The Ghost of Christmas Paws

by Mandy Morton

  ‘In what way?’ Hettie enquired as Marlon coaxed the van through a deep puddle of water.

  ‘Well, I always used to pop in for a chat with ’er. She liked writing ’er letters, an’ some days she had six or seven ready for me to take, but I’ve ’ardly seen ’er these last few months, not till last week, an’ that was a rum business.’ Hettie waited for Marlon to continue, but instead he brought the van to a standstill and jumped out. They’d reached a clutch of small cottages and the cat who had been holding court with the cliff walkers the day before was again in full sail in her capacity as unofficial tourist information officer. Marlon exchanged a small sack with her for one of a similar size and returned to the van. ‘Saves my poor old legs, she does – collects up the letters from all them cottages as she’s in an’ out of ’em all the day long, then I gives ’er the letters for delivery an’ she takes ’em round. Unofficial, like.’

  Hettie was still baffled by the Cornish postal system, but was too keen to find out more about Lady Crabstock and the ‘rum business’ to worry about it. ‘You were telling us about Lady Crabstock and what happened last week?’ she coaxed.

  ‘Ah yes. I’d got a parcel for Saffron, see, so I was takin’ it round the back to the kitchen door when I saw ’Er Ladyship come to ’er upstairs window. She was wavin’ at me like a bit of a mad cat, really, an’ I’ll tell you this – she was as pale an’ wasted as any corpse. I was quite shocked to see ’er like that. Anyway, she opens ’er window an’ chucks a letter out. By the time I’d got me paws on it, she’d gone from the window and that was that.’

  ‘And did you notice who the letter was addressed to?’ asked Hettie.

  ‘Not straight away. I put it in me pocket and took Saffron ’er parcel, but she wasn’t in so I left it on the back doorstep an’ went on me way.’

  Hettie was getting impatient and it hadn’t escaped her notice that Marlon’s van had spluttered to a halt outside the Atlantic Inn. She asked the question again. ‘So who was Lady Crabstock’s letter addressed to?’

  ‘Can’t exactly remember now, but it was an odd sort of address. Feline Detection or similar, I think. You’ll ’ave to excuse me now as I promised Boy Cockle a game or two of dominoes while I eats me breakfast.’ Marlon flung his door open and pulled the suitcase and shopper out of the back of his van. ‘There you go! Safe journey ’ome. Bye now.’ And with that he disappeared through the front door of the Atlantic, which appeared to be in full swing even though the Porthladle clock tower declared that it was only seven o’clock in the morning.

  Hettie and Tilly stood for a moment wondering what to do next. There was at least two hours before the bus to Penzance, and as they didn’t now intend to leave the village at all, there seemed very little point in catching it. The idea of a cooked breakfast and a place to lie low for a few hours seemed the obvious plan; in light of Marlon’s revelation there was much to discuss. ‘Let’s go straight to the An Murdress Hotel and see if we can get a room,’ said Hettie, picking the suitcase up. ‘I think it’s along here somewhere, and we may be in luck with Sooty Perkins’ griddle.’

  Tilly took hold of her tartan shopper with a new enthusiasm at the thought of another meal from Sooty Perkins, and the two cats had gone only a matter of yards before the welcoming frontage loomed into view. Sooty was in the bay window of his bar as they approached, adding a few more baubles to his tree, and he immediately came out to meet them. ‘Are you staying or going with those cases?’

  ‘We’d very much like to stay if you have a room?’ said Hettie, as Tilly bumped her shopper into the hotel’s reception area.

  Sooty sprang behind the desk and picked a bunch of keys off a hook. ‘I’ll put you in number two – sea and ’arbour views, but a slight knockin’ from my ’ot-water pipes. For that, you gets a slight reduction. You got twins in there, and it’s lovely and warm as it’s right above my sitting-room fire.’ Sooty’s description of the room sounded like manna from heaven after their recent accommodation, and Hettie and Tilly followed him up the stairs to the sheer luxury of one of his best rooms. ‘Make yourselves at ’ome. You got an ’our till breakfast, but you got facilities over there for a nice cup of tea and a biscuit or two. Just shout if you need anything.’

  He left them to it and Tilly put the kettle on and prepared two mugs. ‘These biscuits look lovely,’ she said as Hettie kicked off her wellingtons and chose one of the twin beds.

