The Ghosts of Blackbottle Rock Read online

  Charlie was glancing at his phone while Sue explained this. The text was from Wei-Li:

  We’ve got news! Can u come?

  Charlie took the camera from her. ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’

  The Hall Walk, as it was called, was longer than he’d imagined. It started near the back of the noisy boatyard and led up into the woods that covered the hill overlooking the river. He was following it with a little map Sue had given him – one they’d bought from Henry Penhale’s own Beachcomber gift shop – but the path was pretty easy to follow anyway. It was surprising how quickly they left behind the bustle of tourists and clangs and bangs of the boatyard. Despite the fact that this was a popular walk there was no one else about today, and Charlie began to feel as if he were in a much more ancient, undisturbed place. In places the tall trees and tangled undergrowth kept out much of the sunlight, and deadened the sounds of the river and the two communities of Polruan and Fowey on either side of it. There were some steep climbs, but then everything around here seemed to involve steep walks so Charlie was getting used to that. Eventually, he came to a wooden signpost that pointed to a place called Pont in one direction and Lanteglos church the other. Consulting his map, he saw that after visiting the church he would have to come back this way to get to the Bodinnick Ferry by way of Pont.

  Pont… All the names around here seemed to be so different that it was like being abroad. At first, it annoyed him. Now, it was beginning to grow on him…

  A few minutes more walking brought him his first view of the church, nestling in the trees. It was clearly ancient, built from a pale grey stone. In the grassy cemetery surrounding it stood moss-covered gravestones and crosses, many of them leaning precariously, like drunken old men in mouldy overcoats. For the first time since Charlie had arrived in Cornwall, a grey cloud drifted across the sun. The church and grave markers cast eerie shadows, and unless it brightened, the outdoors pictures weren’t going to come out nearly as well as he’d expected. But he dutifully walked around the churchyard, taking snaps from different angles. For a moment, the sun broke through and Charlie hurried back to re-take some pictures. He managed to get several decent ones, then more clouds moved in and the gloom settled on the church once again. It was only now that he spotted something he had missed the first time: a large gravestone and a word that jumped out at him as soon as his eyes fell upon it.

  Rosebud

  Charlie switched the camera off to save the battery and knelt down so he could read the inscription on the weathered slab:

  Sacred to the memory of

  EDWARD EDGECOMBE born 1819

  & his wife SARAH EDGECOMBE born 1819

  of this parish

  & their children

  EDWARD born 1846

  JOHN born 1847

  EMMA born 1850

  THOMAS born 1852

  Tragically perished in the sinking of the lugger ROSEBUD and buried 25 April 1856

  “For there is nothing covered that shall not be revealed; and hid that shall not be known” Matthew 10:26

  Charlie gazed pensively at the old monument, imagining the people gathered round this grave in 1856. The youngest of the drowned children would have been no more than four when the Rosebud went down, and even the oldest was younger than Charlie. He still felt sorry for himself at losing his mother seven years ago, but the cold sea has swallowed up this whole family. None of them lived to feel sorry for themselves, nor tell the tale.

  But did the gravestone tell some sort of tale?

  What a weird thing to put on a gravestone: Nothing covered that shall not be revealed, hid that shall not be known…

  What was covered or hidden?

  Charlie crouched down to take a couple of photographs of the headstone. On the second click of the shutter, he thought he heard someone coming from the church and quickly twisted round. There was no one there – but he felt sure the main door to the church had been shut when he first arrived. Now it was a few inches ajar.

