Devil's Prize (19 page)

‘Just say you’re right –’

‘I am, and I’ll prove it. Varcoe will be returning with a cargo of contraband either tomorrow or the night after. Write me an order for Lieutenant Crocker to call out the dragoons. I’ll have it delivered as soon as I get back to Porthinnis. You’ll get your contraband. And I’ll see Varcoe on the end of a rope. He won’t cheat me again.’

Riding away with the signed order in his pocket, Thomas’s mood swung wildly between elation and panic. Devlin must die. His own future depended on it.

After delivering Devlin’s message to Jared, Jenefer had hurried back to the cottage and crawled into bed, shivering as much from nerves as from cold. But sleep had been impossible. She knew now where Martin was and what he’d been doing. But that knowledge only made her feelings about him even more confused.

For months he had braved discovery and death on a daily basis. She could not begin to imagine what life must have been like for him, living a lie, having to keep moving, always at risk of betrayal. How had he managed to survive? Of course she wanted him to come back safely. But if he did, what then? She was betrothed to a man she didn’t know.

It was a little after three o’clock when she walked up the path to the thatched house next to the boatyard. A thick veil of cloud hid the sun and the milky sky was luminescent. With no wind to carry it away the sound of hammering and the rhythmic scrape of a saw seemed very loud.

Devlin had warned her to tell no one. But he should have reached Roscoff by now. She knew what it meant to be denied the truth: to live with fear and anxiety. Why should Tamara suffer that? Yet Jenefer still wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing.

The young maid who answered her knock looked tired and harassed. Jenefer’s twinge of sympathy made her realise how much more aware of others she had become.

‘Good afternoon.’ She met the girl’s gaze with a smile. ‘Is Miss Gillis at home?’

Before the maid could reply, Tamara’s mother appeared in the hall behind her. ‘Miss Trevanion. This is a pleasant surprise. My goodness, you poor girl, what a time you’ve had. Is it true you’ve been working in Mr Casvellan’s pilchard cellars?’

Detecting relish beneath the spurious sympathy Jenefer’s smile faded but she kept her voice level. ‘Briefly. I wasn’t very adept at it. Is Tamara at home, Mrs Gillis?’

Morwenna waved the maid away. ‘Go back up, Sally. I’ll be with you shortly.’ She turned again to Jenefer. ‘I’m afraid not. And you find me in the middle of preparations for her wedding.’

Stunned, Jenefer could only stare at her. ‘Wedding?’ She managed finally.

‘Indeed.’ Morwenna beamed as she clasped her hands over her lace-frilled bosom. ‘Mr Thomas Varcoe offered for Tamara and she has accepted him. Naturally, due to the difficult circumstances, it will be a quieter wedding than her father and I would have wished.’

‘Difficult?’ Jenefer repeated faintly, thinking of the rumours and astounded that Tamara’s mother would mention such matters at all, let alone to a relative stranger. For although they lived in the same village social meetings between the Gillis and Trevanion families had been rare.

‘Yes,’ Morwenna nodded with great solemnity. ‘It is quite a tragedy. His brother is missing and we must prepare ourselves for the worst.’ She sighed, shaking her head. ‘But life must go on.’ Her brave smile implied valiant effort for her daughter’s sake. ‘It is, I’m sure, what Devlin would have wanted.’

For a moment Jenefer was speechless. Then courtesy and her mother’s training came to her rescue. ‘My apologies. I have come at a bad time. I – I – wish them very happy.’ She turned away.

‘Will you not leave a message?’ Morwenna could not contain her curiosity. ‘Tell me and I will tell my daughter the moment she returns. I am very busy but –’

‘Thank you, no.’ Jenefer edged away.

‘It’s not your sister, is it? I hear she’s been poorly. Betsy is such a dear girl. Tamara is very fond of her.’

Beginning to wish she hadn’t come, Jenefer continued backing down the path. ‘She’s much better, thank you.’

‘Tamara will be glad to hear it. Good day to you, Miss Trevanion.’ The door closed with a snap.

Perhaps it was as well that Tamara was out. If Devlin were killed bringing Martin home, Tamara would be no worse off than she was now. Why tell her he was alive when by tomorrow or the night after he might not be? She had accepted Thomas Varcoe? Why would she have done that? It didn’t make sense.

