The Bookshop Detective

by Jan Ellis

  “You’re right and I shouldn’t even have mentioned it. Though Pinkham is a Cornish name.” Harold, a Devon man, couldn’t help adding this detail under his breath.

  “Are you saying all Cornish people were wreckers?” asked Eleanor, quite taken aback.

  “Goodness me, no.” Harold looked chastened. “It’s a practice that went on right around the British coast – we were famous for it. Or infamous, I should say.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to say, but it is rather gloomy.” Eleanor uncurled herself from the bean bag she had collapsed onto in the children’s area and stretched. “Which reminds me – I haven’t showed you Deirdre’s notes about John Able’s transportation to Australia.” Harold was a genuine history buff and Eleanor knew he’d be keen to see them.

  “Ah, yes. I mentioned the convict records to Georgie – as she comes from that part of the world – and she was most intrigued.”

  “She wasn’t offended when you mentioned them, Harold?”

  “Good heavens, no. Why should she be?”

  Eleanor shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed. “I thought Australians were as bored of us Brits banging on about the convict business as Germans are about WWII.”

  “Not our Georgie.”

  “Let’s show her, then.”

  They found Georgie at the front of the shop. “I was asking your manager about her memoirs.” She turned to Erika, smiling. “I know you’ve been working on them for two years now and I’m sure people would be fascinated to read your history.”

  “Yes, it’s very ‘on trend’ to be trans – everybody’s at it, rather like going gluten-free. Actually, I’m having second thoughts about writing a straight history – if you’ll pardon the pun. I might make it into a fictionalised account of my life thus far, so I can include some racy stuff and be really rude about my former colleagues in the police force without being sued.”

  “Sounds like a bestseller to me.” Eleanor grinned. “In the meantime, I have something to show you.” She took Deirdre’s printed sheet out of its envelope and laid it next to her notebook on the counter.

  “As you can see, my annoying librarian friend has found records that show John Able was put on a convict ship and transported to Western Australia for stealing jewellery. He was in and out of prison his entire life and died in Fremantle Jail in 1910.”

  “Gosh, the poor chap was only forty-nine when he died.” Harold shook his head sympathetically. “He must have had a jolly hard time.”

  “Most of those guys had pretty terrible times,” said Georgie. “My nan lives in Fremantle right behind the jail – it’s a great museum now, by the way. Me and my brother used to visit a lot and I was quite into convict history in my teens.”

  Harold nodded. “I remember the museum. My wife and I visited many years ago when we were staying with relatives in Bunbury.” He picked up Deirdre’s printout and frowned. “If you know about convict history, Georgie, I think you will agree with me there’s something here that doesn’t fit.”

  “Let’s see.” Harold passed Georgie the printout. “And may we see your notes from the newspaper archive, Eleanor?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, handing them over.

  Harold put on his spectacles as he and Georgie studied Eleanor’s scribbles.

  “You’ve made a note here that John was convicted in 1872. Is that right?”

  “That’s right, yes. Just after he had turned twelve.”

  “Meaning he was born in 1860…”

  Georgie nodded. “So he can’t have been transported because the last shipload of convicts from the UK arrived in 1868 when your John Able would have been eight years old.”

  “Which, in any case, is four years before he went on trial in Combemouth,” added Harold.

  Eleanor was stunned. “Are you sure?”

  “Totally one hundred per cent certain,” said Georgie, emphatically. “It’s something my nan drummed into me from an early age. The last ship to bring convicts to Western Australia was the Hougoumont. She set sail in October 1867 and arrived in January the following year.” She tapped the page. “Your librarian’s guy must be another John Able altogether.”

  “Excellent detective work, team.” Erika nudged her boss in the ribs. “I bet you can’t wait to tell Deirdre she got her facts wrong?”

  Eleanor smiled. “I shall enjoy that immensely.” She was pleased that John hadn’t died in prison thousands of miles from home, but what had happened to him remained a mystery.

