The Professor and the Smuggler Page 9

  “Only eight years younger than I am.”

  She’d joked about robbing the cradle last time Jackie Peters’s name had come up. But she didn’t smile now.

  “So,” he said. “Um. So…” And even those throat-clearing sorts of words and sounds failed him.

  “He came by last night and helped me clean up and close. It was quite a long night for me. You and your charge left just at sunset. He’s not a bad sort. He’s not you, of course.” Her grin seemed so familiar and warm, he found he couldn’t resist returning it.

  “I-I don’t love him. Not like I thought I could…” She smile faltered but didn’t vanish. She had too much pride, and he knew she’d never ever admit first to her affection or treat it as anything other than a joke.

  The moment had come. They’d been here before with other men who’d courted her. The last time she’d mentioned Peters’s nephew, she hadn’t seemed as serious. Or perhaps he hadn’t seen himself clearly. Phillip had forced him to face a sort of passion that just about terrified Carne. And then that request, a simple thing, a kiss, would have been too much. Not like his time with Bea, which was comfortable. Why would he want to let go of comfort?

  He still might pull her back. If this conversation echoed others in the past, he’d make a joke about Jackie Peters. She’d laugh and launch herself at him. They’d hug and kiss. And everything would fall back into place. No promises made. No words of love exchanged, and they’d settle into contented moments, nearly enough to banish the loneliness again.

  He could easily do it again—oh so gently push her away from plans that didn’t include him. In the past, he’d managed without adding promises. But as he looked into her open face, he realized his friend Bea deserved better

  He must stop being a weakling, because it was unfair to her. Unfair to Jackie Peters. Unfair to himself.

  “You don’t love Jackie Peters now, but might you come to love him?” he asked softly, no mockery in his voice.

  She blinked, wet her full lips, and looked down at her hands. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Why do you ask?”

  He wanted to look away as well, speak without looking at her, but he wouldn’t be a coward for once.

  “Because he is a good man, and you deserve a man who loves you so much he’d risk humiliation twice.”

  She gave a bitter laugh then. “Yes, and we don’t want any humiliation, now do we? Oh my God, I’m such a…” She buried her face in her hands.

  “I don’t think anyone here deserves it.” He picked up the hammer and put it down again. “What I mean is I hope you don’t feel humiliated by the time we have had together.”

  “Have had.” She looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. “Don’t think I can’t hear you saying good-bye in that. You bastard.”

  He rose to his feet. “Bea, I don’t think I can love you the way you deserve.”

  “It’s about you, is it? Nothing to do with me?” She put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been an idiot waiting for you to see the light. An honest-to-God fool.”

  “No one who hopes for love is an idiot,” he said softly.

  “Oh stop trying to make me feel better.” She gave a strangled laugh, or perhaps a cry. “I suppose I ought to thank you for letting me know before I turned into some old ugly hag.”

  “You’d never be ugly.”

  “Flattery will get you nothing any longer, Mr. Treleaven. Nothing from me.”

  “It is a fact, not flattery.”

  She made another noise but already seemed calmer. He picked up the chair and set it against the wall “Do you want me to fix the other items on your list?”

  “No, no. And don’t come in here for a few days at least, Carne. I don’t want to see your face.” She wiped at a few tears that trickled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a harridan, but I hadn’t known how much it would hurt.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He put his hands behind his back, because all of him wanted to pull her into a comforting hug, and that would be so very wrong.

  “Do shut up,” she said. “Please go.”

  He nodded and walked to the entrance. She followed him. Perhaps she would hit him with the hammer. But no, she reached into the basket she’d been carrying and placed it on the bench next to the front door. “I made some pasties and wanted to give them to you as a surprise after you did the chores I had for you. But then I had to open my stupid mouth before you were done.”

  He smiled, but not too broadly. If she could joke, she wasn’t devastated.

  The meat pastries were wrapped in a napkin. She thrust the bundle at him.

