Rapscallion

right, too. Isn't that so, Captain?' He looked to Lasseur.

Lasseur nodded soberly. Hawkwood wondered if he was thinking of his dead wife and son.

'Right then,' Gadd said briskly. 'Can't stand here chin- wagging all day. Why don't you leave these gentlemen to me, Jessie? I'll find something for them to do. Reckon we'll have this place lookin' shipshape in no time!'

They rested at midday when the woman took them a basket of food and a jug of cider, which they placed in the stream to keep cool. By that time the gate to the sheep pasture had been mended, the meadow grass had been cut back and the slats on the barn nailed into place. The woman had left the food and returned to the house, leaving the three men to fend for themselves.

Hawkwood took a sip of cider and passed Gadd the jug. The seaman was puffing contentedly at a short- stemmed clay pipe. He put the pipe down and raised the jug to his lips. When he had drunk he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, put the jug to one side, leant back on his elbow and took up his pipe once more. With his eyes half closed against the sun he looked like a man satisfied with his lot.

'Is Madame Flynn a smuggler?' Lasseur asked.

Gadd opened his eyes at the unexpected question. Then he removed the pipe from his mouth and tapped the bowl against his boot. 'Not everyone in the trade works the boats. There's some folk who just store the goods till they can be moved up the line to the buyer.'

Shepherds, innkeepers and widows, Hawkwood thought. 'Are there many like that?'

'A whole army. Someone offers you a keg for the use of your byre for a few nights or they need a couple of ponies for a run; you're not going to turn them down. You take someone like Morgan, for instance; he's got people all over the county.'

'Who's Morgan?'

It was the second time the name had cropped up.

'Ezekiel Morgan. He controls most of the coast around here. Took over when the old gangs died out. There's not much goes on that he doesn't know about.'

'Did he arrange our stay here?'

Gadd nodded.

'Will we get to shake his hand?' Lasseur asked.

'If you do, best count your fingers afterwards.'

Gadd paused as if suddenly aware that he might have given out a little too much information. He reached over and placed the stopper back in the jug. 'Anyways, you don't need to bother your heads about that. We've chores to finish. And we'd best get a move on. Jessie'll have our hides if she sees us sitting here gossiping like three old fishwives.'

Hawkwood wondered if Morgan was the other form of protection Jess Flynn had mentioned the previous evening. He mulled over the possibility as they returned to work.

It was late afternoon when they halted for the day, by which time a pleasant ache had settled across Hawkwood's back and shoulders.

Lasseur drew a hand across his brow. 'I shall sleep well tonight, I think.'

'You'll eat first,' Jess Flynn told them.

She had prepared food, which they ate seated at the table in the kitchen, while the dog kept watch outside the open door.

'How many others have there been before us?' Hawkwood asked.

'A few,' Jess Flynn acknowledged. 'But not for a while.'

'This man, Morgan; did he arrange their passage, too?'

'Morgan?' Jess Flynn looked up, her face suddenly still.

'Thomas mentioned the name. He told us Morgan rules the free-trade business and that he'll have been the one who arranged our escape.'

Jess Flynn looked towards Gadd, who returned her stare with an apologetic shrug before tearing off a hunk of bread and using it to mop the gravy from his plate.

'We were just curious, that's all,' Hawkwood said. 'We wanted to know who to thank for our freedom.'

'I doubt your thanks would interest Ezekiel Morgan,' Jess Flynn said tartly. 'His only interest will have been in counting the money he's been paid for your passage.'

'Sounds as if you don't care for him much,' Hawkwood said.

'Can you blame her?' Gadd said.

'Tom,' Jess Flynn said warningly.

Gadd threw her a look that said, You might as well tell them.

Jess Flynn hesitated, then said, 'My husband worked for Morgan. It was after we were wed, when Jack was signed off the Orion. There wasn't much work around.'

'Lots of ships lying in ordinary,' Gadd cut in. 'Too many men; too few jobs.'

The price of peace, Hawkwood thought. It was ever thus. An end to hostilities meant ships were placed on reserve and their crews laid off, creating a glut of idle bodies in search of employment.

'He was always good with his hands, though.' She smiled at the memory. 'He could make anything.'

'Built the barn out there.' Gadd jerked a thumb and his lips tightened. 'For Morgan.'

'Ezekiel Morgan's my landlord,' Jess Flynn explained. 'He owns a lot of land hereabouts. That's the honest side of his business. Well, honest in comparison to his other interests. When we came here, the farm didn't pay for itself. We'd sell eggs and milk, but it wasn't enough. Jack would do all sorts of odd jobs to make ends meet: mending carts, shoeing horses, fixing gates - everything. He even made coffins. It was hard, but we got by. Then Morgan increased the rent. The first time we were unable to pay, he asked for the use of our horses for one of his runs. The next time, he needed some tubs stored for a few days. Then it was tobacco. Before long, we were hiding something away every week.'

'You don't say no to Morgan,' Gadd interjected. 'Not if you know what's good for you. Anyone who does is soon put right. You'll find a couple of your pigs have died overnight or a hay rick's caught fire or a dead lamb's been tossed down your well. It's a lot safer to go along with whatever it is Morgan wants. If you're lucky and it all goes well, there'll be a keg of brandy on your doorstep the next morning.'

Jess Flynn continued. 'After a while, Jack began going out on runs. It was good money. He started off as a tub carrier, then a bat man and lookout. Eventually, he became one of Morgan's lieutenants.' She stopped and her voice faltered. 'And then one night he didn't come back.' She fell silent.

Gadd took up the story. 'There was a landing up at White Ness; a big consignment, two hundred tubs plus tobacco; seventy ponies. They were carrying the kegs up from the beach. A Revenue patrol was waiting for them at the top of Kemp's Stairs. Ten of Morgan's men were taken; six were injured; three were shot, including Jack, but he and a couple of men managed to get away. They made it as far as Reading Street. The Revenue searched the houses. The others were found. Jack managed to hide out. Morgan got the doctor to him, but it was too late; he was gone.'

Jess Flynn said, 'I thought I'd have to leave the farm, but Morgan let me stay on. In return, he has the use of the horses when he wants and I still hide tubs from the Revenue. Once in a while I'll get a message that he needs a special favour, and I end up taking in strays like you.'

'What would happen if you told him about Seth?' Hawkwood asked.

'Seth?' Tom Gadd said, puzzled. 'What's that bugger got to do with anything?'

'It would depend,' Jess Flynn said.

'On what?'

'On Morgan deciding whether or not Seth bothering me was a threat to his business.'

'Has he been here?' Gadd stared at her.

'And if he did consider him a threat?' Hawkwood said.

'Then I'd be lending my sister my mourning dress.'

'What's the bugger done now, Jessie?' Gadd asked.

'It's all right, Tom. Nothing happened.'

'He tried to force himself on her,' Lasseur said. 'Captain Hooper and I saw him off.'

'Bloody hell, Jess!' Gadd said.