by Jan Ellis
“But eighty is the new sixty, isn’t that what they say?” Philip smiled, hoping to lighten Joshua’s mood, but the old gentleman’s mouth stayed set in a downward curl. The vicar decided to take a different tack. “There are numerous reasons why you should enjoy many more years of life yet. We live in different times to our fathers and grandfathers. Think about it: there’s no typhoid. We have smallpox vaccinations, better nutrition, the NHS, comfortable homes – lots of things. I suggest you put these negative thoughts out of your mind and enjoy every day as it comes.”
Ignoring him, Mr Pinkham extracted a large brown envelope from inside his cardigan. “I have my instructions here, Reverend, and I’d be grateful if you’d follow them. Don’t worry about the costs – my solicitor has been told to hand over the readies.”
Seeing that Mr Pinkham was not going to be shifted in his views, Philip took the proffered envelope, which carried with it the distinctive aroma of old dog, albeit one in a rather snazzy coat.
“Very well, Joshua, if that’s what you want. I’ll put this in a safe place and hopefully there won’t be any need to open it for many years yet.”
Mr Pinkham harrumphed, seemingly taking the suggestion that he might not be about to die as an insult. As he stood, ready to leave the room, Philip offered his hand. “I hope to see you again.”
Joshua made a grumbling noise and snorted. “Don’t you worry – you’ll be seeing me in a box very soon indeed. I’ve had it on good authority that the Santa Ana has been sighted three times this month, which is a sure sign the grim reaper is on his way.”
“That’s superstitious nonsense.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say such a thing, Vicar – you a man who has spent time in Africa, a place full of powerful spirits.”
Philip had to concede that was a good point.
“I would never say there weren’t unknown forces at work in the world, Joshua, but I’m certain a ghostly vessel is not likely to see you off before your time.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
“Try to put it from your mind. And remember – my door here or at home is always open if there’s ever anything you would like to talk to me about,” he said, grasping the old man’s hand firmly in both of his. “I play a mean game of Scrabble, too, if you ever fancy some entertainment.”
Joshua harrumphed again, readjusted Clarence, who had crept along one baggy sleeve and settled himself under his owner’s armpit, and left.
* * *
Visiting the young, pasty-faced vicar had been a necessary evil as far as Joshua was concerned. He really wanted to be chucked on the compost heap once he expired, but had been told it wasn’t possible because of council bylaws or some such nonsense. Hence his visit to St Cuthbert’s. The Pinkhams had a family plot in the graveyard that was all paid for, so this was where Joshua intended to be interred in a few weeks’ time. “You’re lucky,” he said, addressing the dog, “I’ve got a special place already set aside for you in the orchard. Much nicer than a darned churchyard.” Clarence did not look reassured.
Chapter 23: Combemouth Manor
A couple of days later, Eleanor was surprised to find a note pushed through the door from Joshua Pinkham asking her to contact him about his books. She gave him a call and agreed to visit and give him her opinion the following day.
As arranged, Eleanor turned up in her lime-green van with a notepad, a camera and a Welsh spaniel. She didn’t know whether Joshua simply wanted to chat about options or whether he would ask her to assess his entire collection then and there. Having done plenty of house clearances in the past she knew it could be dusty work, so she went along in old jeans and had a scarf ready to cover her hair.
Combemouth Manor was as eccentric as Daniel had described it. Reached down an overgrown drive that seemed to go on forever, the house was a mishmash of styles in pale stone and red brick. As well as the main house, which was a couple of storeys high, there was a separate wing with a tower. It was all higgledy-piggledy and Eleanor found it enchanting.
The windows were grubby and covered in cobwebs and, if she hadn’t known any different, she would have thought the place was abandoned. The steps up to the imposing front door were almost completely overgrown with purple columbine and dense clumps of foxgloves so Eleanor decided to walk around the house to see if she could find another way in.
Halfway along a side wall, a door opened and Clarence shot out then began barking frenziedly at Bella who ignored him and carried on sniffing the lawn.
“You’re here, then?” In the doorway stood Joshua looking, if possible, even shabbier than he had when Eleanor had met him at the fair.
“Yes, I’m here,” she said, trying not to stare too hard at the stains down the front of his threadbare sweater.
“You’d best come in.”
Eleanor followed Joshua as he shuffled down a cool flagstoned corridor and around the corner through a door that seemed to mark the boundary between what would have been the servants’ area and the main house. Eventually, he took her into a reception room where the floor was covered with Afghan rugs and the walls were painted in a deep, rich red. Every surface seemed to be covered with knick-knacks of one sort or another and there were animal heads and painted landscapes hanging on the walls. One side of the room had wall-to-ceiling windows framed by heavy velvet curtains, but the two longest sides were completely covered in books.
Eleanor gasped. “This is beautiful,” she said, the room reminding her of the sun-filled place where she’d married Daniel a few months before. Yes, it was a bit tatty and the stuffed boar’s head baring its teeth on the wall might not be to everyone’s taste, but the place had potential. “You could hold weddings here, you know? Brides would love it.”
