Trevennor’s Will, page 12
Chapter 9
The storm blew itself out before first light the next day. But not all folk stayed warm and snug in their beds for the duration. Cheated of his smuggling run, Gyver Pengelly had stayed up all night in the hope that the violent weather would give him other bounty from the ocean. He’d spent the time on the waterfront of Trevaunance Cove, lumbering back often to shelter in the lee of the rocks there. Now that things were calmer and there was a little tentative daylight, he scrambled up the cliff a short distance to Newdowns Head to scan the high seas, hoping for sight of a stricken vessel losing its fight for life. There was nothing to be seen but surging waves and hissing spray slamming the hazy outline of the rocks of St Agnes Head and thundering into Trevaunance Cove and Trevellas Porth a little way yonder.
Pengelly was bitterly cold and as hungry as a hunter. His unfortunate wife had failed to satisfy another of his appetites the day before and the beating he had given her for failing in her duty had not snapped him out of his ill temper. He had threatened to sell her to the highest bidder at the next market and the folk who had heard him bawling at her hoped he would do just that for the poor woman’s sake.
Pengelly was furious there was no ship offering good pickings out there. He pounded the cliff and made up his mind to steal a huge length of warm cloth from his next smuggling run and get his wife to make him up a coat for the colder nights he was abroad. When he got home he’d have the biggest breakfast ever and if she couldn’t make a better job of being a good and faithful wife, he’d beat her again and go over to Gwithian to see sweet little Nellie. If only a wreck would happen to come along this minute. He might even get a nice piece of cloth for a coat – but God help anyone who made a jest that he was giving into old age because of it.
He was suddenly out of patience. If there was a crippled ship, he would hear of it soon enough and his brutal nature would ensure he got the best pickings. He stamped a gigantic foot in temper and started for home. But he was peeved because if there was a wreck he liked to be the first to see it.
It was at that moment that Gyver Pengelly thought the kind of prayers he was wont to say were being answered. Lumbering into sight from Trevellas Porth, dipping and lurching in the trough of the waves, came a large two-masted ship, her sails tattered and in considerable peril. Pengelly laughed in pure happiness. The tide was running high and there was a reef of treacherous rocks under the waters before the beach was reached at Trevellas Porth. The ship would surely strike them and the plunder would be his! Pengelly watched in elation. He was too far away to hear the desperate shouts and screams of the crew on the ship, the tearing apart of the vessel itself. It had been fighting to stay afloat for some time and was moving inexorably onto the reef.
Before the rest of Trevaunance Cove woke up, Pengelly ran off to pull his brutalised wife out of her bed and make her fetch a barrow, and to wake up his smuggling cronies to help him in the work ahead.
* * *
Isabel lashed out with her elbow and the cry Nick let out woke them both. She turned round sharply to find him lying on his back, rubbing at his stomach.
‘What is it, Nick? What’s the matter? Are you in pain?’
‘You elbowed me in the guts,’ he moaned.
‘I’m very sorry,’ she said, pulling his hands away and rubbing her own in their place.
‘Stop,’ he groaned, with a different sort of pleading in his voice.
‘This will help.’
‘Isabel, will you please stop!’ Her hands were soft as they moved in light massaging movements on the outside of his shirt just above his breeches waistband. Nick caught hold of her wrists tightly and held her hands away from his body.
‘I’m sorry, was I hurting you?’ She wriggled to sit up and looked down on him, making out his twisted features in the crack of pale light that filtered through a window shutter. He kept hold of her wrists. ‘Nick?’
‘No,’ he replied huskily. ‘You weren’t hurting me, Isabel. I liked what you were doing too much.’
‘Oh!’ She prayed he could not see the flush of embarrassed colour washing over her face or sense the thrill shooting through her that she could affect him in such a way.
Nick wasn’t sure if she was aware how much she had aroused him. He lay still, breathing in slowly to gain control of himself, yet at the same time wanting her to make a move and fulfil his need. He had to speak to disguise his double agony. ‘What was wrong with you anyway to make you lash out like that? Did you think you saw the ghost of Annie Visick?’
