Shiver Page 6

  The Haunting of Anne

  Chambers

  Jane Risdon

  The Southern Cross lay at anchor off Mousehole, its crew rowing out to a cave near the village of Paul. The master, Andrew Pasco, ordered his crew to unload their plunder on to the waiting carts, ready to be hauled by local men through tunnels that linked the cave to St Pol de Leon Church, where it would be buried in the graveyard until it could be auctioned off.

  Their exotic cargo was fair game for the ‘free traders’, as they called themselves, who worked with Andrew and his crew. There had been a wreck the previous week and so getting men to help had proved difficult, as the locals had looted a substantial hoard from the stricken ship and the need for money was not as pressing as it was when The Southern Cross usually weighed anchor. But eventually greed had dragged the men from their beds once more.

  Andrew met with the vicar of St Pol de Leon during the early hours and they drank to their good fortune while the men buried the loot. The vicar relied upon his smuggling income to maintain his mistress and illegitimate children away from Paul’s prying eyes and gossiping village women. Andrew was happy with the arrangement too. His lover would be arriving soon on her own privateer, The Clew Castle out of Galway, and providing her plunder of Spanish ships had been as successful as his own, Anne would also have plentiful booty to conceal at the church. They’d been pooling their share of the bounty in order to have enough to live off for the rest of their lives, and Andrew thought now was the right time to retire. Both had been at sea for many years and were growing weary of the life and the dangers of engaging with the French and the Spanish not to mention the Crown.

  ‘Sir, I shall be at the usual place,’ Andrew told the vicar. ‘Tell Anne to meet me there.’ He headed across the road towards the King’s Arms, where there would be good food and their usual room awaiting them. Anne’s ship was expected to drop anchor sometime around dawn. A lookout would send a message to Andrew, who would ensure that the local men brought The Clew Castle’s bounty safely back to Paul. Lookouts would also be posted along the cliffs to keep an eye out for the Revenue men.

  ‘I don’t think they’ll be any trouble this morning, Captain,’ said the landlord, Bill, filling Andrew’s tankard again. ‘Rumour is they’re keeping an eye on the Godfrey Gally. There’s talk of her bringing silk, silver, and tobacco ashore and the Revenue are lying in wait.’ The landlord laughed. ‘Everyone knows about it.’

  Andrew nodded, ‘I’ve heard the same, but ’tis still prudent to keep the lookouts posted.’ Although the villagers of Mousehole and Paul lived off the proceeds of smuggling, it wouldn’t do for him or Anne to let their guard down. Even though both had been commissioned to carry out their trade by the Crown, who took the lion’s share of the booty, they were still subject to the laws of the land and at the mercy of the Revenue men.

  The privateers needn’t have worried. The Revenue were indeed engaged with the Godfrey Gally, at Penzance, and Anne was able to land her cargo unchallenged. When it was safely stowed, she made her way to the King’s Arms for a hearty and welcome meal. Their room afforded peace and quiet, not to mention an outside staircase should a hasty escape be required.

  ‘We’ve got enough now, Andrew,’ Anne said as she lay in his arms sometime later. ‘We could give the men more than their shares and still have ample for ourselves.’ Her ebony eyes watched his face, hoping he would agree.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking on it a great deal, Anne, and I believe we can do it.’ Andrew stroked her dark curls, his fingers familiar with every soft, silky strand. ‘I think we should sell The Clew Castle to Master Jago.’ Jago was still without his own command since a skirmish with the French had sunk his ship some months earlier. Andrew had already spoken to Jago and knew the old seafarer had the backing of several of Cornwall’s members of parliament, who were anxious for some additional income. They could smooth the matter of getting a new letter of marque for the ship. The letters gave privateers entitlement to commit against hostile nations acts which would otherwise be condemned as piracy.

  ‘That’s fine with me, but will he take my crew?’ Anne worried like a mother hen about her men, most of whom had sailed with her for over a decade.

  ‘He lost all hands bar the boatswain, so he is indeed in need of a crew, and says he will happily take yours.’ Andrew said.

