Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kit

Promptly at nine o'clock the next morning, after a breakfast of cold beef and ale, Kit caught the coach that would be heading via Falmouth to Penzance and beyond. Glad to find his cousin no longer among the passengers, he settled himself down into the shabby interior as it rumbled over the cobbles and out of Exeter.

This time, although all the outside spaces were taken, no one but he had paid to sit inside, and he had the malodorous interior to himself. Thankful for small mercies, he stretched out his legs, closed his eyes and, wedging himself into one of the corners, prepared to snatch some more much-needed shuteye for the next few hours.

Surprisingly, he managed to fall asleep and was only awoken as the coach rumbled up the steep hill into Launceston and the round castle keep on its high motte hoved into view. He yawned and stretched. Why was it every time you slept during the day you woke up bleary-eyed and unrefreshed with all your muscles aching? His neck and back were stiff, and his mouth felt paper dry. He'd get down here and find some refreshment.

His pocket watch told him it had gone one o'clock, not that this was any guarantee it would match the time they kept here in the west. He strode into the inn's taproom while the horses were being changed and ordered a mug of good Cornish cider and a plate of bread and cheese. No time to wait for roast beef to be fetched, which probably wouldn't be good anyway. Not even a miserly innkeeper could go too wrong with bread and cheese, although this bread's bitter taste indicated the addition of alum by the baker. The rogue.

He was just washing the crumbs down with the last of the cider, which was of far better quality than the bread, when a heavy hand thumped down on his shoulder. He swung around.

"Why, if 'tain't Mr. Kitto himself!" A huge, broad-shouldered, and pot-bellied man stood before him, grinning from ear to ear across a face burnt brown by the Cornish sun and wind.

"Aleck!" Kit stood up and took the offered paw, only to have his arm so vigorously shaken it felt as though it might come loose in its socket. "Aleck Tregothnan. I never expected to see you so far away from your lair at Nanpean. What brings you up country?"

Tregothnan released Kit's hand and stood back, his good-humored gaze traveling from Kit's ruffled hair down to his dusty boots. "Business," he said, tapping the side of his nose. "Parson's business."

Kit grinned. Parson's business meant smuggling business, so presumably that was what had brought his old friend, the landlord of the Ship Inn, a small hostelry situated between Nanpean and St Just, so far east. It either meant a new shipment was imminent or Aleck was seeing to the sale of the last of the previous one, which could take as long as several weeks.

"Aye," Tregothnan went on, hitching his bulk onto a seat opposite Kit. "I've been away from home two nights and I'll be right glad to be back. These eastern folks ain't what we're used to on the tip." He gave a great guffaw of laughter, but his merriment didn't hide a touch of worry in his eyes.

Was his old friend in trouble of some kind? Kit opened his mouth to ask, but Tregothnan interrupted. "When I seed him t'other day, Jago did say as you'd gone back up east to your big house." A small frown furrowed his broad brow. "What's brung you down here agin so soon? From what he said, I'd thought you'd be up England a good long time."

Again, that hint of something in his friend's voice that wasn't quite right, as though he were worried about some problem. As though for some reason he wasn't pleased to see Kit back in Cornwall.

But Kit had other things on his mind. "Women," he said, then laughed, a tad bitterly. "One particular woman, I should say. I had to leave because I was…" he hesitated. "I was in danger of becoming too involved." He shook his head. "And I can't do that to any woman. Not with the life I lead. It wouldn't be fair."

A touch of something that might have been annoyance flashed across Tregothnan's face to be quickly replaced by more bonhomie. "And glad I am to see you again." He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Wouldn't be the same without our Mr. Kitto. We've another consignment due in the next coupla days. Depends on the wind from France. I've all the men on standby." He glanced over his shoulder at the tap room's few customers as though they might be king's spies. "I've been up here arranging to sell it on. But I'll not say anymore. Walls has ears."

Kit nodded. "Are you taking the coach back west?"

His friend inclined his head. "Got to get back to the inn. Can't leave it too long in Bessie's hands or she'll drink the barrels dry."