Chapter Nineteen

Earlier that afternoon, her nerves shredded by her mother’s ceaseless instructions, these interspersed with reminders of her good fortune, Tamara had begged to be excused.

‘I’m sorry, Mama, but I have a dreadful headache.’

‘My dear girl, why didn’t you say so? Here, come and lie down. I will ring for Sally to fetch –’

‘No,  Mama, thank you. I will be better much sooner if I walk in the fresh air.’

‘You do look pale. Very well then, go out if you must. But make sure you wrap up warm. I cannot be doing with you catching a chill. And while you walk, try to recover your spirits. You should remember your good fortune. When I think –’ She shuddered. ‘I shall expect you back in an hour. No later, mind. I need you here. There is so much to do.’

‘I only distract you,  Mama. You will get on far better without me.’

As she fastened her green jacket, Tamara tried to feel grateful that her family would be spared disgrace. Thomas had held her hand and promised to take care of her. But while his mouth smiled his eyes had raged. Recalling the touch of his soft damp fingers made her flesh creep.

Once out of the house she walked quickly up onto the moor, her favourite refuge since her early teens. She loved the space and solitude. Usually, being up here able to look down onto the village, the harbour and beyond to the sea, allowed her to distance herself from whatever troubled her. It put problems into perspective. But today there was no escape from what she had done.

Though there had been no alternative to accepting Thomas, every fibre of her being rebelled. But Devlin hadn’t wanted her. Even if he still lived he was bound for prison, and then – there was no if. He was alive. He was. Had he been killed, she would have sensed it. She would know.

What could she do but marry Thomas? But how would she bear to? She hugged herself, the ache almost unbearable. She yearned for Devlin, grieved for Devlin. But she also felt something deeper than loss, darker than grief. It was fear: a premonition of something terrible.

She tried to persuade herself such imaginings were due to shock, or her condition, the pressures of a marriage she dreaded yet could not avoid. But in her heart she knew it was none of those things.

She tilted her head back. The air was totally still. She could hear the harsh cawing of rooks. Yet the nearest trees were at Trescowe, a quarter of a mile away. Her eyes flew open and every muscle in her body tightened. She looked around, desperately seeking an explanation for her unease.

Her gaze swept over the village from the cottages on the seawall, tiers of houses separated by alleys, the church, the chapel, Thomas Varcoe’s house, then down again to the harbour and quay. Seeing Devlin’s workshop with the net store and his loft above, memories flooded back. And with the images came sensation as she relived all that she had felt. Her heart swelled as if it would burst and a low cry escaped before she could stop it. Biting hard on her lower lip she choked down sobs, her chest heaving with the effort. Blinking away tears she dared not allow to fall – for her mother might notice and that would provoke a tirade – she focused on the barking shed, then the pilchard cellars, then her father’s boatyard.

She started to turn away but her attention was caught by a figure skulking by the bushes near the gate of Lieutenant Crocker’s house. She watched the figure hurry up the path and push something beneath the door.

Raising her hands to shade her eyes as the man scurried down the road, she recognised the way he moved. According to Roz, Willie Grose liked to tell anyone who would listen that he was Mr Varcoe’s right-hand man. Yet she had just seen him at the Riding Officer’s door.

Had he and Thomas fallen out? Was this an act of revenge? She ought to warn Thomas. But he would want to know how she knew. Where had she been that allowed her to see this occurrence? He had already annoyed her by telling her mother he didn’t approve of young women risking their safety and their reputation by going out without a chaperone.

She started walking, the path so familiar she was barely aware of it.

Marriage to Thomas would be a cage to which he held the only key. Watching his face when she told him of her condition, she had seen his fury. No matter what he told her mother, or his promises to protect and care for her, she was under no illusions. Her whole family was in his debt. But it was she who would pay. She would be his property to use as he chose. How would she bear it? At least she would have her baby. Wouldn’t she?

‘Miss Gillis?’

Startled, Tamara glanced up. It took her a moment to realise she had reached the crossroads, then another to recognise Betsy’s sister. But what was she doing here? As Tamara’s gaze sharpened so did her instincts. But Jenefer spoke first.

‘I called at your house. But your mother said –’

‘Is Betsy –?’

Jenefer shook her head. ‘No, she’s much better. I came – I hoped to see you.’

‘Me? Why?’

After a quick glance round Jenefer blurted, ‘He’s alive.’

