The Professor and the Smuggler Page 11

  “Don’t you forget it.” Phillip waved a finger in mock emphasis.

  Carne reached for his hand and touched the bandage. “Let me see.”

  Without waiting for permission, he unwound the cloth. “Best to leave it open to the air.”

  Phillip opened and closed his hand experimentally. “It barely hurts at all. I’m always nicking myself when I tinker with engines, and those cuts don’t heal nearly as fast. Perhaps the salt water helped.”

  “Where did you fall?”

  Phillip pretended not to hear.

  Carne leaned up on one elbow. “In a cave, hmm?”

  “Those caves and their history are much of the reason I’m here, you know.” Phillip tried to be jocular, but he could feel the way Carne stilled. Perhaps now was the time to tell him about the encounter with Mitchell, while they were naked. “Carne, we should talk about this— Oh my.”

  Carne had leaned down and gently bit Phillip’s nipple—and perhaps it was to distract Phillip. A gentle lap of Carne’s tongue over the spot he’d scraped with his teeth made Phillip groan again. Nothing was more important than enjoying this magnificent man.

  By the time they dragged themselves from the bed, too hungry to ignore their grumbling stomachs, the last of the daylight had faded from the sky. They grabbed food and ate, standing and naked. Phillip adjusted his glasses and peered out the warped diamond panes of glass at the first stars.

  “No sailing for us tonight,” he said, and ate the last of his pasty.

  “We might go in the morning,” Carne offered. He leaned against the table and chewed his meat pie.

  Phillip reflected that the casual way they ate suited him perfectly. He sucked the last bit of gravy off his finger. “We have to be back before three.”

  “Oh? And why’s that?”

  “I have an appointment.” He wished he didn’t, but perhaps this meeting would put him in the good graces of the surly Mitchells.

  “With who?” Carne suddenly sounded guarded. “What kind of appointment?”

  Phillip wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation naked. He walked past the glowering man blocking his way to the bedroom and pulled on his underclothes, trousers, and shirt. When he got back to the main room, Carne had put on his shirt from the previous night and trousers he’d gotten from somewhere. He stood, washing the dishes they’d used. Barefoot, he walked to the door, tossed out the water, then sat at the table.

  “Talk to me,” he demanded.

  “You need to know where I go and who I see because you are my keeper, aren’t you.” Phillip felt crestfallen and foolish. “The Mitchells probably appointed you the position of caretaker of the annoying visitor, yes?”

  “What are you jabbering about?” But this time, Carne’s question sounded less grim.

  “You’re not a very good actor, but neither am I, I think.” Phillip rested his chin on his fist. “You’re supposed to keep me occupied and away from whatever is going on in the village.”

  Carne didn’t answer.

  “And I can take my pictures and ask questions as long as the questions aren’t too pointed or the pictures of…particular places. I suppose I should have understood this right away, but I wanted you to spend time with me because you wanted to.”

  “I think what we did today proves I wanted to spend time with you. Time and other things.” He gave a suggestive leer.

  “That’s true.” Phillip fought a grin because he wasn’t going to be side-tracked. “Do you deny the rest?”

  “Nothing to deny,” Carne said a little too forcefully. He obviously didn’t want to share his secrets. His body, yes, but nothing else.

  Phillip reflected that his own instincts went too far the other direction, his past, his secrets, his hopes and dreams would spill out at the first intimate smile. Of course he had only one secret corner to keep hidden. Phillip Singleton, open book to anyone who cared to read him—except when it came to the matter of his perverse affections of course; he wasn’t an idiot. But Carne, glowering and private, knew everything there was to know about Phillip.

  And Phillip didn’t even know what Carne did to keep the food on the table.

  “I don’t care, you know.” Phillip put his hand out and stroked the back of Carne’s strong sunburned hand. “Smuggling, piracy—anything short of murdering visitors and stealing their wealth. That I might not condone, but the rest. Well, I don’t care.”

  “Leave it be.”

