The Legend of the Black Monk

by Nigel Cubbage

Rebecca realized instantly that this was the lawyer who had accompanied the man in the wheelchair to the farm for the will reading. She smiled. ‘Mr Baverstock. You are dealing with the Admiral’s estate, aren’t you?’

  ‘Indeed, but how does that concern you, exactly?’

  ‘These people say they are interested parties in that estate,’ interceded Guy.

  ‘I can tell them that unfortunately, they are not,’ said Baverstock, smiling politely at Rebecca. He was wearing a shockingly loud yellow cravatte, which she found very off-putting. Baverstock’s manner was condescending. The authoritative voice was accompanied by an obvious high regard for his importance.

  ‘We need to speak to the man in the wheelchair who was with you,’ said Rebecca, sensing they were losing this battle.

  ‘Guy is quite correct in that we cannot, I am afraid, give out such details. Ours is a profession where confidentiality is vital.’

  ‘Very professional, some of these paintings, Mr Baverstock,’ said Drew, gesturing at a large oil canvas on the wall. ‘Bet they cost more than Guy’s salary, hey?’

  ‘Will that be all?’ Baverstock’s patience had clearly been exhausted.

  Back outside on the pavement, Rebecca shook her head.

  ‘What?’ said Drew, sensing he might not wholly appreciate the answer.

  ‘Next time, just leave me to do the talking will you?’

  ‘Why? What did I do?’

  ‘Trying to pick a fight with the receptionist just because you didn’t like him, you mean?’

  ‘Well … Guy ... it’s another poncey name, isn’t it?’

  ‘This working class hero thing is starting to get boring, Campbell. And you were just as polite to the lawyer.’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t going to give us anything, was he? Pompous old twerp. Might as well let him know what you think.’

  ‘And you certainly did that. We’re not likely to get any co-operation from him now, are we? Just because you have some chip on your shoulder that wealthy Englishmen are all criminals who are somehow responsible for all Scotland’s woes.’

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘You’re a racist.’

  ‘I don’t hate all English people.’ There was the faintest smile as he said this.

  ‘Don’t do me any special favours.’

  ‘Who said anything about you? Anyway, you’re not saying old Guy and Baverstock aren’t equally as ‘ist’? You saw the looks they gave us, just because we are young and don’t look like we could pay the bills for their ‘well-respected’ services.’

  ‘They probably aren’t allowed to give out confidential information and you antagonized them to the point where they decided they weren’t going to help us anyway.’

  ‘Oh, so now it’s my fault?’

  Rebecca paused for a moment. ‘… Yes.’

  She walked on, concealing a smile, while Drew stood scratching his head in bewilderment.

  * * *

  ‘There are only two decent hotels in town.’

  ‘Does either have a lift?’ Drew looked flummoxed by Rebecca’s question. He turned to the assistant in the tourist information centre.

  ‘Oh, now there’s a question. The George is the one with disabled facilities, so it must have a lift.’

  Rebecca looked at Drew, whose face now registered enlightenment. She smiled at him.

  ‘The clue is in the question, Campbell. Our friend must be at the George.’

  Thanking the woman, they made a note of the address of the George. Rebecca scribbled something quickly on a piece of paper. She turned back to the woman.

  ‘Could I trouble you for an envelope?’

  ‘Of course! Here you are.’

  Rebecca slipped the note she had written inside and sealed the envelope. She ushered Drew out of the door and they crossed the road and in a few moments more were back in the main street. The George Hotel was a few yards down.

  ‘So we just walk in and look for him?’ asked Drew. ‘Won’t be too difficult, I mean, how can you hide in a wheelchair?’

  ‘Now this time, Campbell, watch and learn.’ She walked into the hotel and went boldly up to the front desk. A smartly dressed girl looked up at her, smiling. ‘Oh good morning! I wonder if you could do me a favour? I help out at the Visitor Centre and one of your guests, a really nice old man in a wheelchair, came in yesterday and asked me for some information which I promised to drop in. He didn’t leave his name but he did say he was staying here.’

  The girl smiled, knowingly. ‘Mr Wood. Lovely chap, isn’t he?’

  Rebecca smiled back. ‘I wonder if you would see he gets this for me? Thanks so much.’

  ‘Of course, only too pleased.’

