The Bookshop Detective

by Jan Ellis

  “A chopstick? That’s not very reverential.”

  “It was either this or a meat skewer, which might do more damage.”

  “Okay. Hand it over.” Eleanor took the chopstick, spun the book around and carefully slid the end under the ribbon. “I think it’s coming.” Daniel watched as his wife gradually withdrew the length of black silk from the spine. After a moment it stopped. “It’s caught on something.”

  “Hang on, I’ll fetch a torch so we can see what’s going on.” Dan picked up his car keys and shone the mini torch down the gap between the pages and the book’s spine. “There’s something tied to the end of the ribbon, El. Give it another pull.”

  Eleanor put down the chopstick and gently tugged on the ribbon, jiggling it from side to side. “Got it,” she said, as the fabric came out. “Gosh, look at this.” Dangling from the length of silk was a gold ring.

  Daniel whistled. “You’ve found hidden treasure.”

  “Blimey. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  * * *

  After supper they curled up on the sofa, the Bible on the coffee table at their feet. Eleanor was looking at the ribbon she’d laid on the cover, still attached to the binding. “It’s an odd shape for a ring, don’t you think?”

  “It looks pretty ring-like to me. What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s big and has a very rounded edge. I think it could be a curtain ring rather than a piece of jewellery you’d wear on a finger.”

  Daniel laughed. “Why would anyone bother to keep one curtain ring? And why put it on the end of a ribbon and shove it inside a Bible?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same questions and have come to the conclusion that a ring on a piece of ribbon actually makes a jolly useful bookmark.” Eleanor picked up the ribbon from the book, watching the gold circle spin in the warm evening light that streamed in through the window. “I might make some to sell in the shop.”

  Daniel frowned. “But why was it pushed down the spine where it couldn’t be used?”

  “Who knows.” Eleanor sipped on her coffee thoughtfully. “If it’s not a curtain ring perhaps it’s an earring – you know, like the hooped ones gypsies and fortune-tellers always wore in Hollywood movies from the 1940s.”

  “That’s possible, I suppose. But I still don’t see why someone would keep a single earring.”

  “Perhaps they hoped they’d find the left-hand one down the back of the sofa one day.” Eleanor put the ribbon back on the book cover and curled up against her husband.

  “You have left- and right-hand earrings?”

  “Joke alert.”

  “Very funny.” Daniel gave Eleanor a squeeze. “Or it could have come from the nose of a piglet.”

  Eleanor prodded her husband in the ribs. “You may mock, but Erika says it’s important to consider all possibilities when assessing evidence to avoid leaping to false conclusions.”

  “Your colleague is a wise old bird.” Daniel thought for a moment. “Perhaps you should call the auctioneer chappie who was at the festival. You never know, your curtain ring might turn out to be really valuable and pay off our attic conversion.”

  “Sure, or it could raise some more dough for the vicar’s fund.”

  Daniel laughed. “Or you could send it to one of those companies that advertise in the tabloids: ‘Send us your unwanted gold’. As if gold was ever unwanted.”

  Eleanor sighed. “A, it’s probably worth tuppence and B, it isn’t mine to sell.”

  “Which means you’ll have to face the wrath of Joshua and tell him you’ve found something else he ought to hold on to.” Daniel smiled. “Best of luck.”

  “Thanks, I may need it.”

  “Is he coming to Bill’s launch party, by the way?”

  “I’ve invited him, but I think it’s unlikely he’ll come. I have the impression he’s not terribly comfortable with strangers, poor old bugger.” She yawned and stretched. “Speaking of parties, I need my beauty sleep. I have loads to do tomorrow.”

  Daniel stood and took both of Eleanor’s hands in his, gently pulling her to her feet. “Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you to bed so you can dream of rock bands.”

  “And treasure.” On the way, Eleanor picked up a book from a chair at the bottom of the staircase.

  “What have you got there?”

  “It’s another of the books I bought from Joshua.”

