Distant Voices Page 13

  He grinned. ‘Undoubtedly. You must come to our next garden party.’ He was loosening his horse’s girth, tethering it beneath the trees.

  ‘Goodbye, then.’ In spite of herself she felt strangely desolate.

  He looked up at her again. Then he swept off his hat and bowed. ‘My thanks, Miss Hayward.’

  She gathered up her reins. ‘Would you really have implicated Papa if I had betrayed you?’

  He laughed. ‘Indeed I would.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’d have told them about the four kegs of brandy hidden in your hayloft! Goodbye, Miss Hayward.’

  He brought his hand down on her horse’s rump with a smack and it leaped forward. Almost unseated, Caroline struggled for control. When she had at last brought the mare back to a halt and turned round he had gone.

  She set off slowly with her back to the setting sun, following the lanes as best she could. She wasn’t familiar with the country here and the horse was tired, so she did not want to take any short cuts.

  It was two miles further on at the village of Ewangate that she saw the militia, a huge crowd of men and horses gathered outside an inn. There was no doubt as to their mood and there was no doubt that most of them were, if not local, then at least men brought in from along the coast. The women in the cottages were huddled defensively on the green, talking in low voices together, and their menfolk were eyeing the strangers with obvious hostility as the soldiers drank their ale and talked and laughed. Caroline felt herself grow cold; they were here already, and so close. Charles was wrong. They were not from the barracks in Larchester. They were men from the coast, men who knew the sea, men who, in spite of the ale, were far from too drunk to know what they were doing.

  She slowed the mare, aware that every eye was upon her as she made her way up the village street. It was too late to turn back. She could only go on, conscious that an obviously well dressed young woman on a valuable horse, completely unescorted, would be noted and remembered by every single person who saw her.

  Cursing her stupidity in riding so carelessly into the village she rode on, looking neither to right nor left, keeping her eyes fixed on the bend in the road ahead.

  ‘So, where are you off to, my beauty? Why not stop and have a drink with us instead, eh?’ She froze with horror as a gnarled hand clamped suddenly onto her horse’s bridle, making the animal sidestep nervously. ‘Too proud to look at the likes of us, are you?’

  She found herself staring down at an unpleasantly scarred face with blackened teeth exposed in a leer.

  ‘Leave her, man.’ As if in answer to her prayer an officer had appeared from inside the inn. He saluted. ‘I’m sorry. Captain Warrender, ma’am, at your service. Take no notice of these ruffians.’

  Caroline gave him an uncertain smile. ‘It seems strange to have an army gathered here, Captain. Are you looking for a war?’.

  Her remark was greeted by a growl of laughter from the men who had crowded around her.

  ‘As good as. We fight the free traders, ma’am. There’s bounty in it for these fellows, and the satisfaction of knowing that we aid the law.’

  ‘Free traders?’ Caroline stared at him.

  ‘Smugglers, my beauty.’ The man who had halted her horse grinned at her. ‘A hotbed of them, this coast.’ There was another growl of laughter which, Caroline suspected, meant that many of the men present could be found amongst the smugglers themselves from time to time.

  ‘Smugglers?’ she echoed. ‘Are you going to catch them?’

  ‘We are indeed.’ The officer grinned. ‘Down at Windell’s Cove. We’ve left men on every approach to the coast and we’ll be in position there ourselves before dark, and when the devils come we’ll be waiting for them.’

  She swallowed. ‘I’m glad I shan’t be there, then. Good evening to you, Captain.’

  She rode on, aware that every eye in the village was fixed on her back as her horse walked past the last cottage and into the leafy lane.

  Somehow she had to get back to Charles. She had to warn him. He wasn’t expecting this! Every one of those men had been armed to the teeth. She had seen the cudgels and staves, the knives and swords, and she had seen a pile of muskets outside the door of the inn.

