Cardew Innes was dressed in jeans and a checked shirt. He looked like a teenager without his police uniform and helmet. His hair was smoothed back with Brylcreem.
‘I say, I didn’t recognise you at first. You’re obviously not on duty.’
‘No, no, finished two hours ago. I’ve just had a couple of pints at The Pilchard and come in for some chips.’
Behind them, Flora admonished her husband again. ‘You’ve not put enough batter on, put ’em through again. Honestly, do I have to do everything around here?’
Innes pulled a face at James who suppressed a grin and invited the young man to sit with them.
They gathered around a small table where Innes sprinkled vinegar on his chips along with a generous helping of salt. He used a wooden fork to prod a solitary chip and held it up in triumph.
‘Can’t beat fresh cooked chips.’ He pushed the bag to the centre of the table. ‘Help yourself if you want one.’
It was clear to James that everyone was keen to dig in but too polite to do so after they’d had such a delicious meal. He stirred his tea. ‘So how’s the investigation going, Cardew? Do you have an idea of who did it and where those men are?’
Cardew swallowed his food. ‘Not officially no but the locals have all had their say.’
James raised an eyebrow and invited the young man to elaborate. Fortunately, he was more than happy to do so.
‘Well, the mad Nibbin is a suspect in just about every crime around here, whether it’s kidnapping or someone’s bottle of sauce gone missing. Most of the older people, Polpennarth folk, say it’s Old Bogey or the Knockers or Spriggans.’
James exchanged bewildered looks with everyone and Cardew smiled in apology.
‘Spriggans and Knockers are two of the Cornish legends for the festival. We’ve had Old Bogey today. He lives in the shadows and comes out at night to scare you witless – I think everyone has the Bogeyman whatever country you’re in. But the Spriggans and Knockers are Cornish and a little more sinister.’
‘In what way?’ asked Beth.
‘Spriggan is a name given to a family of fairies. They’re supposed to be related to Piskies but they’re more menacing. Piskies are mischievous but fun, they play practical jokes on you but not with any bad intentions. But Spriggans, well they’re darker. Dangerous. They hang out in ruins and on windswept crags and live among the standing stones.’ He munched a couple more chips and continued. ‘Their most common trait is to lead people into swamps or toward crumbling cliff-tops and watch them fall or struggle till they die.’
‘Good lord,’ James exclaimed.
Stephen scratched his forehead. ‘P-people really believe all of this?’
‘Oh yes. Well I suppose these myths and legends have to start from some basis of fact, don’t you think?’
Anne commented on the Merry Maidens and Stephen stared at her. ‘W-what are the Merry M-maidens when they’re at home?’
‘I read about them in a leaflet. They’re a collection of standing stones in Cornwall that are thousands of years old. Apparently, they’re the remains of young women who danced on the Sabbath and, because of that, they were turned to stone.’
‘That’s right,’ said Cardew, ‘there’s also some more stones a little further away who were the pipers. There’s quite a few of those sort of stories connected to standing stones.’ He sat forward. ‘And some people have received electric shocks from those stones.’ He gave them a ‘what do you think about that?’ look.
James sipped his tea and asked Cardew about the other group of legends, the Knockers. The young man sprinkled more salt on his chips.
‘Ah, yes, the Knockers. Some folk say that Knockers and Spriggans are the same thing but Knockers confine themselves mainly to the tin mines. The miners would hear knocking when they worked down the mine and that signalled where they should be digging.’
‘S-so the Knockers were an underground f-fairy godmother.’
‘I suppose they were but you have to treat them with respect. If any miner offended a Knocker, they’d be led down dangerous places and be lost in the mine forever.’
Anne shivered. ‘That sounds horrible. What sort of things did the miners have to avoid?’
‘Whistling, spying, making a sign of the cross; all that sort of thing’d annoy them. To be on the safe side, a lot of miners would leave some of their lunch where they’d heard knocking to apologise for anything they might have done.’
‘And what do these Knockers look like?’ asked James. ‘Same sort of get up as the Spriggans?’
