Rory's Fortune Page 8

  ‘Aye…yes, I feel much better.’ He was very surprised that he could say this for he didn’t feel sick any more. ‘What time do you think it is?’

  ‘Round six o’clock.’

  ‘Six o’clock in the morning?’

  ‘Well, it isn’t six o’clock in the evening, boy, that’s for sure; another hour and the sun’ll be coming up. But we want to get in before that.’

  ‘Where we going?’ For the first time Rory pointedly asked the question that had been filling his mind, and was given the answer immediately.

  ‘Jersey.’

  ‘Jersey! Jersey? That’s an island, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s an island, boy.’

  ‘What are you going to do there?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll know soon enough; don’t get too curious. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, that’s the best policy.’

  Practically the same advice that his master had given him; but it was difficult advice to take when you were being thrust into the middle of something that didn’t seem altogether above board. When business was above board you didn’t travel by night, especially on the water. Were they going to smuggle something? Oh no. He dismissed the idea. Mr Cornwallis would have no hand in shady business like smuggling ever; he’d stake his life on that. Then what was it all about?

  ‘Ah, the wind’s veering a bit.’

  Rory could feel no difference himself but Ben’s sniffing nose seemed to be acting as a weather vane for, ‘North now,’ he said; ‘and if she gets round to north-east we must watch it. It could blow us towards Rouge Nez and Grosnez Points; but, once beyond Grosnez, and if she keeps north she’ll blow us kindly down to Bouley Bay.’

  ‘Is that where we’re bound for, this Bowerly Bay?’

  ‘Yes, boy, that’s where we’re bound for, Bowerly Bay.’

  Ben’s mimicking of his pronunciation made him press his lips together and turn his head away.

  It was an hour later when, with excitement in his voice, Ben called to Rory, saying, ‘Stand up, boy, and look there!’ And Rory stood up and, following Ben’s pointing finger, saw rising out of the sea great patches of colour, purples, browns, reds and golds, and as he looked the sun, rising behind him, spread over the colours like the light from a thousand lamps and brought them alive and glowing; glowing with such an intensity that Rory found his breath catching in his throat.

  ‘Bouley Bay.’

  Rory did not turn and look at Ben, but kept his eyes on the great cliffs rising from the sea and, gently shading, as if with a golden hand, the bay itself. He was still gazing fascinated at the sight when the picture slewed away to the right of him and he turned quickly and looked at Ben and asked, ‘You’re not going in there then?’

  ‘Not in the actual bay, boy. See that jut of rock sticking out. There’s a pier there; it’s for the fishermen, the oyster catchers. They might take us for poachers, and that wouldn’t do at all, might set the gun battery on us.’ Ben chuckled.

  ‘Gun battery!’

  Ben laughed outright now. ‘Don’t look so scared, boy. But at the same time don’t think the beautiful island is peopled by saints who live in peace; it’s not eighty years since they had to defend themselves against Highlanders who landed on that very beach.’

  ‘Highlanders from England, I mean Scotland?’

  ‘Aye, Scottish Highlanders from England. Oh, they’ve had their troubles here; for the size of it the island’s had more trouble than a monkey in a vat of molasses…But now get to the tiller or we’ll be on the rocks, and May won’t like that, will she?’

  May? He was referring to Miss Bluett as May! As he gripped the tiller Rory looked closely at the man who was dressed like a servant but didn’t act like one; anyway, certainly not towards the mistress of St Helier’s House.

  ‘Now do exactly as I say, do you hear?’ Ben’s voice had changed, its tone was a command now. ‘Keep her dead straight until I say hard a’port, left, you know left, then take her over as far as she’ll go, understand?’

  Rory did not answer but nodded his head, and now Ben almost barked at him, ‘Speak, boy! Answer aye or nay; you can’t hear a nod of the head in the dark.’

  It was on the tip of Rory’s tongue to say, ‘But it isn’t dark now,’ but he realised there was sense in what Ben was saying, and so somewhat grudgingly he said, ‘Aye.’

  ‘Hard over left, sharp.’