A rushing sound like a great waterfall filled Tamara’s head. She heard a gasping cry, and realised with faint surprise that it had come from her throat. The ground tilted under her feet and an arm gripped her around the waist.

‘I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have – are you ill?’

Swallowing her nausea, her skin prickling, Tamara sucked in a deep breath. ‘No, I’m all right. It was just – please, could we go to your house? I need to know – and it won’t be possible – my mother –’

‘Of course. Here, take my arm.’

Tamara’s legs felt boneless. Her shift clung to her clammy skin, and her throat was parched. But none of it mattered. She had believed. And she was right. Devlin was alive.

They cut across the quay. The water in the harbour was eerily smooth. It reminded her of pitch then of black satin.

A few minutes later they turned into the opeway that led to Devlin’s cottage. Once inside, Tamara sank onto a chair and watched Jenefer shovel coal onto the embers, open the damper, and pull the kettle over the flames.

‘You are sure?’ Tamara asked, desperate for reassurance as Jenefer took off her coat and flung it over the banister rail. ‘It isn’t just a rumour?’

‘No, I’m sure. I’ve seen him.’

‘Where?’

‘Here. He came here. He wanted me to take a message to Jared Sweet.’

Tamara stood up, but swayed as her head spun and quickly sat down again, supporting her head on her hands. Anxiety coursed through her.

‘Don’t try to move until you’ve had some tea,’ Jenefer warned.

‘But he’s all right? He’s not injured?’

‘There were bruises on his face and temple –’ Jenefer set the kettle down and put the lid on the small teapot. ‘Forgive me, but – Is it true what your mother told me? That you are to be married to Thomas Varcoe?’

Her mother. Tamara pushed her fingers through her hair. Reluctant to get involved in explanations she raised her eyes. She cared little for what people thought of her, but hoped she might still protect her parents. ‘It’s difficult – complicated –’

Jenefer tipped milk into each cup then poured the tea. As she pushed the cup across, Tamara saw her hand was shaking.

‘I know. It’s hard to keep secrets in this village. You mentioned rumours. I heard one. I was not gossiping,’ she added quickly. ‘I was in the shop and couldn’t help overhearing. It – they were saying –’

‘About me?’ Lifting her cup with both hands Tamara sipped. With each mouthful of hot tea she felt her strength returning.

Sitting opposite, Jenefer nodded. ‘You – and Devlin.’

‘Ah.’ Tamara met her gaze directly. ‘I love him. But he –’ To her horror her voice cracked. She put her trembling lips to the cup, swallowed more tea, and with it the lump in her throat.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jenefer said.

‘Why did he want Jared?’ Tamara lowered the cup, clattering it onto the saucer. ‘Oh God, surely he can’t be making another run? But if he is –’ Her head hurt and she rested on her hands as she tried to work it out.

‘When Thomas came to our house he told my mother that Devlin was either dead or a prisoner. If he believes that, then he can’t have put up the money. So who has?’ She looked up. ‘What if Thomas lied? What if he does know Devlin’s alive? What if he’s found out Devlin is making a run for someone else? Thomas hates his brother. While I was up on the moor I saw Willie Grose push something under Lt Crocker’s door.’ Tamara gazed at Jenefer. ‘Willie wouldn’t do that on his own account. Thomas must have sent him.’

‘Devlin is making another run,’ Jenefer said. ‘But it’s not for contraband. He’s trying to rescue a Government agent.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I didn’t want to take the message so he was forced to tell me. But he swore me to secrecy.’

‘What was the message?’

‘Just that Jared should meet him.’

‘Did he say where?’

Jenefer shook her head. ‘He said Jared would know, but it was safer for me not to.’

‘If Thomas has alerted Lt Crocker to call out the dragoons, Devlin will be sailing into a trap.’ Cold rage at Thomas’s duplicity had banished all trace of her faintness and the tea had given her energy. She felt strong, determined, and impatient. ‘Thomas said Devlin was either a prisoner or dead. If he was a prisoner, how did he get free? Someone in authority must be involved in this. Devlin must have made some kind of bargain and his side of it is to rescue this agent.’

‘But what if …?’

‘He’ll do it,’ Tamara insisted. ‘He’s the bravest, most skilled seaman on this coast.’ Then she noticed Jenefer was shaking.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

Jenefer looked up. She was laughing, but her face was creased with anguish and tears streaked her cheeks. ‘Do you know who this agent is?’