The look of horror on Joshua’s face was enough to stop her in her tracks. “I’ll fetch tea,” he said, and disappeared.
As she hadn’t been invited to sit down, Eleanor decided to check out the bookshelves instead. She chewed her lip, wondering what she’d taken on. At a rough guess, the small area of shelves she was looking at must have held about three hundred books: she was going to be there for some time.
If Joshua wanted her to catalogue everything accurately, she would have to remove each book from the shelf and photograph the binding and imprint page. She puffed out her cheeks, wishing she’d brought Joe along to help instead of Bella, who now came running into the room, hotly pursued by Clarence. At least the little dog seemed to appreciate their company.
Behind the dogs came Joshua with a porcelain teapot, silver sugar bowl and two battered mugs on a tray. “Right then, missus,” he said, moving a heap of paper out of the way to make space on the fine old table.
“Thank you,” said Eleanor, pleased to see the mugs were clean at least. Surreptitiously, she sniffed the milk before adding it. “What is it you’d like me to do?”
“I want you to help me get rid of that lot,” he said, sweeping his arm across the back wall.
“All those books?”
“All of those on that wall there – I shan’t bother with the others. The mice are welcome to those.”
Eleanor smiled nervously. “I have to be honest and tell you this isn’t my area, Mr Pinkham. What you need is a specialist who knows about antiquarian books. I can put you in touch with an expert if you would like me to.”
Joshua frowned. “I don’t want to deal with strangers.”
“I’ll come with them, if that helps?”
“No. You’ll do for me.” Eleanor wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or not by Joshua’s decision. “Now, can you help – yes or no?’
“I can,” she said, “though it may take a little time.”
“That’s all right, so long as it isn’t too long. I’ve got to be somewhere next month.”
“Okay. Well, I’d better make a start.”
“I suggest you begin at the top and work down.”
There were sliding library ladders that could be moved around the room and Joshua brought th
em over to one end of the back wall so Eleanor could reach the high shelves. These were thick with dust and assorted mummified insects, so she was relieved she’d brought something to cover her hair.
During the morning, Eleanor gradually moved across the shelves, extracting books, caressing their bindings and carefully lifting fine sheets of paper to admire the illustrations. In the few gaps between books she found a motley array of objects. Once she had the strange sensation of being watched and found herself eye to glass eye with a stuffed stoat bearing a distinct resemblance to Clarence. She turned away from the creature’s melancholy gaze with a start. Someone in the family had clearly had a thing for taxidermy: on the mantelpiece was a glass case containing a number of baby rabbits in Victorian costume arranged around a tea table.
Below her, Joshua had come back into the room and was sitting in a leather armchair watching her with interest. “Well?”
It was harder work than Eleanor had anticipated, climbing up and down the ladders to take photographs and make notes, but she was enjoying herself despite the cobwebs. “You have some lovely books here, Joshua – even some first editions. I can tell you now this lot will be worth a few thousand pounds, but I’m making a separate list of the books I think you might want to keep in the family.”
Joshua made a grumbling noise that sounded rather like “bah-humbug”. “Never mind family.”
“I expect you have nephews and nieces who would love to have these children’s books, for example?” When there was no response, Eleanor came down the ladder, took off her gloves and wiped a hand across her grubby brow. “Well, I have to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow to carry on.”
“Very well. And don’t be late.”
* * *
The next day, Eleanor reached the middle section of the bookcase. She had cleared a long length of books about local flora and fauna, carrying them down to the table where she could take better photographs. It was when she went back to check out the bare patch of wall that she noticed something peculiar. She called Joshua as she backed down off the ladder, rubbing her dusty hands on her trousers. “I think you should come and look at this.”
Joshua, who had been sitting reading, stood up and approached, his face serious. Grasping the ladder, he slowly climbed up two steps until he was at eye level with the empty shelf.
“What is it, missus? I don’t see nothing.”
Eleanor dragged over a heavy mahogany chair, slipped off her shoes and stood on it. “There,” she said, pointing at the wall. “What’s that?”
In front of them, a small patch of bookcase was empty. It was only the glint of hinges on the left-hand side and an indentation on the right that revealed the wall was not solid. “I think it’s a door.”
Joshua’s eyes opened wide with surprise then he put a finger into the indentation and pulled. It was indeed a door. Opening it, he reached into a cupboard and withdrew a red leather briefcase, which he handed to Eleanor to put on the table. Next, Joshua brought out a wooden box which he carried down the ladder and put next to the briefcase.
“Well, goodness me! What a surprise.” Eleanor grinned broadly, expecting Joshua to be as excited as she was by their finds, but he said nothing. She stood watching him in silence for what seemed like an age until the grandfather clock struck 4pm and Joshua looked down at Clarence, who was sitting on one frayed slipper pawing his master’s ankle. “Teatime.” Without another word, Joshua went off to the scullery to feed the dog.
Chapter 24: Skeletons in the Cupboard?
Eleanor couldn’t wait to get home to tell Daniel about her day.
