The Smuggler's Daughter Page 11

  I smiled, relieved that she’d listened to my worries, and she put her arm round me and kissed the top of my head. I forced myself to let her embrace me, trying not to wriggle away for once.

  ‘Come on, let’s see what that Arthur’s doing downstairs,’ she said.

  Together we went downstairs. Arthur looked at me expectantly and I gave him a broad smile. It was all fine, I thought. We were going to be all right.

  ‘Another ale for you, Petroc?’ Mam said. Petroc grinned and held out his tankard and Mam swirled off to fetch it for him. I sat down in my favourite spot by the window and Arthur came to join me and we chatted quietly about nothing.

  Gripping his tankard like a prize, Petroc wandered over to look out of the window, near where Arthur and I sat.

  ‘Looks like rain,’ Arthur said. ‘Again.’

  ‘It’s going to be a wild night. I’ve heard.’ Petroc looked at Arthur with a half-grin. ‘I’d get home as soon as you can and stay there.’

  Arthur pulled his shoulders back and I felt a flush of pride in him as he looked Petroc in the eye. ‘I’m staying here for now,’ he said. ‘With Emily.’

  ‘You look out for her,’ Petroc said urgently. ‘Make sure you look after her.’

  ‘Of course,’ Arthur said. He looked at Petroc carefully. ‘You work for Morgan, do you?’

  ‘Aye,’ the man said. ‘Morgan and Mr Kirrin.’

  I rolled my eyes. Everyone worked for Mr Kirrin.

  ‘What do you do? Something important no doubt?’

  Oh Arthur was clever. He was using Petroc to find out what Morgan wanted with Mam. But surely Petroc wouldn’t fall for his flattery?

  It seemed I was wrong because Petroc sat down on one of the tables near us, ignoring Mam’s tuts from the other side of the inn, and put his boots up on the chair. ‘Bit of this, bit of that,’ he said in a low tone. ‘Morgan’s a busy man and he’d struggle without me.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Arthur, looking impressed. He glanced at me, signalling with his eyes that he was at a loss about what else to ask. I tilted my head towards the cliffs outside the inn window, trying to remind him of the conversation I’d overheard the lean man have with Morgan, and he gave me a tiny nod.

  ‘Emily and I were thinking of going for a walk on the cliffs. But if the weather’s turned perhaps we’ll have to go tomorrow instead,’ he said. He grinned at Petroc, who was looking nervous suddenly.

  The man shook his head fervently. ‘You most certainly should not,’ he said. ‘Not tomorrow, not ever. Not after dark.’

  Arthur scoffed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because of the ghosts,’ the man said.

  A chill went down my spine and I shivered. Petroc saw and turned to me. ‘You’re right to shiver, Emily Moon,’ he said. ‘Because the spirits are lively and they are lonely and they want company.’

  There was a pause and Arthur and I looked at each other. I knew this man was talking rubbish, but just as with Mr Trewin in the church, it was hard to be rational when the inn was gloomy and the rain was lashing at the windows. I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders.

  Arthur sat down on the table next to the man. ‘Tell me, Petroc. I’ve heard stories too. Of doomed lovers called …’

  Petroc’s eyes widened. ‘Diggory and Theodora,’ he said in a hushed tone. I was almost impressed at his dramatics. Almost.

  ‘They walk the cliffs at night, looking for others to share their pain,’ he said. ‘You can see the lights from their lanterns.’

  ‘Emily’s seen them,’ Arthur said and I nodded. ‘She’s seen them and she was so afraid.’

  ‘She is right to be afraid,’ said Petroc. He reached out and gripped the top of Arthur’s arm. I could see his long fingers digging into Arthur’s coat. ‘Stay away from the cliffs, young man.’

  Arthur nodded gravely. ‘You’re absolutely right, sir,’ he said. ‘We most certainly will stay away. Won’t we, Emily?’

  I nodded too.

  With a sudden smile, Petroc slid off the table and went to give his empty tankard to my mother. I watched as they chatted for a minute or so and then turned my attention back to Arthur. He was telling me about an apple tree he was growing in the garden of the vicarage. He’d attached a piece from one tree on to the root of another. It was very complicated and I was barely following his explanation but I liked seeing him so excited, and I was just happy to be there in the inn, with Mam chatting to Petroc and laughing – actually laughing – like old times.

