The Legend of the Black Monk

by Nigel Cubbage

  On either side of the track was a short wooden platform. The surroundings though, were spectacular. The rugged coastline stretched into the far distance in either direction, jagged cliffs gradually softening into black velvet. Closer by were sand dunes and the blue Atlantic Ocean. Waves pounded in onto a long, sandy beach in the late-afternoon light, spray soaring like shooting stars in the sunshine. Inland a steep, wooded slope led to majestic, craggy cliffs, beyond which green hills, trees and fields melted into the distance.

  ‘Blimey, there are parts of England almost as beautiful as Scotland,’ said Drew, standing behind Rebecca.

  ‘Yeah, but warmer and with half the rainfall,’ said Rebecca drily.

  ‘It’s a fair cop,’ Drew nodded.

  ‘Don’t you love the sea?’ Rebecca breathed deeply.

  ‘That salty smack is wonderful!’

  As her gaze wandered along the shoreline, she noticed a solitary figure down at the water’s edge, clad in a long dark coat with a hood pulled up, billowing in the breeze.

  It was to strike her later that he had his back to the sea and was staring straight at them.

  The travellers made their way out into a narrow lane with the steep sides so characteristic of this part of the country. Birds sang merrily in the hedgerows. In the distance, a church clock was striking the quarter hour. They dropped their bags to the ground and stood looking at one another.

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘How about a stroll along the beach?’

  ‘There’s a bus stop,’ said Drew, walking over to inspect a timetable.

  ‘Rupert says to catch the bus to Lonely Lane.’ Laura looked up from a crumpled note.

  ‘Lonely is right,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Next bus ... tomorrow,’ read Drew, looking at his watch. ‘Home from home! Just like the Highlands. And I thought England was supposed to be civilised.’

  ‘Well he might have checked the timetable and co-ordinated bus times. This really is the sticks!’ scowled Laura, contemptuously.

  Drew shook his head, his eyes twinkling. ‘Oh dear! Londoners! Shades of Rebecca McOwan in Scotland! Lost the minute you leave the great city. Let’s go this way. Maybe we’ll find a tube station and a McDonalds. Get your mobiles out! Let’s all like text our homies, innit!’

  Just then the low, grinding throb of a diesel engine became faintly audible.

  A muddy, green tractor appeared over the brow of the hill, heading down the lane towards them. The tractor was so wide and the lane so narrow that there could be no room for it to pass safely.

  ‘Surely it’s going to stop?’ asked Laura, concern entering her voice as the machine rumbled closer, acrid black smoke belching from a metal funnel.

  The head of a lad of their own age appeared over the steering wheel, accompanied by a hand, waving merrily. He had floppy black hair and glasses and was shouting something incomprehensible, his voice drowned in the roar of the engine. In an ear-splitting screech, the brakes brought tractor and trailer to a shuddering halt inches from them, as they scurried up the bank in fright.

  ‘Rupert!’ Yelled Laura, her eyes blazing with anger.

  ‘You nearly flattened us! Should you even be driving that thing?’

  ‘Mm…not on the road, probably. Quick! Get in before we get caught. It’s only a few hundred yards up the lane and then we can cut across the fields.’

  ‘Rupert!’ Laura’s anger turned to horror. Drew could not help smiling at Rupert’s happy acknowledgement of his wrongdoing. Laura was ranting at him.

  ‘What if you get caught? This is against the law!’

  ‘Law, schmaw! I know, I know! No coppers for miles round here, though.’

  Drew raised his eyebrows in amusement. This was not the nerdy behaviour he was expecting from Rupert Dewhurst-Hobb after hearing Laura and Rebecca’s description of him on the way down.

  ‘Jump in the back all of you. Quickly, now!’

  ‘Yes, Rupert, sir!’ Rebecca grasped the side of the trailer, pulling herself aboard.

  ‘Rebecca! Welcome to Cornwall! And you must be Drew. All aboard!’

  ‘Rupert! You can’t ask your guests to sit in the trailer. It’s filthy!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Drew, swinging the bags on board. ‘Home from home for a Jock! We’re used to bedding down in the heather with deer droppings for a pillow and bog grass for our bedsheets.’

  ‘Really?’ Laura looked at him dubiously.

