Lord James Harrington and the Cornish Mystery

by Lynn Florkiewicz

  He pondered. It wasn’t Evelyn drinking that bothered him so much; more her demeanour and body language. That young lady was fearful, not worried or upset. And Hilda’s comments seemed untimely, bearing in mind the circumstances. What was it she’d said: “Things are looking up for you; you can’t sit around moping.” What an odd thing to say to a lady whose husband had just disappeared.

  Beth brought him out of his musings. ‘I’m surprised Evelyn’s attending the festival. I wouldn’t have thought she’d be in the mood for such gaiety.’

  ‘Most peculiar. I think we need to keep our eyes peeled and our ears pinned back tomorrow. There’s something troubling Evelyn. Whether it’s her husband I don’t know but that woman has the worries of the world on her shoulders.’

  Stephen checked his watch and called for Luke and Mark to come up from the beach.

  Mark shouted back. ‘Look at our sandcastle.’

  Luke added, ‘And we’ve made a moat for the water.’

  Radley barked and wagged his tail.

  Anne waved them up while telling them how lovely their structure was.

  ‘W-we must be getting along. The parade starts at midday tomorrow. We’ll look out for you in the high street.’

  With arrangements in place, James and Beth wandered hand in hand along the promenade toward their hotel. Above them, a string of coloured lights fixed to lampposts lit their way. James looked along the coastline and saw a flashing light. ‘Did you see that?’

  Beth looked across. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s gone now. Looked like a light flashing out at sea. It may have been on the cliff top; hard to say.’ He squeezed Beth’s hand. ‘I wonder what the festival will be like.’

  ‘We’ll soon find out. Hopefully no one will vanish in front of our eyes.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The participants of the Old Bogey parade gathered just along from the hotel. There must have been around a hundred villagers who had made a supreme effort and dressed up for the occasion. They jostled for space on the road. The remaining villagers and several hundred tourists and visitors lined the pavements and promenade from the hotel to the far end of the high street.

  Old Bogey’s costume consisted of a tall top hat, tails, a loose white shirt, trousers that were a little too short and hobnail boots. Last minute preparations saw people helping one another out by smearing black greasepaint over their faces. Some carried dolls that, in their day, had probably been the pride and joy of girls in the village but were now hideously deformed by their new owners with missing eyes and squashed faces.

  The crowds clapped to a constant rhythm of a drum and Morris men in white hats with flowers pinned on played accordions and fiddles. It reminded James a little of the tune played at their own scarecrow festival; a mesmeric melody that played around and around without pause. It was uplifting and James couldn’t help but feel inspired by the laughter and enthusiasm the whole ceremony communicated.

  The balmy breeze carried with it the smell of the sea and the occasional aroma of fish and chips. Three or four men lined the route, selling hot dogs from stands, alongside the more traditional ice-cream carts. Children waved the black and white Cornish flag in one hand and kept a firm hold on their ice lollies in the other. Most men had Box or Ilford cameras hanging around their necks, ready to capture the moment. A Master of Ceremonies arrived with a long wooden staff. He pounded the tarmac and roared out his request for silence. The crowd hushed. The musicians softened the melody, the drummer muted the drum.

  ‘Old Bogey be out tonight. Whether the moon be dull or bright,

  It makes no difference to the Bogeyman:

  He’s coming for you if he possibly can.

  He’s hiding in cupboards all dark and dusty.

  Will he get you or will he get me?

  Old Bogey’s out tonight; Old Bogey’s out tonight.’

  The volume of the music increased; the man held the staff high and yelled, ‘OLD BOGEY BE OUT TONIGHT!’

  The parade began and a stream of Old Bogey characters shuffled behind the Master of Ceremonies. James and Beth marvelled at the spectacle. Everyone taking part reverted to character, especially those who had adopted a creeping gait. Bidevin was easy to spot with his huge frame, bushy beard and exaggerated swagger. He growled at the children who sheltered between their parents’ legs. On seeing James and Beth, he stood upright and broke into a wide smile.

  ‘All right?’

