‘So,’ said Anne, ‘the way of life here is that women get married and become home-makers and mothers. A woman down here does not branch out on her own.’
‘Except for Gretchen Kettel but I view her as unique. Perhaps she was married and is now widowed. The only reason the police have been to see Kerry is because she stood up for herself in The Pilchard. The fishermen didn’t like that. They don’t like a woman standing up to them.’
‘She is certainly fiery,’ said Beth. ‘And she admitted that she’d have put a knife in her step-father if she hadn’t left.’
‘But she did leave. And that was to save her own sanity. A chance argument with two local fishermen is not going to have the likes of Kerry Sheppard resorting to kidnap.’
‘Sh-she said she was struggling to make ends meet.’
‘But there’s been no ransom demand. Why would she kidnap them; what is she going to do with them?’
They retreated into quiet reflection. James then tapped the table. ‘These men have been targeted for a reason and it’s not financial. Something historic; something that only a local would know. The trouble is, Kerry is right: it’s difficult to get beneath the surface of such a small community.’
Beth added that a number of villagers thought that Hilda might be responsible. The Merryweathers looked on in horror.
James gave them more information about their conversation with Tristram. ‘He found the whole thing quite amusing. As you mentioned before, darling, Hilda is similar to my sister but, for me, it’s part of her bustling personality. I don’t see why she would kidnap people. What would be her motive?’ He grinned. ‘I think, ladies, that this may be one for you. Hilda, Evelyn and Debra belong to the WI. Why don’t you take a leaf from the Snoop Sisters and get in there and do some delving. They have a meeting tomorrow night, don’t they?’
‘I-is there another parade tomorrow?’
Beth confirmed it was a free day. ‘They resume the following day with the Knockers.’
Stephen gave James a despairing look. ‘Jonah Quinn, Nibbin, Gretchen, Bidevin. Debra, Evelyn, Enoch. This isn’t Cavendish. There are hundreds of v-villagers and the l-likelihood of finding the kidnapper is re-remote to say the least.’
James told him not to give up hope; that police in London must feel like that every day, especially with the thousands of people travelling in and out as well as living there. ‘The game is afoot, as Sherlock Holmes once said. Let us not fall into despair, let us cast our net and see what comes to the surface.’ He turned to Beth. ‘You and I will hunt down PC Innes tomorrow and see what else he’ll let slip. Later, you and Anne will attend the WI. And see if you can find out where this Nibbin woman lives.’ He then addressed Stephen. ‘When the ladies are gossiping with the women, we will ensconce ourselves in The Pilchard and await an old friend.’
‘An o-old friend?’
Luke and Mark stumbled through the door.
‘We’ve played all sorts of games,’ said Luke and went on to enthuse about a number of board games including his favourite, Ludo.
‘And we made two new friends. They’re in the far caravan,’ added Mark. He turned to James. ‘And we played Snap and Happy Families.’
‘Well that all sounds very exciting,’ said James ruffling Mark’s hair. He indicated that this was their cue to go. ‘You’ll be wanting to make these beds up, I should think.’
Stephen followed them to the door and pulled James back. ‘An o-old friend?’
James gave him a sly wink and suggested that all good things would come to those who wait.
Back at the hotel, James stood by the bay window. A light caught his eye. He snatched the binoculars. ‘There it is again.’
Beth, who was sitting up in bed with a book, looked over the rim of her reading glasses. ‘What?’
‘That blasted light.’ He leaned against the window and examined the cliff-tops. ‘It’s very intermittent.’ He checked his watch. ‘It seems to happen around this time every night.’ He turned to Beth. ‘Was there somewhere in the harbour that hired motor boats?’
Beth glared at him. ‘If you think we’re going on a boat in the middle of the night, you have another think coming. Perhaps it’s a lighthouse.’
He dismissed the suggestion. ‘There isn’t one there. And anyway, a lighthouse is a permanent rotating light, it doesn’t just pop up a signal at eleven. Annoying thing is I can’t make out if it’s on the cliff or just out to sea.’
