‘And he definitely said Janey Moon,’ said Arthur, frowning.
‘Definitely.’
We were sitting in the churchyard. Well, Arthur was sitting; I was pacing up and down, desperate to get home to the inn and make sure my mother was all right. When I’d arrived at the vicarage, Arthur had been finishing up with his tutor, so I’d had to wait for him to put away his books before I could fill him in. And then it took me a frustratingly long time to get my words out. So now I was twitchy and anxious as he processed what I’d told him.
‘You couldn’t have misheard?’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘He said “Janey Moon”.’
‘But whatever could your mother have to do with what they’re planning?’
I took a breath. ‘The inn,’ I said. I’d had a lot of time to think about it all while I was waiting for Arthur to finish his schoolwork. ‘It’s why he wants to use the inn.’
‘But does he want to do?’
‘I don’t know.’ I was frustrated with how slow he was being, which was very unfair considering how patient he always was with me. ‘I must warn Mam.’
Arthur made a face, and I felt a rush of anger. Morgan had killed my father, and now he’d got my mother messed up in whatever awful thing he was doing and I was the only one who could help her. As close to mute and helpless as I was, I had to try. I clenched my fists, showing Arthur I was ready for a fight and he nodded, resigned.
‘Do you think it’s smuggling?’ he said.
I looked at him and nodded. ‘Must be.’ I sighed. I really wished it wasn’t, because since the authorities had clamped down on free trade, the stakes had got much higher. The penalties were imprisonment or death, and that meant the goods that were smuggled had to be worth the risk. But what else could it be?
Arthur looked round to where one of the churchwardens – not Mr Trewin, but another stout, red-faced gentleman who I knew by sight – was walking up the path. ‘We shouldn’t talk here,’ he said. ‘Shall we go to the inn?’
I nodded.
‘Come on,’ he said. Arthur took my package of meat, which had been out in the warmth for too long already, and together we set off towards the inn as fast as we could.
Inside, the inn was quiet. Mam was leaning against the wall, talking to Petroc, who was sitting at a table, a tankard of beer in front of him. Much to my surprise, he wasn’t the only customer – there were two other men, sitting by the window. I eyed them with suspicion. Morgan had said he could bring the drinkers back to The Ship, but I hadn’t believed him. It seemed he had a lot of clout.
Mam’s glazed eyes told me she’d already had a drink and she blinked at me as I walked by to put the meat into the cold pantry.
‘Where you been?’
I showed her the parcel and she nodded.
‘She’s a good girl, my Emily,’ I heard her say. I didn’t know if she was talking to Petroc, or Arthur, or herself.
When I came back into the bar, after putting the meat away, I gave Mam’s sleeve a tug and nodded my head towards the back of the inn.
‘What?’ she said, struggling to focus on me.
I tugged her again.
‘I can’t leave the customers,’ she said.
I raised an eyebrow. There were only four customers, including Petroc and Arthur.
Arthur got to his feet. ‘I’ll keep an eye on things, Mrs Moon.’
Mam looked annoyed and I supposed I couldn’t blame her. She didn’t want to be leaving the only drinkers we’d had for months. But with what seemed to be enormous effort, she slowly straightened up. ‘Come on then.’
We went upstairs, me in front and Mam behind, and into her bedroom. She sat on the bed and looked at me. ‘What?’
I took a deep breath, willing my voice to work. ‘Morgan,’ I began. Mam sighed in an over-exaggerated fashion.
‘What about him?’
‘He’s bad …’ I said. My throat was clenching and my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, but I was determined to carry on.
Mam tutted. ‘I know what he is,’ she said. ‘I know. But what choice do I have Emily Moon?’
‘Da,’ I managed to say. ‘Da wouldn’t want this.’
‘Well he should have thought of that before he went off to God knows where with God knows who,’ Mam said. She went to get up and, despairing, I pushed her back down on to the bed, gathered all my breath into my lungs and spoke.
‘Da is dead,’ I said.
Mam looked at me, her expression stricken.
‘What?’
‘Dead,’ I said again. My throat was closing up and even my breathing was shallower.
‘How do you know?’
I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
‘How do you know?’ Mam said again. She was crying now. ‘How do you know?’ She gripped my shoulders and shook me hard but I still couldn’t speak. ‘How do you know?’
Her aggression spent she slumped on to the bed.
‘He’s dead,’ she whimpered.
I sat down next to her and stroked her hair as she cried.
‘Are you sure?’ she said.
I nodded, but I still couldn’t speak.
Mam cried for a little while and then she sat up and wiped away her tears.
‘He didn’t take the dog,’ she said. ‘I knew he would have taken the dog.’