  James and Beth grinned back as he reverted to character. Just behind him was a lady who yelled a loud ‘Hello!’ At first James wondered who on earth it was and then remembered the voice behind the greasepaint. It was Hilda, her blonde hair tucked up inside the tall hat.

  Beth squeezed his arm. ‘The Bogey man is quite gruesome looking, isn’t it? What does Old Bogey represent?’

  He reminded Beth that this was one of the most famous of the legends and one that reached most cultures. ‘I believe most parents at some time will threaten their children with the Bogey man if they don’t do as they’re told.’

  The musicians followed the characters accompanied by the pounding of a huge bass drum. The man beating the rhythm was a tall, wiry man who didn’t seem big enough to carry such a thing. James wondered if he’d make it to the fairground. An open top lorry, made to look like a prison, passed by with a few residents behind its bars shouting for help. The crowd fell in and tagged behind the parade.

  They advanced slowly and were showered with vibrant flowers, ribbons and coloured confetti. James and Beth shuffled along with the masses and sang along with a la-la to the tune as it continued its repetitive melody. Toward the middle of the high street, James spotted Stephen’s straw hat. Fortunately, he was a tall man and easy to spot. He grabbed Beth’s hand and guided her through the crowd and onto the pavement.

  Luke and Mark jumped up and down tugging at them. ‘Did you see the Bogey man? Did you see how many there were? Did you see the big drum?’

  James and Beth answered every question patiently and suggested they rejoin the throng.

  Anne steered the two boys ahead of them and ordered them to stay in sight. She shouted to make herself heard. ‘Where does the parade finish?’

  ‘According to this,’ James waved his programme in the air, ‘just over the brow of the hill. There’s a large green there with a fairground.’

  ‘Will there be dodgems?’ asked Mark.

  ‘And swings?’ Luke added.

  ‘Will there be see-saw?’

  Stephen placed a hand on each of their shoulders and assured them they wouldn’t miss out. ‘W-we have a week here, s-so you have plenty of t-time for rides.’

  The boys skipped in time with the music. James looked around. ‘Where’s Radley?’

  Anne explained that Radley had made friends with two Border collies and a lady who owned them was going on a long walk. ‘She offered to take Radley and we agreed. We thought it would be better than the poor thing being trampled on.’

  They fell back a little to make themselves heard.

  ‘The l-lady with the dogs is a writer. Her name’s Kerry Sheppard.’

  James asked what sort of books she wrote.

  ‘Non-fiction,’ replied Stephen, who went on to detail that she was down for the festival as she was writing a book about folklore and customs.

  Beth suggested they invite her to Cavendish. ‘I’m sure she’d have plenty of material with the amount of things we celebrate. Is she with family?’

  Anne replied that she’d travelled alone. ‘She doesn’t believe in women being home-makers. She doesn’t believe in men being the breadwinners and thinks that women have every right to be independent. I can’t imagine her with a family although she is very attractive and quite feminine.’

  ‘Well, I guess that’s similar to Elsie.’ Elsie ran the local café between the villages of Cavendish and Charnley. She’d remained single and adored running her own business. ‘I say it shows some guts to branch out like that, don’t you James?’

  �
��Yes, I do. I would imagine that writing is a rather lonely job if you’re having to travel all the time. It’d be interesting to meet her though and find out what she’s researched; especially if she’s been travelling the length of Britain.’

  Stephen suggested they come up to the caravan site one evening. ‘We could have a chat with her, perhaps arrange something for early evening. L-leave it with me.’

  ‘Oh look,’ said Beth, ‘there’s that Nibbin woman.’

  They’d reached the green and although the music continued, the expansive area had allowed everyone to spread out. People dispersed to stalls selling burgers and many hopped on the fairground rides. Nibbin scurried here and there chattering to herself and calling out odd phrases that made no sense. The ram horns had been replaced by some old rope netting and tied to this was a plastic lobster. James suppressed a grin and turned to Beth who had diverted her attention elsewhere. Her focus was Evelyn Fiske who still had an air of fear about her. Hilda and a few other women surrounded her and seemed intent on encouraging her to enjoy herself.

  Stephen stood alongside him. ‘I-I find that a little odd, don’t you?’

