The Valley of the Shadow Page 4

  “We’ll manage. The copper said there’s a couple of young blokes down there to give us a hand with the stretcher coming back? That right?”

  “Yes. Nick and Chaz.”

  “What about you? Looks as if you came a cropper. You all right?”

  “Yes, thanks. I was in too much of a rush. Do be careful, won’t you. But hurry!”

  “More haste, less speed,” observed Jim, who had handed out a first aid kit and a bright red blanket. “That’s the lot. Let’s get going.” He jumped down.

  They gathered up their impedimenta and started towards the muddy footpath leading to the bridge. “As we go, would you mind telling me all you know about our patient? But watch your footing, too. We don’t want to have to carry two out.”

  Following behind, scurrying to keep up with their long strides, she explained again that she had no direct knowledge of the patient’s condition, only what she had been told. She repeated what Chaz had said, which now seemed very muddled and incomplete.

  Dave grunted. Stumbling over a root, he nearly dropped the stretcher in the stream but managed to save himself with a grab at a nearby branch. “Hell!” he swore. “Begging your pardon. It’s going to be a bloody nightmare of a job getting him out.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not blaming you, Mrs. Trewynn. We’ve got to try. If we can save him, it’ll be worth the trouble.”

  If they could save him … But he might be already dead, Eleanor thought sadly.

  “Watch it,” said Jim, in the lead. “There’s an awkward spot here.”

  “Ha-ha. Show me a spot that isn’t awkward. No room for four stretcher bearers here.”

  They tramped on to Trethevy Mill. The sun no longer sifted through leaves to brighten the multihued ribbons. They looked faded, pathetic now, not gay. Without comment, the men followed Eleanor’s directions for the shortest way through the ruins.

  After crossing the second bridge, Dave and Jim speeded up on the open, stony path.

  “Do take care,” Eleanor begged. “Just along here is where I fell.”

  “You take your time, Mrs. Trewynn,” said Dave. “Straight on from here, is it?”

  “A couple of paths go off up to the cliffs, one on each side. Keep straight on to the end. Though straight isn’t quite the word…”

  Eleanor toiled on in their wake, her legs feeling heavier with every step. When she came to the rough places, she had to force herself to pay attention, her mind on Megan and the Indian. She wasn’t really needed any longer. She could have stopped to wait, or even gone back to the road, but she was too impatient to find out how they were doing. Besides, disgruntled as he was, Chaz might have taken his girlfriend and departed, in which case Eleanor might be needed after all, if only to carry Nick’s camera equipment.

  Though it was still broad daylight, the sun had sunk behind the western headland, casting its looming silhouette nearly to the crest of the opposite hillside. The rocky walls had metamorphosed from picturesque to threatening and the air was growing chilly.

  “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,’” Eleanor murmured to herself. She didn’t complete the quotation. She had seen too much evil in the world to put her faith in otherworldly protection.

  No more than she trusted in god or gods did she believe that an Indian tourist had chosen to go for a swim in the cold Atlantic for pleasure. Something, or someone, had forced him to take the plunge that might yet prove fatal.

  FIVE

  Some distance to the rear, Eleanor paused by the stream to catch her breath. At this point, the path started upwards, away from the stream. She watched the ambulance men tramp up and safely pass the uneven natural step that had caused her tumble. They continued up the path, over the crest, and disappeared down the other side.

  She plodded after them, using one hand to steady herself over the step.

  On the way down, the scene of the drama—the shelving slate by the inlet—was hidden by a massive outcrop of rock with a crack wide and high enough to step into. It suggested to Eleanor a portal into a fairy world under the hillside, as described in ancient ballads and tales. If only she could pop in and come out with three wishes, or a magic healing potion … anything that might help.

  The stretcher bearers would need all the help they could get on these few yards of the narrow path. It hugged the outcrop, curling round, separated by a couple of feet of steep grassy slope from a sheer fall onto the rocks by the stream.

  How on earth would they manage it? She decided not to watch when they came to that spot. It was all very well having seen the most dreadful sights in the poorest parts of the world; when she came home to Cornwall, she’d hoped for a peaceful retirement without the intrusion of any unnatural or unnecessary deaths.

  So far, her record was not promising.

  She trudged round the bend. Before her spread a scene of intense activity. Dave had already opened out the folding stretcher and, with Nick’s assistance, was checking that it was securely put together. Nick was wearing his anorak over a Moody Blues T-shirt and a pair of jeans too wide in the hips and too short in the legs. Both must belong to Chaz, Eleanor assumed.

  Beyond them, Chaz was helping an unknown girl extricate herself from a sleeping bag. “Be careful, you clumsy clot!” she snapped at him. “I didn’t go through all this to have him die because you made me jostle him.”

  “Why don’t we just unzip it?”

