The Smuggler's Daughter Read online

  It wasn’t easy going. There were a few times when my foot sent a stone skittering down to the beach below and made my heart thump. I found if I concentrated on looking at my trainers I got on better than if I looked at where I was heading, which still seemed a long way down. There was one bit that was so steep I gave up trying to walk and sat on my bottom instead, scooching down the hill like a toddler going down stairs.

  It felt like a very long time but eventually I stood on the beach with my legs wobbling uncontrollably and my heart pounding. I turned and looked back where I’d come from. It was very high. I did not look forward to climbing back up there.

  ‘Brilliant, Phoebe,’ I said to myself. ‘Well bloody done.’

  Well, I was here now. With my legs still trembling slightly, I wandered round, trying to see what the men had been looking at. But I was none the wiser. There was the sea, there were a lot of rocks making the waves crash and froth, there was a shingly-sandy beach and there were the cliffs looming up from where I stood.

  ‘Come on, Sarge. You’re a detective. Do some detecting,’ I told myself sternly.

  I walked down to where the sea met the sand and slowly paced from one side of the tiny cove to the other, looking at the ground, the rocks, the view …

  And then, finally, just as I was about to admit defeat and start the long, steep climb back to the top, I saw it. I was scanning the very bottom of the cliff, where the rocks met the beach when I noticed there was a crack. A big crack. A crack that looked like it could be big enough for a person to fit through. I walked over to the sheer face of the cliff to check it out more and realised that up close it was even bigger than I’d thought. Could I go inside?

  Intrigued, and slightly scared, I took my phone from my leggings pocket and turned on the torch, shining it into the hole. It went back further than I could see. I sighed. Now I had to go in. Of course I did. How could I not?

  Carefully, I went through the crack in the rock. It was more than big enough for me to get through and it quickly widened out into a dry, sandy-floored tunnel. My torch lit up the way as I wandered deeper into the cliff. This was incredible. I remembered going on a school trip to some caves near where we lived, where people had stayed during the war because they were the perfect air-raid shelter. This felt similar to that and I wondered if someone had dug them out, or if they were natural. I walked on, quite comfortably, expecting to find my way blocked by a rock fall, or have the tunnel come to an end any second, but it didn’t happen.

  I was walking uphill, I realised as my legs started complaining and my breathing became more uneven. Quite steeply uphill. Was this another way up the cliff? I hoped so. It would be a much nicer way to the beach than that awful steep path. I was actually quite enjoying this. It was exciting and I couldn’t wait to tell Liv what I’d found. Might cheer her up, I thought.

  And then I came to three rough stone steps and a door. The frame around it was old, dark wood. But the door itself was modern. Like the sort of door you’d get in a bedroom or a living room. It looked really out of place just standing there, in the stone wall of the cave. I felt as though I was in a weird version of Narnia or some other children’s adventure story. Should I open the door? Hell, yes.

  I thought it might be locked but the handle turned easily and the door opened. I stepped through into a large room. It was cool, thanks to its stone walls – the same as the walls of the tunnel – and the two air-conditioning units to one side. Opposite where I stood was a row of metal barrels fixed up to some complicated-looking pipes and cables. There were some branded boxes of wine, bottles of spirits and some other barrels stacked neatly in one corner, and a few boxes of crisps next to them. Confused and disorientated I stared around me. What was this? Where on earth was I?

  The ringing of a phone made me jump. I looked at my own silent mobile, bewildered. I heard running footsteps and then Liv’s voice as she answered: ‘Oh hi, Mum, I was just going to call you …’

  And suddenly it all became clear. I was in the cellar of the pub. Somehow, the tunnel led from the beach to The Moon Girl.

  I sat down on the stone floor, still feeling like I didn’t quite understand what was happening. Was this tunnel what Jed and Mark had been checking out when they were here the other day? Was it what Liv had meant when she came out of the cellar and told Ewan it was sorted? What on earth was going on? I didn’t have the faintest idea, but it seemed to me to be very clear that something dodgy was happening here.

