Smuggler's Kiss (29 page)

‘You don’t have any choice,’ I told him. ‘You can’t save me. I can’t swim and I won’t be able to run or climb if we do get round. My leg is damaged in some way.’ I winced with pain as I spoke. ‘They’ll catch us both. Please, Will!’

‘I can’t leave you and save myself!’ cried Will. ‘We can make it. I know we can. I’ll carry you if I have to!’

I paused, my breathing ragged with exertion. The voices were closing behind us. ‘Will,’ I asked, ‘are you the other one they want?’

Will hesitated and then nodded. ‘I am,’ he said, compelling me to climb on, over the next rock. A wave broke over it, drenching us in spray. I shivered.

‘It’s not true that you murdered anyone, is it, Will?’ I asked him. I could hear the pleading in my voice. I wanted him to tell me it wasn’t so.

‘I’m wanted for murder,’ said Will shortly.

‘That’s not the same thing! Is it?’

Will didn’t reply. He turned and helped me down into a pool of water and then pulled me up onto the next rock. ‘Not now, Isabelle! Focus on getting away. We can talk later.’

As I hauled myself up onto the next rock, my bad leg gave way and I fell heavily. I cried out in pain. ‘Go, Will!’ I begged. ‘Leave me! I can’t do it.’

‘Then swim!’ Will ordered, tugging at my hand. ‘Or you’ll be taken back to … to your … ’ His words trailed into silence.

‘I know.’ I looked at the water swirling black and hungry about my legs and shuddered. I couldn’t face plunging into that icy embrace again. I felt sure I wouldn’t survive it a second time.

Instead, I pulled my oilskin package from my shirt and pressed it into his hands. ‘Take it,’ I told him. ‘Maybe you can help me later. You’ll not be able to help me if you’re in prison too. And Will; whatever you’ve done, I don’t want you to … ’ I couldn’t bring myself to say the word
hang
, but we both knew what I meant.

The soldiers were close now, slipping on the rocks in their haste to reach us. Will caught me in his arms and held me close in a cold, wet embrace. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘But only in the hope of rescuing you.’

He pulled away so that I could see his face. ‘Isabelle, it wasn’t me who betrayed your presence on board,’ he said. ‘I swear it. I knew nothing of this attack tonight.’

I reached up and touched his cheek. ‘I know,’ I said simply.

He stepped away from me and waded out into the water. At that moment the soldiers clattered round the corner almost upon us. There were four of them now. They stumbled to a halt and raised their guns. The senior officer ignored me; instead, looking straight at Will, he shouted: ‘William Marlow, you are under arrest for the wilful murder of Eliza Jones and her infant!’

Will’s eyes met mine for an agonized moment. I was frozen in shock and disbelief. He was wanted for the murder of a young woman and her
baby
? Just as Hard-Head Bill had said. William
Marlow
? I couldn’t take it in. My brain felt as though it had received a massive electric shock. Will’s clear blue eyes held mine.

‘Hands up, Marlow!’ shouted the officer when Will didn’t move. Will looked away from me and slowly raised his arms. He stood there, half-in, half-out of the sea while the waves washed around him. His fair hair was plastered to his head, his clothes hung limply off him. No disguise, no acting this time; just a young man facing danger with courage. I wondered what I truly knew of him. I couldn’t match this terrible accusation with the man I’d come to know.

I saw Will tense and glance towards me. I realized he wasn’t planning to surrender at all. He was going to make a bid to escape. He was going to risk those guns.

Impulsively, I got to my feet and limped towards the soldiers. ‘Was it me you were looking for, officer?’ I asked. I walked as bravely as I could, straight towards the guns.

‘For the lord’s sake, boy, not in the line of fire!’ shouted the officer.

‘I’m not a boy,’ I contradicted him. ‘I’m Isabelle Holbrook.’

There was an audible gasp from the soldiers. Two lowered their guns instinctively, and Will took the opportunity to plunge into the sea. ‘Out of the WAY!’ yelled the officer, rushing forward to push me aside. I fell onto the rocks with a cry, while the officer called: ‘Fire! Don’t let him get away!’