  ‘I’m due over a thousand pounds from this cargo after paying the men and my backers, so with your haul and what we’ve saved we should have enough for a fine life together.’ Anne kissed his rough hands lightly. ‘Shall we do it, then?’

  ‘Yes, we shall. I’ll get word to Jago and he can bring papers tomorrow before we leave, then we can sign everything. He’s ready to act. I’ll have my crew prepare The Southern Cross; we shall sail before the week’s end.’ Andrew wanted to leave Mousehole before his ship attracted too much attention. She was safe for now, but he didn’t want to risk her being boarded by curious Revenue men.

  ‘When will her sale be final, Andrew?’ Anne knew that the ship was to be purchased by a friend of Andrew’s, Captain Tatum, who had several wealthy backers. ‘What have you agreed?’

  ‘We shall sail to Helford and he will take ownership of her there, later this week. From there we will ride to Jamaica Inn on Bodmin, from whence we shall take the coach to Plymouth.’ He smiled at her happily. ‘Don’t worry, I have everything made ready. All our possessions will be waiting for us at the house in Devon.’

  Andrew’s crew had already found new ships, apart from his elderly cook, Thomas, who was going to serve him and Anne at their new home in the country. Thomas had almost cried with happiness when Andrew offered to take him to Devon. ‘I’ve known you man and boy, Master Pasco, and I am proud to continue in your service. Of course I shall serve you and the Mistress Anne.’ The cabin boy, Matt, would also remain in his employ.

  Messages were sent and Andrew and Anne spent the rest of the morning chatting and planning their future lives, free from the sea and from the endless bloody skirmishes with the French and the Spanish.

  ‘I am pleased that everyone got what they wanted,’ sighed Anne. She had a soft streak which she hid well. It would cost her dearly if, in the heat of battle, she’d allowed her feelings for her men to show. She had been a strict but fair mistress of her vessel, feared by her enemies but respected fiercely by her men.

  Master Jago arrived at lunchtime and soon the papers were signed and monies paid. The Clew Castle belonged to Anne no longer. She sent a messenger to her backers with their shares of the sale, and then her crew assembled before her for the last time. After instructing them about the sale of the booty in the churchyard and how and when they could expect to be paid, she told them. ‘Master Jago is your commander now, serve him well and faithfully, as you have served me.’ They said their goodbyes and left with their new master, happy in the knowledge they’d receive their shares of their latest haul plus a satisfying bonus.

  ‘I won’t be long.’ Andrew reached into his big oak chest, which had been brought to the room during the night. Dressing in his finest clothes he bowed to Anne. ‘I’m meeting with Peter Geoffrey to collect what he owes me.’ He said. ‘You remember him, he was with the East India Company before going to the Bank of England.’

  Anne admired Andrew in his finery. ‘I shall pay Bill and summon help for our chests. We will be ready to leave upon your return.’

  Andrew and Anne had kept a few belongings at the King’s Arms while away at sea. The landlord, Bill, earned a tidy sum from them in addition to being part of the crew, and thus kept the room for their convenience only. Andrew kissed her hungrily, his mind full of plans for their future on the small farm they’d purchased in Devon.

  ‘I shan’t be long.’ He whistled as he ran downstairs.

  Time was passing and there was no sign of Andrew. Anne sent for his cabin boy.

  ‘Have you heard from the master?’ She tried to hide the anxiety in her voice.

  ‘No, Mistress Chambers, nothing.’
Matt looked worried. ‘I have your chests to load on to The Southern Cross later, and I’ve got three lads standing by waiting to help me with the task.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘It’s getting late and I don’t know how much longer they are prepared to wait, Mistress.’

  ‘Take the landlord’s mare and ride along the road to Penzance. It’s possible he has stopped with Mr Geoffrey to have some supper, so go there should you not come across him along the road.’

  Anne listened as he took the mare from the stables and watched him ride away. She went downstairs and asked for some supper to be sent up while she waited. She paid Bill what was owed and returned to her room to wait.

  Anne realised she must have fallen asleep; the room was dark and the inn was silent when she next looked about her. She recalled eating her supper and drinking some ale … after that, nothing. She went to the door, listening, but no-one stirred. The cabin boy had not returned, and neither had Andrew or she’d have been woken. Concerned that something was amiss she changed into her master’s outfit, not unlike Andrew’s, buckled her sword, and put her dagger inside her jacket. She tied her hair in a bandana and crept silently from the room.

