Devil's Prize (21 page)

People milled about, battling against the wind. But there was little left to save. Already the waves were exploding against the quay, hurling a spray roof high.

He had been up for hours, waiting impatiently for the gale to ease. But this was no ordinary storm. Instead of blowing itself out, it was growing stronger. The wind had veered round to the south-east, directly behind the rising tide.

Thomas knew he dared not wait any longer. If he didn’t go now, the building and everything in it might fall to the storm.

With a small axe concealed up the sleeve of his caped greatcoat, and his beaver hat pulled low over his eyes, he hurried down through the village. Though he kept to the narrow streets behind the quay, the thunder of the waves was deafening. Feeling the shock through the soles of his boots, his heart tripped on an extra beat. Moistening his lips he tasted salt. The air was dense with spray that made his eyes sting.

As he opened the gate in the alley it crashed back against the wall. He struggled to shut it again. He didn’t want anyone to see him, or coming in offering help he didn’t need. Keeping close to the wall he climbed the stone stairs and used the axe to smash the padlock. It clattered onto the stone by his feet, the sound drowned by the screaming wind and pounding waves.

Inside the loft he paused for a moment. Two windows overlooked the harbour. But salt and spume had frosted the small panes blocking much of the grey morning light. Crossing to one of the windows Thomas peered out, and stumbled backwards as a huge wave smashed onto the quay with a deep boom that shook the building. It exploded into a blizzard of froth and spray, flinging broken planks, stones, mangled crab pots, and other debris against the front wall and in through the broken doors.

Dropping the axe he turned to flee. But after two steps dizziness made him stagger. He grabbed the back of a chair and held on with both hands, head bent, eyes closed. His heart pounded so fast his gorge rose and he feared he might vomit. He plunged trembling fingers between his throat and collar, wrecking the careful arrangement of his cravat in his haste to loosen the starched cloth.

 As he sucked in shaking breaths his pulse began to slow. He straightened, flexing his shoulders and jutting his chin. He wasn’t leaving until he found what he had come for.

Picking up the axe he crossed to the oak chest. He smashed the padlock and threw back the lid. Tossing shirts and stockings onto the floor, he found a small brandy keg and a stone jar. Setting both aside to take with him he continued emptying the chest. With the last of the clothes thrown aside revealing nothing, he stood up, flinching as another wave battered the building.

Crossing to the shelf he swept everything to the floor, watching for a leather purse. The sound of smashing crockery and clatter of pewter and enamel was lost in the deafening noise outside. He upended the ewer and the buckets, flung them aside, and peered into the two lanterns. He wrenched open the wooden cupboard and went through the pockets of Devlin’s waistcoats and the jackets he sometimes wore instead of his oiled wool guernsey.

Another wave hit making the floor shake. He heard a loud crack then a deep grinding rumble and quickened his search, reaching under folded shirts and trousers. He felt inside shoes then threw them behind him and turned spare sea boots upside down. Nothing.

He slammed the cupboard door in temper but it fell open again as he staggered towards the bed, disoriented and off-balance. The rumbling stopped. The cupboard toppled forward and crashed to the floor making him start. He should leave. He would go in just a minute.

Breathless from the unaccustomed exertion, he lurched toward the bed with the strangest sensation of walking uphill. Seizing the bedclothes he flung them into the mess on the floor. Where was Devlin’s money? He staggered to the table, wrenched open the drawer and fumbled for a sharp knife. Slashing first the pillow and then the mattress he pulled the stuffing out, shouting his frustration when once more he found nothing.

He glared around him, panting and sweating, and his gaze fell on the keg. Too light to be full. Yet there had been no sound when he shook it.

As he lunged forward to grab it the windows shattered. Glass flew inwards, slicing his face and hands. The wooden frames buckled and snapped. Weakened by the barrage of waves, the lower walls crumbled. In a salvo of loud cracks the floor collapsed. Thomas knew brief outrage then bowel-loosening terror. He was falling …

Chapter Twenty-one

Returning to the house Tamara found her mother gazing sleepily into the fire. Backing out and quietly closing the door, she went upstairs to change. The gale shook the window and blew a chilly draught under the door. Shivering, she stripped off her wet clothes and pulled on a clean shift, a simple white petticoat, and a high-necked long-sleeved gown of pale green figured muslin. After towelling her hair almost dry she combed out the tangles then twisted it into a chignon.

