Glastonbury

by Brian L. Porter

  Doberman paused for breath, held up his empty glass in an imploring gesture towards the bar and Claire Cleveley obligingly saw the gesticulation, nodded in return and instantly came across to the table with another goblet of warming liquid for the professor. He thanked the girl and then returned to his narrative.

  “Where was I? Oh yes. Now, when I showed the copy of the document to Marcus, he took his time in reading and studying the wording very carefully. We sat and discussed it at length, and as I've said he concurred with my opinion regarding its authenticity. The one thing that seemed to catch his attention was the use of the name `Livara' in the document. He swore that he'd heard the name somewhere before but he couldn't quite remember in what context. He was sure, however, that it had nothing to do with the story of King Arthur, or a place name in Somerset. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he sent me scurrying across to one of the innumerable bookshelves that adorn his rooms at the college. Marcus is an expert on many things as I've told you, but one of his most fervent areas of study is the war at sea during World War Two. His own father was the commander of a naval destroyer in those days so I suppose in some ways the sea is in his blood, though Marcus himself could never have been a sailor. He gets terribly seasick apparently. Anyway, I did as he bade me and brought a particular volume from the shelf he'd indicated. I admit I thought the old boy had lost his marbles at that point as the book concerned itself with the history of convoys from 1939-45. I could see no connection whatsoever between merchant shipping and the legend of Arthur or with what you people were doing here.

  It took Marcus less than two minutes to find what he was looking for and he simply held the book out toward me without saying a word. I told you he was an absolute master at the art of the trivial. He'd have had to be to have remembered the one short entry in the book which he passed to me. Sure enough it was there, in black and white and Marcus sat and watched me reading the page with a knowing grin on his face, a look of triumph almost as if to say, `There! Aren't I a clever old chap then?'

  My friends, in April of 1940 a convoy set sail from Bristol, bound for Canada. There were thirty two merchant ships in total, escorted by two destroyers and two corvettes. Three days out from Bristol the convoy was attacked at night by a waiting pack of u-boats, one of Admiral Doenitz's famous wolf-packs. In the space of that one night twelve merchant ships, one corvette and a destroyer were sunk, it was a veritable slaughter of the innocents by all accounts. The convoy pressed on and lost four more ships the next night, and only the decision of the escort commander in the one remaining destroyer to scatter the convoy saved them from even greater losses. In the event, only five merchantmen made eventual landfall in Nova Scotia. To get to the point of all this history, one of the ships sunk on that terrible first night of u-boat attacks was a small and insignificant grain carrier, apparently unladen and sailing to Canada in order to pick up a cargo of life-sustaining wheat from our colonial brothers. She went down in less than two minutes, with all hands, and probably still lies rotting hundreds of feet below the Atlantic. She is listed in Lloyds register as having been lost that night and it is doubtful if anyone would ever have heard of her again if you hadn't sent me that document, Sally.

  You see, that grain carrier was none other than the S.S. Livara, uniquely named using the initials of the owner's children, and I'd be grateful if any of you could tell me what the hell a ship sunk by a German u-boat over sixty years ago in mid-Atlantic has got to do with your Mr. Capshaw's supposed search for King Arthur's Excalibur?”

  Chapter 24

  Lucius Doberman sat back in his chair, picked up his brandy goblet and waited for a response from his companions. At first, nothing but a palpable silence greeted the end of his revelation. Joe Cutler was the first to break the silence.

  “A ship? A bloody ship? Like you say, what has a ship to do with all this? Glastonbury's nowhere near the coast as it is, so where's the connection?”

  “You tell me, old chap,” said the professor. “I told you my news would only serve to muddy the waters further.”

  “But couldn't Livara still have been the name of a long forgotten village or settlement, and the ship's owners came up with that name by coincidence?” asked Sally.

  “Barely a chance in a million, Sally,” Doberman went on. “Marcus and I looked it up, and the Livara was one of two ships owned by the grandly named Blandford Shipping Lines. In fact, the owner was a gentleman by the name of Harry Blandford, himself an ex-ships' captain. The other was the aptly named Blandford Star, another freighter, and she was also sunk by a u-boat about six months after the Livara. Our ship was named as I told you, after his children, Linda, Valerie and Raymond. Believe me, Sally, there was never a place in this country by the name of Livara, it was simply an old sea dog's concocted name to pay tribute to his children.”

  “And you say she was sailing empty? Wasn't that a bit unusual for convoy traffic during the war?” asked Winston.

  “Apparently it could happen,” said Doberman. “It's true that they would normally carry export cargo one way and war essentials the other, but it wasn't unheard of for some ships to sail in ballast on the outward voyage and pick up a cargo on the return leg.”

  “Even so, it don't sound right to me, man,” Winston went on, unwilling to let the subject of the Livara's cargo (or lack of it), drop.

