‘Will you keep me posted on the investigation? Sleuthing’s a bit of a hobby for me and this is intriguing. You know where we’re staying.’
‘I can only let you know what’s out there for the public to know.’ He moved on.
Beth linked an arm through his. ‘You really are the limit, James. We’re on holiday, not delving into a mystery. I’m sure this Jarvis Wormstone won’t thank you for poking your nose in.’
‘He doesn’t need to know, does he? It’s odd don’t you think? A man going missing in the middle of a busy street, and with the parade going on as well.’ He felt Beth tug him back.
‘Who on earth is that?’
He followed her gaze. His eyes settled on a strange figure prancing along the road in a long green cloak and a fur balaclava. She wore several bead necklaces and a pair of ram’s horns fastened to her head with string.
She came to a halt, stared at PC Innes and stabbed a bony finger at him. ‘I curse you!’ She cried, then turned on her heels and ran up a side street.
‘Good lord!’ Said James.
‘Maybe she’s part of the festival.’
‘Mmm, do you think? She doesn’t appear to have a good impression of the local constabulary.’ They made their way back to the hotel. ‘Perhaps we’ll discover her identity in the pub tonight.’
CHAPTER SIX
They found a vacant wooden picnic table on the small rocky outcrop to one side of The Pilchard Inn. There were six benches in all and most were taken by holiday-makers. Wherever people sat, there was an uninterrupted view of the beach.
Mark and Luke, dressed in blue shorts and Aertex shirts, tugged Stephen’s arm.
‘Dad, can we go play on the beach please?’ said Mark.
‘And can we take Radley, too?’ added his brother eagerly.
Radley, as if understanding everything that had been said, gazed up to Stephen in anticipation.
Stephen handed the lead over. ‘Stay within sight and no g-going in the water.’
They cheered and raced down the sandy wooden stairs to the side of the pub.
James and Stephen made for the bar.
‘We’ve been transported to a p-pirate ship.’
They each gave a slow shake of the head. The bar was heaving and they jostled among not only customers but all things seafaring. An abundance of ornaments and relics from old ships and fishing boats decorated every spare inch of space, from floor to ceiling. Fishing nets with weathered buoys and plastic fish hung from the rafters. Attached to the walls were ships’ figureheads and maritime artefacts rescued from wrecks. Giant cannons with chipped cannonballs stood guard by the door and a ship’s wheel was fastened to the front of the bar. To the side of them was a life-size pirate with a moth-eaten parrot secured to his shoulder.
It was warm and the smell of beer, hops and pasties was an enticing one. The ancient oak bar was around six feet long with very little space behind for staff. Two young women were busy serving customers when a tall bear of a man with dark hair and a bushy beard came up from the cellar stairs and placed his hands on the bar. James put him at about thirty although he found that beards always put years on a man. Often, when they shaved them off, they looked much younger. The barman scrutinised him. He had to shout to be heard above the chatter and spoke with a strong Cornish brogue.
‘All right? Just arrived?’
‘Yes, this afternoon. We’re here for the festival and to celebrate our friend’s wedding anniversary.’
The man held a hand out. ‘Bidevin. Bidevin Tallack.’
‘Ah, you’re the landlord. I say, is that a Cornish name?’
‘It is. Bidevin is the Cornish word for hawk. You wanting a drink?’
James put an order in for two gin and tonics and he and Stephen opted for local ale. ‘Can you suggest one?’
‘We’ve our own little brewery just outside of the village. Polpennarth ale. Want to try it?’
‘A-absolutely,’ said Stephen.
James enquired after the pasties.
‘All gone today. Mam bakes ’em fresh every morning. Come mid-morning tomorrow and they’ll be a new batch out.’ He placed the drinks on the bar and reached under the counter for a tray. ‘You’re Lord Harrington?’
James did a double-take. ‘How on earth did you know that?’
Bidevin raised an eyebrow. ‘Locals chat. Desmond was raving about you being a racing driver and I was having a natter with Cardew Innes earlier. He was quite taken to be introduced to you. A real Lord, he said.’