Pausing by the window she peered out at wild sea and low cloud blurred by spray into a grey murk. Where was he? Wrenching her gaze away, she gathered up her linen and her sodden habit and took them downstairs. In the kitchen Sally had set her boots on the brass fender to dry.

‘Take this through to the dining room shall I, miss?’ Sally poured steaming brown liquid into a china cup. ‘I made chocolate. I know you can’t stomach coffee just now.’

Remembering Devlin’s pewter mug and the brandy he had given her to stop her shivering, Tamara dragged her mind back to the present.

‘Thank you. I’ll stay here. It’s warmer.’ She sat down at the kitchen table. Sally put a plate in front of her. On it was a slice of heavy cake studded with currants and lemon peel. ‘I’m not –’

‘C’mon now, miss.’ Sally didn’t let her finish. ‘You need your strength. Got to think of the little one,’ she added softly. ‘Eating for two now, you are.’

Tamara’s eyes filled and she compressed her lips to still their quivering. Not trusting her voice she gave a brief nod and raised the cup.

Swallowing the cake she drained the last of the chocolate. Already she felt stronger. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was. As she stood up, someone knocked loudly on the back door. Sally opened it and William Clemmow looked past her to Tamara.

‘Please miss, I got a message from Miss Trevanion. She’s in the chapel looking after people who been flooded out. She says if you aren’t busy please could you go and help?’

‘I’ll come at once. Wait,’ she called as he turned away. ‘Did Miss Trevanion want me to bring anything?’

William shrugged uncertainly. ‘She and Mizz Rowse and my ma was all carrying veg and blankets and pans. I had to go to Rowe’s and buy all his bread.’

‘Thank you, William.’ She gave him a penny out of the tin on the shelf. ‘You go on back. Tell her I’m right behind you.’

Sally closed the door behind him. ‘Miss, are you sure –’

Tamara paused briefly in the doorway. ‘He’s out there, Sally. In this. If I don’t keep busy I shall go mad.’

Rolling up four old blankets taken from the chest on the landing, she laced up her second-best boots, buttoned her poppy-red greatcoat, tied a shawl over her head and left the house once more.

Waves crashed over the quay and exploded against the buildings at the back. Shock took her breath as she saw the heap of rubble and wood, all that remained of Devlin’s workshop, and the loft where he had lived, where she had lain with him, loved him.

Refusing even to consider it an omen she told herself it meant nothing. His property, like a dozen others that had been damaged, was simply a casualty of the storm. When he came home he would rebuild.

She closed her eyes and conjured memories. Devlin busy on his boat, a blue checked shirt tight across his broad shoulders, dark curly hair ruffled by the breeze; black brows lifted in mockery, the corners of his mouth tilting as he teased her. He was so strong, so vital. He could not die.

Gasping, she forced herself onward. Jenefer needed her. The rain had stopped again, but the air was heavy with moisture and salt. As she cut through the back streets Tamara caught up with a family she recognised. Husband and wife were hollow-eyed. Each carried a big bundle: all they had had time to grab. Two older children led the younger ones, all of them shaken by the violence that had destroyed their home.

‘Mr Jory, take your family to the chapel,’ Tamara urged, briefly slowing her pace to theirs and shouting above the noise of the wind. ‘Miss Trevanion has arranged food and shelter for those who need somewhere safe. I’m going to help her. I’ll see you there.’

In defiance of the intermittent rain, one of the chapel’s double doors had been fastened back. A black-painted board with ‘All Welcome’ chalked on it was propped just inside, visible to anyone approaching.

In the vestibule, relieved to be out of the buffeting gale, Tamara loosened the shawl and pulled it off as she walked into the chapel.

The building was already half full. Wet and shivering, their faces pinched with shock and pale as wood ash, families sat among their pitifully few possessions. Above the smell of wet clothes and unwashed bodies she scented something savoury and appetising, and saw Lizzie Clemmow with a tray crammed with steaming cups, mugs, and bowls moving from group to group. Ernestine Rowse followed with two large platters piled with hunks of bread smeared with butter and topped with a sliver of cheese.

Craning her neck, Tamara saw Jenefer at the far end standing beside a table on the small platform from which Moses Carthew preached his notoriously threatening sermons. Starting forward she passed sullen-faced Mary-Anne Grose, who jerked her chin towards Jenefer.