  Dragging the horse’s head round as soon as she was out of sight of the village she skirted back across the fields, heading as fast as she could urge the tired animal towards the clifftop where she had left Charles. But where was it? Desperately she tried to remember the way. Shadows were lengthening now and the lanes were darker. Already the militia would be moving out. She glanced round but everything looked the same in the monochrone light. There were no landmarks. Her heart was hammering with fear as she pushed the horse on, threading her way through the trees, expecting at any moment to hear them behind her.

  It seemed a long time before at last she had retraced her steps and found the clump of trees where, to her relief, she saw Charles’s horse, grazing peacefully in the shadows. It looked up enquiringly as she rode up, then went on with its eating. She slid from her saddle and tethered the mare beside it, leaving her detested bonnet dangling by its ribbon from the pommel, then she turned towards the cliff.

  ‘Charles?’ Her whisper was lost in the taunting cry of a lone, circling gull. There was no sign of him. Hesitantly she stood on the cliff’s edge, looking down at the cove beneath. It seemed deserted. The sea was calm and gentle, the dark gilded water running in gentle ripples up the sand.

  ‘Charles, where are you?’ She looked round desperately, pushing her hair out of her eyes. The place was deserted.

  Biting her lip she looked at the narrow sheep track which wound its way down the cliff, almost sheer as it zigzagged between rocks and clumps of grass and clustered flowers. The sun was dropping now into the sea. A dazzling sunpath lay across the water, touching the wet sand. Slowly gathering the skirt of her habit in one hand she began to descend the path.

  Charles was waiting behind an outcrop of rock at the base of the cliff.

  ‘I hope you have a good reason for coming back.’ His tall figure threw a long shadow across the sand behind them.

  ‘I saw the militia – not two miles away.’ Her words tumbled over each other in her rush to tell him. ‘There were dozens of them, all armed, and they will be here before dark.’ She was out of breath after her climb. ‘They have blocked all the main roads. They mean to trap you.’

  Charles let out an oath.

  Caroline gave a rueful smile in spite of herself. ‘That was the smuggler, not the rector speaking, I take it,’ she said wryly.

  He glared at her, then, unexpectedly he laughed. ‘I fear it was. My apologies.’ For a moment he was silent, considering the situation. ‘It appears I am doubly in your debt. I would have sat here waiting for the trap to close. I have sent word to the men, and I pray the message will get through in spite of your road blocks, but a few of them may not get the warning in time.’

  ‘How did you send word?’ She stared at him. ‘There was no one here.’

  ‘Oh, but there was.’ He was leaning against the rock, watching the clouds entwining themselves around the sun, changing it from gold to crimson as they dragged it down into the sea. ‘I have a system which usually works. The two men here will each have told two more, and they in turn two more, on through the villages. As long as no link breaks they will all be warned.’

  ‘And if the link breaks?’ She was watching his face, fascinated, as the westering light threw the planes of his cheekbones and his nose into silhouette.

  ‘That was why I stayed. In case.’

  ‘And you would have stayed here all night?’

  He nodded. ‘All night, if need be.’

  ‘You care about those men.’

  ‘They are my brothers.’

  ‘Of course.’ She was silent for a while. ‘I still don’t understand why you do it.’

  ‘For the money.’ He seated himself on a slab of rock. ‘What other reason could there be?’

  In spite
of herself she was disappointed. ‘But you don’t need the money –’

  ‘They do.’ His mouth hardened. ‘You want to know why I do it, Miss Hayward? I’ll tell you. Those men, every one of them, are ground into poverty by the way this country operates. And the two things working men have to alleviate their pain and their poverty, alcohol and tobacco, are taxed to a price where few can afford them and the taxes are frittered away by an administration that is uncaring and incompetent. I come from a class, Miss Hayward, which could help men like your Jake Forrester. But we don’t. We watch them die. We watch them die in their babyhood and their childhood, in their teens and in their twenties of disease and deprivation. These men are old before the age of thirty. Well, I decided to do something about it. By exploiting one of the local pastimes.’ He gave the ghost of a grin. ‘I redirect some of that money to where it should go. To the poor. To the sick. To the deserving.’

