Endure My Heart (4 page)

I suppose rationalization is the proper word for the thinking I did on my way home. Talking myself into doing what was not right. But where was the harm in it? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you—that was the golden rule, and I could not see that I was bending it. Still, I decided to talk it over with Andrew, who is an incurably honest man. It would be done by indirection, of course, not revealing why I had developed this sudden and unlikely interest in theology.

“Andrew, what do you think of the gentlemen?” I asked over dinner, as we gnawed our way through a leg of rubber beef. With Andrew and myself both working, we had lost our heads and hired a woman to cook and clean. She cleaned better than she cooked, and she was no great shakes with a bar of soap, but she needed the job.

“Society has become badly depraved,” he told me.

“I meant the smugglers, Andrew.”

“Ah, those gentlemen. Why, they are criminals.” My heart sank. I too was a criminal then.

“Yes, the foolish laws have made criminals of honest men,” he rambled on, giving me a rush of hope.

“It is a foolish law, is it not?” I urged him on.

“It is a criminal law, if I may be permitted to indulge in a paradoxical statement.” I permitted him to indulge in as many as he wanted, if I understood his meaning. We discussed the matter with enthusiasm all through the elastic beef and concrete sponge cake our cook had served up. Andrew will occasionally unbend to orate on an abstraction, but when I tried to take him a buttonhole lower to actual cases, he began turning his views around to conclude, “Of course, everyone ought to obey the laws of the land, or we would have chaos.”

“Even the bad laws?” I asked.

“Laws are not generally bad. They are made to protect society.”

“Yes, but suppose, for instance, the law decreed that one man should kill another.”

“It does so decree. We execute criminals, yet the commandment states Thou shalt not kill. There are extenuating circumstances, however. When a man puts himself beyond the law, then he must be punished.”

“Oh, but surely God’s law must come first.”

“God’s law is sometimes contradictory. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. Then surely by extrapolation, a life for a life.”

“Men are executed for no less than stealing a little something. That is not an eye for an eye, but a life for a loaf.”

Andrew considered this, while I considered that I had got badly off the point. I returned to it. I wanted his approbation. He was older, better educated and to be perfectly frank, more upright than myself.

Round and round we went, but the best I could get out of him was that in certain undesignated circumstances, a man might be right to break a law. I dared not make the circumstances in which I was interested too explicit, so I had to be satisfied with this sort of possible exculpation.

Andrew never took port. The minute dinner was over, he disappeared out the side door, which meant he was flying to the rafters again to wrestle with the organ. Had he not gone there, he would have immersed himself in Latin in his study. The trouble was, Andrew did not really live in the world to any significant extent. With him it was all abstraction and hypothesis. The physical facts, ignored by him, were that poor people were trying to make a living in a way that hurt no one so far as I could see, so I took counsel with my own soul, and permitted myself to break the bad law.

Chapter Three

I quite simply adored being a smuggler. It lent a spice to that long, dull, hard winter that had been sorely lacking before. A young lady ought to have been finding her excitement in suitors; I had none. You’d be surprised how quickly your wealthy friends drop you once it is learned you are poor. Any mother with an eligible son was at pains to direct his attention elsewhere.

Much I cared! There was not a really handsome or dashing gentleman on the whole coast, or that part of the coast which I frequented, in any case. I began to think in terms of spending a summer perhaps with my aunt, to see what sort of male specimens they grow in Devonshire. Already by April I had saved eighty guineas for the trip, for it was a busy winter. Winter is the prime time for smuggling. A little of it goes on year round, and moon round too here at Salford, but winter with a new moon is the ideal time. “The dark” the gentlemen call that short period of the lunar month when the moon is no more than a sliver in the sky. The nights are long, and the weather nippy enough that the revenueman is likely to stop in at the tavern to warm his toes, while our good friend the tapster pours him a tipple on the house, to slow him down.

I learned all the little tricks of the trade. Knew to the last wrinkle the families that would tolerate having a couple of kegs concealed in their applelofts, ricks and stables. Took a keener interest in every hollow tree along my route, the culverts, faggot ricks, hedgerows and rainwater butts. To prevent being caught, a cesspool might be used, but the stuff was not recoverable after that step.

