They displayed various images: photographs of missing cats, a reward for a stolen bicycle and an advert for the Cornish legends festival. Further along, in a locked display case were photographs of Colm Fiske, Bevis Allan and Enoch Pengilly. She moved closer.
Colm had an old-fashioned look about him, as if he belonged in the 1930s. He smoked a pipe, had two days of stubble and wore a black Greek fisherman’s hat. He looked every inch the man that people spoke of – a man’s man who stood no nonsense.
Alongside, the picture of Bevis showed a much younger individual. This appeared to be a picture taken on a holiday and showed a fresh-faced man with thick dark hair combed back. He wore a white T-shirt and a jacket with the collar up. Beth leant in. He was trying to be something he wasn’t and she felt a little sorry for him. He idolised the moody celebrities of the day and she imagined he not only dressed to copy the style but took on the persona as well. Colm Fiske had a natural moodiness about him and if Bevis saw him as a role model, he would likely try to change his personality to match him.
She was familiar with the arrogance of Enoch and the image staring back at her from the picture was of a hard, stubborn man with wispy hair, white stubble and a face aged and weathered by the sea.
‘Can I help you?’
Beth turned and acknowledged the young policewoman who stood behind the desk. Her uniform was pristine and its buttons gleamed. She held up a mug. ‘Just went to get some tea.’
‘I wondered if I could speak with PC Innes?’
‘You can, Miss, but not for an hour.’
Beth clenched her handbag. ‘Oh dear.’
‘Anything I can help with?’
‘Do you know where he goes for his lunch?’
The young woman said that he normally walked to the end of the harbour wall. ‘He takes his sandwiches and watches the boats going in and out.’ Her brow knitted together. ‘Are you all right, Miss?’
Beth did her best to breathe calmly as she asked if there was anyone else in the building and when would Inspector Wormstone be back.
‘Only me in the building and the Inspector’s popped across to Penzance.’
‘Are you allowed to close the police station and come with me?’
She looked horrified and told her it was against orders to lock the police station. Beth stemmed her rising panic and told her not to worry. ‘I’ll catch up with PC Innes on my way back to the hotel.’
When she left the building, she ran.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
James wedged open the dilapidated wooden door and turned the padlock on the new entrance toward him. He opened up the hair pin and widened it slightly as Bert had shown him. Poking the two ends into the lock he fiddled back and forth with no clue as to whether he was doing this right or not.
He muttered the odd damn and blast and after two minutes he let the padlock fall from his hands. He then admonished himself for being an idiot as a new idea sprang to mind. He dashed over to the Austin and opened the boot where he knew he had a few basic tools. He grabbed a hammer and returned to his mission with fresh purpose. After a few wayward swings, the hammer came down and the padlock broke. He unclipped it and threw it to one side.
Jamming the door open with a large rock, he picked up the unlit lantern and entered the tunnel. Even after a few yards, darkness descended. He switched his torch on and examined the lie of the land. Ahead was one tunnel with a gradual slope down. The remnants of tramlines were visible and fallen rubble looked to make exploring difficult. He made a start and, after about twenty yards, he came across a lift cage and grimaced. After heaving a resigned sigh, he reached across to the buttons that operated and pressed a couple. To his utter relief, the electrics didn’t respond. He let a silent phew; the last thing he wanted was to descend further.
He continued gingerly on the downward slope, careful not to trip on stones and rocks scattering his path. After covering around fifty yards, he turned. The entrance was out of sight although he could see a speck of daylight from the open door. Looking ahead he found himself cursing again as the tunnel gave him a choice of direction - left or straight on. The torch’s beam swung down both avenues. There was nothing to indicate which way to go. He continued forward, stopped, aimed his torch to the ground and relaxed as he observed footprints and evidence of stones being cleared away. He continued straight on.
