Although they had continued to walk, Jemima couldn’t forget the forbidding line of soldiers moving toward the small fishing port of Padstow. It seemed that Harriett and Eliza were equally disturbed by the sight they had just witnessed.
“Hugo,” Harriett hesitated to ask the man anything, but wanted answers before they moved too far away from her house. “When they sweep through the village, will they do any damage?”
“They are under instructions to check every house thoroughly. Unfortunately, that will include your house, but the captain -” he glanced at Harriett, wondering if she knew he had been speaking to the captain a moment earlier, “the captain is under strict instructions to ensure that any damage caused by their forced entry into your house is repaired and the house secured before they leave it. He knows and understands he will be severely reprimanded if he doesn’t ensure it is done.” His voice left everyone without doubt that he meant every word.
Jemima felt sorry for the captain, and hoped he succeeded in his mission.
“Do you think they will catch the person who has been following us?” Jemima asked after several moments of silence.
Hugo smiled at her. “Oh, most definitely. He will be rounded up and questioned along with everyone else.”
“He?” Harriett’s voice was sharp as she stared at Hugo. Realising everyone was staring at her, she flicked Jemima a quick smile before turning toward Hugo. It took a lot of effort to appear relaxed and mildly curious about his answer. “What makes you think it is a man?”
“Because no woman would be hiding in bushes,” Peter replied. Although he had nothing against Jemima’s friend, there was something about the woman that warned him that she wasn’t being totally honest with them.
He wondered if Jemima had realised. One glance at the thoughtful look on her face assured him that Jemima was also suspicious.
Mentally applauding her for not allowing her logic to be tainted by old friendships, Peter clasped her hand tightly in his and lengthened his stride, silently urging the group onward. He suddenly had a burning desire to get the trip over and done with before something went wrong.
Clearly visible further around the coast, he could see the stark outline of the ruins of Tintagel castle. He wanted to hurry even more but, in deference to the ladies’ shorter stride, slowed his pace to walk more patiently alongside them.
He could sense the tension in Hugo, and knew the man wanted to go back and join his men. He smothered a smirk as Hugo shot Harriett a dark glare that included Harrold, and sympathised with him. As a man who had lost his heart many months ago, he wanted to advise Hugo that he couldn’t outrun his emotions; they would catch up with him.
“Look, we can carry on by ourselves. I assume you have arranged for some transportation for us in Tintagel?” Peter stopped walking and saw the brief flicker of relief Hugo tried to hide.
“There is a carriage due to arrive around eleven o’clock. The driver is under instruction to take you directly to Willowbrook and only stop to change horses. Two Redcoats will be riding on the box seat to give you more protection.”
He was interrupted by Harriett, who lifted a hand to interrupt.
“What do you mean, not stop until we get to Willowbrook? I’m not going to Willowbrook,” she objected. “I’m going home.”
“You have to come with us,” Peter argued gently, trying hard not to lose patience. He couldn’t believe the ease in which everything had happened. If he was inclined to be a suspicious man, he would be tempted to think that it had almost been too easy to get out of Padstow, literally under Scraggan’s nose, unchallenged.
“I don’t have to go anywhere or do anything,” Harriett reminded him, her temper rising.
“When he is arrested, Scraggan is going to be angry and looking for someone to blame Harriett. His men are going to be desperate to get away from that lot,” he nodded backward in the direction of the Redcoats. “Do you really want to be stuck in your home, alone, without protection, with a vengeful Scraggan, and a desperate gang of smugglers on the loose?”
Harriett’s stomach churned at the thought of being at home alone, when the Redcoats came calling, but was torn by the need to be at home in case she was needed. But she realised that, even if she was at home, there was little she could do to help now. It was far too late for everyone concerned.
“Where is Willowbrook anyway?” Harriett asked, carefully considering the options available to her.
“Oxfordshire,” Eliza replied softly, watching in consternation as Harriett stared at her, nonplussed.
“Nobody is going to be around to protect you if you stay in Padstow, Harriett,” Jemima stated boldly, knowing from the look in Harriett’s eye that she was still considering going back.
“I’ll be in my home, where I want to be. Please believe me when I say that I don’t mean to cause anyone any offence; I just don’t want to leave Padstow and venture so far.” Although nobody said anything, Harriett felt their suspicion and felt she needed to explain her reluctance to leave Padstow behind. For the first time, she felt a distance between herself and Eliza and Jemima, and wondered if their friendship was as strong as she had once thought it was.
Their lives had gone in opposite directions since the simpler days of their youth. The events that had happened to each of them had changed them all, turning them into the people who now stood on a windswept cliff top on the outskirts of Tintagel.
Jemima glanced at Peter, stuck for a way to convince Harriett to come with them.
“Thank you for taking the time to come and reassure me that you are indeed alive and well.” Harriett was torn. She had to protect her life in Padstow, but also felt driven to try to close the chasm that had opened up between her and her only friends. She moved forward to clasp her friends’ hands in hers. “It is wonderful to see you again, and I know you will go forward into the future with a heart full of love. You deserve nothing less.”
“What about you, Harriett? What if Scraggan takes a chance and drops by to seek vengeance before he is arrested?” Jemima asked, staring down at their clasped hands. She felt the instinctive jerk of slender fingers in hers and knew she had struck home.
“You need to come to Willowbrook, if only for a short while. Hugo and his men will clear the area, and rid Padstow of the lawlessness that has plagued it for the last several months. Give yourself a chance at future happiness, and come with us,” Eliza added, sensing Harriett’s hesitation.
A strong gust of chill wind swept over them, teasing the edges of their cloaks and reminding everyone of the urgency of their situation. Sensing Harriett’s hesitation, Peter stepped forward.
