Chapter 6 #2
‘That’s history. We’ve no way of knowing for sure, but most likely Bess’s life with Lord Robert was a living hell.
He was the jealous type, and thought she’d been unfaithful.
So he gave coin to your ancestor, Old John Dog, to do away with her.
Bess got wind of the danger, and made plans to escape on the Halcyon.
She fled to the inn, hoping her friend Maggie would protect her.
But by the time the ship appeared out of the mist, it was too late.
Already, she could hear the tap tap tap of the old man’s boots, and the panting of his lame dog, Jep. ’
I shudder, horrified all over again. It seems so… real.
She grins, satisfied with my discomfort.
‘When the deed was done, the little dog licked at the pool of blood. Old John went down to the bar and bought a round for all and sundry. He must have thought it was his lucky night, because while he and his pals were making merry, the Halcyon caught fire and was shipwrecked on the rocks.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘Old John and the other men left the bar to collect the spoils. But this time, the joke was on them. Because when they got to the cove, they found that the Halcyon was naught but a ghost ship.’
‘A ghost ship?’ The words send a chill through my veins.
‘Aye. That’s what they called ’em in these parts.
A ship empty of her crew, and in this case, most of her cargo too.
It was almost like a divine comeuppance.
Lord Robert owned the ship, and he lost his shirt when she sank.
He didn’t live long after that, and the Polgothley estate passed to a cousin – the relations of the current lot. ’
‘What happened to the crew?’
‘No one knows. None of them were ever seen again. Likely they were done in by French pirates who stole the cargo and set the sailors adrift. None of the crew ever made it to shore. So you see, it was a double tragedy.’
‘How awful,’ I say.
She shrugs. ‘When it comes to the past, you have to take the bad with the good.’
‘And Old John Dog? What happened to him?’
‘He lived to a ripe old age, by all accounts, given the state of his liver. Some say Maggie even took him back – you know how some women do love a rogue.’
‘I do.’ I try not to picture my ex-husband.
Elspeth eyes me closely. ‘You OK, maid? I suppose it’s a lot for an outsider to take in.’
‘I’m fine, really.’ I force a smile. ‘Just a little disappointed to hear that my ancestors weren’t very illustrious.’
‘Colourful, though.’ She winks. ‘You have to give ’em that.’
‘I guess so.’
Elspeth hefts the bloody head; red paint drips onto the floor. ‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘must be getting on now. The museum’ll be open if you want to stop in and have a cuppa. And if you ever feel like minding the place, I’m happy to show you the ropes.’
I start to shake my head, then an idea comes to me.
‘I need to spend my time on the renovations,’ I say. ‘But I know someone who might be interested in a part-time job.’
‘Well, send ’em my way,’ she says. ‘I don’t mind sharing the profits with the right person.’
I’m not sure the share of the profits is going to be enough to tempt Bridget, but she might be up for a chance to earn money for car insurance. I plan to ask her – as soon as she returns.
* * *
Neither of the kids return, however, even when it’s way past lunchtime. I gradually go from being annoyed to worried, then annoyed again as I leave the house and walk back along the cliff path looking for them.
I reach the cove and scan it from above.
The tide is coming in and Cliff’s boat is gone.
Only the dinghy and the speedboat remain moored at the dock.
There’s no sign of anyone down there, so I keep walking.
It’s probably less than half a mile, the path undulating up and down, but it feels like I’ve been walking forever by the time I reach the top of the headland that sits above a long, pristine expanse of white sandy beach.
I stop to look at the view, the wind whipping my hair back from my face.
It’s breathtaking, spectacular – and I still can hardly believe we own a property in this beautiful place.
Even if it is a crumbling, spooky, and possibly haunted old inn.
At the far end of the beach, a caravan park is nestled in a hollow.
At this end of the beach is a cliff-top car park.
There’s a small building with toilets, and a Mr Whippy van parked at the top of a path leading downwards to the sand.
A line of suncream-smeared children and their parents heavily laden with beach bags, buckets and spades, and rolled-up wind breakers are queuing to buy their cone and flake.
I note in passing that the ice cream van is manned by an attractive blond-haired boy about Bridget’s age.
The path to the beach zigzags downward. It takes me another ten minutes to reach the sand.
At the water’s edge, a handful of swimmers are braving the cold water in bathing costumes, and further out, a few hardcore surfers in wetsuits are trying to catch the waves rolling in to shore as the tide comes in.
Even with the other beachgoers, it’s a wild, idyllic spot.
A perfect place to walk in the early morning or at sunset, when it’s probably much less crowded.
I walk along near the cliffs and eventually find Bridget lying on her towel, skinny and pink. After only a few hours, she’s already getting one heck of a sunburn. When I call her name, she sits up, startled, shading her eyes.
I tell her to go back to the house and mention Elspeth’s ‘job offer’.
I’m not surprised when she looks unimpressed at the prospect, but I am encouraged that she doesn’t dismiss it out of hand.
As she gathers her towel, book, and phone at a snail’s pace, I walk further down the beach, looking for Connor.
I’m not sure whether to feel angry or panicked, or nothing at all.
One thing’s for sure, though: I need to set some boundaries for my son, or else I’m going to spend the whole summer worrying.
The whole summer?
Maybe.