‘Of course not.’ Tamara was bewildered. ‘How could I?’

‘I do. His name is Martin Erisey.’

Startled because she recognised the name, Tamara tried to recall where and when she had heard it. As realisation dawned, she gazed at Jenefer, tightness gathering at the base of her skull. ‘But … isn’t he …’

‘The man to whom I am betrothed? The man with a life I knew nothing about? A man who has lied to me since the day we met?’ As Jenefer’s voice climbed, Tamara reached across the table to touch her arm. ‘Yes, that’s Martin Erisey. I wish him no harm. Indeed, I hope he escapes, and survives the voyage home. But as for our engagement – I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

‘This is not the time for such decisions,’ Tamara said gently. ‘I must go. I need to warn Devlin about –’

‘You can’t. It’s too late. He came last night. If Jared went to meet him, surely they will have sailed at once?’

Tamara sank back. ‘Of course they would. He wouldn’t dare wait. The risk of being seen, or someone talking –’

 ‘I should go and see Betsy. She will be so worried. I’m ashamed I haven’t told her –’

‘Devlin swore you to secrecy for good reason.’ Tamara raised her hand to forestall Jenefer before she could speak. ‘I know why you told me, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough. But God willing they should be back before dawn tomorrow. It might be better if you wait until then. You’re under great strain –’

Jenefer’s mouth twisted. ‘After all that’s happened these past months I should be used to that.’

Tamara buttoned her coat. ‘I must go home. I was only going out for an hour and my mother will be fretting.’

Jenefer followed her to the door. ‘What will you do about Thomas?’

Tamara shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I can’t think about that now.’

As she closed the front door Tamara saw Sally emerge from the kitchen clutching some burning feathers and a small dark bottle.

‘Oh, miss, thank God you’re home,’ the maid whispered. ‘In some state she is. She’s shouting for her drops. But I didn’t like to –’

‘That’s all right, Sally. I’ll see to it. Just give me a moment.’

‘Tamara? Is that you?’

Crossing to the bottom of the stairs and gesturing for Sally to go on up, Tamara called. ‘Yes, Mama. I’m just coming.’

‘How could you!’ Morwenna cried as Tamara entered. Lying on her bed with several pillows at her back, she inhaled the smoke as Sally passed the feathers under her nose, grimacing and pushing the maid’s hand away. ‘Where are my drops? I need my drops.’

Tamara took the bottle from the maid. ‘Go on downstairs,’ she said softly.

‘Want me to leave the feathers, miss?’

‘No, take them with you.’

 As Sally scuttled out and Tamara closed the door behind her, Morwenna pressed a tear-soaked ball of cambric to her nose. ‘Be back in an hour I said. But you’ve been gone over two. I’ve been almost out of my mind with worry.’

Measuring five drops of laudanum into a small glass of water, Tamara carried it across to where her mother lay. Morwenna snatched it and drained the contents, then sank back against the mound of pillows. Retrieving the glass, Tamara sat on the side of the bed. Her mother’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen almost shut. Concern replaced her initial impatience.

‘Why, Mama?’ she asked gently. ‘I told you I was going for a walk. You know how I lose track of time –’

Morwenna’s face crumpled. ‘I thought you’d run away,’ she sobbed. ‘I was afraid you weren’t coming back. People would ask where you were and there’d be a scandal and I couldn’t face it, Tamara. It would be the death of me.’

Because the thought of flight had crossed her mind only to be dismissed, Tamara was able to meet her mother’s fearful gaze. Leaning down she pressed her lips to the puckered forehead. The skin was damp and hot. She took her mother’s hand, hoping the tincture of opium would work quickly.

‘Well, here I am,’ she soothed. ‘I’m truly sorry you were so worried.’

‘Yes, but where were you?’

The familiar undertone of complaint was preferable to the abject terror she’d heard in her mother’s voice a moment earlier.

‘I met Jenefer Trevanion and she invited me back with her for a cup of tea.’

‘She called here while you were out. What did she want?’

‘Nothing very much.’ The lie slipped easily from Tamara’s tongue. To protect Devlin she would lie to God Himself. ‘Just to let me know that Betsy is making a good recovery and hopes I may be free to call on her next week.’ She hesitated. ‘Mama, why did you tell Miss Trevanion –’