The Workhouse Girl (31 page)

Grey stood in the middle of the stone chamber filled with kegs and wooden crates. ‘So this is how my ancestors made their money,' he said, grinning. ‘And I believed it came from silk weaving.' He bent down to examine a keg. ‘This isn't communion wine.'

‘It'll be brandy all the way from France.' Davey picked up a small crate. ‘And this is probably silk.'

‘Are you part of this, Davey?' Sarah stared at him in amazement.

‘I don't go over to the Continent if that's what you mean. I do a bit of ferrying and it helps to feed the little 'uns, but I've never been down here before.' He made his way to the door leading into the church. ‘Bring the lantern over, there's a good fellow. I can't see a thing.' Grey moved to his side and held the lantern high while Davey tried the latch. The metal-studded door swung open on well-oiled hinges. ‘It's obviously been used recently,' he said triumphantly.

‘Davey, wait a minute.' Sarah barred his exit. ‘Be careful. You've got the nippers to consider. Perhaps I could visit the cottage one evening after dark to make sure they're all right.'

He shook his head. ‘You mustn't risk it, Sarah. If you were seen it would be all round the village in next to no time.'

‘But I want to stay in Blackwood,' she said slowly. ‘I've been giving it a lot of thought and there's nothing for me in London. I haven't had a good enough education to be a governess but Mr Wills might take me on again at the school.'

‘We can talk about that when all this is settled.' Davey turned to Grey with an anxious frown. ‘I'm counting on you to keep her out of harm's way.'

‘I'll do my best,' Grey said, grinning. ‘But Sarah's got a will of her own.'

‘I know that very well.'

Sarah gave him a reluctant smile. ‘You will be careful, won't you, Davey?'

‘Of course I will.' Davey dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘I've got to go now, but I'll be back as soon as I get word from the ship's master.'

‘I knew I could rely on you, Davey. Thank you for helping us.'

Grey shook him by the hand. ‘I thank you too, Hawkes. I'm in your debt.'

‘Just look after Sarah for me and I'll do what I can for you.' Davey gave Sarah a quick hug before sprinting up the steps.

‘Take care of yourself,' she whispered as he disappeared into the dark maw of the eerily silent church.

Grey closed the door and they were alone. ‘You're very fond of that fellow, aren't you, Sarah?'

‘We grew up together. He's like a brother to me.'

‘I don't think he sees it that way.'

‘We took it for granted that we'd wed one day,' she said with a sigh. ‘But that was before all this happened. I'm not sure that I'd be content to be a fisherman's wife, especially now I know that he has dealings with smugglers.'

His lips twisted into a wry smile. ‘You mean free traders.'

‘It doesn't matter what name you give them, they're outside the law and I want none of it.'

‘My future seems to depend on men who operate on the wrong side of the law.' Grey felt along the wall for the entrance to the secret passage. ‘Come on, Sarah. Let's go home.' He sprang the hidden lock and the door opened as if by magic and he led the way back along the narrow passageway. Sarah followed him with the word
home
ringing in her ears. She had never had a proper home since she left Vinegar Yard as a child. Elsie's cottage had been somewhere to shelter from the elements but she had not felt any affection for the place, nor had she any desire to return to the marshes. Blackwood House was completely different. Even in its uncared-for state it had opened its arms and enfolded her within its walls. She realised suddenly that it would be a wrench to leave, knowing that it would slip back into neglect and decay. She had attempted to clean the rooms that they had been using, although it would take an army of charwomen to do it justice, but she had seen the beauty that lay beneath the dust and grime. The house called out for her to rescue it and she had heard its cry. For the first time in her life she had felt that this was where she truly belonged.

She kept her eyes fixed on the light from Grey's lantern as she hurried after him. ‘Don't go so fast.'

They reached the cellar to find Parker waiting for them. ‘So now you know everything,' he said grimly. ‘The trade goes on.'

Grey took him by the arm, propelling him up the stairs to the ground floor of the house. ‘Is my uncle involved, Parker? I must know.'

‘Leave me be, Master Toby. I'm an old man.'