  “Winston, Lucius has explained that the ship was unladen and why, and that's all there is to it. What can we gain by wondering why she was empty?” Joe Cutler tried to bring the subject to a close.

  “Actually, Joe, there might be something in what Winston is getting at,” Doberman continued. “The Livara wasn't a large ship by any means, and was typical of the small freighters that plied the oceans in those days. She normally carried a crew of twelve to sixteen men and yet on the night she was torpedoed she was listed as having sunk with the loss of all thirty eight souls on board! Why on earth should an empty freighter sent across the Atlantic to pick up a cargo of wheat need to be carrying more than double her normal crew compliment? The official records give no indication of why those extra men were on board; in fact they give no further details of the ship at all. As far as the official story goes, she sailed, she was sunk, and that was it, end of story.”

  “What a shame there were no survivors,” said Sally.

  “Indeed,” Lucius went on. “Marcus and I tried everything, but records for those days are quite scant anyway. I'm afraid the Livara is just another enigma to add to your strange series of events here in Glastonbury, as I suggested it would be.”

  “There is another way of looking at it,” said Joe, who'd been thinking hard and taking in every word that Lucius Doberman had spoken.

  “Go on, Joe,” said the professor.

  “This is just a theory, okay? Now, suppose Capshaw knows, or knew, someone who knew something about the ship. Maybe it was being used for a special purpose, or maybe it wasn't the ship itself, but someone who'd sailed on her. I'm not quite sure what I'm getting at, but we know that Capshaw is connected to the Maitland family, and they go back a long way in London's criminal underworld. I've no doubt that Boris and Karl Maitland's grandfather would have been very active during the war. Even criminals didn't give up their nefarious ways just because of the hostilities. It's quite possible that old man Maitland had something to do with the ship. He could have been a friend or acquaintance of the ship's owner, and maybe even had a share in the Livara and whatever she was up to.”

  “Hey boss, you know, you just said a lot, and also a whole lot of nothing,” Winston grinned. “Half of that was barely in English, man.”

  “That's rich, coming from you,” said Joe laughingly. “Look, I know I was babbling a bit, but I think you know what I was getting at.”

  “Of course we do Joe, don't we Winston, Lucius?” Sally jumped in defensively.

  “Yes, I rather think we do,” said Lucius, “and, if I'm not mistaken, you people have already touched on one potentially vital clue in the puzzle.”

&
nbsp; “The skeleton!” Sally exclaimed triumphantly.

  “Exactly! Good girl,” said Doberman. “Now, if we could find out who the poor unfortunate chap was who now lies beneath the earth in that field we might be some way along the road towards solving this little mystery.”

  The rest of the evening was spent with the four of them trying to work out methods of finding out who the skeleton in the field belonged to in life, without arousing official suspicion of course. Between them they hit brick wall after brick wall in their theorising and suggestions. Short of kidnapping Walter Graves, tying him to a chair and beating him into submission with a rubber hose, (Winston's suggestion), they could think of no way to coerce the man into giving away the secret of the skeleton's identity, if indeed he was aware of it. They knew that there had to be a chance that Capshaw was keeping Graves in the dark about certain aspects of whatever they were involved in.

  Tiredness began to creep into their conversation, it had been a long day for everyone concerned, not least Lucius Doberman who had made the long journey to join them in Glastonbury, to everyone's surprise and as it now seemed, their delight. He had rapidly become accepted as an honorary member of the Strata Survey team, and Doberman himself seemed as excited as a child with a new toy at the prospect of becoming involved in a real-life mystery as opposed to the ones from the pages of history he was more accustomed to studying.

  As the hands on the clock moved inexorably toward the midnight hour, they decided to retire for the night, with Lucius Doberman promising to contact Sir Marcus Farthingwood again the next day to see if he could offer any helpful suggestions that didn't involve kidnapping and rubber hoses.

  As Joe Cutler laid his head on his pillow a short time later, he reflected that although Lucius Doberman had merely added to the confusion surrounding their presence in Glastonbury, his arrival might just provide them with the extra knowledge and intelligence they needed to outwit Capshaw, Graves and whoever else might be lurking in the background as they searched for…what?

  Chapter 25

  Spectral fingers of moonlight crept through the gently swaying bedroom curtains as Charlotte Raeburn reached out unsuccessfully for the welcoming arms of sleep. She wished she could keep her eyes closed and just drift into a deep slumber that would carry her through to the morning, but she kept opening her eyes watching the curtains, seeing the beams of moonlight as they danced around the darkened room, playing upon the silhouetted forms of the bedroom furniture. She wished she could rise from the bed and close the window Capshaw always left open at night, but she knew that he would most likely awake if the room became too warm and airless, and she couldn't bear to face his anger in the middle of the night.

