Helen Dickson (26 page)

T
he man who had appeared at the entrance had been coming to tell Edward that the cutter was leaving, but on seeing the dragoons and Lucas, with his pistol levelled at his master, he’d turned and ran, bawling in fear, giving warning to the others.

With her heart pounding madly Laura followed them onto the beach. Pandemonium had broken out, with men running in all directions. Their earlier stealth was gone as they pointed and shouted to each other, the wind whipping their words away. She strained her eyes to see what the commotion was at the top of the beach, seeing the unmistakable shapes of soldiers carrying their long muskets bearing down on them. Half crazed with fear, the smugglers didn’t know in which direction to run. Ahead of them were the soldiers, behind them the sea.

Laura dodged behind some rocks as a man scuttled away. Her eyes scanned the beach for Lucas, when suddenly her attention was diverted by a still figure perched on a boulder close by. It was Caroline, clutching Louis to her breast.

Caroline didn’t react. She didn’t move. It was as if she was insensible to everything that was happening around her. Relief overwhelmed Laura. The man who had run out must have been guarding her, until he’d seen what was
happening and realised it was every man for himself. Immediately she went to the terrified young woman, sitting beside her and drawing her close.

‘Caroline! Thank God you’re safe.’

A tear ran down Caroline’s cheek, quickly followed by another. Her face was pinched and white, her eyes bleak. Gently Laura stroked her hair.

‘Did Jean hurt you?’

Shaking her head, Caroline replied in a strangled whisper, a little disoriented from all that had happened. ‘No. But he will. He’s going to take Louis and me back to France. Oh, Laura! I can’t bear it! I don’t want to die—least of all so needlessly. Life has grown very dear to me. I have so much to live for—most especially Louis—to resign myself to suffering the same fate as Anton.’

‘Is that what Jean told you, Caroline, that he would take you Paris—to the guillotine?’

She nodded, clutching Louis to her with such fervour that the infant stirred and began to mewl in protest.

‘He won’t. It’s all over,’ Laura told her firmly, trying to get through to her. ‘It’s all right, Caroline. You don’t have to worry any more. Look,’ she said, standing up and pulling Caroline with her, forcing her to see what was happening.

They were in time to see Jean de Mournier running towards the boat Edward had left on the beach earlier. Feverishly he dragged it over the shingle to the sea, uncaring of the icy waters wetting his clothes as he waded into the breakers along with others, all desperate to escape. They threw themselves into the boat and began to row out to the cutter for all they were worth, trying to widen the distance between them and the shore. But the men on the cutter had seen what was happening on the beach and were equally desperate to escape.

It began to move away, faster now she was lighter, having shed her cargo. But not far away were the lights and outline of another vessel bearing down on them, which kept
disappearing in the troughs of the perilous sea. From where she watched Laura realised this must be the revenue cutter. The smugglers were caught like rats in a trap, and as a fusillade of shots broke out from all around the cove the desperate scramble for life went on.

At the water’s edge Captain Dalby shouted to Jean de Mournier and the others in the boat to stop or they would be fired upon. They ignored the command, rowing faster against the incoming tide. They were close to the cutter, but when they stood up to climb aboard there was a loud report and a sudden flash of orange flame shot across the night sky as the soldiers opened fire on the boat. Screams and shrieks of agony could be heard on the beach when the shots found their targets. Unable to keep on rowing, they abandoned all hope of reaching the cutter, which was leaving them behind as she began her own desperate battle to escape the revenue cutter, only a few lengths away.

When the soldiers hauled the boat back to the shore men either tumbled or were lifted out onto the sands, groaning in agony from their wounds. Laura and Caroline went to them and stood looking down at the unmistakable features of Jean de Mournier. He had been shot in the chest. Even in the dim light they could see how white his face was, how deeply lined, with blood trickling from the side of his mouth.

At first they thought he was dead but, as if sensing their presence, he opened his eyes, sunk deep in their sockets, forcing them to focus on Caroline and the infant Louis. They were filled with so much hatred and contempt that Caroline was seared by it. He tried to speak, but before any word could pass his lips his whole body convulsed and fresh blood frothed on his lips. When his head rolled to one side and his lids sagged over his eyes, devoid of life, both women knew he was dead.