“Hugo, why don’t you go and rejoin your men? We can meet up with the carriage and make our own way back to Willowbrook. Edward and I are both armed, so can deal with any challenges thrown our way.” He knew his suggestion would be accepted by the sheer relief that was visible on Hugo’s face.
“If you are sure ...” Hugo began, torn between his responsibility to his men and his duty toward Jemima and her small entourage.
“I’m sure,” Jemima said, meeting Hugo’s questioning gaze with calm reassurance.
“The next couple of days will be arduous,” Hugo warned, his voice heavily laced with apology. “But the sooner you are out of the area, the safer you will be. Please forgive me for abandoning you so abruptly, but I really do need to check on my men.”
“Go!” Jemima ordered with a soft smile, pushing him in the direction of the village they had just left.
Without hesitation, he spun on his heel and left the party alone. They watched him disappear over the horizon before turning toward Harriet, who was still standing with them. By forcing Hugo to leave, they had effectively made Harriett’s decision for her. Unless she was prepared to argue her way through a solid line of Redcoats, she now had no choice but to go to Willowbrook with them.
“Thank you,” Peter whispered to her, knowing she was fully aware of what they had just done.
“For what?” Harriett replied, confused.
“For giving yourself a chance.” With that he turned around, held a hand out for Jemima and resumed the journey to Tintagel.
Harriett followed hesitantly, aware that Edward and Eliza had fallen in behind her, probably to stop her turning around and running after Hugo.
By the time they reached the rough stone path running along the cliff tops close to Tintagel, a thick sea mist had crept inland, encasing everything in its thick fog of confusion.
“This is the last thing the Redcoats need,” Edward announced with a baleful glance at the white sky.
“It will be here for a while by the feel of it,” Harriett said. Nobody thought to question her.
“We only have to go round the coast and take the pathway down to the estuary, which we can follow inland to Tintagel,” Edward announced from the back of the ground, aware of the despondency that had settled over the group just as the mist had settled around them.
Nobody bothered to reply to him. They were all wet with dewy moisture and could barely see the path in front of them.
The stiff breeze blowing inland had turned considerably colder, leaving them all exhausted, frozen and soaking wet. There was very little anyone could find that was positive in their situation.
“What’s that?” Harriett gasped, drawing to a halt and staring into the mist behind her.
“What?” Jemima whispered, moving closer to Harriett and trying to peer through the gloom. She couldn’t see anything, but strained her ears to listen for anything beyond the crashing of the waves of the rocks far beneath them.
After several minutes, Peter shook his head. “I can’t hear anything,” he said, turning away and tugging Jemima with him, clearly expecting Harriett to catch up.
“Wait!” The urgency in Harriett’s voice was not lost on anyone.
From his place at the back of the group, Edward tried to peer through the fog toward Peter, his own senses suddenly warning him that danger was imminent.
A swift flurry of movement behind him alerted him to the danger – but it was too late. The thud of the large object that hit the back of his head was heard even through the low howl of the increasing winds.
Edward hit the ground with a dull thud. His body was dragged away from the group and vanished into the thick fog.
“Edward?” Eliza tried to peer through the gloom for signs of him. “Edward!” she screamed, when he didn’t immediately respond. They had all heard the heavy thud. “Oh God, Peter,” Eliza gasped, wondering if Edward had fallen off the cliff. She moved to stand where Edward had been, desperately trying to see through the gloom for any sign of him.
All sorts of thoughts flickered through her mind as she began to search the area, her hands held out before her as she tried to find him.
“Edward, answer me!” Her heart pounded heavily in her chest. Edward wouldn’t simply vanish; he wouldn’t leave her. Where could he be? She took several steps forward and was abruptly swallowed by the thick fog.
“Eliza?” Harriett called, her voice rising in panic. She too had heard the thud and wondered what had happened to Edward to make him ignore Eliza’s pleas.
She had no doubt that Edward had fallen victim to something. Or someone. She jumped as Harrold began to growl and hiss in her arms. His yellow gaze fixed on the swirling fog behind them.
“Eliza?” Peter and Jemima appeared beside her. Harriett threw them a panicked look when Eliza didn’t reply.
“Eliza!” Jemima shouted, her voice deadened by the heavy mist. “Edward, talk to us!” Jemima shouted. “Where are you?”
“Oh God, Peter,” Jemima whispered in horror moments later when neither Edward or Eliza had reappeared.
“Edward, answer me! Eliza, where are you?” Peter’s voice rang loudly through the fog. They paused and waited for any response but could detect nothing. Peter slowly withdrew his gun.
Every hair on Jemima’s neck stood on end. She hated to keep leaning on Peter’s shoulder, but was spooked by the sudden disappearance of two of the most precious people in her life.
She almost screamed when Peter grasped her wrist fiercely, his other hand motioning frantically for her to remain quiet. He gestured to Harriett to come closer to them, and put himself in front of both women, and studied the mist surrounding the path Eliza and Edward had just been standing on.
For Edward not to answer, something was very wrong.
They were out of options. They couldn’t go forward because they were missing two people and couldn’t leave without them. Nor could they go back and leave Eliza and Edward to their fate, whatever that might be. At the moment all he had to go on was a gut instinct that was still screaming at him: that danger was imminent.
His thoughts quickly turned to Hugo. Had he really returned to Padstow? Or had he doubled back, planning to strike while they were isolated on the perilously slippery cliff path? Peter cursed his stupidity in not questioning Hugo further after the cart accident.
Harriett was shivering, her eyes filled with terror as they flicked around, desperately trying to see through the haze.
