The midshipmen made their way back to the anchored cutter, feeling the freshening edge to the wind, and noting that several of the smaller fishing boats had already returned to the shelter of Carrick, Roads.
Hugh Bolitho listened to their story, then said, `I have had a bellyful of waiting, but I can see no choice this time.'
Later, when it was dark, and the anchorage alive with tossing white crests, Bolitho heard the watch on deck challenge an approaching boat.
Dancer, who had been in charge of the anchorwatch, clattered down the ladder and struck his head against a deckhead beam without apparently noticing.
He said excitedly, `It's your mother, Dick!' To the cutter's commander he added in a more sober tone, `Mrs Bolitho, sir.'
She entered the cabin, her cloak and hair glistening with blown spray. If anything it made her look younger than ever.
She said, `Old Hardy knows the place, and so should I! You remember the terrible fever I was telling you about? There was some wild talk that it was a punishment for some witchcraft which was being performed in a tiny hamlet to the south of here. A mob dragged two poor women from their homes and burned them at the stake as witches. The wind, drunkenness, or just a mob getting out of hand, nobody really knew what happened, but the flames from the two pyres spread to the cottages, and soon the whole place was a furnace. When the military arrived, it was all over. But most of the people who lived in and around the hamlet believed it was powerful witchcraft which had destroyed their homes as punishment for what they had done to two of their own.' She shivered. `It is foolish of course, but simple folk live by simple laws.'
Hugh Bolitho let out a long breath. `And Blount defied the beliefs and made his home there.' He looked at Dancer. `And certain others shared his sanctuary, it seems.'
He stepped around his mother, shouting, `Pass the word for my clerk!' To the others he said, `I'll send a despatch to de Crespigny. We may need to search a big area.'
Dancer stared at him. `Are we going?'
Hugh Bolitho smiled grimly. `Aye. If it's another false lead, I need to know it before Vyvyan. And if it's true, I want to be in at the kill!' He lowered his voice and said to his mother, `You should not have come yourself. You have done enough.'
Whiffin bowed through the door, staring at the woman as if he could not believe his eyes.
`A letter to the commandant at Truro, Whiffin. Then we will need horses and some good men who can ride as well as fight.'
`I have partly dealt with that, Hugh.' His mother watched his surprise with amusement. `Horses, and three of our own men are on the jetty.'
Gloag said anxiously, `Bless you, ma'am, I've not been in a saddle since I were a little lad.'
Hugh Bolitho was already buckling on his sword.
`You stay here. This is a young man's game.'
Within half an hour the party had assembled on the jetty. Three farm labourers, Hugh and his midshipmen, and six sailors who had sworn they could ride as well as any gentlemen. The latter included the resourceful Robins.
Hugh Bolitho faced them through a growing downpour.
`Keep together, men, and be ready.'
He turned as another rider galloped away into the darkness with the letter for Colonel de Crespigny.
`And if we meet the devils, I want no revenge killings, no take this for cutting down our friends. It is justice we need now.' He wheeled his mount on the wet stones. `So be it V
Once clear of the town the horses had to slow their pace because of the rain and the treacherous, deeply rutted road. But before long they were met by a solitary horseman, a long musket resting across his saddle like an ancient warrior.
`This way, Mr Hugh, sir.' It was Pendrith, the gamekeeper. `I got wind of what you was about, sir.' He sounded as if he was grinning. `Thought you might need a good forester.'
They hurried on in silence. Just the wet drumming of hoofs, the deep panting of horses and riders alike, with an occasional jingle of stirrup or cutlass.
Bolitho thought of his ride with Dancer, when they had joined the witless boy at the cove, with the corpse of Tom Morgan, the revenue man. Was it only weeks and days ago? It seemed like months.
As they drew nearer the burned out village Bolitho remembered something about it. How his mother had scolded him when as a small child he had borrowed a pony and gone there alone but for a dog.
This night she had described the superstition as foolish. Then, she had not sounded quite of the same mind.
The horses milled together as Pendrith dismounted and said, "Alf a mile, sir, an' no more, at a guess. I think it best to go on foot.'
Hugh Bolitho jumped down. `Tether the horses. Detail two men to stand guard.' He drew his pistol and wiped it free of rain with his sleeve. `Lead on, Pendrith, I'm more used to the quarterdeck than chasing poachers!'
Bolitho noticed that some of the men chuckled at the remark. He was learning all the time.
Pendrith and one of the farm hands moved on ahead. There was no moon, but a diamond-shaped gap in the racing clouds gave a brief and eerie outline to a small, pointed roof.
Bolitho whispered to his friend, `They still build these little witch houses in some villages here. To guard the entrances from evil.'
Dancer shifted uncomfortably in" his borrowed clothing and hissed, `They didn't have much success in this place, Dick!'
Pendrith's untidy shape came bounding amongst them, and Bolitho imagined he was being chased, or that some of the legends were true after all.. But the gamekeeper said urgently, `There's a fire of sorts, sir! T'other side of the place!'
He turned, his face glowing red as a great tongue of flame soared skyward, the sparks whirling and carrying on the wind like a million spiteful fire-flies.
Several of the men cried out with fear, and even Bolitho who was used to tales of local witches and their covens, felt ice running up his spine.
Hugh Bolitho charged through the bushes, all caution thrown aside as he yelled, `They've fired a cottage! Lively, lads!'
When they reached the tiny cottage it was already blazing like an inferno. Great plumes of sparks swirled down amongst the smoke-blinded seamen, stinging them, trying to hold them at bay.
`Mr Dancer! Take two men and get around to the far side P
In the fast spreading flames, the crouching seamen and farm hands stood out clearly against the backcloth of trees and rain. Bolitho wrapped his neckcloth around his mouth and nose and kicked at the sagging door with all his strength. More flames and sparks seared his legs, as with a rumbling crash the remains of the thatched roof and timbers collapsed within the cottage.
Pendrith was bawling, `Come back, d'you hear, Master Richard! Ain't no use!'
Bolitho turned away and then saw his brother's face. He was staring at the flames, oblivious to the heat and the hissing sparks. In those few seconds it was all laid bare. His brother saw his own hopes and future burning with the cottage. Somebody had set it alight, no ordinary fire could burst out like this in the middle of a downpour. Equally quickly, he made up his mind.
He threw himself against the door again, shutting his mind to everything but the need to get inside. It toppled before him like a charred draw-bridge,
and as the smoke billowed aside he saw a man's body twisting and kicking amongst burning furniture and black fragments of fallen thatch.
It all swept through his mind as he ran forward, stooping to grip the man's shoulders and drag him back towards the door. The man was kicking like a madman, and above a gag his eyes rolled with agony and terror. He was trussed hand and foot, and Bolitho was as sickened by the stench as by the act of leaving a man to burn alive.