The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(52)


“Fowey, eh?” Mrs. Farley frowned as if mulling over the hamlet’s history. She turned her all-seeing eyes on Oriana. “Are ye headed to Talland?”

“I am,” she confirmed.

Nicholas came shuffling out from behind the cottage. “Thank ye for the water, Missus.”

Mrs. Farley’s gaze followed the boy as if he’d disappear. “Ye are welcome to use my well anytime, boy.” She turned wet, dull eyes to Oriana, making Walsingham dart another glance at Nicholas. “Will he be comin’ along with ye the next time ye come to visit?”

Nicholas joined Walsingham, and they moved to the back of the wagon. Together, they began unloading bundles of furze and turf, carrying the faggots to deposit them in the rectangular-shaped rick built alongside Mrs. Farley’s cottage.

“Have ye made headway with last week’s delivery?” he overheard Oriana asking.

“Aye,” Mrs. Farley said, her voice thick with emotion. “Wait here.” The widow’s footsteps retreated into the cottage. Before Walsingham could make it back to the wagon to question Oriana about the exchange between the two women, Mrs. Farley returned. In her hands, she carried another bundle, this one much smaller than the one Oriana was holding. “I’ve finished six pair of stockings for ye.” She patted the parcel and then glanced at Nicholas. “I hope the children enjoy them.”

Stockings for children? That doesn’t sound like contraband.

“I am sure they will, Mrs. Farley.” The two women exchanged packages. “Here’s more worsted wool straight from Yorkshire,” Oriana said. “As usual, it needs to be spun and carded first.”

Walsingham nudged Nicholas and waved for him to follow as he began making his way over to Oriana and Mrs. Farley.

“Allow me to load that for you, Miss,” Walsingham offered.

“Thank ye.” Hands now free, Oriana pulled what appeared to be a letter out of her reticule and gave it to the widow. Another red seal shone prominently in the light. “The furze we’ve unloaded should tide ye over until next week, Mrs. Farley.”

The widow’s face transformed, and the wrinkles lining her brow softened. “Thank ye, Miss. I don’t know how I’d exist without yer kindness.”

“Nonsense.” Oriana chuckled. “We all benefit when we take care of one another. The warmth these stockings will provide the orphans in Mrs. Pickering’s care far outweighs anythin’ I’ve ever done for ye.”

“Ye are wrong,” Mrs. Farley said, thick emotion distorting her voice. “What I do for ye keeps me goin’.”

Nicholas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Mrs. Farley.

The parcel dropped to the ground, forgotten, as the lonely widow wrapped her arms around Nicholas, holding him tight. “Oh! This does me heart good.”

Guilt flooded Walsingham. His heart thudded against his ribs like gale-force winds, and it clamored to steal his breath. How could he have suspected Oriana was guilty of smuggling, or that she was even involved in a smuggling operation, when she rode across the county helping widows find ways to make a living for themselves and their families?

Nicholas broke free of Mrs. Farley, said something Walsingham couldn’t hear, and then rounded the wagon. With spry energy, he scrambled back to his seat and waited for Oriana and Mrs. Farley to exchange embraces.

“Take care of yourself, Mrs. Farley,” Oriana said, a noticeable fracture disrupting her voice.

“I will.” The widow nodded sadly.

“Ye must give me yer word.” The familiar request was the same one he’d overheard Oriana ask of Mrs. Newcomb. “Mrs. Pickering’s orphans are dependin’ on ye.”

“I understand.” Mrs. Farley actually smiled and stood a bit taller as her eyes drifted to Nicholas once more. “I’ll be ready when ye return.”

Oriana touched the widow’s shoulder, her fingers giving the woman a gentle squeeze before she let go, turned, and walked around the wagon.

Walsingham waited to assist her. As she mounted the wagon, he asked, “What’s wrong? You look like a dying duck in a thunderstorm.”

“They will all be expectin’ me to return, John. But life is uncertain.” Her eyes misted. “And I don’t like makin’ promises I cannot keep.”

“Then don’t,” he said, unable to envision life without Oriana.





Fifteen




CUSTOMS officers suffered a CALAMITOUS entanglement with a BLACK SHIP off PORTHOUSTOCK, near the MANACLES. The BOARD OF EXCISE’S PREVENTATIVE sloop, the HIND, saved half the sinking GRECO’S crew, but was unable to confiscate the ILLEGAL contraband of TEA, WOOL, RUM, TOBACCO, and SALT that went down in the GRECO’S hold.

~ Sherborne Mercury, 13 October 1809


The ride to Talland Church was tolerable beneath the brilliant sun as they traveled across the peaceful grassland, stopping long enough to open and shut the many gates separating each field. Oriana breathed in the scents of honeysuckle and lemon verbena that swathed whitewashed farmhouses with gray, thatched roofs built to face the wind. Natural and balanced, the structures complemented the sloping fields of grazing sheep and circling, mewling buzzards. Upland and down, statuary crosses marked the trail to the church through hedges and across streams toward a weathered spire standing guard over the bay between Hore and Downend Points.

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