Smuggler's Kiss (16 page)

‘Spoiled, indulged, selfish, lazy … no words are bad enough for your conduct when you first came aboard,’ he said. ‘But you are learning and changing fast. Not everyone could do that. And you’re growing stronger in body and mind with every day that passes. Tell me, are you enjoying yourself?’

‘At times, I am. I don’t think I could ever revel in the danger as many of you do.’

Will pulled a length of rope from his pocket and passed it to me. ‘Let’s see your bowline,’ he said. I knotted it easily. A breeze blew straight at us off the sea, lifting my hair. It smelled fresh and salty.

Will pulled the bowline undone. ‘Now a clove hitch,’ he said. ‘Do you miss your home at all?’

I frowned as I tied the clove hitch with practised fingers. ‘I’d left my home before I came aboard,’ I said.

‘You’re very young to have left home. What’s your real age, Isabelle?’

I undid the hitch and retied it, my eyes on the rope, playing for time. ‘Fifteen,’ I admitted at last in a very low voice.

Will caught his breath. ‘So young?’

The bleakness of my situation, which I so often pushed from me in the busy days on board
The Invisible
,
rushed over me afresh. I glanced wordlessly up at Will and something must have shown in my face for he didn’t press me for more. Instead he reached over and took the rope from me. ‘Has Jacob shown you a running hitch yet?’ he asked. ‘It goes like this.’ He demonstrated clearly, before pulling the knot free and putting it back into my hands.

I tried, but my fingers were suddenly clumsy. Will took hold of my hands. The sudden closeness took me by surprise and made it hard for me to concentrate. ‘I’m too tired,’ I protested weakly.

‘No, you’re not, come! I’m helping you.’ Will guided my hands through the tying of the hitch, once, twice and then let me tie it alone. ‘There, you see,’ he said, releasing me. He went to sit down on some upturned crates and patted the wood beside him. ‘Come and sit by me?’ he asked. ‘It’s more sheltered than at the rail.’

I sat down beside him, wrapping my blanket more closely around me. ‘Are you warm enough?’ asked Will.

‘I am,’ I replied. ‘I can scarcely believe it’s almost December. Christmas is only a few weeks away, and yet it’s mild enough to be out at night.’

‘It’s unusually warm,’ agreed Will. ‘It will change; it’s bound to. Smuggling can be cold work in the depths of winter.’

‘But it doesn’t stop you?’ I asked.

‘The worse the weather, the better for us. Less chance we’ll be stopped about our business.’

He paused a minute looking out over the water. I wriggled back a little so my back rested against solid wood and I could relax a little. ‘Isabelle,’ Will began. ‘Speaking of Christmas, do you have … anyone you wish to be with at that season? Many of the crew will disperse for a week or so. I’m sure we could persuade them to let you go now.’

I bit my lip and closed my eyes, feeling a tumult of strange emotions. ‘I have no one,’ I said at last when I had mastered myself.

‘And yet the story of the poor orphan was quite clearly untrue.’

‘Yes, it was a bad lie,’ I admitted.

‘Do you trust me enough to tell me the truth? Or some part of the truth?’

‘How far around the crew will it travel?’ I asked with a touch of bitterness for the stories he’d repeated from Cherbourg.

‘No further than the two of us, I swear.’

I thought for a few moments. My past was a burden on my mind that ached. Perhaps it would lighten it to share it. I wanted to believe I could trust Will. I needed a friend.

‘My father was very wealthy,’ I began. ‘I grew up in luxury, I suppose. A country seat in Berkshire and a house in the best part of town. I had governesses, maids, and every piece of finery I wished for. You consider me spoiled and indulged. I am.’

‘But still very young, as I now know,’ said Will. ‘Your father. Who is he? Titled?’

I shook my head. ‘Not titled. But wealthy and of an old and proud family. His name isn’t important. Not any more.’

‘Why?’ Will’s voice was gentle.

‘Earlier this year, he lost his entire fortune and estates in an investment,’ I explained.