‘No,’ and she shuddered at the memory, ‘it was not that. I had a nightmare about that Pengelly man.’ He let go of her wrists and lifted her hair back where it had fallen forward, hiding her face from him. ‘Don’t worry about Gyver Pengelly. I won’t let him or anyone else hurt you. Do you trust me now, Isabel?’
‘Yes, Nick,’ she replied softly.
They stayed silent, looking keenly at each other. He put his hands on either side of her face. Isabel wanted him to pull her close to him. He rubbed a thumb gently under her eye and she closed her lids. He took it to mean she had shut herself off from him and the moment he was hoping for was gone.
‘Might as well rest a little longer,’ he murmured, ‘then we’ll set out for Crantock.’
Isabel didn’t know he was as disappointed as she was and made to resume her previous position but he pulled her down and gently laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder and held her lightly. His body was firm, warm and alive. His chin rested on her head and he wound her hair round his fingers. How could she sleep now? She listened to the strong, sturdy sound of his heartbeat. After what seemed a timeless period but was only a moment she realized that a sound she had grown used to was missing. ‘Listen,’ she whispered.
‘What to?’ he whispered back, moving so his cheek rested against hers and she could feel the light stubble there.
‘The storm has gone, it’s all quiet. How quickly the weather changes.’ She had her hands clasped but moved one and laid the palm on his chest.
‘Aye, the storm eased off a while ago but the sea will still be riding high. I pity any vessel out there if it’s got into difficulties.’
‘Deadman’s Cove, the place where the coach went off the road, is very dangerous. Uncle Laurence called it the graveyard of ships.’
‘Him and many others. You surprise me with what you know,’ he teased, bringing his hand over hers. ‘The same’s true of the Stones, a reef of rocks off Godrevy Island, and Hell’s Mouth, and all round that area. The names speak for themselves. Many a ship’s foundered in my lifetime. ’Tis nearly as dangerous round this part of the coast too.’
‘I’ve heard some terrible stories about the deliberate wrecking of ships. Are they true, Nick?’
‘No, malicious slander most of ’em, but I can think of one man who’d have no conscience about carrying a lantern or lighting a bonfire to give false directions and lure a ship onto the rocks or strand it on a beach.’
‘You’re talking about Pengelly.’ Isabel gave a small shudder and Nick wrapped his arm tighter round her shoulders. He felt her hand move under his and he interlaced their fingers.
‘You can be certain he’s among the first in the rush to plunder a wreck clean, but the savage truth is that wrecks are so frequent in the winter there’s no need to do it purposely. Folk race to a wreck like a swarm of ants. A few to save and help any survivors, the rest to salvage. I’ve seen Revenue men, gentry, even clergymen picking over a wreck.’
After the harshness of the period since Nick had arrived at the scene of the coach crash, and now she had won his respect and friendship, it was idyllic being held in his arms, to be this close, enjoying a conversation. She wanted to live just for these moments, warm and safe. And she wanted to know all about Nick. Only hours before, she would have been glad to see the back of him for good. She would have remembered him as an uncouth, liberty-taking common oaf who had dealt with her grievously. Now she could stay this way for hours, for ever.
‘Have you ever picked over a wreck, Nick?’
‘Of course!’ Nick sounded astonished. ‘’Tis part of a Cornishman’s living, like free trading, to make use of what the sea is merciful enough to leave behind. Folk like Mundy need whatever they can get. I’ve brought in many a survivor. Sometimes you have to be quick and it’s risky, but not many will stand by and let another drown.’
‘You are brave,’ she said.
‘Am I now?’ he laughed. ‘I suppose I’ve been used as the answer to someone’s prayers. I suppose also I’m something of a bloody-minded cuss.’
‘Yes, you are rather,’ and she laughed too.
He moved and his unshaven cheek grazed hers. She made to dip her face away but he brought his hand up and held her chin. Their lips were so very close and Isabel closed her eyes. This time Nick did not misread her.
A sudden noise came, so loud, so unearthly, it froze their hearts. It lasted several seconds and left a threatening silence.