  “But I want to know what—”

  Carne grabbed his hand and held it tight. “Phillip. Pirates from a penny dreadful don’t exist.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Carne made a disgusted noise. “Buccaneers with feathers in their hats and some kind of code of honor. No. Leave off.”

  “You can trust me, you know.”

  Carne pulled his hand away. “Who are you meeting at three?”

  Phillip shook his head slowly. “I’m not going to tell you if you won’t talk to me.”

  “Don’t be a dobeck. How am I to protect you if you won’t tell me who you’re meeting?”

  “I haven’t asked you for protection. I hired you as a local guide, not guard.”

  “You seem to need both.”

  Phillip rubbed his face. “I’m going to go work.” He rose without another word. Forcing back explanations and accusations was difficult for Phillip, but he managed to grab a lamp and make his way to his room without looking back or speaking. He closed the door behind him softly. Slamming might be more satisfying but he was more sad than angry.

  One of the most exciting sensual experiences of his life—he couldn’t imagine such a connection again—and it was with a man who didn’t trust him. Or perhaps Carne didn’t trust anyone. He seemed rather an outsider, poor man, respected by the other villagers, but holding himself a bit aloof from them. His house set apart on this hill… Phillip could never live like that, alone, away from laughter and conversation.

  He shook his head with vigor to drive out the thoughts because he didn’t enjoy dwelling on anything that reminded of his own loneliness. He didn’t know Carne well, but he already felt his loss of the man before they even parted. Work should take him out of this mournful moment.

  He gathered his papers, his pen and ink and a blank piece of paper, and set to work making a reproduction of the treasure map for Mitchell. There wasn’t enough room to work on any surface other than the floor, so he knelt there to work, his papers and proper maps spread in front of him.

  The subtle scent of Carne on his skin haunted him. He stopped to blot some ink and realized he’d picked up the cloth he’d used to wipe his belly when he caught a whiff of earthy semen. Desire twisted through him.

  He tossed the cloth into the far corner and stretched out on the rough wooden floor planks. The map he’d purchased in London crunched under his thigh. Phillip was scrupulously neat with documents, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  This would not do. He refused to mourn for Carne—a lover gained and lost in the course of a couple of days—as he had over Gavin or Ian Davis. That sort of mooning was for a boy who’d never had his heart broken. He was too old and experienced to be a complete ninny. Carne had never been his to begin with. Phillip had been an intriguing experiment to him, nothing more.

  Phillip sat up and forced himself to concentrate on the map. After an hour or so, when footsteps sounded just outside his door, he put down his pen, ready to spring up and continue their conversation. He’d give in and tell Carne everything. He’d show him the map and read the papers to him. Once he’d finished his own confession, he’d throw the fisherman down on the bed and coerce the helpless and excited Carne to tell Phillip all his secrets. Phillip grinned when he realized he sported the start of another erection.

  But the footsteps continued past. The strip of weak light under his door went out, and he heard the soft thump of a door closing. Phillip didn’t lie back down.

  Outside, the wind picked up and the sound of distant
waves crashing seemed louder. This spot on the hill would always be noisy, never peaceful.

  Phillip went back to work, determined to make as accurate a map as possible to show Mitchell. He might be hostile and even dangerous, but he could be key to helping Phillip find actual antiquities. That would make an amazing final chapter to his travelogue.

  He fell asleep on the floor of the bedroom, waking only when he heard Carne cursing. Doors thumped, and Phillip realized it was morning and that Carne had been outdoors. A moment later, Carne rapped hard on his door and said, “You’d better come see. Put your shoes on.”

  Phillip lurched to his feet, his body aching from the short sleep on the hard floor. He stumbled out to join Carne, who led him outside and around to the back of the cottage.

  Someone had attacked his motorcar.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Carne had found the damage and forgot how to breathe as rage roiled through him. He wanted to go into the village and drag out each and every man and demand to know who’d done this. Hadn’t they believed he would take action against anyone who harassed or hurt Phillip Singleton?

  Once the red in his vision receded, he wondered if this was the result of Phillip’s exploration alone yesterday, and he cursed that foolish, stupid gentleman who saw too much good in others. Time to show him the truth of it.