  Chapter 25: The Briefcase

  The next day, Eleanor returned to Combemouth Manor to continue going through Joshua’s books. When she rang the bell, there was no answer so she walked around to the kitchen door, peeking in through the dusty windows as she went.

  The door was unlocked so she opened it and called out. “Hello. Is there anybody home?” There was no response so she yanked on the bell pull and listened to the clank of bells echoing through the house. Still nothing. She was beginning to worry about the lack of response when eventually she heard the skittering of paws as Clarence ran across the flagstones of the hallway and began barking in excitement. Having greeted Eleanor, the dog turned and ran away. Bella took off after him towards a different part of the house.

  The dogs led Eleanor to a large sitting room where she found Joshua at his desk surrounded by all kinds of writing paraphernalia from fountain pens and bottles of ink, to piles of yellowed envelopes, rock-hard erasers and heaps of paperclips whose primary colours looked out of place among the Victoriana. In the centre of it, Joshua had made a space now filled by the red briefcase they had taken from the hidden cupboard the day before.

  “Morning missus.” Joshua turned to greet her, waving the grey handkerchief he’d been using to wipe grime from the closed lid of the case. He stuffed the handkerchief inside his shirt then withdrew a side drawer from the Victorian writing desk and picked up a cardboard shoebox full of keys.

  Eleanor smiled. “Have you found the key to the briefcase?”

  “Perhaps. I’ve found lots of keys but none of them is right, so now I’ll have to try the rest.” He cradled one hand in the other. “Trouble is, I can’t hold them properly, what with my arthritis.”

  “Could I help?” Without waiting for a reply, Eleanor threw her handbag onto a maroon Chesterfield and took the box from him.

  “Not them, they don’t work.” He pointed at another, bigger box. “Try that lot.”

  “Okay,” said Eleanor, pulling up a seat while Joshua moved away from the desk so she could reach the case. “Let me see now.” She bent over and fitted the first key into the lock. Nothing. She tried a second, then added it to the “doesn’t work” pile.

  “I’m thinking that Father might have hidden the key somewhere more cunning,” said Joshua, thoughtfully rubbing his stubble.

  Eleanor looked across at him. “I think a box of keys is about as cunning as you can get. But I’m sure it must be here – it’s simply a matter of being thorough.” She tried two more keys with no luck. Sighing, she picked up the box and jiggled it around, then closed her eyes and circled her fingers over it. “Eeny, meeny, miney, moe,” she said, before selecting a key at random and inserting it into the lock. “I have a good feeling about this one,” she said with a grin. It was nonsense, but she wanted to keep Joshua’s spirits up.

  Joshua was mumbling something about “hocus-pocus” as Eleanor turned the key and the lock snapped open. “Ta-dah! There you are, you see – a little bit of magic always does the trick.” She knotted a piece of string around the briefcase key so it would be easy to identify and handed it over. “There you go.” She smiled at Joshua, who sat in silence. “So… shall I open up the case for you before I carry on with the books?”

  “No.” Joshua stood and opened the French doors that gave onto the garden at the back of the house. “I’d best see to the broad beans and you should carry on with what you came here to do.” He had been relatively jovial up to that point, so Eleanor was surprised by the s
udden change in his tone.

  “Right, okay then,” she said, standing. Eleanor couldn’t help feeling disappointed that her curiosity wasn’t going to be satisfied, especially as she’d been the one to discover the secret compartment in the first place. “Are you sure you don’t you want to see what’s inside the briefcase?” she asked as Joshua shuffled past her into the garden.

  Joshua paused, his eyes fixed on a lavender bush by his feet. “There’s no need to open it. I know perfectly well what I shall find in there.”

  * * *

  “And what was in it?”

  Over dinner that evening, Eleanor was telling Daniel about her day. “I still don’t know. After I’d unlocked the briefcase, Joshua left it on the desk and that was that. I was there all morning and it wasn’t mentioned again.”

  “Perhaps he was going to open the case this afternoon after you’d gone.”

  “Maybe.” Eleanor frowned. “There was something about the discovery that seemed to worry him. We’ve become quite friendly over the past few days and, though he never chats, we do exchange the odd word. But today he barely spoke to me once I’d unlocked the case.”