  “Take them with you. Wash my napkin—do a good job, mind you—and bring it back in a week. Not earlier.” She gazed at something over his shoulder. “Give most of it to your polite and funny friend, because you don’t deserve anything so delicious as my pasties.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed and took the small bundle.

  As he walked away down the shell path, she called after him. “I’m going to let Jackie finish the items on my list. It’ll be a way to see if he’s got what I need.”

  He turned around. “You’ll be all right.”

  “Oh yes indeed, I will be.” She slammed the door, then opened it once again. “I have a feeling he’ll do fine with my chores and all the rest. You know what they say about younger men.”

  “Good,” he said, but she’d slammed him out again. “Good.” And his heart hurt but also felt lighter, as if a stone had been removed from its core, leaving an aching absence.

  Ha, and that was the sort of thing he could imagine Phillip saying. He walked quickly, realizing he’d left his guest alone too long.

  Chapter Twelve

  Carne knew the moment he opened his front door that Phillip wasn’t there. Though the professor might have decided to have a lie down after his drunken night, Carne knew he wouldn’t find him in the bedroom either. He could feel the lack of Phillip’s presence in his very bones. His house was too quiet and empty—too much like normal. And he didn’t like it.

  Nevertheless, he called out, “Mr. Singleton? Phillip?”

  No answer.

  Carne cursed the fool. Had he managed to lose himself following the path back to the cottage, or had he stopped to visit with people along the way? But he spotted Phillip’s camera equipment in a corner, so he’d at least been here long enough to drop it off before going out on his own.

  Why did it feel as if he’d lost track of a five-year-old who might do himself harm? Anxiety hummed low in Carne’s belly, making him feel twitchy. He knew why. It was the way both the Mitchells and Gwalather had been acting recently. If there was anyone among the villagers who might go a step beyond threats to an outsider, it would be the Mitchells. What if Phillip, in his naïve eagerness, had decided to go exploring along the coast and stumbled across something he shouldn’t see?

  Carne cursed again and slammed the door behind him as he left the house. If I were a foolish, bumbling university professor with a yen for smuggler lore, where would I go? Not back to the tavern or Carne would’ve passed him. He also felt fairly confident Phillip hadn’t been invited into a cottage to visit though the local folk had been friendly enough to him at the pub. No. The shore was where Phillip had gone.

  Carne strode rapidly along the road and took one of the paths down to the water. By the time he reached the stony beach, his shirt clung to his back from sweating. The sun was strong, and he shaded his eyes to look down the shore as far as he could before it curved away.

  Phillip had seemed slightly disappointed in the spots Carne had shown him yesterday. He’d be striking out on his own to the next inlet—the Mitchell family’s claim, where no one ventured without invitation.

  Carne hiked along the water’s edge, trudging through clumps of seaweed abandoned by the tide. But the sea was slowly reclaiming the beach. He hoped he could find Phillip before the idiot was trapped in the Mitchells’ cavern till the next low tide. The tunnels inclined higher than the
waterline to a cozy network where the Mitchells’ great granfer had once dwelled for months on end. There was a land exit a little way farther up the shore, but Phillip wouldn’t know that. He’d be frightened of drowning alone in the dark, not knowing the only real danger was the Mitchells.

  Carne began to jog, hurrying toward the next outcropping of rock. Before he reached it, a familiar figure in a tweed jacket came into sight, climbing slowly over the tumbled boulders at the foot of the cliff. A white froth of surf broke upon the rocks. Phillip hopped off a large boulder to land on the beach where seawater washed around his ankles. He looked up, saw Carne, and waved a hand in greeting. “Hullo!” he called and smiled.

  The smile did it. Carne glowered in response and charged toward the other man. “I told you to stay at the house until I returned.”

  “I didn’t know how long you’d be. I grew impatient to explore,” Phillip answered blandly. He shook sand, gravel, and water from the cuffs of his trousers as he walked toward Carne.