  Back out on the street, Rebecca could not restrain a smug smile. ‘You heard that? Mr Wood … the man in the wheelchair. In that envelope is my mobile number and a request that he rings this evening.’

  Drew growled. ‘Very good … you win.’

  Chapter 13

  The Crew of The Mary Jane

  Rupert glared out of his bedroom window. The beauty and tranquillity of the view over the countryside and coastline seemed to be mocking him. He was angry at being cooped up.

  Before him was his computer, at which he had been tapping away ever since he had woken.

  Sky had appeared with his breakfast and the interrogation had resumed. Rupert kept his mouth firmly and defiantly closed throughout, with the result that Sky left quite quickly, slamming the door. Rupert was surprised he had not stayed longer. He bore no ill feeling towards his mother, knowing how upset and distracted she was with the Admiral’s death and strongly suspicious anyway that this was all Sky’s doing. He ground his teeth in frustration.

  Drew had appeared in the tree house opposite and had tossed him the tape recorder with his Grandfather’s message. Rupert too had listened in bewildered awe. He looked back at the computer screen. Having listened to his Grandpa’s tape, he had been trawling the internet doing some investigations.

  ‘Rupert?’

  He turned in surprise at the sound of his mother’s voice. The key turned in the lock and the door opened. His mother stood in the doorway, looking at him wistfully. ‘Come on, out! This is ridiculous. I am not having my son locked in his room, John or no John. I’ve only just found out. Have you eaten anything?’ She looked at his barely touched breakfast.

  ‘I am pretty hungry, now you come to mention it.’ Rupert got up and crossed the room.

  ‘What have you been up to in here?’ His mother was looking at the computer screen.

  ‘Oh nothing. Just a bit of homework actually … thought I’d use the time profitably.’ Rupert groaned inwardly, barely able to believe he had actually said that. He was certain his mother would see through it but, luckily, she seemed preoccupied and did not appear to have listened.

  ‘Look dear, you must do what you think is right. God knows your Grandfather can be … could be … maddening. I really would like to know what he has said, or given you but I … trust you. I know you must have a good reason and will tell us when the time is right.’ She looked at him fondly.

  ‘Thanks, Mum. You know I wouldn’t hide anything from you, anything really serious. I’m only doing what Gramps asked. We have to respect his wishes, don’t we?’

  ‘Of course … oh, this is such an awful business. I don’t know how I am going to get through the funeral.’ Rupert watched his mother disappear downstairs in front of him. She seemed somehow smaller, as if the death of her father had worn her down. He bit his lip. He hated keeping things from her.

  * * *

  ‘Hey, stranger!’ Laura’s eyes lit up as she entered the kitchen, where Rupert was tucking in heartily to a plate of eggs and bacon. ‘When did you get out of jail?’ Rupert’s mother turned round from the sink, her expression light but suggesting she could not perhaps be seen to approve wholeheartedly of the humour.

  ‘Not eating porridge then?’ asked Laura, merrily.

  ‘Let’s call it parole for good behaviour �
� for now,’ smiled Rachel.

  ‘Let me just finish this and then you can tell me what’s been going on,’ muttered Rupert, so his mother would not hear. ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Looking for the man in the wheelchair,’ whispered Laura. ‘They went to Tregenna first thing so they should be back soon, I would have thought. Does Sky know your Mum let you out?’

  ‘No, and I don’t want to be around when he finds out.’ Rupert scraped up the last of his plateful. ‘Wonderful thanks, Mother dear! Just the ticket. All right if Laura and I go out for a walk?’

  ‘Well, yes, I s’pose.’

  * * *

  The Land Rover wound its way through high-sided narrow lanes and the rolling countryside at breakneck speed. Rebecca was beginning to wish they had taken the bus, as the gears crashed again and the elderly vehicle careered round another blind bend, Gaston honking heartily on the horn.

  ‘Wouldn’t want to be coming the other way,’ muttered Drew into Rebecca’s ear, hanging on to the side of the vehicle.

  ‘What’s that, old lad?’ shouted Gaston merrily above the roaring engine. ‘Enjoying the ride? Gets a bit dodgy just up here, so hang on!’

  ‘Gets dodgy?’ grimaced Rebecca so only Drew could hear. ‘This is the safe bit, then?’