It was cool here and the quiet was disconcerting. Darkness held no fear for him but underground tunnels were not somewhere he’d willingly go. And this darkness was something he’d not experienced before. This was black; as black as coal. He recalled his father once going potholing around the caves in Cheddar Gorge in Somerset. Although he was happy to explore the opening of the caves, he left his father to descend into the depths, preferring instead to take in the views above ground.
He shone his torch on his watch. He’d been down here ten minutes and guessed he’d covered a couple of hundred yards. He stopped and listened. Kushal Patel had once told him that in order to listen, you must slow your heart beat and now he understood why. In such complete silence, there was nothing; no resonance, no echo. Every sound bombarding him was internal; blood rushing, heart pumping and tinny sounds in his ears that he’d never noticed before. He breathed slowly and consciously ordered himself to relax and calm down. It took around a minute to do so but he noticed the difference.
Remembering his conversation with Mr Atherton and calling on different senses, he switched off his torch and listened. He remained still and silent. His breathing became shallow. The coolness of the mine sent goose bumps across him. He didn’t think you could smell dryness but, at this moment, that’s the thought that came to mind. Ancient air with nowhere to go.
Then a shuffle.
His eyes shot open and his heart leapt from the starting line. He swallowed hard. It was a short distance away but he’d heard it. His breathing quickened. What if it was an animal? Do animals live in old tin mines? He shook the thought from his head. Tristram wasn’t here. He had nothing to lose by shouting out. He switched his torch on.
‘Hello?’
The greeting echoed down the tunnel. A muffled shout came back. James screwed up his face as if it would make him hear better.
‘Hello?’
Louder now and more than one person. Feeling assured, he continued on. The muffled shouts were closer now.
‘Don’t worry, I’m coming!’
James’ pulse raced and a sense of purpose swept over him followed by a rush of adrenalin. In two minutes, he’d entered a natural opening and ahead of him were Colm, Bevis and Enoch. He swept the torch beam across them and they glanced away from the brightness. They sat on the floor with their hands and feet tied. All were gagged by thick cotton rags. Their eyes expressed so many emotions it was difficult to gauge what they were feeling; fear, relief, exhaustion. Colm, in particular, appeared drained. The air smelt stale, of body odour and rotten food.
He squatted down, took some matches from his pocket and lit the lantern. The cave was a large one with two tunnels threading off. To one side there appeared to be a recent roof collapse. Above, he glimpsed several cracks and fissures. A sense of urgency now took over as he shrugged off his rucksack and took out a Swiss army knife. Levering free the biggest blade, he shuffled along and cut the bindings around their ankles.
‘Lean forward.’ He sliced through the ties on their wrists. They loosened their own gags.
Colm’s eyes welled. His thanks came out in a sigh as he massaged his wrists and legs. Bevis simply closed his eyes and rested his head back on the wall. Enoch stared straight ahead and showed little in the way of emotion. James brought out the bottles of lemonade and watched as they gulped the liquid down as if their life depended on it. He then threw them each a Mars bar.
‘Here, get that down you. I’m afraid I didn’t have the forethought to get pasties.’
The comment lightened the mood for Colm. He’d just enough energy to smile but ripped open the Mars bar and took a huge bite from it.
Bevis turned his head toward him. ‘Are you the police?’
‘No, I’m afraid not but the police are on their way. I thought they’d be here by now but not to worry. You know who’s responsible for this?’
‘Tristram,’ Colm replied wearily.
‘He wanted to teach us a lesson,’ said Bevis who looked, to James, like a small child next to his companions. ‘Teach us we were wrong.’ He glanced across to Colm. ‘And we were wrong.’
James sat on a large rock. ‘Wrong about what?’
The three men exchanged a wary look between them.
Bevis sniffed back his tears. ‘Wrong- about how- about how we treat-’
‘How you treat your wives.’ James finished the sentence as a statement more than a question.
Enoch was breathing heavily. ‘It’s our way. It’s nothing to do with Tristram and his do-gooding ways. Who’s he to tell us what to do? What goes on between a man and wife is nothing to do with anyone else.’