  ‘Like Robin Hood,’ she said softly.

  He laughed. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Besides which, you enjoy the excitement.’ She had suddenly discovered that she liked Charles Dawson after all.

  ‘I won’t deny it. It beats spending the evening writing sermons.’

  ‘No doubt you have already written your sermon for this week.’

  ‘Of course.’ He was mocking. ‘How are we going to get you home, Caroline?’ he went on softly. ‘You can’t ride in the dark.’

  ‘I know.’ She liked the way he used her name. Sometimes the acerbic Miss Hayward, sometimes the soft, almost caressing Caroline. ‘I don’t know the way through the countryside, and the roads are blocked.’

  He frowned. ‘It was unforgivable of me to bring you down here. Did your father have no idea at all that you were going out? He really will be worried now that it is dark.’

  She laughed nervously. ‘I was supposed to be in my room learning a passage from the Bible as punishment for my waywardness.’

  ‘Indeed?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘May I ask what dreadful deed you could possibly have perpetrated to incur such a punishment?’

  She grimaced. It seemed so long ago since her father had burst into her room and snatched away her book. ‘I was reading Lord Byron’s poems.’

  His crack of laughter was quickly smothered. ‘My poor Caroline. So your soul is damned to perdition. Poor George Gordon. Is he still thought to be an ogre, then?’

  ‘Not by me. I loved his book. But Papa put it on the fire.’

  ‘One day I’ll give you another copy, and you shall read it to your heart’s content –’ He broke off as the sound of a rock falling resounded above the gentle sighing of the sea. Silently he stood up and putting his arm around her shoulders he pulled her into the deep shadows of the tumbled rocks.

  Straining her eyes towards the far side of the little cove Caroline felt suddenly very afraid. There were men out there with muskets ready to shoot on sight. If she and Charles weren’t killed they could be captured and quite possibly hanged. What was she, after all, if not a willing accomplice of the leader of the smugglers?

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, very aware of Charles’s strong arm around her shoulder, of his tall figure so close beside her, comforting her, giving her a quite spurious sense of security. Then his lips were at her ear, almost touching.

  ‘Up the cliff. Quietly,’ he breathed. Taking her hand he turned and began to tiptoe back towards the path.

  Behind them as the cove fell into darkness it remained empty. If there was anyone there they were hidden in the shadows, out of sight.

  The horses were where they had left them. There was a quiet whicker of greeting from Charles’s cob, then intense silence in the wood. It was as if the whole world were holding its breath. Soundlessly Charles untied the horses and helped Caroline onto her saddle. Just for a moment he went on holding her hand. ‘You’re a brave woman, Caroline Hayward.’ Leaning down towards him she saw him glance up at her. He reached up and gently touched his finger to her lips. Then he had vanished into the darkness and she heard the rustle of hooves as he led his cob ahead of her.

  She was about to turn her exhausted mare after him when the night exploded into noise. By the livid light of the powder flashes from a dozen muskets she saw the ring of armed men who surrounded the wood and she knew that they were trapped.

  PART THREE

  As the muskets exploded around them Charles span round. ‘Get back!’ he shouted. ‘Get back into the woods. I’ll head them off!’ Leaping onto his horse he rode straight at the line of armed men.

  Fighting to calm the panicking mare Caroline managed to pull her back into the darkness. Throwing herself from the saddle she dragged the horse deep into a thicket and tied it there with shaking hands before creeping back towards the edge of the wood.

  Flares had been lit now and it took her only a moment to see that Charles had failed in his attempt to ride through the line of men. They had dragged him from his horse and as she watched he was overpowered and she saw them binding his arms behind his back.

  Her mouth was dry with terror as she clung to the powdery trunk of the tree round which she was peering. In the flickering light of the flares she saw Charles, blood streaming from a wound in his forehead, dragged between two men back to his horse and pushed up onto the saddle. Already the ranks were closing round him. In the smoky light she saw the face of the officer who had spoken to her earlier.