‘Who do she think she is? Telling everybody what to do.’

 Hands on her hips, Hannah Tresidder rounded on Mary-Anne. ‘Don’t you ever stop bleddy moaning? Doing an ’andsome job she is. Just like that there story in the Bible about the loaves and fishes. Look a’ound, maid.’ Hannah’s gesture encompassed everyone in the chapel. ‘Where’d they be now if ’t wasn’ for Miss Trevanion? Out on the street, wet and cold.’

‘Mr Carthew –’ Mary-Anne began.

 ‘Him?’ Hannah snorted. ‘Bleddy useless he is. Preach hell and damnation from sunrise to Thursday he would. But where’s he to? Eh? Not in here helping, that’s for sure. Miss Trevanion never belonged in no pilchard cellar, dear of her. But she wasn’t above trying. So stop your craking. I got no patience with it. Worth two of you she is. If you can’t be useful, get on home out of it.’

‘No need to be like that,’ Mary-Anne began, but Hannah was already hurrying away.

Tamara reached the table at which Jenefer, a stained apron covering her gown, was ladling steaming broth from a huge pan into another tray-load of cups and bowls. She glanced up, her face shiny with perspiration. Her smile was warm and conveyed relief.

‘Thank you so much for coming.’

‘I was glad to. I need to be busy. It’s the only way I –’ Tamara cut herself off and took a breath. ‘What would you like me to do?’

‘Quite a few people have minor injuries. Almost everyone has cuts and bruises either from things falling on them, or because they tripped on debris in the streets on their way here. Dr Avers was in earlier and treated some. But he’s been called away. I don’t like asking you to go out again, but you know Roz Trevaskis and I don’t. Her salves and ointments would really help –’

‘I’ll go and ask her to come down,’ Tamara said and turned to retrace her steps. As she eased her way through towards the door, more people were arriving, hesitating at the entrance. She saw the relief on their faces as Lizzie Clemmow called them by name and urged them to come inside.

‘Find yourselves a seat,’ Lizzie called. ‘I’ll be there d’rectly. Soon as I got some more broth, all right?’

Covering her head with the shawl and tying the ends at the back, Tamara made her way toward the seaward end of the village where Roz lived with her mother and younger brother. Their home was a cramped and dark cob-walled cottage behind the Five Mackerel inn.

As she reached the corner, her streaming eyes narrowed against the raging wind, and she saw that the outermost in a row of three small dwellings on the seawall had disappeared. The second had lost its roof and with each mountainous wave more masonry was torn from the walls and swept away by the seething water.

An old man stood in the doorway of the innermost cottage. Spray cascaded over the roof drenching the man and woman pleading with him. Two fishermen joined them, pointing to the foaming turbulence in the harbour, but still the old man shook his head.

A gigantic wave reared over the cottage. Grabbing the couple the fishermen ran, dragging them up toward the road. The breaker smashed onto the cottage, flinging sheets of spray high into the salt-laden air. Some spilled into the harbour the rest retreated taking the roof with it. There was no sign of the old man.

Horrified, powerless to help, Tamara forced her shaking legs to move. She could do nothing here, and Jenefer needed Roz. She dropped her gaze as she passed the couple, not wanting to intrude on the woman’s grief as the man tried to comfort her. It had happened so fast. The little house had been there one minute, yet between one breath and the next, half of it had been washed away.

Storms were a regular occurrence every winter and the village was grateful for the bounty they brought. But she had never seen seas like this. Devlin was out there. What chance did he have in the lugger when a much bigger troopship had foundered? Panic beat like dark wings in her head. Her breath sobbed as she fought overwhelming dread.

If she gave in to fear, acknowledged the possibility – the likelihood – that he might not get back … no! She had to trust, to believe he would survive. She couldn’t pray. Her own mother had called her wicked and thoughtless and selfish. Why would God listen to such as she? All she could do was have faith in Devlin, in his skill and his strength. Out there with only half a crew, the other half depending for their freedom on his return, he needed all of it, and more.

Trembling, she pounded on Roz’s door. Roz opened it. Behind her Tamara glimpsed Mary Trevaskis, open-mouthed and snoring in a chair by the fire.

