The Smuggler’s Daughter. Kerry Barrett

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СКАЧАТЬ the moonlight and a handsome, though rugged, face. On the same page as my sketch of Da, I began drawing the man’s expression. He was smiling, but as I drew, I saw that his eyes were angry. That was something I’d not seen before. ‘I’ll be very disappointed if we don’t,’ he added.

      ‘No, we do not have a deal,’ said Da. He was whispering but it was so quiet that his voice carried clearly across the cobbled courtyard. ‘It’s too risky.’

      ‘You never used to be frightened of a bit of risk,’ the man said. His voice sounded amused, as though Da had made a joke. But I didn’t think he had said anything funny. ‘Never used to worry when you were younger.’

      ‘Well we all did stupid things when we were young,’ Da said. He turned away from the man and lifted the lantern up so it illuminated the courtyard better.

      ‘Stupid?’

      My father sighed. ‘This is different. The risks are too great; the benefits are too small.’ He looked at the man, his chin lifted slightly. ‘Except for the benefits to you.’

      ‘Come on, Amos, you’re not being fair,’ the bigger man said. He reached out and, quick as a flash, pulled my father’s arm and twisted him round so they were facing each other again. From my viewing point at the window, I gasped.

      ‘No. You’re not being fair, Morgan,’ my father said. He sounded angry. ‘Things are different now. I’ve got a wife and a daughter.’ He nodded up towards where I sat watching and I shrank back against the wall so I wouldn’t be seen, wondering if he knew I was spying on him.

      ‘Reckon your woman will be easier to persuade than you are,’ Morgan said. ‘Or that pretty daughter of yours.’

      My father snorted. ‘Janey knows her own mind. You’re no match for her.’ I smiled to myself; he was right about that. ‘Now you need to leave, before I throw you out.’ He turned his back and went to walk away, but the other man was getting angry. I flinched, trying to capture the glower on his face on my paper and then watched in helpless horror as the man yanked Da’s arm again. There was a flash of metal and my father slumped on to the cobbles.

      For a moment, I didn’t understand what I’d just seen. What had happened? How did a conversation between two men suddenly end like this? My head was reeling with the horror of it all.

      Sobbing, I pressed myself up against the window, watching the blood trickle from my father’s stomach. Morgan pulled his knife from the wound, wiped it on his britches and turned to where Petroc had just emerged from the stables without Tully.

      ‘What have you done?’ he said, his mouth open in shock. ‘What have you done to Amos?’

      Morgan shrugged. ‘Made things easier for myself.’

      Almost without thinking I found a new sheet of paper and started drawing the faces down below. I drew my father’s dull eyes, blood pooling around him, Morgan’s white streak in his hair and his calm expression, and Petroc’s horrified wide eyes. As I drew, tears ran down my cheeks and splattered on to the paper.

      ‘But …’ Petroc began.

      Morgan prodded my father with his foot. ‘We’ll throw him down one of the mineshafts over Barnmouth way,’ he said. ‘No one will find him there.’

      ‘No we will not,’ said Petroc. ‘We need to get help for Amos.’

      He went to crouch down to my father, just as he’d crouched next to Tully, but Morgan grabbed him by his collar and threw him against the wall. There was another flash of metal and I saw the knife at Petroc’s throat.

      ‘We will throw him down one of the mineshafts,’ said Morgan. ‘Or you’ll be joining him.’

      I was frozen with shock and fear. I wanted to scream and bang on the window, but I was scared of what the big man would do to me if he knew I was watching.

      Shoulders slumped, Petroc tramped across the courtyard to where my father lay. As he approached, my father’s eyes flickered open and he looked up at me. Still crying, I pushed my hand against the window in a sad goodbye and my father, slowly, painfully, put his finger to his lips. Stay quiet, he was telling me. Stay silent.

      Tears ran down my cheeks as the men hoisted my father up on to their shoulders and carried him out of the inn’s courtyard. Morgan picked up a rain bucket we left for the horses and emptied it over the cobbles, where the blood was staining the stone. He watched as the water washed away any evidence of what he’d done, then he paused for a minute looking at the inn.

      Suddenly, I leapt into action. I had to stop them. Da was still alive; I had to tell my mother. I had to save him.

      I jumped off the windowsill and raced into my parents’ bedroom. Mam was lying face down on the bed, fully clothed.

      I shook her roughly by the shoulders, hoping she would open her eyes. Her lids flickered but I couldn’t rouse her. She’d had too much to drink and she was out cold.

      Crying so hard I could barely catch my breath, I left her lying there, and ran downstairs through the courtyard and out into the night. But the men were nowhere to be seen. It was quiet and still. All I could hear were the waves breaking on the beach far below. They’d gone. But – I thought, with icy cold fear trickling down my spine – what if they came back? Morgan had mentioned my mother, and me. What if he came for us too?

      Trembling with fright, I crept to the stables and untied Tully. He licked my face, drawn to the salty tears on my cheeks, and I rubbed his head. ‘Come on, boy,’ I whispered. Obediently, he followed me back into the inn. I drew the bolt across the door, checking and double-checking it was firmly closed, and then, with Tully at my heels, I climbed the stairs to my parents’ room. Tully jumped up on to the bed, and I lay down too, clinging to my mother’s back. I’d stay here all night, I thought, in case they came back, and then in the morning, I’d raise the alarm. Tell everyone what I’d seen.

      But it didn’t happen that way, despite my intentions. Instead, when my mother woke, ill-tempered and sweating from all the drink, she glared at me.

      ‘Why are you here?’ she said, heaving herself off the bed. ‘Where’s your da? He stormed off in a state last night. Is he back?’

      I was not much of a talker. Never had been. I couldn’t talk to strangers, never passed the time of day with the drinkers in the inn. And even with Mam, I’d only ever said what was needed. I was better with Da, and my friend Arthur. They never rushed me, never tutted when I couldn’t find the right word, or finished my sentence for me, too impatient to wait. When I was nervous or upset, or even sometimes if I was excited or happy, it was worse. It was like my throat clenched and my voice just wouldn’t work.

      Now, I sat up in bed, ready to tell her what had happened, how I’d seen Da’s blood spill on the cobbles and watch Morgan drag him away.

      ‘Mam,’ I began. ‘Mam …’

      And then. Nothing. The words wouldn’t come. Mam stared at me for a moment and then, frustrated, she rolled her eyes. ‘He’ll be back when he wants food,’ she said.

      At the mention of food, Tully got to his feet, shaking his fur out and giving a soft bark in my mother’s direction. She looked at the dog. ‘He left you behind, did he?’ she said. ‘Then he’ll be back even sooner.’

      She СКАЧАТЬ