The Runaway's Gold (13 page)

“Must you clunk so?” Mary chided as we raced across the cobblestones. Me steps seemed louder than thunder, the rhythmic
click
,
click
,
click
with every stride.

But we had hardly reached the end of the street when we started hearing voices. And then we saw the shadows cast by a group of staggering men. They were singing in a tongue I didn't recognize.

“Mariners—stranded, no doubt. Waiting for Marwick's pay,” she whispered, pulling me quickly into the shadows of a neighboring house. “They've been carousing every night this week—filled with fire whiskey.”

We crouched low, hardly daring to take a breath as they meandered by. When they were at last out of sight, she led me down a maze of narrow, high-walled lanes, each lined with stone houses and buildings so close to one another that there was only a few feet of space between them. If I had ever had a sense of where Hillhead was and how to get back, it was instantly gone.

The air was chill, the smell of rotting fish and smoldering peat wafting about us until, finally, Mary stopped at an intersection
and pointed down a lane that curved sharply to the left. “Just one quick stop down here and we'll be on our way.”

“Stop? What for?” And then it dawned on me how foolish I'd been. Not only did I hardly know this girl, I had no idea where exactly she was leading me.

“Chris Robertson, there are hundreds of docks in Lerwick Harbor! If we want to find what we're looking for, we need to know where to look.”

“You said you
knew
where to look!”

“Told you I knew how to get to the docks. But in case no one's explained, Lerwick's got more than you can count. That's why we need George. If anyone knows of goods coming in, it's he.”

“George, Mary—you've been kind, but I need to find me brother
tonight
. I've no time for meeting—”

“Shhh!” she chided, grabbing me arm and practically dragging me to the end of the lane, past two imposing stone pillars to an elegant, three-gabled house. “Do you want all of Lerwick to know we're here?” Then she unlatched the iron gate to the courtyard, and together we crept through the formal gardens in the back.

“What're you up to?” I asked as she motioned me into the shadows, picked up some pebbles, and then, with precise aim, lightly tossed one after another at a lit window on the second floor.

It wasn't but a few moments before the window shot open and the head of a plump-faced young man, not much older than John, popped out.

“Mary?” he called. “Is that you?”

“Well, of course it is!” she said, dropping her hap to her shoulders.

“What are you doing down here on a night such as this? Don't you know the streets aren't safe?”

“Aye!” she said. “It's important!”

The young man rubbed his hand across his brow and sighed. “All right, then.”

A minute later the back door swung open.

He was taller than me by at least a foot, his curly hair wetted and combed over to the side in an attempt to calm its naturally unruly state. He was dressed as a gentleman, wearing a white shirt with a dark cravat tied at his neck, and his vast belly strained the buttons of his gold silk vest. He smiled warmly at Mary, but I couldn't help noticing that his eyes seemed filled with fatigue and worry.

“There's no one here but me tonight,” he said, ushering her into a kitchen twice the size of the one in Canfield House, stopping short as Mary beckoned me from the shadows.

“George, meet Christopher Robertson of Culswick,” she said. “He needs your help.”

He glanced at me, eyes narrowed, and then back at Mary before tentatively extending his hand. “George Marwick,” he said.

“M-M-Marwick?” I asked, looking at Mary, aghast.

“Come, now,” he said, his thick pink jowls spilling over his collar. “I can't be that frightening.”

“Wallace Marwick is George's Daa,” Mary explained. “You can trust him.”

I stared at him, mouth ajar. Until that moment it had never occurred to me that Wallace Marwick, the person who caused me family and so many others such anguish and suffering, had a son, much less a family. “
The
Wallace Marwick?” I asked, wondering how anyone could have so wide a girth in times such as these.

“The very same,” Mary said. “George and my brother, Charles, have been close friends since they were bairns.”

She looked quickly about the room as I stood frozen in place.

“Where's Cook?”

George scowled. “Gone—since last Tuesday. The manservant gone as well. Daa thought it best.”

