Endure My Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

enough that the revenueman is likely to stop in at the tavern to warm his toes, while our good friend the tapster pours him a tipple on the house, to slow him down.
    I learned all the little tricks of the trade. Knew to the last wrinkle the families that would tolerate having a couple of kegs concealed in their applelofts, ricks and stables. Took a keener interest in every hollow tree along my route, the culverts, faggot ricks, hedgerows and rainwater butts. To prevent being caught, a cesspool might be used, but the stuff was not recoverable after that step.
    Jem suggested I buy a share in a load, to increase my profit. The gentlemen were each entitled to do this—take a barrel home and decant it for small local trade, but of course in my position it was impossible. The bulk of the load went straight to London on the wagons of Will Phillips, the tranter. Will has six wagons and does all the hauling for the area. He moves households, grain, fish, farm produce or just about anything that is too large to go on the coach. The gentlemen kept three of his wagons fairly busy. He would usually put a layer of something else on top of the barrels for the purpose of concealment.
    I was only a silent partner in the business, my secret known to none but Jemmie and his family. Jemmie, though he was as sharp as a needle, was only a boy, and certainly not the chief of the operation. Naturally I wondered who the boss could be. I asked him more than once, my own guess being Lord Aiken, but in this I was mistaken.
    “Lord no, we only used Aiken’s place once in an emergency. He caught us dead to rights, but took his share and kept mum. He wasn’t interested in getting into it regular,” Jem told me.
    “Do you bring it in at his place? He has a nice quiet stretch of beach there, and he is often away too.”
    “Nay, he cautioned us not to.”
    “Do you bring it in at the Eyrie?” was my next question.
    I found myself becoming quite engrossed, and wishing to know more about it.
    “They do say it was used by the Sizewell Gap Gang in the old days, but we’ve never tackled the Eyrie.”
    The Eyrie is a highly romanticized ruin. Driving past it on the road, you could take it for a little fairy castle, sitting atop one of the highest points of the cliffs. A closer inspection will show you that what looked like weathered stone is in fact waterlogged shingles. The building is rapidly tumbling into decay, but its reputation is in no way marred by these details. It is associated by legend with smuggling, but its height so much above sea level inclines one to think this is mere romanticism, unless the smugglers were seagulls.
    This meeting took place at school at the end of April. Jem often made an excuse to drop by, bringing some item supposedly forgotten by Millie, which he gave to me. He knew I would be found out in the yard at recess, for with Dame Aldridge getting old and gouty, she never went out herself. I could not discover from him who the chief was, but he did ask me if I’d like to watch a load being landed. “On the sly, like,” he added with a knowing wink.
    I was extremely curious, and made an arrangement to sneak off with him next time a lugger was coming in. Two days later Millie told me Jemmie was going to a party that night at the cove.
    “Did he ask you to tell me?” I inquired politely.
    “Yes, miss, but he said there’s nothing but men going, and if a woman was to go, she must wear trousers or she’d not be let in.”
    “That sounds a highly irregular party,” I answered, smiling.
    “‘Tis that,” she agreed. “And it doesn’t start till midnight. Jemmie said to tell you so, but I told him you wouldn’t be interested at all.”
    “You tell your brother I expect a written invitation,” I told her, hoping to give him the hint I wanted a confirmation in writing.
    “He said to tell you they never write anything about the parties, lest strangers get hold of it,” she replied, smiling sweetly, but with a face not