“That’s right. I’ve been meaning to do the hike for weeks. You know I like to experience the services I recommend to our guests. But I also want to ask you about the man who died at the Cat’s Paw - Martin Caldwell.”
A surge of tourists entered the office behind Fay. She had to move out of the way to let them get to the counter.
“I’ll talk to you later, Fay love,” said Kathleen. “We can chat during the hike.”
The head office of Bluebell Island Adventures was well positioned, right next to where the ferries docked. The first thing visitors saw when they stepped off the ferry was a service offering them bird-watching walks, tours of the ancient ruins, and a shipwreck hike.
Next door to Bluebell Island Adventures was a boat company advertising whale-watching and dolphin-watching tours, as well as a full circumnavigation of the island. Fay made a mental note to try those too.
She looked out to sea. A ferry had just left and was chugging away from the island in the direction of the mainland. The sea was blue today, but with telltale whitecaps that promised a choppy ride for everyone on board. For now, the morning was fine, with only a light sea breeze blowing. The clouds gathering on the southern horizon might club together later to usher in a wet afternoon.
Overhead, seagulls wheeled. They were on the lookout for fishing boats returning with their early morning catch. As the day progressed, the seagulls would harass the tourists for scraps and snacks, sometimes swooping down to steal food right out of their hands. Fay knew they were a nuisance, but she loved the sight of them gliding above everyone. Their plaintive cry was part of island life for her.
By the time the tourists had completed their registration and indemnity forms, it was time to pile into Kathleen’s minivan to be driven to the starting point of the hike.
Fay found herself sitting among Germans, Spaniards and an American family staying at the Royal Hotel. They pounced on her as soon as they heard her American accent.
“East coast, right?” said the man.
Fay nodded. “Born in Connecticut, lived and worked in New York City. But this is my home now.”
“You’re so lucky.” His wife sighed. “I can’t get over how beautiful it is. We’re from Grand Rapids, but my grandfather’s family came from Cornwall.”
“Grand Rapids is beautiful too,” said Fay. “I went there as a child once.”
“I guess there’s beauty all over the world, but when you live in a place you stop noticing it.” The man nodded at his teenage children who both had headphones on and were staring at their phones. “Mind you, those two don’t notice what’s going on around them at the best of times. Sometimes I feel like this whole trip has been wasted on them.”
Fay laughed. “I was like that as a teenager too, but now I love looking at beautiful things. They’ll grow out of it. And anyway, they’ll be forced to look around on the hike. Kathleen doesn’t allow headphones or screens on the trail. She’s pretty ferocious about it.”
“I love her Irish accent,” said the woman. “It sounds like music.”
Fay could only agree. She loved listening to Kathleen talk too. As a thought struck her, she leaned forward to ask her friend a question.
“Hey, Kath. Do you happen to remember which seat Mr. Caldwell sat in yesterday?”
“I surely do. He insisted on sitting right up front next to me. Never mind that there was a whole clatter of empty seats at the back. He had to sit next to me and talk my ear off just as I was trying to tell the group about the sights we were passing.”
In an effort not to be as annoying as the late Mr. Caldwell, Fay sat back and let Kathleen speak into her microphone.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. You will have noticed that we are climbing steadily upwards now. When we reach the top, we will be at the start of the cliff path that marks the beginning of our hike. These cliffs were used as a lookout point in medieval times when the locals tried to protect their island from invasion. The different clans that lived in the west country often fought each other in a battle for supremacy. We’re not sure why. There was plenty of land and fresh water for all of them, but they chose to fight anyway. They were a warlike people. Sometimes the clans were no more than big families. Think Game of Thrones and you’ll get the general idea.”
That got a laugh from the tourists.
Fay peered over the seat in front of her to where Mr. Caldwell had sat the day before. Was there something special about that seat, or was it just that he had wanted to talk to Kathleen? It looked exactly like every other seat in the van, so perhaps Kathleen was the attraction.
The van came to a halt.
“We’re here,” said Kathleen. “Just a few words about safety. Please stay on the cliff path at all times. This applies to adults as well as children. There is a viewing platform about halfway along the trail. You will be able to enjoy the view and take photographs. You can get right to the edge and look straight down. But please don’t try getting close to the edge when we’re on the cliff path. It has a tendency to crumble. Every year we lose about six inches of cliff face due to erosion.”
Kathleen paused as one of the children asked whether anyone had ever died from falling off the cliff.
“Unfortunately, yes. That’s how we know that it’s dangerous. One slip and you’ll be falling for a long time before you hit the rocks below. Now, if we’re all ready, we can get started.”
Kathleen set off along the path, and the group of about fifteen people fell into step behind her. Fay walked up ahead with her.
“Do you give that talk at the beginning of every hike?”
“I sure do. I have to, by law.”
“So, you gave it to Martin Caldwell yesterday morning?”
“I did. For all the good it did him.”
“Did he not stick to the rules?”
