Page 152 of A Winter By the Sea
She saw the fatalistic fear on Mr. During’s face and closed her eyes to block out the harrowing look of pain about to replace it.
A tumult whipped the air. Running feet. A shove, and a grunt.
Eyes flying open, Sarah was stunned to see a whirling figure, and before she could fathom how he managed it, James Thomson had shoved the smuggler aside, taking advantage of his step out of the cave to leap inside, inserting himself between them and the man. He now stood facing their attacker, sword drawn.
Mr. Thomson’s face was beaded with sweat, his expression rigid with determination. Even so, Sarah glimpsed fear in his eyes. And who could blame him?
She braved a look at the smuggler, expecting vile curses or a warrior’s charge at this new opponent.
Instead, the man howled with laughter.
“Now, this is rich, I’m blowed! Let me guess ... Yer dandyship were fencing champion of yer hoity-toity gentlemen’s club.”
“Second place, actually.”
As though a lightning strike, Mr. Thomson lunged forward, his sword whizzing down and knocking the knife from the smuggler’s hand.
Then the man did curse. “You devil! You cut me hand!” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pistol.
Mr. Thomson blanched.
“Aha! Never saw that coming, did ’ee?” The man’s lips stretched in a self-satisfied leer.
“If ’ee will stand right there in front ofDearing, one bullet might do fer ’ee both.” He cocked the gun.
Sarah glimpsed movement from behind the smuggler. Another man crept toward the mouth of the cave. Friend or foe? He raised his arm and brought down some weapon onto the smuggler’s head with a thwack.
He crumpled to the ground.
With the bulky man no longer blocking her view, Sarah saw his unexpected assailant was none other than Antoine Bernardi.
Mr. Thomson looked at him in relief. “Good timing.”
The chef raised the large, club-like pestle in his hand. “And here you told me a kitchen tool would be useless.”
“I was wrong. Thank you, Antoine.”
“Yes, thank you both,” Selwyn said, voice shaky. He did not, however, meet either man’s eyes. Instead he looked down at his wet shoes, shame coloring his face.
The chef picked up the knife that had fallen from the smuggler’s hand, and with it, cut Sarah free as easily as cutting twine from a trussed hen.
“Th-thank you,” Sarah whispered, rubbing the tender flesh of her wrists until something pulled her attention away.
Another man appeared from the opposite side of the cave, and Sarah tensed, hoping it wasn’t Mr. Mutter or some other accomplice.
Relief whooshed out of her. Mr. Cordey. His gaze darted wildly around the cave—from her, to the men, to the smuggler limp on the sand. Apparently assured of no imminent threat, he bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
“All right, maid’n?” he asked between pants.
Sarah opened her mouth to answer but found it difficult to speak between chattering teeth. The rest of her began to shake as well. Mr. Bernardi held her elbow in support.
“Y-yes.”
Mr. Thomson asked him, “Did you run all the way from Sidmouth?”
He shook his head. “Came by boat, soon as Bibi told me where ’ee went. Hoped to get ’ere sooner but an ill wind slowed us down.”
Punch and Tom Cordey appeared from the west as well, red-faced and tense, fish-gutting knives in their hands.Goodness.They were clearly familiar with the smuggler’s reputation.