“But they've been with the family all your life!”

“Aye, and until we get a shipment we can turn over quickly, we have nothing to pay their wages.”

He waddled to the fire, adding several bricks of peat to the flames, then showed us to the chairs around a table in the corner. I shifted uncomfortably in me seat as Mary explained the story of John taking Daa's coins, while George stared down, stroking sunken eyes and arched eyebrows as if trying to rub away a nagging headache.

“We need to know,” she continued, “where someone might go with a pouch full of shillings he hopes to invest. Where, perhaps, there could be some
unofficial
activities that he might be trying to get a part of.”

“And I suppose you wouldn't mind finding out something about when the
Ernestine Brennan
is expected, am I right?” he asked.

She smiled, placing her hand on his plump arm. “I knew you would understand.”

“Mary, lass,” he said, smiling at her hand, “why on earth do you always get yourself wrapped up in trouble like this? For once in your life, can't you simply stay home and be content to help out your Midder?”

“Hah!” she laughed, jumping to her feet. “I wouldn't know what trouble was if I hadn't spent so much time all these years with the likes of you and Charles.”

For a moment his eyes came to life, a mischievous smile cracking his sullen features. But when he finally spoke his expression darkened considerably. “Things have changed, Mary. I'm not at liberty to talk about any shipments, much less the whereabouts of the
Ernestine Brennan
. Daa's trusting me to keep our business affairs to myself. There's just too much at stake.”

“But—with your Daa in Edinburgh—I thought surely you'd be free to—”

“Aye! And left me here to appease the coopers, carpenters, sail cutters, blacksmiths, mariners, and warehousemen who haven't been paid in a month. Or haven't you heard? Mary, you've no idea how dire the situation has become. They say there'll be rioting again tomorrow if I don't get them something!”

His story sounded so pitiful that, for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.

“Imagine,” she said, snapping her hands to her hips, “leaving a lad in charge. Whatever was Mr. Marwick thinking?”

“I'm not so much a lad!” he quipped. “I'm nearly eighteen! And don't you see, Mary, there's no one else. Daa let Mr. Burns go last week, and he's been keeping the Marwick books for over twenty years. Should Daa not be successful getting the loan from the Royal Bank of Scotland, we'll lose the ships, the store, the bank, this house even!”

“So it's as Midder feared. I didn't want to believe it. The moment the
Ernestine Brennan
's discovered in the harbor, she'll be searched and seized for debts. Oh, George—we must warn Uncle! If they find what's on board he'll be sent to prison!”

“That's for me to worry about,” he said, flashing her a stern look. “I'll be keeping watch at the docks tonight with that very purpose.”

“Wonderful! We'll go with you!”

He jumped to his feet. “You'll do no such thing! This is no night to be out in the streets. Now come. I'll see you home and get on with my business.”

“I'll see her home,” I blurted, not knowing what I wanted more—for Mary to be safe or simply away from George Marwick. He who nearly burst the buttons of his vest while me wee sisters were nothing but skin and bones. “We've taken too much of your time already.”

“Will you, then?” Mary asked, surprising me with a glare.
“And who put you in charge? Seems you have your own worries with that Blackbeard man looking for you.”

I glanced away, face hot, wondering for the second time that night how I could have been so brash. What was it about Mary Canfield that made me say things I shouldn't say?

“Aye,” I mumbled, turning to the door. “I'll be off, then. Sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Marwick.”

“By yourself?” she asked, as me hand grabbed the latch. “Heavens, no! You'll be lost before you get four feet from here. Seeing how George won't give us even a hint of information, I'm coming with you.”

But as she turned to me side, George quickly maneuvered his overstuffed frame between us. “All right, all right,” he muttered. “If you must know, there's a ship due tonight with an important cargo from Rotterdam. Robertson's brother may have heard word of it among the men along the shore.”

“Where will she be docking?” Mary asked.

He hesitated a moment. “The Marwick Lodberry. Our men are expecting her.”

“Lodberry?” I asked.