James rolled his eyes. ‘I’m happy not to stand out from the crowd. By the way, this is Stephen Merryweather. He’s our vicar back home and one half of the celebrating couple.’
‘Welcome and happy anniversary. You’ve come at a good time.’
‘Y-yes, the festival looks very entertaining. O-our children will love it.’
James leant on the bar. ‘Shame that you’ve had some bad news with that chap going missing.’
Bidevin shrugged as he accepted payment. ‘I’m not crying over him. He had the hump with me the previous night ’coz I chucked him out. Have to do that sometimes with Colm; he don’t know when to stop.’ He leaned over the bar and brushed the hair from his forehead. ‘See that? Colm did that. Tried to punch me but lost his balance. He’s a big bloke, Colm, but not as big as me. Mind, he’s a good fisherman, Polpennarth man. Strange one though, him going missing. He’ll pitch up. Prob’ly sleeping it off in a ditch somewhere.’ He gave James his change and moved to the next customer.
Back at their bench, Stephen asked whether James was going to investigate Colm Fiske.
Anne looked on in anticipation. ‘Oh, do say you are. We could do it between us. And we have a dog. It’ll be like Enid Blyton’s Famous Five.’
Stephen groaned. Beth gave James a knowing look. ‘It’s no use you saying you’re not going to. You’ve already started asking questions.’
‘A-and there are some odd c-characters floating about. Have you seen that woman in the cloak?’
James sat up with a start. ‘Yes, did you?’
Anne explained that she’d shown up at the caravan site. ‘The owner told her to sling her hook. That’s the expression he used.’
‘B-but not before she shouted that Colm Fiske had it coming to him.’
‘How extraordinary.’ He told Beth and Anne about Colm being thrown out of the pub. ‘The young Fiske doesn’t appear to have endeared himself to people, does he?’
Beth reminded him that this was a small community. ‘I’m sure if you fall out with someone here, it would be awkward. Everyone knows everyone else.’
Anne agreed. ‘People are prone to take sides in such a remote village.’
‘The owner of the site said he didn’t know C-Colm well but he seemed a n-nice man.’
James supped his ale and watched Luke and Mark on the beach. The children were deep in thought about where to put the next turret on the sand-castle. Radley barked furiously, demanding a stick or ball to be thrown. Two other children stood nearby and Mark was quick to invite them to help.
He scanned the surrounding tables. Their neighbours were clearly tourists. The residents all had healthy, rugged complexions; unlike the visitors who had arrived with city paleness about them or who’d caught too much sun on their first day – their faces red and sore. A few people would be dabbing calamine lotion on that night.
‘I wonder where he lives?’
Beth caught her breath. ‘You’re not going round there are you?’
‘Absolutely not, no; but I did think we could accidentally bump into his wife and offer some empathy and support.’ He looked at Stephen. ‘You didn’t bring your dog collar, did you?’
Stephen raised an eyebrow. ‘I did not. I would introduce myself to the v-vicar here and glean some information but he’s on holiday himself.’
Anne fanned herself with a beer mat. ‘Beth, there’s a Women’s Institute here, do you think we should spend an evening with them – there’s bound to be some gossip
there.’
James couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Will you listen to yourselves? You sound like the Snoop Sisters.’
The remark caused some amusement. Rose and Lilac Crumb, two elderly spinsters back in Cavendish were renowned for their nosiness and for making two and two come to seven. James had nicknamed them the Snoop Sisters a few years ago and was careful about the conversations he had if they were in earshot. If they couldn’t hear what you were saying, they’d simply make assumptions and spread the rumours regardless.
Anne finished her drink. ‘Four people are better than one. We’ve always been on the periphery of your investigations and we’re in a lovely position to pry. No one knows us here – we’re just curious tourists.’
‘Well, I’ve heard it all now. You all admonish me for meddling and here you all are setting up a plan of action.’ He noticed Beth frown. ‘Darling, you have reservations?’
‘We’re behaving as if this were a game,’ she answered. ‘It’s not. The things you’ve been involved with have been dangerous. People have been killed and we’ve been put in perilous situations. We don’t know the villagers. We’d have to speak with everybody to even get close to what is happening here. How can we possibly investigate this? Remember, this is supposed to be a holiday.’
