Jack rolls up the chart and sticks it under his arm, covering it with his jacket. “Let’s go.”
The moment they step outside, Jib comes bounding from behind the stables. Isabel stops to stroke the dog’s head, then runs to catch up with Jack. She takes three steps for his every two while he asks her about the information she got from Lieutenant Sowerby. The wind yanks at her dress, making it flap around her legs as she walks. After the run from Helford, she feels every step pull in her calves.
A lengthy march along the edge of the cliff, made more difficult by the pelting rain, takes them to a point at which the sea cuts into the land, creating a wide cove. Jack leads the way to a path so steep it’s hard to imagine the donkeys they use to carry the contraband could make the descent without breaking their legs. The high cliff wraps around the cove, and at the center of it lies theRapide,a brown-hulled mass of rigging and red furled sails. A rowboat sits on the beach,waiting to carry them to the ship. Even in the shelter of the cove the waves are such that theRapideis swaying at anchor like a colt ready to leap.
Jack stands next to her. “Isn’t she marvelous?”
In spite of her worries about keeping her distance, the sight of the ship thrills her. The innkeeper of the Crown, Jack being a smuggler—none of it matters. Here is a ship to carry her to sea, andsucha ship. She says, “She’s everything a ship should be.”
Jack grins back at her. “She is, isn’t she? She’s a good little ship. Fast, too, with wind like this.” He turns to Oppy, who emerges from the path below. “Are we fully loaded?”
“Aye, Captain. We’re ready to sail when the sun sets. John Spargo sends word, asking whether you want a headsail set. He worries about breaking the sheer while stowing the anchor.”
Jack looks hard at the ship, gauging the wind. “I’m inclined to agree, but I’ll go aboard directly—I’ll speak with him myself.”
“Aye, Captain,” Oppy says. “Choppy out there.”
Jack nods. “We’ll have to tack out of the cove, but then we can catch the northeasterly. What do you reckon, Oppy, shall we set a record for speed?”
“May make as much as fourteen knots, Captain.”
“Just so,” Jack says happily as Oppy goes ahead of them. She half expected Oppy to say something about women on ships.
“What cargo do you carry?” Isabel asks Jack as he crouches at the top of the cliff.
“Tin. They pay a decent penny for it in France.”
“And what will you bring back?”
“All sorts,” Jack says, turning to face the cliff as he climbs down. “Here, give me your hand. You don’t want to misstep on this rock here.”
As they half walk, half climb down, Jack says over his shoulder, “The bulk of the cargo will be made up of brandy if I can get the price I want. But we’ll carry much besides. Cocoa, lace, silks, tea, coffee.”
“So much?” she says.
“We’d take more if we had space for it. I hope to spend a year ortwo sailing in theRapideand then have a hundred-ton ship built. Another cutter or maybe a lugger.”
Down on the wet sand, they’re sheltered from the wind, but not from the rain. “Will!” Jack calls to a tall, lanky youth, who comes running over, red knit cap in hand. Up close, she sees his breeches have several patches on them. They’re too short as well and too wide at the top, where he has tied them around his waist with a length of rope. Jack says, “Have you got the fish?” and the boy nods.
“A herring, Captain.” He hands the small reed basket he carries to Jack, who opens it and whistles appreciatively.
“A fine specimen.”
“Caught only this midday, sir.”
“Well done, Will. It’s a shame not to eat it, but I shall make the offering now.”
“The Bucca will enjoy it, sir,” the boy says seriously, and Jack smiles and says he is certain the old merman will.
Will puts his cap back on and looks at Isabel. “Who are you, then?”
“Mind your manners,” Jack says. “This is Mrs. Isabel Henley, a widow of Trafalgar, and a particular friend of mine. She is to come along on our voyage and help me with the books.” The way he says it almost sounds as if he speaks in jest. Did he mean it when he told her she could be his bookkeeper for the duration of the voyage or was he merely humoring her?
“A widow of Trafalgar?” the boy says, fumbling with his cap and nearly dropping it. He makes an awkward bow. “Will Pengelly, madam, at your service.”
Isabel inclines her head. “I’m pleased to meet you, Will Pengelly.”
Jack says, “Will here has sailed with us since he lost his father at the age of twelve, four years ago. You won’t see a man climb the rigging faster.”