  James concurred. ‘I’m all for empathy and support but those women appear to be oblivious to Evelyn’s situation.’

  ‘A-and Evelyn still looks more fearful than worried.’

  Luke dragged his parents over to the merry-go-round, insisting they all choose a horse. Mark, who had already clambered on one, called over. ‘Come on Uncle James.’

  ‘Come on Uncle James,’ Luke repeated his elder brother’s request. ‘Auntie Beth, you can sit next to me.’

  Their friendship with the Merryweathers had been cemented quickly and the boys had taken to calling James and Beth Uncle and Aunt. James nudged Beth onto the merry-go-round and they chose painted ponies alongside Luke. The automated organ launched into I Do Like to be Beside the Seaside and the horses began to rise and fall. Mark and Luke shouted excitedly. ‘We’re winning, we’re winning!’

  James gazed across the green as his horse gently galloped round. The Old Bogey characters had lost their scariness as most were digging into candy floss and Cornish pasties. Bidevin was wiping greasepaint off his face. He spotted them and waved. James and Beth waved back as the horses began to slow down.

  Luke pointed. ‘Can we go on the swing chairs?’

  Stephen raised his eyebrows. ‘Sh-shall we meet you later?’ he said to the James. ‘I can’t believe y-you’re going to want to go on rides all afternoon.’

  They agreed to meet at five o’clock by the entrance to the park. James and Beth wandered around the green. There were stalls selling sandwiches, pies and drinks. Alongside these were craft and art displays created by local people. The WI had a large marquee tent at the end. Beth nudged him.

  ‘Come on, that’s where the gossip will be.’

  Inside, the WI had set up a small café where James ordered tea and home-made cherry scones. They found a spare table and sat down. As they cut into their scones Hilda dragged a chair over and joined them. She still had her costume and make-up on but the black had become streaked from the heat.

  ‘Phew. Outfit’s far too heavy for this weather. Roll on tomorrow, that’s what I say.’

  ‘Oh,’ said James, ‘what’s tomorrow?’

  ‘The Fairy family. Not so much to wear and no greasepaint involved. How are you enjoying it?’

  Beth said they were enjoying it very much and commented on how nice it was to meet some of the locals, including Hilda.

  ‘We’re a welcoming bunch.’ She swung round, scanned the area and startled James when she bellowed. ‘Tristram.’

  A man of around thirty looked up and acknowledged her. He picked up a fruit juice and wandered over. He was fit and trim with a crop of almost white hair that stuck up at the front, making him look boyish and charming. Judging by his weathered complexion, James surmised that he spent a lot of time outdoors.

  ‘Tris, this is Lord and Lady Harrington.’

  Tristram reached over and shook hands with them both. ‘Tristram Roscarrock.’

  ‘My husband,’ Hilda stated.

  ‘I heard we had a Lord and Lady in the village.’

  James complimented him on his outfit. He carried a pair of old boots and the obligatory tall top hat was under his arm. He’d washed the greasepaint from his face although traces remained by his ears. Tristram looked down at his feet. ‘I had to take these off, they’re not conducive to walking far. Belonged to my grand-dad and he had smaller feet than me.’ He looked at Hilda. ‘I’ll probably head back to the sanctuary in a while.’

  ‘Sanctuary?’ James said.

  Tristram explained that he helped run a sanctuary for animals and birds. ‘We get all sorts come in from the sea, seals and birds; also get animals hit by cars, that sort of thing. At the moment, we’ve a few seals washed up due to the storms last week. They need a little love and attention.’

  Beth put a hand to her chest and let out a sigh. ‘Oh the poor things – is that all voluntary?’

  ‘Some of it. There’s half a dozen of us work full time. I work alongside Hans. We tend to do most of the rescues. He’s on his own at the moment – gone off to the headland to free some birds. We’re pretty busy but I didn’t want to miss the parade.’

  ‘This sanctuary, how do you fund it?’

  ‘Donations mainly. We’re a registered charity and a lot of the Cornish people do fund raising for us. We tend to get quite a bit when the newspapers show a baby seal washed up. They are incredibly cute.’

