‘You want to go and see old Guppy,’ said Bonnie. ‘Bit of an expert on the history he is. Lives up on the cliff there.’ She pointed to a house among some trees on a steep hill overlooking the harbour and little village.
‘Well, we’d best be off.’ The two fishermen headed off back towards their boat, leaving Rebecca staring thoughtfully up at the house on the cliffs.
‘Didn’t they just change when we started to talk about the Monastery and Horns of Lucifer?’ whispered Drew. ‘Brough was almost aggressive. He definitely didn’t want his pal saying too much. Why was he so adamant we should stay away from Druid’s Rock?’
‘What is this ghost story, then?’ Drew smiled at Bonnie Clampett who was wiping down tables.
‘Oh, old seaman’s tale, you don’t want to take any notice,’ she said, sitting down next to them to light up a cigarette. ‘There’s a narrow path goes down to Scullion’s Cove just along from here where they used to row out convicted smugglers, Deadman’s Steps, they call it. They’d take the condemned men out to the Horns, set ’em down and leave ’em to drown.
Well, over the years, some fishermen reckon they have heard the oars and the cries of the men being thrown overboard and drowning – lot of nonsense if you asks me. Old Guppy’s got all the tales about this place.’ She took a long drag of her cigarette, smiled, stubbed it out and them went back inside the café.
‘How long till Gaston picks us up again?’ Rebecca asked Drew, eyeing Guppy’s house.
He looked at his watch. ‘Fifteen minutes or so.’
‘Come on.’
Chapter 14
Guppy
‘Many are the legends of smugglers in these parts, of dark deeds, calamity and vengeance. Mine is a story of all these things, a tale passed down from father to son, from times when life was very different.’
Rebecca raised her eyebrows as Drew replaced the book from which he had just been reading on the desk. The dusty room into which they had been shown by the housekeeper who had answered the door felt like a mad professor’s study. Piles of papers and books formed an orderless mass. The house was a ramshackle old cottage with magnificent views over the little harbour. The garden was running wild. A rambling rose covered the entire frontage in vivid pink flowers. Rebecca was certain she had noticed the curtains twitching as they came up the garden path.
‘Mr B’s in the garden. Who shall I say is here?’
‘Rebecca McOwan, a guest of the Dewhurst-Hobb’s’, she said, as the woman disappeared.
‘What about me?’ said Drew in injured tones. Rebecca put up a hand absently in acknowledgement.
‘I er, yes, you are here too. Sorry, mind on other things.’
Drew was trying to think of a suitable response when the door of the room was flung open by a wild-haired man in a waistcoat and tweed trousers brandishing a deep sea divers helmet.
‘Rebecca Dewhurst-Hobb? Never heard of you.’ He bustled in and set the shining object down on a desk next to a microscope.
‘No, Rebecca McOwan. I am not a Dewhurst-Hobb, just a guest.’
‘And this?’ Hands on hips the old man fixed Drew with a stare.
‘Andrew Campbell of Argyllshire, Mr Guppy sir.’
The old man’s expression changed instantly into a beaming smile. ‘A Campbell, hey? You are most heartily welcome! And you too, young lady, also a Celt by name if not accent. Fine race the Celts. But I am not a Guppy, no, that is a pseudonym coined hereabouts by those who approximate my good looks to a rather ugly fish, ha! The guppy fish, to be precise, of course.’
‘What is your name then, sir?’ asked Drew, instantly warming to this feisty old character.
‘Baverstock, Grendel Baverstock … and don’t call me sir.’
‘Are you related to –’ Rebecca began.
‘Rockford Baverstock, solicitor at law, scheister of the first order and Tregenna’s leading legal light? Related merely in name… my brother. Now he’d probably like you to call him sir.’
Rebecca and Drew exchanged amused looks. ‘You don’t get on then?’ She ran a hand absently over the diver’s helmet.
‘Thankfully I don’t spend sufficient time in his company to know the answer to that any more. He has simpering courtiers to inflate his ego, and some less than salubrious characters to inflate his not entirely explicably enormous bank balance. What could an impoverished historian offer such a man? So how do you know Bertie Dewhurst- Hobb?’
