Page 11 of By Marsh and By Moor (Marsh and Moor #1)

A beetle crept over the crumbling shaft of the abandoned waterwheel. Jed watched its progress among the vines and weeds coiled around the wood. Only twenty years ago that crushing mill had been brand new.

A hollow feeling had settled uncomfortably in his stomach. He had thought that this morning he would be lying snugly in bed in his childhood cottage, not standing at the old pithead among the smelting works’ scattered remains.

Behind him, a twig cracked. He turned to see that Solomon had emerged from the building where they’d slept and was coming across the grass to join him, haversack on his back.

The knot in Jed’s chest loosened. Not everything had gone badly yesterday. They had woken tangled together, closely entwined. It was something Jed had known only a few times before in his life, and never with someone he expected to see again after that morning.

“Ready to leave?” Solomon asked when he joined Jed.

“Not really, no. Wouldn’t mind staying up here forever, to tell the truth.”

Solomon’s expression softened.

Jed settled his haversack over his shoulder. “Best get on, though, hadn’t we?”

They entered the woods and tramped through the undergrowth until they reached a dirt track that wound its way past isolated moorland farms.

Last night already felt like a fading dream, chased away by the harsh light of the morning. Jed wished he could let his mind dwell on the memory of it. Savour it. But instead, his thoughts kept circling around to his damned troubles.

“I can’t fight Penwick,” he said abruptly. “Much as I’d gladly see him in hell. Even if he weren’t the Squire, he’s my brother-in-law. And… I think Carrie is happy. I think he’s good to her.”

Solomon murmured in agreement. “He is a sanctimonious prick, though.”

Jed had to laugh. “He is that.”

They stopped talking to ford a stream, picking their way across slippery rocks.

Once they were on the other side, Jed added, “But I bloody well want my horse back.”

“Penwick said something about his man of business. Do you know who that is?”

“I reckon it’s Mr Morgan of High Bray. As soon as may be, I’ll go there and see him.

” There was something else on his mind, but he had been hesitating to bring it up, suspecting it was a subject Solomon would sooner avoid.

“There’s another thing. My sister mentioned a Lieutenant Vaughan of the Impress Service.

Is that the same fellow as nearly caught us at the farm? ”

Solomon stopped walking. “Where is he?”

“She said as how the gang have set up their Rondy at Minehead, so I expect he’s there.” He stopped walking too, turning to face Solomon.

The lines around Solomon’s mouth had tightened. “How far is it from Barnstaple to Minehead, would you say?”

“By sea? Or over the moors? Minehead is thirty miles that way, and”—he turned and pointed in the opposite direction—“Barnstaple is ten miles that way. It’s a fair long journey overland—”

“—and a quicker one by sea.”

Solomon’s voice had an edge to it that made Jed want to move mountains to solve his problems for him.

“I wouldn’t fret. The gang won’t stay at Minehead forever, now that everyone in the district knows they’re there.

They’ll move away to some other hunting ground where they’ll have the element of surprise.

Or maybe their Lordships up in London will recall them.

” Solomon looked unconvinced, and Jed added, “And anyroad, every step takes us further away from Minehead.”

Solomon was still frowning, and Jed would have liked to lift a hand to Solomon’s face, to brush his thumb over that line between his brows and smooth it away. But it was easier to do such things in the dark than in the light of day.

“All right, then,” Solomon said finally. “Let’s just get to Barnstaple.”

They reached the town by mid-morning. It was market day, and the streets were thronged with traders and villagers from the surrounding countryside.

“I need to find the riverfront,” Solomon said. “I told my friend Wallace to leave word for me at the first tavern south of the bridge.”

“That’ll be the Anchor. I’ll show you.”

Jed spoke briskly, but in truth he was both curious and nervous to meet this friend who seemed to mean so much to Solomon, and about whom he had said so little.

He led Solomon through the streets towards the river. There was one good thing about this, at least: it was a relief to have something to do. A clear goal, instead of floundering in the fog of uncertainty that had been threatening to choke him since he fled his village.

Barnstaple was much as it had been when Jed had last seen it.

The first time he came here, he’d been a little boy crouched in his father’s cart, gaping open-mouthed at the sights: the busy streets, with their motley hodge-podge of crumbling medieval buildings and prosperous merchants’ new townhouses; the well-dressed shipowners’ wives; the delivery boys weaving through the traffic; the forest of masts rising above the rooftops where fishing boats and merchant ships were moored along the river bank.