  Chapter 29

  Emily

  1799

  Frank – the bearded customs man – was sweet to me on the ride home. He pointed out some animals in the fields, and told me a funny story about his dog. I tried to smile but it wasn’t easy to concentrate on what he was saying when my mind was busy trying and failing to make sense of what I’d just seen. When Frank pulled up the cart at the inn, he asked me kindly if I wanted him to come in with me. I shook my head, not wanting to have to listen to my mother’s questions about why I’d arrived home with a revenue man.

  ‘I’ll see you inside, miss,’ he said. He helped me jump down and, true to his word, waited until I was inside the door before he tugged on the horse’s reins and set off.

  Inside it was quiet and dim. I leaned against the wall, trying to breathe normally. My argument with Arthur, my race into Kirrinporth and seeing Morgan watching me had all made me feel weak. I took a deep breath and then another. That was better. My heart was slowing finally, but I needed to lie down. I would go upstairs and sleep for a while and perhaps I would come up with a new way to deal with this problem.

  I went through the lounge bar, towards the stairs, and there, his large frame filling the doorway, was Morgan. His face was red from the wind and his trousers were speckled with mud. He must have ridden like the wind, cross-country, to get here so fast.

  ‘Hello, Emily,’ he said.

  I ducked my head and made to dodge by him, but he was quick. He shot out an arm and grabbed my wrist. I squealed and tried to twist away but he held on fast.

  ‘Come with me.’

  I tried to resist but he was so much bigger than me, and so strong that there was nothing I could do. He half dragged me out of the inn doorway and up the sloped path to the clifftop. I looked round desperately, wondering where my mother was. Would she come to my rescue? Even if she knew what was happening I wasn’t sure she would help. I wanted to cry out but no sound came from my mouth and my mother didn’t appear. I was on my own.

  At the cliff, Morgan let go of my wrist and pushed me away from him. I stumbled on the uneven ground and fell, hurting my arm, and he laughed.

  ‘What are you thinking, Emily Moon?’

  I tried to get up, scrambling on the grass to get a grip with trembling hands. Morgan put his muddy boot to my chest and pushed and I fell back down. I was crying now, silent gasping sobs that hurt my throat. Would he throw me from the cliff? I knew first-hand how brutal he was, how little he thought of taking a life. He could easily lift me up and throw me down on to the rocks. I looked up to where he loomed over me, blocking the sun.

  ‘You are interfering with things you don’t understand,’ he spat. ‘This is bigger than you, little girl. You need to back off before you ruin everything.’

  I opened my mouth to tell him he was evil. That he’d killed my father and raped my mother and he would pay. But my traitorous, weak, stupid throat clenched and once again no sound came.

  ‘Did you think to report me?’ Morgan said quietly. He reached down and pulled me to my feet. My legs were weak and gave way under me but he held me upright. ‘You can’t win. And so help me, if I ever see you poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, I will throw you from this cliff and you will never be seen again.’ He laughed. A horrible mocking laugh that made me cry harder. ‘You were going to report me, Emily Moon? You? A simpleton who can’t string a sentence together? No one would believe you.’

  ‘No,’ a voice said behind him. ‘But they would believe me.’

  Mo
rgan turned, taking me with him, and there was Arthur, looking for all the world like the king he was named for, riding to the rescue on his large, black and white horse. We’d not heard the hooves over the wind on the clifftop. My legs went weak again, but this time it was in relief.

  ‘You’re a boy,’ Morgan said with scorn.

  ‘I’m almost grown. And I’m the son of the Reverend. Respectable. Educated. I know everyone in Kirrinporth and they know me.’

  Morgan’s grip loosened slightly and I knew Arthur’s words had hit home. ‘You’re a child. I could throw her from this cliff now and my problems would be over. And there would be nothing you could do to stop me.’ He made as though to push me over the edge and I let out a croaky shriek.

  Up on his horse, Arthur nodded. I had no idea how he was keeping so calm. I was shaking and sobbing, but he was in control. ‘That is true,’ he said. ‘But I am on a horse and can be in Kirrinporth before you.’

  ‘And where would you go?’ Morgan was mocking now. ‘To the parish constable, Mr Trewin? To my good friend Mr Trewin?’