Kit chuckled. Bessie, Aleck's wife, had never been known to finish a day upright, such was her capacity for drink. Aleck must have been desperate for business if he'd left her in charge. "I hope you locked your cellar door," he said as the shout came that the coach was ready. Together they walked out into the inn's stable yard. The few outside passengers climbed aboard and Kit climbed into the interior.

A little to his surprise, Tregothnan joined him inside. "Can't sit outside at my age," he said, by way of explanation. "Getting too old and fat for the scramble up. It's worth the extra money to me for a comfortable seat for my old bones."

All the same, for a country innkeeper it would be an expensive journey.

*

Morvoren

Morvoren was awakejust after dawn as she'd deliberately left the motheaten curtains in their room open to let the daylight in. The dirt on the windows didn't reduce the light by much, and as soon as she woke, she got up and forced them open to let in some much-needed fresh air.

On the bed, Ysella stirred and rolled over. "Oooh. Shut the curtains and let me sleep," she moaned. "I'm tired and it's too early."

Morvoren gave her a shake. "We have to get on the road again as quickly as possible and catch up with Kit."

The reminder served as a good wakeup call. Ysella sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Goodness. I thought myself at home in Ormonde. I'd quite forgotten the events of yesterday." She giggled, still, in Morvoren's opinion, not taking the mission seriously enough. "I do hope Mama doesn't go to call on Caro's mother, because she'll find out we're not there, and then she'll discover Sam gone as well, and put two and two together and make five and decide one of us has eloped with him and taken the other for moral support."

As that hadn't yet occurred to Morvoren as a conclusion Lady Ormonde might jump to, her blood ran cold for a minute. This was a world where if girls ran off with young men, they would be ruined if they didn't marry them. She definitely didn't want to marry Sam, dependable and sensible as he was, and she didn't think Ysella did either. Although strictly speaking, weren't they chaperoning each other?

Conscious of the need for speed, they struggled into their clothes and did each other's hair as best they could. However, they didn't end up looking nearly as spick and span as they would have done had Martha and Loveday had a hand in their toilettes. There was a lot to be said for a scrunchy for the hair and sensible jeans and T-shirts.

Morvoren was just deciding to go and knock on Sam's door, when a tentative tap came on their own. On invitation, Sam, fully dressed, came in. "I've ordered breakfast in the parlor downstairs," he said. "And James and John are preparing the horses. We've a long way to go today, so we need an early start."

Breakfast was bitter black coffee and yesterday's dry bread rolls. Morvoren's nerves, jangling in her head like warning bells, didn't allow her to eat more than one roll and that she had to force down, but the strong coffee jolted her into full action mode. As they walked out into the yard, she felt ready for anything.

With no further ado, the three of them climbed into the carriage, and James clicked to the horses as they set off out of the inn yard. The chase was on again.

"Where do you think Kit will be at the moment?" Morvoren asked Sam, as the horses, still the faithful four they'd brought from Ormonde, clattered out of Yeovil.

He rubbed his chin. "The mail coach will have reached Exeter last night, but he'll have had to stay the night there. The coach to Penzance goes back in the mornings, so passengers heading west have to wait for it." He glanced at his pocket watch. "He should be boarding in just over an hour."

He frowned. "It'll be back in Penzance this evening, but unfortunately, I can't see us catching up with him as yet. We won't reach Penzance today, no matter how many times we change horses." He patted Morvoren's hand with his large, suntanned one. "But I wouldn't worry yourself too much. If, as you said, they dealt with a consignment only about ten days ago, then another won't be coming yet. I've heard that free traders like to land their cargo in the darkness of a moonless night. We're heading for a full moon right now, so our journey isn't as urgent as you think."

His frown deepened. "But today we're going to have to pay for a few changes of horses. These won't last more than fifty miles after doing that and more yesterday. Unfortunately, it's more than their jobs are worth for the ostlers to give us the fast mail horses. They belong exclusively to the mail coach service. We'll be left with the dregs from the livery yard. And they won't be fast at all."

Ysella, who'd been looking out of the window, turned her head. "Will we have to leave our horses in some jobbing livery yard?" Her voice rose in panic. "Mama will be furious if we do that. You know how fussy she is about her horses, Sam." Her hand flew to her mouth. "I hadn't thought that having to pay for changes of horses would mean we'd leave ours at the mercy of some unscrupulous yard owner who might loan them out to any dreadful person who happens by."