“A building built out into the harbor,” Mary explained. “The shore is lined with them. Makes it easy for the merchants to receive their cargo.”

“From Rotterdam?” I asked. “Gin, is it?”

“Aye,” George nodded. “And the only shipment expected for some time.”

He walked back to the fire and added another brick of peat.
“Daa left me with strict orders to make sure everything goes without a hitch, there being a great urgency to move goods of high value as quickly and as secretly as possible.”

“Then it's the
Ernestine Brennan
you're speaking of,” Mary said.

“Aye, lass. I knew I shouldn't have told you! So don't go getting any ideas about going down there with him! We
absolutely cannot
risk drawing attention to her, or the Queen's Revenue Men will come aboard and make an inspection. The Crown already knows we're desperate. They'll be keeping watch.”

“Wouldn't there be less risk unloading her cargo on me side of the island?” I asked.

“Naturally!” George said, eyeing me with a look of disdain. “But we haven't been able to get word to Captain Canfield. The man has no idea how badly things have turned while he has been away.”

“But casks of gin—where can you hide them when they're unloaded?” I pressed. “You canna tell me Lerwick has hidden caves like we have in Culswick.”

George glanced at Mary and then back at me. “Unloading within sight of the Revenue Men is far from ideal, but our lodberry is quite capable of taking the shipment.”

“It has an underground passage,” Mary explained. “Connects the warehouse to the store across the street. Me Daa helped build it.”

“You unload under the nose of the Revenue Men and never pay the duty?”

“Of course,” George said. “There must be ten other lodberries just like it along the Lerwick shore. After all, a Shetlander doesn't build a fortune such as ours on dried cod.” He swallowed hard. “This time, of course, things are a bit more complicated. The gin we off-load in this shipment will only tide us over for a bit. So the
Ernestine Brennan
'll be taking on a most special cargo from our lodberry when she gets in—from me Daa's own supply. We think there's a buyer in Belfast. Making
that
delivery is our only chance to survive.”

“Even with the loan from the Bank of Scotland?” Mary asked.

“They've as much as told us there'll be no more loans. Daa's journey to Edinburgh is a formality.”

“And if the Revenue Men discover the
Ernestine Brennan
?” I asked.

George looked up, expressionless. “The Marwick enterprise collapses and the entire island goes hungry.”

Suddenly the peril of the situation hit me. No matter what I thought of Wallace Marwick, without him there would be no more loans for fishing lines and bait. No more credit for boats and lines. No more fish to sell, no matter the meager price. No more chandlers, sailmakers, or coopers. Should he go down, all of Shetland would go down with him.

“But they won't discover her!” Mary said, ushering me though the door. “We'll see to it!”

“What do you mean ‘we'?” George asked, slamming his thick arm over the latch. “My Daa put me in charge of getting
Captain Canfield his instructions. I'm to trust no one in my place.”

Suddenly there was loud chanting from the street at the front of the house.

“Marwick!” a voice shouted. “We know you're in there. Pay up or live to see the consequences!”

George's face turned ashen. “The workers from the docks!”

Mary and I followed him into the parlor facing the street. I gaped at its plush furniture, crystal chandeliers, and warm, colorful carpets as George quickly slid the thick brass bolt across the front door.

“Been coming round every night this week screaming and hollering with torches and clubs,” he said.

“Are they daft?” Mary asked. “They must know you have nothing to give.”

“Aye,” I muttered. “But that doesn't stop them from being mad and hungry. It's his Daa owes them their wages.”

George shot me an icy glare.

Then there was a wild cheer from the street and, to our horror, a rock the size of a small cat came smashing through the window, just missing Mary and showering her boots with glass.

“Lor', lass! Are you hurt?” George cried. He stumbled to her side and lifted her back to the kitchen, with me close at his heels. “If anything should happen to you . . . ,” he said, kneeling before her and picking frantically at the shards of glass on her boots.

“I'm fine,” she said. But her voice was trembling.