  And then Morgan arrived. He strode into the inn like he owned it, hanging his hat on the peg and nodding to Petroc.

  ‘Ale, Janey,’ he said.

  In the corner, Arthur and I stiffened. Arthur fell silent, all apple trees forgotten. As one we both stood and went round to where Morgan stood looking at Mam. The way they were both bristling made me think of the farm cats I’d seen, hissing and arching their backs at each other.

  ‘Ale,’ Morgan said again.

  ‘Not today, Morgan,’ Mam said quietly. ‘Not today.’

  Morgan took a step towards Mam and I thought suddenly and too late that he was not a man who liked to be told what to do. Why hadn’t I warned Mam how dangerous he was? Why hadn’t I told her to go somewhere else when he arrived? Not face up to him like this.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, not today. I’ll be seeing you.’ Mam nodded at him politely and turned away. A foolish move. Morgan reached out and grabbed her hair, pulling her towards him.

  ‘What did you say?’

  Mam gasped in shock. So did I. Arthur took a step forward and I pulled his arm to stop him.

  ‘Ale,’ Morgan said. He let go of Mam’s hair and she righted herself and went to the barrel to pour him a drink. He drained it in just a few mouthfuls, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and then nodded at Mam again.

  ‘Come,’ he said.

  Mam glanced at me. ‘Not today,’ she said again.

  ‘Mam …’ I croaked. But I couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t tell her that while of course I didn’t want this for her – while I wanted her to have nothing to do with this brutish, brutal man – I didn’t want her to stop it like this.

  Morgan put his thick hand out and squeezed Mam’s arm. His meaty fingers dug into her flesh. ‘Come.’

  Mam winced. Morgan squeezed harder. Petroc stood up. ‘Morgan,’ he said. ‘Don’t be this way …’

  Before he could carry on, Morgan brought up his booted foot and landed it firmly in between poor Petroc’s legs. The smaller man reeled away, clutching himself, tears in his eyes. Beside me, Arthur winced in sympathy. Without speaking, the other drinkers both left their drinks on the table and hurried outside, keeping their faces turned away from Morgan, and making sure he knew they’d not seen a thing. Cowards, I thought bitterly.

  Mam pulled away from Morgan but he hung on and then, as she turned to look at Petroc, he hit her across the face with the back of his other hand. Her head jerked back and I cried out in fear.

  ‘Come,’ he said again.

  With her nose bleeding, Mam looked at me. ‘What choice do I have?’ she said.

  She let Morgan lead her out of the room and upstairs, and I started to cry. Arthur went to Petroc, who stumbled to his feet.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. He slumped on to a chair.

  Arthur and I stayed still, huddled in our corner, until we finally heard Morgan’s heavy tread coming down the stairs.

  He plucked his hat from the peg and then turned to Arthur.

  ‘So you’re Arthur Pascoe?’ he said, looking him up and down. Arthur shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable, and gave me a questioning glance. I gave him a tiny shrug. I had no idea how Morgan knew who he was, or who his father was.

  ‘I know your da,’ Morgan said. He put his hat on his head and walked over to where Arthur and I sat. His boots left footprints on the clean floor. ‘I like him. He’s very obliging.’

  ‘I think you’re mistaken,’
Arthur said. I liked the way his voice was clear and strong, even though I could tell he was scared. ‘You must be mixing my father up with someone else.’

  Morgan looked at me. ‘He thinks I’m getting mixed up,’ he said, flashing a smile. ‘Silly boy.’

  Arthur had stood up and now Morgan slapped him on the back amiably but so hard that Arthur almost fell over. ‘Of course I know your da. Reverend Pascoe is a good friend of mine. We help each other out all the time.’

  ‘He’s a fine man,’ Arthur said firmly and Morgan hooted with laughter. The sound made me wince.

  ‘They always are, Arthur. They always are.’

  He spun round on his heel, smearing more dirt into the floor. ‘If the daughter’s anything like the mother, you’re a lucky man,’ he said to Arthur. He grinned at me, with a gleam in his eye that made me shiver. ‘Very lucky.’ He blew me a kiss and headed outside.

