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Octavia Gray's radical parents give little attention to their eighth child. Her best friend Julia's parents are all too keen to see her wed a wealthy and respectable gentleman. So when Julia falls for a wild-haired radical acquaintance of Octavia and is whisked away to an isolated 15th century fortified manor in Cornwall, she begs Octavia to come and keep her company.
Then the fun begins, as both Julia's suitors turn up, along with a dashing smuggler and a horde of Revenue officers out to catch him--or anyone who lands in their net...
Excerpt:
Chapter 4
Beyond
the shadow of the quay the moon shone bright on Plymouth Sound,
silvering the ripples and whitening the swirling wake as the sailing
barge took the breeze. The Barbican, the Citadel, and the Hoe loomed
as dark masses and the opposite shore of the estuary was a black line
between sea and sky.
Seated
on a neat coil of rope, Octavia leaned back against her trunk and
wondered if she was dreaming. The creak of the wheel, manned by the
silhouette of Captain Pilway; the slap of bare feet on wood as Joey
and Tom moved to adjust the square sails; the rush of water against
the hull: all these were as foreign to her as the salty tang of the
air blowing in her face.
“Warrum
enow, miss?” queried Tom, materialising beside her.
She
pulled her cloak closer about her and nodded; then, not sure if he
had seen, said, “Yes, thank you. How long will it take to
Cotehele?”
“Ah,”
he said, and slipped away again like a shadow.
To
judge by the gleaming path of the setting moon, they were headed
south of west. Octavia thought back to her geography lessons. Surely
the Tamar flowed into the Channel from the north? For a moment she
was alarmed: had she fallen among white slavers, or ruffians of some
other ilk? But Lieutenant Cardin would not have handed her over so
calmly had he anticipated danger, and Captain Pilway had been
perfectly polite.
There
must be all sorts of navigational hazards to be avoided, she realised
with relief. The island they were passing on their right, for
instance, was probably surrounded by rocky reefs. The Eddystone
Lighthouse was somewhere near Plymouth, she thought, and the coast of
Cornwall was noted for shipwrecks.
As
they rounded the island, she saw a larger ship rocking on the water a
few hundred feet off, its single mast bare. The barge approached it,
slowing as the sails were furled. A dinghy put off from the stern of
the sloop.
“Ahoy
there, River
Queen!”
came a low hail.
“Ahoy,
Seamew!”
Captain Pilway
called back, his deep voice hushed.
The
dinghy drew alongside, the rowers shipping their oars; a giant of a
man stood up in it and gripped the rail of the barge. Captain Pilway
went to him and they held a whispered consultation. Octavia thought
he turned his face in her direction for a moment, but in the
moonlight she could be sure of nothing.
The
giant said something to his men, passed up several small packages to
the captain, and then heaved himself aboard. He dwarfed Captain
Pilway, himself by no means a small man. The two retired to the stern
to talk, while the rowers lifted several barrels over the side into
the barge. Joey and Tom rolled them aft, and Joey started lashing
them together with rope.
“Right,
boys!” called the big man. The dinghy cast off and headed back
towards the sloop.
Sails
raised, the River
Queen
turned north.
The
new passenger made his way forward and stopped beside Octavia.
Squatting down so that his face was nearer her level, he saluted her.
“How
do you do, ma’am,” he said in an educated voice, removing his cap
and running his fingers through his thick hair. “Captain Day’s
the name, Red Jack Day. You’re bound for Cotehele, I hear.”
“Yes,”
stammered Octavia. “I—I am going to stay there with friends.”
“I’m
heading that way myself. You’re no Edgcumbe, though, are you?”
“No.
My friends are related to the Edgcumbes. Are—are you a smuggler,
sir?”
“Best
not ask, little lady,” he said grinning, his teeth white in the
moonlight. “Those who don’t know, can’t tell. You’ve seen
some interesting goings-on tonight, eh?” His
tone was friendly, not in the least threatening.
“Are
you not afraid I shall tell someone?” Octavia ventured.
“There’s
nothing the Revenuers can do unless they catch us with the goods and
by the time you found someone to tell, those’ll be long gone.
Suspicions don’t hurt us; there’s not a captain nor a ship
doesn’t run goods now and then. Were you planning on turning us
in?”
“No,
I suppose not. My father says the duty and excise tax laws make very
little sense.”