Sam took her hand in his free one. "Don't worry yourself, Miss Ysella. I'll be telling whoever we leave them with that they belong to Viscount Ormonde and are not to be loaned out but returned to us when we pass this way again, hopefully in company with Kit himself. And I'll pay them well for taking care of them properly. Your mother will not be accusing you of abandoning them."

Ysella gazed up into his eyes and smiled her sweetest smile. "You are clever, Sam. You think of the smallest things while I just charge headlong into them without considering the problems I might encounter."

How unusually perceptive she was being.

Sam's eyes, full of hunger, drank her in, but she didn't appear to notice. Instead, she retrieved her hand and peered out of the window. "But I'm sure we can catch him if we try."

They might well have done, if they'd been able to maintain the speed they were travelling at. However, someone somewhere had it in for them. Late in the day, with the sun sinking into the west and the road just beginning to climb onto the heather-covered heights of Bodmin Moor, the carriage gave an enormous lurch and toppled to one side. Ysella and Morvoren were thrown into a corner, both ending up in Sam's strong arms. It could definitely be said that they'd stopped.

James and John reacted quickly. They jumped down and, while John reassured the frightened horses, who at this point were no longer theirs but just rented nags, James hurried to the door on the upside of the coach and threw it open. Between them, Sam and James managed to help Ysella and Morvoren out onto the narrow, grassy verge. They stood in a row, surveying the damage to their vehicle in silence.

The right back wheel had come off and the back corner of the carriage had collapsed to one side. Morvoren glanced over her shoulder at the westering sun. It would be dark soon and they were nowhere near any kind of habitation.

She turned to Sam. "Can it be mended?"

He shook his head. "Not without help. See, the axle has broken. We're going to need a blacksmith and a carpenter."

She bit her lip, and Ysella gave a little mewl of frustration. Just when they might have been catching up with Kit, especially if they'd kept going all night. If she hadn't been keen to maintain her image as a sweet Regency lady, Morvoren would have sworn like a trooper. She did it in her head instead and held her tongue.

"What shall we do?" Ysella asked, shivering a little despite the warmth of the evening. "This all looks very remote." She peered down the road, if you could dignify it with that name. The amount of potholes in it qualified it in Morvoren's mind as only a track. "Might there be highwaymen out here? Cutthroats?" She shivered again. This girl had read too many romance novels. "Vagabonds?" She moved closer to Sam, as though doing so might add protection. Well, he did have two pistols in his possession.

"How far back to the last village we passed through?" Sam asked James, who was uncoupling the horses with John's help. At least the nags hadn't panicked when it happened. Not that they looked as though anything would disturb their somnolent natures. To prove the point, they were standing with their heads down as the two servants sorted out their tangled harnesses.

"Too far, Mr. Beaumont," James said. "But I do b'lieve there's an inn up here on the high moors. If we follow this road, then we'll reach it by sunset, if we're lucky."

Sam sighed. "We'll have to walk." He turned to John. "You stay here and guard the carriage, and we'll send back workmen from the inn to try and mend the wheel. We'll take the horses with us. There are bound to be stables at the inn."

Morvoren held up a hand. "We won't need to walk. We can ride the horses."

Sam shook his head. "We don't have any saddles."

She shook her head back. "What do we need them for? Have you never ridden bareback as a child?" She approached the likeliest looking beast, a chestnut—they were very mismatched for a team. "I'll have this one. Take off his heavy collar and fashion me something short enough for reins. I'll need a leg up."

The looks of shock on Sam, James and John's faces matched to perfection. "A lady can't ride bareback on a horse," Sam said, and James nodded vigorously, both of them a product of their time. John studied his feet, his ears puce.

"Of course a lady can," Morvoren snapped. "Doesn't she have legs? Now sort these horses out, and we'll get on them. We'll be at the inn a lot faster if we ride than if we walk."

Ysella leaned closer to Morvoren as James, galvanized by her firm voice, began to hurriedly divest the horses he was holding of their surplus harness. "I've never ridden bareback," she whispered. "Is it not slippery?"