  Drew grinned widely. Rebecca rolled her eyes as Laura blushed and smiled.

  ‘You got me. I’ve never been to Scotland.’

  ‘Probably wouldn’t make a huge difference … Don’t take it to heart. I’m still recovering from the fact that the streets of London aren’t paved with gold after all.’

  ‘Oh, you didn’t believe that, surely?’

  ‘Laura! No, he didn’t! You’ll get used to him.’ Rebecca dropped her bag on Drew’s outstretched foot and smiled sweetly at his wince of pain. ‘And you behave,’ she muttered aside to Drew. ‘Laura may be ever so slightly ditsy, but she is my best friend and I love her.’

  ‘Blonde,’ said Drew, nodding.

  ‘Got a bit of a hair-ism thing going on, have we?’ asked Rebecca wryly.

  ‘Shaved off your ginger locks, now blonde jokes?’

  They barely had time to sit down before the tractor lurched forward. Rupert turned through a narrow gateway into a grassy field and began to execute a hair-raising about turn. With a violent crash of gears and grinding of metal, they bounded back onto the road and he aimed the vehicle back up the hill. The trees and undergrowth closed in tightly on either side of the narrow lane, occasionally lashing the sides of the tractor.

  ‘Is any part of this county flat?’ winced Rebecca, hanging on for dear life as they plunged down a steep drop into another of a seemingly endless series of hills and little valleys. They passed occasional cottages and a beautiful church tucked away next to a noisy stream.

  Rebecca closed her eyes, praying they would not meet anything coming in the opposite direction.

  ‘Driven before, have you?’ Drew had to shout to be heard above the engine.

  ‘Er, no, actually,’ answered Rupert. There was a pause for a second and then he turned to Drew with a manic grin. ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’

  The ride on the tractor trailer was nerve-wracking. Rupert had not fully mastered either speed or direction, both fundamental to the art of driving. He was shouting at the top of his voice, trying to explain something that none of the others could hear, and paying rather less attention to where he was going than he should. It was fortunate that the sleepy, rural lanes were deserted, since steering was a haphazard, often late afterthought. When finally the machine skidded to a juddering halt in the yard outside a large farmhouse, his passengers were rather grateful. They emerged gingerly from the trailer, nursing bruises and bumps to various parts of their anatomies.

  ‘Everybody in one piece?’ asked Rupert gaily. He was greeted with a selection of scowls and grunts. ‘Ah, sorry! Haven’t quite got it mastered yet!’

  ‘Take some lessons and a test first,’ suggested Drew, feeling his lower back and wincing.

  ‘I stink,’ announced Laura, sniffing her clothing and wrinkling her nose in distaste.

  ‘Bit like your boyfriend’s driving,’ added Rebecca, looking around. ‘So, Rupert, where are we?’

  ‘Five Muskets farm, Lonely Lane, Morbed,’ Rupert answered cheerfully. His high spirits seemed indomitable. He made a wide and dramatic sweep with his arm, indicating the farmhouse and surrounding buildings. ‘Home to the Dewhurst-Hobbs since the time of Queen Anne. It’s owned by my Uncle Gaston and Aunt Guinevere, the Gee Gees as we call them.’

  ‘Do they have manes and eat lumps of sugar?’ asked Rebecca, still rubbing bruises from the journey.

  ‘You have some fine names in your family, Rupe, if you don’t mind me saying,’ said Drew. ‘Must be a bit of an elocution lesson when you all get together.’

&n
bsp; Rupert gave a snort of laughter. It was an extraordinary noise and took Rebecca and Drew by surprise.

  ‘I say, you two are really awfully good!’ he said, snorting again.

  ‘Most people probably think we’re a bit lah-di-dah, what with Grandpa owning the manor but I think we improve on acquaintance.’

  ‘So why the name Five Muskets?’ asked Drew, picking up as many of the bags as he could.

  ‘Five Muskets Moor was where the militia would execute bad guys. Firing squads were always five muskets but only four of them loaded, so nobody would know who had fired the actual deadly shot…’

  His audience grimaced in distaste at this surprising detail.