Jem suggested I buy a share in a load, to increase my profit. The gentlemen were each entitled to do this—take a barrel home and decant it for small local trade, but of course in my position it was impossible. The bulk of the load went straight to London on the wagons of Will Phillips, the tranter. Will has six wagons and does all the hauling for the area. He moves households, grain, fish, farm produce or just about anything that is too large to go on the coach. The gentlemen kept three of his wagons fairly busy. He would usually put a layer of something else on top of the barrels for the purpose of concealment.

I was only a silent partner in the business, my secret known to none but Jemmie and his family. Jemmie, though he was as sharp as a needle, was only a boy, and certainly not the chief of the operation. Naturally I wondered who the boss could be. I asked him more than once, my own guess being Lord Aiken, but in this I was mistaken.

“Lord no, we only used Aiken’s place once in an emergency. He caught us dead to rights, but took his share and kept mum. He wasn’t interested in getting into it regular,” Jem told me.

“Do you bring it in at his place? He has a nice quiet stretch of beach there, and he is often away too.”

“Nay, he cautioned us not to.”

“Do you bring it in at the Eyrie?” was my next question.

I found myself becoming quite engrossed, and wishing to know more about it.

“They do say it was used by the Sizewell Gap Gang in the old days, but we’ve never tackled the Eyrie.”

The Eyrie is a highly romanticized ruin. Driving past it on the road, you could take it for a little fairy castle, sitting atop one of the highest points of the cliffs. A closer inspection will show you that what looked like weathered stone is in fact waterlogged shingles. The building is rapidly tumbling into decay, but its reputation is in no way marred by these details. It is associated by legend with smuggling, but its height so much above sea level inclines one to think this is mere romanticism, unless the smugglers were seagulls.

This meeting took place at school at the end of April. Jem often made an excuse to drop by, bringing some item supposedly forgotten by Millie, which he gave to me. He knew I would be found out in the yard at recess, for with Dame Aldridge getting old and gouty, she never went out herself. I could not discover from him who the chief was, but he did ask me if I’d like to watch a load being landed. “On the sly, like,” he added with a knowing wink.

I was extremely curious, and made an arrangement to sneak off with him next time a lugger was coming in. Two days later Millie told me Jemmie was going to a party that night at the cove.

“Did he ask you to tell me?” I inquired politely.

“Yes, miss, but he said there’s nothing but men going, and if a woman was to go, she must wear trousers or she’d not be let in.”

“That sounds a highly irregular party,” I answered, smiling.

“‘Tis that,” she agreed. “And it doesn’t start till midnight. Jemmie said to tell you so, but I told him you wouldn’t be interested at all.”

“You tell your brother I expect a written invitation,” I told her, hoping to give him the hint I wanted a confirmation in writing.

“He said to tell you they never write anything about the parties, lest strangers get hold of it,” she replied, smiling sweetly, but with a face not so innocent as it had been last year. “He means Crites,” she added in a confidential tone, then bounced away. She knew the whole, the minx. And what a crafty helper she was at seven years, knew enough to come to me with her message when I was well away from Miss Aldridge. I shook my head ruefully.

The party was a great success. I wore an old pair of Andrew’s dark trousers, his jacket and boots, with my curls stuffed up under his hat. I could have swum in his clothing. I rode Babe down the road in the direction of the cove. Exhilaration kept me from being frightened. Jem was waiting for me just at the edge of the village. He handed me a mask and donned one himself.

“Just in case,” he explained briefly.

I put on my disguise.

“You’d best tether your nag to a tree,” he suggested. “You never take a white animal poaching or smuggling, miss. And if you’re wise, you don’t take one that’s known to the whole village either.”

“What about Lady?” I queried, for his dog was at his heels.

“Oh, she’s wearing her disguise as well,” he answered.

Glancing back, I had difficulty spotting her. “She has a mud bath an hour before we go, to hide her white fur,” he explained.

“If she were ever caught, your secret would be out.”

“My Lady wouldn’t be stopped, except by a bullet,” was his answer.