He rested his elbows on the bench. ‘Beth’s right. We’re here to celebrate your anniversary. We can’t go around meddling in people’s lives. And we already have conflicting information about Colm. Bidevin is not his biggest fan and your man at the caravan site appears to like him.’
Anne’s shoulders dropped. ‘You’re right.’ After a few seconds she sat upright and suggested that it wouldn’t hurt to simply listen or ask some innocent questions. ‘We may discover something and we could simply pass it on to that Inspector man.’
Stephen sighed. ‘No, I-I agree with Beth but I’ve a feeling you’re not g-going to let it go, are you? Your interest is already piqued.’
James suppressed a grin. ‘We could do as Anne said. Ask a few questions; simply tourists on holiday interested in the local mystery.’ He sought Beth’s approval. ‘Are you happy with that? You have to admit, it is compelling. How can a fit young man, who knows the area, simply disappear into thin air?’
Beth heaved a sigh and met everyone’s gaze. ‘If I see anyone doing anything more than that, I will put a stop to the whole thing. No one does anything silly.’ She singled out James. ‘Or wanders off without a word to anyone.’
‘Understood.’
Stephen finished his beer. ‘A-another round. I thought the l-landlord might know who that odd-looking woman was.’
James swigged the last of his ale. ‘Yes, come on, that’ll kick start our observations. Ladies, the same again?’
Anne added an order for lemonade for the boys.
With instructions in hand, the men returned to the bar where Bidevin took their order. ‘So, you’ll be watching out for Old Bogey tomorrow?’
‘Ah, yes, we’re looking forward to it. I’ve a feeling we’re going to see some odd sights over the next few days.’
‘Not wrong there.’
‘I-I saw an odd sight earlier.’
Bidevin set one pint on the bar and began pulling the next. ‘Oh yeah, and what was that?’
‘An e-elderly lady with horns on her h-head.’
‘Ah, you’ve bumped into old Nibbin.’
James exchanged a startled look with Stephen. ‘Nibbin?’
‘That’s right. Lives up on the moors. Comes down now and again for provisions. Don’t like anyone or anything; keeps herself to herself and you don’t want to be crossing her.’
‘Is she a Cornish lady?’
‘Polpennarth born and bred. Her uncle was the same, running about on the moors with a colander on his head spouting on about nature and Mother Earth.’ He placed the second pint on the bar and prepared the remaining drinks. ‘She’s harmless. Likes to scare people but she has a bit of fun with it to be honest. Likes Mam’s pasties.’
He took payment and moved on to the next customer. James and Stephen threaded their way through the crowds to join Beth and Anne.
‘Well,’ said James. ‘We’ve found out a little more about our cloaked lady.’ He went on to outline their discussion with Bidevin and the eccentricities of Nibbin. ‘I can’t imagine why she’d want to kidnap Colm Fiske.’
‘I can’t imagine she’d be able to,’ said Anne. ‘It sounds as if that fisherman is a big man - she didn’t look strong enough to tackle someone like that.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Beth, ‘she put him into some sort of mesmeric trance and seduced him into going with her.’
‘Or she’s doing something to him to satisfy a pagan worship thing.’
James rolled his eyes and reminded Anne that her imagination was, perhaps, a little too active. ‘She has her opinion on Colm though, judging by that comment you heard at the caravan site.’ A shadow crossed over them and he looked behind to see Desmond Simms. ‘Ah, Desmond, do you want to join us?’ He introduced the Merryweathers. ‘We were just discussing your little mystery down here with the missing fisherman.’
Desmond perched on the end of the bench next to James. ‘Yes, odd isn’t it? Still no word and Evelyn’s worried sick.’
‘Evelyn?’
‘His wife.’ He picked out a young, dark haired lady chatting near the roadside. ‘That’s her there.’ He got up. ‘Nice to see you all. Me and Viv are taking a hilltop walk. See you in the morning if not before.’