‘I am at school with his grandson, Rupert. We are down here as his guests.’
‘Popped down for a mourn, have you? Sorry! Bad taste … just find the whole process so damned tiresome and morbid. You see it that way when you get to my age.’
‘We were hoping you could help us with something,’ said Rebecca, unable to conceal a smile. ‘Do you know anything about a submarine battle the Admiral had during the war off the coast here?’
The old man looked up sharply. ‘Now why would you want to know about that?’ his eyes narrowed at Rebecca. She sensed she had introduced an unwelcome subject.
‘You want to be careful asking too many questions about that.’ Baverstock shuffled to the window and peered outside. ‘Noticed anybody strange down here?’
Drew and Rebecca looked nervously at each other. The old man did not wait long for an answer and nodded. ‘I thought so. All sorts prying and nosing about just lately. Suddenly every Tom, Dick and Harry wants to know about the war.’ He rustled through some papers on his desk half-heartedly, muttering. ‘Bloomin’ Germans. Had enough of them before the war round here, let alone during it.’
‘Before?’ Drew raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes, Nazis all had their eyes on our little county. Von Ribbentrop, Hitler’s Foreign Minister, used to come for holidays in the thirties. He planned to live on St Michael’s Mount after the blighters invaded. Hitler even had one of his lackeys write a memo telling the Luftwaffe not to bomb St Ives. Ha! St Ives!’ He looked them up and down. ‘So just why on earth should I trust you, Campbell of Argyllshire?’ he barked, waving a finger under Drew’s nose.
Rebecca took a deep breath. ‘Can you be trusted, Mr Baverstock?’
Baverstock was momentarily taken aback. This was certainly not the response he had expected. His leathery face broke into a broad grin. ‘Why, good for you, young Rebecca! Quite right too. Well, I have no axe to grind either way. I am not my brother.’
‘We know the Admiral’s submarine sank a U-Boat in 1945 which was carrying something of great value.’
‘Yes, yes, everybody knows that much. You’ll have to tell me a bit more than that if we are to enter a relationship of mutual trust. What else?’
Rebecca regarded Drew, uncertain how much more she should give away. ‘We know the name of the German Commander, the true location of the battle as opposed to the one given out officially –’
‘The true location? Okay! Now you are talking, young lady. That is sufficient and to demonstrate my good faith, I shall not ask you to reveal the true location, even though I wasn’t aware until now that it was in doubt, so I am on tenterhooks! Come here.’
Baverstock went over to a bookcase stuffed with files and began to rustle about. With a sudden triumphant laugh, he took out a battered cardboard file and set it down.
‘U-821 out of Stettin, type V11c, supposedly sunk in June 1944 in the Bay of Biscay. How then could she reappear off the coast of Cornwall in 1945? Been trying to get to the bottom of this one for years.’
‘Why do you think?’ asked Drew.
‘Because the Germans did not want the Allies to know of its existence. Presumably because of what was on board. A ghost ship!’ He beamed dramatically.
‘We know it was carrying something valuable and a top Nazi Party official was on board,’ said Rebecca, sensing they could trust this old man.
‘Indeed?’ Baverstock looked round-eyed over the top of his spectacles. ‘Who was the Nazi?’
‘General Karsten Himmel.’
Baverstock rustled excitedly thr
ough more papers, before producing an old newspaper cutting with a dramatic flourish. ‘Karsten Jurgen Himmel! That would indeed support my theory. From the Times, October 1946: Blah-blah, here we are – believed to have been removed before the Russians arrived in Berlin and placed in the charge of General Himmel. – You see!’ The old man’s face was alight with triumph.
Rebecca and Drew were still puzzled. ‘But what was placed in his charge?’
‘The uranium, of course!’
Rebecca and Drew looked blank. This made no sense to them. Baverstock explained.
‘Uranium is a vital component in the production of nuclear bombs … the Atom Bomb.’
Rebecca sat down open-mouthed in shock.
‘By 1945 the Germans were producing weapons grade uranium in sufficient quantities to make an atomic bomb. The result of the war would have been rather different if they had dropped it on us instead of us dropping it on the Japanese.’
‘I’m still not sure how this relates –’ Drew’s sentence was broken by Baverstock.