Jemima studied her friend and tried hard not to be affected by her fear, but felt sick with terror. Although she had lived in Cornwall for many years, she had never grown used to the thick sea fog, which had a tendency to appear unannounced, rolling inland ominously in an impenetrable wall of mist that immediately sucked all warmth out of the day, and turned the skies a forbidding grey. She could feel moisture on her face, although it wasn’t raining. The rocks beneath their feet had already turned wet and slippery and intensely dangerous. Had Edward and Eliza merely slipped off the path?
“Well, well, well, look who we have here.” The eerie voice came out of nowhere, making them all jump. “If it isn’t Jemima Trevelisk, and Lord Harlec. I saw you last night at the inn, and couldn’t believe my eyes!”
Peter froze, and closed his eyes for a brief moment, mentally cursing his luck. He knew that this was the person behind Edward and Eliza’s disappearance.
“Scraggan,” Harriett whispered, her eyes filled with horror as she stared at the darkening shadow emerge from the swirling mist.
“Unless I am mistaken, you should have been hanged in Derby a while back; what went wrong?” Scraggan’s voice was conversational, but lost none of its sinister edge. He clearly didn’t want an answer. “I guess that’s what happens when you send someone else to do a job for you.”
Jemima jumped, and stared in horror at the outline of the small, wiry man barely visible through the gloom. Peter’s hand briefly encircled Jemima’s. He could feel her fingers trembling and silently willed her to stay calm and trust him to keep her safe.
“It’s about time you showed your face Scraggan,” Peter grumbled, wishing he could slide his arm around Jemima and reassure her, but he daren’t take his eyes off the man before him.
For someone so small, he certainly managed to cause a lot of destruction in people’s lives, Peter mused cynically, eyeing the stick-thin legs of the much shorter man. Height for height, Peter outclassed him. Weight for weight, there was no competition. Despite the physical advantages, Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about facing down Scraggan.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the older man announced evilly, eyeing them all with contempt.
“How did you get through the Redcoats?” Peter asked, thinking of the long, impenetrable line of soldiers that had waited for them to leave Padstow before closing ranks.
“Ha! Redcoats! That idiot bunch are useless. I knew something was happening when word got to us that they were gathering in Bodmin,” Scraggan boasted proudly. “My men were ahead of them and told me where they were camped. They also told me you were still alive and were in Little Petherick, Jemima.”
Jemima flinched, and knew he was telling the truth. The small hairs crept up on her neck as she realised that they had been watched since their arrival.
“We watched you go to the witch’s house,” Scraggan boasted, turning to nod at the small cliff path not far behind him. “Didn’t take much to see which way you were going, and follow by boat. Rowed straight out of the harbour, we did. Right out from under the Redcoat’s noses, and they didn’t suspect a thing.” Scraggan’s voice was laced with satisfaction.
Peter couldn’t see the cliff path through the mist, but had no doubt it was there. He knew there was no other way Scraggan could have found a way past the Redcoats. He cursed his luck, and made a mental note to remind Hugo to watch out for such things on future operations. Right now though, he had bigger problems.
Peter watched Scraggan saunter toward them. Despite the slippery rocks beneath his feet, the smuggler’s tread was as steady as a mountain goat’s, warning Peter that, should it turn into a physical fight, Scraggan would have the advantage.
“Where are the others?” Peter demanded, staring at the smaller man.
“They’re safe,” Scraggan replied defensively. “I’m not a murderer.”
“No,” Peter agreed, in a tone that was anything but agreeable. “You prefer to get everyone else to do your dirty work for you, don’t you Scraggan?”
Scraggan turned hard eyes on first Peter, then Jemima, smiling when she looked away, clearly scared. “Obviously, I have relied on the wrong people to do a proper job.” He sighed loudly. “It looks like I am going to have to my own dirty work this time.”
Releasing his hold on Jemima, Peter put himself between his love and the imminent threat to her life.
“Aaah, isn’t that cute,” Scraggan snarled, “he’s showing some bravery.”
“Who the hell are you talking to, Scraggan? There is nobody here to listen to you. If you are trying to unnerve us, you are going to have to do better than that.”
Scraggan snorted. “It’s about time we came face to face, Davenport,” he said, drawing to a stop a few feet away; close enough to pose a threat if he decided to lunge at them, but far enough away to be out of Peter’s reach if he decided to throw a punch.
“So, what do you want with us Scraggan? You will get nothing from either Jemima or me, I can promise you that,” Peter announced.
With the fog shrouding them from watchful eyes, Peter knew that everyone’s survival depended upon the next few minutes.
“It’s payback time,” Scraggan snarled, his small, beady eyes almost feral as they glared at Peter. “Did you really think you could evade me?”
“I’m not trying to evade you Scraggan, I’m not frightened of you.” Peter’s voice was full of arrogant dismissal, and to emphasise his point he slowly trailed his condescending gaze from Scraggan’s wild grey hair to the tips of his grubby boots.
“You are the kind of man who enjoys terrorising women,” Peter snapped. “It isn’t brave to chase after a woman, Scraggan. Even you must have enough intelligence to realise that. You aren’t worth bothering with. Without your men, who are undoubtedly busy right now going to Bodmin, you are nothing. Nobody.” He knew that last remark had hit its mark when Scraggan immediately drew himself up to his full height, flicking Jemima a brief look of contempt before seemingly dismissing her as being of little interest.
“I’m not after the bitch, you fool! I never have been. Although, with the trouble she has caused, I should have murdered her the first time I clapped eyes on her,” Scraggan spat with such finality that Peter paused.
“What?” Jemima gasped, unsure she had heard him correctly. She glanced questioningly at Peter. Despite her fear of him, Jemima had to ask. “You weren’t after me?”