  As the boat swung halfway round, Rory glanced in apprehension at the rock jutting above the water. They had missed it by no more than a foot or so. Lord! His wits became sharp; his eyes were fixed on Ben, who with an oar in his hand was pushing it against the rocks as if he were punting.

  ‘Keep her sailing. A bit to the left…That’s it, just like that…Now over to starboard…right! Right, boy! Take her gently now, hold her there.’

  Rory realised that he was sweating. The boat was now beating swiftly through a passage lined with rocks; then of a sudden he felt it being dragged to a slow stop and, looking over the side, saw that they were in shallow water with golden sand not three feet from the water line.

  ‘There now.’ Rory looked up into Ben’s grinning face. ‘We’ve made it. Not bad, boy, not bad, seeing it’s the first time you’ve had your feet wet. Think you’ll like the sea?’

  ‘No! No. I can’t ever see meself liking it.’

  Ben gave a deep chuckle, then tousled Rory’s hair and, his voice changing, he said, ‘You’re a good boy.’ Then as he turned away he muttered, ‘It’s a pity.’

  What was a pity in being a good lad…boy?

  ‘Benny! Benny!’

  They both turned and saw a figure springing lightly down the heather-clad rock that sloped steeply up from the small sandy bay. Ben, his face alight, called back, ‘Hi there, Lawrence!’ Jumping out of the boat, he ran forward to meet the man, and they shook hands warmly. They both came towards the boat now and Ben, his voice gay, shouted, ‘Come on, boy, unless you’re going to sail her back on your own. Jump in, the water’s warmer here.’

  When Rory dropped into the water, which he had to admit was considerably warmer than that into which he had stepped last night, but nevertheless had a chill about it, the small thickset man, who stood at the water’s lapping edge, did what everyone else had done since he had left his own part of the country, he looked him up and down. Then he turned to Ben and asked, ‘John? What’s happened to John?’

  ‘Hurt his back, Lawrence. Bad, I understand. This is his boy, not his son, but a good boy, he mentioned him to me on his last trip. His name’s Rory.’

  ‘Well, if John says he’s good, then he’s good. Welcome, Rory.’ The man held out his hand, and Rory took it and liked what he saw. The man could have been taken for a native of Northumberland, that is if he hadn’t opened his mouth, for although he spoke English he was definitely a foreigner by the way he pronounced his words.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ he said now; ‘Let’s get this up’—he looked towards the boat—‘and then make for home.’

  After they had beached the boat Ben said, ‘How did you know we were here? I saw no-one on the pier.’

  ‘Oh, I was gathering vraic with Jean and Frederick around the next bay, I recognised her.’ He thumbed back to the boat.

  ‘Jean and Frederick?’ Ben’s voice was quiet as he repeated the names, and Lawrence put in quickly on a laugh, ‘Oh, don’t worry about them, they’d put false bottoms in their breeches.’ At this both men laughed while Rory looked from one to the other; then turning to him, Ben said, ‘It’s a joke. They used to build ships on the island with false bottoms for smuggling. It’s a joke you see.’

  ‘Oh aye.’ Rory nodded, but didn’t smile, he couldn’t see any joke.

  Then they began to climb a rocky slope so steep that he needed all his wind to keep going. The two men were well ahead of him and when eventually he reached the top they looked at him and laughed, but didn’t immediately move on; and he stood to the side of them gaping in amazement down onto the bay lying cupped between two great rock
y hills. The one he had just climbed, and stretching away both to the right and to the left of him, were filigreed rocks edging sandy bays which ran into the blue sea, and everywhere he looked there was colour, great patches of colour, not so bright as it had looked with the first rays of the sun on it, but bright, warmly bright now.

  When the man Lawrence laughed and spoke rapidly in French Ben turned to Rory and said, ‘He says you look mesmerised.’

  ‘It’s very bonny.’

  ‘Ver-ray bon-ney,’ repeated Lawrence; ‘I agree it is, ver-ray, ver-ray bon-ney. Aren’t you ver-ray hungry?’

  ‘Aye, yes, I am a bit.’ Here was another one making game. They should listen to themselves.

  ‘That’ll soon be put right.’ Ben dug him in the ribs with his elbow. ‘Wait till you see your breakfast.’

