Chapter Twenty-seven

Carne could have spent the entire next day sleeping or simply lying around, talking with Phillip and catching each other up on what had happened in the brief hours they’d been apart. But he learned from Phillip that the village was anxious to make a decision on the fate of Gwalather, the Mitchells, and good Constable Jacobs, who’d been an auxiliary member of their faction.

“We’re the ones whose possessions were destroyed. We should be a part of this meeting,” Carne pointed out.

“Not to mention the ones left to die in a mine. But I don’t recommend you getting up and moving about,” Phillip scolded. “Dr. Hammett said—”

“The veterinarian said,” Carne scoffed.

“A doctor of any sort could see you’ve been severely damaged and need rest. Can’t they hold them a bit longer before this…trial, or whatever they’re calling it?”

“I know these people. They’ll want to have it out immediately. But they like you and might listen to you,” he said, appealing to Phillip’s rational side.

“Then I’ll go, and you stay here and sleep some more.”

“If I lie about the cottage any longer, I’ll go barmy. I’m fine other than a thunk on the head and a sore arm. I’ve had worse. I promise, as soon as this is done, we’ll return, and both of us will lie around for several days of doing absolutely nothing.”

“Well, maybe something.” Phillip let his gaze travel down Carne’s bare abdomen to the waistband of his drawers.

“None of that. Time to get up.” Carne climbed out of bed and got out a pair of trousers.

Soon they were both dressed, fed, and ready to walk to the jail. Phillip had to be talked out of carrying Carne by wagon.

“It’s not far enough to make it worth teaching you how to harness the horse. A short walk will invigorate me.”

Carne changed the subject as they strode along. “I imagine they’ll lay Billy to rest today. I need to be up anyway to go to his funeral.”

“I’m sorry you lost a friend.” Phillip put out a hand to rest it on Carne’s back as if he might suddenly get dizzy and start to fall. He left it there as they walked together. “Has he left behind much family?”

“His wife died just last year. Billy has two children and several grandchildren. None live far away. They may bury him later today. Tomorrow at the latest.” He grimaced. “If we’d only been more careful. If only—”

“You mustn’t blame yourself. It was an accident. Robin told me how the waves pushed your boat sideways right into the rock. It was beyond your control.”

Carne didn’t argue but was hardly comforted by Phillip’s words.

The hand on his lower back rubbed lightly, and Phillip continued. “You have a habit of thinking you’re responsible for people and events around you. Life isn’t under your control. Neither are the people of Par Gwynear. They’re all adults who don’t require your supervision.”

Carne cradled his bandaged arm and glanced at Phillip. “Are you saying I try to control too much?”

Phillip winked and held his finger and thumb apart. “A little bit. Yes. A tad overprotective too. You would’ve had me on the road to Truro if I gave in to you, and then where would you be now?”

Carne grinned. “You saved my life, and I’ve thanked you for it at least a half dozen times since we awoke this morning. But I’ll say it again. Thank you, Professor Singleton, for saving me.”

“Not a professor any longer, and you’re welcome, although you probably would’ve regained consciousness and stumbled to a cottage for help before you died of overexposure.”

They’d talked all the way to the stone building only slightly larger than the Stoney Ground, where Methodist services and village meetings were held. When they entered, the crowd was larger than he’d seen in there for months, perhaps years. The benches were full of people loudly discussing the events of the past few days, from Gwalather’s deceit to the cave-in to the drowning at the cove. The noise was deafening as Carne and Phillip searched for an empty pew.

Trennick beckoned them to the front of the room where he held two places open for them at the end of a scarred bench. “You’re witnesses,” he informed them as they pushed in beside Robin. “Now you’re here, I suppose we can bring in the others.”

In the back of the hall was a single tiny cell, used for storage more often than criminals. Roger Peters and Lyle Angrove brought forth the Mitchells, both scowling, Constable Jacobs, head lowered in humiliation, followed by Gwalather, his walrus moustache quivering in indignation as he cursed everyone in the village—loudly.

