Hope's Betrayal (5 page)

“They do that as
well, Ladyship, but when the harvest fails or a fishing skiff sinks in a
storm…there is hardship aplenty. And since the land enclosures, things is ten
times worse.”

“But the
consequences if caught…”Lady Ryevale grew still. “What does your mother say?
What kind of woman allows her daughter to take such risks?”

“My mother is
dead.”

“I’m so terribly
sorry. So your father…he takes care of you?”

Hope raised her
head high. “Grief is a sickness to my father, oftentimes he is too ill to fish.
Tis my brother and me, that keep bread on the table.”

“But surely
there is an extended family? Do they not help?”

“Last winter my
Uncle and his two sons perished in a storm. His family had been living on
potatoes, seaweed and cockles for weeks. They put to sea to make a good catch
to sell for fresh vegetables, and clean linen for the babe his wife carried.
Now she is a widow, her babe raised without a father. Each family has troubles
of their own.”

“My dear…how
awful.” A thought struck Lady Ryevale. “You express yourself well for a…”

“For a
fisherman’s daughter?” Hope prompted.

“Well, yes.”

Hope couldn’t
help but smile. “There is much you don’t know about me.”

“Oh, then do
tell…”

But, if Hope was
tempted to reveal her secrets, the moment was lost as the door crashed open,
bouncing back on its hinges. Captain Huntley pounded up the stairs breathing
heavily, his eyes wild as an angry bull. His broad shoulders filled the
doorway, silhouetted against the bright corridor.

“Mother! Are you
alright?”

“Yes, of course
, why ever would I not be?”

The captain
rolled his eyes. “Oh, no reason Mother. Other than you are alone with a
dangerous felon.”

“I am in no
danger.” Lady Ryevale looked perplexed. “Your man is outside the door.”

“Yes, and I’ll
deal with him later for letting you up.”

“Oh no you
won’t, George, that officer was terribly concerned and it was against his
express wishes that I came up. You can’t blame him After all I am mistress of
this house.”

A low growl
rumbled from the Captain’s throat. “Then why?” He grew in stature the angrier
he became.

“I had a wish to
meet my new house guest.”

“Mother!” 

“Now dear,
manners!”

The tension rose
a notch. Hope cowered beneath the covers as Captain Huntley glowered with cold,
hard eyes.

“I will pretend
you didn’t say that, Mother. So, tell me. Did you find the prisoner good
company? My conversations with her have all been rather one-sided.”

“Oh, yes dear,
we’ve had a delightful time.”

Huntley sniffed
the air suspiciously.

“What’s that
smell? Is it…hot oil?”

 Hope froze—had
he smelt the lamp? Had he guessed?

Lady Ryevale
sniffed. "No. I can’t smell anything."

“Was she out of
bed when you entered?” His hard eyes burned with suspicion, searing into Hope.
Huntley was no fool.

“What do you
mean?”

“I mean,” he
almost snarled, “was she, or wasn’t she out of bed?”

“What a
ridiculous question. Of course she was in bed. Why, what did you expect, the
poor girl to be dancing a jig on a broken ankle?”

Relief warmed
Hope, but it also puzzled her why this lady should have protected her.

“Of course not.
I just wondered…perhaps it's time to transfer her to jail.”

Lady Ryevale reached
for her son’s hand. “Nonsense dear. Sometimes, George, you work too hard. If I
thought you had any imagination, I’d say it had run away with you. Now, how
about a nice pot of tea and you can tell me about your day.”

Lady Ryevale
rose and, much to Hope's amazement, smiled at her. But even more surprising was
Captain Huntley following after his mother, like a bear being led by a lamb.

*****

The next night
Hope lay staring into the darkness, willing herself to stay in bed. She daren’t
risk signalling again. Huntley's grim expression the previous evening had
spoken eloquently enough of his suspicions. But even so, to lie there doing
nothing was torture in itself, for with every passing minute the future grew
more perilous.

At night the
house had a voice all of its own; from the creak of settling timbers to the
wind sighing down the chimney. On the roof above her head came the scrabble of
seagulls feet, and when she listened hard she heard the guard snoring, behind
the door at the foot of the attic stairs.

As the hour grew
later the wind got up, knocking ivy against the window with a scratching
screech which set her teeth on edge. But when the scratch turned to a tap, her
eyes flew wide open. There it was again, faint but regular. At first she hardly
dared believe it, every muscle tense, in case she'd imagined the tapping. But
there, it came again, insistent and regular—three short, then three long. Her
heart raced as she pushed herself upright. That was the free traders
signal—someone was here to rescue her.

In a now
well-practiced routine, she slithered to the floor and shuffled to the window.
Urgency leant her strength as she grasped the window ledge to haul herself
upright. Her heart thudded fit to burst, praying for a friendly face as she
drew back the curtains.

A moon-bright
face leered out of the darkness at her. Hope gasped as her stepbrother grinned
back like a demonic monkey. She stuffed a hand into her mouth, to stifle the
rising giggles. Never had she been so glad to see Tom's foolish antics. He
pressed a finger to his lips, then pointed to the latch. With a nod, Hope
opened the window and in rushed the night air. Tom's calloused fingers gripped
the casement as he fitted his head through. Being a broad man his shoulders
were a tight fit in the narrow frame.

"What took
you so long, girl?" said Tom, outside clinging to the ivy as if it was the
most natural thing in to world.

"And I
could say the same to you." Then the haunting memory of seeing the skiff
put out to sea without her, came flooding back. "You left me!"

"Hush, now.
Can’t say as how I'm proud of myself, but a moment longer and we'd all have
been nabbed. Besides, I'm here now, aren’t I?"