I nodded again. ‘M …’ I began but the word wouldn’t come out. ‘M …’
‘Morgan?’ said Mam. She looked different somehow. Her eyes were focusing and she looked more upright. More like her old self, I thought.
I took her hand. ‘M …’
‘I’ll tell Morgan not to come again,’ Mam said. ‘We’ll be right. Just you and me, Emily Moon. There’s drinkers downstairs today and where one comes, others will follow. Maybe I’ll speak to that farmer down the way, get us another pup. What do you think?’
I smiled, relieved that she’d listened to my worries, and she put her arm round me and kissed the top of my head. I forced myself to let her embrace me, trying not to wriggle away for once.
‘Come on, let’s see what that Arthur’s doing downstairs,’ she said.
Together we went downstairs. Arthur looked at me expectantly and I gave him a broad smile. It was all fine, I thought. We were going to be all right.
‘Another ale for you, Petroc?’ Mam said. Petroc grinned and held out his tankard and Mam swirled off to fetch it for him. I sat down in my favourite spot by the window and Arthur came to join me and we chatted quietly about nothing.
Gripping his tankard like a prize, Petroc wandered over to look out of the window, near where Arthur and I sat.
‘Looks like rain,’ Arthur said. ‘Again.’
‘It’s going to be a wild night. I’ve heard.’ Petroc looked at Arthur with a half-grin. ‘I’d get home as soon as you can and stay there.’
Arthur pulled his shoulders back and I felt a flush of pride in him as he looked Petroc in the eye. ‘I’m staying here for now,’ he said. ‘With Emily.’
‘You look out for her,’ Petroc said urgently. ‘Make sure you look after her.’
‘Of course,’ Arthur said. He looked at Petroc carefully. ‘You work for Morgan, do you?’
‘Aye,’ the man said. ‘Morgan and Mr Kirrin.’
I rolled my eyes. Everyone worked for Mr Kirrin.
‘What do you do? Something important no doubt?’
Oh Arthur was clever. He was using Petroc to find out what Morgan wanted with Mam. But surely Petroc wouldn’t fall for his flattery?
It seemed I was wrong because Petroc sat down on one of the tables near us, ignoring Mam’s tuts from the other side of the inn, and put his boots up on the chair. ‘Bit of this, bit of that,’ he said in a low tone. ‘Morgan’s a busy man and he’d struggle without me.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Arthur, looking impressed. He glanced at me, signalling with his eyes that he was at a loss about what else to ask. I tilted my head towards the cliffs outside the inn window, trying to remind him of the conversation I’d overheard the lean man have with Morgan, and he gave me a tiny nod.
‘Emily and I were thinking of going for a walk on the cliffs. But if the weather’s turned perhaps we’ll have to go tomorrow instead,’ he said. He grinned at Petroc, who was looking nervous suddenly.
The man shook his head fervently. ‘You most certainly should not,’ he said. ‘Not tomorrow, not ever. Not after dark.’
Arthur scoffed. ‘Why not?’
‘Because of the ghosts,’ the man said.
A chill went down my spine and I shivered. Petroc saw and turned to me. ‘You’re right to shiver, Emily Moon,’ he said. ‘Because the spirits are lively and they are lonely and they want company.’
There was a pause and Arthur and I looked at each other. I knew this man was talking rubbish, but just as with Mr Trewin in the church, it was hard to be rational when the inn was gloomy and the rain was lashing at the windows. I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders.
Arthur sat down on the table next to the man. ‘Tell me, Petroc. I’ve heard stories too. Of doomed lovers called …’
Petroc’s eyes widened. ‘Diggory and Theodora,’ he said in a hushed tone. I was almost impressed at his dramatics. Almost.
‘They walk the cliffs at night, looking for others to share their pain,’ he said. ‘You can see the lights from their lanterns.’
‘Emily’s seen them,’ Arthur said and I nodded. ‘She’s seen them and she was so afraid.’
‘She is right to be afraid,’ said Petroc. He reached out and gripped the top of Arthur’s arm. I could see his long fingers digging into Arthur’s coat. ‘Stay away from the cliffs, young man.’
Arthur nodded gravely. ‘You’re absolutely right, sir,’ he said. ‘We most certainly will stay away. Won’t we, Emily?’
I nodded too.
With a sudden smile, Petroc slid off the table and went to give his empty tankard to my mother. I watched as they chatted for a minute or so and then turned my attention back to Arthur. He was telling me about an apple tree he was growing in the garden of the vicarage. He’d attached a piece from one tree on to the root of another. It was very complicated and I was barely following his explanation but I liked seeing him so excited, and I was just happy to be there in the inn, with Mam chatting to Petroc and laughing – actually laughing – like old times.
And then Morgan arrived. He strode into the inn like he owned it, hanging his hat on the peg and nodding to Petroc.