The men weren’t manacled. It occurred to Carne that if the big, bulky Mitchells decided to shove their way out of the room and leave, they could probably do so. But the four took their seats at the front of the room docilely enough. Both Mitchell the elder and Gwalather had bruised faces. Gwalather had two black eyes and Mitchell a swollen jaw. His son had apparently given them quite a beating—one Carne would have loved to administer himself.

“Right all, quiet down,” Trennick trumpeted. “This not being an official town meetin’, I’ll just lay out the charges, and then we’ll decide what’s to be done and vote on it.” He stood at the front of the room in a more commanding posture than Carne would have thought him capable of. He’d never before viewed Trennick as any sort of a leader.

“You’ve all heard the rumors. Here’s the facts. The Concern made a pact long ago that what comes into the village by sea is shared by us all.” He pointed dramatically at the four on trial. “These men broke that pact, making their own side deal and transporting contraband much more likely to bring agents sniffing around. They put the entire village in danger with their gun and drug smuggling.”

Murmurs of agreement and anger rippled around the crowd as Trennick spoke on. “Bad enough that, but when Carne and his professor friend stumbled over a cache of stolen jewels bound for London, the younger Mitchell triggered a cave-in and left them to die.”

“It wasn’t quite like that,” Phillip began, but the clamor of outrage in the room was too loud for him to be heard.

Trennick held up his hands for silence. Carne got the idea he’d practiced this role in front of a mirror at home. “Furthermore, these men destroyed the professor’s motorcar and camera equipment as well as Carne’s home. Justice must be served. Since our own law keeper is part of the conspiracy. It’s up to us to decide how.”

“Just a minute now.” Carne rose from his seat to command attention and the conversations around him died down. “It’s true Gwalather and the Mitchells transported shipments of guns, but Mitchell the younger wasn’t a party to all their business, and he didn’t trap us in the mine on purpose.”

Mitchell leaped up too. “That’s right! I went for help to my father, only to get locked in a shed. I’d never leave anyone to die that way. And I wouldn’t have done that trading without sharing with everyone. It was all Gwalather’s idea. He got my dad to agree. Then they tried to shut me out of another scheme of theirs. I don’t belong up here with them.”

“Quiet down,” Trennick warned him. “There’s blame enough to go around for all of you. Now we have to decide what’s fair punishment and payment for what they done.”

“Also, I never broke up the professor’s camera or Carne’s house. How could I? I was in the cave with them when it happened,” Mitchell rushed to add.

Carne noticed Mitchell didn’t add that he hadn’t damaged Phillip’s automobile, so perhaps that was one crime the young man was guilty of. He was no choirboy by any means, but he didn’t deserve to get lumped in with his elders either.

Carne had subsided into his seat and noticed Phillip raising a hand to get Trennick’s attention. “May I speak?”

“Your things were ruined, and you seem to know all about our business now, so you might as well,” Trennick said.

Phillip rose and looked around the room. “As you all know, I came here to learn stories of the past and take photographs of local spots for a travel book. During the course of my visit, I learned more than I probably should about the village’s current efforts to earn a living. I swear to all of you I’d never share than information.” He pushed up his glasses and regarded the men at the front of the room. “I won’t press charges for the damage to my motorcar or camera since the constable is apparently one of those responsible for it. Contacting a lawman outside the village would only bring undue attention to you all. And I believe I speak for both Carne and myself when I say we’re willing to overlook our abandonment to a slow, suffocating death in a cave.”

Clever Phillip drew out the words slow and suffocating to remind everyone what peril they’d been in. “I propose these conspirators tender fair payment to the village, as well as to Carne and myself. Surely they’ve saved quite a nest egg from their private endeavors. Then I recommend they gather the rest of their goods and leave Par Gwynear forever.”

