Chapter 9 #3
King did not add that if the good captain persisted in doing this by the law, he’d be implicated himself and tied into the affair, for there were those in this town who would not care for the truth and would ensure that happened.
Hadn’t he himself asked Bill to drink himself to death in The Dog and Duck? Had he not offered to knock Bill down?
He didn’t doubt that many people would choose to remember things like that, and there was no way on God’s green earth King was going to risk the gallows for the likes of Bill Jenner.
Dearborn staggered as King’s words penetrated his brain.
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “But it was an accident. I’m known and respected in this town, no one would ever believe it.
Everyone reviled Bill Jenner. They’ll believe me, not—” But even as he said the reassuring words, King saw the doubt flickering in his eyes.
“Bill’s taken his fishing boat out when he was half seas over more times than I can remember, and I doubt that has changed.
No one will be the least bit surprised if he fell overboard hauling in his nets and drowned.
” King said the words with certainty and waited, knowing there was no point in badgering the man. He must come to it by himself.
The captain considered his words with a grim countenance. “How?” he asked, his voice steadier now, and King saw the soldier he’d once been, a determined and capable man that others might rely upon.
“Can you help me drag him to the beach and get the boat launched?” he asked, nodding at the captain’s injured leg.
Pride flashed in Dearborn’s eyes for a moment, then he nodded. “I can and I will.”
“Good man. Then I’ll leave my clothes on the shore, you’ll come back and make sure there’s no trace of us having dragged a heavy weight, no blood spilled, no items left behind to incriminate us. I’ll row the boat out as far as I dare, throw him in, and then swim back to shore.”
“Swim back?” Dearborn said in alarm. “Are you out of your mind? In the cold and the dark and… it’s not exactly a millpond out there.”
King grunted, aware he could hear the pounding of the waves upon the shore.
“Any brighter ideas?” he said grimly. “I’ve swum these waters since I was a child. I know the tides and I’m strong enough to make it back. Don’t trouble your head over it.”
“Christ, I pray you speak true,” the captain said, looking horrified by the notion. “For I’ll not have your life on my conscience too. This devil may rot with my blessing, but… if you drown, I’ll never forgive myself!”
King raised his eyebrows, rather surprised by this passionate outburst, but he only smiled and patted Dearborn’s shoulder. “Bad pennies always turn up, didn’t you know? I’ll not drown, my word on it. But now we’d best make haste.”
The tide was in his favour and rowing out to sea was not as difficult as it might have been. It made life easier for the moment, but King knew damn well swimming back to shore would be a hard slog.
Cursing the dead man who lay at the bottom of the boat, he plied the oars, careful not to overtax himself, though he was eager to get this night’s work over and done with. He only hoped Dearborn would hold his nerve and not betray them.
Finally, having rowed as far out as he dared, King threw the nets over the side.
It brought back memories he’d rather not have had of days working with his father, of the exhausting and miserable life he would have been condemned to, had it not been for the existence of Tommy Tanner and his mother’s determination that King should marry her.
He owed the boy something for that, he thought with a grim smile.
Turning, he took one last look at Bill Jenner.
“Come on then, you miserable beggar. You deserve to follow my father’s fate, and I’ll not have you make trouble for anyone else, not ever again. You’ve given your share of misery to the world, and I hope you reap your reward at the devil’s fireside.”
With that, he grabbed hold of Bill’s coat and hauled his head and shoulders over the side of the boat. Then, taking hold of his feet, he pitched him in, headfirst, so his body tangled with the nets already cast over. Satisfied at how it would look, King dived over the other side of the boat.
Despite bracing himself for it, the icy water stole his breath and, as he surfaced, obscene curses rang in his head, though he’d not the air in his lungs to speak them out loud.
He turned towards the shore, seeing the lights of the town, which looked to be a great distance away.
Anne was there, he told himself, certain he could make out the shape of The Mermaid’s Tale, and he was damned if he would drown for the sake of Bill bloody Jenner and not hold her in his arms again.
With that, he took a breath and swam doggedly for shore.
Yet, as long and as hard as he swam, the town never seemed to look any closer, and King fought harder still, his muscles burning and screaming for relief as the waves crashed over him.
Too many times they forced him under, and he struggled to the surface, coughing and retching, gasping for air. He could not stay still though, could not rest even a moment, for the tide swept him farther out and his goal only became increasingly distant.
With desperation growing in his chest, King swam on, fighting the tide, fighting his own desperation for rest, and clinging to the desire to stay alive.
Driving him on more surely than any beacon glowing on the horizon ever could, was the memory of Anne’s words, the knowledge that such a woman could take pride in him, that she would call him her own, and gladly.
These words kept him afloat, kept him swimming, even when the tide snatched at his limbs, endeavouring to tow him down to the gloomy depths.
“Thank God! Thank God!” Dearborn exclaimed, rushing into the waves to haul King out.
He was so exhausted he could hardly stand, his legs trembling beneath him as the cold stole any vestige of remaining energy. Too weary to do much more than stand for the moment, King allowed Dearborn to rub him briskly down, trying to bring some much-needed warmth back into his skin.
“Here, take this,” the captain added, pressing a silver flask into his shaking hand.
King grunted his approval and drank deeply, the brandy puddling in his belly and giving off a little glow of warmth around which his body seemed to huddle.
“I did what you said, kicked over any traces, made sure nothing was left. Then I went home and lit the lamps and put out glasses and brandy and made it look like a card game in process. I invited you over, you see, to play,” the captain said, breathless himself now as he threw the towel he’d brought over King’s hair.
“Now, if you’ll get dressed as fast as may be, then come home with me, you may recover your strength.
We’ll say it was a good night, you drank a bit too much, and fell asleep on my sofa, shall we say at around five thirty?
You were with me all night, if anyone asks, as I was with you. ”
King snorted as he tugged on his trousers. “Captain,” he said, his voice hoarse from swallowing such a quantity of seawater. “You’ve missed your calling; you’d have made an arch rogue and no mistake.”
The captain grimaced and ignored this sally, only urging King to make haste. King did as he was bid, too eager to be indoors by a warm fire, and away from prying eyes, to linger.
They walked back to the captain’s home quickly but without undue haste lest anyone be abroad at such a late hour and remark upon it. But all was quiet, the good people of Little Valentine were abed, and Bill Jenner would be lost to the tides until the sea decided to give him up.