a thicket nearby, and by levering deadwood under the wheels he was able at last to get them turning once more.

The battlements of Castle Triad came into view as the sun was setting. Jonathan was tired and hungry, but he turned off the track, drew the team to a halt, and climbed into the back of the cart. He used a sharp rock and his pocket knife to pry up the lid on a long crate. Expecting to find muskets or swords, he stared, baffled, at coats, breeches, shirts and shoes of all shapes and sizes. Two barrels were chained and padlocked. A third emitted sloshing sounds when he moved it. ‘Rum,' he thought, and turned his attention to another long box. This one he was able to open without causing too much damage, and his expectations were fulfilled. Far from mining machinery, the crate held at least a score fine pistols and as many knives and clubs. He pounded the lid down again, and advised Duster that he'd be willing to wager the two padlocked barrels held shot and powder, and that there'd be very little mine restoring done with these goods.

It was dusk when he reached the Blue Rose. Just as Isaac had said, wide iron gates were closed across the entrance. In response to his hail, a tall man carrying a musket came out.

Jonathan thought that “guard” would have been a better word than “caretaker.” The musket was not set aside, even while the padlock was removed, and the tall man glanced about suspiciously as he waved Jonathan through the gates, then ordered him to stop and get down.

Obeying, Jonathan asked, “Do we off-load out here?”

The caretaker ignored him and climbed into the waggon to inspect the cargo.

Jonathan made a quick survey of the ramshackle wooden building at one side, with beyond it the tunnel-like opening in the hillside that he knew sloped down into the mine.

“Some of these is busted,” accused the caretaker.

“I'm surprised they all weren't. The other waggon lost both back wheels and its axle broke. Came down hard. The waggoners looked like honest men. I doubt anything's been taken.”

“Better not've been!” The caretaker climbed out again, keeping his eyes fixed on Jonathan. “A'right. Get on yer way,” he said with a wave of the musket.

“I was told to help—”

“Don't matter what you was told to. Get on yer way.”

“But—the team. I'm supposed to take them back to Triad.”

Grinning unpleasantly, the man slouched nearer and said through his brown teeth, “The team'll be brung back.
G'night,
Sam.”

“My name is not Sam. And I'll get my property first.” With a lithe swing Jonathan was on the box seat of the waggon and lifting Duster's cage.

“Hey!” The caretaker aimed his musket. “You stop! Whatcha got there?”

Jonathan jumped down. “This is Duster, and why you should wish to shoot him I cannot guess. He ate none of your supplies, I promise you.”

The hard eyes darted to the cage. “Let's have a look. Cor! What kinda—” The words ended in a shriek. He had trod within reach of the big chestnut.

The mine seemed to explode people. The light was almost gone now, but among those who came at the run was someone holding a lantern. Jonathan caught glimpses of savage eager faces; the flash of steel; long-barrelled pistols gripped in practiced hands. There was little outcry.

A harsh voice demanded
“¿Quien es?”

The caretaker swore furiously. “Accursed nag bit me! If it didn't belong to his lord—”

Another man snapped, “You—with the birdcage. Get out!”

Jonathan needed no urging. Amid a sudden hush, he strode up the path and over the rise, half expecting to hear a shot, and with an uneasy feeling between his shoulder blades.

He slowed as soon as he was out of range. It had begun to rain and the wind was blowing up, but weariness, hunger, and the weather were scarcely noted. In his mind's eye was the armed and hostile crowd lit by the beams of that high-held lantern; the fierce glares that had come his way; and one face that stood out from all the others. The square ruddy face of a man for whose death he had held himself directly responsible: Joe Taylor, who had won the coveted post of ship's carpenter on the proud East Indiaman called the
Silken Princess.

C
HAPTER
XIII

“Wait! Jack—will ye cease your gallop, man?”

A strong hand caught at his arm. A large shape loomed through the darkness, and Holsworth panted, “Lucky I was … on the look-out for ye, else you'd have run yourself into a fine bog! Let's get out of this wind.”

Jonathan followed resistlessly, marvelling that he hadn't noticed the wind was rising, or that he'd walked all this way. Inside Holsworth's snug but cluttered kitchen, the big man peered at him anxiously and pushed him into a chair. “Been off on one of your forgetting times?”

It had been more a “remembering time” and there was no end to the possible ramifications. He said, “Not exactly. The widow said you wanted to talk to me, but I thought I'd go home and get something to eat first.”

Holsworth opened a cupboard and set out a tankard of ale, some dark bread, and a generous slice of cold meat. “Aye, ye look fair famished,” he said. “Eat up.”

Not until that instant had Jonathan realized just how hungry he was, and he ate gratefully. Holsworth used two books to brace his long clay pipe and filled it while recounting the progress he'd made on the ark. “She's ready hull and keel,” he concluded with enthusiasm. “Ah, Johnny, I begin to wish I'd built her down on the beach so we could launch her and then work on fitting her out.”

