The Valley of the Shadow (3 page)

The girl tossed over a towel. She had already untied a sleeping bag from one of the packs and unrolled it. “Dry him off and get him in here. His arms and leg will have to be straightened out, though.”

“He’s so c-cold … B-body to body contact would be b-best…”

“You’re shivering like mad yourself,” the girl said matter-of-factly. “I knew we should have brought a thermos. Put this on. I’ll do it.” She tossed Megan a scarlet polo-neck shirt.

“Th-thanks.”

Chaz muttered something irritable, but by the time Megan’s head emerged from the shirt, which was a size too small, he and Nick were zipping up the sleeping bag with the Indian inside. Luckily he was very slight, not to say skinny. The girl was also slender. Stripped of her shirt and boots but retaining her short shorts—not much more than hot pants—she wriggled in beside him.

“Ugh! It’s a bit like hugging a cold hot-water bottle! Don’t look so uptight, Chaz. I can just barely feel him breathing. He’s not about to try anything.”

“‘Barely’ is the word,” said Nick with a grin.

He was trying to untie his shirt from the makeshift rope but the strain put on it had tightened the knot. Megan realised his shorts had slipped off the rock into the water and disappeared. He dug in his satchel and brought out an anorak. It wasn’t quite long enough to cover him decently, but then she wasn’t exactly decently dressed herself. Imagining what DI Scumble would say if he saw her made her hot all over—no bad thing, considering.

“Megan? Are you all right?”

“Yes. I think so.” She sat down rather suddenly on the nearest step. “Sorry, just a bit woozy for a second. Did you say something?”

He regarded her with a worried frown. “I wondered whether we ought, Chaz and I, to try to carry Julia and the Indian bloke up to the road to meet the ambulance. But I’m not sure you’re in a fit state to—”

“I’m perfectly all right. The sooner he can get to a hospital, the better. There’s something about not jostling hypothermics, though. Better not, perhaps, if it’s risky.”

“We’ll take ’em with Julia underneath,” said Chaz, “so that if we drop them he’s well cushioned.”

“Hey!”

“No,” Megan said decidedly. “We can’t risk it. But someone should go to explain the situation to the ambulance men when they arrive and make sure they don’t go astray on the way down. Aunt Nell may be there—she went for help—but I can’t be sure. Chaz, it’ll have to be you.”

Chaz looked at his seminaked girlfriend snuggling in the sleeping bag with a completely naked male stranger. “Not me.”

Megan drew herself up and stared him in the eye. “You’re the only one who’s decently dressed. I may not look like it right now, but I’m a police officer, and I’m requesting your cooperation.”

“Police? Right!” he said sceptically.

Nick grinned. “Detective Sergeant Pencarrow of the Constabulary of the Royal Duchy of Cornwall,” he confirmed.

Chaz’s challenging gaze dropped. “Oh, all right. I don’t know the way, though. We were heading for the youth hostel in Boscastle.”

“Follow the stream. Thank you.” Megan turned away, hearing the thud of his hiking boots recede across the rock. “Miss…?”

“Julia. You don’t need to come the copper over me.”

“Julia, you will tell me at once if he stops breathing, won’t you.”

“Of course. I’m not doing this for fun, though I must say it’ll make a good story! He doesn’t feel quite so cold. That may be because I’m getting colder, though.”

“Seriously colder? Chilled?”

“Don’t think so. I’m warm inside, if you know what I mean. But there’s a bloody great rock sticking into my hip.”

“I’ll get the other sleeping bag,” Nick offered. “We’ll work it underneath you.” He went over to the rucksacks and started unstrapping Chaz’s sleeping bag. “How about you, Megan? I expect Julia has something else you can wear.”

“Help yourself. I didn’t bring a skirt, though, and I doubt you’ll be able to get into my jeans. There’s a long pully. You’d be halfway decent in that. And an anorak and a woolly hat, too.”

“The victim had better have the hat,” Megan decided.

Nick unrolled the second sleeping bag. Megan helped him ease it under the girl and the Indian. Julia assisted as best she could considering her swaddled condition and her inert companion.

“Thanks, that’s better. But I hope your aunt brings help quickly.”

“I just hope she hasn’t broken her ankle running along that path,” said Nick. “It’s rough going and she’s not as young as she was.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Megan snapped, “don’t go envisaging extra disasters. Haven’t we got trouble enough?”