  Yet it hurt to see Singleton slump at the sight of his beautiful motorcar, brass fixtures smashed, upholstery ripped by a knife. Carne almost went to him to fold him into a hug, but then the professor’s shoulders straightened. He walked briskly to the motorcar, folded up the lid—Carne remembered it was called the bonnet—and peered at the insides.

  “The engine looks intact.” He fiddled with the crank, then moved to gingerly lower himself onto the ripped leather seat. The motor started, and Phillip gave a nod of approval. He switched off the engine, then walked around the car slowly, peering at the scraped paint, the smashed glass from the lanterns, and jaggedly slit leather seats. The folding cover was also slashed.

  Carne couldn’t stop himself. “See? See what happens when you rile up the wrong people around here?”

  Phillip turned and stared at him. He kept one hand on the front of the motorcar as if to reassure it. “One person who has been upset by my presence lately is you.”

  Carne took a step away from the car, too astonished to be offended. “Do you really think I’d do such as this?”

  Phillip closed his eyes for a long, silent moment. When he opened them, his gaze seemed harder, and for the first time, Carne saw that customary glow of enthusiasm had vanished as if the professor had turned from warm flesh to stone. “I don’t know. I don’t really know you at all.”

  Carne felt as if he’d been slapped. He opened his mouth to retort, to tell Phillip what he could do with his suspicions, but the bleak look on Phillip’s face stopped him. And, to be fair, he hadn’t outright accused Carne of the destruction. Carne walked close, his boots crunching on broken glass. “No, I wouldn’t do such a thing to you, or your beautiful motorcar. Thank God the engine and tires be undamaged so you might drive away before more harm comes.”

  He didn’t risk touching Phillip. He’d spent the whole night restless and unsettled, wishing he could go to Phillip and wishing he could send the man on his way.

  The professor took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and put them back on again. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m sorry if I suggested something and insulted you just now.” He still seemed too subdued, as if someone had put out his joyful fire and left him nothing but smoking embers.

  Carne wanted to return him to laughing and chattering, but Phillip remained silent for several minutes. He pulled out a small notebook and a pencil and circled the car again, making a list. He carefully paced up and down next to the shell-and-stone path, peering all around at the ground.

  “What will you do?” Carne asked at last.

  “I think I can drive it. I’ll take it to Truro for repairs after I’m finished gathering my stories in Par Gwynear.”

  “Can’t imagine we’ll find out who did this. Let’s go for a sail,” Carne said impulsively, suddenly ready to leave his own anger and return to the hours last night when he’d only felt and didn’t think.

  Phillip smiled a little. “You remembered what I said.”

  He remembered every word Phillip had spoken yesterday. He shoved his hands into his jacket pocket rather than reach for Professor Singleton.

  Phillip closed his notebook. “So you don’t think I should summon the local constable?”

  Carne shrugged. “Jacobs is a nice enough chap, but drinks too much and stopped caring about his job years ago.”

  Phillip’s smile twisted. “I wonder if discouraging me from contacting the law is another way to keep me at heel.”

  Again, Carne felt a stab of indignation. He swallowed it down. Perhaps Phillip was teasing him? He decided to go along with the spirit of that theory. “If I cared to bring you to heel, I have better or at least more entertaining methods at hand. We’d both enjoy ’em.” He felt the blood heat his face but managed to keep his gaze steady. That was the truth. He still wanted Phillip, even after their evening together and his long night of trying to talk himself out of the attraction.

  Phillip’s smile seemed real for the first time that morning. That warmth was so welcome, and damn, just a smile would wreck Carne. He’d fall over dead from…something too strong.

  He started for the road. “Come, then, we’ll go visit the constable at home. He has few duties and no official office.” Carne decided to tell the whole truth. “And he’s got more money than most men in his position.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Has his smithy work on the side, but mostly he be paid well to not pay attention to some things.” It felt immoral to say such things aloud, but being honest with Phillip seemed important after that attack on his precious vehicle. Carne added, “Doubt he’d be happy to see a visitor’s valuable possession so badly treated, and he might make an effort to find the villain who did that to your motorcar.”

