A middle-aged man was bending over the fireplace, poking at the embers and swearing volubly. He turned with a start and glared at Judy.

‘Who the hell are you? Women ain’t allowed in here.’

Judy drew herself up to her full height, hoping he had not noticed that she was in her stockinged feet. She hid her boots behind her back. ‘Are you Mr Puckett?’

‘What if I am? What’s it got to do with you? Who are you, anyway?’

‘I’m Pip and Nate’s sister. I came here to see Mrs Walters, but I’m told she’s gone to London.’

‘That’s right.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You look a mess. What’s a young lady like yourself doing sleeping in the stables?’

‘It’s a long story and I won’t bore you with it, Mr Puckett. I’m on my way now, so you can forget I was here.’

He straightened up, pushing his cap to the back of his head. ‘Are you any good at lighting fires, Miss Begg? I don’t seem to be having much luck.’

Judy hesitated. ‘I really should be on my way.’

A wry grin creased his leathery face into a maze of tiny wrinkles. ‘You won’t get far without shoes on your feet. If you get the fire going I’ll make a brew and you can have a cup of tea before you go.’

Judy smiled. Perhaps Old Puckett was not as bad as the boys thought. ‘All right. That’s a fair swap.’ She placed her boots on the floor and set about lighting the stubborn fire. With luck on her side she got it going quite quickly and Puckett placed the smoke-blackened kettle on a trivet in front of the flames. He took a chipped Brown Betty teapot from the shelf and placed it on the table in the middle of the tack room, together with a poke of tea leaves and another filled with coarsely grated sugar.

Judy sat down and put her boots on while they waited for the kettle to boil. ‘I really should go before my brothers wake up,’ she said warily.

‘You’re going back to Little Creek? That where you come from, ain’t it?’

‘It is, but I wasn’t planning to return so soon.’

‘It ain’t none of my business, but you seem to be in a bit of bother.’

‘You might say that. I had a difference of opinion with my stepfather.’

Puckett gave her a straight look. ‘He done that to you, I suppose.’

Judy’s hand flew to the cut on her forehead and she nodded wordlessly.

‘Some men can’t keep their fists to themselves,’ Puckett said drily. ‘So you got nowhere to go?’

‘I was hoping that Mrs Walters could help.’

‘Well, she ain’t here, so what now?’

It was a good question and one for which Judy had no answer. ‘What do you know about the old smugglers’ inn on the headland?’ she asked cautiously.

‘What’s that got to do with you? That place has been empty for at least ten years to my knowledge.’