‘That's no excuse. Tell me what's been going on all these years while the house has been empty.'

‘Very well, sir. But come to the kitchen where it's warm. I'm chilled to the bone.' Parker shuffled his way towards the back of the house. ‘I need a drop of brandy.'

‘Smuggled, no doubt.'

‘We all have to live, Master Toby. What else was I to do but follow the master's instructions?'

Grey hurried after him. ‘With my aunt's will missing I don't see how George Fitch can claim to be the new master. There's something not quite right about all this.'

‘I dunno about all that, Master Toby. I'm just repeating what I've been told.' Parker opened the kitchen door and a gust of cold air blustered through ill-fitting window frames, rattling doors and causing dust sheets to move as if lifted by unseen hands. ‘I knew there was a storm coming. I could feel it in me bones.' He went to the larder and brought out a small keg, placing it on the table.

Sarah watched in silence as he filled three wine glasses with the amber liquid. The warmth of the kitchen wrapped her in a cocoon of comfort, but outside the wind was soughing and howling like a soul in distress. She understood now what Davey meant when he had said the weather would keep the boats on shore for the next few days. She accepted a glass of brandy and sipped the strong liquor, choking as its fumes caught the back of her throat.

Grey pulled up a chair and motioned her to sit down. He perched on the edge of the table. ‘Now then, Parker. Tell me everything that's happened since my grandparents passed away.'

Parker swallowed a mouthful of the spirit. ‘Mr George came down from London for the funeral and he says that the estate belongs to him now. He sacks all the staff, except me. I thought I was to go as well but he takes me aside. Parker, he says, I want you to be caretaker but I've no intention of living here myself.'

‘That seems strange,' Sarah said slowly. ‘Why would he keep on a residence if he had no intention of using it?'

Grey tossed back his drink. ‘Isn't it obvious? My respectable, upstanding uncle intended to continue the family tradition of free trading. With the silk weaving industry ruined by cheap foreign imports he had found an easier and more profitable way of funding his lavish way of life.'

‘And he obviously knew that Blackwood House was supposed to be haunted,' Sarah said, taking another tentative sip of brandy and finding it more pleasant this time. ‘So the locals kept their distance.'

‘And the secret passage enabled the goods to be transported without any questions being asked.' Grey turned to Parker. ‘And what exactly was your part in all this?'

‘I had to show the messengers where to collect the goods and they loaded their wagons in the dead of night, and that was the end of it as far as I was concerned.'

‘They didn't give you any money?'

‘None at all, Master Toby. As far as I can make out their dealings was with the agent in London.'

Grey refilled his glass. ‘I don't know who that would be. I haven't had anything to do with the running of the house, and I don't think Elsie was involved in all this.'

The brandy was making Sarah feel pleasantly muzzy and the warmth from the log fire made her sleepy. She gathered her thoughts with difficulty. ‘So when will they come for the next load, Parker? There were a lot of barrels, kegs and crates in the crypt.'

Grey's eyes widened. ‘By God, you're right, Sarah. I was thinking along the lines of this trade being something that occurred in the past, but it's going on now, right under our noses.' He turned to Parker. ‘When do you expect the men to call again?'

Parker held out his empty glass. ‘Another tot would help me to remember, master.'

‘Think, man. It's vital that I know. If George discovers that I'm here, all will be lost.'

Parker ran his hand through his thinning hair. ‘Soon, master. I never know exactly when they're going to turn up, but it should be very soon.'

Despite the heat from the fire and the warmth of the spirit in her stomach, Sarah shivered. ‘Let's hope the storm is over quickly, Grey. You must get away at the first opportunity.'

The wind raged all that night and rain lashed the windowpanes in Sarah's room, keeping her awake into the small hours before she fell into an exhausted sleep. She was awakened by an ear-splitting crash and she snapped into a sitting position. It was light outside but as she stared sleepily at the window she could see twigs and dead leaves pressed against the glass. She leapt out of bed and on closer inspection she saw that an oak tree had been uprooted by the gale and the lower part had crashed down onto the yew tunnel while the topmost branches had come to rest against the side wall of the house. She dressed hastily and hurried downstairs to the kitchen where she found Grey and Parker deep in conversation. They looked up as she entered the room.

