‘I don’t ’ave much choice, do I? I’m not letting you and Beth go on your own.’
They made arrangements to meet ten minutes later at the harbour. It gave him and Beth time to change into something warmer. They both had woolly jumpers for the cold evenings and changed into trousers and plimsolls. Bert had donned his trademark flat cap and a large sweater.
At the harbour, Lisa handed the keys of her motor boat over to James and instructed him how to turn the engine on, how to steer and slow down.
‘There’s some spare petrol in the jerry can there. You be careful. And don’t you be any longer than you said. Fifteen minutes.’
James handed Lisa some cash and promised they’d be back promptly.
‘You be careful and wear your life-jackets. It’s getting choppy out there. I’ll wait ’ere.’
With their life-jackets on, they stepped into the boat, struggling to keep their balance. It was a copy of a classic Hacker Craft, with varnished wood and two bench seats. James instructed Bert and Beth to sit on either side of the rear bench. James slipped into the front and got his bearings on where the controls were.
The engine fired up and Lisa untied the rope and threw it to the back of the launch. James gently pushed the throttle out and they pottered along. An anxious feeling ran through him as they passed the harbour walls. He pushed the throttle down further and the throaty engine responded.
The lights of Polpennarth were now behind them. In front was darkness - the welcoming blue seas of daytime had turned inky black. A chilly wind picked up and the sea slapped the boat. He turned the wheel and followed the coastline. The coloured lights along the promenade gave him some sort of indication of where they were in relation to the town and how far out they’d gone.
Bert shifted forward. ‘These lights, were they in a sequence, like Morse code or something?’
James shouted against the noise of the engine. ‘I don’t think so. It was all pretty vague but very clear.’
‘Are you sure there’s no island ’ere?’
‘Not according to the locals and it’s certainly not visible from the shore if there is one.’
Beth squeezed his shoulder. ‘There’s our hotel. We must be close.’
James pulled back on the throttle and they drifted on the tide. He stared out to sea and then checked his watch. ‘It’s two minutes to eleven. Keep your eyes peeled.’
The chill of the evening seeped into his bones as the wind picked up. Constant waves bounced them from side to side, lapping the side of the launch as if to urge them to return. James suddenly had misgivings. They weren’t far out but what if they capsized; what if they sprang a leak? He realised his mouth was dry.
Beth hugged herself. ‘I don’t see anything and it’s gone eleven.’
Bert shifted in his seat and looked toward the shore. ‘What’s that there?’
James turned and followed Bert’s pointing finger. Up on the cliff-tops, a light made its way along. It was intermittent. ‘It looks like someone with a lantern or something. Someone strolling along the footpath perhaps.’
‘At this time of night? What’s up there?’
‘A couple of farms. The farmhouse café and the Sanctuary’s a bit further along but they’re both closed.’
Beth scrunched up to stay warm. ‘It may be the farmer looking for lost livestock.’
James looked out to sea. Was it signalling to anyone? In front of him, nothing but murky blackness. A thin layer of cloud obscured the stars. He told Bert and Beth to hold on as he turned and opened up the throttle. Beth insisted he slow down.
Bert tapped him on the shoulder. ‘They’re gone. Whoever was up there has either switched their light off or gone inside.’
‘But I’m sure all the buildings are further along,’ said James explaining that they’d driven that route earlier. The closest house was the farm where they’d had a cream tea. He pulled back on the throttle. They could see the harbour lights about a mile ahead of them. The sea rocked them back and forth.
‘James,’ said Beth, ‘I’m really getting quite chilled. It’s gone eleven and we’ve seen nothing except someone with a lantern. It’ll be a farmer or someone walking their dog. They do have some sheep up there. Can we please go back; this seems a wasted exercise.’
He agreed that it had been a foolhardy decision and fidgeted to get comfortable in the driving seat. As he went to push the throttle Bert shouted. ‘Watch out!’
Beth screamed. James squeezed his eyes shut and instinctively ducked as the roar of a huge speedboat passed by. He waited for the impact, the collision that would reduce their boat to splinters. The speedboat veered and sped into the night. They grabbed the sides as the following wake tipped the boat violently.
