Inferno

Chapter 18

The wait for Wrackman’s diving engine was hard to bear. Excitement had seized everyone in the know, and there was eager speculation about the outcome. The two McGillie boys, sworn to secrecy, were open-mouthed in awe at the adventure to come, and even their father allowed there might be interesting times ahead.

Kydd knew that his role in the affair was at an end but was drawn nevertheless into the ferment of expectation. There was no way he wanted to miss the proceedings. Perhaps he could find himself a quiet corner in the boat and take it all in.

A week went by.

One evening, the McGillies were quietly finishing their supper when there was a knock at the door. The room fell quiet: visitors at that hour invariably spelled trouble.

The gamekeeper got to his feet, glancing at the blunderbuss above the mantelpiece.

‘Why, Mrs Finlay!’ he said, in astonishment. ‘Come in.’

A sharp-eyed woman in a shawl against the cold entered quickly. A young girl followed her, eyes wide.

‘Is there something amiss, m’ dear?’ McGillie asked, with concern.

‘Aye, well. We came t’ see if there’s owt we can do for you, Mr McGillie.’

‘Do – for me?’

‘Aye. We just heard o’ how youse are a-goin’ to dig up the Tobermory galleon an’ we thought-’

‘Where d’ye hear this?’

‘In course, y’r Jeb. He’s down at the Lion a-sayin’ as how he’s t’ be rich as a prince in a brace o’ weeks. My, he’s right blootered an’ b’ now it’s all around the village, I ken.’

Stirk shot to his feet, his fists working. ‘That poxy shicer! He’s blabbed, an’ we’re done for when the laird hears o’ this!’ He snatched up a coat and flung himself out.

‘Just that I thought yez goin’ a-rovin’ after treasure, someone should stay wi’ Connie an’ the bantlings an’ all,’ Mrs Finlay added smoothly. ‘Ain’t that the case, love?’

More brazen was the blacksmith, who turned up demanding a job with the engine whatever the task. He was sat down with a mug of beer while Connie dealt with the others flocking up.

Soon the little cottage was a-buzz – the secret was out.

At the Lion Stirk found Jeb out cold from drink. The entire tavern was alive with red-faced folk avid to hear more of the fabulous tale. He looked about in despair and spotted Kydd in the corner, quietly reading a book over a whisky.

‘Mr Paine!’ he called urgently. ‘A word wi’ ye.’

Kydd came over. ‘Yes, Toby?’

‘An’ we’re dished, ain’t we?’

‘Not as I’d noticed.’

‘All th’ world knows now! The laird’ll be down on us like lightnin’, an’ you …’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘This’n is a small village, I knows it. Some wicked dog beds a wench an’ every bastard hears on it afore the sun’s above the yard the next mornin’,’ he spluttered bitterly. ‘We’s scuppered!’

‘No.’

Stirk peered at Kydd suspiciously.

‘It’s a small village, that I’ll grant – but that’s why your secret’s safe. They all know your family, Toby. What do you think’ll happen to any who run to the laird with a tale? No, cuffin, they’re all afire for your big adventure.’