‘Realising Germany was defeated, Himmel was escaping in the unmarked U-boat to get the uranium to the Japanese to make the A- bomb. The Japanese war still continued after the German surrender. Incidentally, it’s how we ended up getting the actual uranium for the American bombs used on Japan. German Admiral Donitz signed the surrender and ordered all U-boats to the surface to surrender to the nearest allied vessel. One U-boat gave itself up a few hundred miles from Japan, with enough uranium on board to give the Japs the bomb. Yanks used it instead. Very lucky it landed in their hands. Bet you never knew the A-bomb that landed on Hiroshima was made from uranium manufactured by the Nazis? Kind of ironic.’
‘Except that this uranium didn’t,’ said Rebecca.
Baverstock looked up sharply. ‘You sound very certain, young lady. Why?’
‘The Admiral said whatever Himmel was carrying was never found. So if it was uranium, it is still out there.’
‘But the uranium was found.’
‘Now I am confused,’ said Drew, sitting down and raising his hands in submission. ‘Do you understand, McOwan?’
‘Maybe,’ said Rebecca, her voice faraway.
Grendel Baverstock was far more animated. ‘It’s no secret about the uranium. It was handed over to the Allied Command by Bertie Dewhust-Hobb in 1945. But the big question is what is all the fuss about now, then? Why is everybody so interested? There must have been something else.’
Rebecca favoured Grendel Baverstock with a grave stare. Disconcerted by the intensity of the look, he sat, puzzled, waiting for her to speak. Rebecca appeared to come to a decision and began. ‘Mr Baverstock, I am going to trust you … we do know more but there is a conflict between what we know and the official version. We have an account from the Admiral himself, in which he says he deliberately did not give the cargo to the Allies.’
Baverstock sat up, astonished. ‘You have this from Bertie himself? …Why the devious old … he never said a thing to me in all those times we talked about it. So where is it?’
‘At the bottom of the sea, probably,’ answered Rebecca. ‘It has never been recovered.’
‘That would explain why people are snooping around. They must know what it is, otherwise why bother?’ Grendel Baverstock scratched his chin thoughtfully.
‘We think the monks are involved,’ said Drew.
Baverstock leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Be very careful. There have been some strange events up at the monastery. I have tried many times to find out more but nobody will talk. People are scared.’
‘The Black Monk?’ Rebecca tried to sound light-hearted but not entirely convincingly.
‘I am a scientist, I deal in facts … but I don’t dismiss the old tale entirely, or its possible relevance to what you have just told me.’
‘What do you mean, Mr Baverstock?’
‘Nothing. Ignore me, it’s not important.’
Drew looked at his watch. ‘Hey, we’re late. Sorry to be rude Mr Baverstock but we need to dash!’
‘Not at all, young Campbell. Look, come back if I can help. I am agog to know what you find out. But promise me you’ll be careful?’
Rebecca shook the old man’s hand and nodded. ‘Of course. Thank you.’
As they hurried back down the lane, Gaston was already by the Land Rover, looking around anxiously. His expression relaxed when he saw them and he started the engine.
‘Time for part two of ride of death with Lewis H,’ muttered Drew.
Chapter 15
The Horns of Lucifer
Skylarks swooped to and fro, high above the trees surrounding Five Muskets farm and the moor, their plaintive calls carrying on the wind. The clouds had parted, lending the day renewed sunny warmth with just a gentle breeze coming off the sea.
Rupert and Laura were crossing the yard when the Land Rover hurtled through the stone archway, throwing up spray from the puddles and juddering to a screeching halt. Hens and the old Labrador, Sherlock were scattered in its wake. Rebecca and Drew jumped out, relief at being back in one piece quickly succeeded by a pleasant surprise when they saw Rupert. Gaston raised his eyebrows, smiled uncertainly and went inside, leaving the four of them together.
‘Hey, jailbird! When did you get let out?’
‘They gave you your own clothes back, then. That was a shame.’
‘Ha ha. Enough!’ He gave a quick look around, his expression serious. ‘There’s lots to talk about. But not here.’