His men did as he said, and fired a volley of shots, but I’d gained Will a few vital seconds. Three shots hit the sea near Will, but as far as I could tell, they’d missed. Certainly he swam on as strongly as ever, distancing himself from the shore. The soldiers began to reload, but their officer turned to shout at them. ‘Too late! Too late! Bring her.’ He pointed at me. ‘Smith, get back up to Lieutenant Oswald and tell him Marlow’s in the water. They need to try and cut him off when he tries to come ashore.’

I was grabbed and hauled roughly off the rock and into the sea, back towards the bay. ‘Your friend won’t get far!’ they told me. We reached the dry beach again at last, breathless and soaked, but I wasn’t allowed to rest for more than a moment. They marched me along the beach, half dragging me between them. Stabbing pains shot through my leg every time I put my weight on it. Climbing the cliff path was agony. Slowly, painfully, I half-walked and was half-pushed up it. As I drew towards the very top, two men stood waiting for me. I saw their boots level with my eyes as I dragged myself wearily up the last of the steep path.

‘Well, well,’ said a familiar voice. ‘I do believe it’s the beautiful young lady from Poole. In some most unsuitable clothes, what’s more.’ I looked up and saw Lieutenant Oswald standing looking down at me, a smirk on his handsome face.

I cast him a look of dislike. ‘Do I know you?’ I asked disdainfully.

There was a second man standing beside him and when he spoke my heart skipped a beat with shock: ‘You certainly know me. Unless I’ve already slipped from your memory?’ he said with heavy sarcasm. ‘Welcome home, my dear. You’ve been away quite some time, haven’t you?’

Filled with dread, I looked straight into the face of my husband. The mystery of our traitor was solved. It hadn’t been anyone on the ship after all; it had been our venturer himself, it seemed. He gave me a smile that had neither pleasure nor kindness in it. Weary, chilled, and in unbearable pain, I felt a wave of sick dizziness flooding me. Gratefully, I gave into it and fainted away.

After tangled dreams of forced marching and slow drowning, I awoke. I surfaced slowly, languorously, as though I’d been asleep for a lifetime.

I opened my eyes and even the comparatively muted light of an unfamiliar bedchamber stabbed at them. I was lying in a plain, bare room, the type you might find at an ordinary inn. I wondered where I could be.

I closed my eyes again. I was weak and content to lie quite still in the bed and search my memory. Gradually, it all came back to me.
The Invisible
, Will, the swim through the dark. The soldiers. My capture. I groaned softly as I recalled that my adventure was well and truly over.

But what had become of me? There had been talk of capital crimes and a hanging. My husband had been there. I struggled to sit up, to get a better look at the room in which I lay, but I found I had no strength in my body at all.

Just as I was wondering if I should call out, the door opened and a woman came into my room. She was middle-aged and motherly and as she came closer, I noticed a distinct whiff of spiritous liquor about her.

‘Ah, you’re awake, deary!’ she said looking pleased. ‘I’m Maggie Smith. I’ve been nursing you.’

‘Where am I?’ I asked puzzled.

‘In the Cat and Fiddle, to be sure. Your parents brought you here. You’ve been very sick. An inflammation of the lung and an injured leg. Don’t you remember?’

I frowned, searching my memory. I thought I could recall snatches; being very hot, feeling ill. People coming and going. ‘Not much,’ I told her.

‘Well, you’re on the mend now,’ she said. ‘Can you eat something, do you think? I can fetch you some broth.’

‘I’ll try,’ I promised.

Maggie Smith helped me sit up. I was shocked by how weak I was. My arms, as they lay on the sheets, were as thin as sticks and I felt breathless from the least exertion. How long had I been lying here?

‘You’ve been ill several weeks,’ Mrs Smith told me when she returned. ‘But there was another nurse before me. I don’t know much about what happened to you.’

Several weeks! I sipped the hot broth slowly and without appetite, wondering what had become of the others. Had they been put in prison? I hoped not. And what of Jacob and Will? I prayed they had escaped, and not, like me, succumbed to illness as a result of the swim in the cold sea. Or been shot. I shuddered as I remembered the soldiers firing at Will in the water.

