“WHAT?” Peter asked, shaking his head in consternation as he held his hands out. “What the bloody hell do you want from me?”
“You murdered my family,” Scraggan accused, his own voice rising in temper. “My father, both of my brothers, four of my uncles, and destroyed everything we had worked so hard for.” His cold black eyes glared maliciously at Peter. “I want revenge. I want you to suffer. I want you to lose everyone around you whom you hold dear,” he ranted, his voice trembling with fury.
“I haven’t murdered anyone,” Peter argued, wondering if the man was mad.
“Oh, so you call Norfolk justice, do you?”
Peter froze, realising what was behind Scraggan’s hatred. He already knew that Scraggan had been the man who had evaded capture in Norfolk. The man the Star Elite had eventually tracked to Padstow, and had been watching ever since. Clearly, the smuggling gang Dominic and Peter had been sent to Norfolk to capture, were all members of Scraggan’s family.
“You’re smugglers, Scraggan; you cannot expect to commit crimes without being punished at some point in your lives,” Peter reasoned, knowing from the look on Scraggan’s face that he wasn’t listening. “It’s a risk that comes with your – lifestyle. The only person to blame for your loss is yourself, and your family for committing the crimes in the first place,” Peter went on.
“So it’s all right for you to come along and destroy my life, as long as you can go back to your posh estate, with your bitch, and get on with your lives? Well, not while I am around,” Scraggan snarled.
“I was just doing my job,” Peter stated coldly, refusing to bargain with the man.
He was aware that Jemima, standing so quietly beside him, was shaking, whether through cold or fear of Scraggan he couldn’t be sure, but he had to get her, and the others - wherever they were - off the cliffs.
“Well, I’m going to finish you, just like I should have done back in Norfolk,” Scraggan boasted. “I saw the broadsheets heralding the murders of the smuggling gang you broke up. My smuggling gang! My family! You and Dominic Cavendish were national heroes for a while there, but you forgot one thing.” Scraggan thumped his chest heavily. “Me.”
“You were smuggling illegal goods into the country and local people were turning up dead!” Peter argued, refusing to allow Scraggan to justify his depraved behaviour.
“I have never worked out of Norfolk,” Scraggan replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
“But you were there -” Peter shook his head, wondering what Scra
ggan was trying to do. Was he distracting them while he waited for someone else to arrive?
“It wasn’t me, it was my son, Rogan. I left the gang to start up on my own further down the coast. Although we were two separate gangs, we worked together most of the time; that is, until you and Dominic Cavendish showed up. My son watched you and your men murder his uncles; his family. He has never been the same since.” There was a small tinge of loss in his voice that, for one infinitesimal moment, made him sound more human.
“That’s my fault? Your family being brought to justice for murder and smuggling is unfair is it? You should have gone down with them Scraggan. Where were you, by the way? Oh, I know, you were running away to protect yourself.” Peter knew he shouldn’t antagonise the man, but the memory of what he had done to Jemima burned through his veins like molten lava, driving him to irritate Scraggan and, he hoped, make him do something rash. Anything to give him a reason to lift his gun and remove the man from all of their lives.
He wanted to, but he wasn’t a murderer. As much as he hated the man, he wasn’t going to resort to cold-bloodedly shooting an unarmed man. Especially in front of Jemima. He wasn’t going to lower himself to being a murderer, and risk losing her respect, or her love. If he had been on his own, he wouldn’t of hesitated.
If he was completely honest, a part of him wanted to see Scraggan swing from the gallows. He wanted the man to suffer the same fear and misery he had subjected Jemima to in Derby. He wanted Scraggan to spend time in a condemned cell, knowing there was no way out. Peter wanted Scraggan’s final moments to be at the end of a hangman’s noose, knowing that justice had won.
“Strange how you survived, wasn’t it, Scraggan? If you were so close to your family and working together, why did they die and you survive if you didn’t run?” Peter goaded, ignoring Jemima’s warning look.
“I wasn’t there. I had left a few weeks earlier to work for one of the small gangs in Cornwall. They were rumoured to have better goods, fetching a higher price. Perfect for what I needed. It didn’t take much to work my magic and, before long, I had everyone eating out of my hand.” Scraggan’s puffed out his chest, clearly proud of his achievements.
“Hardly that, now, was it Scraggan? You bullied people, murdered those who didn’t want to cooperate, and stole from anyone and everyone who tried to hold out against you. You were ruthless.”
The smaller man shrugged unconcernedly. “They didn’t have my intelligence,” he spat.
“You threatened them with death. That’s hardly intelligent, is it?” Peter snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t decide if the man was incredibly arrogant, or incredibly stupid.
“It worked. I made my fortune. I read the broadsheets detailing what you’d done to my family, and had to sit and wait for Rogan to come to me. I didn’t know whether he was dead or alive for days, and had to carry on as though nothing had happened.” His thin face scrunched up as he stared out toward the sea. “You should know all about that.”
Peter swore inwardly, refusing to betray any emotion and give the small man the satisfaction.
“It was easy to set the bitch up,” Scraggan’s voice dropped to a contemptuous whisper, his hard gaze sweeping over Jemima from head to foot. “She was so worried for that brainless sister of hers that she fell for our claim that we had Eliza, hook, line and sinker. She arrived at our meeting place as instructed, just in time to hold the evidence.”
“She didn’t really have much of a choice, did she?” Peter snarled. “She didn’t deserve what you put her through.”
“She is your whore. We watched you chase after her like a dog after a bitch in heat. You care about her. It’s not nice to be helpless and unable to protect those you care about, is it?”
Peter was determined not to allow him to control the conversation. This was probably the only time he would have a conversation with Scraggan, and he wanted answers.
“So you and Rogan were running one gang, and the rest of your family running another nearby. You then left and set up your operation in Cornwall, and allowed Rogan to join you when the gang he was running met with justice. You both ran the gangs here in Cornwall until Jemima’s father lifted his head above the parapet, and started asking too many questions. You know he took vital information about you to the War Office,” Peter smiled to himself as Scraggan shot a startled look at him, “and were determined that he shouldn’t make a return journey. You slaughtered him before he got home, and were worried that the ladies also had information on you; that’s why they had to be killed, wasn’t it?” Peter didn’t wait for Scraggan’s answer. Ignoring the smaller man’s impatient shuffling, he continued to muse as though in deep thought. “Of course, you hadn’t realised they would be so clever as to evade you for nigh on twelve months.”