Free Smuggler's Kiss by Marie-Louise Jensen Page A

whispered.
    ‘These are quarry workers,’ he replied. ‘They work hard but they’re very poor. At the moment, times are so bad they can’t make enough to live. Many have been laid off altogether.’ At the edge of the waving shadow of light, he paused, stopped me by grasping my wrist and looked me over critically. He pulled my cap, which I’d pushed back, down lower over my face, then nodded. ‘You’ll do,’ he said. ‘As long as you don’t speak. Stay close to me.’ Then he stepped out of the darkness between the cottages.
    The glow of light was emanating from a fire in the muddy space between the cottages. It was like a brick oven or some such thing, and, early in the morning though it was, a woman was bent over it tending it. As Will appeared, several small children in tattered rags and bare feet ran towards him shouting with excitement. He dropped the sack at his feet and crouched down to speak to them. I wondered why we’d come here.
    Will was reaching into his sack and pulling out pieces of fruit: apples, an orange. A paper bag of raisins; a cone of biscuits. The children clamoured for them, sharp-eyed and hungry, hardly waiting until they had the food in their hands before they began to eat. Even so, a couple of the older children were making sure the youngest had their share in the scramble.
    I noticed how pitifully thin many of them were. Their cheeks were hollow and shadowed with want. As Will handed out the food, he spoke a few words to each of the children and it seemed he knew them all.
    Once the children had all had something from him, he walked from cottage to cottage, placing a loaf of bread or a wrapped square of cheese just inside each doorway. From some there was a nod of thanks or a word exchanged. From others a silence. From most, a stench of unwashed bodies, excrement, and mould.
    Just before we left the village, a very young child limped up to me from out of the shadows and slipped a small, grimy hand into mine. I tried not to recoil at the sight of her ragged, filthy nails and at the smell of sickness. Her skin was grey, her hair lank. She smiled up at me. I looked into her eyes and was transfixed. They were huge and dark in her pale, thin face and had the look of one who had already seen the other side.
    ‘Jess,’ said Will with a smile. He crouched down where he stood. ‘I wonder if there’s anything left for you?’ he said. He delved into the sack once more, almost empty but for ropes and gown now, and pulled out an orange. He held it out and the girl let go of my hand and limped towards him. I saw her foot was malformed, and that there was an open sore upon her leg. I shuddered and drew back, wiping my hand on my breeches, hoping I hadn’t caught anything nasty. I was shaken by the sight of so much dirt and degradation. I wished Will hadn’t brought me here. The girl looked back at me again, and all such selfish thoughts were silenced by her clear, intelligent gaze.
    ‘Who’s this?’ she asked Will in a soft voice. It had the local twang, but it was musical. A slight blush crept into my face under her scrutiny.
    ‘He’s helping us with the trade,’ said Will, still crouched down to look the girl in the eyes. ‘So we can keep bringing you oranges.’ I didn’t contradict him.
    ‘But this is a girl,’ said Jess, looking closely at me. Will put his finger on his lips and winked at her. She smiled and Will smiled back at her. I caught my breath, looking at the two of them. This was so clearly the give and take of friendship and liking. In that moment, something changed in the way I saw Will. It was as though he was a different person. Then he stood up and nodded to me to follow him and the spell was broken.
    As we left, Will was silent, a brooding frown on his face. ‘I always think,’ he said as we crossed a field, ‘that next time I come by, Jess might not be there any more.’
    ‘Why don’t they take her to the doctor with that dreadful sore?’ I asked.
    ‘Because