‘Jenefer Trevanion needs your help.’ Steadying her voice, Tamara quickly explained.

Roz studied her, then gave a brief nod.

‘My boots are muddy so I’ll wait out here,’ Tamara said to spare her friend. She had never been invited inside. Understanding why, she felt no resentment.

A few moments later Roz emerged carrying a basket containing jars and bottles. She wore her overlarge coat and a faded poke bonnet tied under her chin. Without a word she slipped her arm through Tamara’s. Huddled close, they hurried back towards the chapel.

Midday came and went. As word spread through the village more people arrived at the chapel. Though the number of homes completely devastated was relatively few, many more had lost chimneys or tiles, or had their windows smashed. The thatched roofs of two houses had been ripped off and straw lay scattered in drifts and clumps along the full length of the street.

Some people came seeking the comfort of company while they wait for the gale to ease. Few arrived empty-handed. Several brought food; others clothes outgrown or saved to be cut down.

Roz moved quietly and efficiently from one group to the next. She bathed cuts and grazes with a lotion of marigold and goldenseal, then applied a soothing salve and bandages where needed.

Tamara deliberately kept herself occupied. Two o’clock came, then three. To her intense relief there was plenty to do. Barely aware of her surroundings, or of the other women’s chatter, she chopped vegetables, sliced bread, folded squares of torn sheet into pads, and wound strips of linen into bandages. Then she began drying the cups and bowls Sarah had just washed.

 She glanced up startled as the cloth was taken out of her hands.

‘It’s time you had a rest,’ Jenefer said gently.

‘I’m all right,’ Tamara protested. She had to keep busy.
Devlin
.

Pushing her down onto a chair, Jenefer thrust a cup of savoury vegetable broth into her hand. ‘No you aren’t. You’re as white as that sheet,’ she said softly. Straightening up she glanced round. ‘Is there any more bread?’

Lizzie hurried towards the table carrying a large cloth-wrapped parcel. ‘Tide’s turned and the wind’s dropping,’ she announced. ‘Here’s three barley and one wheat. Ernie says that’s the last he can do today. Still we shouldn’t need –’ As Jenefer moved aside and Lizzie saw Tamara, she frowned. ‘Dear life, miss, you do look –’

‘Tired, I know,’ Tamara pulled a wry face raised the cup. ‘Miss Trevanion is feeding me.’

‘The broth’ll do for a start, but you need more than that,’ Lizzie said. Swiftly slicing the fresh wheat loaf she spread one piece with butter then thrust it at Tamara forcing her to take it.

‘I really don’t –’

‘Yes you do,’ Lizzie was firm. ‘Come on now. You got to think of –’ She stopped, a blush colouring her cheeks, and turned to Jenefer. ‘Tell her, miss.’

‘Lizzie’s right,’ Jenefer said. ‘You’ve worked as hard as anyone here. And I doubt you had very much sleep.’ As Tamara moved one shoulder, she added softly. ‘I imagine the noise of the storm was very upsetting for your mother.’

Glancing up, Tamara saw understanding and sympathy in both women’s faces. Her eyes prickled and she looked quickly away, not wanting to appear weak. She had never wept easily. And though these past weeks her emotions had risen much closer to the surface and were far harder to control, she would not start now, especially in public.

‘You got to look after yourself,’ Lizzie whispered. ‘’Specially now.’

Jenefer nodded. ‘The day’s not over yet.’

Tamara cleared her throat to try and dislodge the choking lump. ‘Thank you.’ The broth was hot and tasty. She swallowed and felt its heat soothe and settle her stomach. Putting the cup on the table she took a bite of the buttered bread.

Ernestine bustled up, her round face flushed. ‘Mizz Trevanion, George said he just seen Mr Casvellan coming up the street. On one of his hunters he is, leading a pack mule with two great baskets –’ She broke off as the justice entered. The chatter died away leaving the chapel silent but for the rushing of the wind outside and the wail of a hungry baby.

Tamara didn’t move. Her chair on the platform at one side of the table allowed her to watch the justice’s approach. People edged away, the women bobbing, the men knuckling their foreheads. She saw Roz glance up, then quickly bend her head as she continued applying salve to the back of Minnie Kessell’s arthritic hand. But in that instant Roz’s expression, normally guarded, betrayed her and Tamara’s heart went out to her friend.