THREE

Breathless, a stitch in her side, Eleanor hammered on the front door of Trevillet Mill House. No response. Only a blackbird’s song disturbed the stillness.

She looked about. An open window caught her eye, and she contemplated burglary. What deterred her was not the thought of Megan’s horror if she were caught but the apparent lack of a telephone line leading to the house.

Calves and thighs aching now, she tackled the last steep hill up to the road. Teazle scampered ahead, her short legs making light work of the slope.

A car swished past. Eleanor realised she had left the lead behind.

“Teazle, heel!”

At the top, she picked up the little dog, still sodden from the dip in the stream, and tucked her under one arm. Crossing to the car, she felt in her pocket for the keys. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought Megan hadn’t handed them back. She’d have to try to hitch a lift to a phone, dog and all … No, here they were in the other pocket. Now, which way to the nearest phone?

She couldn’t recall ever noticing a phone box in Bossiney or Trevalga, nor even outside the Old Post Office in Tintagel, but she was sure there was one in front of the Wellington Hotel in Boscastle. A few minutes later, she was knocking on the glass of the kiosk, mouthing “Emergency!” at a tall, broad-shouldered man in grey trousers, a reefer jacket over a white shirt and blue-striped tie, and a yachtsman’s peaked cap.

He glared at her and turned his back. He must be much too hot in that jacket, enough to put anyone in a bad mood.

Eleanor stepped round to the front and opened the door. “Please let me use the phone. It’s an emergency!”

Again the wide back turned to her.

Detaching a large man from a phone in a phone box was not a manoeuvre Eleanor had learnt from her sensei. She chose the better part of valour and made for the hotel. Surely it must have a public phone.

The lobby was deserted. Eleanor couldn’t see a pay-phone in its dim depths, so she hurried over to the reception desk and pinged the brass bell.

No one came. Desperate by now, Eleanor leant over the counter. Behind the raised shelf in front lurked a telephone with an alarming number of buttons below the dial. It appeared to be labelled with instructions, though. With any luck at all, she’d be able to work out how to dial 999.

She started round the counter. A door behind it opened and a skinny, balding man in a bow tie appeared.

He looked her up and down, aghast. “Here, you can’t—”

“It’s an emergency,” Eleanor said impatiently.

“A few scrapes and bruises. Unless you’ve booked a room—”

“What?” She glanced down at herself. Besides a large damp patch on her blouse from carrying Teazle and a smear of mud on her beige skirt, her hands, arms, knees, and shins were badly grazed, with a few trickles of blood drying on her skin. She had tripped and fallen on the path but in the urgency of her errand she hadn’t realised the extent of the damage. Awareness made every scratch begin to smart. No time to deal with it now. She reached for the phone. “I must ring for an ambulance.”

“I hardly think they’ll appreciate being called out for—”

“There’s a man drowning! How do I get 999?”

“Here.” He seized the receiver from her, pushed a button, and dialled. “You want a lifeboat.”

“Ambulance,” Eleanor insisted. A vision of that limp, floating body rose before her. A hearse might be more appropriate, she feared.

The man thrust the receiver at her. “You’d better explain.” With one foot, he hooked a tall stool and pushed it behind her.

She sank onto it as a disembodied voice spoke in her ear: “Emergency. Which service do you require?”

Which service. Eleanor’s mind went blank.

“Fire? Police? Ambulance?”

“Ambulance. Lifeboat? And, oh dear, I think you’d better send the police.”

“Please explain, madam. What is the emergency?”

“A man—a person—drowning. Or drowned. I’m not sure…”

“Shouting or waving for help?”

“No. Just floating. In the sea.”

“Are you certain this person isn’t just enjoying a relaxing swim, madam?” the voice asked sceptically.

“Quite certain. Not there. No one would choose to swim there.”

“I see. Location, madam?”

“Rocky Valley. It’s a narrow inlet, with no beach. Just sheer cliffs. North of Tintagel, between Bossiney and Tre … Tre…” The hamlet’s name escaped her.

“Trevalga,” prompted the hotel man, now engrossed.

“Trevalga.”

“Mightn’t you have seen a seal, madam? They’re quite often mistaken for—”

“No! That’s what I thought at first, but Nick and Megan … My eyesight’s good but their eyes are much younger, and they both…” Eleanor found she was crying helplessly. “Megan—When I left to get help, she was preparing to dive in after him. What if she’s in trouble, too? You
must
believe me. Send someone, quickly!”

“This … er … Megan, she has lifesaving skills?”