“You have no idea, do you?” Scraggan asked, ignoring her and studying Peter closely. He seemed to find this extremely funny.
It wasn’t his hilarity that unnerved Jemima, but the suddenness with which it stopped. One moment, he was laughing almost maniacally, the next he was glaring in cold contempt.
“It’s you I want, Peter Davenport. You owe me,” Scraggan stated flatly, clearly expecting Peter to pay up there and then.
“WHAT?” Peter asked, shaking his head in consternation as he held his hands out. “What the bloody hell do you want from me?”
“You murdered my family,” Scraggan accused, his own voice rising in temper. “My father, both of my brothers, four of my uncles, and destroyed everything we had worked so hard for.” His cold black eyes glared maliciously at Peter. “I want revenge. I want you to suffer. I want you to lose everyone around you whom you hold dear,” he ranted, his voice trembling with fury.
“I haven’t murdered anyone,” Peter argued, wondering if the man was mad.
“Oh, so you call Norfolk justice, do you?”
Peter froze, realising what was behind Scraggan’s hatred. He already knew that Scraggan had been the man who had evaded capture in Norfolk. The man the Star Elite had eventually tracked to Padstow, and had been watching ever since. Clearly, the smuggling gang Dominic and Peter had been sent to Norfolk to capture, were all members of Scraggan’s family.
“You’re smugglers, Scraggan; you cannot expect to commit crimes without being punished at some point in your lives,” Peter reasoned, knowing from the look on Scraggan’s face that he wasn’t listening. “It’s a risk that comes with your – lifestyle. The only person to blame for your loss is yourself, and your family for committing the crimes in the first place,” Peter went on.
“So it’s all right for you to come along and destroy my life, as long as you can go back to your posh estate, with your bitch, and get on with your lives? Well, not while I am around,” Scraggan snarled.
“I was just doing my job,” Peter stated coldly, refusing to bargain with the man.
He was aware that Jemima, standing so quietly beside him, was shaking, whether through cold or fear of Scraggan he couldn’t be sure, but he had to get her, and the others - wherever they were - off the cliffs.
“Well, I’m going to finish you, just like I should have done back in Norfolk,” Scraggan boasted. “I saw the broadsheets heralding the murders of the smuggling gang you broke up. My smuggling gang! My family! You and Dominic Cavendish were national heroes for a while there, but you forgot one thing.” Scraggan thumped his chest heavily. “Me.”
“You were smuggling illegal goods into the country and local people were turning up dead!” Peter argued, refusing to allow Scraggan to justify his depraved behaviour.
“I have never worked out of Norfolk,” Scraggan replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
“But you were there -” Peter shook his head, wondering what Scraggan was trying to do. Was he distracting them while he waited for someone else to arrive?
“It wasn’t me, it was my son, Rogan. I left the gang to start up on my own further down the coast. Although we were two separate gangs, we worked together most of the time; that is, until you and Dominic Cavendish showed up. My son watched you and your men murder his uncles; his family. He has never been the same since.” There was a small tinge of loss in his voice that, for one infinitesimal moment, made him sound more human.
“That’s my fault? Your family being brought to justice for murder and smuggling is unfair is it? You should have gone down with them Scraggan. Where were you, by the way? Oh, I know, you were running away to protect yourself.” Peter knew he shouldn’t antagonise the man, but the memory of what he had done to Jemima burned through his veins like molten lava, driving him to irritate Scraggan and, he hoped, make him do something rash. Anything to give him a reason to lift his gun and remove the man from all of their lives.
He wanted to, but he wasn’t a murderer. As much as he hated the man, he wasn’t going to resort to cold-bloodedly shooting an unarmed man. Especially in front of Jemima. He wasn’t going to lower himself to being a murderer, and risk losing her respect, or her love. If he had been on his own, he wouldn’t of hesitated.
If he was completely honest, a part of him wanted to see Scraggan swing from the gallows. He wanted the man to suffer the same fear and misery he had subjected Jemima to in Derby. He wanted Scraggan to spend time in a condemned cell, knowing there was no way out. Peter wanted Scraggan’s final moments to be at the end of a hangman’s noose, knowing that justice had won.
“Strange how you survived, wasn’t it, Scraggan? If you were so close to your family and working together, why did they die and you survive if you didn’t run?” Peter goaded, ignoring Jemima’s warning look.
“I wasn’t there. I had left a few weeks earlier to work for one of the small gangs in Cornwall. They were rumoured to have better goods, fetching a higher price. Perfect for what I needed. It didn’t take much to work my magic and, before long, I had everyone eating out of my hand.” Scraggan’s puffed out his chest, clearly proud of his achievements.
“Hardly that, now, was it Scraggan? You bullied people, murdered those who didn’t want to cooperate, and stole from anyone and everyone who tried to hold out against you. You were ruthless.”
The smaller man shrugged unconcernedly. “They didn’t have my intelligence,” he spat.
“You threatened them with death. That’s hardly intelligent, is it?” Peter snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t decide if the man was incredibly arrogant, or incredibly stupid.
“It worked. I made my fortune. I read the broadsheets detailing what you’d done to my family, and had to sit and wait for Rogan to come to me. I didn’t know whether he was dead or alive for days, and had to carry on as though nothing had happened.” His thin face scrunched up as he stared out toward the sea. “You should know all about that.”
Peter swore inwardly, refusing to betray any emotion and give the small man the satisfaction.
“It was easy to set the bitch up,” Scraggan’s voice dropped to a contemptuous whisper, his hard gaze sweeping over Jemima from head to foot. “She was so worried for that brainless sister of hers that she fell for our claim that we had Eliza, hook, line and sinker. She arrived at our meeting place as instructed, just in time to hold the evidence.”