  I stayed stony still, my face on fire with shame. Arthur shuffled his feet. Then Petroc – who I’d forgotten all about – gave a small cough and carefully, painfully stood up.

  ‘Goodbye then,’ he said. ‘Stay away from the cliffs.’

  He went out the way Morgan had gone. We heard his horse whinny and then the sound of hooves. Arthur came to me and wrapped his arms around me. It was the first time we’d ever been that close, but it felt so natural that I relaxed into his embrace. ‘Morgan is a bad brute,’ he said. ‘They are making up the ghost stories so everyone stays away and doesn’t bother them. And I think tomorrow night, we should hide on the clifftop and watch.’

  ‘Really?’ I whispered, scared about what we might find.

  ‘Really.’

  I nodded. ‘We will find out what he is doing,’ I said. I winced as a muffled moan came from upstairs. ‘But first, I must look after my mother.’

  Chapter 17

  Phoebe

  2019

  ‘Are you opening for lunch today?’ I asked Liv in the kitchen the next morning. She shook her head.

  ‘No point,’ she said. ‘But I’m pleased with how the evenings have been going. We’re not out of the woods – not by a long way – but it’s promising. So I reckon I’ll just open at teatime again and see what happens.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’ I switched on the kettle. ‘What are you going to do until then?’

  ‘I’ve got some stuff to do round the pub. Admin and whatnot,’ said Liv. ‘And then I’m meeting that Ewan Logan.’

  ‘Really?’ I wasn’t sure why that made me feel unsettled, but it did. I put my hands on the worktop and felt the coolness of the surface on my fingers, and swallowed down my concern.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  I smiled at Liv brightly. At least I hoped it was brightly. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘So what are you meeting Ewan about?’

  ‘I just want to see what he’s got to offer.’

  I thought of the strange blank business card he’d handed over and frowned. ‘What does he even do? Is he a supplier?’

  Liv shrugged. ‘He’s kind of a fixer. I’ve seen it before in places like this – where everyone’s a bit mistrustful of strangers. He can put me in touch with suppliers, sort out events, find people like DJs or singers if we need entertainment. He just knows everyone and he can put me in touch with the people I need to run the pub successfully.’

  ‘For a fee, I suppose?’

  ‘A small one.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘A fixer.’

  Liv looked at me, her head to one side. ‘Phoebe,’ she said, a warning tone in her voice. ‘It’s fine. Honestly. It’s totally legit. Happens all the time.’

  ‘Can’t your head office help with this sort of stuff?’

  She shrugged. ‘Up to a point, but it’s always good to have people on the ground. In normal circumstances I could talk with the last manager – find out which suppliers he used and whatnot. But I’ve got nothing to go on and Ewan could be the person to fill me in. I could do with him giving me a hand, to be honest, Phoebe. You know how badly I need this to work and at the moment it’s not looking good.’

  I nodded. I did understand her money worries and I knew it was better she made use of anything she could instead of turning to payday loans. Plus rationally I knew I was being overcautious.

  ‘Ewan said he worked with the last licensee?’ I said, thoughtfully. ‘So as you can’t get in touch with him, could you maybe ring that regional manager fella and ask him what he thinks of Ewan?’

  ‘Actually that’s not a terrible idea,’ Liv said. ‘I’ll give Des a ring and see what he has to say about Ewan Logan. Just to be on the safe side.’

  Feeling more reassured, I made tea for us both as she found her phone and called the regional manager. She took the call in the lounge but I could hear her laughing and when she came back into the kitchen she was all smiles.

  ‘He knows Ewan vaguely,’ she told me. ‘Not well, he said, but he’s met him a few times. And he says he’s a great asset, especially in these strange circumstances.’

  ‘That sounds good then.’ I tried to smile but it was harder than I’d thought it would be. ‘Hope he can help.’

  Liv nodded. ‘It is good. Listen, I know everything’s a bit odd here, and you’re being protective,’ she said. She picked up her mug of tea and held it in two hands at her chest, like a shield. ‘But remember, just because some people are bad, that doesn’t mean everyone’s bad.’

  ‘I know,’ I muttered. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’

  ‘I’m not going into partnership with him. He’s just helping us out. It’s okay.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said.