Beth put her hand on her chest and took a deep breath.
‘Bloody Nora,’ said Bert. ‘That was close.’
James pushed down on the throttle and headed for the harbour. As they entered, the safety of the surrounding walls provided a welcome calm and they breathed a sigh of relief when the vacant mooring came into view. Lisa caught the rope from Bert and secured it to the rusty iron ring cemented to wall. James helped Beth onto dry land.
Bert joined them and asked Lisa if she saw a speedboat go by. The young girl shook her head and pointed to her hut. ‘I was in there, listening to the radio.’
‘Lisa,’ said James, ‘is there someone here that owns a speedboat? A pretty classy vessel with a lot of engine?’
She pulled a disinterested face and shrugged. ‘I’ve gotta go, it’s getting late.’
He returned the keys and life jackets to her and gave Beth’s shoulders a squeeze. ’Come on, let’s get you home. I think we’ve all had about enough tonight. Where are you staying Bert?’
‘The bed and breakfast in Pier Road. But I’m up to the races tomorrow morning so I prob’ly won’t see you.’
James slapped him on the back and thanked him for being there. ‘I do appreciate it Bert; I always feel as if you have my back covered.’
Bert gave Beth a hug and told her to keep her husband in line. ‘I’ll see you back in Cavendish and don’t do anything else stupid. Get back to being on ’oliday.’
They parted company and as they wandered back to the hotel James apologised for hiring the boat and risking their lives. ‘It was senseless. I should have listened to you. I don’t even know what I gained from it.’
‘Ordinarily, I’d agree but that boat must have seen us. It had a search light on it. I saw it in the distance and it turned toward us. It was intentional.’
He stopped and faced her. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’
She nodded.
‘Perhaps Bidevin was right. I’m asking too many questions and someone has become tired of it.’
‘This isn’t a game James. We could have been killed out there.’
‘No darling. That boat could have sliced us in two but it didn’t. It was there to scare us off.’
‘Well it worked. Let’s be scared off and get on with our holiday.’
When they arrived at the hotel they saw that Desmond was still up. He put his pen down. ‘Ah hello. We’ve just had Gretchen on the telephone with the latest.’
‘Oh?’ said James.
‘Yes, seems Enoch Pengilly’s gone missing.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
James paced the bedroom floor, itching to learn more about Enoch’s disappearance. The near head-on collision the previous night meant he owed it to Beth to revert to holiday mode. But, while she was washing and styling her hair, he decided to make enquiries about one thing. With the excuse of wanting to pick up a couple of leaflets, he trotted down the stairs to reception where Vivian was dusting the worktop.
‘Off somewhere nice?’
‘Yes, St Ives. It looks a quaint little place and we wanted to look at some of the art galleries.’
‘Lovely.’
He picked up a leaflet about St Michael’s Mount and gave her a sideways glance. ‘I say, do you know anyone that dri
ves a large, powerful speedboat. White, with quite a long bow to her.’
‘That’ll be Johnny Sepp. He’s got a fishing fleet in Penzance and St Ives.’
Desmond came through from the back office. ‘Nice boat. He saved for years to buy her. Only brings it out on high days and holidays.’
‘Or,’ added Vivian, ‘if he wants to impress someone.’
James leant on the counter. ‘He doesn’t take it out at night?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’
Desmond brows knitted together. ‘I don’t think anyone goes out at night unless it’s the fishermen; certainly not in a speedboat – could do it some damage depending on the current. There’s a rocky line running along the sea-bed and it’d rip the hull out depending on the tide. Can’t say someone like Johnny Sepp would want that.’
James thanked him and returned to their room to pick up his car keys. He brought the Austin round to the front of the building to pick up Beth. He jumped out and squeezed her shoulders. ‘Are you all right, darling?’
She hugged him tight and assured him she was. ‘I won’t be going out on any boats for a little while though.’ She got into the car. ‘Let’s go and have a relaxing morning.’
He closed the door and jogged round to the driver’s side, wondering all the time whether Johnny Sepp would be in St Ives.
