Chapter 31 #2
‘Of course you can, love,’ I’d said. ‘Though, make sure you focus on what you want to do with your life. Make your own future, and then look for someone to share it with.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Like you’ve done?’
‘Like I’m going to do.’
She gave me a bemused smile, looking a bit like a Cheshire Cat. ‘I think you mean we, don’t you? You, Connor, and… me?’
I stared at her, my mouth open. A new wave of tears welled up.
‘You mean it…? Really?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s not like I really have anything to go back to, do I? I can do sixth form anywhere. Alex’s cousin says there’s a good college in Truro. That’s where he’s going.’
‘Alex’s cousin?’
‘Yeah, he’s called Cal. He’s… cool.’
I shook my head – I guess Bridget’s not quite ready to get the message, but there’s no rushing these things. It’s time for her to explore her own horizons, make her own mistakes, and forge her own path. And if it’s here with her family, so much the better.
‘That’s… good,’ I said. ‘Unexpected, but… good.’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘And I’m bringing him over for dinner tomorrow night. I hope that’s OK.’ She turned around and started walking back along the cliff towards the inn, her black curls blowing every which way.
‘It’s fine,’ I said to her back. ‘It’s… wonderful.’
But sadly, while Bridget’s social life is seemingly on the up, Connor had to say goodbye to his friend Med and his sister Aisha.
We were there when their uncle Majeed came to collect them, and a tearful reunion ensued.
I was instantly humbled by the love and sacrifice that their family made to ensure that the children got to safety and had a chance for a better life.
There are still some legal hoops they’ll need to jump through, but Majeed is keeping us posted, and says that things are looking good.
He’s a professor of Middle Eastern Studies at Bristol University, and I showed Connor on the map where his friend will be living.
‘That’s a city,’ he said frowning. ‘Med’s going to miss the caves and the beach.’
‘Yes, but it’s a nice part of the world. We can visit him – and vice versa.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘but I’m going to miss having someone to explore with.’
I pulled him to me and gave him a hug. That’s another thing in the works – early days, but hopefully… well… we’ll see.
‘OK, Mum,’ he’d said, and I’d felt humbled that he trusts me. I took him to see a nice school in Truro, and he’s keen to go there and make new friends. But I’m hoping there will also be a potential friend for him closer to home.
Because at the end of the day, the renovation of the Cross Keys is going to take several months, and Elspeth and I have decided to delay most of the works on the inn itself until September, when the summer holiday rush is over.
At that point, the kids and I will need to move out.
It makes sense that we find a flat in Truro, where I’m going to be starting a new job at a local architect’s firm, and both kids will be attending school.
But taking the sensible option has never been the order of the day since we moved here in the first place, so why start now?
No – my ‘secret solution’ is one I’m keeping close to my chest until the details are ironed out.
The long and short of it is that there’s a cottage on the grounds of Polgothley that would be perfect for a small family to rent.
But unfortunately, the cottage needs some work too, which would mean a few weeks in the main house…
It’s a poorly kept secret that I’ve already become well acquainted with the beautiful manor house that once belonged to the Trevelyn family.
I know, for example, that there are ten bedrooms – and I’ve ‘slept’ in every one of them (and a fair number of other rooms besides).
It’s been a strange time, a magical time, a time outside of history and yet deeply defining for my life.
When I’m with Will, I rediscover my ‘old soul’ and it’s a part of me that I’m growing to love.
History has not repeated itself – perhaps time twisted down a wormhole or something – in that Will is nothing like his ancestor Lord Robert, nor is he all that much like Captain James.
Instead, he is an amalgamation of those who have come before, and those who will come after; he is old and new, pensive and spontaneous.
We laugh together; we help each other through the hard times.
We fit together: Trevelyn and Penhelion.
And if at some point in the future, history deems that it’s time for the families to be reunited, then who am I to argue?
In the meantime, I’m content to keep my time at Polgothley between me and its owner.
It may not be long, however. After a number of long discussions, Will decided to finally confront his ex-wife and agree new custody arrangements.
It’s agreed that he’ll have his son most weekends, as well as during school holidays.
Noah has visited now on three occasions, and despite the fact that he’s not as physically robust as Connor, he’s a dab hand at the Nintendo Switch, and the two of them have hit it off.
My own negotiations with Aiden have gone somewhat less smoothly.
He was understandably upset that I’ve taken the kids on a temporary excursion to the far end of the country which is now looking to be permanent.
However, the fact that both Bridget and Connor want to stay (and, in the time-honoured way of things, the fact that his new girlfriend has fallen pregnant), helped him come to terms with the situation.
Towards the end of the summer, he came for a visit, and Connor took him on a lengthy tour of the pirate cave, the various coves and beaches, and (sadly), he took a tumble on the rough ground and ended up with a broken ankle.
So while I haven’t exactly sorted my happily ever after, I have sorted my happy new beginning. And that’s good enough for me. Especially since my relationship with Will seems somehow inevitable, as though our stories have already been written in the rhythms of the waves and the ever-changing sky.
The answer to the riddle is hiding in plain sight.
Maybe it was. Because when one inherits a seaside property in Cornwall from a relative one has never met, it’s only natural to think that maybe some things are meant to be.
* * *
In late August, we take a week-long trip to London for the kids to see their dad, then return to the inn to pack our things to move into the cottage at Polgothley.
It’s the end of an era, and I feel more than a little nostalgic to leave our temporary quarters at the Cross Keys.
The bedrooms are all going to be updated with en suites (and showers), and work is scheduled to begin as soon as the school holidays are over.
I pack my clothes and empty out my bedside table.
At the very back, I find the key ring I got from the solicitor in the shape of a miniature ship in a bottle.
There is a single key attached that didn’t work to open the main door.