Rupert led them over a stile and out of the yard, up the lane and across the fields. They walked quickly until they reached the barn again and were inside and out of sight. Rupert climbed up to the eaves. He reached inside his jumper and pulled out the envelope containing his Grandfather’s papers. He removed the bricks and hid it where it had been before.
‘Right then, what’s been going on? What have you guys been up to while I was ‘inside’?’
Rebecca and Laura recounted their respective activities that morning. Laura showed them the German cap and told them James Hendricks had identified the watermark as belonging to the monastery. Drew added in the warnings Billy Brough had made about the monastery and the perilous Horns of Lucifer and how hostile the skipper of the trawler Mary Jane had seemed. Rebecca recounted the meeting with Grendel Baverstock. When everyone had finished, Rupert blew out his cheeks.
‘Blimey! You’ve been busy. I’ve been through most of Grandpa’s papers. They don’t tell a lot more than his tape. A map of the Horns of Lucifer shows the cave. There’s that code book, transcripts of hearings and interviews about the sinking of the U-boat and some stuff about the family and Rockford Baverstock which I haven’t got into yet. But on the internet I found out the Official Secrets document was released three months ago, which probably explains the surge in interest that Guppy mentioned. There were also a few interesting things about the prisoner of war camp here. Did you know there is a village called Germanstown just up the road? German prisoners were used to do loads of work locally, including helping out at the monastery and working on the restoration of the Smuggler’s Chapel.
And early this morning, I saw Sky in the lane talking to some men. One of them was on a motorbike, ’cos I heard a bike start up as they left. The other one was a monk and had this really big nose, like a bird’s beak.’
Laura looked at Rebecca ‘Sounds suspiciously like the two men we saw breaking in to the Manor?’
Rebecca nodded. ‘Did you hear anything they said, Rupe?’
‘Too far away. Looked pretty wound up though …Big nose was really laying into Sky.’
‘Do you think Sky is the ‘friend’ giving them bad information?’ Laura raised her eyebrows at Rebecca. ‘Big Nose said he was going to give somebody what for, didn’t he?’
‘My Uncle Henry would call that a groundless flight of fancy, Laura,’ said Rebecca.
‘Grounds for suspicion, surely?’ said Drew.
‘Mysterious man.’
‘He’s bad news,’
said Rupert, grimly. ‘Why Mum even …’
‘Women go for dorks sometimes, mate. Who knows why they choose the blokes they do.’ Drew shook his head, wisely.
‘Dorks indeed,’ said Rebecca, drily, her eyebrows raised knowingly at Laura. ‘Would I be right in thinking, Rupe, that Sky appeared on the scene recently? About three months ago?’
Rupert was taken aback. ‘Er … yes. How on earth did you know?’
‘Lucky guess,’ responded Rebecca, although had he looked, Rupert would have seen her expression suggested otherwise.
‘Should we tail Sky?’ suggested Drew.
‘Are you volunteering?’ asked Rupert.
Drew’s face became suddenly serious. ‘Aye well, it was a suggestion … for discussion.’
Rebecca smiled inwardly. Keeping her face straight she nodded. ‘But a good one, Campbell. I think you should. Good man! Follow him, see if he is up to anything dodgy. Be careful though.’
‘But am I the right choice? We need me to take the boat out, don’t we?’ The others smiled.
‘Not the tiniest backtrack there, Drew?’ Laura patted him on the shoulder. ‘He’s a big fellow.’
Drew looked affronted.
‘We should go and take a look at the Horns of Lucifer,’ said Rebecca, getting to her feet.
‘Aye and that’s a pretty hairy place, so don’t be implying I’m chicken, Miss Gilmour.’
‘Of course not, Drew.’ Laura’s face was a model of seriousness.
‘I know we all feel reassured by your nautical skills,’ added Rebecca, deadpan.
* * *
‘I like your Scotsman, Becks,’ said Laura as they followed the two boys down the path.
‘He’s not my Scotsman.’ Rebecca watched Drew for a moment. Laura detected a momentary softening of her friend’s piercing brown eyes.
‘But you do have something going on, don’t you?’
‘He lives five hundred miles away near the Arctic Circle! We are pals, that’s all.’
‘But you would have a relationship if he lived closer?’
The Legend of the Black Monk Page 10