“Then
your father is a sensible man. You’re not from these parts?”
“No,
from London.”
“Ah.”
He settled back more comfortably on his haunches, swaying slightly
with the roll of the boat. “Then allow me to point out the sights.
Sun’ll be up soon."
The
eastern sky paled over Plymouth even as the moon set behind rolling
hills in the west. On the slope overlooking the Sound stood a
mansion, barely visible in the near darkness. That was Mount
Edgcumbe, said Red Jack Day, seat of the second Earl of Mount
Edgcumbe and home of the Edgcumbe family since the house was
completed in 1553. There was an odd pride in his voice, as if he
shared in the reflected dignity of the ancient line.
On
the other side was St Nicholas’s Island, sometimes known as Drake’s
Island. As they cleared it and the light grew, Octavia saw a
bewildering swarm of shipping, from dinghies to men-o’-war, sailing
in various directions or anchored in the maze of inlets which led off
the sound. Red Jack pointed to a particularly busy area: Devonport,
the Royal Navy docks.
Somehow
Captain Pilway chose among the various waterways, and soon the
river narrowed. There were low hills on either side, a patchwork of
fields and woods, with occasional villages and quays. The sun rose in
a sky streaked with pink and crimson clouds, turning the water the
colour of blood. They passed Spanish Steps, then the river divided
again and narrowed still further.
Steep,
wooded cliffs alternated with wide beds of reeds, yellow tipped with
green, as they followed the twisting Tamar upstream, the rising tide
fighting and overcoming the opposing current.
“Nothing
much to see till we reach Halton Quay,” grunted Captain Day. He
rose to his feet and stretched. His hair caught the sun’s low rays
and Octavia saw that it was flame-red, fading to straw at the
temples. “I’ll try for a couple of hours of sleep before we
arrive."
Warm
in the sun, Octavia drowsed.
She
was roused by a shout. There was a tiny chapel on the left bank, a
few cottages, and some extraordinary stone structures, square and
solid-looking, with huge half arches at the base.
Tom
was pointing at a washing line hung with clothes. It looked quite
unremarkable except, perhaps, for a scarlet petticoat at one end.
Red
Jack yawned, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He made his way forward and
sat down beside Octavia.
“Halton
Quay,” he said. “That spectacular garment is a sign. According to
whereabouts on the line it hangs, it even tells who is watching and
where. That’s a Riding Officer, I believe, at Cotehele Quay. I
don’t work this way myself, so I’m not certain of the code."
“A
Riding Officer?” she asked.
“That
is what the Customs call their inland excisemen.”
“So
the petticoat is a warning! What are those extraordinary arches?”
“Limekilns.
We’re carrying limestone now, in the hold there.” In the well
amidships huge baskets of broken rock were neatly stacked. “Throw
limestone and coal in the kiln, fire it, and out comes quicklime.
It’s used as a fertiliser. Excuse me, ma’am, I’d best go lend a
hand.”
The
crew of the River
Queen had
pulled a pile of sails off the mysterious barrels from the Seamew.
With Red Jack’s
assistance, they slung them from the bulwarks then, at a sign from
Captain Pilway, pulled on a couple of knots and let the whole string
of a dozen or more slide into the river.
Brandy,
thought Octavia. They must be sorry to lose so much.
Captain
Day returned to her side, grinning.
“They’ll
pull ‘em up with grapples some day when the red flag’s not
flying,” he explained. “The rest of the stuff’s small enough to
hide where no Riding Officer will find it. But I’ve a little
something here for a pretty young lady, if you’ve somewhere about
yourself to conceal it.”
She
blushed as he handed her a small, flat package, wrapped in oilcloth.
“There
is an inside pocket in my cloak,” she said. “Will that do?”
“Aye,
they’ll not search a guest of the Edgcumbes. Another bend or two of
this confounded snaky river and we’ll be there. Give me the open
sea any day.”
He
lent her a huge paw as she struggled to stand. Stiff from her awkward
position, she still ached in every joint after four jolting days on
the stage. She stowed the package in her pocket, and felt for the
comb she kept there.
It
was gone. It had probably fallen out when Captain Pilway had lifted
her aboard, but at least her heavy purse was still there. Tiredly she
pushed a few loose curls behind her ears. She would not have been
able to do much without a mirror anyway.