Laura stared down at him, numb with shock and cold, unable to believe what had happened. Everything seemed
so unreal. She shuddered in the icy wind, saying nothing when Lucas came and placed an arm comfortingly about her shoulders and drew her to him. He was accompanied by Squire Ainsworth, who draped a cloak over Caroline’s trembling shoulders.

‘Who was he?’ Walter asked Lucas, staring down at the dead Frenchman.

‘His name was Jean de Mournier,’ Lucas informed him, ‘and I believe he was aboard the vessel carrying Carlyle’s contraband. His reason for coming to Roslyn involves Caroline and young Louis—but it is a long story, Walter, one that will keep until later.’ He clasped his wife tight and placed a kiss on the top of her head, feeling her tremble as reaction began to set in. ‘Come, Laura. You shouldn’t be here. I’ll get someone to accompany you and Caroline back to the house.’

Laura glanced up at him in alarm. ‘And you? Are you not coming with us?’

‘No. Carlyle is still at large.’ He turned when Captain Dalby appeared beside him. ‘Has anyone see him?’

‘He managed to escape when the troops arrived on the beach. He was last seen climbing the cliff path. Some of the soldiers have given chase. The last I heard was that he was heading overland towards the Wheal Rose mine.’

‘Then we will get him.’ Lucas held Laura away from him, and she sensed the urgency in him. ‘Walter, see that they get back to the house. I must go after Carlyle.’

‘No,’ Laura cried in desperation, throwing herself into his arms, alarmed for his safety. ‘Please don’t go,’ she begged, looking up at him with eyes brimming with love. ‘Let the soldiers find him. Please, Lucas. Edward will kill you—I know it.’

Stealing himself against her desperate plea, Lucas gripped her upper arms and held her away from him. ‘With all these soldiers hunting him down he will be in no position to kill anyone,’ he said, having to raise his voice above
the noise of the wind. ‘Now, for God’s sake, Laura, I insist that you go with Caroline. You are both frozen through.’ He pushed her towards Walter. ‘Take them back to the house, Walter, and see that my wife stays there.’

Unable to tear her eyes away from him, Laura watched in paralysed anguish as he strode away with Captain Dalby. Acquiring a couple of horses from soldiers further up the beach, they mounted swiftly. She stared after them, her pulse racing like a maddening thing, sensing impending death as she watched them ride up the cliff and turn inland, following the direction in which Edward had run like a cat through the night, as fast and dangerous as one from the jungles of Africa, driven on by the pursuing pack.

With Caroline and Louis safe in their beds once more and Squire Ainsworth having left to assess what was happening, as the night wore on the waiting for Lucas to return to the manor became intolerable for Laura. After an hour of pacing her bedchamber, unable to stand the suspense any longer, and disregarding Lucas’s order that she remain at the manor, she was soon galloping along the cliff-top in the direction of the Wheal Rose mine.

The wind was stronger now and screamed about her, blowing with such force that she had to lean forward to make progress. It was with a sigh of relief that she sighted the austere outline of the engine house. Because of all the recent rain, which had seeped into the mine in one way or another, the pumps were working overtime, pumping the vast amount of thick, muddy excess water from the bottom of the mine in a torrent down a deep track in the hillside. She shuddered at the sight of so much water, for it brought to mind all the water down Stennack, threatening to swamp Wheal Rose at any time.

She slowed her horse, riding past workshops and ore sheds. Over the noise of the wind came the hideous creaking and clanking of the engine. She was surprised to find
people gathered in the yard, milling about the shaft—tinners and soldiers alike, all wearing the same grim, mute expression. All eyes became fixed on her as slowly she rode towards them, searching the faces in the dim light for the one she knew and loved, but he was not there.

She dismounted, insensible to the fact that her feet were sinking into the muddy, sticky ground. The crowd parted to let her through, and she stared at the silent, watching faces in consternation. An unpleasant feeling was beginning to grow inside her, telling her that something was badly wrong. Seeing Squire Ainsworth, she moved towards him slowly, reluctantly—afraid to ask the question she knew she must—afraid because some inner sense told her what his answer would be. She stopped in front of him, gripping her riding crop in her gloved hands, her face as white as alabaster as she met his gaze steadily, swallowing hard. He was a worried man.

‘Where is he, Walter? Where is Lucas?’

‘I—I am sorry, my dear—’

‘He is down there, isn’t he?’ she asked, her voice shaking, pointing towards the black, gaping hole of the shaft but without releasing Walter’s gaze. ‘He’s down the mine.’