  ‘There’s a path over the back where they used to lead the condemned man called Deadman’s Road … Anyway, come and meet everyone! Mum is here. Her fiancé John Sky, my step-father to be – or so he thinks – is away to pick up the solicitor, Rockford Baverstock. Not back until this evening. So it’s not all bad news…’

  ‘Baverstock?’ Rebecca frowned. ‘Isn’t that the name of somebody in that stuff you sent me? I remember! The local historian in the paper.’

  ‘His brother, I think,’ replied Rupert. ‘It’s all families and stuff down here. Everybody knows everybody else … and their business.’ He led them towards the main house, followed by Drew. Rebecca hung back a few yards to catch Laura’s arm before they went inside.

  ‘Wow! What a cool house!’ she said, pointing up the hill to a big old house, perched majestically on the top of some steep cliffs.

  ‘Rupert’s Grandfather’s house, Morbed Manor. Quite something, isn’t it?’

  ‘Like the Bates Motel,’ said Drew, approvingly. The other two looked at him blankly.

  ‘What? You’ve never seen ‘Psycho’?’

  Rebecca shook her head in resignation and turned back to Laura. ‘So, I take it Rupert isn’t too keen on his soon-to-be stepfather?’

  ‘Let’s just say they don’t get on,’ whispered Laura. ‘Definitely an acquired taste … which I too have yet to acquire.’

  ‘And just how do you deal with that laugh?’ Rebecca wore a pained expression.

  ‘Yes, bit of a surprise the first time I heard it!’ smiled Laura. ‘He is different, though, isn’t he, when you get to know him?’ She looked hopefully at her friend.

  ‘Yes,’ Rebecca replied, her eyes widening. ‘He’s different all right!’

  Chapter 3

  Five Muskets Farm

  Five Muskets Farm stood on the crest of a hill on the edge of the lonely Five Muskets Moor. Steeped in the rich folklore of Cornwall, the moor had been the backdrop to many a drama and murky deed. Timeless, mysterious and all-seeing, part marsh, part stony upland, it was said to hide a wealth of mineral ore within its rugged grandeur. Long abandoned pit buildings and mine shafts testified to the efforts of generations to extract its treasures.

  The farmhouse enjoyed a panoramic view over the sea, the land in front falling sharply into a steep gorge down to a sandy cove. On this side of the valley, the hillside was covered in dense woodland, beyond which the chimneys of Morbed Manor were visible.

  On the other side of the farm, a river flowed off the moor, through the little valley’s twists and turns, reaching the sea at its mouth. It was a peaceful, timeless spot.

  The farm was a clutch of imposing grey stone buildings, gathered round a rambling sixteenth century farmhouse. A large dairy herd lived in the barns, let out into the fields during the day. There was an ever-present aroma that could politely be described as rustic.

  They were introduced briefly to Rachel, Rupert’s mother, in the large, cosy sitting room. Outwardly smiling, the loss of her father had clearly caused her great distress and after greeting the new arrivals, she quickly made an excuse to leave.

  Rebecca was alarmed when Rupert announced that the guests were to sleep in a barn. After the tractor experience, visions of haystacks and sharing with pungent, over-inquisitive animals flashed into her mind. But she need not have worried. The building they were shown into was a barn conversion, warm and spacious and not a cow in sight.

  ‘We do Bed and Breakfast here and haven’t yet made anybody sleep in the cowshed!’ said Guinevere Dewhurst-Hobb, as if anticipating Rebecca’s fears. She was a petite blonde woman of about fifty, with a ready smile. ‘We’re closed to guests at the moment, so you girls can share the big room and you, young man, have a room to yourself. Don’t expect silver service though! We’re going to have to muck in on chores, I’m afraid.’ She delivered this with such charm that it almost sounded enticing. As the door swung to behind her, Rupert caught it and stood in the doorway. ‘Right, there’s tea over in the house in ten minutes.’

  * * *

  A log fire crackled invitingly in the huge hearth in the lounge. They sank back into a comfortable sofa, munching gratefully on an enormous plateful of sandwiches and cake, to listen to Rupert explain why he had asked them down. Outside, the daylight was fading fast. In the yard outside, two farmhands called to one another as they finished their day’s work.

  ‘Laura has told you some of it.’ Rupert was leaning against the mantelpiece, jabbing absently at a log with a poker.

  ‘And I sent Rebecca some stuff, too. But what I’m going to say now must not leave this room, okay?’ Rupert’s eyes glinted fiercely and he waved the poker menacingly.