At the Anchor, the landlord stopped polishing glasses long enough to answer Solomon’s enquiry.

“You’re Dyer, are you? Your friend said you’ll find him at the sign of the Boar.”

Solomon looked relieved. “At least I know he made it here from London all right,” he said when they were back out on the street.

The Boar was five minutes’ walk away, a busy inn on the town’s main thoroughfare, with a carrier’s yard attached. In the taproom, a dark-haired woman was serving drinks to the market-day crowd.

When Solomon asked for Wallace Acton, she eyed him curiously. “You must be his friend from London. He’s out back—go on through.”

The door she indicated led to a back alley. A burly young man, as tall as Solomon and much broader, was stacking barrels against the alley wall.

“Wallace!” Solomon called, and the man turned.

He had fair hair framing a pleasant, open face, with melancholic blue eyes that lit up at the sight of Solomon. In a few swift steps, they came together in the middle of the alley, enfolding each other in a tight embrace.

Jed watched them, taking an odd sort of pleasure in the sight of their joy. At least one of them, out of him and Solomon, had something going well in his life.

Finally, Solomon stepped back, holding the other man out at arm’s length to look at him. He was blinking, eyes suspiciously bright. “Thank goodness you got here all right. Are you well? You look well.”

“Now, Solomon, I told you not to worry about me.”

Solomon said nothing, but only gave him a searching look.

The other man squeezed his arm. “Yes, I’m well. Very much so. What about you? I’ve been looking out for you this past week. Did you have trouble leaving Town?”

“No, but I had a few adventures on the way. And… I have good news and bad. I’ll tell you everything, but first—this is Jedediah Trevithick. We met on the road.” Solomon turned to Jed, smiling. “Jed, Wallace Acton.”

Wallace was examining Jed with friendly curiosity. He offered his hand, and Jed shook it.

“Jed’s a carrier,” Solomon added. “He took pity on me and showed me the way here. Meeting him was a rare stroke of luck.”

Jed grunted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pleased to meet you,” he said to Wallace.

A brewer’s cart rumbled into the alley, and Wallace was obliged to move away to speak to the driver. Solomon turned back to Jed.

“I’ll be off now,” Jed said to forestall him. “Let you catch up with your friend. See you around, eh?”

“Wait. Won’t you stay? Have a drink—?”

But it was all too much. Carrie, Penwick, his horse, the press gang…

His head ached, and a chasm separated him from the other two men and their smiling faces.

He was pleased for Solomon—pleased to see him so happy.

But for his own part, he just wanted to get away from here. To hide away and lick his wounds.

“I can’t stay. Got some business in town I must see to.”

Solomon looked alarmed. “Wait! Where can I find you?”

“I don’t know… I’m not sure.”

“Meet me at the Anchor at seven this evening?”

The easiest thing to do was to nod in agreement.

Out in the street, Jed let himself be carried along by the market-day crowd. A fishmonger elbowed him out of the way. A carter cursed him for not getting out of the horse’s path quickly enough. Jed scarcely noticed.

He had nothing in mind. No destination. No plans.

A deep, instinctive part of him shied away from making any.

He did have acquaintances in Barnstaple—people he’d done business with in the past, who might be able to help him to a job.

But he didn’t want to think about that. To think about it would be to admit that he might not be able to return to work in Ledcombe.

He would, at the very least, need to find somewhere to sleep tonight.

There was a lodging house in one of the narrow streets around the merchants’ exchange, a cheap, clean place where he used to sleep when he was in Barnstaple too late to return home to Ledcombe before nightfall.

The woman scrubbing the front step stopped her work long enough to promise to keep a bed for him.

“You can come any time after nine o’clock. ”

That done, he wandered away. It was late afternoon by now, far too late to think about trying to get out to High Bray to see Penwick’s man of business. Jed went to the Anchor and sat over a pint of ale, ignoring anyone who tried to engage him in conversation.

Solomon arrived at seven. A flicker of something that looked almost like relief crossed his face when he saw Jed. But it was gone before Jed could be sure.

He sat down opposite Jed and pushed a fresh pint across the table to him. “How did you go on today? Get your business seen to all right?”

Jed shrugged. “Some of it.” He had found a place to sleep, at least. That counted, didn’t it? He picked up the full glass and raised it in salute. “Thanks.”