“She didn’t really have much of a choice, did she?” Peter snarled. “She didn’t deserve what you put her through.”
“She is your whore. We watched you chase after her like a dog after a bitch in heat. You care about her. It’s not nice to be helpless and unable to protect those you care about, is it?”
Peter was determined not to allow him to control the conversation. This was probably the only time he would have a conversation with Scraggan, and he wanted answers.
“So you and Rogan were running one gang, and the rest of your family running another nearby. You then left and set up your operation in Cornwall, and allowed Rogan to join you when the gang he was running met with justice. You both ran the gangs here in Cornwall until Jemima’s father lifted his head above the parapet, and started asking too many questions. You know he took vital information about you to the War Office,” Peter smiled to himself as Scraggan shot a startled look at him, “and were determined that he shouldn’t make a return journey. You slaughtered him before he got home, and were worried that the ladies also had information on you; that’s why they had to be killed, wasn’t it?” Peter didn’t wait for Scraggan’s answer. Ignoring the smaller man’s impatient shuffling, he continued to muse as though in deep thought. “Of course, you hadn’t realised they would be so clever as to evade you for nigh on twelve months.”
Scraggan interrupted, the words practically bursting from him. Clearly the man was an egotist.
“We weren’t trying to kill them, we just needed to know what information they had and didn’t realise they were connected to you until we saw you together in Devon. Then it all fell into place and I knew just how you were going to pay.”
Peter frowned, and stared thoughtfully at the man before him. He let the silence stretch out, knowing that Scraggan wouldn’t be able to prevent himself from boasting further about his crimes.
Sure enough, he soon broke the silence.
“At first I ordered the men to arrange your riding accident. I’d hoped you’d suffer more injuries, but it wasn’t enough. We watched you for long enough to know she meant a lot to you. It didn’t take much to make our presence known to her at her aunt’s house and get her running. We knew you would give chase.” Scraggan sniggered, clearly proud of his ability to scare people.
“We knew where you both were, right up to the day she got a job in Derby. My men were better than yours and tracked her all the way inland. They were under instruction to sit and wait, and if she appeared in public they were to make their presence felt. It worked because you couldn’t find her, could you, Peter? You practically overturned every stone, searched every house, and you hadn’t got a bloody clue where she was. Every time you got too close, my men appeared and frightened her back indoors. It was all very clever, really.”
“But why put so much manpower into keeping her in Derby? I mean, you knew she hadn’t got any valuable information on her, so why not return to Cornwall and get on with your life?”
“Because that bloody idiot’s uncle messed things up when we paid him to kill your sister. You deserve to suffer,” Scraggan snarled.
Peter froze, and stared coldly at the man before him. He tried to keep the shock from his face. “Rupert?”
“Aye, that’s him. I paid him and that strange friend of his a high price to kill your sister, but they got greedy and didn’t think I would mind.”
Peter held up a hand as he tried to absorb the latest revelation. “Isobel,” he repeated dully, wondering if Scraggan was just taking a stab in the dark and was trying to claim another family near miss as his own, just to try to twist the knife.
“Would have killed two birds with one stone if Rupert and his friend had done what they were supposed to and killed the woman who was not only Dominic Cavendish’s wife, but your sister as well.”
“You paid Rupert to murder his niece!” Peter’s stomach churned at the devastation that had swept through the family. “Were you also behind the men who beat up Dominic that night?”
Scraggan smiled gleefully and thumped his chest. “Yes, they were mine! They were told not to kill him, just make him suffer. I didn’t want him dead. I wanted him alive to spend the rest of his days grieving for the woman he had watched die. I traded Rupert and DeLisle seats on a frigate out of Cornwall for her death.”
Peter fought the urge to curse. “You picked the wrong people to help you with those two, Scraggan,” he said, stunned to learn just how deeply Scraggan’s malice ran.
He was disturbed by the sheer evil now standing before him, and wondered if there was going to be a way out of this after all. He daren’t tear his gaze away from Scraggan and check on Jemima, although he was painfully aware that she had yet to speak. Since Scraggan’s appearance on the path behind them, she hadn’t moved a muscle.
“What about Sebastian? Were you behind his attempted murder too?”
Scraggan studied him carefully for a moment but regretfully shook his head. “No, I thought about it, but someone else beat me to it. It seems that you and the Cavendish mob have more than your fair share of enemies who want you dead. I didn’t need to do a thing on that one, although I did have a chuckle when I read the broadsheet the next week telling us about the near-death experience of his woman.”
Peter knew he had to be careful and not antagonise Scraggan until he was ready. “You have been busy. But why chase after Eliza with so much determination? I mean, you had the pick of the two of them, so why follow her?”
“Because, the longer the sisters stayed in hiding, the more I realised that they held something on us and wanted to keep it a secret. Someone in the village has been telling tales about us and I need to know who. When Eliza ran, we sent men after her to try and get the information off her, but unfortunately the men failed at first, so I sent Rogan up to Derby to oversee the running of the operation. He told me that he ordered the men not to kill her but just follow to see why she was heading to Padstow. I was waiting in Padstow to question her personally, only she changed her mind and went to Derby to try and save her sister instead.”
“It’s a lot of effort to go to in order to find out if someone has any information on you. You must have been up to a lot, to be so worried.”
“I’m not worried; I just don’t like leaving loose ends, and I should have dealt with these two the first time they stepped out of their house just after their father died.” Scraggan’s voice was filled with remorse at his lack of foresight.
Still struggling with the information Scraggan had given him, Peter was an instant too late and watched in horror as Scraggan lunged forward. The smaller man was sure-footed on the slippery stones, yanking heavily on the loose folds of Jemima’s cloak and unbalancing her.