  The others nodded involuntarily, taken aback. Drew’s eyes were glued to the poker, not entirely sure where it might land next.

  ‘It all dates back to the Second World War with Nazi Germany. Men have died. There are people involved who will stop at nothing… nothing!’ He paused for effect. His audience was plainly impressed. He suddenly looked at the poker, as if noticing it for the first time, realised what he was doing, opened his mouth in surprise and put it aside.

  ‘Yeah … er, well I should say at this point that I don’t know the whole story. The day before he died, my Grandpa asked to see me. He said what he was going to tell me was for my ears only, he could not trust anybody else. Didn’t say why. I know people all think I’m nerdy … but not Grandpa.’ Rupert paused for a moment, looking wistfully into the fire. Laura rose and came over to stand next to him.

  ‘Grandpa’s submarine had a battle with a German U-boat. They sank it off the Horns of Lucifer and took some German prisoners. There have been rumours for centuries about a load of treasure in the caves there. People are always telling old smuggler stories round here so nobody paid it much mind but Grandpa always seemed to have a bee in his bonnet about it, for some reason.’

  ‘Didn’t you believe him?’ asked Rebecca. Rupert shrugged his shoulders, non-committal.

  She continued, ‘I assume from the stuff you sent me that you think it has something to do with this Black Monk, whom some batty woman reckons she has seen. How does this involve him?’

  ‘The Black Monk is supposed to have hidden a hoard of gold somewhere along the coast near here, hundreds of years ago,’ Rupert replied. ‘Apparently, one of the Germans reckons he saw him in the caves, or so he told Grandpa.’

  ‘And it’s his treasure we’re looking for?’

  ‘Well that’s my guess. But really we have to investigate and find out what is going on.’

  ‘And the ghost has returned again,’ said Laura, dramatically. Rebecca gave her a disparaging look.

  ‘What happened to the Germans?’ asked Drew.

  ‘Some were killed in the battle. The survivors were taken to a temporary Prisoner of War camp up at the Manor. As the senior officer, Grandpa questioned the Germans and what he heard convinced him there was something in the story.’

  ‘What did they say?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘He didn’t tell me. He said there was a package containing instructions for me if anything happened to him. The package contains the records of all his meetings with the German prisoners. He warned me that there are some dangerous people who would be very interested if they found out.’

  ‘Why tell you this? It’s almost
as if he expected not to be here much longer … You don’t think … that his death wasn’t an accident?’ Rebecca lowered her voice.

  Rupert had a strange, faraway look. He spoke distractedly. ‘His death was a huge shock. He’d had the flu but it was a family joke that he was as tough as old boots and would outlive us all. He had a dodgy leg but that didn’t stop him rowing and swimming every day. For a guy in his eighties, he was unbelievable. Put blokes half his age to shame. I just don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Rupert, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly happened to your Grandfather?’ Rebecca stood up and went over to the window, her tone more brusque than she intended.

  ‘Steady on, Becks,’ began Laura, seeing a flicker of emotion on Rupert’s face.

  ‘I’m all right, Laura,’ Rupert put a hand on her arm. ‘It was pretty quick. He’d been ill but seemed to be getting through it. My Mum and the Gee-Gees were up at the manor for dinner, when he complained of feeling unwell and went up to his room. John Sky rang the doctor, who came and saw him upstairs. They called an ambulance which came very quickly and took him away. Sky went with him. Mum was just getting some of his things ready to follow them when Sky called from the hospital and said not to come because Grandpa had died.’

  ‘Sky went with him? … Odd… Nothing else?’

  ‘Rebecca, what are you driving at?’ Laura frowned at her friend.

  Rebecca did not appear to notice. ‘Did any of it seem out of the ordinary?’

  ‘Mmm … the doctor was a new guy nobody had seen before.’

  Rebecca’s eyes lit up. ‘Now that is out of the ordinary’.

  ‘You’re thinking the doctor might not have been all he appeared to be?’ Drew narrowed his eyes at Rebecca. She grimaced.

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet.’

  ‘Are there any other people who know about this?’ asked Drew, after a pause. ‘Are any of the Germans still alive?’

  ‘Or his own crew?’ added Rebecca.

  ‘Dunno. He just warned me that there are some really dangerous people who know.’