by Jack Benton
He let go of her hands and went back to his chair, lifting his cup to swallow the last of his tea.
‘Things began to stand out. He started to write you a note, but decided to tell you in person, at the same time hoping to entrust you with his important items. After what I’d heard of Mary Birch it didn’t make sense that he’d be writing to her. I’d seen your name on letters in the hall, but it didn’t all snap together. Then there was the clock, the tree, that you went out at night, that you drank yourself to sleep after opening my mail … I should have realised earlier.’
Both were silent for a while. Slim listened to a car speed past, a bird singing from the gutter. Finally, Mrs. Greyson said, ‘What happens now? Will we go to the station, or will the police come here? I don’t think I could handle prison, Mr. Hardy, but it’s what I deserve.’
Slim gave her a sad smile. ‘I once tried to kill a man,’ he said. ‘I thought he was sleeping with my wife. I went after him with a razor blade, but I’d been drinking. I cut him a couple of times, but he was military. He knocked me down, kept me that way until the police showed up. He got off with a couple of minor cuts. For my part, I was discharged from the military and got away with a suspended sentence for ABH. Had I showed up sober I might have got twenty years for murder.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I tried to kill a man, and I’m here sitting opposite you, free. Which of us most deserves to do time? You’ve been suffering over this for twenty-two years. You lost the man you loved. I think that’s sentence enough.’
‘So you—’
Slim stood up as a car pulled up outside. ‘That’s my taxi. Could you help me with my cases?’
Mrs. Greyson opened her mouth to speak then closed it again. Silently she nodded, following him out into the hall.
‘I enjoyed my stay,’ Slim said, turning back, after his bags were loaded. ‘I mean that. I really did. You make the best hangover coffee I think I’ve ever had. It was certainly a stay I’ll never forget.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Hardy,’ Mrs. Greyson said. ‘Thank you for understanding.’
Slim nodded. He looked up at the sky, one of the clearest he’d seen since coming here, and smiled. Then he climbed into the taxi. As it pulled away, he glanced back and saw Mrs. Greyson lift a brief hand in farewell. She watched for a moment, then lowered her head, turned, and disappeared up the path.
Penleven was soon behind him as the taxi wound its way out of the valleys surrounding Bodmin Moor. Slim caught a brief glimpse of Rough Tor as the taxi passed a gateway, then it too was gone, and Slim realised he really wouldn’t mind if he never saw the wilds of Bodmin Moor again.
It was over. He, at least, and perhaps Mrs. Greyson, had found closure. Just one thing still bothered him.
The note.
He took the sheaf of papers out from his bag and looked over the pictures of the clock, then the samples of handwriting. It was so obvious now. The thin panel along the lower part of the clock face that looked like a moon had been designed for a carved inscription, and the single line of text had been meant as an epitaph.
But what of the markings? They didn’t match the first line, but what about the second, the barely legible one Kay had been unable to decipher? Amos had left the carving unfinished, but as Slim peered at the photocopy, he found himself frowning.
‘You enjoy your stay down in these parts?’ the taxi driver said abruptly, breaking Slim out of his thoughts.
‘It was … peaceful,’ he said.
‘Quite,’ the driver responded. ‘You picked a nice part of the county. Not many tourists round here and you can’t get more Cornish than old Bodmin Moor.’
Slim nodded. On the dashboard, a smartphone fitted into a stand suddenly flicked into life with a GPS system as it picked up a signal. Slim stared at it, wondering.
‘I don’t suppose I could borrow your phone for a moment?’ he asked. ‘I’d like to look something up.’
The driver plucked the phone out of the cradle and passed it back. ‘Sure. I think I know where I am by now.’
With a few clicks, Slim brought up an online translator. With the paper showing the note balanced on one knee, he input a couple of words until what he was hoping for appeared on the screen.
‘Well, I never.’
‘All right back there?’
‘Are you familiar with the Cornish language at all?’ Slim asked the driver.
‘I’m afraid not. Come from Tiverton myself, over the border. Place names and all that, and of course Kernow from the welcome sign. That’s about it, though.’
‘Thanks.’
Slim looked down at the phone, then at the paper, the two words from the second line that were visible. “Amper” meant “time” in Cornish, while what had looked to Kay like “puppy” could actually be “pupprys,” the Cornish word for “forever”.
Then, of course, there was the initial at the end of the lower line. The A, Slim now saw, wasn’t an A nor even an M as Kay had suggested, but looked that way because of water expansion and a little tear which had twisted the paper around.
It had once been a K.
It took only a couple of minutes to figure out what the K could have stood for.
Keugh sira-wynn.
Cornish for “grandfather”.
‘It wasn’t just Celia who was struggling with her grief, was it?’ Slim muttered, lining up one of Amos’s letters to Herr Schwimmer to compare the handwriting against the note. He sighed. The resemblance was uncanny. ‘You were grieving too. You lost your only grandchild. You planned to hide your memorial behind a language no one around you would understand.’
Charlotte. Your time is forever. I will wait for you always. Grandfather.
Slim put the papers away as the car pulled up to the junction with the A39. A lorry trailer rumbled past, followed by a frustrated line of cars.
‘Thanks for the loan,’ Slim said, handing the phone back to the driver, who slipped it back into its cradle.
‘Which bus station you want, mate?’ the driver said. ‘You want Camelford or should I head to Bude?’
Slim smiled. ‘Whichever one is closest,’ he said.
* * *
End
About the Author
Jack Benton is a pen name of Chris Ward, the author of the dystopian Tube Riders series, the horror/science fiction Tales of Crow series, and the Endinfinium YA fantasy series, as well as numerous other well-received stand alone novels.
The Clockmaker’s Secret is the second mystery to feature Slim Hardy. There will be more…
Chris would love to hear from you:
www.amillionmilesfromanywhere.net
[email protected]
Also by the same author
(writing as Chris Ward)
Novels
Head of Words
The Man Who Built the World
Fire Fight
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The Endinfinium Series
Benjamin Forrest and the School at the End of the World
Benjamin Forrest and the Bay of Paper Dragons
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The Tube Riders series
Underground
Exile
Revenge
In the Shadow of London
* * *
The Tales of Crow series
The Eyes in the Dark
The Castle of Nightmares
The Puppeteer King
The Circus of Machinations
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The Tokyo Lost Series
(Writing as Christopher Ward)
Broken
Stolen
Frozen
* * *
The Slim Hardy Mystery Series
(writing as Jack Benton)
The Man by the Sea
The Clockmaker’s Secret
Thank you for your interest in my work.
* * *
Please consider joining my
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Mystery and Sus
pense Group
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You can also chat to me on Facebook at
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Chris Ward (Fiction Writer)
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and follow progress on new books on my website at
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www.amillionmilesfromanywhere.net
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Thank you for reading!
Acknowledgments
Big thanks as always to those of you who provided help and encouragement. My proofreaders Nick and Jenny, and the guys at The Cover Collection get a special heads up, as does as always, my muse, Jenny Twist.
In addition, extra thanks goes to my Patreon supporters, in particular to Amaranth Dawe, Charles Urban, Janet Hodgson, Juozas Kasiulis, Leigh McEwan, and Teri L. Ruscak.
You guys are awesome.