Peter grabbed at her but clutched at thin air as Jemima was dragged swiftly toward the edge of the cliff. Scraggan turned to glance back at Peter tauntingly.
Jemima screamed and clung to Scraggan’s thin wrist as he pushed her closer to the edge. She glanced down and cried out at the sight of the white froth as it hit the jagged rocks below.
“I think everyone should get a second chance, don’t you? Seeing as my men failed to do a proper job the first time round, I think I had better make certain the job is done right.” His voice was evil as he pushed Jemima toward the edge.
She struggled to find purchase with her feet on the slippery rocks. If Scraggan let her go, she would fall to her death. She lifted panicked eyes to Peter, silently pleading for help, only to freeze as his next words shattered her world.
“Do your worst, Scraggan,” Peter snarled, shooting Jemima a dispassionate look. It took every ounce of bravado he possessed to utter the words. Inside he was tied in knots at the sight of the woman he loved being held over a deathly drop, but there was nothing he could do. If Scraggan let go, Peter would never reach her in time to stop her falling to her death.
He knew it was a gamble, but Peter’s only option was to do the exact opposite of what Scraggan wanted, at least until Jemima was safe.
“She’s nothing to me,” Peter snorted, shaking out the wet folds of his great coat as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He used the movement to quickly cock his gun, wondering if he could get a clear enough shot to hit the man between the eyes. First, though, he had to wait until Jemima was in a less precarious position.
“She’s your bitch,” Scraggan accused, giving Jemima a shake and making her scream again as she slipped on the wet rock.
“She’s served her purpose,” Peter said. “You forgot one thing, though, Scraggan,” he went on, fighting hard to put amusement in his voice. “I work for the government. I couldn’t believe my luck when she came to me in Devon holding vital documents that detailed all of your activities. The Salty Susan, Anna Maria, Sara Jane.” He watched Scraggan’s eyes widen as Peter listed some of Scraggan’s most coveted prizes. “She carried the dates, times, your contacts, the spies. She had so much information there was no way you would evade trial and certain death. She showed me the papers and begged for my help. She was going to tell me more, only you went and spooked her.” He shook his head chidingly, knowing if he had any chance of getting Scraggan to let her go, he had to give the performance of his life.
“She got scared and ran. Of course I slept with her; after all she is passably pretty and didn’t have a protector, and I’m a red-blooded male. You would do the same, wouldn’t you? Of course, I knew the importance of the papers she held and had to get them back, so I went after her. It wasn’t her I was interested in at all. Just the bloody papers the stupid bitch refused to give me.”
He couldn’t bear to look at Jemima. There was too great a risk that he would give the game away if he acknowledged the silent tears streaming steadily down a face so stark with betrayal that he wanted to gather her into his arms and offer her his soul in exchange for her forgiveness for uttering such a cruel lie.
He could only hope to God that she gave him the chance to explain everything when this was over.
Jemima listened to Peter’s words, seeing the events of the past few months unfold before her with new eyes. She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid, so blind to the real motives behind his apparent interest in her.
But now she thought about it, things made a horrible kind of sense. She felt sick at her own stupidity and stared in horror at the man she loved to distraction as he spoke the words that broke her heart. Over the past few months she had wondered why someone like Peter would be interested in her. Now she knew.
Peter could sense Scraggan’s hesitation, but knew he wasn’t entirely convinced yet. There was a very real possibility that he would just let Jemima go anyway, so she would plunge to her death on the rocks below, but Peter could see no other choice. He couldn’t get a clear shot at Scraggan; Jemima was in the way.
Peter shifted a little, aware that Scraggan was studying him closely. “Think about it. I am wealthy and titled. Do you really think I would chase a woman, who was only a servant, halfway across the bloody country just to bed her? Ha! I could have any woman I wanted who is my equal. Married or not, with money of their own, far more beautiful than her,” and he waved a hand dismissively toward Jemima. “It wasn’t her I was after, but the papers she carried that the government needed.”
Peter sent a prayer heavenwards that he would receive forgiveness for causing her so much distress. Her gasp of pain wrenched at his heart, but there was little he could do.
He stamped his feet to regain some feeling in his chilled toes, ostensibly unconcerned by the fact that Jemima was hanging perilously close to death over the edge of a cliff.
“So, if she doesn’t mean anything to you, why did you try to save her in Derby?” Scraggan asked, squinting suspiciously at Peter.
“Because we knew she and her sister had more on you. We were right. Not only were they carrying papers on them, but more were in their house in a hidden cupboard.” He ignored Jemima’s gasp and continued, knowing Scraggan was hooked by the intent look on his face. “We had to persuade them to come back to Padstow and retrieve the papers, which are now with Hugo.”
“Hugo?”
Peter heaved a sigh of relief, and studied the suspicion still on Scraggan’s face with a flurry of satisfaction. He had no doubt that the smuggler hadn’t a clue who Hugo was and felt mollified that the man had been honest with them after all.
“A man who works for the War Office,” Peter replied, seeing no reason why he should lie. “Needless to say, now that we have the papers, I have promised to escort the ladies home, where they are now free to get on with their lives. You have bigger problems, though,” he declared flatly, when Scraggan appeared lost in thought, seemingly oblivious to Jemima’s weeping.
Determined not to give up, Peter continued. “Redcoats are sweeping through Padstow as we speak, arresting your men. It appears that the Salty Susan has decided to break anchor and make a run for it,” Peter nodded out to sea toward the looming shadow of the small cutter sailing at full mast down the estuary.
Scraggan cursed fluidly, his attention momentarily distracted.
It was all Peter needed.