James noticed blood seeping through the hem of Colm’s trousers. ‘You’re hurt.’
‘That bloody roof collapsed yesterday. Some stones just caught me on the ankle.’
Enoch shifted and winced as he did so. ‘We should get out of here.’ He sank back. ‘I ’aven’t got the energy.’
James told them to sit tight. ‘Let the lemonade and chocolate get into your system. It’ll give you a lift. Five minutes won’t make any difference.’ He looked at the rocks structure above and sent up a silent prayer that it would hold. He studied their faces and frowned. They had slight bruising and red marks across their cheeks. ‘Did Tristram do this?’
Bevis explained that Tristram was doing to them what they did to their wives. He sniffed back his tears as he spoke. ‘At first he didn’t speak. Kept our blindfolds on, but when he gave us a drink, we asked who it was and why he was doing it? Then he took the blindfolds off. He told us to see how we liked it; that they’re women that love us and look after us and why do we do that to someone we love?’
Enoch snorted and looked away. The man was set in his ways and James wondered if he would ever change in the way that Tristram would like him to. He guessed he probably wouldn’t. Out of the three wives affected, Edith was the only one who had reacted with genuine horror that her beloved companion was in danger. Enoch was right: it was their way and where he and Edith were concerned, nothing was likely to change.
‘If you’re not the police,’ said Bevis, ‘who are you?’
‘My name’s James Harrington. I’m on holiday here with some friends and stumbled across this mystery. It’s simply luck that I worked out a few clues.’
‘Is Debra all right?’
James ran his hands through his hair. How on earth does he answer that? That Debra now loves her life as an unshackled woman and was enjoying a freedom that Bevis doesn’t give her? ‘She’s bearing up,’ he said with a degree of guilt.
Colm rubbed his ankles and asked James how Evelyn was. He couldn’t make eye contact and James knew he was scared to receive an answer. He remembered the quotes Nibbin had given him and her assertion that it wouldn’t do the men any harm to be in the mine. The fear he’d seen in Evelyn’s eyes prompted him to be more truthful.
‘Colm, your wife is terrified of you.’ He looked at Bevis. ‘When you first went missing, Debra was beside herself and not for the right reasons. She was fearful she was meeting you in the wrong place. Frightened out of her wits that if she was late, what the consequences would be. I presume that anything that isn’t quite right will result in a slap or some verbal abuse; a late dinner, a flippant comment perhaps?’
Colm and Bevis had the grace to look away. Admitting guilt was a difficult thing to do and these two struggled. They stared at their feet, shifted about and lowered their gaze; classic signs of shame and remorse where James was concerned. Enoch simply stared and gave nothing away.
James rooted around in his rucksack and found some more chocolate. He handed it to the men. ‘I was told that when you were found I was to tell you something and now I understand why.’
‘Told by who?’ said Colm.
‘That’s by the way. The message is more important than the messenger.’ James was loathed to reveal Nibbin’s identity. The meaning of these quotes would be lost in derogatory comments about the hermit.
He turned to Enoch. ‘Enoch, the message for you is that no man should bring children into the world who’s unwilling to persevere to the end in their nature and education.’
Enoch turned away. James detected the first signs of vulnerability. Tears formed in the man’s eyes.
‘I believe that you and Edith have a solid marriage, Enoch. I don’t agree one iota with treating the woman you love with anything but kindness and respect. You, on the other hand, are a man with an entirely different background to me. You work hard, you put your life on the line each time you go to sea. You expect those around you to toe the line. Edith does that. She loves you for who and what you are. She even tolerates your moods. But she cannot forgive you for driving your daughter away. It is your temper, isn’t it, that drove her away?’
The old man barely acknowledged him. He stared at the ground.
‘You’re a man of few words, Enoch, and I don’t expect you to expand on your history. Like you say, it isn’t my business. But I think Tristram was trying to get you to understand why she left. It was you that drove her away. Tristram never knew his father. He drove them away and Tristram, I think, regrets a missing father.’