Red
Jack was standing in the bow, gazing upstream. She picked her way
forward to join him. They were passing a tributary stream on the
left, half hidden in reeds. Beyond it, dead ahead as the river curved
right, was a flat stretch of bank with three stone quays and a number
of buildings, including more huge limekilns with smoke rising from
their tops.
“Cotehele!”
announced the smuggler with satisfaction as the barge swung wide to
head directly into the small dock. “Will there be someone to meet
you, miss?”
‘‘No.
They have no idea when to expect me."
“It’s
not far up to the house but it’s a steep walk. If you care to wait
below I can send someone to fetch you.”
“If
you are walking up to the house, I shall go with you. It will be good
to stretch my legs. Will you think me impertinent if I ask what
business a smuggler has at Cotehele?
”
Red
Jack flushed. “I’m courting the housekeeper,” he muttered,
suddenly shy. “Ever since she was parlour maid at Mount Edgcumbe.
She won’t have me till I change my profession and I won’t quit
free-trading till I’ve a fortune to support her with. It’s been a
long time, but it won’t be much longer.”
“I
beg your pardon, I was
impertinent!”
cried Octavia penitently. “It was none of my business."
“The
whole world knows,” he said wryly. “Well, here we are. Let me
help you ashore.”
Several
men had appeared from one of the buildings, an inn bearing the sign
of the Edgcumbe Arms. There was much shouting and bustle as the River
Queen
was tied up and
they prepared to unload with the aid of a hand winch on board and a
derrick on the quay.
Suddenly
a tall, thin, elderly man in uniform pushed through the crowd,
followed by a pair of beefy troopers.
“In
the King’s name!” he shouted in a high, rather squeaky voice.
“Every basket is to be inspected as it comes ashore. Slowly, now.”
“I’ve
a cargo of fruit on the Lower Quay that’s waited for in Plymouth,”
said Captain Pilway angrily. “Ye may inspect what ye please when
‘tis all off my ship.”
They
stood face to face, arguing loudly. Red Jack quietly directed a
couple of men to carry off Octavia’s trunk, and swung her lightly
over the side, following her onto the quay.
“The
Riding Officer,” he explained. “he’ll have a hard time
inspecting tons of limestone. We’ll be off.”
He
waved to the men with the trunk to come after them, and they edged
round the jeering crowd. They were a few feet beyond it when the
Riding Officer noticed them.
“Halt,
in the King’s name!” he cried. “I know you, Red Jack Day, and
I’ll see the contents of that trunk, if you please.
The
men parted to let him through and he came strutting forward to face
Octavia. She drew herself up, her chin raised.
“The
trunk is mine,” she said icily. “I am Miss Octavia Gray, a guest
of the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe.”
He
looked somewhat disconcerted, but a glance at her appearance revived
his officiousness. “You expect me to believe that?” he said with
scorn. “Unlock the chest at once!”
“You
may apply to his lordship for my credentials.” Octavia quaked
inside. “I do not think my lord will be best pleased if you strew
my undergarments about in public. Come, Captain Day.”
The
crowd roared with laughter as she stalked off, Red Jack at her heels.
The two men picked up the trunk and followed, leaving the Riding
Officer purple-faced and gaping like a fish.
“Well
done, ma’am,” said Red Jack. “You could not have carried that
off more coolly had the box actually been filled with contraband.”
“Do
you know,” confessed Octavia, “for the moment I was quite
convinced that it was!”
They
passed a grey stone lodge and started up the hill. Long before they
reached the top Octavia was glad to lean on the captain’s arm. She
walked in a blur of fatigue, unable to appreciate her surroundings in
the least, aware only of the effort to be made to put one foot in
front of the next again and again and again.
The
ground levelled off at last, and Octavia revived enough to notice a
horseman coming towards them.
“Jack
Day!” the rider hailed her companion from a little distance, in a
vaguely familiar voice. “Come to visit the fair Martha, are you?
Who is this you have brought with you?”
“It’s
Miss Gray, sir. She’s a guest here. I ought to have left her below
though, to wait for the carriage. The poor lass is worn to the bone,
I fear me."
“Miss
Gray? Good God, so it is! You look fagged to death, ma’am, and in
no fit state to walk farther. Jack, raise her up to me and I’ll
carry her in.”
Too
tired to protest, Octavia allowed herself to be lifted into Sir
Tristram Deanbridge’s arms and sank back against his shoulder.
