Page 68 of The Cornish Mermaid

“Let them dare to lay a hand on Miss Carlyon and Miss Lucas and they’ll have the nose of this pistol in their faces,” Sam blustered, but Morvoren could see he was badly shaken.

She caught the girl’s cold hand. “You’d best stay here with us as we have two men to keep us safe.” A shiver ran through the girl’s slender body, and Morvoren put a protective arm about her shoulders. The poor girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen and was probably terrified for her safety. She shrank against Morvoren, her body trembling.

A few minutes only brought more footsteps on the stairs and a tall gentleman in a smart red uniform knocked on the open door.

“You might as well come in,” Morvoren called. “Everyone else has.”

He stepped inside with a diffident, somewhat apologetic air, a lantern swinging from one hand. “Please forgive me, Miss Carlyon.” He made a bow aimed somewhere between Morvoren and Ysella as though he didn’t know which of them was which. The name Carlyon clearly meant something to him.

Ysella let go of Morvoren’s hand, which she’d grabbed when the landlord’s daughter arrived, and stepped forward. “I am Miss Carlyon,” she said with all the hauteur her breeding had instilled in her. “For what reason are we being disturbed in the middle of the night like this?”

“Captain Adderley at your service,” the officer said, his heels clicking together as he performed a smart bow. “I must apologize to you ladies, but we are in the process of apprehending a parcel of smugglers who have made this inn their lair. I need to ask you if you have anyone hiding in your room.”

“What?” Ysella’s voice rose in angry disdain. “Are you accusing Miss Lucas and myself of harboring men in our bedroom?” She didn’t frown but she could have slain him with her expression of disgust. “My brother is Viscount Ormonde and he will be furious to hear of your accusations. I shall be making a note of your name, Captain Adderley, and my brother will be reporting your outrageous behavior to your superior.”

And now she did frown, the words spitting out of her mouth like bullets from a machine gun. “And no, we do not have any men hiding in our bedroom with us. The only men in here are yourself and Mr. Beauchamp the agent for my brother’s estate and our coachman, James, who are here only to keep us safe. And they have nothing whatsoever to do with any smuggling going on here in this inn or in its whereabouts.”

Sam stepped into action. “As you can see, Miss Carlyon and Miss Lucas’s room has nowhere anyone could be hiding—unless you’d like to look under their bed. James and I will be standing guard over their door for the rest of the night, so kindly request your men to keep well away, as I am armed.” His hand went to his belt where he’d slipped the pistol—not an act Morvoren felt to be all that safe as it was loaded.

“Sir.” Captain Adderley’s face suffused with an almost purple rush of blood, as he executed yet another bow, and withdrew, well and truly put in his place by Ysella and Sam. Morvoren wanted to high five them, but restrained herself. She was going to have to learn how to do putdowns like that if she was going to be staying here much longer.

“Ooh Miss,” the landlord’s daughter said, gazing at Ysella in admiration. “You was that good. Can I stay here with you? My pa told me to hide. He ses as soldiers ain’t to be trusted with a woman.”

“Of course you can stay,” Morvoren said. “We don’t want you going back out there with those awful soldiers.” She nodded to the one chair in the room. “But you’ll have to sleep on the chair—this bed is too small for three.”

The child seemed very happy with this, and, with the officer gone, Ysella and Morvoren climbed back into their rumpled bed and lay down to try to get back to sleep. But Morvoren was wide awake now, with enough adrenaline rushing through her veins to run a marathon, and sleep wasn’t going to come easily.

Their new guest curled up on the chair, and Sam and James set up guard outside the room, which was probably very uncomfortable for them. In fact, it was not at all a comfortable night for anyone, not helped by the fact that with the girl in the room, Morvoren couldn’t talk privately to Ysella about what had happened nor plan what their next move would be if the carriage couldn’t be repaired.

Instead, they had to lie in silence listening to what was still going on outside and downstairs, as heavy boots thundered through the rooms and more doors banged as a thorough search of the premises went on.

The sky was just lightening in the east when at last the noise died down and Morvoren managed to doze off for a short while. This was made shorter still by the landlord coming, looking for his daughter so she could start work. Ysella and Morvoren exchanged tired glances, and, as if by mutual consent, started to get dressed.

But once they were downstairs, they discovered good news awaited them. The local blacksmith and carpenter had both been to look at the carriage and were at present working on a lasting repair. They would, so Sam informed them, be on the road again by midday.

Midday? Did he not realize how important speed was? Did he not see the significance of last night’s raid? Was Morvoren the only one with a burning sense of urgency?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kit

After a leisurely breakfast, Kit and Tregothnan hired themselves a couple of nags from the livery yard beside the inn and rode back together. A gentle breeze barely stirred the leaves of the stunted hawthorn trees, and the sea reflected back the blue of the sky with scarce a white cap to be seen. With the weather so benign, Kit felt no need to hurry, and they took the low coastal road, letting their horses dictate the pace.

After a bit, their way branched inland over the higher moorland toward Nanpean village, where it lay tucked in a coastal fold beside the chimney of the old copper mine it had once served.

Kit and Tregothnan, keeper of the nearest inn to Nanpean, were greeted with subdued grunts and nods by the few villagers about. None of them were so unwise as to fall upon two of their benefactors as though welcoming Robin Hood to their homes.

Kit tipped his beaver hat to them, and Tregothnan nodded to the few old men, sitting smoking pipes filled with contraband tobacco in the warm sunshine. Some of the village women had moved their spinning wheels outside, presumably to keep an eye on small children playing in the dirt, and their hands worked the thin thread in graceful industry.

One of the old men rose stiffly to his feet and hobbled over to the horsemen, stowing his pipe in his waistcoat pocket as he came.

Kit leaned down as though examining his horse’s shoulder. “Tomorrow night, Nanpean Cove. A consignment of brandy, baccy, and tea.” And the man walked on by, as though nothing untoward had gone on between them. Kit straightened up and kept riding. Tregothnan’s horse hadn’t even paused.

“I’ll leave you here,” Tregothnan said as they reached a fork in their rough road. “I’m away back to St Just.” He licked a finger and held it up. “You’re right about it being tomorrow. I can’t see as they’ll get across tonight in this slack wind.” He pointed downhill over the nearby cliffs toward the flat calm of the sea, still with barely a white crest to be seen. “So, we’ll aim for midnight tomorrow, as normal, at your place with the ponies.”

Kit nodded. “I’m more than a little worried about the moon though. Tonight’s will be a gibbous moon, waxing, and tomorrow’s will be more so. Unless we get cloud cover…” He waved his hand up at the cloudless sky. “Unless we get cloud cover, the night’ll be near as light as day.”

Tregothnan nodded. “Aye, lad, you’re right, and it’ll make a right nice change to be able to see what we’re doing.”