It was the busiest Eryn could remember the pub being for a long while. Everybody was present - even the Harvey’s, who were estranged from the village, so far away was their mine on the outskirts of Ilfracombe.
She could hear her father pacing about upstairs. Everyone was speculating when he and the women would make their appearance.
She’d learned a little from her mother over the course of the day whilst washing her collected bottles. Apparently the women came from a ship that had been destroyed in the storm the night before last. They’d been washed ashore and were the only survivors.
Eryn had swallowed and asked her mother, ‘Do you think they’ve got anything to do with Kelly?’
'What’s that, dear?'
She had kept the possibility of Kelly’s murder a secret because she knew how ridiculous it sounded; like the prose of the worn mystery books she had read as a child.
She let it rest.
Morgan and Jack Little, the village cobblers, were taken aback momentarily by the crowd as they entered the pub. ‘Bleedin’ hell,’ Morgan said once he’d pushed his way to the bar – we could hear this lot right down the street.’
‘Probably hear it across the Severn too, we’ll be found out after tonight I reckon!’ Jack smirked gesturing for Eryn’s attention.
‘Friends?’ He leaned a little closer to Eryn, 'Or foes?' He was the fifth person to have asked her this.
‘I don't think pa would be introducing them to us if they were wronguns.’ She replied before being snatched away by another request for drink.
Jack turned to Morgan. ‘She don’t know either.’
‘I got ears, ain’t I?’ Morgan shook his head and they peered over the crowd to Fay and Rose Schmichen.
‘Fancy a try with them?’
Jack shrugged and pulled a face, and then they both squeezed through the throng of excitable chatter to sit with the young women.
Breaker squirmed between legs, licking hands and enjoying the tickling fingers that scratched his ears and rubbed his mane. He heard Ted's succinct whistle and wound his way to his master’s feet, sitting proudly on his boot - his tongue lolling - while Ted held on to him protectively.
Semilion appeared from the shadows of the foyer like the compare of a Victorian Cirque de Macabre, and everyone fell to whispers. He stood before his patrons and in the shadows of the foyer, everyone was certain, lingered the two women.
‘I know you’ve spent the day fretting, and I'm sorry for it. Needless to say there's been a lot to talk since last night, and I thank everyone who voiced their opinions at the council this afternoon. We were unanimous in our decisions come the end of it, and hope there won’t be too much argument from those who couldn’t attend. Well, I won’t keep you in suspense…’ He stepped aside, and from the shadows came the woman with curling golden hair, straight posture and an elegant stride that didn’t fit with archaic surroundings.
Eryn had seen them both the night before but had been blinded by confusion and fear; she looked at Priya afresh, she appeared wholly exotic! Her skin was so smooth, unlike the women of the village whose palms were cracked after a life of toil; her hair hadn’t been turned drab by dust or flour, her arms weren’t scratched by thorns, and her nails weren’t broken.
She was beautiful.
‘…Unfortunately, killed by the storm… They are the only survivors…’ Semilion was saying, as though presenting them as slaves at some ancient auction.
Next came Selina, less elegant, though no less beautiful in her plainness. Her lightly freckled nose and pale cheeks gave her features a youth that made the women envious, and her hair was so thick and black that it seemed unreal. She was thin, with less a womanly figure than Priya, her hands fidgeted, and she stood slightly pigeon-toed.
‘… was going to live with her cousin in Russia,’ was all Selina heard, and then her mind went blank with nerves. All eyes were on her, and it took all her focus to stand, let alone listen.
‘Bear in mind that they have lost more than their families, they’ve lost everything they knew before coming here. I know you’ll make them feel welcome. I’ve decided to put Miss. Cray…’
‘Priya,’ she corrected with a smile.
‘I’ve decided to put Priya in the Camberwell's house. I know it'll be a shock when they return but they'll be needing a larger place soon and I want Priya and Selina here to be close to one another, therefore Selina will have Richard Kelly’s old place at Channel View.’
Muttering flowed through the pub like a draught, and Selina felt for a moment as though she were being dared to spend a night in a haunted house.
Eryn was a shocked that her father would give this woman, this girl, Kelly’s house, he’d not even been buried a week.
She felt someone pinch the back of her arm and she yelped, turning.
‘Boen! You sod, what did you do that for?’
He smirked; looking passed her at Priya and Selina. ‘Pretty nice as far as driftwood goes, aren’t they?’ he said, and then looked back to her. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’ll do it, but we leave the second my pa gets back, and we have to return the boat well before he leaves in the morning.’
She bit her lip, suddenly nervous. ‘When’s he coming back?’
‘Should be in the next hour or so, can you get away?’
She couldn’t. If she wasn’t present while the bar was still serving there would be hell to pay, but Boen was making a huge sacrifice, she supposed she ought to as well. ‘Ok, I’ll meet you at your boathouse at nine.’
‘Nine!’ he said, blanching. ‘How’s that going to give us enough time?’
‘I can’t make it any earlier, pa’ll notice… I’ll have to twist Baron’s arm to help me out as it is, I can’t make it any earlier.’
Boen looked ill as he disappeared into the crowd; he stopped for a moment to admire Selina and Priya, and then left.
Eryn was almost dizzy with adrenaline. Since childhood she had heard stories of Lundy Island and its inhabitants: tales of webbed-toes, bestiality, and interbreeding that she mocked in daylight. Come night, however, she felt the same as she did all those years before. It brought a flutter to her stomach, to think she was crossing the wide channel to that dark smudge forever on the horizon.
The moon was rising, and the lonely island of Lundy awaited them.
Chapter Eight.
South-easterly wind.
Sixteen knots.