Fluffy white clouds hung in the blue sky as the Austin climbed the hill away from Polpennarth. There was a contented silence between them; each lost in their thoughts. They’d gone through a mixture of emotions on what had been a busy day but one that had almost ended in disaster. James found it difficult to push the event from his mind and struggled to focus on the good things, the reason they were here; a holiday, cream teas, exploring new places, the vibrant Legends festival and the delight in sharing the Merryweathers’ anniversary celebrations.
The car crested the hill and dipped into the next valley. James lightly tapped the brake pedal. He repeated the action and frowned. He sped up the next incline. As they reached the peak, the rooftops of St Ives appeared in the distance. The whole town appeared to cling to steep hills that swept down to the harbour.
The road dipped again. He dipped the brake pedal and went down through the gears quickly. Beth looked at him. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘The brakes are a little spongy.’ He crested the next hill slowly and again went down the gears as the hill dipped. It was a steep decline and families were making their way down toward the harbour and beaches. He noticed Beth grip the leather strap on the door.
He slipped down into second gear; the engine screamed in defiance. James watched the speedometer. Twenty-five... twenty... fifteen. He used what oil was left in the brake line and pumped the pedal quickly until it was floored. He pulled on the handbrake and the Austin came to a gentle stop.
He let his shoulders relax, rested his head back and let out a nervous laugh. ‘That was a little unnerving.’
‘Didn’t you get this serviced recently?’
James assured her that he did. He jumped out of the car and opened the bonnet. Peering down through the pipes, he noticed oil dripping from the brake line. He got down on his knees, rolled onto his back and peered at the underside of the engine. His stomach lurched; the brake line had been snipped. He examined it as closely as he could. It hadn’t been cut right through, just nicked. Had he driven over rough ground and caught it? He waved that idea away. If he had, the wire around the nick would be grazed. No, this was a clean cut. Intentional.
He clambered back to his feet and rubbed the dust from his hands. Looking past Beth, he saw a telephone box.
‘Darling, I’ll ring the RAC and see if they can send someone out. It looks like the brake-line has come loose and I don’t have the tools to fix it. I don’t mind doing a rough and ready repair on most things, but not the brakes. Why don’t you hop on a bus and I’ll meet you down in the harbour.’
Beth accepted this without question. She perused the small guide in her hand. ‘I’ll hover around the Coffee Cup café at eleven o’clock. Hopefully you’ll have arrived by then.’
James checked his watch. That gave him over an hour. ‘If I’m there before, I’ll scout around and try and find you.’ He pecked her on the cheek and watched her walk toward the bus stop. He turned and made his way to the phone box.
The mechanic from the Royal Automobile Club arrived within twenty minutes and had James on his way shortly after. He’d still fifteen minutes before meeting Beth so he parked by the railway station, wandered through the cobbled streets and knocked on the harbour master’s door.
‘I say, is Johnny Sepp here?’
‘He’s around, yeah.’ The man spoke with a pipe in his mouth. He joined James at the door. ‘That’s him there. The man in the oilskin trousers with the crew cut.’
James strode up to Johnny Sepp. He stood around four inches taller than James and clearly worked a physical job. A powerfully built individual with a steely look. His short hair was bleached by the sun and, although he was around forty years of age, his skin was dry and weather-beaten giving the appearance of someone much older.
‘Mr Sepp?’
Johnny met his gaze and narrowed his eyes. ‘Do I know you?’
‘You should do; you damn near ran me down with that boat of yours last night.’
‘Ah.’
‘Is that all you have to say? You could’ve killed us.’
‘I could have. But I didn’t.’
‘If you wanted to warn us off about something, you only had to say.’
‘I got nothing to warn you off about. I was asked to swing by.’
James gawped. ‘Someone asked you to do this?’
Johnny bent down and picked up the end of a rope and began looping it around his elbow. ‘I got a note under my door early in the evening. Typed it was. Said if I took the speedbird out last night and did a high speed pass to scare you, I’d get ten pound. They said it was a joke and you’d see the funny side.’
‘A joke!’