‘The South Sea Bubble?’ asked Will. I nodded. ‘I’m no longer living in that world, and I rarely see the London papers,’ he said. ‘But I heard that when it burst, many families lost a great deal of money.’

‘It was far worse than that,’ I said. ‘Many families lost everything they had. We were one of them. My father speculated. He was convinced he could make a great fortune for us. He invested everything we had, his properties and even my dowry and that of my sister. We were utterly ruined.’

My voice failed and I sat quite still, fighting tears that the memories of that terrible day brought rushing back. Will said nothing and sat quite still beside me.

‘They came and took everything away. Our furnishings, our horses and carriages. Our jewels, pictures, plate and ornaments. Everything of value and even everything of no value to anyone but us. They even took my gowns, my shoes, my shawls, my hats. Everything. It was utterly, utterly humiliating.

‘We had to move into shabby lodgings,’ I continued, my voice reduced by shame to a whisper. ‘Paid for by an uncle who was furious at being burdened with the costs of my father’s recklessness. My parents saved a few items. My bride gown was one.’

‘So it
was
a bride gown? I suspected as much. And yet you wear no ring.’

I paused, my voice choking in my throat and then forced myself to continue, not looking at Will: ‘I was engaged to be married. Father was determined that I at least should be spared the shame of poverty.’

‘I’m guessing something more went wrong?’ asked Will.

‘Of course. My betrothed, it turned out, had been interested mainly in my dowry. Once that was gone, he found himself obliged to end the contract to marry.’

I fell silent, unable to tell any more. Will took my hand and pressed it. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Will’s hand was warm and comforting around mine after the trauma of reliving the past.

Footsteps sounded on the ladder to the aft hatch. We both let go of each other at the same time. I opened my eyes to see that dawn was staining the dark sky pink in the east. The whole night had gone by. The skipper emerged onto the deck, and gave us both a nod. If he was surprised to see us, he hid it.

‘I should get some sleep,’ I said softly. I was feeling bone-weary suddenly.

‘By all means,’ agreed Will. ‘Thank you for trusting me. One more question. What was his name?’

‘My betrothed?’

Will nodded.

‘James Marlow was his name. He had a title too: Viscount Bedford.’

Will froze. I saw a strange look on his face for a second. ‘You know him?’ I asked curiously.

Will’s expression smoothed to a polite mask. ‘I used to, years ago. I thought he was already married.’

‘He was. He was widowed very quickly. His first wife died in childbirth.’

‘I see,’ said Will woodenly. He turned abruptly away, walking towards the skipper who greeted him cheerfully. Will replied briefly and then swung himself down onto the ladder to the lower deck. For a moment he paused and glanced back at me before he vanished from sight.

I sought my bunk but the past had returned to trouble me and wouldn’t let me rest. Scenes I had still hidden from Will lurked just out of sight behind that dreaded door. In my mind, I slammed it firmly shut, turned my face to the wall and pulled the covers over my head.

The month of December passed swiftly. The temperatures plunged, the wind blew, and life aboard the ship grew harsher. The sojourns in Cherbourg with its cosy inns and coffee houses grew to be a welcome rest from battling tides and weather. Will was not always with us, however. On two trips he stayed behind in England negotiating finance for our runs, finding buyers to supply, and arranging collection with the land smugglers.

‘May I not accompany you?’ I’d asked at first.

‘Certainly not. You’d be damnably in the way,’ he told me, not bothering to spare my feelings. I must have looked hurt then, because he relented a little. ‘You’ll be safer and more comfortable on
The Invisible
,’ he told me more kindly. ‘And I can travel faster alone. I’ll be back soon.’

It seemed empty and forlorn on board without him at first. As well as Jacob, who had been kind to me from the beginning, I gradually got to know Harry, the skipper, and one or two of the other men rather better. They all still teased me: about being a mermaid, about being the only woman on board, and for the way I spoke, so different from them. I learned to smile and laugh with them rather than taking offence, and gradually the jokes became less barbed.