“What about me?” The younger Mitchell piped up. “I was forced into helping. I never wanted to be a part of it. And I want to stay here. ’Tis my home.”

“Shut yer gob.” His father spoke at last. “You’re a bloody dobeck. I knew you could hardly keep your mouth shut. That’s why I didn’t tell you everything. You’ll be lucky if I take you with me.”

Carne winced. He didn’t think much of the younger Mitchell either, but to hear one’s father had such a low opinion must be painful.

“Half their earnings,” someone called from the back of the room. “Fair enough for scoundrels such as these.”

A woman’s voice chimed in. “Half the jewels and gold too. That should see the entire village through next winter.”

“Longer than that,” Phillip muttered.

“We have no contact in the city to sell those items for us,” Carne pointed out. “I’ve seen the cache firsthand. These are not the sort of goods that would be easy to unload, paintings and fancy things that might be traced back to the original owners. I vote we leave them for Gwalather to dispose of and merely take our fair share of the rest of their shipments.”

Phillip whispered in his ear, “I do know some gentlemen I could approach about this, but I suppose we should wait to see what those wicked pirates have to say for themselves.”

Gwalather had sat in his chair throughout the discussion, scowling like a gargoyle. Now he added his voice to the clamor in the room. “Great lot of boobies, all of you. Importing dress goods and wines and making pence instead of pounds.” He jerked a thumb at his chest. “I was the one to see what could be. I was the one to arrange a deal to earn three times as much per run. I’ll be damned to hell if I give up one penny of what I earned to you lot.”

“I don’t believe you get much choice here,” Trennick said.

“Aye, that’s a vast ocean out there to shove you into, Gwalather,” someone called out.

“I say we send them all overboard, splash, splash, splash,” yelled another with obvious glee

“Hang on, hang on. I didn’t do more’n turn a blind eye, which is what I do for you all,” bleated Jacobs.

“Shut your face,” Gwalather said. “Jesus, can you even believe it?” He looked around the room and growled to no one in particular. “He’s m’oldest friend—we grew up together! And still he threatened to tell his superiors if I didn’t include him.” He leered at Jacobs. “Otherwise, why would I have bothered with you, you lazy old hound. Never carried so much as a small crate.”

The only one he hadn’t aimed a barb at was Mitchell the older, who glared at a spot near his feet, wearing an expression that seemed even more unpleasant than usual.

Phillip rose from his place on the bench. “Have we established that if these gentlemen don’t deliver their, ah, loot, men will come to Par Gwynear hunting for them?”

No one answered. Phillip looked at Gwalather. “You couldn’t have enough money to cover the cost of the items I saw in that cave. The question is, which angry mob would you rather face, those who have offered reasonable ideas and compromises, or the people to whom you’ve promised to deliver a fortune? One assumes you’ve got nice savings put aside already, but it couldn’t pay for that stash.”

“We can be a right nasty mob too,” someone shouted. “Carne, you’re the one. You go to London with the miserable bastard and bring back our money.”

Carne rose to his feet. The chattering slowed. “Send someone else,” he said. “I have no wish to go to London. These men didn’t care if I lived or died. I don’t want to spend a minute more in their company than I must. Just force them to give up a portion of their money and send them on their way.”

“There will be no coming back for them,” Bea called out. She and her young man stood against the wall near the main doors, shoulders touching. “Those greedy bastards will never set foot in the Stoney Ground again, and if I see any of them on the road, I’ll shoot ’em.” Not an idle threat, Carne suspected. Bea owned one of the village’s few shotguns, and everyone knew she was a good markswoman.

Young Mitchell gave a horrified cry. Robin bounced up from his spot and once again described the scene at the Mitchells’ place and how he’d discovered the son locked up by the father.

“He was terribly upset and worried about our safety,” Phillip added.

After some more discussion, the group decided that that young Mitchell could pay up his share and stay among them. A few people wanted to strip the Mitchell house down entirely, but Carne put a stop to that idea. “He needs a few sticks of furniture. But yes, both Mitchells will give over any earnings from their shipment work outside the Concern.”