Jonathan said with a faint smile, “We might haul her to Devil's Ladder. It could serve you as a slipway.”

“Perish the thought! She'd reach the sea as splinters! But I didn't bring you here to talk of my ark.” The big man removed the pipe from between his teeth and sat staring down at it, then said, “I've no wish to see ye leave, but—'tis time you was least in sight.” He met Jonathan's eyes, adding reluctantly, “There's rumours abroad. A parcel of 'em. And none to your good.”

“That's nothing new.” Finishing his small meal, Jonathan said, “Actually, people have been kinder of late. Even young Blary doesn't mock me as he used to do.”

“
Young
Blary, maybe not.
Ben
Blary and Wally Pughill and their like, is another matter. And worse'n Ben Blary”—Holsworth leaned forward, waving his pipe for emphasis—“that ferret-faced man of Lord Green's has been hanging about the tavern and Gundred's place, stirring up trouble. Folks was talking against ye afore, ye knows that. All the business about a dark stranger what you was seen whispering with on the cliffs at dawn—the one Ben Blary says had eyes like live coals in his head. Ah, you may laugh, man. But take it along o' the fact that—well, no offence meant, but ye don't always know what you been a'doing of five minutes ago—own it, now.”

“Yes, but—”

“There y'are, then. And you is said to have climbed up the cliff past Bridget Bay, which everyone knows cannot be done. And—much as I hates to say it, Jack, ye're not like the rest of us. Them eyes o'yourn can be meek as a saint one minute, and strike through a man like a spear the next.” He paused, then muttered, “What really troubles me is that you're staying at the widder's. If folks should think that you and her…”

“Have been doing—what? Conjuring up evil spells to plague the children? If ever I heard such stuff! Why not add the fact that I saw the lady with the blue cloak? Then they'll—”

Holsworth dropped his pipe. Paling, his eyes wide with alarm, he gasped, “Ye never said 'twas a
blue
cloak! Oh—Gawd! You see the
Lady!
”

“So I'm told. But I promise you I had nought to do with her appearance, and she seemed to notice me not at all. Besides, from what Je— Miss Jennifer said—”

“Ah! And that's the worst of the lot!” Recovering himself, but still looking unnerved, Holsworth took up his broken pipe. “There's a tale that you—er, been putting spells on Miss Jennifer.” He darted a look at Jonathan from under his bushy eyebrows. “And if all the rest wasn't enough to turn folk agin ye,
that
would do it—proper!”

His face bleak, Jonathan stood and started to the door.

Holsworth ran to intercept him. “Hold up! I didn't say as
I
believed it of ye, Jack. But—oh, man! If ye could but see your eyes when you look at her! Or the—the glow that comes on her sweet face at the sight o' you! 'Tis plain as the nose on your face that—”

“That I have dared—presumed—to love her?” The anger in Jonathan faded. Sitting down again, he said slowly. “Well, 'tis quite true. But can you think I don't know how far beneath her I am? I told her I'm going away, and I mean to. Only—she has it in her mind that because I saw the lady in the blue cloak something awful is going to happen. I know 'tis foolish superstition, but—if she really should be threatened by danger, I don't want to leave her.”

“I think our dear Miss Jennifer would not like to see you put to the cliff for being in league with the devil, Jack. Nor the widow burned at the stake for a witch what has conspired with you! Nay, hear me out! You're not a Cornishman. You don't understand our ways. I tell ye, true as true, call it superstition if you will, but we've the lore of the ancient folk. We've the old Powers. And once they're set loose, there's no stopping 'em. I've seen things you wouldn't believe. And I know!”

He was a commanding figure, standing there straight and tall, the light from the candles gleaming on his hook and throwing dark shadows under his eyes. Watching him, Jonathan had the uncanny feeling that there were, indeed, “more things in heaven and earth than—”

The door flew open and crashed against the sideboard. A gust of rain-laden wind howled in, its damp breath extinguishing the candles, plunging the room into darkness, and blowing over Duster's cage. Holsworth gave a startled yell. Duster squawked frantically. His heart thumping, Jonathan leapt for the door. He collided with a dark and yielding form. A feminine shriek added to the uproar, and a wet cloak flapped about him. Groping for the door, he encountered a second arrival, and another shriek rang out.

He found the door, and shut out the ravening night. The first lady was far from slender, but the second … He held his breath.

Mrs. Newlyn gasped, “Let us have some light, Noah, for mercy's sake!”

Holsworth succeeded in waking a flame, and as the candles added their glow to the room, Jonathan's heartbeat eased back to normal.

The second visitor was Tilly Mays. Both women were very wet and wind-blown, and he took their cloaks and drew up chairs for them.

Holsworth righted Duster's cage and asked, “What's to do now?”

“We—we hoped to find Jack here,” panted the widow, sinking onto the chair and pressing a hand to her heart. “Oh, what a wild night!”