  ‘Tris can’t bear to see animals abused,’ said Hilda. ‘The man can’t even kill a fly – he has to let it go.’

  Tristram blushed. ‘I’m a grown man so I s’pose it sounds a bit silly.’

  James assured him it sounded nothing of the sort. ‘It’s people like you that keep the rest of us focussed on what’s right. I don’t particularly like cruelty to animals but I don’t do anything about it – you do.’

  ‘You hunt foxes?’

  ‘Tristram!’ Hilda said with a fierce glare.

  Her husband shrugged and James held his hands up. ‘Personally no but most villages have hunts and Cavendish is one of them. The farmers appreciate that it keeps the fox population down.’

  ‘They could do it another way, Lord Harrington.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Beth, ‘but it’s a double-edged sword, isn’t it? The foxes need to be kept under control and it’s difficult to find them without the dogs sniffing them out.’

  James suggested they postpone this discussion for another time. ‘It’s a lovely day and I’d hate to argue with you over something that I’m not actually involved in. Perhaps we could visit the sanctuary one day. Is it open?’

  Tristram beamed at the opportunity to promote the place. ‘It’s open every day between ten and four.’ He felt in his jacket pocket and brought out a leaflet. ‘Always have some of these to hand. Here. Why don’t you pop over?’

  They bade him goodbye with a promise that they would call in.

  ‘I say, Hilda, has he always worked there?’

  ‘Yes, man and boy. I don’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have that. He’d be hopeless in an office; he gets seasick so couldn’t be a fisherman if his life depended on it. He’s an outdoors man. That sanctuary is right up his street. If that closed down I think he’d become a shepherd or something.’

  Beth asked if she knew Nibbin, whereupon Hilda let out a whoop of laughter. ‘Everyone knows Nibbin. I take it you’ve seen her.’

  ‘Is that her real name?’

  ‘No idea. Always known as Nibbin. There was another one, a father or uncle, but he died.’ She laughed again. ‘She doesn’t harm anyone but she’s not all there as far as I’m concerned.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Now, I must get on. These cakes won’t judge themselves. No doubt I’ll be seeing you later or at the fairy parade tomorrow. Enjoy your afternoon.’ She marched off.

  Beth turned to him. ‘Hilda and her husband are very different, do
n’t you think?’

  James agreed. ‘He’s a very gentle, considerate individual and she is loud and assertive but they seem to rub along well together. They say opposites attract.’ He put his scone down with a comment that they were not as nice as Grandma Harrington’s recipe. ‘Come on, let’s go and enjoy what’s on offer.’

  They spent the next couple of hours studying art displays, discussing the skills of the local craftsmen and joining in with the fairground activities. James won a coconut and Beth bagged a goldfish in a jam jar. After hanging onto them for several minutes, they decided to hand them to the nearest child, who was over the moon with her gifts and went racing off to show her parents.

  James checked his watch. ‘We’ve half an hour before we meet the Merryweathers. Shall we sit over there and have a cold drink? I’m getting a little foot weary.’

  They made themselves comfortable in a makeshift café where they had an excellent view of the green and, to their right, the coastline. The sun glinted off a turquoise sea and small waves splashed onto the beach. They could see the distinctive roof of The Pilchard Inn; distinctive as it had a life-size model of a small fishing boat bolted to the chimney with a model of a fisherman on board, looking through a telescope.

  Beth touched his arm and pointed. He shifted in his seat and watched a young woman in her early twenties. She meandered aimlessly, her eyes flicking about.

  He sat up. She wore the same fearful look as Evelyn Fiske and she wrung her hands mindlessly.

  Beth put her glass down. ‘Do you think she’s all right? She looks terribly frightened.’

  The woman came closer to them, all the while scanning the crowds and checking her watch. She stopped a passer-by who checked his own watch for her and moved on. The merry-go-round played a cheery tune and children raced among the crowds giggling and playing tag. Tourists and villagers ambled by, wrapped up in the festival, checking their programmes to ensure they missed nothing, oblivious to the woman looking so lost. As she neared them, James was about to get up to help when Hilda strode up to her.