  Daniel tipped his head to see the cover illustration, which showed three pink-cheeked, fair-haired youngsters on a sailing dinghy. “Seafaring Tales for Children – that looks like my kind of thing. Can I borrow it when you’ve finished?”

  “Of course. The stories are fairly jolly, though the one I’m reading at the moment does seem to be rather ‘improving’.” Eleanor opened the book and stroked the heavy cream paper, running her fingers over the inky black type.

  “Who’s the author? Anyone we’ve heard of?”

  “The name’s VE Bennett. I’ve no idea who he was.” Eleanor yawned again. “And I’m not sure how much I’ll manage to read tonight. I’m bushed.”

  Chapter 29: Seafaring Tales

  Although Eleanor felt tired when she went up to bed, it was Daniel who fell asleep first, leaving her to read in a pool of light. She was entranced by the brightly coloured illustrations scattered throughout Seafaring Tales for Children of rock pools and of children enjoying jolly japes. The colour plates were concealed between the pages, making their jewel-like hues even more striking. The stories themselves were well told, even if the language was a little stilted. She opened the pages to a story set in Victorian times called “A Boy Led Astray”.

  A Boy Led Astray

  Jack was out hunting for crabs when he saw a flash of gold in the rock pool. Pulling the thing from the chilly water, Jack whooped for joy. What luck! He tucked the treasure inside the lining of his cloth cap and ran back along the beach to his home, all the while keeping an eye out for vagabonds. Jack was not quite ten years old and small for his age, so did not want to be set upon by older boys and lose his prize.

  He knew the common law among fisherfolk was “finders keepers” and there was not a house in the bay without roof beams that were once part of a ship’s hull. Villagers might also enjoy a barrel of fine French brandy if some should accidentally come their way.

  Jack felt jubilant when he arrived at the neat cottage that was his home so the look of horror on his dear mother’s face when he took out the treasure from his cap caught him by surprise.

  “Will you not take it, Mother?”

  Instead of catching Jack in her arms and embracing him as he expected her to do, Martha grabbed a broom and shooed her son back towards the door.

  “Take that thing out of my kitchen, wicked boy. I’ll not have you bringing bad fortune into this house.”

  Jack looked at the prize he held in his hand. “Why would gold bring us misfortune?”

  Seeing her son’s bewildered face, Martha softened her tone. “Because, child, what you have there is a ring purchased by a sailor to save him from drowning. That gold was meant for the sea, not the land.” Martha had put down the broom but was still standing well away from her son whose blue eyes examined her quizzically.

  “I don’t understand, Mother.”

  “When a man goes to sea, he purchases a pair of gold earrings – one he wears in his ear, the other he throws over the larboard side of his ship with the words ‘Protect me, O Davy Jones’.”

  Jack trembled at the mention of the mythical Davy Jones who ruled the oceans deep. “Then, where is the other earring?”

  “God willing it will be shining brightly in the ear of the man who bought it. But if anything should happen to the sailor,” the good woman crossed herself, “if he should drown, the ring will pay for him to have a good Christian burial.”

  Jack was quiet now, studying the earring in his palm. “If it is an unlucky thing, should I take it to the Reverend Brown?”

  “No!” Martha laughed, sourly. “The church has no need of g
old.”

  The rector was a proud, haughty man who lived in a fine house and looked down his nose at the folk who lived in the cottages, especially the women who struggled alone while their husbands were away, seeking work in the city. It was also whispered that the rector was in league with the customs’ men and – if the gossip was correct – was happy to share a portion of whatever they recovered before handing it over to Her Majesty’s government.

  Martha rubbed her arms vigorously as if chilled. “That ring should be in the sea not on land and certainly not in the pocket of the priest. You must take it away now, do you hear?”

  “But if I’m not to take it to the church, where shall I take it? Should we sell it, Ma?”

  “Sell it? Fie, child! Who would choose to buy something perchance fallen from a dead man’s ear? No, indeed. You must hasten down to the beach and throw it as far into the sea as you can.”

  “And will this undo any harm that has been done by taking it from the water, Mother?”

