‘Not cold enough to wrap myself in something like that,’ she snorted, nodding towards their three comatose companions.
Chuckling softly, he climbed to his feet and came back moments later with a huge hand knitted sweater. ‘Don’t worry, it’s mine,’ he chuckled, draping it over her shoulders.
Gratefully, she snuggled into the heavy jumper. ‘It’s called agansy,’ he told her. ‘Staple workwear for all Cornishmen since, well, forever.’ He paused, then added, ‘My mother made it for my thirteenth birthday. The first time I went down the mine.’ Charity glanced up at him, but his face was unreadable in the moonlight.
‘Is she still alive?’
Jago shook his head. ‘Consumption, nearly ten years ago now.’
‘I can’t really remember my mother,’ Charity confessed softly. ‘She died giving birth to my youngest sister, Prudence. She could tell he longed to ask her more about her family, but in the end, he remained silent. And truly, where would she even start if she wanted to tell him? She took another sip of water to hide her rueful smile.
She became aware of the fishermen’s soft conversation. ‘How do you know these men?’ she asked curiously.
‘I worked the boats in Salcombe,’ he answered after a pause. ‘These men have saved my life on more than one occasion.’
‘Are they not afraid to risk Jack’s anger by helping you now?’ she questioned. ‘Surely, they have families.’
‘He does not know of my connection,’ Jago answered. ‘These men are insignificant. They slip in between the cracks, doing only what they must. If Jack were to try and put them all down, he’d have no time to smuggle anything.’ His face turned grim. ‘Oh, once in a while, he likes to demonstrate his power. A year ago, he had Fred’s daughter kidnapped.’ He nodded towards the larger fisherman. ‘Sold her to pirates.’
Charity gasped. ‘That’s dreadful. What happened to her?’
‘She died.’ Jago didn’t elaborate.
‘How does he know it was Jack who took her?’ she questioned.
Jago looked down at her. ‘Because the bastard told him.’
They sat in silence for a while before Charity commented softly, ‘Yet still they choose to help you.’
‘They want him gone,’ Jago answered matter-of-factly, ‘and they know I won’t stop until I watch him swing.’
Charity abruptly realised her nausea had almost disappeared, but she didn’t want him to leave her yet.
‘Do they know your real identity?’ she murmured. Jago sighed and shook his head. ‘I dare not take the risk.’
Before she could ask any more questions, the fisherman named Fred called, ‘Ship to port, dousing light.’Instantly the small vessel was plunged into darkness and without thinking, Charity gripped her companion’s arm. With only a slight hesitation, Jago leaned backwards, just enough to give him the space to lift his arm and wrap it around her shoulders. Face flaming in the darkness, Charity nevertheless leaned into his warmth gratefully. Fifteen minutes later, she was asleep.
By the time Charity woke, dawn was exploding across the horizon. At some point, Jago had laid her down on the deck and covered her with his gansy which was almost big enough to be a used as a blanket by someone her size. Sitting up, she winced, wondering if she’d actually be able to stand. Her hair had slipped out of its pins, but there was very little she could do about that. Climbing to her feet, she tucked the errant strands behind her ears and looked around, finally spying her father and Percy standing at the front of the boat. Carefully stepping over the innumerable ropes and pulleys, she made her way towards them. Freddy was the first to spot her, giving a joyful bark in greeting.
‘Finished casting your account, then?’ her father commented cheerfully. ‘I must confess, at one point, I thought you were heading overboard.’
‘I’m feeling much better, thank you,’ she responded through gritted teeth. Sometimes she wondered how her father had ever become a man of the cloth, given his distinct lack of diplomacy.
‘Sea sickness really is the devil,’ Percy added, his voice showing enough sympathy for both of them. Charity nodded. ‘This is my first time on any kind of sailing vessel,’ she confessed. ‘I had no idea how bad it could be.’ She took a step forward, thenwrinkled her nose. Clearly, their clothes had been infused with the smell from the blanket they’d sheltered under. ‘Dear Lord, I really hope we are not obliged to use a public conveyance,’ she grimaced.
Reverend Shackleford frowned, lifting up his arm to sniff it. ‘A good honest smell,’ he announced with only the smallest wince. ‘I’m persuaded the Almighty would not be offended at our stink seeing as it was gained whilst Percy and I were about his business.’
‘In truth, Father, it’s not the Almighty I’m concerned about,’ Charity retorted. ‘I’m more co…’
She was interrupted by the shout of, ‘Land ho,’ coming from behind them. And sure enough, the Cornish coastline began to materialise in the early morning light.
‘Is that Falmouth?’ Charity asked Jago as he walked up behind them. She couldn’t stop her sudden discomfiture at the thought of sleeping in his arms earlier, and her voice came out slightly husky, much to her father’s interest.
Jago nodded, leaning over the rail to gaze at the rapidly approaching port, the hustle and bustle of tradespeople already clearly visible in the early morning sunlight.
‘We’ll remain in Falmouth only as long as it takes me to organise our transport,’ Jago was saying. ‘I am known here, and don’t wish my father to discover my return from another’s lips.’
‘Do you have a method of transport in mind?’ Charity asked him.