  It was an hour later when Rory finished his breakfast and thought, I’ll never feel fuller. He had got through a bowl of porridge and thick cream, a plate of fried belly pork and crisp potatoes, and four slices of bread cut from the biggest loaf he had ever seen.

  He sat back now and looked to where Ben and Lawrence were in deep conversation, then he tried to keep his gaze away from the very old woman who sat staring, unblinking, at him. She was Lawrence’s mother, he understood; she wore a black wool dress and a black bonnet with a white full underneath; she was toothless and kept champing her lips.

  There were two other women in the kitchen: one was Lawrence’s wife; the other was his daughter. These two women, unlike the old one, looked merry and had chatted all the time they were serving the meal, and to Rory’s discomfort they had laughed heartily when Ben described his amazement on seeing the cows tethered like goats and with blankets over their backs; which had been nothing, he said, to when he had seen the ten feet tall cabbages and goggled until his eyeballs had nearly dropped out.

  In a way, he liked Ben, but he’d like him better if he didn’t take the rise out of him.

  The old woman now joined in the men’s muted conversation and Rory sat back in his chair and looked about him. His eyes travelled upwards. There was a wooden rack like a double clothes horse hanging above the table, and on it were laid loaves and jars and bottles, and herbs hung in bunches from the bottom of it.

  Next to a tall grandfather clock at the end of the room a blackbird twitted shrilly as it hopped about its cage. He didn’t like that, not to see a blackbird caged. Years ago when he was small he had been in a house where they had a linnet in a cage, and he had sneaked up and let it out. But the poor thing had nearly dashed itself to bits in its freedom, for it was blind. It had had its eyes poked out in order that it should sing better. He remembered he had cried that night and was sick over the bed.

  The kitchen wasn’t like any farmhouse kitchen he had ever seen, nor for that matter was the house or farm. The cabbages they grew might be whoppers but the fields they grew them in were nothing more than patches compared to those back home. Yet everything about the little farm looked solid, he had never seen a house with walls so thick. He looked towards where the big open fireplace, with its angled spit, was let into the wall and was admiring the fancy ironwork on the spit support when he almost bolted out of the chair as the old grandmother suddenly gripped his arm and spoke to him rapidly in her own tongue.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Ben laughing; ‘she’s only asking how old you are, and if you have a mother and father, brothers and sisters.’

  Rory nodded at Ben now, saying, ‘Aye, I’ve got a mother and father and five brothers and sisters, an’ I’ll…be sixteen this time next week.’

  It was Lawrence who interpreted this to the old woman, and she now nodded brightly at Rory and to his further embarrassment touched his cheeks as she again spoke to him.

  ‘She says you’ve got a fine face, you’ll make a fine man,’ said Ben, still laughing. Then he added, ‘No need to bow your head, boy; you know how you look yourself. Well now—’ Ben pushed his chair back from the table and, addressing Lawrence, said, ‘I’m for bed Lawrence; I’m dead on me feet and there’s another long night afore us. I’ll leave everything to you then?’

  ‘Yes, Ben, as usual leave everything to me, it’s all in order. It’s a long time since we had so much blue baccy…’

  As soon as Lawrence had used these last two words he turned quickly and looked towards Rory; then Ben said quietly, ‘It’s all right, he knows nothing as yet, but he’ll have to because May recruited him.’

  ‘So soon?’ Lawrence was staring at Ben, and Ben said, ‘So soon.’

  ‘She is not good, that May.’

  ‘Ssh! Ssh!’ Ben turned away, then added, ‘Come, boy; you slept I know, but it’s ten to one you’ve got a wakeful night before you, the weather doesn’t look too easy, so get all the rest you can.’ He turned to Lawrence now, saying, ‘The same room, Lawrence?’ and Lawrence replied, ‘The same room, Ben.’

  Rory followed Ben along a stone passage up a narrow steep winding staircase. The bedrooms opened one into the other and the room they finally entered was small and from the middle of the ceiling the roof sloped steeply down, which told Rory this was the end of the house. A bed with a winged headboard stood in the middle of the room.

  ‘There.’ Ben pointed. ‘Get your clothes off and tumble in.’