‘I saw that a tree had come down,' she said anxiously. ‘Is there much damage?'

‘That yew tree tunnel is cursed,' Parker said solemnly. ‘The yew is the tree of death. Mark my words.'

‘That's superstitious nonsense.' Grey slipped on his overcoat. ‘I'm going outside to take a look. You'd best come with me, Parker.'

Sarah glanced out of the window at the storm-swept stable yard. Wooden pails had been tossed about like children's toys and part of the coach house roof had been ripped apart by the force of the wind. ‘There won't be any ships setting sail today,' she murmured as Grey and Parker disappeared into the scullery. She was tempted to follow them outside and view the damage for herself, but she decided that it would be futile. There would be time to inspect the gardens and the grounds when the storm abated, and she busied herself preparing a simple breakfast of tea and toast, using up the stale bread. She would have to pay a visit to the farm to get fresh supplies of butter, milk and eggs but that too would have to wait until the weather improved.

Her hand shook as she filled the kettle and placed it on the hob. She was used to the wild weather that swept the east coast in winter, but this storm was different and she had a feeling of foreboding. Perhaps it was the revelations of last evening and the knowledge that Blackwood House was immersed in the dark secrets of the smuggling rings. Or maybe her irritation of nerves was due to the danger that threatened Grey and her own uncertain future.

Grey and Parker returned within minutes; they were wet and bedraggled but convinced that the house had not suffered any structural damage. The yew tree tunnel, despite its dire reputation, had saved the bricks and mortar by taking the full force of the fallen tree. Sarah made tea and toasted the bread, which they ate with a scraping of butter, and afterwards she took a pile of dusters and a jar of beeswax furniture polish that she had found at the back of a cupboard and set about cleaning the drawing room. The physical labour took her mind off Grey's predicament and she comforted herself with the thought that the inclement weather might hamper the police in their search.

By mid-afternoon the weather was showing signs of improvement and Sarah put on her cape and bonnet, hooked a wicker basket over her arm and set off for the farm, refusing Grey's offer to accompany her. She knew that by venturing outside the gates she risked being seen, but they were in desperate need of supplies, and she trusted Mrs Bonney to be discreet. She had a few shillings in her purse that Grey had given her before he handed the rest of Elsie's money to Davey, and she would have to spend it wisely. Quite what she would do after Grey had left the country she did not know, but that would depend largely on whether she could find employment in the village. She could do nothing until Grey was safe from harm.

She received a friendly greeting this time at the farm, and was soon on her way home with a basketful of produce. A fitful sun peeped through threatening cumulus clouds as she made her way back to Blackwood House. She could smell the salt tang in the air and the countryside looked as if it had been scoured clean by the raging winds and rain. The last of the leaves had been stripped from the deciduous trees and their bare branches fanned out, filtering the sunlight like black lace. She quickened her pace as she walked along the wooded lane leading to the house, and as she approached the entrance to the carriage sweep she realised that the gates were wide open. They had been closed when she left and the feeling that something was desperately wrong made her break into a run.

There were ruts in the piles of dead leaves on the drive leading up to the house and hoof prints in the mud. A heavy horse had been driven at some speed and without any thought to the damage it might cause. The trail led round to the stable yard and as she turned the corner of the house she could see a large farm wagon with a shire horse harnessed between the shafts, feeding from its nosebag. She put her basket down and crept towards the scullery door, keeping close to the wall in the hope that she would remain unseen. She ducked behind a rain barrel as she saw a man emerge from the scullery staggering beneath the weight of a wooden keg, which he hefted into the waiting vehicle. He returned to the house cursing volubly and was met in the doorway by a second man carrying a wooden crate. ‘Here, mate. Shove this in the cart, will you?'

‘Do it yourself, you lazy bugger.'

They began to argue and Sarah thought a fight was about to break out when another man erupted from the scullery roaring expletives at the top of his voice. She froze, hardly daring to breathe.