Taking two huge steps forward, he grabbed a handful of Jemima’s cloak and wrenched her roughly away from the cliff, releasing her as soon as she was safe. He heard a heavy thump as she hit the ground with a startled cry, but was too busy seeking vengeance.
Peter briefly considered just shooting Scraggan, but Jemima’s weeping echoed in his ears, and he needed to slake his thirst for vengeance.
He didn’t wait for Scraggan to move away from the cliff edge and drew back his fist, landing it with stunning accuracy. All the pain, heartache, worry and fear that had dogged his every waking moment for the past year drove his fist home.
The loud crunch as Scraggan’s nose broke brought Peter little satisfaction, as he sought to extract his retribution.
From her position on the ground, Jemima watched as Peter and Scraggan traded blows. Although Peter was bigger and heavier, Scraggan was smaller and able to duck lower, avoiding many of the fists Peter rained down on him with fancy footwork.
She was unsure what to do or where to go for help, when she became aware that the fog had started to lift and she could see more of the coastal path and the surrounding area.
“Over here,” Harriett whispered, tugging on Jemima’s elbow.
Brushing tears out of her eyes, Jemima pushed to her feet and, through the haze, spotted Eliza, sitting on the ground next to Edward a short distance down the path. They had both clearly heard everything that had been discussed.
Edward’s eyes were burning with fury, Eliza’s full of gentle sympathy.
Jemima stumbled across the uneven surface and quickly began to remove their bindings. She would have to deal with Peter’s revelations later, but right now getting everyone off the cliff alive and in one piece was more important.
“You all go to the post masters office as instructed, and wait for us there. I’ll help Peter,” Edward said, giving the ladies a rough push onward.
“Go!” he ordered roughly when they made no attempt to follow orders and simply stared at the men still grappling on the cliff top.
Grunts, snorts and the sounds of flesh meeting flesh were the only sounds that could be heard above the roar of the surf as it snapped hungrily at the bottom of the cliff, waiting for its prey to arrive.
The ladies held hands and stood together, going nowhere until they knew that Scraggan had been overpowered.
“Are you all right?” Eliza whispered, studying the paleness of her sister’s cheeks with concern.
“I’ll have to be, won’t I?” Jemima replied, offering the other ladies a brave smile that did little to reassure either of them. “Are you? What happened?” She asked Eliza quietly.
“Scraggan knocked Edward out with something, then tied him up.” She hastened to reassure Jemima when she gasped in horror. “I was just overpowered. He’s small,” she nodded toward Scraggan, “but strong.”
“He didn’t mean it, you know,” Eliza said after several moments of silence.
“Yes, he did,” Jemima argued. “I can’t believe I was so stupid as to believe that he came after me because he cared for me.”
“Give him a chance to explain,” Harriett suggested, sharing a glance with Eliza. Although she had known Peter for only a couple of hours, his affection for Jemima had been clear to see. She didn’t know much about the human heart, and romance, but she knew that if a man looked at her the same way that Peter looked at Jemima, she would believe it was love.
“You heard him. We all did. It all fits now,” Jemima sniffed. “He was after the information I carried.”
“I don’t believe it,” Eliza argued. “He was bluffing. Trying to reduce your importance in his life so Scraggan’s wouldn’t kill you.”
Jemima shook her head, unable to think. Although the fog around them had begun to lift, the fog deep in her head was still there, blocking out all sensible thought.
“Jemima, I was there when Peter returned from the gaol on the night they tried to save you from the gallows. I also saw the state he was in the day after when he was grieving for you. He was drinking to the point of unconsciousness to try to avoid the pain your death caused him.”
Jemima hadn’t been there, and had little to go on. Events had happened so fast since that day that she had barely had the time to think, much less ask anyone about what happened while she had been unconscious.
“He was grieving for someone he cares about very deeply, Jemima. You don’t feel the kind of pain he did for someone you considered a source of information or who you could bed for a while,” Eliza shook her head slowly, a knowing look on her face. “Whatever he was up to, you need to give him a chance to explain.”
While she had been talking, she had not removed her gaze from the two men still wrestling.
“Oh God, is that a gun?” Harriett gasped, catching sight of the brief flash of metal held between Peter and Scraggans hands. They watched in horror as Scraggan managed to wrench it out of Peter’s hand. It pointed at Peter’s head for a brief moment, only for Peter to slam Scraggan’s wrist painfully down on a jagged rock. Scraggan cried out in pain and immediately released the weapon, dropping it over the cliff.
Jemima ignored Edward’s glare when he glanced back, furious to discover they had ignored his orders and chosen to remain in danger. He shot them a warning look before turning to the fighting men.
They were too close to the cliff edge for Edward to wrench them apart. If any one of them lost their balance, they could all go over.
He wanted to shout encouragement, but knew this wasn’t a boxing match. This was very real, and very deadly.
With little opportunity to do anything else, Edward stood back and watched, ready to pounce forward if Peter moved too close to the edge. As far as he was concerned, Scraggan could drop to his death, but Peter wasn’t going to die today.
Blows were traded, and blood flowed. The fighting was raw and brutal. Peter was awash with wave after wave of pain that was as furious as the waves below them.
Eventually tiredness began to affect both of them. Briefly Peter wondered if they should just take their chances and roll over the edge. The person surviving when they hit the waves was the winner, but his inherent sense of fairness demanded that Scraggan not find an easy way out; not after the misery he had caused everyone. He deserved to go to the gallows.
With most of his anger now subsided, Peter placed one large hand on the wiry man’s throat, watching dispassionately as he began to gasp for air.
For one brief moment their eyes met. Scraggan’s gaze filled with fear as he realised that he was at the mercy of a stronger man. A man who could kill him if he so chose.
