The Admiral's Daughter

Still no lights, no signals—and no ship. 'Anyone sees anything— anything a'tall!' But there was nothing.

A chance thinning of the clouds lifted the level of illumination enough to show that Stackhouse Cove was empty.

But two rockets was no accident. Could the landing be taking place on the other side?

Fervently grateful for the fair south-westerly, Kydd brought Teazer about and hauled for Cudden Point, which they passed as close as he dared—and at once made out a large two-masted lugger lying inshore, motionless.

'Lay us alongside, Mr Dowse,' Kydd snapped. The information had been false and had successfully lured the two forces away from the true landing-place. But for Kydd's precautions of having men ashore and Standish wisely keeping lookout on both sides they could have landed their tubs safely out of sight.

A musket's flash stabbed the darkness from the lugger, then another, followed by the crack of a four-pounder. Kydd burnt with anger—for such vermin to fire on seamen defending their country!

A broadside from Teazer could settle the matter on an instant, but that was not the way it must be. Tysoe appeared with his fine fighting sword, which had seen so much honourable action. In the absence of the first lieutenant it would be Kydd leading the boarding. He shook his head. 'No, Tysoe, thank 'ee, they're not worth its bloodying.' He crossed to the arms chest and took up a cutlass.

'No firing 'less they do,' he roared, and prepared to leap. The firing died away as they neared, and confused shouting came from the shadowy figures in the lugger. 'They're skinning out,' yelled a foremast hand, pointing. A boat was in the water on the other side and men were tumbling into it.

The two vessels came together in a mighty thump and heavy creaking and Kydd jumped down the foot or so to the deck of the lugger, racing aft towards the wheel, followed by a dozen Teazers. 'Secure th' helm,' he ordered, and strode to the side. The boat was in a tangle of panicking men. 'Get out!' Kydd roared.

'Mr Kydd, they're in a mill ashore, sir.' Andrews's voice was cracking with excitement, and as Kydd watched there was a flurry of shots in the shadowy cliffs. 'They're making a fight of it, sir.'

The smugglers had scores of accomplices on shore to carry away the contraband and Standish might be in real trouble if he chose to make a stand. 'Into th' boat, Teazers!' he bawled.

In a frenzy they pulled into the small cove and grounded on a tiny patch of sand. A rush of men met them, but it was cutlasses against cudgels and they broke and fled, scrabbling up the steep, scrubby cliff. In the distance hoarse shouts rose and faded. They were alone.

'Teazers, ahoy!' Kydd bellowed. 'Mr Standish!'

'Sir!' The voice from the spine of the point was accompanied by a crashing of undergrowth and the dishevelled officer appeared, panting but with the white flash of a smile in the darkness. 'A good night's work, I believe, sir.'

'Be damned t' that! Where's their cargo?'

'Oh—ah, it must still be aboard, sir?'

The boat was shoved out into the black depths to return to the lugger. Its crew squatted sullenly on deck. 'Mr Purchet, get into th' hold an' see if there's anything in it,' Kydd called to the boatswain.

'Empty, sir. I already checked.'

Then it could only be at one place. They would have to move fast for if they missed their chance all evidence would be lost. Quickly Kydd gathered a party of men and took the boat back into the little cove. 'After me,' he ordered them, and struck out for the heights.

In the shadowy dark they slipped and scrambled up the rough path to the slopes above, where a stone building stood in darkness. 'You three, wake 'em up an' stand guard upon my return. Nobody t' move an inch.'

Breathing heavily, he headed up towards the massive square bulk of Acton Castle. A single light showed below the central battlements but the rest was in utter blackness.

'With me,' he ordered, and moved forward quickly, thankful to meet the level grass of a lawn. The party hurried across it and stopped at an oddly narrow front entrance. Kydd hammered on the door with the hilt of his cutlass, his men crowding behind. No movement. He banged again, louder—it produced a querulous cry from inside, but Kydd knew that if he could move quickly enough there was no possibility that they could conceal dozens of bulky tubs in time.

'In the name o' the King!' he bawled.

With a tedious sliding of bolts and grating of keys the door finally swung open to reveal the anxious face of an aged servant. 'Mr Stackhouse! Get me Mr Stackhouse this instant, y' villain!'

'He—he's not here,' the man stammered, suddenly catching sight of the men crowding behind Kydd.

'Then get him!'

'I—I—'

Pushing him aside Kydd strode into a hall bedecked with mock-medieval hangings. He looked sharply about, then hailed his party. 'Take position at the doorways, all of ye—smartly, now.'

Kydd pricked his ears: if there was any mad scurrying to hide contraband he would hear it, but the night was still. Then there was movement on the stairs. The light of a candle showed at the top and began to come down.

It was an elderly man in nightgown and cap, who descended slowly. At the bottom he stopped and stared about him. 'Mr Stackhouse?' Kydd challenged brusquely.

The man's gaze turned on him incredulously and Kydd became aware of eyes with the unmistakable glint of authority. 'You!' he grated. 'What the devil do you mean by this, sir?'

There was something about . . . 'Mr Stackhouse, I've reason t' believe—'

'A pox on it! I'm not John Stackhouse, as well you know, sir!'