  He rose and listened, all his senses telling him that someone had passed behind him. But all he could hear was the chirping of the birds and the first splatters of rain hitting the gravestones around him. Suddenly, he wasn’t so keen to get pictures of the inside of church. But he’d promised Sue. He took a deep breath, then strode down the path between more graves to the arched doorway. The door itself was an old, heavy wooden one and creaked like something out of a horror film when he pushed it open. The colder air was noticeable as soon as he took the first few tentative steps inside. Two rows of pews ran down the centre of the building towards an altar covered with a white and gold cloth, behind and above which was a large stained-glass window. A row of stone arches divided the main body of the church from aisles on either side, and Charlie wandered along the aisle closest to him, almost as if he felt he had no right to encroach into the nave itself. The rain was getting heavier now, rattling against the roof and windows as he shuffled forwards, halting occasionally to take more pictures. He was still on edge, and it occurred to him that the sound of the rain would drown out the footsteps of anyone coming up behind him…

  Ahead on the right he saw a door with a little plaque on it, and when he got closer he saw it said Vestry. Charlie didn’t know what a vestry was, but he had an overwhelming urge to find out. Again, this door was ajar and at first he just gently pressed it enough to peer inside, in case someone was working in there. At that moment, he heard a car engine roar into life in the lane outside. It made him twitch and he inadvertently pushed the door harder than he’d intended. It swung wide open and, as it did so, the doorknob fell without warning, clattering and bouncing to the stone floor with an echo that resounded throughout the church. He hadn’t even touched it. Charlie gasped, and the rush of adrenaline was so sudden and powerful he felt for a second as if he might faint.

  As the growl of the fleeing car’s engine died away, he saw why the doorknob had fallen off. There were deep gouge marks and splintered wood, both around the hole where the knob had been, and on the adjacent doorframe. Someone had broken in. He knew it had happened before, when the burial register was stolen – but these marks were fresh. What could have been taken this time? Surely the Creep wouldn’t risk it again? He knew people stole stuff like gold candlesticks from churches, and he tried to tell himself it must have been an ‘ordinary’ burglary.

  He could hear his heartbeat throbbing in his eardrums, but now he knew there was no one in the vestry he risked looking inside. It was just like a little office, with shelves of books, a desk and filing cabinet. But it was what was on the desk that caught Charlie’s eye. It was a large, thick old leather-bound book. But not just any book. He’d only seen it once before, but he knew what it was. Someone has returned the church’s stolen burial register.

  While he was still trying to take this in, he heard voices.

  A man and woman on the path outside the church, getting closer.

  For a second, Charlie froze to the spot. If he ran, he’d look guilty. He wanted to do the honest thing – stay, explain. But he’d still look guilty. They’d never believe it wasn’t him that had broken into the vestry. People never believed kids. They’d probably think he was the one who stole the book in the first place. He ran.

  The instant he left the vestry, he heard the squeaking of the front door and the voices echoing as they entered the church. Too late. All he could do was dive behind the pews. The polished floor squeaked loudly as he skidded along – but the couple were too busy talking to notice.

  ‘…so she asked me if I’d organise the summer fair and the quiz night this year,’ the woman grumbled. ‘I’m mean, It’s not as if she’s the only one who has a full-time job. In fact I work more hours than she does.’

  ‘You don’t want to go saying that to her, my dear. You know what she’s like!’

  They were walking down the centre of the church, coming almost level with him. The pews provided some cover, but some part of his body had to be visible. All he could do was keep flat and dead still �
�� but if one of them were even to glance his way…

  ‘Well I won’t do the cake sale, I really won’t. I was talking to Alice about it on Sunday and she said the same thing. She said – hang on… What’s that?’

  Charlie tensed so much his stomach muscles hurt. He couldn’t bear to look up.

  Stay or run? That’s all that was going through his mind.

  ‘There, look…’

  Decide!

  He began to raise himself up. They sounded elderly. They’d never catch him, and if he sprinted without looking back they might not even get a look at his face.

  ‘The vestry door…’

  ‘Oh, my Lord. Not again!’

  They had gone past – they hadn’t seen him!

  He tiptoed down the aisle as quickly as he could, listening to them examining the door, picking the doorknob up, chuntering in dismay. He even felt somehow guilty, as if he really had been the one responsible. Part of him wanted to go back, explain, tell them who he thought had done it.