  “I told you several times now this area isn’t safe for a stranger. You don’t know the timing of the tides.” He gestured at the waves lapping the shore. “A few minutes more, and you’d have been trapped on the next section of beach. A few minutes beyond that, and you’d have been underwater.” No need to mention the Mitchell cavern if Phillip hadn’t found the entrance.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Phillip pushed his spectacles up his nose and regarded Carne steadily. “But I assure you I had my eye on the ocean all the while and was well aware of the tide moving in. I’m not a complete fool.”

  Jesus! Perhaps he should simply tell Phillip about the Mitchells and why he must steer clear of that section of the shoreline. If not, the man might go toddling off again on his own adventure.

  “Well, you’re here now,” Carne grumbled. “And must be hungry. It’s been a long time since breakfast. Shall we return to my house?”

  “Yes, please.” Phillip gazed out to sea, sunlight reflecting on his glass lenses. When he looked at Carne again, he seemed about to say something.

  “What?”

  Phillip shook his head. “Nothing. I was just thinking… Might we have something other than fish to eat?”

  Carne couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re in luck. Bea sent some of her delicious pasties home with me. Bits of mutton and parsnips. No fish.”

  “Good.” Phillip’s bright smile returned, and Carne was sorry he’d driven it away by his flash of temper. He’d try not to let that happen again.

  If only he could continue to manage the balancing act of allowing Phillip to gather his stories and photographs, yet keep him away from the darker aspects of life on the southwest shore.

  *

  Phillip didn’t know why he didn’t simply tell Carne how he’d met Mitchell the younger and what had transpired between them. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell everything. It was his very nature to tell everything. He wasn’t a man for secrets. And yet, something held him back from admitting he’d marched into a place he had no business being and nearly gotten himself bashed for it. Maybe it was that he didn’t want Carne to be able to say I told you so or to continue to regard Phillip as a bungler, unfit to take care of himself. Or worse, see Carne turn to threats or violence against Phillip in order to protect Par Gwynear’s secrets.

  Phillip was fully convinced now. The smugglers clearly hadn’t gone the way of the dodo bird. Who all was involved? Was Carne? He’d certainly tried to drive Phillip off the first time they’d met, though his stance had definitely softened since then. In fact, most of the locals had been standoffish at first, then seemed to welcome Phillip when he demonstrated he meant no harm. Only the walrus-moustached Gwalather and the Mitchells seemed to truly hate him and wish him ill.

  Phillip held his tongue as he marched alongside Carne, matching his long stride but mentally replaying his encounter with Mitchell the younger.

  “Where’s Carne?” The way Mitchell had asked the question seemed more menacing than two simple words ought to sound. Mitchell might have been saying, Does he know where you are and would he come here to look for you if you never returned?

  “At the tavern, helping Mrs. Pollard. He’ll be meeting me on the beach shortly,” Phillip had replied. “He told me to stay near those interesting caves we explored yesterday, but I couldn’t resist the urge to walk a little farther down the shore and ended up here.”

  Mitchell had a hand under his jacket. Would he pull out a knife or club or perhaps even a pistol, or merely his big fist? “So you just wandered right in without invitation.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the caves weren’t free for all to explore. Does this one belong to your family?”

  The bulky youth took several intimidating steps toward Phillip, who casually sidled toward the entrance. Only a few paces, not enough so it would appear he was afraid or fleeing.

  “Best be on yer way and quick,” Mitchell growled. “Tide’s coming in. And don’t come back again. Noses poked into places they shouldn’t be get broke.”

  “Right. Yes. I understand.”

  “You won’t be seen around here again.” When he produced his hand from underneath his jacket, Mitchell brandished a knife that gleamed in the low light coming from outside. Was he reiterating that Phillip shouldn’t return here, or suggesting no one would ever find him?