  On his horse, Arthur pulled himself up straighter. ‘I have friends too,’ he said. ‘My father is a good friend of George Winston, the magistrate.’

  I gasped. Bringing the magistrate into this was risky. After all, we’d already talked about how he could be involved too. But Arthur was carrying on regardless.

  ‘Mr Winston would have no difficulty in hearing what I had to tell him,’ he said confidently. ‘You would be hanging from the gallows by tomorrow.’

  As far as I knew, Arthur had never spoken to Mr Winston. I’d never seen him at church or in the company of Arthur’s father. In fact, I wasn’t even sure what he looked like because he lived in Barnmouth, where the court house was. But Morgan obviously didn’t know that – thank goodness.

  Morgan threw me roughly on to the grass again and spat at me. I rolled to the side to avoid the spittle and then lay still, weeping.

  ‘If any revenue men come to call on me, I shall kill you both,’ he said to Arthur. ‘I will kill you and I will enjoy it.’

  Arthur didn’t move. He stayed where he was, his horse’s hooves planted firmly on the ground. Morgan snorted. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and strode off towards the pub. We heard his horse whinny and saw the dust fly up as he rode back towards the village. And only when we were sure he had gone, did Arthur slide from his own horse’s back, tied him to a nearby post, and come to me where I lay on the grass.

  He gathered me into his arms and I clung to him, shaking and sobbing and trying to explain what had happened.

  ‘Slow down,’ he said. ‘Slow down and breathe and tell me all.’

  We sat on the grass together, Arthur’s arms still around me, and I tried to get the words out.

  ‘I went to the customs house,’ I said eventually. ‘I took the pictures, but I couldn’t speak. I tried so hard.’

  ‘Right …’

  ‘One man … he was kind. He brought me home. But Morgan saw me.’

  ‘At the customs house?’

  ‘Outside.’

  ‘Watching you?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘He’s a nasty piece of work,’ Arthur said. ‘He is playing us all for fools.’

  I thought for a moment. ‘Smuggling is not new,’ I said.

  ‘Not new at all,’ Arthur agreed. ‘I know my own father often turned a blind eye and everyone in Kirrinporth bought the goods that were sold by the free traders.’

  I nodded. I remembered the same happening when I was a little girl, Mam coming home with wool or tobacco for Da. And now I thought about it, I was sure Da had bought drink for the inn on occasion.

  ‘Maybe they used the tunnel?’ I said.

  Arthur nodded. ‘Maybe. I can’t say I agree, but I know how it is.’

  ‘How it was,’ I said, deliberately. I’d been thinking of nothing else since I left the customs house.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Very slowly, I explained what I thought. ‘Morgan is making this work for his own good,’ I said. ‘Forcing the folk of Kirrinporth to smuggle goods and taking the money.’

  Understanding was growing on Arthur’s handsome face. ‘So everyone’s doing what they did before, but instead of them selling the goods and making money from the deal – money they need for food or clothes or fuel for their fire – Morgan’s taking the profits?’

  I nodded, thankful he’d realised what I was trying to say.

  ‘He’s getting rich while others suffer,’ Arthur said. Then he paused. ‘Is it Morgan who is getting rich or is it someone else?’

  I raised my eyebrows, questioning what he meant.

  ‘Morgan knows everyone,’ Arthur pointed out. ‘He’s friendly with my father and with Mr Trewin …’

  With a start I suddenly realised that it had been no coincidence that Morgan turned up at the inn just after we had been to ask Mr Trewin for help. No doubt he had revealed how desperate my mother was, and Morgan had decided it was the right time to arrive. I stared at Arthur, feeling sick at the thought of how deep the evil ran in Kirrinporth. Who knew who else was involved in this?

  ‘He’s probably friendly with the revenue men too,’ Arthur said, his horrified face mirroring mine.

  I nodded, thinking of him tipping his hat to Frank, the revenue man who brought me home.

  ‘This is awful. What will we do?’

  ‘I’ve an idea,’ I said. Arthur looked at me with what could only be described as pride on his face.

