This year’s Summer Treasure Hunt Saturday blew in early from the west. For the first time in living memory, it was a windy midsummer’s day, the clouds moody and brooding and quite a difference from the blazing sun just a year before.
The group of friends gathered on the shoreline in brightly coloured macs and wellies, some bought en route.
Elizabeth’s corner shop received an unexpected boom in trade that morning as Cornwall’s famous weather showed unseasonal teeth. But the treasure hunters were not going to be put off by a mere blowy spell.
Jack, the latest addition to their little gang, joined them, which put a smile on everyone’s faces. He was their master digger and wasn’t bothered by the weather; his ragged fawn and white coat saw to that.
“Come on, JJ,” said Holly, slapping her legs as she ran down the beach with her sister and friends.
When the leaf-coloured National Trust officer blew the whistle and started the annual scramble for precious things with more of a windy grimace than a smile, Jack shot off ahead, barking excitedly as he sprinted past the competing families and casual crews. He disappeared round the headland, kicking up sand as he ran, oblivious to the cries of the girls, which were drowned out by the howling of the wind and the crashing of the wild white horse waves.
The juvenile posse gave joyous chase, of course, passing the usual treasure-hunting grounds on the way to the pools at the water’s edge.
They wouldn’t get much time to search this far out given that the tide would turn in under the hour and start to submerge the beach and rock pools alike.
Holly had set her purple watch alarm to the tide time, one of the many important lessons her father had drummed into her down the years.
As they arrived at the pools, Jack was barking excitedly and digging like a thing possessed.
Niamh and Reanna went to help him. But after ten minutes of digging they only pulled up some sort of smelly rag. They left the excited terrier to play as he rolled and wriggled himself all over it, as doggies do.
“Ewww,” they all cried.
“Why do dogs have to do that? It’s gross,” said Reanna.
“My mum says it’s to cover up their smell when they hunt for rabbits,” said Alex.
“Cover it? It makes it worse. The rabbits will smell them coming from miles away,” said Niamh.
“Unless the plan is to smell like a fishy thing, of course,” said Holly. “That must confuse a poor bunny,” she laughed.
“That’s put me right off my pasty,” Lucy moaned as she placed their picnic rucksack by one of the larger rocks.
“Well, let’s get hunting ourselves,” said Holly eagerly, ruffling Jack’s head and making for the biggest pool in an outcrop of granite rocks.
The girls split up to cover the most ground.
Early finds were quite encouraging as they unearthed a trove of shiny things.
Along with several pieces of smooth sea glass, they found a couple of colourful, sparkly spinners left by the fishermen and handfuls of unicorn shells.
Lucy came across a 20p piece in a green bottle and Niamh found a very pretty broken locket in a rock pool, rusted shut, of course. But they didn’t have much luck finding the sort of treasure hidden as part of the competition, like bags of golden coins, medals, pretend jewels and such.
When the returning water started to creep up on them, erasing their footprints as it selfishly took back the beach, they decided to call it a day.
Alex had grazed her knee quite badly in her clamber over the barnacle encrusted rocks. It had been numbed by the cold but was starting to smart a bit now. The makeshift bandage they had made out of a picnic serviette kept blowing off and she needed a plaster, really.
The girls gathered their things and retreated to just above the high-tide line. They stopped briefly to munch on their pasties, eat the fresh juicy apricots and drink the cherry pop Nanna Jo had slipped into their picnic lunch.
While they were eating, Holly realised that Jack had wandered off again.
“Alex needs to get back. You three go with her. I’ll find him and then come and join you at the Fat Mackerel,” she suggested.
“But Dad said we shouldn’t leave anyone on their own,” protested her sister.
“I’m not, silly. JJ is with me,” Holly smiled.
Knowing how headstrong their friend could be and comforted by the fact that this was virtually their home village, at least in the summer, the friends reluctantly left Holly.
After hugs they set off across the sand, carrying their bucket of booty with them. The way back always seemed longer than before, much like car journeys home do.
Holly waved them off then packed up the picnic and went looking for the naughty furry boy. It was starting to drizzle a little now. The wet wind felt clammy on her face and she could taste the sea spray at the corner of her mouth.
She didn’t have to go that far to find their terrier.
Predictably stubborn and determined, he had returned to the spot on the other side of the rocks where he found the smelly rag earlier.
He was now growling while he tugged at something poking out of the sand, shaking his head vigorously with cloth in his mouth.
Holly laughed to herself and jogged over to her little ragged dog. But the smile quickly turned upside down when she got there.
Jack’s filthy rag was still lying abandoned in the sand where Niamh had left it, the cold water now licking at the dry material, about to drag it back out to sea.
Jack’s attention was instead focused on something different, something new. And, judging by what Holly could already see of it, it was something very special indeed.
Holly could tell from the red velvet material she could see already that what Jack had somehow found had belonged to someone very important.
What it was doing here on their beach she didn’t know. But the more they uncovered as they scrabbled with palms and paws, the faster the mystery grew.