“He did not. You’d swear the edge of the cliff was magnetic the way he couldn’t stay away from it. Every time I looked around, he had dropped onto his hands and knees and was crawling towards the edge. And when I told him to stop it, he lay flat on his stomach instead and tried inching his way to the edge.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him the story of that poor man who tried the same trick five years ago. He thought that as long as he lay flat on his stomach he was safe from falling.”
“What happened?”
“A whole chunk of the cliff gave way and he fell to his death. That was when the authorities put a stop to people crawling or sliding along the ground to get to the edge. It’s just too dangerous. Every fifteen or twenty years they have to move the cliff path further away from the edge because so much of it has crumbled away due to natural erosion.”
Fay stared at the cliff. They were on the western side of the island. It was a much wilder landscape than you would find on the eastern side.
The east had a natural harbor, miles of pebble beach, and a small patch of sandy beach that was popular with tourists and locals alike. The western side consisted of fearsomely jagged cliffs like the one they were walking along now. It was no wonder that most of the shipwrecks were on the western side.
Fay imagined herself lying flat on her belly to peer over the edge of the cliff, thinking she was safe. Then finding the earth crumbling beneath her as she was flung into the void. She shivered.
“What do you suppose he was doing – Mr. Caldwell?” she asked. “Was he just being defiant, or did he have a particular reason to get so close to the edge?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that he was very determined. I kept warning him to get away from the edge, but the moment my back was turned he would do it again. It seemed like something more than foolishness.”
They walked for about forty minutes before they came to the first shipwreck site. Kathleen called a halt to the hikers.
“We are coming to the first wreck of our hike. The western side of the island is particularly treacherous for passing ships.”
“Why don’t they just avoid it then?” asked o
ne of the hikers.
“Ships passing the west side of the United Kingdom must choose whether to sail between the mainland and Bluebell Island, or around the west side of Bluebell Island. If you keep going west, you will eventually hit the Isles of Scilly, so that was another consideration. There’s more room on the west side of the island, but it is extremely rocky, with an undersea reef that is a major hazard for unwary ships. Bluebell Island has two lighthouses that have guided sailors around the island for the last five hundred years or more. But in bad weather it is still possible for ships to get into trouble.”
Even the teenagers from Grand Rapids listened intently. Kathleen had a way of telling a story that made you pay attention.
“If you look down there, you will see a wreck that is now over seventy years old.” She pointed to the twisted hull of a ship caught on the rocks far below. “That was the Nolloth – a frigate that survived the whole of the Second World War, only to run aground during peace time in nineteen-forty-seven. There was a storm at sea and she lost her bearings. The crew survived and were lifted off the rocks by helicopter. The captain was promptly fired because it was believed that his poor navigation skills had led to the wreck.”
The tour group had their phones out, taking photos of the picturesque wreck.
One of the small children tried to step off the path to take a closer look, but his mother warned him back in Spanish.
“The Nolloth is completely inaccessible, but the next wreck we are coming to is one we can get close enough to touch.”
This caused a ripple of excitement among the tour group, and they continued the hike with new energy.
The ground began to slope steeply downwards. It made for easy walking, but Fay couldn’t help thinking that they would have to climb all the way back up again on their way back to the minivan.
Another half hour of walking brought them down to sea level and a wide strip of pebble beach, draped in bits of kelp. The children spotted the wreck first and started to squeal and point.
Over decades, the tides had broken up the shipwreck and deposited it in pieces along a five-hundred-yard stretch of the shore. One of the biggest pieces was the boiler, now a rusted hulk that lay on its side, well embedded in the pebbles. A large piece of the hull was also intact, although severely rusted. And in between these two large pieces were many other fragments scattered and twisted up and down the beach.
“This is the most interesting wreck of them all,” said Kathleen. “Because it is the site of not just one but two shipwrecks. A tragic and romantic tale clings to this deserted place. It is a tale of chivalry, of true love, and above all, of pirate treasure.”
Chapter 12
As they reached the beach, the children sprinted away from the adults.
They headed straight for the boiler, running their fingers wonderingly over its rusted surface. Then they ran back to the adults.
“Is this the pirate ship, Kathleen? Is it?”
“No, it isn’t. This is the second of the two wrecks I was telling you about. This is the SS Justina, a tanker that ran aground in thick fog in nineteen-seventy-two. Unfortunately, one crew member died as part of the ship broke away and he was washed out to sea.”
“But tell us about the pirate treasure, please,” said the younger of the two teenagers.
“Very well.” Kathleen put on a dramatic voice as everyone gathered to listen. “Legend has it that a Spanish galleon was returning home from the Indies in sixteen-thirty-five when a pirate ship sailed across its bows and the pirates attempted to board it. The pirates were outnumbered and outgunned, and soon every member of the pirate crew lay dead at the feet of the Spaniards.”
Kathleen paused as an imaginary swordfight broke out between two of the younger girls. She laughed at their enthusiasm.
“Go on,” prompted their mother.
“Well, the Spanish crew then boarded the pirate ship and found it to be carrying a treasure of gold coins and silver ingots and fabulous jewels. They took the treasure on board the galleon and broke the pirate ship up with axes, leaving it to sink into the open sea.”