  ‘Go on?’

  I swallowed. ‘Catch him.’

  Arthur screwed his face up. ‘How will we do that?’

  I knew there was no hope of me explaining my plan so I took my pictures from my bag again, and found a piece of charcoal. In a few strokes I drew Arthur and me, standing on the clifftop, where we were sitting now. Then I pointed to my eyes, and out to sea.

  ‘We’ll watch him,’ Arthur said. I nodded. ‘To see when the smuggling begins?’

  I nodded again. ‘Every night,’ I said. I knew we couldn’t risk missing them bringing in the next load of cargo.

  ‘Then what?’

  I turned to the page again. This time I drew Arthur on his horse, riding away from the clifftop. I added some dust flying up from the horse’s hooves, showing he was travelling as fast as he could.

  ‘So when the smuggling is underway, I jump on my horse, ride into Kirrinporth and go … where?’ Arthur said. ‘To alert the customs men?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Catch him red-handed.’

  Arthur was looking hopeful. ‘And then he won’t be able to wriggle out of it,’ he said. ‘Even if he has one or two allies among them, he can’t have all the customs men in his pocket, surely?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘My only worry is I ride to the customs house, and they don’t believe me.’

  ‘We must try,’ I said. I lifted my eyes from the paper and looked at Arthur. ‘He is a bad person and we are good.’

  Arthur sighed. ‘You are speaking sense,’ he said. ‘I know that. It’s our duty to make this right. I know you were speaking sense when you said the same thing in the caves. I’m sorry I resisted. I was wrong.’ He squeezed me closer. ‘Can you forgive me?’

  I smiled up at him. ‘Of course.’

  ‘If we are united, then we can take on Morgan – we can take on the world,’ Arthur declared.

  I chuckled. ‘Not the world. Just Morgan,’ I said.

  We smiled at each other for a second, but then he frowned, a shadow crossing his face. I gave him a questioning look. What was wrong?

  ‘I have been thinking about my father,’ Arthur said. ‘I believe he provides Morgan with transport. On several occasions I’ve seen the gate to our stables open when I’ve been going to bed. Once I went downstairs and locked it, thinking the stable hand had left it open accidentally. And then, I woke in the night – which is unusual for me as I generally sleep like the dead – and when I looked out the gate was open again. At the t
ime I thought I was dreaming, but now I’m piecing it together in my head. I believe my father lets Morgan use his carriage and horses to move the goods. His is a recognisable carriage and no one would ever suspect it was carrying contraband.’

  I stared at Arthur. What he was saying made perfect sense, but that didn’t mean it didn’t shock me. Reverend Pascoe, part of the smuggling trade.

  Arthur smiled at my expression. ‘I think he’s been doing it for years. Not often, but occasionally and if he was asked,’ he said. ‘But doing it to help those in need is one thing. Doing it to line the pockets of those like Morgan, or Mr Trewin, or goodness knows who else, is another.’

  Arthur took a breath. ‘If we’re going to tell the customs officers, I’d like to warn my father. Tell him what we’re planning so if Morgan is caught and speaks of all the others who are involved, my father can be asleep in bed, and there would be no evidence of his wrongdoing.’

  I nodded.

  Arthur took my hand. ‘I think you were right about your father too. I think that’s why Morgan killed him. He asked to use the tunnel, and the inn to store his goods, and your da said no.’

  Tears filled my eyes. ‘Brave,’ I said. I wasn’t angry with Da any more. He’d stood up for what he thought was right.

  ‘Undoubtedly. Your father was brave, but he was murdered for his courage. And now your mother is all mixed up in it too.’

  I screwed up my face. ‘Warn her, too?’

  Arthur didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course, she’s your mother.’

  ‘But …’ I began, thinking of how Arthur had pointed out that she was part of it all. That Morgan was paying her and that she was desperate.

  ‘She is scared of him,’ I said.

  ‘That’s true.’

  Suddenly our plan to bring down Morgan seemed far too hard. Too dangerous. Too risky. I shuddered. How could we stop him when we were barely grown, I couldn’t speak when I had to, and our families were tangled up in it all?