Morvoren put her mouth to Ysella's ear. "If you can ride astride, you can ride bareback. It's just a question of balance. You'll be fine. And these are very quiet horses with nice broad backs. It'll be easy."

Sam looked as though he'd have liked to have protested at Morvoren's suggestion, but luckily, he could probably also see the sense in it and the danger of lingering on an isolated patch of moorland with two gently-bred young ladies. Soon, all four horses wore just their blinkered bridles to which rope reins had been attached.

Morvoren stood beside her chestnut and lifted her left leg. "Leg up, please?"

How diffident Sam was at touching a girl's leg. Morvoren would have laughed if their mission hadn't been so urgent. He touched her as though she were made of glass, or might burn his fingers.

"A good energetic lift."

He took her at her word and was strong as well. Morvoren sailed up into the air and landed on the chestnut's broad back, the skirts of her gown hitching up high enough to reveal the legs of her long knickers. She settled herself comfortably and rearranged her skirts for maximum modesty while Sam turned to Ysella with even more diffidence.

A minute later and she was up on her horse and gathering her reins, a grin of pure excitement on her face. She was certainly having a few unexpected adventures since she'd met Morvoren. Sam and James jumped up onto their respective horses without aid, and, leaving poor John with his pistols for protection, in the gathering dusk they set off up the road toward the inn.

Morvoren should have known which inn it would be. Jamaica Inn, of course, famous as a smugglers' haunt in Daphne du Maurier's book of the same name. It sat on the summit of the moors, and she'd been there once for a meal with her parents.

Already, a lantern shone brightly outside its door, guiding them the last few hundred meters as darkness fell. Thank goodness no one was outside to see their arrival, though. Ysella and Morvoren slid down from their horses and smoothed their skirts before they left James to find the stables and followed Sam inside.

It was a long time since Morvoren had read Jamaica Inn, and Daphne du Maurier's description wasn't vivid in her mind. However, in the flesh, it was every bit as gloomy, ill-lit and smoky as she'd imagined it would be.

A burly middle-aged man with an actual patch over one eye stood behind a wooden countertop, serving a motley selection of what must have been his locals. Difficult to make them out in the gloom, but they could all have stepped fully formed from the pages of the book.

"Good evening," Sam said, with a friendly smile. "Our carriage has lost a wheel and we're in need of food and beds for the night and stabling for our horses. I trust you can accommodate us?"

The innkeeper rubbed his bulbous nose, an unenthusiastic frown on his face. "I might be able to. I can't rightly say."

Not very welcoming.

Sam glanced at Ysella and took out his coin purse. "This is the Honorable Ysella Carlyon, sister of Lord Ormonde. We're traveling to Carlyon Court on urgent business. It's imperative Miss Carlyon and her companion have a bed for the night."

The innkeeper's attitude underwent a slight modification. "We-ell," he said, eyeing Ysella and Morvoren. "In that case, I has two rooms you c'n take, but they're not biguns. We don't get many ladies stoppin' here. Most fancy folk pass on by."

Thank goodness. Morvoren didn't fancy staying in this crowded taproom a moment too long. The eyes of every man present had fixed on them in something between curiosity and open hostility.

"And is there a blacksmith and a carpenter to be had locally?" Sam asked, presumably with his confidence bolstered by their host's apparent softening. "We shall need the axle mending on our carriage. If possible, tonight." He paused. "And a meal, too, for the ladies at least."

Morvoren didn't expect all of this to be doable, but to her surprise, it turned out it was. Perhaps the innkeeper was eager to be rid of his unwanted guests as quickly as possible. They soon found themselves in a small private parlor eating an unusually tasty beef stew with dumplings and drinking a fine claret. Morvoren had a strong suspicion the wine's quality probably had something to do with no revenue having been paid on it.

To their collective relief, the innkeeper dispatched several men with James and the horses to go back to the carriage and patch it up enough to get it back to the village smithy. Then, after the meal, a young girl showed them upstairs to two tiny rooms. Ysella and Morvoren had to share a narrow single bed, but Morvoren didn't care. After the stresses of the last few hours, she collapsed onto it as soon as she was out of her stays and was asleep in minutes.