Darkening Sea Read Online Free PDF Page B

you settle down. This damned war can’t last much longer.”
    â€œWhat about Sir Richard?”
    Ferguson looked at the darkening river. So that was it. He had guessed as much. The old dog worried about his master. As ever.
    Allday took his silence for doubt. “I’d not leave him. You knows that!”
    Ferguson shook the reins very gently and the pony started down the slope. “You dropped anchor only yesterday, and you’ve been like a bear with a sore head ever since. You couldn’t think of anything else.” He smiled. “So let’s go and see, eh?”
    It was St John’s Eve, the twenty-third of the month, a feast that dated from pagan times although it was bound up with Christian traditions. Old folk could remember when the celebration was held after sunset and marked by a chain of bonfires right across the county. The fires were blessed with wild flowers and herbs and when all was well alight young couples would often jump hand-in-hand through the flames to ensure good luck, and the blessing was spoken in the old Cornish tongue. A good deal of eating and drinking had accompanied the ceremony, and some doubters maintained that witchcraft rather than religion was paramount.
    But this evening was quiet, although they had seen one fire beyond the hamlet, where some farmer or landowner was celebrating with his workers. The chain of bonfires had ceased when the King of France’s head had been hacked from his shoulders and the Terror had ripped through that country like a fast fuse. If anyone was indiscreet enough to start up the old custom again here every countryman and the local Militia would be drummed to arms, because such a chain of fires would cry invasion.
    Ferguson played with the reins. It was almost time. He had to discover something. He had heard all about Allday’s old chest wound cutting him down as surely as any enemy ball when he had rescued the woman from the two robbers. Allday could cross blades with anybody, and was like a lion just so long as the wound held its peace. But it was a long walk from the inn to the Bolitho house at Falmouth. A dark track: anything might happen.
    He asked bluntly, “If she takes kindly to you, John—what I mean is . . .”
    Surprisingly Allday grinned. “I’m not staying the night, if that’s what you think. It would damage her name hereabouts. She’ll still be a foreigner to most.”
    Ferguson exclaimed with relief. “From Devon, you mean!” He looked at him gravely as they turned into the yard. “I’ve got to go over and visit old Josiah the mason. He was injured on our land a few days back, so her ladyship bid me take some things to cheer his hours away.”
    Allday chuckled. “Rum, is it?” He became serious again. “By God, you should have seen Lady Catherine when we were in that bloody longboat, Bryan.” He shook his shaggy head. “But for her, I don’t reckon we’d have come through it alive.”
    The little trap swayed over as Allday climbed down. “I’ll see you when you returns, then.” He was still standing staring at the inn door when Ferguson guided the trap on to the road again.
    Allday took the heavy iron handle as if he was about to release some raging beast and pushed open the door.
    His immediate impression was that it had changed since his last visit. The woman’s hand, perhaps?
    An old farmer sat beside the empty fireplace with his tankard of ale, and a pipe which appeared to have gone out some time ago; a sheep dog lay by the man’s chair, only his eyes moving as Allday closed the door behind him. Two well-dressed merchants looked up with sudden alarm at the sight of the blue jacket and buttons, probably imagining he was part of a press-gang making a last-minute search for recruits. It was not so common now for innocent traders to be snatched up by the press in their never-ending hunt for men to feed the demands of