Strangely, the material wasn’t dirty or smelly as you would expect from something that had been on the beach for, well, who knows how long? It was a bit moist in parts. But it wasn’t soiled or stained, not even after JJ’s persistent attentions.
After about five minutes of digging, she could tell that it wasn’t a dress or a coat as she had first thought. It seemed to be something people hardly ever wear apart from on stage or when dressing up. It was a robe or cloak. And where it fastened at the front she could now make out the letter E in very fancy, untarnished gold metal.
Encouraged by the fact that it seemed pretty clean, and oddly not that damp, Holly gave it a good shake and then slipped it around her shoulders.
This seemed to amuse Jack a great deal and he ran around her in excited circles, barking like a cheering crowd.
Holly turned to face the wind and the cape unfurled behind her with a snap, like a very fancy ship’s sail, flicking off grains of sand as it did. It was a perfect height and size for her and made her feel very grand indeed.
Picking up a long driftwood stick, she playfully pretended to hold court while the terrier jumped and gambolled about her. “Arise, Sir Jack,” she laughed as he now bit into the end of her gnarly staff.
Distracted by their find and perhaps a little fooled by her fantasy thoughts, quite out of character, Holly had failed to keep an eye on the creeping water and must have inadvertently turned off her alarm. Then she noticed that her feet were splashing wet.
The sun had dipped down behind the headland hill and, as the twilight ebbed in, she could see that the sea had already cut them off from the main beach.
Stuffing the new find into the space created by their brief feast, Holly quickly fastened the rucksack with numb fingers and slipped it over her shoulders.
Driftwood staff in one hand she scooped an ever-wriggly Jack up into the other. The water was already up to his tummy.
Lucky she was wearing wellies, she thought, as she turned to head back in the direction the others had gone.
It was then that she clearly heard the first loud splash.
Splashing is a funny thing.
Sailors often report that a splash can be heard even during the worst of storms. Somehow our sensitive senses are tuned to the signs of distress and Holly’s senses, famously more sensitive than most, were crying out that something was wrong.
She ran to the source of the sound, which was just the other side of the last green and grey rock that was rapidly disappearing beneath the returning sea.
Jack and long stick still in hand, she expertly leaped from rock to rock until she reached the top and could see through the swirling surf.
The sleet was almost a watery sheet now, whipped up by the growing wind that stung her face like a flicky damp towel.
She scanned the water for signs of life, half expecting, half hoping to see one of the seals that visited this beach from time to time, forgetting again the danger they were in.
But there was nothing in the water and, as Jack’s barks reminded her, they really had to go.
He wriggled free and dropped to a patch of damp sand on the rocks. As she stooped to pick him up again, she heard it once more, an unmistakable splash, but this time she thought she heard an accompanying cry.
“Help me.”
Without a second thought, Holly jumped the three feet into the shallower surf. The cold sea water instantly filled her boots but this was forgotten when Holly spotted the girl being swept towards the rocks.
Jack was barking uncontrollably now as wave after wave crashed near them, sending cold spray in arcs.
Holly knew she had to act quickly before she had two rescues on her hands and, leaning on the driftwood staff, she reached out and grabbed the girl by her outstretched hand.
“Use your legs to push towards me,” she mouthed above nature’s noise.
Then, somehow, she found the strength to pull them both onto what was left of the shoreline, heaving and gasping as they collapsed in a sodden heap.
Moments later they were joined by a very soggy terrier as Jack made his own way to them, half paddling and half belly-surfing as only he knew how.
He was the first to greet the stranger properly as he darted up her chest and started licking the salt water from her face without waiting to be invited.
“Jack, get off!” said Holly. “What happened? Are you ok?” she asked, finding it hard to conceal the concern in her voice.
The stranger, however, gingerly swept her wet blonde hair from her face and simply smiled.
And, when she eventually opened her mouth to speak, Holly could hear nothing but the sounds of the sea.
What happened next was a blur for a long time.
When Holly first woke up in her bed at the cottage, the dreams had taken over again.
She remembered Pops by her bedside, holding her hand, Nanna wiping her brow gently or kissing her face.
But in between, all she could recall were the dreams.
In her delirium she was often sort of flying, floating just above the outstretched hands of twisted creatures clutching at her, faces contorted, dribbling mouths agape.
Others had huge fangs and claws that they clacked together like huge scissors, snipping and slashing obscenely.
Eventually, from the shadows burst four figures clad in light, chastising and then chasing the wicked ones back to their lairs only for them to catch fire, regroup and hunt her, again and again.
It took a day for the fever to break and, when Holly finally came round, the first thing she noticed was the velvet cape draped over the bottom of the patchwork quilt on her bed.
So it hadn’t all been a dream.
Dad was asleep on the green chair. He had obviously been there all night, perhaps a few nights, and even in his sleep looked exhausted.
Lucy was flat out in her twin bed on the other side of their room, snoring sweetly.
