The Blighted Cliffs (46 page)

'And
used in his loving memory just the way he'd want it,' said Isobel.
'To get tubs of spirits clean into the middle of town.'

I
frowned. 'Just around the corner from Miss Hoare's? Were you the only
washergirl who delivered more than starched linens to the good folk
of Dover?'

Isobel
shook her head. 'It's not like one of your ships, Martin; you don't
have officers shouting orders and every man knows his station.
Someone asks you to do something and you do it, and you don't think
to ask too much about it. Sometimes you'd see that we didn't have
every tub in the laundry full of soap suds, and sometimes you
wouldn't.' She shivered. 'But that's nothing to you now. We're at the
edge of the town here. If you go north you'll be in the fields on the
east side of the river, and there shouldn't be anyone to trouble you.
The valley'll take you into the downs, then you'll have to run your
luck.'

Luck
was the last thing to which I wanted to entrust my life, especially
in my new apparent profession as outlaw, but this was a mere
distraction compared to the turmoil that flooded me as I listened to
Isobel's brief words at the foot of that ladder. I had followed her
blindly thus far, implicitly believing – convincing myself-
that she had some plan to save me; now, the reality of my situation
began to close in. There was no salvation, could be no salvation, no
redemption, in my old society; I had put myself beyond all hope of
that. But I could not live the rest of nay days as a brigand, hunted
and alone. I doubted I would survive a week - and if I did, to what
end? A ghost's life, if I was lucky, haunting the fringes of my
former existence in torment for what had been, and with the weight of
my guilt always before me.

None
of which I could begin to communicate to Isobel, for at that moment I
heard the sound of voices from above, the clattering of iron and wood
on stone. The crack of light in the plinth over my head grew
brighter, began to widen.

'Quickly,'
breathed Isobel, pulling me back, 'down the tunnel!' Then she lifted
her skirts, threw down the candle, and vanished.

I
could not see her, nor indeed anything, and I dared not call her for
the noises above me seemed closer than ever. Instead, flailing with
my arms in front of me and tearing my hands on the flint shards in
the wall, I plunged after her. The chains were still wrapped around
my feet, and I cursed them - for their treacherous rattle, as much as
their hindrance - as much as I cursed the folly that had brought me
down this hole. With every twist and bend I stumbled around I had to
contemplate the prospect that I would be abandoned in this labyrinth;
I actually began to regret not being back in the stinking gaol. I
thought of the disgust on Crawley's face when he heard the news that
I had fled; I wondered what my uncle would make of it, whether he
would care for anything except that I was never found. I ached to
turn back, but the vision of the smugglers catching me alone,
shackled and helpless, spurred me on.

Occasionally,
I fancied I heard something of their progress behind me, and then I
would redouble my faltering steps, but of Isobel I neither saw nor
heard the least sign. Whether that was because she had betrayed me or
because she had suffered some horrible fate, I was too tired and too
frantic even to think.

After
a time, the low ceiling began to rise. The air was fresher here, and
I could feel the first stirrings of a cool breeze over my face. And
there was a strange, dull roaring noise, like wind on a hilltop,
sounding from some distant, yet not so far distant, place. More
hopefully still, even without the candle, the darkness was not as
complete as it had been, for a pale yellow light glinted off the
walls. It too seemed to have its source somewhere ahead.

Promising
myself that this was the last effort I would make in this futile
quest, I hobbled the last hundred yards down the tunnel. The light
and the breeze grew steadily stronger; then, supporting myself
against the rock wall, I rounded the final corner and came out of the
darkness. Straight into the presence of the last man I expected to
see.

20

THE
TUNNEL HAD WIDENED INTO A CAVE, LARGER THAN THE FOREST holes I played
in as a child but still quite low: a long, narrow chamber whose white
walls, hewn from the chalk, flickered with the reflected glow of the
torches mounted on iron brackets around them. Oily smoke drifted
through the space but did not choke it - there must, I thought
absently, be a ventilation shaft bored somewhere.

Gleaming
black muskets were stacked crookedly around the room, while crates
and barrels filled the corners. At the far end, perhaps fifty yards
from where I stood, a low, round hole led into what seemed to be
another cave beyond. There could not have been more than two dozen
men present, carrying weapons or rolling barrels, but in the close
space they seemed a veritable crowd.

The
man before me did not notice me for some moments, which I suppose was
only to be expected, but confronted with this extraordinary scene of
subterranean industry, I had not the wit to move.

Then
the crew on the barrels caught sight of me; with shouting and
scuffling they came running and took hold of my limp arms. More
gently
than Stubb ever did, to their credit. I did not resist.

Through
all this, the figure in the middle of the cave stayed resolutely
still, until one of his men muttered my name in his car. It made
little difference to my predicament, yet still I felt a further flash
of disquiet that my name and face should be so well known among them.

'Lieutenant
Jerrold.' The first man spoke the name thoughtfully, turning those
glassy blue eyes on to me. Though I well knew they could see nothing,
there was still power in their stare, and I shivered to meet it. 'I
was expectin' you to be in the gaol.'

'I
found a way out.'

'So
you did. Found it yourself, did you?'

'I
had plenty of time to explore.'