"Yes. Climb
in."

"It's too
tight a fit, I'll stay out here." Tom shifted uncomfortably.

"How's Father?"

"Same as
before. Poorly, but no worse. He misses you."

Somewhat
mollified and ever practical, Hope peered over his shoulder into the darkness.
"Who's with you?"

"Nobody."

Hope thought for
a moment. "That's clever. Draw less attention. We've always managed fine
by ourselves, you and I."

"How bad
are you hurt?"

“My ankle’s
broken but strapped up.”

“Will it tek yer
weight?”

Hope grimaced.
“It will be slow going, but with your help, it'll do.”

Tom frowned.
"Are they treating you well?"

She wondered
about the change of topic. "Yes, now if you can just…"

"Feeding
you right?"

"Yes, the
best food I've had in an age. Now, if I can open the window a tad wider…"

"Not been
cruel to you, cos I'll strangle 'em with me bare hands if they have."

"No,
nothing like that, the opposite in fact…and I've learned a thing or two when
they thought I weren’t listening. Now, did you bring a rope? I can tie it to
the bedpost and winch myself down."

"Hope
Tyler, will you be quiet a minute and listen!"

 “Oh!”

"Have you
any idea how difficult this climb is? And me with two strong legs!"

Hope bit her
tongue.

"There's no
way you'll make it down with a broken ankle. No way!"

"Then sling
me over your shoulder.'

"No, Hope.
We'd both fall to our deaths. Trust me, I'll think of something but for now,
best stay here."

"Don’t you
dare leave me. Not again." Hope grasped her stepbrother’s fingers.
"They're going to hang me."

"If they
were going to do that, you'd have been carted to prison straight out. No, I
reckon as how you're safe there a while longer. Let the ankle heal but pretend
as how it's much worse than it is…that you can’t walk…and I'll be back before
you know it."

"But, Tom,
they're going to move me any day…I know."

"Don’t
fret. I've friends in the village. As soon as there's any talk of moving
you—I'll be back."

Hope suppressed
a rising sob. "Please, don’t make me beg. I can make it. Please, let me
try."

"No, and
that's an end of it. I give me word I'll be back."

The
disappointment was bitter; to be left once was bad enough, but twice felt like
betrayal. A wind squall tugged at Tom's hair. He shifted his handhold and
glanced around. “I’d best be going. None too safe here as it is.”

"Tom,"
she hissed, "listen and listen well."

"Make it
quick then, I'm losing me grip."

 "I overheard
the guards. The Excise men know all about the next landing—time, place,
everything. It's a trap." 

"Well done,
sis. I'll see everyone is warned. Best keep your ears open, see what else you
can find out."

Had she had two
good legs Hope would have stamped her foot.

"Right. Bye
then." He reached to touch his sister, but lost his handhold and
disappeared from view.

"Tom?"
Hope heart lurched afresh. "Tom, are you alright?"

 “I’m fine,
slipped a bit that's all,” a strained voice spoke several feet below. “Best be
off.”

Hope waited to
hear the reassuring thud of boots on the ground below, shut the window and made
her lonely way back to bed.

It was the sort
of foul night which saw all decent citizens home abed, with not so much as a
dog stirring. But while the good people of Sandehope slept, above the rooftops
clouds broiled in a hellish sky and a wind howled in off the sea, rattling
shutters and stirring curtains. And such rain—beating horizontally against
windows and doors, forming slick, black rivers in the backstreets and lanes. In
the harbor the horizon was lost behind the elements. Rigging whistled and
flapped with a sound like harpies. It was a night for doing the devil's work, a
night when only smugglers and Excise men were abroad.

On that night, a
lone figure battled along the quay, his coat collar turned up and hat pulled
down. His face was hidden, which was just as well for the Captain wore a look
which would chill the devil. In a mood as grim as the weather, he made for the
Excise Office. Windy squalls battered the windows, the door almost wrestled
from Huntley's grasp as he entered. With his boots full of water and a sodden
overcoat, he squelched across the office and with an irritated gesture, pushed
the wet hair from his eyes. He unlocked the desk drawer, pulled out a hip flask
and drank deeply. As the brandy warmed his throat and gullet, frustration
assailed him afresh.

"Damn,
damn, damn."

Several minutes
later Bennett slunk in to join him, accompanied by the stench of stale fish. He
leant back against the door to close out the buffeting wind. Huntley regarded
him sourly and took another swig of brandy.

"Drink's
not the answer." Bennett said in a humorless tone.

"Here. Have
some."

"Thanks."

Stepping over
the puddles on the wooden floor, Bennett took the flask. Huntley's nose
wrinkled at the pervading smell of fish clinging to the preventative man's
uniform.

"Go on, say
it!"

"Say what,
Captain?"

"That was a
disaster. An unmitigated, bloody disaster."

Bennett looked
haggard, as he leaned on the desk and hung his head. "Worse than that. The
revenue are a laughing stock."

"Devious
bastards, landing offal instead of brandy."

The Captain
watched Bennett closely; he seemed genuinely distraught. It was Huntley's job
to root out corruption, but Bennett's fervor and dedication had not been those
of a turncoat.

Bennett eyed the
Captain wearily. "I'd trust our informant with my life and yet they
outwitted us."

Huntley leaned
back and steepled his fingers. "In some ways, you have to admire their
daring."

"Captain?"

"They could
have canceled the landing." His voice hitched with bitterness.
"Instead, they ran rings around the Excise service. An entire squad out in
this filthy weather. Had us chasing shadows and left us stinking of fish offal.
Smug bastards."