The Smuggler’s Daughter. Kerry Barrett

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       I wrote most of this book in lockdown, so it is dedicated to my children’s teachers, with massive respect and gratitude.

       Chapter 1

       Emily

      Cornwall, Spring 1799

      I put my hands over my ears and pushed my palms hard into my scalp, trying to block out the sound of the argument. I hated shouting at the best of times, but tonight my parents were louder than ever. They were making no attempt to keep it quiet – normally I heard whispered barbs and hissed insults but tonight it was full-blown screaming. From my mother, at least.

      ‘He will starve us out,’ she was shouting. ‘He’s warned us, and I don’t doubt he means it. We’ll go hungry, Amos.’

      ‘It won’t come to that,’ my father said. He was a calm man most of the time but his temper had been short lately, and tonight I heard a tremor in his voice that I’d never heard before. ‘He’ll get bored and go away.’

      ‘He’ll only go away when we give him what he wants,’ my mother screeched. ‘And if we don’t give it to him, he’ll take it.’

      Something smashed and I cowered under the blanket. I didn’t understand what they were arguing about. I only knew they’d been fighting like this for days and days. Weeks, even. I didn’t know who they were talking about, nor why my mother sounded so frightened. It wasn’t like her at all. She was always smiling, my mam. Or at least she had been until recently. Da always said that most of the drinkers at The Ship came to see Mam, serving drinks and keeping the customers happy, not to drink his ale.

      ‘Your father had this inn, Amos Moon, and his father before him,’ my mother said, sounding defeated. ‘I don’t understand why you want to give it away.’

      ‘I don’t,’ Da said. ‘I want it to be a home for you and Emily.’

      ‘Then let him use it.’ Mam was hissing now, her voice sounding urgent and high-pitched. ‘It’s just once. No one will know.’

      ‘It won’t be just once,’ Da said. ‘If we let him in, he’ll keep coming. He’ll take more and more liberties, and it’ll be me who hangs for it.’

      I huddled in my bed. What did Da mean? Why would he hang? I wished I could run to him and ask him what was going on. Da was the only person who took time to explain things to me properly. Mam did her best, but she was always busy, laughing and chatting with the drinkers in the bar. It was Da who spared the time to talk. He knew that I didn’t always understand the world. That I couldn’t always follow a conversation, that I misunderstood some phrases or took things too literally. I sometimes wondered if he felt the same way – not as strongly as me, but enough that he understood the troubles I had – and that was why he preferred to spend time in the cellar, or with his kegs of ale, while Mam dealt with the drinkers and the entertainers.

      ‘It’s not right,’ Da was saying. ‘How can we be a part of that?’

      ‘God’s teeth,’ my mother shrieked. ‘You and your principles, Amos Moon. Those morals of yours will see us starve to death, you’ll see.’

      ‘Janey, calm yourself.’

      ‘Calm myself?’

      I heard the clink of a bottle as my mother poured herself a drink. She’d never been bothered by the riches on offer at the inn before. Da said she was as full of fun without the grog inside her, as any man who’d taken a drink. But lately, she’d been helping herself more and more. Her face was more frowns than smiles recently, but when she knocked back a measure of rum or brandy, her lips turned upwards again.

      Da said something I didn’t hear, and Mam roared. ‘Get out!’ she screamed. ‘I’m sick of the sight of you. Get out.’

      ‘This isn’t finished,’ Da warned.

      ‘Yes it is,’ Mam shrieked.

      The whole inn shook as Da slammed out into the yard, whistling softly for his dog, Tully, as he went. I scrambled up on to the window seat, peering out into the darkness to see where he was.

      Da was sitting on a barrel, Tully by his side and a flickering lantern at his feet. I wanted to go down to him, but I could hear Mam clattering about in the inn, pouring herself more drinks, and I didn’t want to see her. Instead, I reached under my bed, and pulled out my sketchbook and my charcoal.

      I loved to draw. I’d done it since I was tiny, and Da – and Mam – had supported me. As I got older, and my difficulties had become clearer, Da had encouraged me to draw people’s faces. I found sketching their expressions helped me understand their emotions. Copying the tilt of a lip, or the creases around someone’s eyes taught me what sadness, happiness, or anger looked like.

      Now I watched my father, his brow furrowed. My charcoal rasped across the page as I captured his eyes narrowed in thought, and his tight lips. Determined, I said softly to myself. He looked determined.

      A quiet knock at the courtyard gate made me and Da both jump. Who was coming to The Ship at this late hour? Surely everyone in Kirrinporth was in bed?

      Da turned his head. He could see who was out there, though I couldn’t. He sat on his barrel for a moment, then he stood up and opened the gate, standing aside to let the visitor in.

      An older man came through into the courtyard, crouching down and rubbing Tully’s ears in greeting.

      ‘Some guard dog you are,’ I muttered with fondness.

      The man was my father’s friend, Petroc, I realised now, recognising his wide shoulders and his love of animals. But whatever was he doing here so late? The inn was long closed and Da was only awake because he and Mam had been arguing.

      ‘Take that mutt and tie it up by the stables.’ Another man came into sight below my window. I didn’t recognise him. He was tall and his face was hidden by the three-cornered hat he wore. He waited for Petroc to take Tully across the courtyard and out of sight. I narrowed my eyes, peering down into the darkness СКАЧАТЬ