‘Wh-what was that?’ Isabel breathed.
Nick put a finger to her lips so he could listen. Another ear-splitting, gut-tightening sound sent him hurtling for the door.
‘My God, ’tis a ship on the rocks! We should never have been talking about it, it’s brought bad luck.’ Nick shot Isabel a harrowing look. ‘I’m going out to see if there’s anything I can do. Isabel, whatever you do, stay in the cottage because there’ll be wreckers. They won’t come up here. Get ready in case I bring back any survivors.’
He was gone and she shouted after him to be careful. It had happened so quickly she felt stunned. Gathering her wits, she opened a shutter a little way to let in some light then folded the blanket that was still warm from the closeness she’d shared with Nick. She placed it on the table in case it was needed.
She looked out of the window and saw a bleak scene outside – the two high bracken-strewn banks that sheltered the lonely little cottage, the path and stream that led to the sea and the vessel foundering upon it. Isabel tried not to think of the fear those on the ship must be facing. She could do nothing but wait for Nick to come back. Returning to the table, she sat with the outward appearance of calm born of years of training to act always as a lady.
* * *
Nick ran nimbly over the rocks that ran the course of the stream. The storm had swollen it until it reached the top of its banks, hurtling noisily over its pebbly bed, its stepping stones completely submerged. Visibility over the sea was poor, but Nick saw the tilted shell of the ship, its masts and sails missing, heaved by the tearing waters. His ears were filled with the appalling sound of timbers breaking as the ship was hurled again onto a tall outcrop of jagged cliff several hundred yards away from where he stood.
Instinct made Nick look up behind him and he saw a large group of people running along the path he and Isabel had taken the day before. Gyver Pengelly was unmistakably the front runner and his smuggling gang were hot on his giant heels. Nick knew his unfortunate wife, probably with two black eyes, would be plodding along somewhere behind with a huge barrow to take the plunder home in.
He scowled and scrambled down a high bank of rock onto the stretch of dull beach not yet covered by the tide and ran to the water’s edge where the waves were surging in. He could see bodies tossing about in the water. He looked wildly about but it was too dangerous to swim out to see if there were any survivors among them. Breaker after breaker swept in and snatched at everything in its path, bringing it closer to the shore and taking it back again.
White surging sea almost smothered the ship, its devouring tongues taking with it the mahogany timbers that were its cargo and tossing them about contemptuously like matchsticks. Pieces of ship were bitten off and tossed in all directions. The crew still left on the ship clung desperately to whatever would help them hold on to life for a little longer. But one by one they were being lost overboard.
Sometimes when the sea receded, Nick could see the low rocks that made up part of the beach, leaving momentary pools and exposing the places where he had gathered mussels and winkles as a boy. In some areas the rocks were only a few feet under the water and bodies were bobbing about over them among the wreckage. But then Nick thought he saw one of the men raise his head. Was someone alive out there? If he could make his way over those rocks and get to the bodies, relying on the surf to wash him back in if he got into any trouble, he might just be able to haul a survivor to safety. It would be a desperate thing to attempt, but a man could still be clinging to his life, like the few remaining screaming for help on the ship, and they were more desperate than he was.
The ship shuddered under the next onslaught of incoming tide. It righted itself then keeled over on its side seawards. Nick knew that men were being spilled out of its guts, howling in fear. It was a ghastly sight and Nick’s numb lips muttered words of prayer. He knew they stood no chance of survival on that side of the ship.
He had to take the risk and see if there were any survivors among the floating bodies. And he had to be quick about it; Gyver Pengelly would soon be on his back. He pulled off his boots and tossed them beyond the reach of the sea. He made his way into the surf, clambering and sliding on the ridged rocks under his feet, using all his strength against the water to get out into the sea. His hands were cut, his breeches ripped out at the knees, but soon he was half swimming through the waves. He had forgotten for the moment the responsibility Laurence Trevennor had given him.
