“I’ll give you two pounds and a good sound man—if you’ll fetch en.”
The midshipman shook his tarred hat. “Not inland; I won’t go inland.” Press gangs were not safe inland in Cornwall and he was not selling his life for forty shillings; it was a dirty life; but he still had some small affection for it.
“Who said it was inland? To a small little cove just this side of Monks Cove; you’ll know it by the waterfall that do come down over cliff there. T’eddn more’n a two-mile pull from here, just round the point.”
“Is the man there?”
“Not yet, but I’ll have en there by dusk. Do you pull your boat up on the little beach and step inside the old tinner’s adit—kind of little cave on the east side—and wait there till he comes. He’s a mighty strong man, I warn ’e, a notable wrestler in these parts, so be careful.”
“I’ll take four of my best and sand-bag him from behind,” said the midshipman, who was an expert in these matters. “Stiffens ’em, but don’t kill. Two pound ain’t enough, though.”
“It’s all you’ll get,” said Teresa.
“Four pound or nothing,” said the midshipman firmly.
They compromised at three pounds and Teresa paid cash on the spot. Ortho, the free-handed, kept her in plenty of money—so different from Eli.
The midshipman walked out of the front door, Teresa slipped out of the back and rode away. She had little fear the midshipman would fail her; he had her money, to be sure, but he would also get a bounty on Eli and partly save his face with his captain. He would be there right enough.