  ‘It’s nice that you worry,’ she said. ‘And it was a good idea to call Des. Even in ideal circumstances it wouldn’t always be the best idea to meet a strange man without doing some gathering of information first.’

  ‘Ah, I have taught you well,’ I joked. ‘Shall we stalk him on Facebook too?.’

  Liv rolled her eyes. ‘No, we can clean the loos.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. But I made a mental note to google Ewan Logan later. I spent the morning helping her clean, chatting about the history of the pub and filling her in on everything Simon the vicar had said. Her eyes lit up when I mentioned going to the church.

  ‘Was he hot?’

  ‘Like Fleabag hot?’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘No,’ I giggled. ‘Nice enough but kind of dishevelled and churchy. And married.’

  ‘Ah well,’ said Liv. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea.’

  A picture of Jed sitting in the pub popped into my head and I felt my cheeks redden.

  Liv looked at me curiously but she didn’t ask if I had any particular fish in mind. Much to my relief.

  ‘So anyway, Simon the vicar said it was all to do with smuggling,’ I went on.

  Liv looked startled. ‘Smuggling?’

  ‘Yes, in the eighteenth century.’

  ‘Like Jamaica Inn?’

  ‘Exactly.’ I explained what Simon had said about the ghost stories and Emily’s disappearance.

  ‘Was Emily Moon a smuggler?’ Liv wiped down one of the beer pumps carefully.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said with a certain amount of glee. ‘Perhaps she was a smuggler and ran off with the treasure, or perhaps she just ran away with her boyfriend.’

  ‘Phoebe, you’ve got a gleam in your eye,’ Liv said. ‘Are you planning to investigate the case of the missing Moon Girl?’

  ‘Do you know? I think I am.’

  ‘I think that’s a fabulous idea. There’s so little going on here that I was worried you would be bored. And it might reawaken your mojo.’

  I groaned. ‘I hope so,’ I admitted. ‘Because I will need to get back to work at some point.’

  With the pub shining like a new pin, Liv went to get changed for her meeting with Ewan and I caught up on Homes Under the Hammer. As I heard the bedroom door close, I pulled my phone out and typed Ewan Logan into the search bar. There were several hits but mostly from Ewan Logans in Ireland and Scotland –
none of them were our man. I clicked on LinkedIn and read the bio of a Ewan Logan who was CEO of a soap company in County Antrim and then shoved my phone under my leg as Liv came back into the lounge, having ditched her scruffy shorts and vest top for a pretty maxi dress.

  ‘You can sit in on the meeting, if you want to,’ she said. I smiled. That was really sweet of her – understanding that I felt uncomfortable and wanting to make me feel better. I felt for my phone and slid it into my back pocket, then I stood up.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I said. All my instincts were telling me to say yes. To join Liv and see what Ewan Logan had to offer. But I also knew Liv was right: the fact that bad people existed didn’t mean that everyone was bad. I had to trust her. And Ewan Logan. Whoever he was. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘What are you going to do instead?’

  ‘Actually I might go for a walk,’ I said. ‘Because check out the weather.’ Sure enough, the rain had finally – finally – stopped and the sun was streaming in through the rather grubby windows.

  ‘OMG, what’s that yellow thing in the sky?’ Liv said. ‘I’d better put out the tables in the garden if this is going to last.’

  ‘Do you want me to stay and help move furniture?’

  ‘Nah, go for your walk. I’ll get Ewan to help.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘Definitely. I’ll put him to work – get him to make himself useful.’

  I hovered uncertainly.

  ‘Go,’ she said.

  I patted my back pocket to check my phone hadn’t disappeared in the thirty seconds since I’d put it there, then I put my purse in my bag and looped it over my shoulder. ‘Text me if you need me to come back,’ I said. ‘I’ll just be in Kirrinporth.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  She would be fine, I told myself as I went downstairs. She was more than capable of having a business meeting. I knew what was happening. Des the regional manager knew what was happening. It was all fine. I let myself out of the pub and as I crossed the car park, Ewan drove in. He raised a hand to me in greeting and I waved back more jauntily than I felt. He was on his own, I noted with a strange sense of relief. No Jed or Mark. Liv wouldn’t be outnumbered then.