I
had no idea what had befallen Isobel, whether she had escaped down
the tunnel, been captured or even killed. For all I knew she could
have been chained up in the next cave, but as long as there was hope,
I would do nothing to bring more trouble on her. And perhaps it would
make me look more resourceful, more formidable in the smugglers'
eyes.

Perhaps
it would not, for the eyes that looked emptily upon me betrayed not
the least respect. It was extraordinary, I thought, the difference
circumstances could make. Alone in his peculiar boathouse, with a
mouse-eaten jersey and tangled hair, he had seemed the very picture
of helpless eccentricity. Now, with his hair tied tight with a
crimson ribbon, a fresh shirt, and an evilly curved dagger stuck in
his belt, Simon John, the erstwhile fisherman, looked wholly,
menacingly terrifying. There was nothing of the meek old cripple in
the sneering laugh he gave now.

'I
reckon you'd have kept safer in the gaol, myself. Lot safer'n down
here.' He flashed his teeth at me. 'Gets dangerous down here, down in
Drake's cave.'

'Drake's
dead,' I said stupidly. It was the first thought in my mind, but it
put an expected and ferocious scowl on his face.

'Caleb
Drake's dead, God rest ,his soul.' I doubted the Almighty had much
business with Caleb Drake's soul, though I refrained from saying so.
'But Simon Drake's not. And I've got a ways to live, I reckon, before
they get to scragging me.'

'Qui
est-ce?'

A
new speaker. Through my confusion I looked at him, and was briefly
glad of the restraining hands that steadied me. He no longer wore the
black suit which I had heard described so often; now he was dressed
in blue overalls with red facings, gold buttons, gold epaulettes and
cavalry boots. There was a pistol in his belt and a straight sword at
his side, but what struck me most was that black beard, the thickly
knit black eyebrows, and the black, penetrating eyes looking
quizzically at me. After much searching, and much endeavour, I was at
last face to face with the elusive Mr Laminak. And there was nothing
I could do about it.

'This
is Lieutenant Jerrold, what found your friend Major Vitos and
couldn't stop askin' questions about him,' said Drake. 'Asked
questions right the way into the gaol. Only he got out, same way
Danny did, and found his way down here.'

Laminak's
hand moved to the butt of his pistol. 'Then he should stay here.'

'Aye,'
said Drake. 'But maybe not the way you think. No need to kill a calf
afore he's a cow, as they says. Mr Jerrold might maybe do us a few
good turns yet.'

He
reached out an arm and felt for Laminak's epauletted shoulder. Having
found it, he leaned on it and whispered a few words in the
Frenchman's ear. I saw Laminak give a grudging nod, presumably lost
on Drake, and mutter something in French. Then Drake turned back to
face me.

'Happy
day for you, Lieutenant. Colonel Laminak here reckons you're safe
enough for us.' He turned to his men. 'Make him fast somewhere out of
the way. We'll think what to do with him after tonight's all seen
to.'

I
tried to hide the hope that surged within me, but Drake must somehow
have sensed it.

'What's
that, Lieutenant - reckon we'll all be takin' your place in the
gaolby tomorrow mornin'? Reckon that Danny Squires peached me into
the noose, do you?'

I
meant to keep myself still, but there was no suppressing the
confusion within me.

'Yes.'
Drake nodded. 'We'll have all the King's horses and all the King's
men, and his ships and guns as well I don't wonder, all waitin' down
at Saint Margaret's tonight to catch old Simon Drake landin' brandy
on the beach.' He laughed. "Cept Simon Drake won't be there. You
see that passage, Lieutenant?' He pointed to the arch at the far end
of the cave. 'Where d'you reckon that goes?'

'The
drawing room?' I felt that as a gentleman before villains, I ought to
be showing some defiance, however feeble.

Drake
chuckled. 'Goes three hundred feet plumb through the rock, it does,
and comes out inches short of the stair shaft which runs from the
shore battery up into the middle of the castle. Somewhere near the
kitchens, I think they said.'

'You're
going to force your way into the castle?'

Spoken
aloud, it sounded ridiculous. But Drake was smiling broadly and
nodding, while Laminak shifted on his feet and scowled.

'Boney
- apologies, Colonel. His excellence the Emperor of France sent us
half a legion of his best to sort us out. It shouldn't take much more
than that, cos everyone in the castle'll be down chasing shadows at
Saint Margaret's. Take the castle and you've got the harbour; take
the harbour and you can land an hundred thousand men if you can land
a dozen. Get 'em ashore, and London's just a short walk through
clover. Or leastways, that's what they'll all be thinkin'.'

He
seemed to grow bored of the conversation. 'Get him bound up.'

For
all his vicious methods - or perhaps, as in the navy, because of them
- Drake ran a tight crew. Without further orders, I was led to an
alcove where ropes were fastened about my hands and tied to an iron
ring in the wall. They left enough slack to allow me to sit on the
ground in some comfort.

'Now
keep yerself quiet,' advised one of the smugglers, 'or we'll come
back an' give you a bit more rope. Enough to 'ang yerself,' he added,
to make his meaning quite plain. 'An' if yet good, we'll get Smithy
to knock off those shackles where yer legs is bleedin'.'