  Carne had guessed wrong about the constable’s response. The laconic Constable Jacobs was even more uninterested than usual and even unsurprised. Carne wondered if he’d had news of it before they’d arrived. Jacobs puffed on his sweet-smelling pipe and squinted at them. “I’ll come take a look bye-the-bye,” he said without enthusiasm. “M’horse has lost a shoe, so I’ll walk over later.”

  “Oh, indeed? Your horse? Perhaps… You seem tired,” Phillip said.

  “I am,” Jacobs admitted. A large man who’d once been muscular, Jacobs had run to fat lately. His ruddy complexion and gray hair made him seem older than his age, which was just forty. He wiped his forehead with a large handkerchief. “Had a bit of a night with the lads.”

  “To be honest, there isn’t much to see,” Phillip said. “I examined the scene very carefully, and there’s no evidence. So it won’t be worth your time. You might write a report—do you write such formal things hereabouts? Good, good. That will be enough.”

  Jacobs shifted his bulk to the seat behind the battered desk in his parlor and pulled out a blank form. Phillip took out his little notebook and stood at the constable’s shoulder as he described the vehicle’s damage. After Phillip and Jacobs talked for a few minutes, Phillip signed a paper, said a cheerful good-bye, and shook hands at the entrance to the cottage.

  Carne followed after, wondering how Phillip could consider that exchange of any use. Perhaps he was a strong believer in the power of paper? He was a professor, after all.

  The blue door closed behind them, and Phillip gazed around for a moment before he wandered to the stable yard. Whistling, he pulled up some grass and offered it to the constable’s huge gray horse, which ambled over to them, and as it walked over the cobblestones, Carne could hear the click, click, thud of a horse missing a shoe. The gray horse breathed into Phillip’s hand. “Good boy,” Phillip said and patted its neck. “You are a large one, aren’t
you? You’d have to be for that constable, eh?”

  Carne waited until they walked past the few businesses on the High Street before asking, “Why on earth did you bother going to Jacobs?”

  Phillip walked for a few moments before answering. “There are hoof tracks near your house, and near my motorcar. A large horse with a missing shoe. I don’t know if the constable’s gray left the tracks, but what you said before, about Jacobs’s less than sterling habits… Well. I suspect he and the older Mitchell and Gwalather are all of the same age? And they grew up in the village together?”

  Carne nodded. “He was from one village over, but near enough.”

  “When he talked of a night with the lads, he might mean them.” Phillip walked faster. “Blast and damnation, if that attack on my car was a message, I wonder if it’s worth attending that meeting this afternoon.”

  Carne didn’t bother to ask him what the meeting was about. He’d simply follow, and Phillip had to know that.

  He had to jog a bit to catch up with Phillip’s long strides. “So you suspect our constable might do more than take bribes?”

  “You know him better than I do. What do you think?”

  Carne considered the question. “I wouldn’t think he had the energy.”

  “And I don’t have real proof. Anyway, he might have loaned the horse to one of the others, perhaps someone younger and more energetic like, say, Mitchell the son.”

  “You err on the side of caution. I’m coming to see you’re a canny person, Phillip Singleton.”

  His white teeth and glasses flashed in the sun. “Just because I’m clumsy and talkative doesn’t mean I’m entirely a fool. Dobeck. Isn’t that the word?”

  Not a fool at all, Carne thought. Perhaps much wiser than you let on. And just who are you meeting this afternoon and why?

  Too many questions swirled in his tired brain. He’d gotten hardly any sleep last night, or the one before, for that matter. Phillip had set his head spinning, and Carne didn’t want to think about the reasons why—or about things Gwalather, the Mitchells, and even Jacobs might be up to. He didn’t want to be the man in charge, the man who handled things and people in this village. He simply wanted to spend a little peaceful time with Phillip before the questions clamored too loudly to ignore their answers any longer. After that, he feared, everything would fall apart.