I was constantly taken aback to find the depth of thought, understanding, and feelings in the rough, uneducated men. Some of them couldn’t even read or write, but they had strong views nonetheless.

‘You say the law should be obeyed, and happen you’re right,’ said Harry as we prepared the dinner together one evening. ‘But who made those laws?’

‘Parliament, of course!’ I replied, wondering how stupid he actually was.

‘And who sits in parliament?’ asked Harry.

‘The House of Lords and the House of Commons,’ I said, wondering if he was joking.

‘And are those Commons really common men, or are they gentry and suchlike?’

‘I’ve never thought about it. I suppose they’re … gentlemen.’

‘Ah. That’s right. No ordinary men like me or those I know. No working men. So those lords and fine gentry who own the land and have more money than what they need, they decide how to run the country. You can be sure they do it as benefits them, not as it benefits me and mine. Look at the land enclosures. Who was the land taken from? The common people. Who’s got it now? The rich.’

I blushed to think I’d thought him stupid just a moment ago. He had thought about the subject far more deeply than I ever had. ‘But the common land was shared out, wasn’t it?’ I asked.

‘So it were: big bit for the squire, a good-sized bit for the parson and the crumbs for the rest of us. Yep. It were shared out.’

I bit my lip uncomfortably. He was probably telling the truth. I’d never heard it explained in that way before. ‘The men who sit in parliament are educated and understand how to run the country,’ I said more timidly. ‘Perhaps working men who can’t write wouldn’t know enough.’

‘There’s plenty of working men as can write,’ said Harry. ‘And they understand the needs of the poor. What do your fancy lords in the fine wigs know about that? Eh? Nothing. They raise taxes to go to war. The rest of us don’t want no wars. What do we ever have to gain except dying by the sword and the cannon? What do they understand how a body suffers when they can’t feed their family?’

I was silent. Then even more timidly, I asked: ‘Are you a revolutionary, Harry?’

Harry laughed and gave his cauldron a vigorous stir. ‘Nay, lass, I’m not. I just got ideas in my noddle. It don’t mean I’m going to fight for ’em.’

I nodded, my mind full of the thoughts his words had created.

A week later, I was sitting in the prow beside Fred the pilot, as we approached the coast of England once more. He was pointing out the signs of rocks and currents, revealing where dangers lurked and where we could safely sail. He pointed out the different sea birds to me and named them all. I’d seen in the past months how he could sense a change in the weather before anyone else. He was a gentle man and a steady one and I always enjoyed sitting by him.

‘You read the water like a book,’ I told him, a note of admiration in my voice as he called out to warn of rocks where I could see nothing at all. ‘I can barely make out the signs you are navigating by, even when you show them to me.’

‘Well, reading is a closed book to me,’ he replied slowly, squinting against the low winter sun. ‘I never went to school and neither of my parents could read. But I went to sea with my father almost as soon as I was breeched and he taught me to navigate. I learned every corner of this part of the coast.’

‘I’m in awe of your skill and your knowledge of the sea,’ I told him. ‘Surely a pilot such as you could serve your country better in the Royal Navy?’

The pilot fell silent, his lips pressed tightly together.

‘That ain’t something you say to the Gentlemen,’ the skipper said from behind me.

‘Why not?’ I asked, eyes wide. I knew they thought differently on almost every topic to me, but surely we were all agreed that the Royal Navy kept England safe? ‘The Navy is our pride,’ I said. ‘My uncle serves in it.’

The skipper snorted derisively. ‘As an officer no doubt?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well it may be fine for officers, but for most of the men they may as well find themselves in hell itself. Rotten food, sour beer, relentless work, senseless punishments and death lurking. If they’re lucky, their family gets paid a few miserable shillings. Why do you think they are obliged to press men to fill their ships?’

I opened my mouth to repeat my uncle’s words; to say that the men they were forced to press were the scum of the earth and needed to be flogged into shape, and then I shut it again. Some instinct warned me this might not be a tactful thing to say on board
The Invisible
.