“I don’t know! But she’s a police officer. Detective Sergeant Pencarrow, of CaRaDoC—the Constabulary of the Royal Duchy of—”

“I know what CaRaDoC is, madam. Hold the line, please.”

The man at her side handed her a box of Kleenex. She sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

“Sorry. It just suddenly struck me that Megan—my niece—is in danger.”

They both looked round as the front door opened. In came the man in the reefer, scowling. The scowl didn’t appear to be directed at Eleanor, though. He seemed hardly to notice her as he strode over to the desk and demanded his key.

“Twelve, please.”

“Here you are, Mr. Avery. Had a pleasant day, I hope? Beautiful weather. Will you be in for dinner?”

Eleanor missed the growled response as the phone said, “Hello? Hello? Could I have your name, please, madam, and where you’re ringing from.”

“Eleanor Trewynn. Mrs. I’m at the Wellington Hotel in Boscastle, inside the foyer as the public telephone outside was unavailable.”

The large man gave her an irritated glance and went off towards the stairs.

“Mrs. Trewynn, the Launceston ambulance will be on its way shortly. The police have been notified, as well as the Coast Guard. Is vehicular access available?”

“Ve … Oh, you mean can the ambulance drive to the spot?”

“Yes, madam,” said the voice patiently, “to the site of the occurrence. A farm track or—”

“No. There’s a footpath, off the coast road. The B3 something. B3623?” She looked to the hotel man for help, but he had disappeared.

“B3263. I have it on the map.”

“That’s it. The path must be about a mile? I’m not sure…”

“Will someone be present to direct the ambulance men?”

“No. Yes. I’ll drive back at once and wait for them.”

“Thank you, madam. But first, I’ll need your home address, please.”

“Port Mabyn: 21a, Harbour Street. It’s over the LonStar shop.”

“Oh,
that
Mrs. Trewynn?” For the first time, the voice sounded interested. “Didn’t I read about you in the paper?”

“Possibly.” Eleanor very much wanted to forget that dreadful photograph, to which some of the more sensational newspapers had added a caption suggesting, in terms barely skirting libel, that she was about to be arrested for murder. “I must go. I don’t want to be late for the ambulance. Thank you for your help. Good-bye.”

She hung up, glancing at the clock on the wall behind the counter, not taking in what it said. There wasn’t the least chance that the ambulance would reach Rocky Valley before her. She had less than three miles to drive. The Incorruptible, in spite of age and decrepitude, could make it in ten minutes, fifteen at worst, even with a hill steep enough to require a hairpin bend.

Coming from Launceston, the ambulance would take at least half an hour, probably more. The driver had to choose between a roundabout route or cutting through lanes scarcely wide enough for his vehicle. Even if he didn’t get lost, he might meet a tractor, or a herd of cows.

The road from Bodmin was more direct. “Why didn’t they send the Bodmin ambulance?” Eleanor said aloud in her frustration. A few minutes could make the difference between life and death.

“Maybe it’s out on a call already.” The little man in the bow tie was back, and with him a stout woman in a navy overall, bearing a tin box with a red cross on the lid. “This is our housekeeper, Mrs. Jellicoe. If you’ll step through to the office, she’ll … um … patch you up a bit.”

“It’s very kind of you, Mrs. Jellicoe, but I’m in rather a hurry.”

“’Twon’t take but a moment, Mrs. Trewynn.” The housekeeper’s soft voice proclaimed her a local. “You don’t want it to get infected. Ivers! You’ve made quite a mess of yourself!”

“Really, I must go. The ambulance—”

“If it’s coming from Launceston,” the man pointed out, “it won’t arrive for ages. Leave my hotel looking like that and people will think you fell in here. They’ll assume we’re to blame for having dangerous stairs. People are always ready to believe the worst.”

Eleanor gave in and let herself be ushered through the door behind the counter, into an obsessively tidy office. For some reason, it made her remember that she was expected for an early supper with Jocelyn and the Reverend Timothy. There was no guessing when she’d get away from this brouhaha.

“Oh, bother!” She turned to the man, who having showed her into his office was returning to the lobby. “I’m so sorry, I must make another call, I’m afraid. Just a quick one to warn a friend I may be late.”

“Would you like me to ring for you?”

“That’s very kind of you. It would save time.” And she rather dreaded trying to explain to Joce. “Mrs. Stearns, at the vicarage in Port Mabyn.” She gave the number.