He shrugged. ‘That’s what it said and ten pound is ten pound. And they paid up. That’s a pound a minute. Won’t get that sort of money every day.’ He stopped winding the rope. ‘It wasn’t a joke I take it?’
James confirmed it most certainly wasn’t. ‘My wife was beside herself. Was it you who tampered with my car?’
He straightened up. ‘Now hold on a minute. I don’t tamper with things. I don’t know anything about your car and I wouldn’t put anyone in danger unnecessarily.’ He held a hand out. ‘I’m sorry about the boat thing. You’ve obviously rubbed someone up the wrong way. What you been doing?’
James muttered under his breath. ‘Asking too many questions.’
Johnny tilted his head in confusion and James let it go. His instinct told him this man was telling the truth. He accepted the apology and wandered back toward the shops that lined the harbour. He gritted his teeth. First he’d been scared off at sea; now his brake-line had been cut. Someone is intent on having him back off. He caught Beth waving in the distance and his worries disappeared. She looked stunning in a canary yellow dress with thin shoulder straps. She’d caught the sun over the last couple of days and this complemented the outfit. He held a hand up and walked toward her.
They passed a pleasant hour in the village of St Ives and were delighted to find a beautiful painting by a local artist for the Merryweathers’ anniversary present. It depicted the view looking across Polpennarth and out to sea. As they sat with a milky coffee on the cobbles outside the Coffee Cup café, the town rose above them on the hillside. The layout was higgledy-piggledy with cottages, apartments and houses jostling for space from the top of the hill right down to the harbour which was surrounded by several sandy beaches.
The tide was as far out as it could go and many families had made their way to Porthminster beach just around the corner from the harbour. Out to the distance, on a small island, was Godrevy lighthouse built on a stone reef. They could just make out white, foamy waves, spl
ashing on the rocks there.
Pleasure cruisers rested on the sand waiting for the sea to bring them back to life and fishermen, at the end of the harbour wall, prepared their nets for the next trip. The smell of fish, chips and seaweed mingled and gulls sat on wooden posts waiting for discarded crumbs of batter or Cornish pasty. They squawked encouragement and pounced once the tiniest morsel dropped.
Beth closed her eyes and faced the sun. ‘What time are we meeting Stephen and Anne tomorrow?’
‘There are two parades for the Knockers. One is a family thing that Luke and Mark are going to and there’s a later one; an after-dark affair. It starts at ten o’clock. We’re meeting outside The Pilchard Inn at nine thirty. Stephen had showed initiative and asked Bidevin to put by some pasties for us. He’s wrapping them up so we can eat them as the parade goes by. I’m rather looking forward to it.’
‘Mmm, me too. It’s a good festival, isn’t it? Perhaps we could do something like this in Cavendish. Do we have many Sussex legends?’
‘Not as many as Cornwall. I’ll have to do some research but, yes, if we’ve half a dozen we could certainly incorporate that into our year.’
She checked her watch. ‘I’m a little concerned.’
James turned, reached across and squeezed her hand. She’d had a couple of scares and he knew he’d crossed the line. ‘Tell me.’
‘You’ve not mentioned the kidnappings today. Not once. You’re either hiding something and doing things behind my back or what happened last night has scared you into dropping it. Which is it?’
James studied her until she shifted uncomfortably and asked why he was staring. ‘Because you are too perceptible for your own good.’
She waited.
The waitress came to collect their cups and he requested another two coffees. He settled back in his chair. ‘The RAC chap came and fixed the car but I also made another telephone call. To Inspector Wormstone.’
‘About last night?’
‘Darling, what happened last night could have killed us. This business of investigating the kidnappings is a selfish act and one I should never have begun. I mean, good grief, Polpennarth has a population of around three hundred. How could I possibly get to the bottom of this? I don’t know these people. They’re not going to confide in me, are they? It’s a closed community.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘I’ve arranged to meet Wormstone at the little cream tea place we went to yesterday at three o’clock. I’m going to let him know everything we’ve found out and spend the next few days enjoying this holiday.’
Lord James Harrington and the Cornish Mystery Page 14