  Capshaw's `lovemaking' had been particularly brutal and demanding that night and Charlotte had been glad when he'd finally drifted off to sleep, his sexual appetite sated at last. She'd waited until he was deeply asleep before she'd slowly slid from under the duvet and made her way to the en-suite bathroom where she'd bathed herself to eliminate the signs of Capshaw's desires. She felt bruised and sore between her legs, and her breasts ached from the rough handling to which they'd been subjected. Charlotte was sure that something bad had taken place during his visit to the Maitland's mansion, but Malcolm Capshaw was not one to share everything with his secretary/mistress, and it was more than she dared do to ask him about it. She'd returned to his bed as there was nothing to be gained by leaving and going home, that would only serve to fuel his anger when he woke up alone and she would have to face him at the office in the morning.

  As she lay next to the sleeping figure of her employer Charlotte tried to think of ways to leave her job without creating any animosity in her boss's manner towards her. Capshaw could be violent and vindictive, of that she was only too aware, and she feared his reaction if he thought that she wanted to leave him, and to seek alternative employment. She would have to think of a plan that would allow her to leave without Capshaw seeking some form of revenge on her for `betraying' him, as he would surely see it if she were to resign.

  There was also the tricky problem of Charlotte's inside knowledge of many of Capshaw's less than legitimate business dealings. She knew that he trusted her, and under normal circumstances she would have taken such trust as a compliment, but now it acted as a double-edged sword and could be brought to bear against her. He had in effect tied her to him by allowing her the knowledge that she now possessed, and she knew that the hold he had over her would not be an easy one to break.

  She tossed and turned, hour after interminable hour through the night and found no solution to her problem. Sleep continued to evade her until, as the first grey streaks of dawn began to force a way through the crack in the bedroom curtains, she finally drifted into a sort of half sleep, neither one thing nor another, but at least for a short time she seemed to be resting.

  Her rest was short lived however. As the grey of dawn gave way to the pale early sunlight of the day, she felt Capshaw beginning to stir beside her. His hand reached out across the bed and found her nakedness. He moved closer and pulled her to him, his hand moving abruptly to that space between her legs that still felt bruised and sore from the treatment she'd received the night before. Charlotte tried to pretend she was asleep, but to no avail. She felt powerless to stop him as Capshaw rolled over, climbed on top of her and used his knees to force her legs apart.

  “Please, not now,” she begged, but Capshaw simply ignored her plea with a brusque, “Yes, now,” and she had no choice other than to lie compliantly as he forced himself inside her and began thrusting until he grunted in satisfaction as he spurted within her.

  Luckily, he was quick and the whole act was over in less than five minutes. Capshaw rolled off and, relieved of his weight upon her, Charlotte allowed herself to breathe again. Capshaw exited the bed without a word and made his way to the shower. Pulling on a pink silk robe that Capshaw had bought her recently, Charlotte made her way down the stairs to the kitchen where she made coffee and croissant for herself, and waited ten minutes before beginning preparations of her employer's early morning meal.

  As she removed the bacon from the grill and the eggs from the pan Capshaw walked into the kitchen as though on cue. Charlotte smiled and served his breakfast, then left him in solitude as he preferred her to do while he ate. She made her way back upstairs and tried to shower away the bruises and the pain that he'd imposed upon her last night and that morning. She dressed quickly and, now the epitome of a smartly dressed efficient and polite businessman's secretary, Charlotte tried to blot out the thoughts of what another day and night in the employment of Malcolm Capshaw might bring.

  Chapter 26

  The same sun that brought light to the day in Stratford-on-Avon broke through the curtains that had held back the night in Joe's room, some eighty-three miles, or 134 kilometres distance from Capshaw's mansion. The room felt warmer than it had for the last few days, and Joe himself felt a cheerfulness that came from a good night's sleep. The previous evening's conversation and the brandy had helped, but somehow Joe knew the presence of Lucius Doberman had made a difference to his overall mood. He wasn't sure exactly how the learned professor was going to make a difference to their quest in solving the riddle posed by Capshaw and Graves; he just instinctively knew that he would.

  Therein, however, lay Joe's next problem. His plan for the day was relatively simple: breakfast, check in with Mavis back at the office, meet with Graves and continue the search and try to prise some kind of sense from the puzzle they were faced with. That just left the professor. What was Lucius to do all day while they toiled in the Somerset countryside? He'd be virtually worthless as an addition to the search team, knowing next to nothing about the equipment and its operation, aside from Joe having to explain his presence to the sinister Walter Graves.

  It was Doberman himself who provided the answer to Joe's quandary as he sat enjoying one of Mrs Cleveley's hearty English breakfasts with Cutler and the others. Winston asked the question that had been b
urning in Joe's mind.

  “So, Professor, sorry, Lucius, what's your plan of action while we're out in the field, man? I don't suppose you plan on joining us out there and meeting our friend Mr. Graves and comparing historical notes?”