  Martha crossed herself again and nodded slowly. “We must hope so.” Everyone knew the tales of men who feared to save a drowning man in case they were taken instead. “Go now, son, and take care no one sees you.”

  So Jack clasped the ring tightly in his small hand and ran from the house, down the lane to the beach as the sun was setting. As he ran, he thought about the whereabouts of the other earring. What would he do if he arrived at the shore and found the other earring caught in the flesh of a dead man? Jack shivered at the thought of it and was relieved to find there were no grey corpses to be seen, just a pair of stray cats fighting over a fish head, and seagulls gobbling up minnows cut off by the retreating tide.

  The sea was already a fair distance out, so Jack decided to clamber up to a higher point from where he could swing his arm wide and send the ring spinning a goodly distance away.

  The safest approach to the headland was from the footpath, but night was falling and the sea was retreating fast so Jack decided to scramble up from the beach. The ascent was perilous because the rocks were wet with sea spray and the gulls harried the lad whenever he came too close to their nests.

  Gradually Jack pulled himself hand over hand to the top, then stood with his heart pounding, reluctant now to send his treasure spinning into the void. Must he really part with it? He supposed he must as his mother would not have the ring in the house and he was forbidden from giving it to the rector or from selling it.

  Jack sat on the cliff edge, his back to the land as the wind whipped up locks of his hair and the setting sun grazed his eyes. He slipped the ring over his thumb and twirled it around, thoughtfully. What he held was gold – gold! Mother said it belonged to the jealous rascal who ruled the sea. But if Jack cast it back into the water, might it not be eaten up by a fish? What then if someone caught the fish and sold it to a gentleman who found it there in the creature’s belly? The gentleman would benefit, which would not be fair. It was his, Jack’s treasure – he had found it.

  The boy had a pure heart and his conscience quaked at the word “treasure”. He clasped his hands over his eyes to shut out visions of pale young sailors wandering forever around Davy Jones’ watery kingdom.

  But there were no dead sailors and Jack felt sure that the man to whom his ring belonged was safe and well. Perhaps he had left the sea altogether and was now a prosperous landowner in America?

  Jack pulled a ragged kerchief from the pocket of his britches, placed the earring in the middle and carefully tied the cloth into a knot. He then tucked the bundle inside his shirt beneath his grubby linen where it felt cool against his warm skin.

  The decision was made: Jack would not throw away his prize. Instead he would keep it safe. It meant he would be forced to lie to his dear mother, but so it must be. He would hide the earring, but he would always think of the fishermen at peril on the sea. Jack puffed out his chest as it came to him that he would include those sailors who perished in his prayers each night before bed and pray for them twice on Sundays.

  As Jack turned for home, head bent against the wind as he ran down the darkening slope, he made a solemn promise that the earring would turn him into a virtuous man. He would never sell it, but would work hard at his schooling and become a learned and wealthy gentleman. Then, when he had made his fortune – after purchasing for his mother and sisters a fine house, silk frocks and a carriage – he would give his money to the needy.

  Eleanor’s head was full of visions of the sea as she closed the book and turned off the bedside light. It seemed there was to be no escape from gold rings for the time being.

  Chapter 30: Fact or Fiction?

  The next day was Sunday so there was no need to leap out of bed, but Eleanor still awoke at her usual time. She lay there for ten minutes, listening to Daniel’s steady breath beside her and the soft pitter-patter of rain on the windowpanes. Closing her eyes she tried to go back to sleep, but to no avail. It was not quite 7am when she eventually crept out of bed, tucked the storybook under her arm and tiptoed downstairs. She made a cup of tea, fed the dogs, then curled up in an armchair to continue reading VE Bennett’s story.

  Folk said the ghostly outline of the Santa Maria had been seen in the dying embers of the day, a sure sign of trouble to come. When a great storm came and tore up two fishing vessels, the people crossed themselves and said it was a miracle none of the crew was lost.