  ‘You didn’t teach Rupert to drive, by any chance?’ Luckily, Drew’s words were lost in the engine noise.

  Rebecca shut her eyes tight as they crested a rise in the narrow lane and started to go downhill rapidly. A few more minutes of this hair- raising ride saw them screech to a halt. When Rebecca opened her eyes, the sea was straight in front of her.

  ‘Are we on the beach?’ she said, peering outside. ‘Or in the sea?’

  They pulled up on the jetty of a small, picturesque harbour nestling at the foot of a steep hillside. Boats rested on their moorings in the little haven. On the quay there was much bustle and activity, as fishing vessels unloaded the previous night’s catches, an aroma of salt, sea and fresh fish on the breeze.

  Along the front were a few shops leading to a spiders web of narrow alleys and lanes impossible for a car to pass down. It was not hard to imagine days gone by when smugglers and press gangs lurked in the shadows, poised to pounce on the unsuspecting and carry them off to sea. A large black dog was barking behind a wrought iron gate.

  ‘St Morwenna’s,’ explained Gaston. ‘Pretty little place, isn’t it? Well I’ve got a couple of errands to run for Gee. You two amuse yourselves for half an hour and I’ll see you back here. There’s a café over there if you’re hungry.’ He disappeared off into the labyrinth of lanes.

  ‘Coffee then?’ said Rebecca, eventually.

  ‘Cornish pastie might be more welcome!’

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. ‘Boys and their stomachs!’

  ‘We need something to steady the nerves. God, I thought he was a quiet, gentle bloke. He’s a nutter behind the wheel!’

  ‘Lewis Hamilton on speed.’ Even Rebecca had been slightly unnerved, although as usual she quickly recovered her composure. ‘Wonder who’d win between him and Rupe in the tractor?’

  They sat at the window table and were served coffee by a girl of about their own age. Drew tucked in heartily to a large pastie, polishing it off at a speed which made Rebecca shake her head. Outside, another fishing boat had recently arrived alongside the jetty and there was renewed noise and commotion as it began unloading its crates of fish onto the quayside. After a few minutes, two of the crew headed over towards the café.

  Drew pointed at them. ‘Here, might be an opportunity to ask about the Horns of Lucifer.’

  The two men came in, their rubber overalls lending the room a smell of sea and fish, which was enough to cause the owner of the café to appear from the kitchen.

  ‘The redoubtable crewmen of the Mary Jane. I’d know your aftershave anywhere!’

  ‘Is that any way to talk to your best customers, Bonnie Clampett?’ asked one of them, merrily. He raised an arm and sniffed his armpit in mock horror. ‘Fresh as a daisy.’

  ‘Eau de Mackerel more like,’ said the ruddy-faced Bonnie Clampett.

  ‘Take yourselves outside, Gerry Lee, and don’t be making my other customers pass out. I’ll bring your teas. I’m very sorry, young lady and gentleman.’ She shook her head in mock conspiracy at Drew and Rebecca, who were observing the exchange and smiling.

  ‘Don’t worry about us. Nothing like a good, salty smack to clear the airways,’ smiled Drew.

  ‘You see, Bonnie? The young gentleman is not overpowered by our … seasoning.’ Gerry Lee winked at Drew, as he and his companion went outside and leaned against the wall. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up.

  ‘Bonnie Clampett … Bonnie Clampett? I know that name … wait! Isn’t she the woman in the paper, who saw the monk?’ Rebecca was watching the café owner at work in the kitchen.

  ‘The one you weren’t too complimentary about, you mean?’ asked Drew, ironically.

  ‘Quiet! I’m going to have a word with her.’ At that moment Bonnie Clampett looked over.

  ‘Er, was it you who saw the ghost? You were in the paper?’ Rebecca smiled at her.

  ‘Indeed, my dear! The Black Monk ’imself ! Bold as brass in the graveyard.’

  ‘Must have been scary.’

  ‘Couldn’t see ‘is face, you see. He had this big black hood pulled down.’

  ‘It was definitely black?’ asked Drew.

  ‘As night, dearie. He ’ad this ’orrible, raspin’ breathing too. Ooh! Gives me the shivers even now. Made me drop my bag, he give me such a start. When I looked back, he’d vanished!’

  ‘Was that the only time you’ve seen him?’

