Rapscallion (34 page)

"Is Madame
Flynn a smuggler?" Lasseur asked.

Gadd opened his
eyes at the unexpected question. Then he removed the pipe from his mouth and
tapped the bowl against his boot. "Not everyone in the trade works the
boats. There's some folk who just store the goods till they can be moved up the
line to the buyer."

Shepherds, innkeepers and widows,
Hawkwood
thought.
"Are there many like that?"

"A whole
army.
Someone offers you a keg for the use of your byre for a few
nights or they need a couple of ponies for a run; you're not going to turn them
down. You take someone like Morgan, for instance; he's got people all over the
county."

"Who's
Morgan?"

It was the
second time the name had cropped up.

"Ezekiel
Morgan.
He controls most of the coast around here. Took over when
the old gangs died out. There's not much goes on that he doesn't know
about."

"Did he
arrange our stay here?"

Gadd nodded.

"Will we
get to shake his hand?" Lasseur asked.

"If you do,
best count your fingers afterwards."

Gadd paused as
if suddenly aware that he might have given out a little too much information.
He reached over and placed the stopper back in the jug. "Anyways, you
don't need to bother your heads about that. We've chores to finish. And we'd
best get a move on. Jessie'll have our hides if she sees us sitting here
gossiping like three old fishwives."

Hawkwood
wondered if Morgan was the other form of protection Jess Flynn had mentioned
the previous evening. He mulled over the possibility as they returned to work.

It was late
afternoon when they halted for the day, by which time a pleasant ache had
settled across Hawkwood's back and shoulders.

Lasseur drew a
hand across his brow. "I shall sleep well tonight, I think."

"You'll eat
first," Jess Flynn told them.

She had prepared
food, which they ate seated at the table in the kitchen, while the dog kept
watch outside the open door.

"How many
others have there been before us?" Hawkwood asked.

"A
few," Jess Flynn acknowledged. "But not for a while."

"This man,
Morgan; did he arrange their passage, too?"

"Morgan?"
Jess Flynn looked up, her face suddenly still.

"Thomas
mentioned the name. He told us Morgan rules the free-trade business and that
he'll have been the one who arranged our escape."

Jess Flynn
looked towards Gadd, who returned her stare with an apologetic shrug before
tearing off a hunk of bread and using it to mop the gravy from his plate.

"We were
just curious, that's all," Hawkwood said. "We wanted to know who to
thank for our freedom."

"I doubt
your thanks would interest Ezekiel Morgan," Jess Flynn said tartly.
"His only interest will have been in counting the money he's been paid for
your passage."

"Sounds as
if you don't care for him much," Hawkwood said.

"Can you
blame her?" Gadd said.

"Tom,"
Jess Flynn said warningly.

Gadd threw her a
look that said,
You
might as well tell them.

Jess Flynn
hesitated, then said, "My husband worked for Morgan. It was after we were
wed, when Jack was signed off the
Orion.
There wasn't
much work around."

"Lots of
ships
lying
in ordinary," Gadd cut in. "Too
many men; too few jobs."

The price of peace,
Hawkwood thought. It was ever
thus. An end to hostilities meant ships were placed on reserve and their crews
laid
off, creating a glut of idle bodies in search of employment.

"He was
always good with his hands, though." She smiled at the memory. "He
could make anything."

"Built the
barn out there."
Gadd jerked a thumb and his lips tightened.
"For Morgan."

"Ezekiel
Morgan's my landlord," Jess Flynn explained. "He owns a lot of land
hereabouts. That's the honest side of his business. Well, honest in comparison
to his other interests. When we came here, the farm didn't pay for itself. We'd
sell eggs and milk, but it wasn't enough. Jack would do all sorts of odd jobs
to make ends meet: mending carts, shoeing horses, fixing gates - everything. He
even made coffins. It was hard, but we got by. Then Morgan increased the rent.
The first time we were unable to pay, he asked for the use of our horses for
one of his runs. The next time, he needed some tubs stored for a few days. Then
it was tobacco. Before long, we were hiding something away every week."

"You don't
say no to Morgan," Gadd interjected. "Not if you know what's good for
you. Anyone who does is soon put right. You'll find a couple of your pigs have
died overnight or a hay rick's caught fire or a dead lamb's been tossed down
your well. It's a lot safer to go along with whatever it is Morgan wants. If
you're lucky and it all goes well, there'll be a keg of brandy on your doorstep
the next morning."

Jess Flynn
continued. "After a while, Jack began going out on runs. It was good
money. He started off as a tub carrier, then a bat man and lookout. Eventually,
he became one of Morgan's lieutenants." She stopped and her voice
faltered. "And then one night he didn't come back." She fell silent.

Gadd took up the
story. "There was a landing up at White Ness; a big consignment, two
hundred tubs plus tobacco; seventy ponies. They were carrying the kegs up from
the beach. A Revenue patrol was waiting for them at the top of Kemp's Stairs.
Ten of Morgan's men were taken; six were injured; three were shot, including
Jack, but he and a couple of men managed to get away. They made it as far as
Reading Street. The Revenue searched the houses. The others were found. Jack
managed to hide out. Morgan got the doctor to him, but it was too late; he was
gone."

Jess Flynn said,
"I thought I'd have to leave the farm, but Morgan let me stay on. In
return, he has the use of the horses when he wants and I still hide tubs from
the Revenue. Once in a while I'll get a message that he needs a special favour,
and I end up taking in strays like you."

"What would
happen if you told him about Seth?" Hawkwood asked.

"Seth?"
Tom Gadd said, puzzled. "What's that bugger got to do with anything?"