The man remained still.
‘Talk to her, Enoch. Bring her back into your lives. She’s a woman, making her way in the world. I’m sure she’d love to include her parents in that.’
James studied him. How he wished Kushal was here. He’d be much better at this sort of thing.
Bevis finished his second chocolate bar and was beginning to look a little brighter. His expression was one of trepidation as he asked James: ‘Did this person have a message for me?’
‘Yes, although if my memory serves me well, it’s not the full quote. This person clearly observed you and Debra and gave me an extract. But, yes, the message is, if there is such a thing as a good marriage, it is because it resembles friendship.’
Bevis caught his breath and nodded. ‘Whoever told you that is right. Me and Debs were good friends when we met. We did everything together.’
The silence was a thoughtful one that James didn’t break. He’d learned that silence was a good thing; people gave consideration to things before speaking and this was exactly what Bevis was doing now. The young man gave him an earnest look.
‘I thought that’s what men did? I saw Colm and some of the others. They told me that to get respect, you ’ave to show who’s in charge. Deb had started in the WI and that Hilda woman was telling her to keep her independence. She didn’t always have dinner on the table, she was late getting stuff done and always had things to do in the village. Colm said he wouldn’t stand for that.’
‘And do you like what you’ve become?’
His shoulders slumped. ‘Tristram dished it out to us. I got scared when he came down here.’ He looked a beaten man. ‘This is how my Debs feels, in’it?’
James closed his eyes. ‘It’s how she did feel, yes. I’m afraid that you going missing has seen a change in her. I believe you may see a different Debra when you go back. The one that you fell in love with I would imagine. You’re going to have to convince her that you’ve changed.’
Bevis begged James for reassurance that she would believe him. ‘I think the world of her, I can’t live without her. She’s everything to me, I want to have kids with her.’
James held up a hand. ‘You need to be telling her that, not me.’
Colm had retreated into his own world; a world of reflection. He threw the sweet wrapper on the floor. ‘I’ve lost Evelyn. She’ll never forgive me. I can’t help being the way I am. I can’t change.’
James went across and sat next to him. He handed Colm a piece of
paper. ‘This is what I was told to tell you. I wrote it down because I knew I wouldn’t remember it. I was given a shortened version. It’s a quote from an ancient philosopher. I looked it up – this is the full text.’
Colm’s calloused hands took it. ‘Anybody can become angry – that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way – that is not within everybody’s power and is not easy.’ He looked at James and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t understand. I’m not an educated man, what does this mean?’
‘Colm, if you really want to change, you can. You have to want to, though.’
The man listened.
‘If you want to keep Evelyn, you have to work at it. You’re going to have to consciously remind yourself, every day, to be patient, tolerant and respectful. If you have a battle to fight, fight it with the right person. Were you happy to have Tristram abuse you for the slightest misdemeanour?’
A shake of the head.
‘Then remember that’s how Evelyn feels and still feels when she’s around you. She’s terrified of you – even now, she’s worried that you’ll take this out on her.’
Colm grabbed James’ arm. ‘But it’s not her fault, it’s Tristram’s.’
James peeled away his grip. ‘You must take responsibility for your actions. Do you want a companion who’s scared of you or one that’s allowed to laugh alongside you? Someone that you look forward to seeing at the end of the day; a woman who loves you, who looks after your every need and would do anything for you?’
James checked his watch. Where on earth were the police? He’d enjoyed being the ancient philosopher and prayed to God that some of it had sunk in but he had nothing more to add. Who was he to tell people how to run their lives? Bevis, who he believed would learn something from this, asked him if he were married.
‘Yes, I am. Her name’s Beth and she’s not only my wife but my best friend. I could never commit myself to someone for the rest of my life who wasn’t my friend.’
Lord James Harrington and the Cornish Mystery Page 20