Highwayman Husband

When Laura had first come to Roslyn there had been excitement and romance in some of these tales, but after she had borne witness to one ill-fated ship that had run aground on the rocks during a storm the reality had destroyed the romance. She had seen with her own eyes the ruthless desperation of the men and women who had come from the nearby hamlets and surged into the cove to salvage what they could when the spoils of the sea were dragged onto the beach, all half crazy and behaving like animals as they made sure there were no survivors from the stricken vessel.

Roslyn Cove was better situated than most. It was an ideal place for vessels from France to deposit their cargoes of contraband. The cliff was riddled with caves and chambers beneath Roslyn Manor, and it was rumoured that there was a tunnel linking them to the house, but Laura had never found it.

Contraband was often stored in the caves until the dark nights when the packhorses and wagons would come and take it away across the moor, the majority of it destined for London. Because of the reputation of this part of the coast, where smuggling was carried out with great skill and cunning, and which was so extensive it was virtually impossible for the coastguards and revenue cutters to control, Laura had learned to tread warily, and to hold her tongue.

Following the path up to the top of the cliff on the other side, she looked further west, where the coastline continued to trace its intricate way in and out of tiny coves and around the handsome headlands as far as Fowey’s graceful river and town.