Cardew described a sinister character, dark and menacing and explained that the Knockers had their own parade in a few days. ‘The Spriggans are similar in mentality to the Piskie and they’re all part of the Fairy family. It’s the turn of the Fairies tomorrow. Should be a good turn out and good fun too as it’s more geared up for the children.’
‘Do you believe that fairies are responsible for these kidnappings?’
The young man answered with a wry smile. ‘No, your Lordship, I don’t. But there’s plenty here that do and you’d best not mock ’em. They won’t appreciate it.’
‘Who in particular?’
‘Like I say, most of the old ones, mainly Polpennarth born. Most of ’em won’t admit it to strangers. Gretchen Kettel down in the little gift shop. Bidevin and his ma. Old mad Nibbin who lives on the moor and those two that went missing. Their families are from Polpennarth so they grew up believing in that stuff. All the historic families here believe.’
Anne reminded him that he also grew up in the village.
‘Ah but my family come from Essex. Moved down here with Dad’s job. He drives the lorries round the farms, picking up the milk churns. Maybe there is something to it. After all, no one’s seen ’em since.’ He looked up with surprise. ‘Speak of the devil.’ He called out to Gretchen who scurried across; her oversize dress billowed in the breeze.
She chuckled. ‘Tch, where would Cardew be without his chips?’ Her sparkling eyes darted from one person to another with a quick hello to each of them.
‘I’ve just been telling our visitors about the Knockers and Spriggans and how the village think they’re responsible for those missing men.’
‘Oh yes. Yes. No doubt about it. And there’ll be more, yes, yes.’
James asked her why she would think such a thing.
‘Once they start, they don’t stop. Mischievous buggers. Doesn’t do to bring them to life every year. They do it in plain sight you know and no one sees them. Too fast.’ She checked her watch. ‘Time for my hot chocolate. Cheerio.’
She scurried off as quickly as she came.
‘I say, Cardew, do you know Colm and Bevis? What sort of men are they?’
‘Rough around the edges. Colm is a big man, proud and stands no nonsense. He finds the fishing hard, as do a lot of ’em. He’s seen friends die out there in the ocean. It’s made him a hard man and he takes it out on others sometimes, fighting and scrapping. Bidevin’s thrown him out of his pub so many times, I’ve lost count. Last time he said it would be his last; that he wouldn’t set foot in The Pilchard again. No love lost there, especially after Colm insulted Bid’s mum. No one insults her and gets away with it.’
‘What w-was that about?’
‘He reckoned the pasty recipe was in the Fiske family before the Tallacks got hold of it. They do a roaring trade in pasties and it’s a much easier life cooking pasties than battling the elements to catch cod.’
James and Beth met each other’s gaze. That was surely a motive. He asked Cardew about Bevis.
‘Easily led and mainly by Colm. He’s latched onto Fiske for some reason so tends to support his battles.’
‘Has he been banned from the pub too?’
‘Bevis? No, only Colm. He overstepped the mark.’ He pushed himself up from the table. ‘Right, I’d best be on my way. Nice to chat. Enjoy the festival tomorrow.’
They said goodbye to Cardew with the promise they were likely to see him at the
Fairy parade. James felt an excitement swirl in his stomach. Bidevin has motive and Bevis considered the fisherman a role model; he might have been sucked into something unpleasant.
And all this business about the Cornish Legends being responsible - surely these legends didn’t exist. This must be someone taking advantage of the folklore.
Back in their room, James slipped his dressing gown on and poured a nightcap for them both. Beth perched on a stool at the dressing table brushing her hair. He looked out of the bay window and a light out to sea caught his eye. Reaching for the binoculars, he scanned the ocean and settled on an area not far off the coastline. He zoomed in further but couldn’t make out any boats or ships. It flashed intermittently then stopped. It was eleven o’clock, the same time as on the previous evening. He turned to Beth.
‘Most odd.’
‘What’s that, darling?’
‘Well, last night I saw some lights out at sea, flashing as if they were sending a message to shore. Blow me if it’s not there again and at exactly the same time. I can’t see a boat out there though.’
Beth wrapped her gown around her and joined him. She studied the horizon. ‘I don’t see anything.’