  But as soon as he got to the door of the church, he ran out into the rain as fast as he could.

  nine

  There were still lots of dark clouds around, but the sun was pouring through gaps and making the damp pavements steam by the time Charlie reached Treffry House. The walk from the church had led him down the hill through the trees to Pont Pil, which turned out to be a little stream with a low footbridge running over it beside a big, secluded house. The path then went back up the hill towards Bodinnick and the ferry, with terrific views at the top across the river towards Polruan and Fowey. Charlie took more shots from up there.

  As on his last visit, the gates to Treffry House were open. And also as before, there was someone in the courtyard – but this time it wasn’t the man he’d learned was Wei-Li’s wealthy businessman father, nor the woman whom he hired to come in to clean and cook. It was Wei-Li herself, and the sight brought Charlie to a halt.

  She was in the centre of the yard, wearing what looked like a sort of kung-fu uniform: it was deep blue with what looked like dragons in gold, in a silky material that shimmered in the sunlight as she moved. But it was the way she was moving. It seemed to be some sort of set of martial arts moves, but in slow motion: gentle and graceful, yet somehow powerful. Sometimes she would raise a foot as if performing a slow karate kick, then spin round with the foot still in the air: controlled, perfectly balanced. She snaked around an imaginary circle, creeping down, rising up, turning, and all the time the movements of her arms and legs were synchronised perfectly. The different martial arts postures flowed seamlessly from one to another – but then, while Wei-Li still had her back to Charlie, she stopped as if someone had pressed a ‘pause’ button.

  ‘You can come in you know, Charlie.’

  He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was grinning as she spoke. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you. It looks gr—’ He checked himself. Didn’t want to sound too soppy. ‘It must be hard to learn.’

  She resumed her movements. ‘A few months to learn, but a lifetime to perfect. I’ll teach you if you like.’

  ‘Huh – not sure I can afford a lifetime of lessons…’

  She smiled as she resumed for another minute before finally coming to a halt. She brought her feet together, rested her hands on her lower abdomen, one on top of the other, then bowed in Charlie’s general direction.

  ‘It’s something my grandfather always said. Months to learn, a lifetime to perfect. My dad learned from him too but he was always too busy with his business to keep it up, so Grandfather Lu taught me. What he meant was you need to search for the inner meaning. You’re always learning.’

  ‘Is it some kind of kung fu?’

  ‘In a way. Tai Chi – you must have heard of it.’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Want a drink? Juice or something?’

  Only now did Charlie realise how thirsty he had become since setting off from Polruan at least a couple of hours ago. ‘Yes please – orange if you’ve got it.’

  A few minutes later they were sitting on a park bench-type seat against the wall of the house, bathed in sunshine. As she always seemed to, Wei-Li had assumed a cross-legged posture.

  ‘Where’s Mohan?’

  ‘Oh, he got bored and went home.’

  ‘Ah, sorry. It took longer than it should have because I had a job to do on the way.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Mohan’s got a restless mind. Easily bored. What job was it?’

  ‘Well, when you hear what I saw you won’t mind how long it took me to get here.’

  He began by telling her about the Edgecombe family grave, and the feeling that someone had left the church and crept past him while he was looking at it.

  ‘It was the Creep. I know it was. And there’s more…’

  ‘The Creep?’

  ‘Oh, er… That’s the nickname I gave Henry Penhale,’ he replied, rather sheepishly.

  Wei-Li laughed, and it was like the most beautiful song imaginable.

  ‘And?’

  ‘What? Ah, yes…’ He couldn’t remember the exact wording on the gravestone, so he turned the camera on to check the picture. ‘For there is nothing covered that shall not be revealed; and hid that shall not be known. Matthew 10:26. It’s from the Bible.’

  ‘Really? I thought it was from Harry Potter…’

  Charlie gave her a quizzical look – until he saw the twinkle in her dark eyes and realised she was teasing him. ‘What’s been “covered” – that’s what I want to know.’

  ‘After all these years it might not be possible to find out. Maybe the family had a dark secret.’