  ‘Everything is suddenly lovely.’ Hettie looked round, admiring the festive touches to their room. There was a small silver tree on the dressing table, decorated with tiny glass baubles, and red candles in the bedside holders. The room smelt of nutmeg and cloves, which Tilly traced to a pomander over the sink, and the view from the double bay window was all Sooty said it would be. They sat in the window to eat their biscuits and drink their tea, watching as the harbour came to life, and when the aroma of a cooked breakfast began to creep under their door, they couldn’t have been more content. There was a difficult job to be done, but not until they had explored the full potential of Sooty Perkins’ griddle.

  The guests in room number one were leaving for a day out as Tilly and Hettie struggled down to the breakfast room. The two excited kittens were bouncing on the sofa in the reception area as Sooty held court, reeling off a whole list of places to visit. ‘You should ’ave a trip out to Goonsilly to see those big dishes pointing to the sky – almost as big as my breakfasts, they are. Then there’s the Poldark mines off the telly, an’ if you’ve a mind for giant vegetables you could take yourselves up the Eden Project – Tim Spit runs that, an’ ’e’s stuck all ’is flowers an’ veg in a big old dome so you don’t get wet going round. On the way back you could try to find the Lost Gardens of Heligan – not easy, since the locals ’as taken all the signs down ’cause they got fed up with the visitors, but it’s worth a look. Story goes that all the cats who were employed as gardeners at Heligan House put down their spades and marched off to the Great War, leaving the gardens to grow wild. Tim Spit come along years later and ’acked ’is way in to put ’em back to their old ways. That’s probably a visit for the summer, though, come to think of it.’

  Sooty waved his guests on their way and headed for his breakfast room, where Hettie and Tilly had made themselves at home. ‘Now then,’ he began, ‘what can I tempt you with? You look like you’re in need of my breakfast platter and two plates.’

  Tilly liked the sound of a breakfast platter and nodded enthusiastically. Hettie – trusting that anything from Sooty’s griddle would be substantial and delicious – agreed with his recommendation, too, and within minutes the hotelier returned bearing a giant oval plate loaded with every breakfast item a cat’s heart could desire. Tilly was so excited that she felt it her duty to announce each individual item on the platter. ‘Bacon, eggs, black pudding, one … two … three sorts of sausage, chops and … oh, I’m not sure what they are.’

  She pointed to a collection of golden squares and Sooty came to her rescue. ‘That is my special eggy bread. It’s a favourite with my guests and they ’ave to order the platter to get it, so you’re in luck. Get tucked in and I’ll fetch your toast and tea.’

  ‘I’m beginning to like Cornwall,’ said Hettie, opening her napkin and tucking it firmly into the neckline of her jumper ready for her first assault on the plate in front of her. ‘Maybe we should start a Cornish branch of the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency? I bet there’s plenty of mysteries round here to solve.’

  Tilly giggled and pitched into the eggy bread, nibbling the corner at first, then wholeheartedly embracing it before moving on to the sausages. Sooty returned with the tea and toast and joined them at the table, bringing his own giant breakfast sandwich with him. ‘I’m not pryin’ or anything,’ he began, ‘but I get the feeling that you’ve ’ad a bit of a rough time up at Crabstock Manor, and if there’s anything I can ’elp you with, all you ’ave to do is ask.’

  Hettie was thoughtful for a moment as she chewed her bacon, weighing up the situation they found t
hemselves in. The Crabstock case was going to need some local knowledge, but the Bunns were proving to be formidable enemies and no help whatsoever. Sooty, she felt, was a cat they could trust: he had, after all, come to their rescue twice within the last twenty-four hours. Making her mind up, Hettie recounted the case so far with Tilly chipping in on the bits she had forgotten. Sooty listened carefully, saying nothing but nodding sagely at various points as the three cats demolished everything on the breakfast table except the pottery and tablecloth. When Hettie concluded the sorry tale, Sooty’s normally optimistic face took on a look of grave concern. Without a word, he piled up the empty plates and took them through to his kitchen.

  Hettie and Tilly stared at each other, hoping that they had done the right thing by taking Sooty into their confidence; on his return, they were left in no doubt that he had become their latest unpaid recruit. ‘Let’s go through to the bar,’ he said, wielding a rolled-up piece of paper. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’ The three cats settled themselves down and Sooty opened up the roll to reveal a plan of some kind. He stretched the paper out on the table, employing two heavy ashtrays to stop it from rolling up. ‘This is an old plan of the manor. It shows where all the rooms are, an’ there’s one or two secret passageways marked up to ’elp with the smuggling.’