‘It was definitely there.’
‘Was it like a signal or something?’
‘I don’t know. It was intermittent so I suppose it could be.’
He held Beth’s hand as they gazed across the harbour and out into the darkness. It was late evening; who would be signalling to shore at that time of night? Was this connected to the missing men? And did Knockers and Old Bogey exist? He admonished himself for even thinking such a thing. The person, or persons, behind this were brazen and happy to abduct people in broad daylight. He’d have to keep his eyes peeled the next day. If these men were going missing during the parades, why shouldn’t others? Gretchen Kettel seemed certain that more would disappear. He wondered if Wormstone would bring in some extra police to keep watch.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
James patted his stomach and complimented Vivian on her cooking. He and Beth had enjoyed a sumptuous cooked breakfast with crispy bacon, poached egg, mushrooms, fried bread and a sausage. ‘I believe our chef at Harrington’s would be impressed with this and that’s a difficult feat.’
Vivian noticed the brochure by his arm. ‘You thinking of going up to the Sanctuary?’
‘I don’t think Beth would permit me to leave Polpennarth until she’s seen some seals.’
Beth dabbed her lips with her napkin. ‘They look adorable. The weather’s holding today so we thought we’d pop in for an hour.’
‘They’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure. Are you going to the parade? It’s the fairies today.’
James confirmed that they’d spend an hour watching but was mindful that there were other things to do and see. ‘My wife and Anne are going to visit the WI and we’ve some walks we want to go on as well.’
Desmond strolled in with a plate of breakfast for a fellow guest. Having overheard the last piece of the conversation he suggested they schedule their outdoor activities that day. ‘There’s rain coming in later. Fortunately, there’s a day off from the parades tomorrow so it won’t spoil anything too much. Have you got a wet weather plan?’
James hadn’t really thought about it although he and Beth didn’t mind getting drenched providing they were dressed for it. ‘My father used to say there was no such thing as bad weather, just poor clothing.’
‘And,’ added Beth, ‘having somewhere warm to come back to.’
Vivian and Desmond assured them that the heating went on during wet days to take the chill out of the air and that the immersion would be on for a hot bath. Another couple entered the dining room and there was a quick hello between guests. The Simms went to attend to them.
‘I say, Beth, we could always take the Merryweathers up on their offer to meet Kerry Sheppard. After hearing what Jonah Quinn said last night, I’d be interested to meet her.’
Beth picked up the leaflet for the Sanctuary. ‘How about we watch the beginning of the parade with the Merryweathers, then drive up to the Sanctuary and have a walk across the cliff-tops? The rain’s due early evening so we could visit Stephen and Anne for supper.’
‘Good idea.’
The fairy parade took place on the beach. It was a smaller affair to the Old Bogey celebrations of the previous day and geared toward the youngsters. Most of the people taking part were children and James guessed that few men were keen to dress up as pixies and fairy kings and queens. He imagined that the numbers would swell again once the darker characters reappeared later in the week.
In the short time they’d been here, James had already come to recognise a few of the locals. Nibbin, for once, seemed to fit in with the whole concept of fairies and wore a hat that appeared to be made of leaves. Flora Chenery from the fish and chip shop stood in a group of a dozen women including Hilda, Evelyn and Debra. No doubt, poor Vic was back at the shop preparing fillets of fish for the lunchtime trade. James had the feeling that Vic did as he was told in that marriage. Thank goodness Beth didn’t nag like that.
Wormstone and PC Innes stood on the promenade surveying the scene.
The giant Bidevin and an accordion player led the procession and the landlord had somehow managed to maintain his masculinity even though he wore a ridiculous outfit. He moved gingerly in long brown shoes that curled up at the toes, brown tights, a knee-length green and red stripy jumper and on his head a knitted green and red striped pointed hat. He skipped ahead of the children with a knobbly wooden staff in his hand. Excited youngsters followed his every move, copying his dancing in time with the melody.
Mark dragged his brother along. ‘Come on.’
Luke ran alongside him with Radley and they followed for a few minutes until Radley decided chasing balls was much more fun.