‘Well, instead of getting us into difficulty in the middle of the Atlantic, why don’t you ask the locals what it is?’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘Clever clogs.’ He climbed into bed and peered over her shoulder. ‘What’re you reading?’
‘Dr No by Ian Fleming.’
‘Good?’
‘Surprisingly apt, sweetie. A fellow operative has gone missing and James Bond has gone to Jamaica to find out what’s happened.’
‘And what’s happened?’
‘I’ve just reached the part where Bond discovers that Dr No is working in an underground base on an island and is working with the Russians to sabotage a US base.’
James gazed out of the window and pondered on the Bond story. Was there something bigger going on here? Were those lights some sort of ship to shore message? He didn’t know Morse code; perhaps he should jot it down and see if someone could translate. He admonished himself for being too imaginative.
But without a ransom demand, why else would Colm and Bevis disappear? There were no bodies; they had no reason to walk away; perhaps there was a bigger story behind this.
They turned out the light and snuggled in together. Beth fell asleep in his arms but James found it difficult to switch off from his thoughts. They had a full day ahead of them; perhaps he’d have more clarity this time the next day.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After breakfast the following morning, James retrieved a note that Desmond had slipped under the door. He opened it, read the contents then slipped it in his pocket with a degree of satisfaction. He wandered across to Beth who was fastening the button on her navy blue swing trousers. She adjusted the collar on her white cotton blouse. He stepped up behind her and gave her a hug.
‘Are you ready to hunt down a police constable?’
She popped a lipstick and sunglasses into her handbag and confirmed that she was. ‘But where does one hunt down a constable discreetly?’
‘I’ve no idea. Let’s hover around the police station and see if we can come up with a plan.’
They came out of their hotel and crossed the road. The sand on the beach was peppered with pieces of seaweed and driftwood from the previous night’s storm. Although grey clouds scudded across the sky, the sun tried its hardest to pierce through them and reveal patches of blue. The forecast was that Polpennarth was in for another few days of warm sunshine.
With no parade scheduled, they examined the shops either side of the street. For such a small village, they discovered a surprising variety of stores catering to villagers and tourists. They saw Enoch enter the fisherman’s bazaar, a shop made up of a number of market stalls selling fishing tackle, rope, jumpers and fishermen’s smocks. Further along was a bakery where the smell of warm dough enticed them to look in the window. Wholemeal and white cottage loaves stood on the shelves along with a variety of rolls and scones.
James suggested they had yet to have a cream tea and suggested doing this when visiting St Ives. Across the street was a small bookstore that stocked a number of local authors as well as handy guides to the area. Up a side-street, Beth spotted the butcher’s shop that Anne had mentioned.
Gretchen Kettel scurried out of her shop as they approached. ‘Good morning, good morning,’ she said with her customary chuckle. ‘How are we today?’
‘In excellent health,’ said James.
‘And how are you?’ said Beth.
‘Always well.’ The old lady prised open the newspaper poster board and asked James if he would assist. He helped her insert the local paper’
s headlines. She fastened the board.
James stood back to read the Polpennarth Weekly headline. ‘Colm Fiske and Bevis Allan – Where Are They?’ He turned to Gretchen. ‘Where indeed? Any ideas, Miss Kettel? You must hear quite a bit of gossip.’
She twitched with excitement. ‘It’s like Dixon of Dock Green, isn’t it?’
James knew the television programme well. Dixon of Dock Green was a series he and Beth enjoyed about a certain Sergeant Dixon and his escapades as a London copper. He watched as Gretchen snatched a children’s police helmet from her display and assumed the upright pose of Dixon.
‘Evening all,’ she said, using Dixon’s famous opening catchphrase. ‘Who is the kidnapper I hear you say? Some say Nibbin; some say Hilda; some say the Knockers. Can’t go arresting people without evidence.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘It’s lovely to have something to get your teeth into, isn’t it?’