There was a fingernail of moon hanging low in the sky; the breeze was chilly. Till we were actually at the sea’s edge, the sails of the ship could not be seen, nor did she show any lights. We stayed apart from the men, concealed in the shadows. The ship was not large; she had four-cornered sails set fore and aft.

“Is it safe to work so openly? What of Crites?” I whispered.

“He’s on the other side of town. We were burnt off there earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

“We settle always on three sites beforehand. If Crites is around, we give a signal with the torch from a spot where he can’t see us, and the lugger goes along to the next spot, letting on it don’t plan to stop at all. Crites is still at Harbour Bay. We have a few of the lads there keeping him amused by leaping about the rocks a bit.”

“Won’t he see the lugger stop?” was my next question.

“She won’t be pulling in tonight. The stuff is put on a smaller pair of boats—lowered overboard on the far side from the shore. Our lads know their job. Crites will be busy enough chasing them over the rocks that he’ll not see the little boats coming in. Mind we must move hasty, for he won’t be too long in tumbling to our ruse.”

Move hastily they did. Not even a donkey to help them! Each man had two barrels slung over his shoulders, one resting on his back and one on his chest. It must have been a fearful burden, yet they moved quickly along the shore, to disappear into the night.

“They’ll never make it all the way to the school, Jem.”

“Nay, only beyond the roadway into the fields, where the mules are waiting. We use the cart trails; they’re more private, like.”

We went along to the schoolhouse to watch the rest of the operation, I hiding behind the corner like a truant while Jem went forward to speak to them. How strange it looked, to see my prim classroom full of kegs of brandy, with the desks all shoved off to one side, piled on top of each other, with the chairs on top of that. I trembled to think what might happen if Crites should come in, but the lads kept him busy, I assumed, for he never came near us. Jem offered to “breach a barrel” for me to try the brew, after the men had left. “We always breach one to test her,” he informed me.

He produced an awl and hammer, pushed up a metal hoop to make his hole in the barrel there, where it could be concealed from the purchaser. “You never want to use a gimlet, miss, for the sawdust might get in and give the show away. You take the tub betwixt your knees so, and give the heads a squeeze,” he said, doing just as he explained. The brandy flowed freely as from a tap, to be caught in my teacup, then with his finger he stopped the hole and handed the cup to me. It was powerfully strong stuff. My eyes watered with it, but it had a satisfying warm aftertaste. I could feel it burn down to my stomach.

I handed the cup to Jem. “She’s a fair brew,” he allowed. Then he asked for water, and with his finger still in the hole, he tipped the barrel on its side with the hole up, produced a funnel, and poured water into the barrel till it was full again. “She gets to swishing on you if you leave her not quite full,” he explained. “I don’t know the swishing harms the stuff, but it do make a noise, like. Phillips don’t like it.” How careful they were at every step. The hole was plugged with a wooden peg, the ring lowered over it, and we were off.

I was escorted back to Babe. “I hope you enjoyed the party, miss,” Jem said.

“Thank you for a delightful evening.” A sense of heady exhilaration hung about me as I rode on home alone. The more I came to know these gentlemen, the more I admired them. What a daring business it was, and how profitable, I thought, as I put my five guineas into my drawer.

Monday morning I feared the jig was up. Crites came right to the school and asked for me. My heart was in my throat when Miss Aldridge called me out to our little office to speak with him. “Miss Anderson, Officer Crites has spoken to me, and he now wishes to question you,” she informed me, with a haughty, rebuking look at the revenueman. I assumed a pose of polite interest and asked him if I could be of help.

“I hope you may,” he answered, smiling genially, which did little to improve his face. Crites, among a host of other unattractive traits, has teeth like a rabbit. In full smile he is not a pretty sight. “I have been led a merry chase by the gentlemen the past winter, and have come to the conclusion they are using this school for hiding their contraband,” he told me.

If he suspected at all, then the school was no longer of use. Best to go along with him, and divert suspicion from my own culpability. “Now isn’t that odd! Do you know, I thought I noticed an odd smell in the room this morning. I made sure one of the children had not left a partially eaten apple in his desk, but it was not so. I asked them all to have a look, for an apple will smell like the very deuce in a closed room. You don’t think they’d have the gall to put it in the school surely, Officer!”