I quickly grew stronger. The next day I could leave my bed for a couple of hours to sit in a chair by the window. There was a tree in leaf outside and song birds were hopping about on the grass. I could see it was late spring now. So much time had slipped by. The fate of my friends began to prey on my mind. If only there was someone I could ask.

Later that day, my parents came to see me. I was shocked to see them both so aged. ‘Oh Isabelle, we have been in such affliction!’ wept my mother, embracing me. ‘Captured by pirates all that time! My poor dear girl, however did it come about?’

I stared at her blankly as she released me. ‘Captured … what?’ I stammered.

‘Stolen from the house by those wretches and held captive throughout the winter,’ she said, stroking my hair back from my brow. ‘Did they treat you very cruelly?’

‘Nothing of the sort,’ I said. ‘No one captured me! I wasn’t held prisoner!’

My parents exchanged glances. ‘Hush, now,’ said my mother. ‘Don’t become agitated.’

But it was too late. I was sitting up in bed, exclaiming: ‘What story is this? Who says so?’

‘I say so,’ said my father firmly. ‘You must know, Isabelle, that your husband has been suing for desertion. He claims you only married him for the settlement and always planned to run away. He accuses you of stealing valuables from his house and running off with them to meet these pirates who were in on the plan.’

‘But this is all nonsense!’ I exclaimed.

My mother dabbed at her tears with a lace pocket-handkerchief and continued as though I hadn’t spoken: ‘He has been pursuing us in law for the return of the settlement, Isabelle. And he has had soldiers after you since your gown was found aboard their ship!’

‘But none of that is true!’ I exclaimed. ‘What, have the crew been accused?’

‘They’ve been arrested as accessories,’ said my father. ‘The ones they caught. They are in prison awaiting the assizes. Two got clean away; one of them a wanted felon, too!’

I drew a deep breath of mixed panic and relief. Will and Jacob had escaped at least. ‘But Papa, Mama, surely you don’t believe this fairytale? Surely you know it’s all lies?’

‘My dear, we know, of course, that it is not true,’ wept my mother. ‘You had no opportunity to become acquainted with pirates while you were living with us. You were most carefully chaperoned.’

‘And are you accused?’ I asked bewildered.

‘No, my dear,’ replied my father. ‘Though, you understand that the loss of the settlement would be a very great affliction. We would be ruined … again.’

‘But we
know
that you did not wish to leave your wedded husband. That would be nonsense! You must have been coerced!’

‘I
did
wish to leave him! Papa! These men are not pirates! They neither kidnapped me nor arranged any plan with me! I had never met them before that night.’

‘Of course you hadn’t!’ cried my mother. ‘One does not become acquainted with pirates at Harrison’s Assembly Rooms! You only know gentlemen. Of course we know that these desperate criminals broke into the house and stole you and the goods away.’

‘No, they did not!’ I cried. ‘You’re not listening. I ran away. But I stole nothing. Then they—the crew—saved me from drowning!’

There was an appalled silence. My parents exchanged looks. ‘That’s not possible,’ said my father firmly.

‘No, indeed, for why would you need saving when you were newly wed?’ added my mother. ‘It’s all a great mistake. Of course you were kidnapped.’

‘But Mama, I wasn’t!’

‘Hush! And of course you long to return to your husband. We’ve told him so. Though he doesn’t seem all that eager, to be honest, to
take
you back … ’

‘Mama!’ I exclaimed, exasperated.

‘Your memory has been affected by your illness, my love,’ said my mother tentatively.

‘It has, but not that part of it,’ I argued. ‘I’m … ’

‘You would be well advised to be guided by us, Isabelle,’ interrupted my father. ‘Your version would bring nothing but shame and loss of fortune on us all. We need to stick together.’

‘And you are so very confused as a result of this long illness,’ said my mother caressingly. ‘An inflammation of the lung
and
a wounded leg. You lost so much blood! No wonder you barely remember the details.’

‘I remember everything until the moment of my capture by the soldiers quite clearly!’ I assured them.

‘Isabelle,’ said my father. There was both anger and pleading in his voice. ‘Your parents know better than you in this instance.’