  Phillip swallowed. His adventure had just become very real, no longer an exciting fantasy of exploring caverns searching for historical artifacts, but a possibly life-threatening event. He held his hands, palms up as he backed slowly toward the entrance. “I’ve no wish to disturb your privacy, Mr. Mitchell, nor learn anything about your business, whatever it might be.” He tripped over a rock and nearly fell on his arse, grabbed hold of the rough wall, and winced as a sharp stone cut his palm.

  “I didn’t find this place by accident.” Phillip rolled his hand into a fist to dull the pain. He kept his eyes on the knife, but stopped backing up. “I’d read an account of an attack on agents of the crown that took place here long ago when they came to arrest a pirate or robber of some sort. Apparently the man actually lived in the caves for a time before he was finally caught.”

  “I know. My great-granfer.” Mitchell Junior took one step toward Phillip and gripped more tightly a shovel he held in one hand. His arm muscles flexed, and Phillip’s throat went dry.

  Stupid Phillip, poking around where he had no business being—exactly as Carne had warned him not to. He’d viewed the pirate story as thrilling but something along the lines of folklore and not quite real. As if there would be no real connection between events from the past and the people who still dwelled in Par Gwynear. Now he’d apparently roused a frightening modern-day smuggler. He might very well get his head stove-in like those crates.

  Fear made him babble. “That’s remarkable! I read the story about the fight against the federal agents, but never actually thought of the man’s descendants still living here. Silly of me. I just had to see the caves accommodating enough to make a home in. But I see now I shouldn’t have intruded. Please forgive me.”

  Mitchell said nothing, merely glowered and took another step.

  “I’ve gathered lots of information about the area. In fact, I saw a treasure map in London, a very old one made here in Par Gwynear.”

  “How the devil would you get such a thing?” Mitchell still held the knife, but some curiosity entered his voice.

  “It was in the university library archives, forgotten and misfiled in the stacks about fishing in the area and…” He’d been about to go on about sloppy librarians and details of the grand finds he’d discovered, but Mitchell shifted from foot to foot, so Phillip finished with, “I believe it had been seized as part of a government raid in 1804.”

  Mitchell fell silent. “Bring it to me.”

  “I don’t actually have the map, of course. Too fragile to be removed from the library, y’see. But I studied it so many times, I believe I can reproduce it from memory a
nd from my notes. It’ll take me a little time, though. I’ll meet you at the Stoney Ground tomorrow at three, all right?”

  “Bring yourself and that map, or I’ll hunt you down. Understand?”

  “Yes, indeed I do.” Phillip nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then? Good, good.” He clambered out of the cave and scampered off, feeling like a fool. He could feel Mitchell’s stare on his back and decided he wouldn’t be a frightened rabbit. He slowed to a walk.

  When he rounded the edge of the outcropping of rock to see Carne coming toward him, he’d nearly collapsed with relief and couldn’t stop smiling. Now, strolling at Carne’s side, he felt a strange mix of excitement and fear. He glanced over his shoulder several times but saw only waving grass and the distant blue water. No sign of Mitchell.

  Carne directed a warm smile at him, and some of Phillip’s confidence in his new friend returned, though his heart still raced.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time Phillip and Carne reached Carne’s home again, it was late afternoon. Suppertime. Phillip’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. He could eat an entire Cornish cow on the hoof, but he’d be more than happy to settle for Bea Pollard’s pasties.

  “Were you able to do everything the Widow Pollard wanted?” Phillip asked as Carne set out a pair of plates and forks.

  “Not everything.” Carne may have slightly stressed the final word, or Phillip merely hoped it was true. He didn’t want to think about the sort of everything the pair might have done.

  Carne poured home-brewed mead into two mugs, and the men sat to eat without bothering to reheat the pasties. The little meat pies were just as delicious at room temperature.

  After several bites, Carne spoke again. “I did some repairs about the place, and Mrs. Pollard told me about a proposal she’s seriously considering. It’s from Roger Peters’s nephew, Jackie, a fine young man who will be well suited to her and willing to let her continue to run the tavern as she sees fit.” His smile was warm and wistful. “I don’t think Bea could kowtow to a man concerning her business.”