Holly slipped from beneath the sheet, not wanting to disturb her family, and, despite shaky legs, avoided the creaky floorboard as she crept from the room.
She was very thirsty and poured herself a long glass of elderflower cordial from the jug in the pantry.
She then nestled down in the cushions on the window seat that the light always visited first after it danced over the harbour water.
She yawned and sighed. It was a lovely dawn, quite the loveliest she could remember since, well, since they had been coming to this coast.
As her turquoise eyes lazily watched the seabirds head out to their favoured fishing spots, she sleepily but gradually recalled the events on the beach.
And then she remembered the girl.
“Where is she?” she thought, in part panic. “What happened? How did I get back here?”
Then she noticed that the dawn sunlight was glowing particularly warmly at the front of the house. Their white gate flashed almost orange in the rays reflected from the wall on which the mystical archway stood proud.
Holly got to her feet, drawn by the light, Nanna’s shawl falling to the floor as she crossed to the door.
Then she slowly reached for the large black key. But her heart skipped a beat when she realised that the door was already unlocked.
As she gently pushed the top half of the door slowly open, she could tell that something was different; something important had changed.
There, sitting on their shell-mosaic and iron bench, was the blonde-haired girl she had rescued from the waves. Above her, iridescent and pulsing like a gentle heartbeat, was their Moonstone.
Was it humming ever so very quietly?
The mysterious Moonstone was alive. Yes, alive, and radiating the gold and silver twinkling light that they had thrilled at last summer when it danced on their bedroom wall.
Holly’s gaze was torn between the beautiful light show and the girl. She felt a strange mixture of awe and wonder and a tinge of what must have been fear, as she sensed at that moment that everything in their lives was about to change.
“Hello!” said Holly, placing her hand gently on the pale shoulder of their visitor as if to check that she was real and not an overspill from her delirious dreams.
The girl turned her head, not in surprise as you would imagine, but with a warm welcoming smile, as if she was expecting her to be there.
A slender hand made a gesture with her mouth until Holly realised that the girl, who looked just a little younger than her, couldn’t speak.
“Don’t worry,” said Holly. “I have an idea.” She disappeared back into the cottage for a minute or two before returning with a pad and the bright coloured pencils they used for drawing.
“We can use these.”
Just then the Moonstone pulsed again and Holly looked up to see a kaleidoscope of colours dancing on its milky face.
“I’ve never seen anything like the way it’s reflecting the light this morning,” said Holly. “Have you?” But to her great surprise the girl nodded.
When Holly looked down at the paper, she was astounded to see a beautiful drawing of her stone, but not as a stone on its own; it was now part of a necklace containing what looked like seahorses, dolphins and pretty fish.
“You’ve seen this stone before?” Holly whispered.
The girl nodded, then picked up the pad again and started to write. This time, it was a name: Savannah!
Then she pointed to herself and smiled at Holly again.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Savannah,” Holly said, with a relieved voice. “I was so worried about you when you were in the water. I thought that you had… you had…”
And then, quite unexpectedly, she started to cry.
Her new friend put her arm around Holly until she had composed herself again.
“There’s so much we need to ta
lk about, to understand together. Yet somehow I feel like I’ve known you all of my life.”
And there the two girls sat together, gazing out across the waking harbour, an early-morning sight usually reserved for just the fisherfolk and the birds.
Holly didn’t know whether it was the first tentative rays of the morning sun, but she felt warm and secure next to her blonde-haired companion.
So there they stayed for quite some time until the rest of the residents of their little cottage gradually started to stir.
“Morning, ladies,” yawned a sleepy-eyed Pops as he staggered out barefooted and sat down on the wall.
“What a glorious day it promises to be and how happy I am that we’re all safe and sound and back here together. You gave us quite a scare,” he said, looking lovingly into Holly’s eyes. “If it hadn’t been for Savannah here coming to fetch me, I shudder to think what could have happened.”
Holly felt the surprise rise in her tummy but forced it back down again with a shrug and a smile. Something told her that there was more to this than she understood now so she simply reached out and held her father’s big hand.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said sheepishly. “You know how crazy JJ can get and…”
Taking his cue the terrier sprang into life where he had been snoozing and started licking the sides of her mouth, making her giggle and gag.
“We’re all just relieved that you’re ok now. Savannah wanted to stay with you until you recovered from the fever and we’re grateful for the way she helped look after you.”
Savannah started writing on the pad again, suggesting that she would have to go this morning as she was expected elsewhere.
After she and Holly arranged to meet up again later in the week, they said their farewells and set off along the harbour road. She was last seen making her way down the harbour steps to the beach.
“Lovely girl. Does she live round by Kynance Cove?” asked Pops. “I must say I’ve not seen her and you never mentioned her before”
Holly didn’t answer because, of course, she couldn’t, given JJ’s constant attention. So when he finally jumped off her lap at the smell of bacon frying, she smiled again and pretended to drift back off for a nap, her face lit up by the morning sun.
Legend of the Lost Page 2