  Tilly was quite excited at the prospect of smugglers. ‘So do they do that up there as well?’

  Sooty laughed. ‘No, my dear, not any more. These passageways go back a long way to the days of the tall ships and schooners that got wrecked on the rocks carrying all sorts from the Indies – tea, silk and the best Jamaican rum. Now you can get all that from a day out in Penzance.’

  Deflated, Tilly stared round the bar at the old ships that adorned the walls, imagining the days of swashbuckling pirates and recalling one of her favourite books where the loathsome Captain Hook wielded his cutlass. There was a crash from the kitchen and Sooty went to investigate, leaving them to pore over the house plan. It had clearly been drawn up in better days, as there was a grand ballroom, a number of salons, several state rooms, and a whole warren of servants’ quarters and cellars. ‘Sorry about that,’ said Sooty. ‘My daily ’elp got a bit too enthusiastic with ’er washin’ up. ’Ave you met Loveday Whisk yet? I think she was up at the Atlantic the night you arrived.’

  ‘Is she the one who drinks rum?’ asked Tilly.

  ‘Yup, that’s ’er. She’s made a career of it since she left the manor. Come to think of it, you should ’ave a chat with ’er when she’s finished my rooms. She worked in the kitchens up there when the murders were ’appenin’. She’s a good worker as long as you can catch ’er before she starts ’er daily dose, as she calls it. No sense out of ’er after that, although you might ’ave to oil ’er wheels to get ’er talkin’, if you know what I mean. Now, let’s ’ave a look at this plan. Where did you say you saw the ghost?’

  Hettie located the kitchen and pointed to a door marked in the corner of it. ‘It came out of there, I think.’

  Sooty studied the kitchen area. ‘That door leads down to the old wine cellar. I know that bit quite well ’cause I used to store my lawnmower in there until the sea took the lawn. You can get to it from outside, see, without botherin’ anyone from the ’ouse. Sea comes right up to the cellar now, an’ you wouldn’t want to be down there in bad weather. If my old memory serves me well, that’s where they found Wingate – butchered, ’e was, with ’is eyes gouged out.’

  ‘Wingate?’ queried Hettie.

  ‘Yes,’Er Ladyship’s oldest brother. Thirty-first Lord of Crabstock, to give ’im ’is proper title. Bit of a philanderer, but fair to ’is tenants. I always got on well with ’im. Built ’im a pineapple house ’cause ’e wanted to grow exotics up at the manor. Awful, really – that’s where they found little Tamsyn, ’Er Ladyship’s younger sister, ’er ’ead caved in an’ a bloodied pineapple lying next to ’er. I ’ad orders to pull the thing down after that.’

  ‘Didn’t Her Ladyship have two brothers?’ asked Hettie, impressed by the creative way in which the departed of Crabstock Manor had departed.

  ‘Ah, you’d be referrin’ to Willmott,’ said Sooty as another crash came from above, signalling that Loveday Whisk was now about her work in bedroom number one. ‘’E was an evil little sod. No one bothered much when ’e went, pinned to the kitchen table with four nice sharp knives and left to die of ’is wounds. Poor Loveday spent weeks scrubbin’ that table, tryin’ to get the blood out. They say that’s what turned ’er to the drink.’

  ‘That all sounds to me like a vicious killer who has it in for the Crabstocks,’ said Hettie. ‘Why would anyone even consider that a ghost would be involved when there’s obviously a murderer on the loose?’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ said Sooty. ‘But you forget you’re now in the land of myths and legends, and the curse of the Crabstocks is an acceptable fact round ’ere. Christmas Paws stands as a beacon to all cats treated badly by their employers, and anyway you say you’ve seen ’er – round ’ere, seein’ is believin’.’

  ‘I’ve seen ’er,’ said a voice from the doorway.

  ‘Ah, Loveday – if you’ve finished your work, could you spare yourself to ’ave a chat with my friends ’ere about your days up at the manor?’

  Loveday Whisk shrank back in the doorway and began licking her paws nervously. ‘I can’t speak of the manor. My fur will fall out. Tha’s only just grown back.’