  A strange feeling came over her as she descended the stairs; dread of something she couldn’t determine. She knocked on the landlord’s door and shouted, but no one replied. She opened it and to her surprise found his bed empty. Bill was a widower and Anne had half expected to find the serving wench wrapped around him. She lit the candle holder beside his bed and looked about the room. It was as if it had never been occupied. A quick look around the inn confirmed her suspicions; she was alone. The landlord, everyone, had gone.

  It had been agreed that she and Andrew would be the sole occupants of the inn’s rooms during their visit, as was usual. Only a cook and a servant would be in attendance. Bill’s desertion surprised and angered Anne. Andrew would be most displeased, she thought.

  Anne ran across to the church and banged on the vicar’s door. ‘Please, open up! It’s Anne Chambers, I need to come in.’ The rectory remained in darkness. Suspicion filled her soul and she ran to the crypt of Richard Ffenne, Merchant, inside which their bounty was always hidden. It was open … and empty. Opened chests were strewn about the place but nothing remained of the silks, tobacco, and other contraband they’d worked so hard to obtain.

  Her mind raced. She cursed Andrew, wondering where he’d got to. Had he betrayed her after all this time and taken everything for himself? She’d run him through if he had. Anne thought about the landlord, the vicar – all partners in the enterprise with her and Andrew, not to mention the villagers. There was treachery afoot.

  She looked around her and noticed how dark and quiet it was. The wind was chilly and blew the autumn leaves about her cold feet. Surely everyone was warm and cosy in their beds, asleep. Yet where was the vicar, and why was the inn deserted? Nothing made sense. She decided to try knocking on doors to see who, if anyone, would answer. She needed to know what had happened.

  Anne felt, rather than heard, a presence behind her. She turned. Blows rained down upon her head and she fell beside the open crypt.

  Anne lay gazing at the patterns fidgeting upon the ceiling, created by moonlight streaming through the open window, wondering where on earth she was. She must have slept. Her head ached like it did after too much cider, and she felt slightly nauseous. Pushing herself upright, she plumped the pillows, trying to figure out whose bed she was in and why she was in her underclothes. A feeling of dread filled her; had someone assaulted her? She felt as if she’d been drugged. Nausea overwhelming her, she put the thoughts away and closed her eyes for a while.

  Later she heard distant voices drifting upwards in the night air, through the window. Men’s voices, and music too. When her head cleared a little she looked around the room. It was furnished modestly: a dressing table, a wardrobe, and two large oak chests, but she didn’t recognise it. Where was she?

  She got out of bed and went to the window needing some air, her head pounding. There was a yard with what looked like old stables beneath her window. The view over the roof of the stables was blocked by a huge tree, but in any case, apart from the light of the full moon, it was pitch black outside so whatever was in the distance was invisible. Shivering, Anne decided to find her clothes and get dressed – then she’d investigate outside the bedroom door. Her mind was desperately trying to place events leading up to waking in the strange room, but she was unable. It was all a blank.

  The wardrobe was empty and so was the dressing table. Something about the room felt strangely familiar. Was this her room? But if it were, where were her things? She lifted the lid on the smaller chest after a bit of a struggle – it was heavier than it looked – and gazed upon a collection of strange clothes and materials. They appeared to be women’s clothes, fine silks and lace, with silver and gold trinkets in a pouch beside them. She found an embossed silver sword, the blade very sharp, and a dagger with an ivory handle. Whose were they, she wondered?

  A board creaked outside the door.

  Anne froze, holding her breath wondering if someone would try her door, but no-one did. After a while and hearing nothing further, she let her breath go. Feeling guilty, she closed the lid quietly. She waited a few moments then, unable to resist temptation, she attempted to undo the stiff leather straps binding the larger chest, but to no avail.

