Forbidden (17 page)

There was wailing from the beach below. Howls. I paid them no mind.

Eli held out the red book. “You asked how you could help. This is how. I have recorded the names of those who have been murdered. As many as I know. And the names of those who murdered them. Take the book with you. Give it to the authorities. Can you do that for us, Josie?”

I could find no more arguments. “I will do anything you ask.”

“Your journey to Edinburgh has been arranged,” he said.

“I don’t know how. None of this can be happening. Tell me it’s a dream, a horrible, horrible dream!”

“It is not.”

“Will I ever see you again?”

“Maybe,” he said. “In another place.”

He lifted my hand, kissed it, and was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I
SANK DOWN ON THE PATH.

The smell of smoke, of burning wood, swamped me. My thoughts were so jumbled, I could not contain them.

There was keening from the beach.

Some of them started up the path, clawing, crawling, pushing one another.

Others called, “Stop! They’re still there. They’ll set you afire.”

“God help us!”

“They’re ghosts.”

“The dead have risen. Have mercy on us, God! Have mercy!”

Some ran into the sea.

A woman and a man had pulled a plank off a cart and were pushing it through the breakers, clinging to it. They were my aunt Minnie and my uncle Caleb. The dark shape I saw on the plank was Lamb. I watched as a great whitecap smashed down on the wood and tumbled all three of them into the water.

I pulled Eli’s coat tight around me and held the book hidden against me.

Let them howl and scream. I had no pity for them. Maybe God would, but I could not.

My mind was in such turmoil.

The fires, the gale, the sight of those men and women and children already dead, had taken away my senses.

Eli was gone from me. I now knew it to be forever.

How was I to go on?

Weariness overcame me. My eyes stung from the bitterness of the smoke.

There, on the cliff, Raven’s Roost burning behind me, I was overcome with exhaustion. I closed my eyes.

And that was all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EDINBURGH, 1808

I
T IS NOW ONE YEAR
since I was taken from Brindle Point and brought back here, I do not know how. I opened my eyes, and I was here.

I live in our old house. This, along with money for my support, was arranged by my solicitor. The house seems empty without my dear parents, but Mr. Brougham hired a kind woman to stay with me and attend to my needs. He was shocked to learn that my aunt and uncle were the ringleaders of the wreckers of Brindle Point, and that Raven’s Roost had been destroyed.

I set down on paper what I had learned in those two days at Brindle Point and gave it to him.

My account detailed what I knew of the wreckers who destroyed ships and murdered the survivors. I told of the huge fire on that dreadful night—the wind that whipped the flames savagely along the trees and hedgerows and consumed everything it touched, not only on the Point but in the town of Brindle. I gave him the book with the red leather cover, where the names of the dead and those who had killed them had been recorded. I said it had been entrusted to me by one of the innocent homeowners. As my solicitor took it from me, a spark jumped from my fingers, sharp enough to make me recoil and gasp. I looked to see if Mr. Brougham had experienced it as well, but he was calm and serious as ever. Afterward I thought that spark had signified the end of the end.

The investigation commenced without delay. Many of the wreckers have been found, scattered around the countryside, and are awaiting trial. My uncle and aunt and Lamb are not among them. Perhaps they drowned. I do not know.

There is no more Brindle or Brindle Point. The only inhabitants are the seagulls and the rooks and ravens that caw in the trees. Folks stay away. It is said that both places are haunted, and they may well be.

I have not told anyone of the avenging angels that marched that night. I have no clear memory of them myself. Sometimes, in my mind, they are people, sometimes real angels with wings carrying burning brands.

I did not tell of Eli.

Eli!

I have tried to pull him back into my mind. I strive to remember his smile, his touch, but he has faded from my memory. I think I remember the blur of a kiss. There is nothing left but his name and a shifting recollection of tenderness.

I have accepted now that there are things in this world I do not understand. Perhaps I am not meant to understand. But I know myself to be stronger than I was. I know I can withstand whatever my life brings. It gives me satisfaction to realize that I helped bring peace to those who drowned and justice to those who caused their deaths.

On the chiffonier by my bed is a shell that must have come from that time. Next to the shell is my father’s christening cup, and beside it blue satin slippers that sparkle in the light from my lamp. I stare at these things and try to remember, but I cannot.

Did I dance with him, this shadow person?

Did I love him?

I take the slippers in my hands and decide I will wear them when I go to the Devonshire Ball with my new beau, James Forsythe. James was introduced to me by Mr. Brougham and immediately I felt drawn to him. He reminds me of someone. James has hair black as a crow, and blue eyes that sometimes change to be almost green, like my mother’s opal brooch. He has a way of looking at me, intently, knowingly.

I will dance with him, this person who reminds me of someone else. I will put the past behind me. And I will try to be happy.

AFTERWORD

W
RECKING IS THE PRACTICE
of taking valuables from a wrecked ship that has foundered close to shore.

In the nineteenth century wrecking was widespread in the United States, Bermuda, Canada, Great Britain, and many other countries with rugged shorelines.

The Pentland Firth, a stretch of water off the northern coast of Scotland, was well known for its many shipwrecks. At this time, when mariners had no navigational charts and no lighthouses to warn them of hidden dangers below the water’s surface, ships were in constant peril. Rocks, fogs, Atlantic gales, and strong currents were responsible for the sinking of many a sailing ship in the Pentland Firth. But there were times when a shipwreck caused by natural hazards was made fatal by wreckers, helping nature along.

On the shore a lamp would be tied to a donkey’s tail. The animal was then walked along a cliff’s edge or along a beach, the lamp moving up and down with each step the donkey took.

To those on the doomed ship, the lamp shining through the darkness appeared to be the light from another vessel, bobbing in a safe harbor.

The captain would set sail in that direction and be lured onto the jagged rocks close by. “False lights” brought easy pickings to a bunch of greedy wreckers.

The wreckers took whatever they could fit into their own small boats and whatever plunder they could carry off. A small coastal cottage might blossom with a grand piano, or a gilt mirror, or a dining room table. Some of the goods might be sold. Wreckers were not all vicious. Many were just desperately poor, hoping to improve their harsh lives. But the deadly outcome was the same.

A law was passed making it an offense to use false lights to entice a ship onto rocks, but there is no record of anyone being prosecuted. Another law, known as the Man or Beast Law, stated that nothing could be removed from a wreck if “a man or beast” was still alive on it. In some cases this may have helped keep passengers and crew and even livestock safe. But in other instances it made things worse. Wreckers were not reluctant to kill any person or animal still alive and take the plunder they had come for.

To scare away those who wanted a share of the riches, the wreckers told stories, sworn to be true, of haunted ships and wailing ghosts. Even now, in dark nights on a lonely seashore, phantoms and phantom ships are said to appear out of the sea mists that cloak the Pentland Firth. Other ghosts too, torches flaring, reportedly walk along the cliff path that passes Raven’s Roost.

Perhaps they do.

About the Author

Photo credit: Sonya Sones

E
VE
B
UNTING
is the acclaimed author of more than two hundred books for young readers, including numerous novels. Her picture book
Smoky Night
, illustrated by David Diaz, won a Caldecott Medal. Eve once lived in Scotland and has always been fascinated by shipwrecks and wrecking. Today she lives in Pasadena, California.