“All of it?” the older Mitchell said, sounding pitiful rather than sinister. Perhaps he’d been broken at last.

“Every ha’penny,” Trennick said.

At the same instant, Phillip said, “They ought to be allowed to keep a bit.”

“Here, now. You’re no villager nor part of the Concern.” In his Sunday-best black suit and fiercest scowling face, the usually mild Trennick had to be angling for a position of power. God bless the man for taking on the job directing Par Gywnear’s business, but Carne couldn’t let that last statement pass.

“Professor Singleton”—Carne ignored Phillip’s whisper of “Not a professor any longer”—“was the one most injured by Gwalather’s nonsense. The professor’s belongings were destroyed, or close enough. He nearly lost his life. Don’t you forget that for an instant, Jermyn Trennick.”

Trennick held up a hand and gave a wide smile that showed the gaps in his back teeth. “Fine, we’ll take a vote to decide if the villains can retain a portion of their profits that they don’t deserve. We’ll do what it takes to keep the peace, eh? Shall we do a show of hands on this?”

“That’s right about time you recalled we’re a democracy hereabouts,” Bea called out. “Carne Treleaven, don’t let that upstart take over your job.”

Carne exaggerated putting a finger to the lips to get her to be quiet. “Hush, ma’am. He’s welcome to try to keep these ill-mannered pillocks in line.”

Trennick looked exasperated, but Bea flashed a small, quick grin at Carne, and he returned her smile, enormously relieved to have his old friend back. Her new paramour glared at him and put an arm around her shoulders and she obviously liked the possessive way he held her.

Carne felt a stab of longing. Not that he could touch Bea, but that he wouldn’t be able to embrace the person he fancied in any sort of public place. Ponder that, Carne, he thought. You’re making a tough decision.

Phillip tipped his head back and gave a glorious laugh about something Robin said to him, and Carne instantly understood the new path he took was well worth the hazards. Good thing, since his attraction to Phillip no longer felt like a choice but something imprinted in his marrow.

“Let’s get a move on,” Trennick said. “We need to decide what’s to be done with old Mitchell, Jacobs, and Gwalather.”

After some more discussion, it was decided to leave them in the possession of their ill-gotten gains to deliver and a pound or two at the most. They’d put them on a train to London. Catcalls and side discussions broke out.

Carne stopped paying close attention. The village wouldn’t kill them, and soon all this would be behind them. He had faith that Trennick, who did a fine job of listening to suggestions, would decide on a reasonable course. He woke from a reverie about what he’d do with Phillip, when Robin groaned loudly. No train trip for him after all. It was decided that the culprits would be banished and given a wagon—a battered wooden thing that belonged to Mavis, who’d be paid handsomely, of course.

Eventually, the three captives were bundled back into the small room along with some food and two buckets—one with water, one without. Carne felt a pang of sympathy for them, but that momentary weakness passed soon enough.

The meeting broke up, and he and Phillip began the walk back to his cottage. The wind had picked up again, carrying the usual tang of sea and seaweed. He didn’t usually notice that flavor, but today he’d decided life would change. He might abandon the sea and leave that scent behind.

Now, he thought. They were alone, and Phillip might leave, and Carne must speak at once.

“I love you.” He said each word carefully as they began to tramp across a field to his cottage.

“I beg your pardon?” Phillip’s steps slowed, and he hunched his shoulders into the wind that picked up again.

“I said that I love you.”

“Oh, dear me, no. No you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I feel. I bloody well love you.” Carne wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or snarl. “And I suspect you have feelings for me as well.”

“Perhaps but…” Phillip walked more quickly.

Carne had to jog after him. “Here now, slow down. It’s hurting my arm and head to go so quick.”

Phillip dropped back to a stroll. “Oh, Carne! Carne! I care about you. But love? Oh no.”