  She’d dressed in clothes she found folded neatly beside her bed, also unfamiliar to her but well-fitting just the same, and pushed her feet into the short leather boots she’d found. Moving to the door she listened a while and slowly lifted the latch. The corridor was dark but sounds drifted up from the bottom of the stairwell, odd, strange, mystifying sounds; those male voices, and unfamiliar music. She regretted not taking the dagger, fearful at what might await her at the bottom of the dark stairwell, but she didn’t want to risk going back to fetch it.

  At the bottom of the stairs there was a partially glazed door. Through it she could hear the same voices and music, only louder and more offensive to her ears. It made her head pound. Lights danced on the other side of the door and her nerve faltered, she should have taken the dagger. She hesitated, afraid, shivering with the cold.

  Before she could decide what to do, the door was thrown open and she found herself being dragged into the noisy room. Her eyes darted around trying to comprehend what she was seeing, hearing, smelling; everything assaulted her senses, leaving her bewildered. The clothing was unfamiliar to her, and she wondered if she were amongst foreigners.

  Yet those who smiled at her, their arms raised in greeting, didn’t feel unfamiliar to her as they shouted a name.

  ‘Anne.’

  Lights flashed on and off around her and the musical noise seemed to fill the air as if from nowhere, pounding at her brain, assaulting her ears. Terrified, she tried to free herself from the grip of the person, whose face she couldn’t see clearly but whose hand held her firmly.

  ‘Anne, are you all right? We’ve been worried about you.’ The man turned and her heart leapt but her brain was confused. He was so familiar and for some reason she felt she knew him, intimately, but how? From where?

  ‘Who are you, what do you want with me?’ She shouted, pulling away from him. ‘Where am I?’ She cowered, her arms hugging her shaking body.

  ‘It’s me, Anne. You’ve had a nasty bang on the head, Matt found you in the churchyard yesterday evening. We think you were attacked by a thief.’ The man smiled kindly at her and reached out to stroke her hair. She pulled away confused.

  ‘What? Why was I in a churchyard? Where am I?’ She shouted. The music stopped and the room fell silent; all eyes concentrated upon her face. She couldn’t see the musicians, which seemed odd to her. Where were they?

  ‘Anne, you went to the churchyard looking for Andrew,’ the middle-aged man behind the bar said. He seemed familiar too.

  ‘Andrew? Who’s Andrew?’ She shook her head, trying to focus on something deep in her mind, trying to surface.


  ‘She’s still suffering from the bang on the head,’ said a youth sitting next to the bar.

  ‘I’m Andrew,’ the man who’d dragged her into the bar said, smiling kindly at her. The gentle lines on his handsome face seemed so familiar, familiar to her touch perhaps? The thought flitted away; still she was clueless.

  ‘I don’t know you. Who are you and why am I here if I had a bang on my head? Have I seen a doctor?’ She was annoyed with them and herself. Why couldn’t she remember? Her focus kept coming and going and she still felt a little sick. She needed to sit down.

  The man called Andrew noticed her sway and guided her to a vacant chair. She sat, white-faced, as the nausea gripped her.

  ‘Get her some water,’ he said to the landlord. Anne sipped warily; what if it was drugged? Had she been drugged, was that it?

  ‘Why are you wearing those strange clothes? Where am I? Please, someone, tell me, what’s happening to me?’ Her head swam with the confusion of it all.

  ‘You’re in the King’s Arms, in Paul, Anne, you must remember. We sailed here a few days ago and we’re staying here. We’re on our way to Devon, to the farm. You must remember.’ Andrew looked concerned. ‘Perhaps you do need the doctor again.’

  ‘I can call him out, Andrew,’ said the landlord. ‘He’ll come out even this late, I’m sure, but perhaps she only needs more medication, perhaps that might help?’

  Medication? She felt giddy with fear. They’d drugged her, that’s why she felt so ill. ‘I’m not taking anything from you. I don’t trust any of you.’ She said. ‘Get a doctor.’

  Andrew was worried. If he didn’t get her checked over again she might get worse, on the other hand, the doctor had said to expect some pain and perhaps some short-term memory loss.

  ‘The doctor said the medicine would help and to make sure you rested. We kept you awake for hours after the attack to ensure there wasn’t any concussion. He said you could sleep eventually and you’ve slept for hours. We’ve kept an eye on you all the time.’