“Enough,” Peter growled when Scraggan’s face turned puce, and his eyes began to roll. “You won’t die today.”
Hauling himself upright, he grabbed the gasping man by the front of his shirt dragging him off the ground. Drawing back one large fist, he landed a final blow with a satisfying crunch before releasing his hold.
He stood, bent over at the waist, and stared at the unconscious man at his feet for several moments.
“You alright?” Edward asked, eying Peter’s bloodied face with concern before he flipped Scraggan over and tied his wrists behind his back with the same ties Scraggan had used on him.
Peter stood upright, every part of him aching. He watched as Eliza and Harriett rushed toward them. Eliza threw herself at Edward, who swept her into his arms and murmured reassurances into her hair. Harriett held the remaining strap and handed it to Peter who took some small comfort from gagging Scraggan. He had heard enough from the smuggler to last him a lifetime.
It wasn’t lost on anyone that Jemima hadn’t approached, but had remained alone staring out to sea.
Peter was soaking wet from lying on the wet stones, frozen from the cold mist, and was bruised from head to foot, but none of that mattered as much as the desolate vision Jemima made standing by herself on the windswept cliff-top, her cloak billowing out behind her as she stared blankly out at the vast expanse of ocean.
Peter slowly walked toward her, knowing he had a lot of explaining to do. He knew from the way she held herself, that she was deeply distressed. Her arms were folded across her waist, as though helping to hold her upright. Although she wasn’t crying, there was a desolation in her eyes that was deeper than anything he had seen before.
He looked for the right words but came up empty.
The importance of getting her to understand, to believe him, was simply too much for his battered mind to deal with.
With a sigh of frustration at his own inadequacies, Peter stalked the last few paces to stand before her, unsurprised when she didn’t acknowledge him. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t speak past the fear in his throat.
The silence lengthened between them for several moments, until Peter couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Jemima,” he whispered, trying to find the right words. “I love you,” he whispered.
He mentally cursed at the solemn look she gave him. He could cope with her shouting and ranting at him, but the silent hurt was harder to bear.
She didn’t return the declaration, just looked at him, doubt clearly written in her eyes.
“We had better go,” she whispered, moving back up the path to the others.
“Jemima, please? Listen to me,” Peter asked, cursing when she ignored him and walked away.
“What will we do with him?” Jemima asked, glaring down at a now conscious, if dazed Scraggan when she drew close. It helped her to focus on something other than the feelings churning inside her.
“We need to take him to Padstow and hand him over to the Redcoats. You ladies can go to Tintagel and wait in the carriage while Peter and I take him. There is no sense in you traipsing back to Padstow unnecessarily.” Edward didn’t add that Jemima didn’t look as though she could make it across the cliff path, let alone cover the several miles to Tintagel.
“I’m going back to Padstow. Given all the misery and suffering he has caused, I want to see him behind bars. If that’s on the back of a prisoners’ cart on his way to Bodmin, then so be it.” Her voice was flat and emotionless as she stared down at Scraggan before dismissing him with an indelicate snort of contempt.
At that moment she couldn’t really think of anything. Her mind just wouldn’t form thoughts. Eliza’s cautionary words that she needed to listen to Peter’s explanation before she judged him, came flooding back to her, and she accepted the wisdom behind them. But they were mingled with Peter’s cruel confirmation of the real reason why he had chased after her when she had left Devon all those months ago. Every word he had spoken had fitted so many boxes for her, that she couldn’t really see any other explanation. She longed to cry out in denial, to beat his chest, and bruise him some more but something held her back. Some inner part of her simply refused to accept what she had heard with her own ears. Surely she couldn’t have been that wrong about him. She wasn’t sure what to believe.
She needed some time to think and, if walking to Padstow meant people would leave her alone with her thoughts, then she would walk to Padstow.
She didn’t wait to see Edward haul Scraggan to his feet by his shirt and push him roughly in front of him. Jemima was already walking some distance away, head down, clearly lost in thought and not wanting to talk to anyone.
Eliza glanced sympathetically at Peter and offered him a small smile. “Don’t worry, she’ll listen to you, just give her some time.” Although she tried to be positive, she had never seen this side of her sister before, and it scared her.
Had her ordeal in Derby Gaol changed her so much? Eliza had also been near-death in much the same way as Jemima had; being rescued at the very last moment before death snatched her into its ruthless grasp. But Jemima’s ordeal had been tainted by her hellish experience in the condemned cell, and thinking she was going to be hanged. The cruelty of it wasn’t lost on her, and she was worried about the long-term damage it had done to Jemima, who was usually so gentle and kind-hearted.
“I lied,” Peter assured her, his eyes meeting Eliza’s. “I followed her from Devon for no other reason than I loved her from the second I laid eyes on her in the dining room.”
“Then you need to tell her, but would you take a word of advice?” She lifted a brow at him in query, her eyes telling him that he would be a fool not to listen. “Let her have some time to herself, then speak to her later when we are safely tucked up in a tavern, with no threat from Scraggan. Get him out of your lives once and for all, and then explain everything. Leave no stone unturned, no truth hidden.” She threw him a cautionary look. “If you don’t, you will most certainly lose her.” With that, she quickened her pace to catch up with Edward, who was shoving Scraggan ahead of him with a little too much enthusiasm.
Peter watched her go, and caught the sympathetic smile Harriett gave him as she too increased her pace to walk beside Edward and Eliza.
Briefly Peter wondered where Harold was, before the feline stalked haughtily past, his tail flicking angrily before he ran to catch up with his mistress. Clearly the moggy wanted to go home too.
With a deep sigh, Peter wearily followed. He too had a lot of thinking to do, mainly about how to keep the woman he loved from leaving him and taking his heart with her.