He reached a huddle of floating bodies and snatching at their heads saw that all were dead. Another body was entangled in the legs of a dead companion and as Nick reached for the black sopping hair, the sailor lifted his head. Nick wiped the stinging salt water from his eyes and looked again to make sure they were not playing tricks. The exhausted sailor, who had been swimming for his life and had grabbed the other seaman’s legs to rest, stared at Nick in abject fear.
‘It’s all right!’ Nick shouted above the surge. ‘I’m come to help you! Give me your hand!’
Some Cornish folk held a belief that a stricken ship could not legally be called a wreck unless every living soul, fowl and beast on board were dead. It was not unknown for survivors to be murdered to accommodate that belief. The sailor looked doubtful but reckoned his best chance of survival was to trust this stranger. He raised a feeble hand and Nick clutched it. At the same moment a piece of flying timber narrowly missed the back of the sailor’s head and struck Nick in the face, cutting his cheek and showering both men with splinters. They both cried out and their hands parted.
Nick acted quickly. He pushed the dead body away from the survivor and grasped his shirt. A breaker hit them and tossed them several feet towards safety but their ordeal was not over yet. The undercurrent took them back almost as far but Nick still had much of his strength left and a good grip on the sailor. A broken piece of timber, about five feet in length, was floating near them and Nick grabbed it with his free hand. Manoeuvring it lengthways, he pulled his body over it. The sailor, who was showing no signs of panic, grappled in the water as they were tossed about until he put himself over Nick’s back. Nick waited for the next big wave and the two men rode the surf over the rocks until they were in shallower water. Nick thrust the timber out of their way, grabbed the sailor and pulled him along, gasping for breath, falling again and again, till at last they were safe.
They lay weak and sodden, staring out at the broken ship. A horrendous noise sounded the ship’s death knell. Nick and the sailor watched in a fascinated stupor as the remains were broken apart. Both men muttered snatches of desperate prayer and then, quite unashamedly, they wept.
Nick’s main concern now was to get the sailor back to the cottage before they found themselves among the wreckers. He coughed and spat out a mouthful of salt water and turned to the other man.
‘I don’t think we can help anyone else,’ he said hoarsely. ‘We have to get away from here. Wreckers are coming and there’s some among them I don’t trust. There’s a cottage not far from here. Do you think you can make it?’
The sailor was a man of Nick’s own age, not as tall and muscular but with a well-developed chest and arms telling of his years of hard labour at sea. There was a gold earring in each of his ears. ‘Aye,’ the sailor answered, panting heavily, ‘just give me a hand to get on me land legs.’
Nick was surprised at the sailor’s accent. ‘You’re a Cornishman! Were there other local men on board?’
‘Only me,’ the sailor answered. ‘’Tis why I didn’t panic. I know these parts well though I haven’t set a foot on ’em for several years. When the captain shouted, Every man for himself, I jumped overboard and let the tide bring me in. Was in the drink for ages and losing my breath when I grabbed a body, and when I looked up I couldn’t believe my eyes in seeing you there.’
Nick hauled the sailor up and shakily they started to climb the high bank of rock and head for the cottage, Nick retrieving his boots on the way. The sailor thrust out a hand. ‘My name’s James Leddra. I’m a St Ives man. I owe you my life. I’ve thanked the Almighty for sending you along to me today.’ Nick shook James Leddra’s hand as they strode along. ‘I thanked Him for sparing us both. Nick Nancarrow. Born and raised at Gwithian.’
They pushed on in silence, their weakened, bruised legs stumbling, each reaching out automatically to save the other from falling on the rocky ground. Nick glanced up and saw Gyver Pengelly had reached the cliff edge and was about to make his way down to them. Pengelly’s eyes were on the wreck and Nick hoped they would stay there.
He took James Leddra’s arm and pointed inland. ‘Run like a hare up that way. The wreckers will be down here any moment and ’tis better they don’t see you. You’ll come across a cottage. No one will go near it because ’tis reckoned to be haunted so you’ll be quite safe. You’ll find a girl in there, tell her Nick sent you and make sure she stays there till I get back. I’ll head off the wreckers so they won’t be looking your way.’