Beth’s brow knitted together. ‘Are you investigating this?’
She beckoned them into the shop. ‘No, no, no. Me? Investigate? No. Doesn’t surprise me they went missing though.’
James picked up the Polpennarth Weekly and felt for the right change. ‘Why on earth do you say that?’
‘Scratch beneath the surface and all sorts of things emerge. Not my place. Not my place.’
He and Beth glanced at one another and back to Gretchen who simply shrugged, chuckled and announced that she must get on. She accepted the money for the paper and chivvied them out. ‘Don’t quote me. Speak to Evelyn and Debra. See why they lost their oomph, although I’m not sure they have now.’ She closed the door behind them.
Out on the pavement, James turned to Beth. ‘See why they lost their oomph? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I don’t know but wasn’t that a telling statement. Scratch beneath the surface and all sorts of things emerge. D’you think those wives are up to no good?’
‘Hopefully we’ll know more about that later. There’s the police station; let’s go and see if Innes is on duty.’
A polite enquiry established that PC Cardew Innes had one more hour of work to complete before going off shift. James checked his watch and suggested they had an ice cream and watch the world go by.
Settled with two cones of creamy vanilla ice cream, they sat on the promenade’s stone wall and watched the families on the beach. The children screamed as they raced the tide streaming on to the beach; the Punch and Judy man was setting up his pitch and half a dozen donkeys were being led off the back of a lorry to offer rides for the day. Beth picked out one particular dad who’d been almost buried; just his head stuck out of the sand, causing his children to giggle uncontrollably.
Raised voices shifted their attention to the side, on the promenade, where Enoch faced a woman of a similar age.
The drama unfolding in front of them unsettled James. Enoch was a big hulk of a man with grey stubble and short grey hair. He towered over the lady James assumed to be his wife. No other woman would put up with his words. He understood Stephen’s abhorrence of the man. The woman had obviously upset him in some way.
‘Enough of your interfering, Edith. I’ve told you my decision and that’s an end to it. I want nothing more said about it.’
Edith brought out a handkerchief.
‘And don’t turn those tears on; they cut nothing with me. She’s made her bed so she can lie on it.’
‘But Christine’s our daughter.’
James’ stomach flipped as Enoch closed in on his wife. He held his index finger an inch from her face. ‘You so much as speak her name again and you’ll rue the day.’
Beth sidled up closer to James. ‘James, do you think we should intervene?’
He suggested they wait and observe. ‘It’s not our business darling and I’m loath to go wading into a quarrel between husband and wife.’
Enoch grabbed Edith’s arm. ‘Do you hear me?’
James gritted his teeth and leapt off the wall. ‘I say, madam, is everything all right?’ He stood firm as Enoch snarled at him. ‘Is this man bothering you?’
Edith gave a hesitant smile and announced that she was quite fine. With her lips pursed, she strode away. Enoch glared and ordered him to keep his nose out of everyone’s business. ‘I’ve heard about you, asking questions.’ Before James had a chance to react, the man had barged past him and begun walking in the opposite direction to his wife.
Beth dashed over. ‘What a horrid man.’
James put his sunglasses on and watched Enoch stride into the distance. ‘Charmless bully. I wonder what all that business is with the daughter.’ Beth suggested that if she had any sense she’d have left home. He wrapped an arm around her. ‘We’re certainly seeing some interesting characters down here if nothing else.’
‘Gretchen’s right. Scratch beneath the surface. There are some tense people here for such a quaint village.’
‘You’re right, darling. Makes you wonder what on earth is going on behind closed doors.’ They began a slow walk back toward the police station. ‘I say, if that Edith lady is a member of the WI, you could perhaps hear what her story is.’
‘Good idea. I’m looking forward to meeting everyone there.’
They saw PC Innes chatting to a tourist and giving directions. He looked up, waved and jogged across the road to meet them.
‘Hello. Are you having a good time?’