“So, it was the Spanish galleon that was wrecked here?” said the American man. “It’s no wonder we can’t see anything left of it. Those ships were mostly made of wood.”
“Not exactly. But you’re right that those ships were made of wood and that’s why it’s so rare to find any part of them. Our story is more complicated than that. As the Spanish galleon proceeded on its way, it met up with the HMS Coronation, an English ship heading back from Ireland. You must remember that England and Spain were at war in those days. The two ships fought, and this time it was the Spaniards’ turn to be defeated. Every member of the crew died in battle or was executed. The only survivor was a young girl called Isabella, who was the captain’s daughter. The Coronation was under the command of Captain Caulder, a man who already had a wife and family back in London.”
“Aha,” said the mother of the sword-fighting daughters. “I bet I know where this is going.”
“Indeed. The tale goes that Captain Caulder and Isabella fell in love at first sight, and he ordered his men to spare her life. They had wild plans of running away to be together once the HMS Coronation returned to English shores.”
Fay glanced around the tour group. They were hanging on Kathleen’s words. As she paused for dramatic effect, the only sound was the sighing of the wind and the murmur of the waves meeting the beach.
“Then what happened?” asked one of the children.
“The HMS Coronation was almost home. Captain Caulder had decided to sail the long way around to Falmouth. As they passed Bluebell Island, they ran into a gale and decided to drop anchor in this cove here to wait out the storm. They didn’t realize how close they were to shore because the ship foundered on a sand bar and broke in two. The official record states that all hands were lost in the storm.”
“And unofficially?” asked Fay.
“Unofficially, there was a rumor that Captain Caulder and his Isabella took the only lifeboat on the ship and rowed to shore.”
“Isn’t a captain supposed to go down with his ship?” asked the older teenager.
“He is indeed. If it is true that Captain Caulder abandoned his ship and crew in this fashion it would have been a serious crime. He could have been executed for it. Some people have seen it as a chivalrous act on his part - to row his lady love to shore – but others see it as treacherous. The story goes that the lovers made it safely to Bluebell Island and lived out the rest of their days here.”
“And what about the treasure?”
“The treasure has never been found, despite many attempts to look for it. Every now and then, bits of porcelain and glass wash up on the beach here. Some collectors have reconstructed whole plates and teacups from the shards. The patterns clearly belong to the sixteen-hundreds. There have even been cases of gold coins being picked up here over the centuries. Every time a coin is found, it leads to another frenzy of treasure hunting.”
Kathleen pointed to a place on the rocks where part of the hull of the Justina was visible. She turned to the children. “Why don’t you go and have a look at that part of the wreck over there. When you come back, there might be a surprise for you.”
As the children ran off, Kathleen pulled a handful of gold coins from her backpack. She scattered these over the pebbles for the children to find. One of the fathers helped her to hide them, so the children could enjoy a treasure hunt when they returned.
“We’ll carry on with the hike in twenty minutes,” Kathleen said once the excitement of the treasure hunt was over and the children had each collected a few coins. “You can wander around and look at the wreck or just take a rest. It will take us another half hour to reach our third and final shipwreck site.”
Fay wandered around to look at the boiler and the hull of the old tanker. She even found some shards of pottery and porcelain, but they were too degraded to be interesting, and had obviously been abandoned by collectors. She took
some photographs for her blog, and enjoyed the spooky atmosphere created by the twisted remains of the tanker.
“Energy bar?” said Kathleen, offered her a selection.
“No, thanks. I want to work up an appetite for my picnic lunch when we stop at the next site.”
Bluebell Island Adventures provided each member of the group with a packed lunch, which they had to carry themselves.
“Sure.” Kathleen sat on a rock next to Fay
“Maybe you can answer something for me,” said Fay. “You know Mavis? The one who works at the Royal Hotel?”
“Yes, of course I know Mavis. Everyone does.”
“She told me she was talking to Martin Caldwell on the night he died.”
“Mavis talks to everyone.”
“She says he told her that he found something while he was on the shipwreck hike. He said it proved he had been right all along. He was really gloating about it.”
Kathleen frowned. “Something he found on the hike?”
“That’s what he said. He said something about how it was no thanks to you.”
“Rude.”
“Morwen says he was a rude man generally.”
“Aye, that he was.”
“What could he have been talking about? What did he find?”
They glanced at Kathleen’s backpack where the pack of gold coins was hidden.
“No way,” said Kathleen.
“He couldn’t have been that stupid, could he?”
“They’re toys. I buy bags of them from the pound shop whenever I go into Torquay.”
“There’s no way he could have thought they were real.”
“They’re made of molded plastic and spray-painted gold. Look.” Kathleen turned her back on the children and opened the flap of her backpack to reveal a bag of gold coins inside. Fay could only nod. There was no way any adult could mistake them for the real thing. Even the small children on the hike knew they were fake.
“Then what?”
“Maybe we’ll figure it out at the third site,” said Kathleen.
She stood up and gathered the tour group, so they could continue the hike.
The Cat That Had a Clue Page 7