James studied Evelyn Fiske. She stood with a buxom blonde lady who he could imagine wouldn’t pull any punches. Evelyn looked as if she was in her late twenties. She had long chestnut brown hair and her shoulders sagged. There was an ingrained weariness about her, as if she’d had worries for some time. When she looked toward them, he found himself being surprised. There was fear in her eyes. He’d expected concern and worry. Was this the reaction of a wife missing her husband? He threw the question out.
‘I’m sure I would look harried if you were to go missing,’ said Beth.
‘I-I see what you m-mean though. She looks old, as if she’s had an awfully h-hard life.’
‘Perhaps she has,’ said Anne. ‘I can’t imagine being a fisherman’s wife is a bed of roses.’
Evelyn and her companion walked toward them and sat at the vacant table alongside. The buxom lady slapped the bench with her hand.
‘What you need is a stiff brandy, that’ll sort you out. At least you can do a few things now. No scurrying around like a church mouse.’
Evelyn shrank. ‘Hilda, I don’t think I’ll have a brandy – perhaps a small bitter shandy.’
‘Nonsense, brandy’ll put some life into you. And coming to the festival tomorrow will put a glow in your cheeks. You’re not to sit moping around, Evelyn Fiske; you’re not to feel sorry for yourself, things are looking up for you.’
Hilda marched into the pub, leaving Evelyn to fiddle nervously with the clasp of her handbag. James caught her eye and raised his glass.
‘Cheers. Are you local?’
The young woman’s eyes darted here and there as if the devil himself were going to leap out. ‘Yes, yes I am.’
‘We’re down for the festival. I suppose you go every year or even take part.’
‘Oh no, no, Colm-’ she twisted her ring. ‘I do some cakes for the WI stall.’
‘We do the same for ours, back home,’ said Anne. ‘Does your WI let other members in for the evening? Me and Beth are keen to pop into your meeting if that’s all right.’
Evelyn fiddled with her hair. ‘Well....I suppose it’s all right. You’d have to ask Hilda, the lady I’m with. Oh I don’t know! She may say no.’
James held his hands up in apology. The conversation had appeared to increase her anxiety. ‘It’s absolutely fine if it’s a no-go. The girls will just have to miss out for a week.’ He watched her fasten and unfasten the top button of her cardigan and asked her if she was well.
‘Quite well, thank you.’
<
br /> He noticed a quiet exhalation of relief as Hilda approached and thrust a drink in her hand. ‘Get that down you, it’ll warm the cockles of your heart.’ She plonked herself down next to her and Evelyn repeated Anne’s request about attending the WI. Hilda swung round. ‘Glorious. Always happy to meet members from further afield. We’re preparing for some festivities later in the month. City people are you?’
Beth explained who they were, where they were from and why they were visiting. Hilda asked direct questions that required little in the way of detail. Where was Cavendish, how many residents, how long had the WI been there; she had the grace to look astounded when Beth advised her it had been one of the first to be formed.
Hilda swigged her pint of ale down in twenty seconds. ‘We started in ’47. Thirty members and counting. Meet once a week.’ She slapped the table with the palm of her hand and brought Evelyn out of her daydream. ‘Come along Evelyn, we can’t sit here all night. I’ve to deliver sandwiches to Tris and you can’t mope about on your own.’ She helped the young woman to her feet and asked them if they were attending the festival the next day.
They confirmed they would be.
‘Jolly good. See you there. You won’t recognise me, I’ll be in character. Come along Evelyn.’
Once she was out of earshot, Stephen puffed out his cheeks. ‘G-goodness, she’s a whirlwind, isn’t she?’
James agreed. ‘A more assertive version of our Dorothy Forbes, don’t you think?’
Dorothy, the self-appointed director of the Cavendish players, was positively gentle compared with to Hilda. Beth put in that Hilda reminded her of James’ sister, Fiona. ‘She has that loud, extrovert personality.’
Anne remarked that she felt Fiona would be more tactful with someone whose husband was missing. ‘Hilda seemed incredibly unsympathetic, didn’t you think?’
The general opinion was that it was odd for Evelyn to be drinking in a pub a couple of days after her husband had disappeared. Ladies rarely drank in pubs alone although James felt Hilda would dismiss the notion and insist she had as much right to do so as anyone else.
Lord James Harrington and the Cornish Mystery Page 3