‘Ale, Janey,’ he said.
In the corner, Arthur and I stiffened. Arthur fell silent, all apple trees forgotten. As one we both stood and went round to where Morgan stood looking at Mam. The way they were both bristling made me think of the farm cats I’d seen, hissing and arching their backs at each other.
‘Ale,’ Morgan said again.
‘Not today, Morgan,’ Mam said quietly. ‘Not today.’
Morgan took a step towards Mam and I thought suddenly and too late that he was not a man who liked to be told what to do. Why hadn’t I warned Mam how dangerous he was? Why hadn’t I told her to go somewhere else when he arrived? Not face up to him like this.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, not today. I’ll be seeing you.’ Mam nodded at him politely and turned away. A foolish move. Morgan reached out and grabbed her hair, pulling her towards him.
‘What did you say?’
Mam gasped in shock. So did I. Arthur took a step forward and I pulled his arm to stop him.
‘Ale,’ Morgan said. He let go of Mam’s hair and she righted herself and went to the barrel to pour him a drink. He drained it in just a few mouthfuls, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and then nodded at Mam again.
‘Come,’ he said.
Mam glanced at me. ‘Not today,’ she said again.
‘Mam …’ I croaked. But I couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t tell her that while of course I didn’t want this for her – while I wanted her to have nothing to do with this brutish, brutal man – I didn’t want her to stop it like this.
Morgan put his thick hand out and squeezed Mam’s arm. His meaty fingers dug into her flesh. ‘Come.’
Mam winced. Morgan squeezed harder. Petroc stood up. ‘Morgan,’ he said. ‘Don’t be this way …’
Before he could carry on, Morgan brought up his booted foot and landed it firmly in between poor Petroc’s legs. The smaller man reeled away, clutching himself, tears in his eyes. Beside me, Arthur winced in sympathy. Without speaking, the other drinkers both left their drinks on the table and hurried outside, keeping their faces turned away from Morgan, and making sure he knew they’d not seen a thing. Cowards, I thought bitterly.
Mam pulled away from Morgan but he hung on and then, as she turned to look at Petroc, he hit her across the face with the back of his other hand. Her head jerked back and I cried out in fear.
‘Come,’ he said again.
With her nose bleeding, Mam looked at me. ‘What choice do I have?’ she said.
She let Morgan lead her out of the room and upstairs, and I started to cry. Arthur went to Petroc, who stumbled to his feet.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. He slumped on to a chair.
Arthur and I stayed still, huddled in our corner, until we finally heard Morgan’s heavy tread coming down the stairs.
He plucked his hat from the peg and then turned to Arthur.
‘So you’re Arthur Pascoe?’ he said, looking him up and down. Arthur shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable, and gave me a questioning glance. I gave him a tiny shrug. I had no idea how Morgan knew who he was, or who his father was.
‘I know your da,’ Morgan said. He put his hat on his head and walked over to where Arthur and I sat. His boots left footprints on the clean floor. ‘I like him. He’s very obliging.’
‘I think you’re mistaken,’ Arthur said. I liked the way his voice was clear and strong, even though I could tell he was scared. ‘You must be mixing my father up with someone else.’
Morgan looked at me. ‘He thinks I’m getting mixed up,’ he said, flashing a smile. ‘Silly boy.’
Arthur had stood up and now Morgan slapped him on the back amiably but so hard that Arthur almost fell over. ‘Of course I know your da. Reverend Pascoe is a good friend of mine. We help each other out all the time.’
‘He’s a fine man,’ Arthur said firmly and Morgan hooted with laughter. The sound made me wince.
‘They always are, Arthur. They always are.’
He spun round on his heel, smearing more dirt into the floor. ‘If the daughter’s anything like the mother, you’re a lucky man,’ he said to Arthur. He grinned at me, with a gleam in his eye that made me shiver. ‘Very lucky.’ He blew me a kiss and headed outside.
I stayed stony still, my face on fire with shame. Arthur shuffled his feet. Then Petroc – who I’d forgotten all about – gave a small cough and carefully, painfully stood up.
‘Goodbye then,’ he said. ‘Stay away from the cliffs.’
He went out the way Morgan had gone. We heard his horse whinny and then the sound of hooves. Arthur came to me and wrapped his arms around me. It was the first time we’d ever been that close, but it felt so natural that I relaxed into his embrace. ‘Morgan is a bad brute,’ he said. ‘They are making up the ghost stories so everyone stays away and doesn’t bother them. And I think tomorrow night, we should hide on the clifftop and watch.’
‘Really?’ I whispered, scared about what we might find.
‘Really.’
I nodded. ‘We will find out what he is doing,’ I said. I winced as a muffled moan came from upstairs. ‘But first, I must look after my mother.’