  ‘Well, maybe the Creep thinks it can be found out – otherwise he wouldn’t sneaking around doing all this stuff. And just after I heard him, or whoever it was, leaving the church, I found there’d been another break-in. Only this time, something’s been put back, not stolen.’

  ‘The burial register.’

  ‘Yep. Doesn’t make sense to me, but he’s returned it.’

  ‘Maybe it’s his conscience. However creepy he is, he doesn’t sound like your average robber. A historical thing like that can never be replaced, so perhaps he got what he needed and wanted it to be put back where it belonged.’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘We’re no closer to finding out.’

  ‘Maybe we are. A bit, anyway. Mohan has discovered that the Penhale family once owned Rosebud Cottage.’

  ‘That fits I suppose, seeing as old Cornelius owned a boat with the same name.’

  ‘Henry could still own the cottage, for all we know.’

  ‘No. Sue told me the family sold it. Someone in London owns it now.’

  ‘Sue?’

  He realised he’d never mentioned her. He rarely did. ‘She’s my – she’s Dad’s girlfriend. For now, anyway.’

  Wei-Li lowered her eyes. ‘I’m sorry I upset you when I said that thing about your mum and the angel. I pick up these things, and it’s hard to know whether it’s best to tell people or not…’

  ‘I’m kind of glad you did tell me.’

  ‘Can I tell you something else?’

  Charlie felt his heart take a leap. ‘I suppose…’

  ‘If you give Sue a chance, it may well all work out.’

  ‘You don’t understand. It’s like she’s put a spell on Dad with her smiles and her nice ways. He’ll see through it eventually.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise it was as bad as that. Smiles and nice ways? Before you know it, it will be presents and laughter and there’ll be no stopping her evil ways.’

  Charlie nudged her playfully – but a little too hard. She was about to topple off the edge of the bench, and he caught her arm. Then he wondered why she was still looking at him in some sort of meaningful way – until he realised he was still holding her slender limb. He quickly let it go.

  ‘Sorry…’ He felt himself reddening.

  ‘Don’t be.’ She sprang up from her cross-legged position as lithely as a cat. ‘We need to let Mohan know the
latest.’

  Wei-Li slipped indoors, and re-emerged tapping the screen of her mobile. Within seconds she was recounting Charlie’s story to her FPI partner, and she put the call on speakerphone so that Charlie could hear.

  ‘I’m not sure what we should do next, apart from keeping a close eye on Henry Penhale.’

  Mohan’s breath rasped out of the speaker like static as he thought for a moment. ‘There’s one important thing we’re overlooking…’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Wei-Li

  ‘Charlie’s obsession with Penhale has made us forget our original interest in what was happening in Polruan and what we usually do.’

  ‘Excuse Mohan’s rudeness,’ Wei-Li said to Charlie with a wink.

  ‘I’m not rude – I just don’t waste words like most people. We are a paranormal investigation team. There’s something paranormal going in the area around Rosebud Cottage and it might involve Penhale. The ghost sightings are probably related to the disaster – I’m surprised we never thought of that. We should approach it the way we would normally – carry out a ghost hunt.’

  ‘We said we’d help Charlie, and there’s no proof that the hauntings are connected to Henry Penhale himself.’

  ‘Er, actually…’ began Charlie awkwardly. He told them about the face at the attic window and Penhale’s terror, and the voices off Blackbottle Rock.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Mohan’s tinny, irate voice trumpeted out of the phone.

  ‘Because I thought it would sound silly – I’m still not sure either any of it was really to do with ghosts, or just my imagination.’

  ‘I think Mohan’s right,’ Wei-Li decided after giving it some thought. ‘Charlie, you aren’t the first to see that face at the window. It’s one of the reports we were looking into when you arrived in Polruan. We need to get our equipment together and carry out a nighttime vigil as soon as possible. Will you join us?’

  Charlie felt a chill pass through his body. A real ghost hunt?

  He tried to sound as cool as possible. ‘Course I will…’