  Rory had the urge to say ‘I’m not a bit tired, I’d like to go out and look round,’ for he had come to the conclusion that this island was indeed bonny and he’d like to see more of it; but he guessed rightly that he wouldn’t be allowed to go out on his own. You didn’t come sneaking into a cove then flaunt yourself to all the inhabitants. He wished he knew what they were talking about half the time; there was something very fishy about this whole business. Yet those people downstairs were nice, he could swear they were nice; everyone he had met since he had left the North had been nice, except that Miss Bluett and her brother. But even he on his own was all right, and Ben had evidently liked him, and called him Alex…But what was this blue baccy? And why was it so important that they had come for it by night? Well, he was going to find out, and now, this minute.

  It was as if Ben had read his thoughts, and he actually started as Ben, climbing onto the high bed, said, ‘Now don’t start firing questions at me because they’ll be like peas hitting an iron plate, they’ll just come back at you. I’m dead beat, boy, so climb yourself in and take my advice and sleep, for if you don’t, this time tonight you’ll wish you had. Hear that wind, it’s a gentle north-easter now but it’ll veer and be a raging one by tonight, or I’m much mistaken, so get tucked in and sleep.’

  Grimly Rory climbed up into the bed and into a wallow of feathers, which comfort, he told himself, under other circumstances would have knocked him clean off to sleep, but not now, for he wasn’t tired.

  He lay with his hands behind his head, his mind going round and round the problem—blue baccy. What was it? A special kind of baccy that had been discovered? No. No; that was daft, all kinds of baccy were brown or black, blue baccy…blue baccy…He didn’t remember drifting off to sleep.

  He awoke slowly. He stretched and turned over onto his face then blew some feather down from his lips, and, his head hanging half over the edge of the bed, he became conscious of being wonderfully rested and feeling that he wanted to stay like this forever. There was a murmur of voices going on somewhere but it did not disturb him in any way; in fact it began to act as a lullaby might and send him once more off into sleep…When his head came up with a jerk and his eyes opened wide he knew something in the murmuring had disturbed him.

  He looked about him. It was still daylight, high daylight; the sun was coming at a slant through the little window in the sloping roof. What time would it be, one o’clock or so? He turned his head now and looked across the bed. Ben wasn’t there. He hadn’t heard him get up, but now it was his voice he knew he was listening to coming from the other room.

  He looked towards the open door not far from the foot of the bed; then he hitched himself towards the middle of the bed. Now he could
see into the room. Two figures were bending over something on a small table and he knew instinctively that whatever they had come to the island for was on that table. The thing that was called by the two words, the words that had brought him wide awake out of sleep, was on that table.

  Slowly he lowered his legs over the side of the bed and slipped to the floor; then he moved towards the open doorway. Before he reached it, however, he stopped when he heard Lawrence’s voice say, ‘It was a job to get them all into the two, and it was a pity that it had to be broken, it was so bonny.’ He gave a little laugh and Ben’s voice answered, ‘It would have been broken in any case, wouldn’t it? This is the biggest yet. Surely this’ll satisfy her.’

  Again there came the laugh from Lawrence, but with no vestige of merriment in it now as he said, ‘Nothing will satisfy May. She’s got this in her blood now; and with it power, power over so many. It was all supposed to be for when Philip comes back, to make it up to him, but the way she’s going, and the greed of her, if she’s not careful she mayn’t be here to meet him when he comes back. And that would be irony, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Irony indeed, Lawrence. And I’ve been in a similar mind over the affair meself many a time of late.’

  ‘Where’s this lot for, do you know?’

  ‘John’s way. It’s safer; that’s why she sent for him.’

  ‘Poor John! He must have been in a sweat. If he hadn’t sent the boy she wouldn’t have believed he was ill, and he’d have been lying there, wondering…wondering. Do you think she would have carried out her threat?’

  There was a pause before Ben spoke; then, his voice slow, he said, ‘I haven’t a doubt of it, Lawrence. And he would have been transported to start his twenty-five years about the time Philip was coming back.’

  ‘Aye, it’s hard to think, Ben, she’s of my own blood, although distant. And this boy; he’ll have to be let into the know.’