  Sooty stood up. ‘Now come on, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Come an’ sit down with ’Ettie and Tilly – they don’t bite. Perhaps a tot or two of your favourite might help?’ Loveday came forward and perched herself on the edge of a low stool. Sooty went behind his bar and returned with a bottle of rum and a small tumbler which he placed in front of Loveday. ‘’Ettie and Tilly are proper detectives from upcountry and they’ve come to ’elp ’Er Ladyship up at Crabstock. I know you likes ’Er Ladyship and would do anything to ’elp ’er, so now’s your chance.’

  Loveday nodded and Sooty filled the small tumbler with rum, which she downed in one. ‘Right! Now you’ve got some Cornish courage in you, you tell my friends ’ere about your time up at the manor.’ Sooty put the stopper back in the rum and stood it behind the bar. ‘You can ’ave another tot after you’ve finished. I got some paperwork to do, so I’ll just be out in reception if you need me.’

  Hettie watched as Sooty made himself scarce, then turned to Loveday Whisk, who sat trembling before them. ‘Please don’t be frightened. We just need to ask a few questions about life up at Crabstock and the cats you worked with. If you like, you’re our undercover agent.’

  Loveday brightened at Hettie’s words. ‘Undercover? Does that mean I’m important?’ she asked, brushing some dust from the hem of her apron.

  ‘It means you’re very important, and vital to the case. When did you leave the manor and why?’

  Tilly pulled a notepad and pencil from her cardigan pocket, poised to take statements on a page entitled ‘THE CRABSTOCK CASE’. She nodded, and Loveday began her story. ‘I got out of there soon as I could after Master Willmott. I couldn’t take no more of it. Mr Bunn made me scrub till all the blood was gone, an’ my paws was bleedin’ with the work. I found ’im, see, stretched out ’e was like a chicken waitin’ to be stuffed, ’is face all twisted from the pain.’

  Hettie was tempted to clarify some of Loveday’s remarks but thought better of it; she seemed to be doing well without prompting, and some of the more glaring knots of her story could be unravelled later. Tilly scribbled away, trying to keep pace as Loveday got into her stride. ‘Christmas ’ad been seen in the kitchen three nights in a row before I found ’im. Saffron ’ad seen ’er in the pantry an’ Mr Bunn said she was ’angin’ about the still room. I seen ’er when I was makin’ ’Er Ladyship’s ’ot chocolate, the night before I found ’im. We did wonder who would be next, as Miss Eloise was the older one but Willmott was next in line after Lord Wingate, an’ ’e went first. Mind you, Lord Wingate didn’t ’old with
the Christmas Paws curse. ’E called us all together an’ said it was nonsense an’ we was to get on with our work, then ’e disappeared upcountry for a bit. Anyway, Christmas ’ad taken to clankin’ chains an’ sobbin’ at night, then Mr Bunn found ’im – Lord Wingate, that is – in the wine cellar below the kitchen, ’is ’eart ripped from ’is body, an’ ’is eyes dug out an’ put on a saucer next to ’is corpse.’

  Tilly gulped and Hettie began to regret the breakfast platter, but there was no stopping Loveday now. ‘By the next Christmastime we was all ’oldin’ our breath. Master Willmott was the new Lord Crabstock, but ’e wasn’t next, as it turned out – which was a shame, really, as ’e was nasty to everyone. ’E turned out some of the locals from their cottages on the estate an’ made ’em into ’oliday ’omes for the visitors. ’E put all our wages down an’ ’e treated ’is sisters like dirt – married Miss Eloise off to Celibate Singe, one of ’is nasty friends from Fowlmouth, and ’e treated ’er terrible. If ’e hadn’t choked ’imself on a fish bone, Miss Eloise would ’ave killed ’im ’erself. We was so pleased to see ’er ’ome again, but then poor Miss Tamsyn got battered to death with a pineapple in the fruit ’ouse an’ Lord Willmott, as ’e then was, took to ’is rooms with a barrel of brandy. ’E only came out for a refill an’ I ’ad to leave ’is food outside ’is door. ’E made the mistake of comin’ down to the kitchen on Christmas Eve of all nights, an’ that was that – she ’ad ’im with four of our best sharp knives.’

  Pleased with her presentation, Loveday eyed up the bottle of rum that Sooty had put behind the bar. ‘Did it occur to anyone up at the manor that someone else might have done the murders?’ Hettie asked, pleased to get a proper question in at last.

  ‘Why should it? We all knew that was Christmas Paws on account of the Crabstock curse. She won’t rest till they’ve all gone.’