If it opens anything at all, it’s still a mystery.
I’m about to put it in my pocket when all of a sudden, the temperature in the room dips.
And then, I hear it. Tap, tap, tap, thud… footsteps… and the panting of a dog.
As the footsteps go past me in the corridor, I have the overpowering urge to flee. But I force myself to go calmly to the door and look out.
There’s no one and nothing there.
‘Hey,’ I call out. ‘Just so you know, if you’ve got a message for me, then I’m all ears.’
There’s no response – no sign that the footsteps and breathing were anything other than my imagination. But on the off chance that they were real… I can guess where they’re going.
Forcing myself to be brave, I go down the hall to Bess’s room.
The room is empty and there’s no sign of a ‘presence’; nonetheless, I enter warily.
Moving to the window, I stare out at the same view that captivated my forebear.
Pink and grey clouds are gathering on the horizon, but there are no ships in sight – other than the ship in a bottle on the windowsill that’s been there since well before my arrival.
The Seagull. A gift made by a loving husband for a wife, to memorialise their flight to freedom.
I’ve had a few further conversations with Elspeth’s ex-husband at the village museum, and based on the historical record and Bess’s letter, it seems that Captain James was the one who orchestrated the capture of the schooner from the harbour at Fowey.
The Halcyon’s cargo and crew were loaded onto the Seagull, before the former was set on fire and set adrift to wreck upon the rocks.
If my French was better, I might have discovered sooner that the Seagull replica was purchased by Victoria in France.
After all, I found the receipt for Bateau dans une bouteille: La Mouette, c.
1822 among her things. I’ve since learned that la mouette means ‘the seagull’.
Maybe one day soon, I’ll follow in Victoria’s footsteps and do my own research about Bess’s time in France.
But for now, I’ll pack it up so it doesn’t get damaged in the building works.
I take the bottle off the stand, feeling its weight and the cool roundness of the glass in my hands.
In my mind, I can hear the shattering of glass as the Halcyon ship in a bottle was smashed by a bullet from Ollie’s gun.
I hold my breath for a few seconds until the panicky sensation subsides.
Cliff is working on repairing the damaged ship, and hopefully, he’ll manage it.
The brass nameplate on the stand is askew – I’ve noticed that before but never fixed it. I set down the bottle and try to straighten it, but it moves in the wrong direction. That’s when I discover that the brass plate is actually an escutcheon – behind it is hidden a keyhole.
A keyhole – and I just happen to have a little silver key posted to me by the solicitor, months ago, before I even knew that the Cross Keys existed.
The answer to the riddle is hiding in plain sight.
I take the miniature ship in a bottle from my pocket and try the key. Of course it fits; of course it turns.
A little drawer opens in the front of the stand. Inside is a folded-up piece of paper – it’s another letter, rolled up and hidden. But not due to danger on the part of the writer. More likely, it was an old lady’s idea of a puzzle to be solved. A letter addressed to a long-lost heir.
Me…
The Cross Keys
14 January
Dear Juno,
If you are reading this, then you have solved the little riddle I left for you.
Not out of spite or mischief, but more out of resignation and regret.
Resignation that I am not long for this world – at least the parts of it that living people can see and experience.
Regret that I did not begin and end my search sooner, and that I lacked the strength and courage to pick up the phone, introduce myself, and hear your voice even once.
You are not a relation to me – not by a direct bloodline – though, if you go back far enough, all of us Cornish are related.
Nonetheless, as soon as I saw your picture in the magazine, I knew who you were, and that I was obliged to set things right in the only way I could.
By leaving you the Cross Keys, which is a key landmark in your ancestorial past.
The world believes that my ancestor killed yours.
I will not dispel the myth, as stories are as much a part of our collective memories as true events.
Old John Dog and Maggie may not be the rogues they seemed, but they were real and colourful characters, and as such, deserve to outlive the vast majority of us who have lived unremarkable lives.
Whether it’s best to rewrite history and tell the ‘truth’, I will leave to you.
If you still have questions, many of the answers are contained inside the model ship in the pirate cave, which I hid there to keep it safe for posterity.
Your ancestorial home was Polgothley, which, of course, is not mine to restore to you.
It is also not in my gift to see whether history will repeat itself with a union of Penhelion and Trevelyn, but in this case, I can tell you that William Penhelion is a fine, upstanding man (unlike his cousin, Oliver) and I hope that one day, I will look down from another place and see the families reunited.
I am sorry, my dear, but I am growing weak and must end this first and last introduction.
I only want to say that I am glad I found you, and I hope you will grow to experience a connection to Penglas Cove – to the sea, the sky, the wind, and the memories – as I have been privileged to do.
My wish for you is to appreciate every moment of the future, which briefly becomes the present, and then forever slips away into the past.
Please look after Cliff and Elspeth for me, and give my love to your children, who are the next generation of proud Cornish folk. Our history and heritage are a valuable treasure, and now I pass it on to you.
With love and hope,
Your ‘Great-Aunt’ Victoria Kernick
I wipe a tear from my eye as I read Victoria’s final missive.
I wish I had known her, as she too is a woman of the Cross Keys, and her life was important – and far from unremarkable.
She left the museum as a legacy and has also done her part to preserve the inn and its heritage, even though her organisation and project-management skills were a little lacking.
She solved a historical mystery – maybe not one that’s going to change the world – but one that’s given me a new appreciation of my ancestors and their heritage, and the universal joys and sorrows shared down the ages even though we live centuries apart.
This is something I can pass on to my children.
I can teach them of our heritage, and hopefully instil a love of this magical place, with its ghosts, spirits, and memories.
I’m finally confident that I’m up to the task.
‘Thank you,’ I say – to Victoria, to Maggie, to Bess, to Old John Dog. ‘Thank you for bringing me home.’