  “What I don’t understand,” said Daniel, selecting a grape from the fruit bowl, “is why he wanted to open it if he knew what was in there and had no intention of looking anyway.”

  “I’ve no idea, but I expect he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

  “Weren’t you tempted to lift the lid when Joshua wasn’t looking and take a quick peek?”

  “No, I wasn’t!”

  “Really not?”

  “You know me so well.” Eleanor grinned at her husband. “Okay, so I was tempted, but I hope you know I would never do anything of the kind. It would be an abuse of trust.”

  “I know, I’m only teasing.”

  “I am madly curious, mind you.” Eleanor popped a small chunk of cheese into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I’m due over there one final time, so perhaps all will be revealed then.”

  Chapter 26: Unexpected Gifts

  When Eleanor went back to Combemouth Manor a few days later, she found Joshua in a more positive frame of mind. She was barely through the door before he greeted her and took her into the sitting room. “Here now,” he said, handing her something wrapped in a plastic bag and sealed with rubber bands, “I have something for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the bag and going to open it. “But really, you don’t need to give me a present.”

  Joshua held up his hands. “Don’t open it here and give me no thanks. Take it away and never ask me anything about what’s in there. Is that clear?”

  Eleanor’s head was full of questions, but the look on Joshua’s face told her he was serious so she went into the library to carry on with her work.

  By teatime, the business of photographing the books had come to an end. Eleanor went outside to tell Joshua, who she found in the kitchen garden tying up the sweet peas. “I’m done,” she said. “The next step is for me to go online and find out the values for you. Then, when you’re ready, I can put the books up for sale – the ones you decide not to keep, that is.”

  Joshua grumbled. “The sooner the whole lot is gone the better.”

  “But there must be some you’d like to keep, to give to friends and family? I’m sure you have plenty of relatives who would be delighted to have these books.”

  Ignoring her, Joshua scooped up Clarence and headed for the kitchen. “Teatime, Clarence.”

  Realising this was to be Joshua’s last word on the subject, Eleanor shook her head sadly. “Well, I’ll be off then,” she shouted in the direction of Joshua’s retreating figure. “And thank you for the gift.”

  * * *

  When Eleanor arrived at the cottage, she found Daniel sitting on the sunny patio drinking tea with Malcolm who stood up to greet her.

  “And how’s my favourite daughter-in-law today?” he asked, kissing her lightly on both cheeks. “I gather Joshua has been a little trying.”

  “Oh, he’s not that bad. Just socially inept.” She smiled. “But all is forgiven because today he gave me a present.”

  “Let me grab you a cup of tea, then you can tell us about it,” said Daniel, going into the kitchen to fetch Eleanor a drink.

  “Hurry up,” she said, laughing, “I’m gasping.”

  “I’m agog to find out what Joshua has given you,” said Malcolm.

  “So am I! He told me I wasn’t allowed to open the bag until I was at home. It’s very mysterious.” She looked at her companions. “Ready?”

  “We are,” said Daniel, handing her the tea. “Go for it.”

  Eleanor put the package on the garden table then removed the rubber bands that were tightly wound around the plastic bag. Inside was a shoebox and inside that was her gift. “Oh! It’s the wooden box we found with the briefcase in the hidden cupboard.” She pulled each side without success. “I can’t figure out how to open it!”

  “It looks like a Victorian tea caddy. May I see?”

  “Be my guest, Malcolm,” she said, handing it over.

  “It’s locked. Has Joshua given you the key?”

  “I hope so.” Eleanor picked up the shoebox and noticed a slip of cardboard at the bottom. Picking it up, she saw there was a tiny key taped to one side which she handed to her father-in-law. “Phew, I nearly threw it away.”

  Malcolm inserted the key, turned it and the top unlocked with a click. “Now what have we here?” Eleanor was straining to see. “As it’s yours, I think you should open it.”