Walter nodded. ‘Yes. I am so sorry, Laura. He went down with Captain Dalby. The soldiers who pursued Edward had him cornered here. There was only one way he could go. In desperation he climbed down the shaft.’

Laura’s blood ran cold at what he was telling her. With an effort she struggled to remain calm. ‘I see. How—how long have they been down there?’

‘About an hour.’

‘An hour? But shouldn’t someone go down to see what is happening?’

‘No. Lucas insisted that no one is to go down after them.’

‘Is Edward armed?’

Walter nodded. ‘I believe so.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Laura, this is no place for you. Please go back to the manor. I
promise I shall send word just as soon as we know something.’

At this suggestion Laura’s chin came up and her piercing blue eyes glared at him. ‘No, Walter,’ she replied, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. ‘Lucas is my husband and my place at this time is here. I shall wait all night if need be, and if he has not come up by dawn then I tell you now, I shall go down that mine and fetch him out myself.’

Walter had no doubt that she would do just that if Lucas failed to appear before sun-up. In that moment he knew that nothing and no one was going to move Laura Mawgan from that shaft. The admiration he already felt for her was multiplied a thousandfold. There was little wonder Lucas was so taken with her.

In the light from the candles attached to their hats, Lucas and Captain Dalby climbed down the perpendicular ladders, down winzes connecting the different levels of the mine, crawling along tunnels in search of their prey. But Edward had the advantage of knowing his mine and eluded them every step of the way, drawing them deeper and deeper under the earth, knowing who it was who came after him.

But he underestimated Lucas, who realised the deeper he went that Edward had some foul deed in store for them. He was to be proved right. Instinct told him to go back, that Edward was intentionally drawing them deeper underground—towards the southern reaches under the sea, and the walled-up water in his own Stennack. Already he could almost feel it and smell it, black and stagnant, hovering like some malevolent beast above his head.

He stopped, bent almost double in the low-roofed tunnel—part of the recent workings in Edward’s attempt to force a way under the sea. Ahead of him was inky, impenetrable blackness, but still he could hear Edward Carlyle.

‘Carlyle! It’s no use,’ Lucas called in what he knew to
be a futile attempt to make Edward see sense. ‘Give yourself up. You cannot escape.’

And then suddenly, out of the murky gloom, Edward was there before him, an arm’s length away, a pistol in his hand. A faint arc of light fell on his face. It was smeared with grime and sweat and as hard and dangerous as that of a maddened beast. Lucas could feel the uncontrollable rage in him, the fury and desperation of a man with an overwhelming belief in his own cleverness, cornered like a rat.

‘Be sensible, Carlyle,’ Lucas said. ‘If you value your life you will see it is useless to hide down here.’

Edward, who had taken a step back, laughed shortly. He knew what fate had in store for him, that there was no escape, but he was going to make damned certain he didn’t go alone, that he took his arrogant, detestable neighbour with him. ‘What? With enough evidence against me to hang me a thousand times over? Give myself up? Never. I’d as soon go to hell.’

‘Don’t be a fool, man. You can’t escape this. Come, time is running out. You are finished. The force is on our side.’

‘Don’t count on it,’ Edward’s voice sneered. His eyes glittered in the dim light, and his teeth showed in a ragged snarl. ‘I know this mine like no other—every tunnel, every hiding place.’

‘If you plan to hide here long you can forget it. You have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.’

‘If I am to die, then so be it.’ Edward shook his head like an animal that had been tormented beyond reason. A cry tore from his throat and in the next instant he lunged at Lucas. Such was his lust for vengeance he would not hesitate to kill. The pistol waved menacingly in his hand as he levelled it at Lucas’s chest. Like lightning Lucas knocked his arm, deflecting his aim as he pulled the trigger. There was a burst of flame from the barrel and within the confines of the tunnel the sound was deafening.

Lucas felt the warm breath of the shot as it whistled past
his cheek, and at the same time heard another, more ominous sound ahead of him. It was like a sharp crack followed by a deafening explosion that rocked the ground beneath their feet. Another crack was heard, and then what Lucas had dreaded and tried in vain to warn Edward about finally happened. The frail barrier of rock holding the ocean of water in Stennack finally gave way, and there was a sudden onrush of foetid air, driven by the water.