Page 82 of Ever After

Blue is determinedly not meeting my eyes. “You touched his blunderbuss?” I whisper.

There’s a tinge of red on his cheekbones. “Don’t make it dirty, pervert,” he whispers. “Okay, I did and it was bloody epic. He even let me pretend to be a pirate for a second.”

“Wow,” I say, barely managing to keep my laughter in. It escapes as a snort when he digs his sharp elbow into my ribs.

“I need some information,” Blue says, grinning at the old man. He holds out the frame. “Do you know anything about him?”

The old man looks down and frowns.

“Sorry,” I interject. “I nudged the frame and it fell off the hook. We aren’t taking stuff off the walls.”

I think of the amulet I’m wearing which I have a sneaking suspicion was acquired illegally by Branok back in his smuggling days, and try hard not to look guilty.

The old man smiles. “No worries, lad. I’m not cross.”

“No?”

He shakes his head, his gaze once more on the picture. “No, I’m just not keen on this one.”

“Really?” Blue’s attention and interest is irresistible. I know this so well firsthand, and I’m not surprised when Jim’s eyes light.

He taps the frame. “It’s silly but he always gives me the creeps.” He sets the frame neatly on the counter. I notice it’s face down.

Blue glances at the frame and says, “So, what’s the story with him, then?”

Jim shivers. “He was a reverend and a ghost-layer.”

Blue’s shoulders stiffen, and I abruptly ask, “What’s that?”

“Ah, an exorcist. Ghost-layers were supposed to be the most powerful kind, the ones the church sent in when ordinary exorcists couldn’t deal with a situation. Boynton was famous around here.” He pauses. “Famous and feared,” he says. “Villagers would cross themselves when he came near.”

“Because he was an exorcist?” Blue asks.

The old man frowns. “Maybe. There were rumours about him, though. Dark talk about him being able to control the dead and having the power of illusions.”

A shiver works its way through my body, and I exchange a look with Blue.

Jim shakes his head. “People were very superstitious back then.”

“What church was he the vicar of?” I ask. I lick my lips. “Was it Porthkrogour?”

My heart sinks as he nods and says, “That’s the one. How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess,” I say sadly. Branok is going to be devastated when he hears that his friend is involved in this. “Why was Boynton’s picture displayed in the bit about people connected with smugglers?”

He removes a smudge off the counter with his duster. “He was rumoured to be associated with the local smugglers. Villagers reported seeing strange lights at night in the churchyard at Porthkrogour. They thought it was haunted, but it’s more likely that like a lot of the local vicars in that time Boynton was letting the local smugglers store their contraband amongst the graves.”

“Didn’t that go against church teaching?” I ask.

Jim shakes his head immediately. “Smuggling was practically an occupation in the eighteenth century and mostly supported by the community. They made folk heroes out of some of the famous ones like The King of Prussia. And the Cornish hated the English, so smugglers had a helping hand from all sorts of people.”

“Was Boynton a wrecker too?” Blue asks.

Jim looks at him curiously. “Not that I’ve ever heard. Wreckers were a different kettle of fish to smugglers.”

Jim’s so involved in the conversation that he doesn’t seem to notice that Blue is carefully edging the picture away from him. I quell my urge to shove Blue’s fingers away and not let him touch the glass.

“Wreckers could be wicked people,” Jim carries on. “Smugglers by and large didn’t take lives. They just enjoyed stuffing up the revenue men and not abiding by English laws. Wreckers were sometimes just scavengers taking cargo from shipwrecks, but some of them caused the wrecks and willingly and actively murdered the people on the ships.” He picks up the frame gingerly. “Well, I’d better get this scallywag back on the wall.”