  Lifting the lid, Eleanor saw a small silk bag in a green and gold paisley pattern. She gently pulled apart the silk drawstring running around the top edge and looked inside the bag. “It’s a pendant.” She held up a silver oval dangling on a chain then ran a thumb over the raised image on the front. The engraving was shallow, making it hard to read, but it seemed to represent a man standing with a tall staff in his hand. “I wonder who the figure is?”

  “I’d say it was a St Christopher,” said Daniel. “Patron saint of travellers.”

  “Ah, what a thoughtful gift.” Eleanor was quite moved by it. “Perhaps Joshua chose it because he knew I’d travelled to Devon from London.”

  “That’s assuming he knew the pendant was in there, darling.”

  Malcolm had gone back to examining the wooden box. “I’ve done a little woodwork in my time and this is a very fine piece.” As a former engineer, he liked to know how things worked. “There must be a reason why the base is so deep. Aha,” he said, turning it over in his hands, “just as I thought. There’s another compartment. Do you have a pin, Eleanor?”

  “There’ll be one in my needlework basket, I’m sure.”

  Daniel smiled. “You have a needlework basket? I never knew that.”

  “They say couples should have secrets from each other to retain the excitement. Anyway, I do, though I haven’t sewn anything in years. I’ll fetch it.”

  Eleanor dashed upstairs, opened the drawer at the bottom of her wardrobe and extracted the faded yellow basket she’d had since secondary school. She carried it down to the patio, then dug around among the cotton reels, ribbons and odd buttons before eventually pulling out a stout pin. “Will this do?”

  “Perfect.” Malcolm took the pin and prodded it into a hole that was carefully concealed in the side of the box. This released the side panel which then slid up and a drawer immediately sprang open to reveal a small envelope.

  “Well, what do you know?” said Daniel. “I think you have a secret message!”

  “How exciting.” Eleanor reached out to take the envelope then hesitated. “Actually, I think your father should do it. I’m so clumsy and I wouldn’t want to tear it.”

  Malcolm gently lifted the envelope from the drawer and laid it on the table. “Are you sure you’d like me to open it?”

  “Yes please.”

  Peeling back the flap, Malcolm withdrew a sheet of paper that he carefully unfolded before handing it to Eleanor.r />
  “What does it say?” asked Daniel.

  Eleanor peered at the letters written in small, ornate handwriting. “I don’t have my reading glasses and the writing style is so old-fashioned I can’t make out all the words. It’s a poem of some description.” She screwed up her eyes, reading aloud. “‘Seeker… bosom… God.’ I’ll have to find someone to help me decipher it.”

  “May I see?” asked Malcolm, putting on his glasses. “I’m old enough to decipher this kind of script.”

  “Be my guest,” said Eleanor.

  “Ah, yes. It’s a poem, but not one I recognise.” Malcolm slowly read out the words.

  “Seeker bold, ye who travelled from afar

  Think but on this –

  Blessed is he who finds

  Repose in the bosom of the

  Everlasting Lord, which dwells on earth and in Heaven.

  No more shall he breach the lusty waves but

  Divine peace shall be his who

  Abides in God’s tender care,

  No more to fret upon life’s travails.”

  Malcolm looked up. “Well, whoever wrote this was no Wordsworth but it’s competent enough.”

  Eleanor took up the paper and studied it, rereading the verse. “It’s more like a prayer than a poem. I’d love to know who the poet was.”

  “My guess is Joshua Pinkham,” said Daniel.

  “Of course! What a clever husband I have!”

  Malcolm patted his son on the shoulder. “That’s the obvious answer, Dan, but I wouldn’t be so sure. Joshua may be even more ancient than me, but the writing and the paper look much too old to be his work.”

  Eleanor was silent, gazing unseeing at a pot of geraniums.

  “What’s the matter, El?” asked Daniel. “You look very serious.”

  “I was thinking that Joshua will probably bite my head off, but I have to return everything to him. The pendant and poem must be important heirlooms and they should stay in his family, not be given to me. I’m not sure I should have bought his Bible at the festival either, now I come to think of it.”