The sense of irritation grew. Will had not studied any charts for much too long and, strangely, somehow felt that these 'were not his waters'. He countered with a question he thought rather pointed.
"Mr. Kershaw, how square you this with what you told me earlier? That Lieutenant Kaye would not bring off this action? That somehow it was a blind to leave poor Sam alone?"
"I did not say that, I think."
"You did, sir! Quite plainly, sir!"
Kershaw shrugged his one good shoulder. He was very calm, and very confident, no trace now of his normal nervous reticence.
"I do not imagine Kaye would be so venal as to want him dead deliberate," he said. "Although he might, if the stakes were high enough. That is, if Mr. Holt were like to see there enough people he might later know. No, what I meant was Kaye had chose to do this run, to attack this lugger on information he had received, because on the face it was an act of duty and of bravery, that would not in actual fact come off. While on the beach at Sussex, men he might have had an interest in would be unmolested, save by your lonely friend. What I chose not to tell you, sir, was why. A case, let's say, of loyalty divided."
"And?"
"And what? And was I wrong? Look at those French sailors there. In half an hour, let's say, they'll have the foresail up again. Will Biter hold her then? Will you take a wager? But Mr. Kaye looks increasing patriotic, don't he? He's fighting to the very, very last."
"No," said Will. "I'm asking for a further explanation. Of "loyalty divided". Or what you chose not to tell. It is my uncle, isn't it? You are suggesting my Uncle Daniel and Lieutenant Kaye are ... are what? Are something to the smugglers? Are involved in what is to happen on the Adur beach? I do not think so, sir. I do not think so."
Instantly, the moon went behind a thick stray cloud and they were plunged into total blackness. When it lifted, thirty seconds later, Kershaw had moved to weather and was talking to two of the Frenchmen who had been in the cabin with Celine. They were talking intimately, and William wondered, sickly, if their conversation were in English or in French. Then, on the foredeck, a cry went up, hands clapped on to the halliard, and the forward lug began to rise. Another spell of blackness, longer than the last, and when the pale moon glow came down again, the sail was risen. As it was sheeted in, the lugger was lifted by a rolling crest, and drove vibrating through it, throwing white water wide from both sides of her stem.
The mast up near its break was badly sprung, so no attempt had been made to extend it to its proper height again. It had been fished and tightly parcelled, and a block stropped on to take the halliard. Perhaps fifteen feet of height was lost in all, so the sail was reefed to the second set of points. With the wind astern she balanced badly, and when she'd settled down was nowhere near her proper speed. Will, on his own by choice for some long time, stared at the Biter in the milky moonlight until she shimmered in his eyes. She was carrying her canvas well, despite the wind felt as if it were growing all the while, but it was impossible to tell if she was losing ground or gaining. At this rate, the chase might last for ever.
In his concentration he did not hear footsteps, and he jumped when Celine spoke behind his ear. Her voice was strong and calm, but rather troubled.
"A stern chase is a long chase is what French seamen say," she said. "Or is it the English, I get mixed sometimes. Do you think she's catching us?"
He looked at her with curiosity. She had a strong face, with deep, dark eyes. She was very serious, which he found peculiar, in a woman. Although, he remembered, Mary Broad was like it, also. Not like women were supposed to be. Then he thought of Deb, and his stomach clenched with pain and fear. Deb, he knew, was very likely dead. Most likely.
"You do not reply," she said. "I don't know why I tell you this, because you won't believe me. The Navy do not chase us normally because they know. We are not in the normal way of smuggling. This boat, her captain Blaise Leopold, God rest his soul. Sometimes we bring Englishmen from France. Sometimes we carry English people there. But you don't believe me."
He had heard this before from Mary, and in truth he knew no longer if he believed, and did not care. He thought of Sam alone on the beach, and he thought of Deb, whose whereabouts God only knew. The night was wearing on, and he was full only of doubt and pain. A cork in a maelstrom, that's how he saw himself. He was tossed and thrown about, and whoever had control it was not him. He felt hopeless, forlorn, alone. He would not reply because he could not.
"She's getting closer," said Celine, still calm and quiet. "Do you know these waters? Do you know the Goodwin Sands? Look there, up out to larboard. Look, there ahead. We need poor Blaise now, this was his element."
The tide was running south, and fast, the wind was north-westerly and brisker all the time, the black clouds spreading from the coast. The sea they ran in was rolling comfortably, smoothed by the blast but still white capped and flecked with foam. But up ahead ran seas that made a complement to the lurch of fear her words had wrought in him. He did not know the waters, but he knew the Goodwins by repute, as what seaman did not, however ignorant of detail? By ill repute. The killer sands.
"Ah," said Celine, at his side. "He has agreed it seems, he is on deck again. Now, sweet lord, we must give thanks for that."
Will turned, and all his fear that Kershaw was a traitor was confirmed. With two others of the officers he had emerged from the after scuttle and taken up position beside the helmsman. He had no chart in hand, but pointed out across the starboard bow.
"Now treachery," breathed Bentley, but the woman responded sharply.
"He will save your life," she said. "Would your Captain Kaye do that? Or that of your luckless friend he has abandoned? Even now he'd drive us on them, if we allowed him opportunity. If we stand clear he will come up with us, what's more. Mr. Kershaw has been persuaded to give us all some chance, that's all."
True it was that Biter was drawing close. In the increasing wind she still could hold her canvas, while the lugger, with too much astern and not enough ahead, was developing a tendency to yaw and wallow. But Will had seen the brig brought on like this before.
"It is a trick to lure him on the sands," he said. "The Biter draws at least two feet on us, and Kershaw knows it. It could be bloody carnage."
The helmsman altered course at the Englishman's direction, and the people, when they'd tended sheets, were set on to clearing boats. There were three on board the lugger, two of twenty-five feet or so, one of twenty-two. The foreyard, in dropping, had damaged one of the larger, although she still looked seaworthy enough for reasonable seas, short distances. The seas around them were getting worse as the water shallowed across the banks, though. Over to larboard they were breaking on the sands, like insane waterspouts. As a lifeboat, Will considered, she would be of fearsome little use.
On a rush of anger, he left Celine and strode across to Kershaw, who was staring out ahead.
"Sir! Are you in league with them? Have you no shame, sir! If Biter goes on ground, there will be your comrades dead! Give up the con! I order you!"
He was ridiculous, and it engulfed him. He was powerless, and it cut him deep with shame. But Kershaw's face was fixed and tense, the muscles in his jaw standing through the skin. He did not reply.
There was a black squall coming up astern of them, and to starboard there was also broken water up ahead. Only dead before the stem post was the surface relatively flat, although even here the sea was soupy with the sand that hung in it. The moon was sinking, its light less strong, with the forward-reaching cloud fronds almost up to it. Each person on the quarterdeck eyed the squall in silent fear. Suddenly, Will hoped desperately Kershaw had got it right. Below them was the bottom, they did not know how far. The tension in his guts was horrifying.