  ‘Sure was, but you want to talk to old Jimmy Hendricks, the vicar. Says he hears him, weeping for the soul of his lost lady in the dead of night… Quite pally the two of them by all accounts. Ha!’ Bonnie Clampett disappeared with teas for the two trawlermen. Drew turned to Rebecca.

  ‘Let’s go talk to the fishermen. See what we can find out about the Horns of Lucifer.’

  Outside Gerry Lee looked up as they approached and smiled. ‘The smell was that good that you couldn’t bear to be apart, hey?’ He laughed loudly at his own joke.

  ‘I’m used to it myself,’ said Drew. ‘I live right by a harbour and often work the boats.’

  ‘And by that accent I’m thinking that’s not round here?’

  ‘Mallaig, west coast of Scotland.’

  ‘Ah! What brings you this far from home?’

  ‘Staying with a friend. Actually, we were hoping you might be able to help. We’re looking to go to a place called the Horns of Lucifer, only we’ve been told the waters are a bit dodgy?’

  ‘Treacherous is the word, son.’ Lee’s companion spoke for the first time and Rebecca was aware that both men had stopped smiling. The second was a few years younger but had an air of authority. ‘Nobody goes there, not even the best sailors. What would you want with the devil’s horns?’

  ‘Drew’s a good sailor,’ Rebecca smiled at the second man. ‘We heard there were some caves to explore there.’

  The two sailors were still stony faced. ‘Good sailor or not, the Horns are a graveyard. Many a boat has come to grief there over the centuries. Superstitious folks round here think it’s a cursed place. If you’re of the religious persuasion, it’s well named. You’d not catch me there in a month of Sundays.’

  ‘Strong currents?’ asked Drew.

  ‘The tow isn’t the half of it, and that’s bad enough. If the rocks don’t get you, the rip-tide sure as hell will. The waves surge through a narrow shelf between the islands, out onto a rock called the Serpent’s Tongue. It hits your boat one way then sucks you back onto the rocks in the twinkling of an eye. There’s tales of sailors thrown overboard being sucked right under the shelf and never coming out.’ Rebecca and Drew looked suitably chastened. Gerry Lee punched his companion gently on the arm and smiled. His friendly, easy-going manner seemed disposed to be welcoming.

&
nbsp; ‘Hasn’t got us yet, though hey, Billy? If you have to go near there, just stay well away from the Claw. Even if the rest of the sea’s a millpond, it can get rough as hell round old Lucifer. There are plenty of other places for you. There are caves all along the coast, some just under the folly there that go well back under the cliffs. And under the monastery itself.’

  ‘You stay well away from the monastery… Funny goings on.’ Billy stared at them unblinkingly. Rebecca suddenly found his gaze quite unnerving and intimidating.

  ‘Billy, you really are a ray of sunshine!’ Gerry Lee tried to laugh off his companion’s manner. ‘Billy Brough, Cornwall’s tourism spokesman and number one gloom merchant! You’ll frighten these good folks away!’

  Brough shrugged and spat on the ground. Lee gave him a friendly cuff and smiled again at Rebecca. ‘You’d never believe he’s our skipper, would you?’

  ‘What do you mean about the monastery?’ Rebecca eyed Brough warily but forced a smile, hoping to prise more information from them.

  ‘Odd.’ Lee shook his head. Rebecca thought she detected a sharp look from his companion.

  ‘Pirates used the monastery to hide their bounty, and through the centuries the monks have not always been quite as holy as thou. The militia was never allowed on the island, you see – holy ground.’

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell them about the ghost too,’ Brough eyed his companion, stony-faced.

  ‘Oh yeah!’ said Drew. ‘We like a good ghost story, don’t we, McOwan?’

  ‘Now don’t you be scaring these nice young people,’ said Bonnie Clampett, emerging from the café. ‘It’s an old fisherman’s tale, that’s what it is. Ghosts rowing across the sea to the Horns – never heard such nonsense.’

  Just then a man shouted from the boat and Lee and Brough looked up sharply. ‘That’s us, Gerry. Come on.’ He turned the gimlet eye on Drew again for a moment. ‘Be seeing you – and mind what I said.’

  Lee smiled hugely at Rebecca.

  ‘Don’t mind our Billy – the responsibility goes to his head and makes him sensible!’