  Jack had never confessed to his mother that the ring was in a leather pouch under a floorboard in the room he shared with his sisters. No one blamed him and yet he felt the guilt on his young shoulders. Every time he stepped on the beach, Jack was reminded of the earring. Every time he went in search of crabs for their supper, he couldn’t help but see flashes of gold in the rock pools. It was as though Davy Jones was playing games, punishing Jack for cheating him of the ring and perhaps of a soul. And yet Jack knew it was too late to throw the thing back into the sea so it remained hidden and lay heavy on his conscience.

  True to his word, Jack prayed for lost sailors each night and went to church twice on Sundays, vowing that one day he would make amends for his misdeeds. Sometimes he thought that if he could use the ring for good, this might put everything right again: the opportunity came sooner than expected and from an unexpected quarter.

  The rector of the church was a vain greedy man beneath whose sombre clothing lay a cold heart. The rector had a wife who was sickly, worn away by her husband’s harsh looks and harsher words. This poor lady fell ill, but the rector would not let the doctor come near her, saying “It is God and God alone who decides which of us shall be healthy and which sick; which of us shall live and which die. Who are we to go against the wishes of the Almighty?”

  Between them the rector and his wife had one child, a daughter named Lily, who was as fair as the flower whose name she bore. She knew Jack loved her and this fondness was the boy’s downfall.

  One day Jack came upon Lily weeping in the churchyard and shyly asked what was amiss. “My mother is sick and dying,” she answered, “but Papa will not bring the doctor and I have no money for medicine.”

  As soon as the girl’s words were out, Jack knew what he must do. Here was the answer to his prayers: a way to use the cursed ring for good. “I will bring you money, Lily, so you can buy medicine and your mother will not die.”

  “How, Jack?” Lily knew the boy’s family was not wealthy. “You know it is a sin to steal.”

  “Indeed it is.” And without another word Jack ran back to the cottage and took out the ring from where it had lain beneath the floorboards for nigh on two years.

  Before dawn the next day, Jack walked the many miles to town and entered the jeweller’s shop. This man, looking at the boy’s ragged clothing, suspected that he had before him a common thief – or worse.

  “An earring? Now then, boy. Whose ear did you take this from?”

  “No living man’s ear.”

  “So you stole it from the dead?”

  “No indeed, sir.”

  “Answe
r me then how it came into your possession, boy?”

  “I cannot say, sir.” Jack knew that if he confessed to keeping the ring, his mother would know he had disobeyed her and not thrown it into the sea as he had promised to do. And if he told the jeweller he needed the money for his friend’s sick mother, it was certain that Lily would be beaten by her father and Jack could not let such a thing happen. He must remain silent and accept his punishment. And so, when the jeweller caught him by the ear and dragged him onto the street to find the policeman, Jack made not a murmur.

  “Dan!” Eleanor closed the book and ran upstairs to wake her husband. “You’ll never guess what.”

  “Morning.” Daniel gazed at her blearily. “What is it, darling?”

  “I know what happened to John Able.” She waved the book in the air. “It’s all in here.”

  Daniel scratched his face and yawned, his brain not yet fully in gear. “What? Who?”

  “The story I’ve been reading – ‘A Boy Led Astray’ – it must be based on the newspaper case that I’ve been following because there are too many similarities for it not to be. There’s even a ghost ship like ours.” Eleanor quickly ran through the plot and described the setting while Daniel did his best to concentrate.

  Eleanor was pacing up and down at the end of the bed now. “I knew it. I knew John was innocent. He didn’t steal the ring, he found it and – okay, he shouldn’t have kept it – but there was no one he could give it to…”

  “Woah – hang on a minute,” said Daniel, catching Eleanor’s hand and pulling her down onto the bed beside him. “You’re telling me this is what you’ve read in a children’s story?”

  “Yes, in Joshua’s book.”

  “But it’s a work of fiction, El, so the author could easily have changed the facts to make it more appropriate for children.”

  “You may be right, Dan, but I have a strong feeling there’s more to it than that.”

  “Okay, so if we do accept the story is about John Able and he really was innocent of theft, how did the author know about it? If John never told anybody the truth and it wasn’t recorded at the time, who was the author’s source?”