“Joshua seemed as taken aback to see the secret compartment as I was. Don’t you think it’s odd that someone would have such a thing and not tell their children or grandchildren about it?”
“Not necessarily,” said Daniel. “I expect plenty of wealthy Victorians had places where they could hide their belongings from thieves and disgruntled employees.” He thought for a moment. “What was in the briefcase, anyway?”
“No idea and we won’t know until Joshua finds the key, which could be anywhere.”
“Or he breaks the lock.”
Eleanor shook her head, remembering how Joshua had walked away from both the case and the box as though they were of no interest. “He won’t do that. In fact, I had the distinct impression he didn’t want to open either of our finds. I’d have been tearing them open straight away, but he’s an odd chap.”
“That’s the general consensus.” Daniel smiled.
“Says who?”
“Everyone who’s ever had dealings with him. Of course, if you’d like to know more about Joshua Pinkham, you should speak to Harold. They’re around the same age and probably knew each other as kids.”
“Never! Harold looks much younger.”
Dan laughed. “He’ll be pleased to hear you say that.”
Eleanor opened her diary. “It’s ‘Storytime with Harold’ in the bookshop tomorrow. I might have chance to quiz him then.”
* * *
“Storytime with Harold” had been running for nearly a year and was a huge hit with the local children and their parents, some of whom clearly enjoyed being read to as much as their offspring. When Harold had finished the day’s session and was relaxing with a cup of Earl Grey, Eleanor sat beside him in the children’s corner and asked about Joshua. “Dan said you might know him.”
Harold laughed. “I’ve known him since we were five – we went to the same primary school, you see.”
“Do you remember much about him as a boy?”
“I remember rather a lot, actually. He lived in the manor house, same as he does now, but it was very rare for other boys to be invited to play there.” Harold frowned. “Pity really, as we were keen to explore the turrets and towers, even though the place was rather creepy.”
Eleanor thought back to the stuffed animals and lugubrious family portraits lining the dark corridors. “I can see you might have found the place daunting as a child.”
“I always had the impression Joshua was quite lonely. His mother was distant and undemonstrative and his father seemed terribly fierce.”
“Do you mean aggressive?” Eleanor hated to think the young Joshua might have been mistreated.
“Oh, Joshua was never beaten or anything like that. His father was simply a serious chap – I don’t remember ever seeing him smile.” Harold thought for a moment. “Of course you have to bear in mind that fathers were authority figures in those days – they didn’t play with their children or show much affection the way dads do today.”
“No, I suppose not. But he must have been extremely serious if you noticed it.”
“That’s true, I suppose.” Harold nodded. “There was also the fact that Joshua’s parents didn’t get involved in the local community, which immediately earned them a reputation for being standoffish.”
“And where did their money come from? Dan said they were a wealthy family.”
Harold shrugged. “That’s a good question. I believe Joshua’s grandfather built up a fortune in shipping and passed the business down to his son who expanded it into a huge international concern.”
“Does Joshua have siblings?”
“I seem to remember there was a sister who died in infancy – many children did in those days, you know – and an older brother.”
Eleanor felt sorry for the lonely boy in the big house with no one to play with. “And does Joshua have children, Harold?”
“He was married to a lovely girl. She died some years back and they weren’t blessed with children.”
“Poor chap. No wonder he’s miserable.”
“Well, they say what goes around comes around.”
“Sorry, I don’t follow what you mean.”
Harold looked at his feet. “Forgive me – I shouldn’t have said anything. It is only rumour after all.” He began to rise from his seat, but Eleanor caught his arm.
“Hang on – you can’t stop there! Tell me what you mean.”
Eleanor leant forward. “I was wondering about including wrecking in my ghost ship window display, but I’m not clear what wreckers actually did.”
“They were the worst kind of devils.” Eleanor had never heard Harold use such strong language and was surprised to see the fierce expression that crossed his usually serene face. “Wreckers deliberately lured ships onto the rocks or sandbars where they were broken up by the sea so their contents could be stolen away.”
“That’s not very nice – but they rescued the passengers, surely?”
“That’s the worst part of it – in days gone by they would save the cargo but let the men drown.” He grimaced. “Can you imagine what it must have felt like? To see people on the beach who could save you and to know they were only waiting to push you down beneath the waves?” Harold shook his head sadly. “What a terrible way to die.”
“How awful.” Eleanor was shocked. “That’s – well, it’s tantamount to murder.” She thought about the Santa Ana and remembered the story Daniel had told her of ghostly voices being heard calling out over the water. “Is there any suggestion wreckers were involved in grounding the Santa Ana all those centuries ago?”
Harold nodded. “I’m afraid so. She was a Spanish galleon, probably loaded with precious cargo for the King of Spain. A ship like that would be a tempting prize for an impoverished fishing community.”
“What a dreadful thought.”
“Indeed, but wrecking happened, I’m afraid. A ship’s cargo was seen as another harvest from the ocean.”
“Perhaps it was, but I would hate to think of Joshua’s forebears being involved in something so terrible.”