James went through the normal pleasantries and Beth suggested tea and asked Innes if there was a good spot and would he like to join them.
The young man indicated that the best place was up on the hill. ‘There’s a farm on top of the cliffs there, a little further along from the Sanctuary. They do bed and breakfast but have a great outlook. You can see from south to north Cornwall up there. They do cream teas if you’re up for it. The bus is due in about half an hour and I’d like to get changed out of this uniform.’
James instructed Innes to get changed and he would collect the Austin Healey and they’d drive up.
‘Crikey, are you giving me a lift?’
‘It’ll be a bit of a squeeze in the back but I’ll have the roof down.’
The young PC looked as if all his Christmases had come at once. He thanked James and dashed off past the station and up a side street. Beth said she’d wait for Innes to return as James strode back to the hotel to collect the car.
The location of the farmhouse didn’t disappoint. Perched one hundred yards from the cliff face, the views rendered them speechless. They were approximately 10 miles from Land’s End and were able to scan the entire tip of Cornwall. To the south on one side was the nearest major town, Penzance. James could make out the harbour and about a mile further along was the imposing St Michael’s Mount, a small island just off the coast where, during low tide, you could walk across a causeway to visit it. Some of the buildings on the mount had been there since the Norman Conquest and it was another destination they wanted to visit before leaving. The jagged coast line stretched into the distance. His gaze followed it around to the north where views of the ocean continued.
‘My word, it’s spectacular,’ he said.
‘And where is St Ives from here?’ asked Beth.
Innes turned to face inland. ‘About five miles that way. Once you get over the far crest, you can see it. Pretty little town; very hilly, but pretty.’
They seated themselves at a wrought iron table. To one side was a hand built open pagoda with white Clematis that provided a dappled shade. A menu card stated that cream teas were the speciality and all three put their order in. The large farmer’s wife who took the order waddled into the kitchen. Five minutes later, they were presented with half a dozen home-made scones, home-made strawberry jam and a dish of thick Cornish clotted cream, made on the farm.
James sliced his scone in two and spread a generous helping of jam on each. With a spoon, he placed an equally generous dollop of clotted cream. Beth agitated the tea and let it rest for a couple of minutes. James leant in and took a bite. The flavours mel
ted together like a dream. There was a subtle hint of vanilla in the scones that complemented the jam and cream.
He closed his eyes. ‘Mmm. Now these are more like Granny’s scones.’
Beth mirrored his delighted expression. ‘Delicious.’
‘Told you they were the best,’ said Innes. ‘Tourists always stick to the village and forget to hunt out what’s off the beaten track. Some of the locals pop up here and get their jam from the farm.’
Beth poured the tea. ‘How long have you been a policeman, Mr Innes?’
‘Call me Cardew, please. Well, while I’m off duty, that is. About three years now. I started off helping dad collect the milk churns. This was one of the farms we’d stop off at; but it weren’t for me. I’ve always liked the idea of being a copper; Bobbies on the beat, that sort of thing, you know, keep the community safe and all. So I thought I’d give it a shot. If I didn’t like it, I could jack it in but you don’t know unless you try, do you?’
James agreed and commented that one should never look back on life with regrets. He highlighted his dream of being a racing driver and the brief stint he had among the greats of the day. Cardew gave him his full attention, enthralled by this glimpse into another world.
The young man sat forward. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking; but what’s it like being a Lord and Lady? D’you get to meet the Queen and film stars?’
James exchanged a bemused smile with Beth. ‘It’s not as glamorous as you may think Cardew.’
The pair of them commended the positives of their position and that yes, occasionally, their social circle brought them into the proximity of royals and film stars but the reality was they still needed to make a living. James found himself, for the umpteenth time over the last few years explaining that many titled individuals, although fortunate, could not rely on income alone. ‘We have to work for it,’ he said, explaining the set-up in Cavendish with their former home, Harrington’s.
Cardew sipped his tea. ‘What film stars have you met?’
Lord James Harrington and the Cornish Mystery Page 10
