Page 94

We turn and Branok is sitting in the rocking chair. The little dog at his feet barks shrilly and gets to his feet, his tail wagging. Branok pets it. “Easy, Dog. Calm.” It licks his fingers with a pink tongue and settles back on the hearth rug. Branok clicks his fingers and a fire springs to life.

“Got any more tricks like that?” I say sourly. I limp to the sofa, feeling his attention shift between me and Levi.

“What happened to you both?” he finally asks.

“Erm, what didn’t?” Levi says.

I snort. “Let me see if I can sum it up.” I put my hands to my face like The Scream painting. “There.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “We came back from Jamaica Inn and got lost.”

“Easy enough. I remember doing that a few times in my day.” His eyes gleam through the pipe smoke. “The mist can come down quickly on the moors.”

“Not that sort of lost.”

Branok’s eyes narrow. “No?”

My husband shrugs and enlightens him while he moves about the kitchen, switching the kettle on and putting bread in the toaster. By the time he’s finished, Branok is rigid with tension, and I’m clutching a mug of tea and a plate of toast and honey.

“Sit down,” I tell Levi, nodding at the space next to me. He slides onto the sofa with a weary sigh, and I nestle closer and pass him the plate. “Eat some of this.”

He offers me a wry smile with all its usual warmth and, holding my cup carefully so I don’t scald him, I drop a kiss on his lips. “Thank you for the food and drink,” I say softly.

He cups my face with one big hand and strokes his thumb over my cheekbone. “You’re welcome. Eat the honey. The sugar is good for shock.”

“Which I don’t have.”

“No, of course not, darling.”

I roll my eyes, but I take a bite of the hot toast and something inside me that was still cold begins to ease. My hands are shaking a bit, and I smile at him. “Okay, maybe I have a bit of that.”

He strokes a strand of my hair back, his eyes clear and focused only on me, and I suddenly want to cry. What the fuck did I ever do in my life to deserve this kind of steady love?

I blink rapidly and turn to Branok. “Who is Jack Ketch?”

He looks arrested. “That’s an old name. One I haven’t heard in an age. He was an incompetent executioner in the seventeenth century, and his name became a common term for death and the public executioner.”

“The man who possessed Levi was responsible for tonight. I know it. He raised the dead at that crossroads, and he warped the woods so we could see the hangman, and he could see us. It was a warning.”

“A warning over what? And do you know any more of this man? I cannot think of anyone in my acquaintance who would do such a thing. I mainly knew smugglers and they were lively lads but not wicked as a whole.”

I hesitate and look at Levi who nods. He reaches for his satchel that’s lying on a chair where he threw it when we came in. He rummages inside it and produces the diary and the small picture that we pinched from Jamaica Inn. “While we were at the museum, I saw portraits of local men. This was amongst them.”

Branok looks at the picture and his face lightens. “’Tis Richard,” he explains. “Richard Boynton.”

“What do you know about him?” Levi asks.

Branok stares at him. “He was the vicar of Porthkrogour Church, and a very talented ghost-layer.” He pauses and then says quietly, “And he was one of my closest friends. We knew each other very well.”

Levi clears his throat. “That’s the man who gave me the stone that led to me being possessed.”

“Nay,” Branok says, his forehead pleated in a frown. “That cannot be. That would go against everything he believed in. He is the man who famously stopped the haunting in Sennen Cove. No other could have done it. He abhorred the dark arts.”

“Did he?’ I say grimly. “Or did he follow the dark arts, because nothing else explains what’s happening.” Levi looks at me and I grimace before turning to Branok. “It’s Boynton. He’s also the man who was in my dream the night of the wreckers. He was the one who threatened me. He was connected with them.”

Branok shakes his head fiercely. “Nay. You do not know him the way I did. There must be some mistake. He helped me. He was always a friend to smugglers, as were most of the community. He helped us.”

“Maybe Boynton helped you and other smugglers, but he obviously was doing things you were unaware of,” I say. I take the picture and trace my finger over the features. “I would know him anywhere.”