The tide was out, leaving a huge stretch of golden sand where the organisers were inviting people to enter a competition. Stephen waved the boys back and read a piece of paper handed to him by a local.
‘Children and a-adults are invited to construct a s-sandcastle that fairies live in.’
Luke jumped up and down. ‘Let’s make a castle.’
Mark studied the beach. ‘Shall we make it here, Mum?’
Anne spread her hands wide. ‘Why not? We’re out of the way of the parade and the tide will take a while to reach this far.’
Without a moment’s hesitation, the boys picked up their spades and started digging. They instructed each other on who was to do what: dig trenches, build a moat; construct corners and different-sized turrets; there must be a drawbridge and they needed water to help mould the turrets. They raced toward the shoreline with their buckets.
James shook his head. ‘They really are a blast of energy, aren’t they?’
The beach was transformed into a hive of activity as plans and discussions took place over what a fairy sandcastle would look like. Dads hammered in windbreakers and Mums prepared their family areas for the next few hours, laying out tartan blankets and picnic essentials of flasks and sandwiches.
Stephen opened up a couple of deckchairs. ‘A-are you joining us or have you plans?’
Beth outlined their day and invited them to join them at the Sanctuary and for a walk later. James put forward the suggestion of supper with Kerry. Anne explained that the boys had been invited to the Sanctuary by their neighbours up at the caravan site.
‘We thought we might have a rest this afternoon but we’ll try and invite Kerry to supper and we can pick her brains. Shall we see you at the site around six? Oh, and we’ll keep an eye on things here.’ She positioned her deckchair to face the crowds. ‘Operation ‘Spot the Kidnapper’. Mum’s the word.’
James exchanged a bemused look with Stephen. He and Beth made their way up the steps to the promenade and greeted Wormstone and Innes.
‘Any news on your missing men?’
Innes shook his head.
Wormstone loosened his collar. ‘Not a sausage. I don�
��t get it, I really don’t. Those men knew one another, of course, but that’s about it. They didn’t belong to any clubs or attend any functions at the same time. They’ve no criminal record, just the odd skirmish outside the pub. They didn’t have any hobbies. I’m baffled.’ The Inspector scrutinised him. ‘You’re quite interested in this, aren’t you? Innes here was telling me you were asking questions. Can I ask why?’
‘You can indeed, Inspector, and it’s simply that I’m interested. I like puzzles and I am extremely puzzled by what has gone on here. I can assure you that I am not involved but if we stumble over any gossip we think you may need to hear, we’ll let you know.’
Wormstone gave a curt nod and, as they walked on, they heard the Inspector telling Innes to check them out.
In ten minutes, James had folded the roof down on the Austin Healey and they were making their way up a winding hill away from Polpennarth. He could see stretches of road ahead and went up and down the gears, relishing a proper drive. His short spell as a rally driver was one he would never forget and he felt the blood pumping as he put the Austin through her paces.
Beth held on to her straw hat and pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. ‘You’re reliving your Monte Carlo rally, aren’t you?’
Although she sounded stern, they grinned at each other. James couldn’t help it. A nifty sports car with the roof down, sunshine, the perfect rally road with bends and crests. The only difference between this road and the one in Monte Carlo was that this one led to a seal sanctuary. He had a sudden longing for the sophistication and casinos of the French Riviera. In the distance, a tractor trundled toward them. He went down through the gears and pulled into a small lay-by. Once it had passed, he pulled away.
‘I say, Beth, do you fancy going to Monte Carlo or Nice again? We haven’t been for quite some time.’
‘Oh darling, I’d love to. In fact, there are a few places I’d like to revisit. That little hotel in Naples, skiing in Switzerland. We’ve gotten out of the habit, haven’t we?’
James agreed. Running Harrington’s was marvellous and he couldn’t believe how successful it had become. And, getting so involved in the village festivities in Cavendish took up a great deal of time and there wasn’t a thing he hated about any of it. But, he did believe they were forgetting to enjoy some quality time together. They’d only been in Cornwall a couple of days but they were already unwinding and enjoying a change of scene.
Lord James Harrington and the Cornish Mystery Page 7