Page 76 of The Cornish Mermaid

Jago gave the nod, and Ned Treloar and his disguised pony took the lead out of the gate and onto the narrow path to the beach. The other ponies followed in a long, shuffling line, their muffled hooves nearly silent in the quiet darkness. Directly overhead now, the moon shone down mercilessly onto the column of men and ponies, illuminating them, it seemed to Kit, nigh on as brightly as if it were full daylight.

In silence, they wended their way down the twisting track, Kit with one hand on the nearest pony’s back for support lest he tripped on stones he couldn’t see. The brambles on either side loomed dark and somehow protective, and the sound of the surf drew ever closer.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Morvoren

If anyone had asked Morvoren to find the same tracks Jem led them down and take them back to Carlyon Court that night, she’d have been lost within minutes. It wasn’t just that it was dark. The moon, heading toward being full, illuminated the countryside in a way she was sure would be alarming to the smugglers but a boon to their would-be attackers. It was more the roundabout route their youthful guide seemed to be taking.

They followed close behind him down narrow pathways between high, overgrown hedgerows that gave no idea of what lay beyond. He led them through at least two small, dark copses, before weaving his way with confidence across open moorland, the moon silvering the path ahead. Where the land dipped, they zigzagged their way into a deep and shadowy valley where they had to jump across a rushing stream on steppingstones then climb up the other side.

Sam had no trouble keeping up with Jem, but Morvoren and Ysella began to struggle before too long, both panting with the exertion and the steep inclines of the paths Jem had chosen. Morvoren’s breath was rasping in her chest and sweat had stuck her shirt to her back long before they at last came in sight of the sea.

They heard it first. The roar of surf against the cliffs’ feet rose up toward where they’d paused for breath amongst the fragrant gorse and heather.

“Lookee out there,” Jem said, his skinny arm pointing. “There she be.”

Sure enough, beyond the brow of the clifftop stretched the grey expanse of whitecapped waves that was the English Channel. On it, the dark outline of a little ship bobbed, a single light shining out, dimmed by the brightness of the moon.

“That’ll be they Frenchies,” Jem muttered, spitting a gob of phlegm onto the path, clearly a young man with a low opinion of his gallic neighbors. Maybe rightly so, as surely these were only delivering the contraband goods to line their own pockets. Morvoren chided herself at her uncharitable thoughts. Wasn’t all smuggling for the same reason? Personal gain.

“We has to take the cliff path now,” Jem said, keeping his voice low. “You’ll be needin’ to step careful, like. ’Tis a might close by the cliff edge, but the only way ter get to Nanpean Cove quick like.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. The path teetered right at the cliff edge over a steep drop down to those same wave-washed rocks Morvoren had first seen from the deck of a fishing boat. She did not want to see them again, close up. Mentally adding heights to her list of fears, she followed light-stepping Jem and Sam onto the cliff path.

Ysella reached out a trembling hand and grabbed hers. Perhaps she didn’t much care for heights either.

The path sloped down as the cliffs grew lower, and in a few minutes, Morvoren caught a glimpse of the pale crescent of sand that marked Nanpean beach, still partly obscured by the cliffs. Deserted. Or was it? The revenue men and soldiers wouldn’t be waiting in full view—they’d be hidden, waiting to catch the smugglers red-handed.

“It looks deserted,” Ysella hissed.

Morvoren glanced back. “I hope you’re right and I’ve been wrong all along.” But somehow, she didn’t think she was.

Ahead, Sam whispered to Jem, “Looks like no one’s on the beach as yet. We should head to the farm to stop them.” His voice carried above the rumble of surf. “Can you lead us right down into the valley? We’ll need to hurry.”

Jem nodded. “The path do foller the cliff edge most o’ the way, like it do here. We can tek that un, but you leddies,” he gave Morvoren and Ysella a hard stare, “had best watch yer footin’. They’s narsty cliffs an’ if’n you was to fall, yer’d not stop till yer hit the rocks at the foot of ’em.”

Like that hadn’t already occurred to Morvoren.

She swallowed. This might be dangerous, but they had to stop Kit and his friends walking into a trap. “Lead on,” she said, struggling to conceal the tremble in her voice. What if Ysella were to slip and fall? She’d released Morvoren’s hand once they’d had to go in single file and Morvoren wouldn’t be quick enough to save her. What would Kit say to that? What would she say to him, more importantly? Especially if her memory proved faulty and tonight was not the night the excise men had chosen to strike.

With Jem slowing his pace as the path became steeper, she followed behind him with Ysella behind her and Sam taking up the rear. If she didn’t look to her right, she wouldn’t be afraid. Or so she told herself. Over and over again.

Who in their right mind would put a path right on the edge of a bloody cliff? Who wanted to walk this close to the edge, to court danger so openly? A madman, clearly.

She kept her eyes on where her feet were going and from time to time on Jem’s narrow back. If only she had some kind of walking stick to lean on like a third leg, that would stop her overbalancing to her right, something she was horribly aware of and overcompensating for with a definite lean to the left.

The path became steeper still, with stunted bushes to their left, and the ground underfoot rougher, with the stones looser in their beds as the beach drew nearer. Jem slowed down. In fact, halfway down, he stopped altogether. He raised his hand again and pointed. “Look, now. See them’s boats in the surf. They’s bringin’ the goods ashore already.”

Morvoren strained her eyes through the darkness, which, even though you could have said the moon shone bright as day, was still pretty dark. It took her a moment to spot the boats. Three small rowing boats were coming in on the waves breaking on the beach like a trio of surfers.

By the cliff’s foot, on the far side of the cove, which they could now see better than before, something moved. Was it Kit and his smugglers or the dreaded soldiers and revenue men? Small figures were hastening across the sand towards the edge of the surf. They must be Kit and his men.

A sudden idea seized Morvoren. She spun around so fast she nearly overbalanced, and only Jem grabbing her shoulders stopped her from falling.

“Doan go makin’ any sudden moves like that,” Jem hissed as he steadied her.

She ignored him. “Sam! Fire your gun!” Her whisper hissed through the night. “Kit’s men will know it’s a stranger firing and they’ll straightaway think there’s an ambush. Quick. Fire it now before the soldiers pounce!”