  ‘Half a dozen of you come with me,’ he shouted. ‘We’ll take this fine gentleman back to where he can do no more harm. The rest of you, search the wood for the other horse. See if there is anyone hiding in those trees. Then wait at the cove.’

  With a gasp of fear Caroline shrank back into the shadows.

  ‘The other horse was mine.’ She heard Charles’s voice clearly above the shouting. ‘And my men are far away, my friend, all forewarned about your trap. There will be no one there for you to find.’

  ‘No?’ She saw Captain Warrender look up at him and smile. ‘I think we’ll check anyway.’

  With a little sob of fear she turned back into the wood, pushing her way through the undergrowth, feeling the branches and leaves whipping across her face. She groped her way frantically back to the mare and tearing free the rein somehow managed to scramble back into the saddle. Get away! She had to get away.

  She turned her horse’s head away from the flares and the shouting of the men and, blinded by tears, urged the animal up a soft ride at a canter, praying the horse could see better than she in the darkness beneath the trees.

  It was a long time before she reined in and tried to listen for sounds of pursuit. There was nothing behind her. She had crossed meadow and downland in her wild flight and now she was in the forest. The trees around her were still. Only an owl in the distance broke the silence. They had not followed her.

  Go back.

  She swallowed, trying to gather her wits.

  Find out where they are taking him.

  Go home, another part of her mind was screaming. Go home and hide. Forget him. He brought it on himself.

  Go on. Follow him. After all, he was caught because he wanted to save you.

  She leaned forward and rested her forehead wearily on the mare’s sweating neck. It was the truth. He had ridden at the men in order to distract them from her. Had he ridden the other way, into the darkness, he might have got away.

  She straightened and took a deep breath. She would go after him.

  Turning the tired horse she began to retrace her steps, her ears, and eyes straining for the least sight or sound of another rider in the darkness, but the meadows and woods were empty in the thin moonlight. She carefully skirted behind the cove, not daring to go near the cliffs where the soldiers were presumably hiding. Instead she headed west, making for the main road. Reaching the crest of the hill she stopped and cautiously surveyed the road ahead as the moon fought its way out of the haze and swam free, bathing the landscape in clear silver light.

  She could see them clearly, half a dozen riders clu
stered tightly together – at that distance she could not make out which one was Charles. To her relief she realised that they were riding slowly now, making it easier for her to follow them safely.

  It was half an hour before they reached the outskirts of the market town and port of Lakamouth and ten minutes after that before the militia escorted their prisoner into the castle. Reining in the mare at the foot of Market Street Caroline saw them disappear beneath the gatehouse arch and the heavy doors swing shut behind them.

  Immediately she turned away. Now that Charles was out of sight she felt abandoned and alone. Up till that moment she had concentrated on keeping him in view and on not being seen herself. Now the sleeping city frightened her. She glanced sideways down the narrow streets where the moonlight never reached and she shivered. Somewhere she heard the sound of running feet and nearby a cat yowled.

  What was she to do? She had no money, and anyway would never dare approach an inn at this time of night, and she was so vulnerable: a woman, alone, with nothing but her horse for protection. And the horse was exhausted. It would never carry her back to Larchester.

  She took a deep breath and turned back towards the road. In the open countryside at least she felt safer, free from the spying eyes which seemed to her to be watching her from every street corner and alleyway.

  In the end she found a barn on the outskirts of a village. Leading the horse inside she thankfully helped herself to hay and water from the trough for the horse, and curled up herself in a pile of sharp-scented straw, too exhausted to care where she was or who found her.

  It was full daylight when she awoke, stiff and hungry. The mare was munching contentedly at the wisps of hay and sunlight streamed in through the huge open doors, evaporating the dew on the fields. Wearily climbing to her feet and dusting the straw from her habit she looked around. There was no sign of anyone about. Relieved, she splashed her face with water from the trough, tried vainly to smooth back her tangled hair – her bonnet had been lost long ago in the wood – and set about resaddling the mare.