"It would
depend," Jess Flynn said.

"On
what?"

"On Morgan
deciding whether or not Seth bothering me was a threat to his business."

"Has he
been here?" Gadd stared at her.

"And if he did
consider him a threat?" Hawkwood said.

"Then I'd
be lending my sister my mourning dress."

"What's the
bugger done now, Jessie?" Gadd asked.

"It's all
right, Tom. Nothing happened."

"He tried
to force himself on her," Lasseur said. "Captain Hooper and I saw him
off."

"Bloody
hell, Jess!"
Gadd said.

"He was
drunk, Tom."

"He's
always bloody drunk," Gadd muttered.

"And if
Morgan decided that Seth bothering you wasn't a risk to his business, what
then?"
Hawkwood asked.

"I'd spend
my days worrying about Annie and her boy."

"Annie?"
Hawkwood said.
"Your sister?"

Jess Flynn
nodded. "Seth threatened to hurt them if I didn't give myself to him. I
don't know whether he really would, but if I went to Morgan and he didn't do
anything, and Seth found out, he could take it out on them to spite me."

Lasseur turned
to Hawkwood. "You should have let me kill him."

Hawkwood did not
respond to that. He studied Jess for a moment. "So you've no idea whether
Morgan will take your side or Seth's?"

"No. But
Seth can't be sure either. He's one of Morgan's bat men, but he knows that
won't save him if Morgan decides he's stepped out of line."

"And you're
hoping that the mere threat of going to Morgan will be enough to keep Seth at
bay?"

"That's a
dangerous game you're playing, Jess," Gadd said.

"I know,
Tom. You don't have to tell me."

"Bloody
Morgan," Gadd said.

Outside, the dog
let out a single bark.

"Shite!"
Gadd spat,
swinging round in alarm.

"Stay
here," Jess Flynn said. She stood up quickly and walked out into the yard,
closing the door behind her.

They should have
stayed in the barn, Hawkwood knew, close to the hiding space behind the bales.
They had grown careless.

"There's a
cellar," Gadd said urgently. "Entrance is in the pantry, under the
mat." He nodded towards a door in the corner.

Hawkwood and
Lasseur were already moving as the latch lifted on the back door.

Too
bloody
late,
Hawkwood thought.

The door opened.

"It's
Asa," Jess Flynn said. "He's come to pick up the tubs."

"God save
us," Tom Gadd said, relief flooding across his seamed face.

Hawkwood and
Lasseur helped with the loading. There were six tubs in total. It didn't take
long to remove them from the hiding place behind the bales.

The gravedigger
had brought two empty coffins with him on the back of the cart. Hawkwood
wondered if they were new or the same ones as before. They placed three tubs in
each coffin. Laid on their sides, end to end, they were a snug fit. Once the
tubs had been secured, Higgs used thin nails to keep the lids in place.

"What if
you're stopped?" Hawkwood asked, stepping back. "Won't it seem an odd
time of day to be transporting coffins?"

The gravedigger
shook his head. "Dead don't know what time it is. It ain't as though they
keep regular hours. Leastways, not round here. Besides we'll be stickin' to the
back lanes."

"But what
if you're stopped and someone wants to take a look?"

"I'll tell
'em I'm carryin' a couple of pox victims. See if they want to take a look then.
God's sakes, you ask a lot of bleedin' questions for a Frenchie." Higgs's
eyes narrowed. "But then, you ain't a Frenchie, are you?"

"You were
misinformed," Hawkwood said.

Tom Gadd rolled
his eyes.

"Aye, well,
it wouldn't be the first time," Higgs said morbidly. "Not that it
makes any bleedin' difference. I just
does
what I'm
told. Now, you ready or not?"

"For
what?"
Hawkwood said.

"Tubs ain't
the only things I came for," Higgs said. "You got any belongings you
want to take with you, best grab them now. We've a ways to go."

"Go?"
Lasseur said.

"You didn't
think you'd be stayin' here permanent, did you? Time you was movin' on."

"Where
to?"
Hawkwood asked.

"A little
place in the country; nice and secluded, no pryin' eyes."

"I thought
this
was
the country," Hawkwood said, thinking,
If
this
isn't secluded, what is?

"
There's other parts
."

"Asa?"
Jess Flynn
said.

"Come on,
Jess, you know you're not supposed to ask. I deliver 'em and I take 'em off
your hands when I'm told. You don't need to know the rest."

"Bollocks,
Asa," Gadd said. "Don't give me that. Where are you taking
them?"

Higgs sighed,
bit the inside of his lip, and said, "All right, I'm takin' them to the
Haunt. Satisfied?"

Gadd frowned.
"Why there?"

"God's
sake, Tom, I'd have thought that was bleedin' obvious."

"What's at
the Haunt?" Hawkwood asked.

"It ain't
what," Gadd said, an edge to his voice. "It's who."

Hawkwood waited.

It was the
gravedigger who finally answered: "Mr Morgan wants to meet you."

Well,
this should be interesting,
Hawkwood
thought.

The sun was hanging
low over the end of the valley as the gravedigger steered the coffin-laden cart
up the track towards the trees. It was a strange feeling, leaving the place
that had been their home for the past three days. Hawkwood had never been one
for looking back over his shoulder but, on this occasion, even though he was
impatient to move on, he couldn't help himself. Sunset was probably less than
an hour away; at the edge of the woods, shadows were already lengthening and
the house and barn were suffused in a warm russet glow. Hawkwood glanced to his
side. Lasseur was staring back too, but there was a distant look in his eye
that suggested he was seeing something far beyond his immediate view.