  “It’d let the cold air in. Brrr, it’s cold now the sun’s set.” She sat up, clad in nothing but a skimpy bra.

  Next to her, motionless, a head protruded from the sleeping bag, half hidden by a scarlet woolly hat pulled well down over the dark forehead. The face was slack, mouth half open. From where Eleanor stood, she couldn’t tell whether the man Megan had pulled from the sea was alive or dead.

  Megan and Jim, the ambulance driver, knelt beside him. Megan seemed to be doing her best to hold him still as the girl pulled her legs out of the bag and stood up, revealing shorts almost as skimpy as her bra. Chaz wrapped a shirt about her.

  Jim, a look of intent concentration on his face, had one hand inside the bag. “Got it! Pulse slow and feeble, breathing very shallow. Mouth-to-mouth, d’you think, Dave?”

  “Yes, give him some air, but no chest compressions.”

  Jim bent down lower. Megan said anxiously, “I wasn’t sure about the mouth-to-mouth, as he was breathing on his own. I knew it was important not to move him more than necessary, but we had to haul him out of the water…”

  “Don’t second-guess yourself,” said Dave, with a glance at the rockbound inlet. “Give yourself a break. You did a smashing job—oops, bad choice of words!—a terrific job. He survived, didn’t he?”

  “So far.”

  “Well, you did the most important thing, trying to warm him up. Right, Jim, let’s get him out of here.”

  “Can’t tell if there’s any colour come into his face,” Jim grumbled, straightening. He reached into the open first aid kit at his side and took out something small. Eleanor couldn’t make out what it was. “You insert the Guedel Airway, will you? You’re the expert.”

  “You need practice. I’ll watch over your shoulder.”

  Megan stood up and Dave took her place. She caught sight of Eleanor and came over, a spring in her step as she crossed the shelving slate. She appeared to have recovered from her exertions in rescuing the Indian. The same could not be said for her clothes. Below a navy blue fisherman’s jersey that only just reached the top of her thighs, her legs were bare, knees skinned, shins cut and bruised; above the pullover, a scarlet polo-neck poked out.

  “Aunt Nell, you’ve been in the wars! What happened?”

  “I tripped on the path, dear. Very clumsy of me, but I was in such a hurry, and worrying for you and the drowning man instead of paying attention. I’m all patched up and good as new. What happened to your clothes?”

  “I tore most of the buttons off my blouse when I took it off, and Nick tied my
skirt into such a tight knot with his shirt that we can’t undo it, now it’s wet. These are Julia’s, of course, and Nick’s wearing Chaz’s shirt.” She laughed. “Not exactly his kind of music!”

  The Moody Blues must be a band, Eleanor deduced. Nick preferred classical music to pop. “It was kind of them to lend their stuff,” she said. “Chaz seems … rather disaffected towards the police, I’m afraid. To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure whether he would stay to help. That’s why I came on, after showing the ambulance men the way.”

  “Julia definitely has the upper hand. But you should have gone home, Aunt Nell, and put your feet up.”

  “I couldn’t possibly relax, not knowing what’s going on.” Eleanor wondered whether to warn Megan that her boss knew what was going on, or at least that something was going on. Forewarned is forearmed, or Don’t cross the bridge till you come to it? The latter, she decided. With any luck, Mr. Scumble would think better of coming all the way from Launceston. “I’ll carry Nick’s camera stuff,” she said. “He and Chaz will have to help with the stretcher, and you and Julia can take the rucksacks.”

  While they talked, they watched the men pick up the lower sleeping bag by the four corners, stretching it tight, and lift the victim, still in the other sleeping bag, onto the stretcher. Jim and Dave fussed over him for a moment.

  Megan watched, frowning. “I should have given him mouth-to-mouth. I had to make so many decisions without adequate knowledge.”

  “You did the best you could, dear, and you saved his life.”

  “So far, at least. I think I’d better take a first aid refresher course.”

  “What a good idea. I’ll join you. I’m sure everything I learned is completely out-of-date.”

  “You’ve done first aid?” Megan asked in surprise. “I didn’t think you were on the hands-on side of things, so to speak.”

  “That’s how Peter and I started out. It wasn’t till several years after the war that he became LonStar’s troubleshooter and I … well, I was doing for conflict resolution what he did for practical problems. Even then, I was often hundreds of miles from a Western doctor, so knowing a bit of first aid was common sense. I’ve never heard of that airway thing they’re using, though.”

  “The Guedel Airway? It’s not something most people would carry around with them! Nor know how to use properly. It keeps the tongue from getting in the way of breathing, but it can do some nasty damage if it’s not inserted right. I wish they had oxygen to administer. They do in the London ambulances.”

  “It looks as if they’re ready to move.”

  Jim and Nick spread the red blanket over the stretcher and its burden and strapped it down. They took the front end. Jim would be on the outside of the curve when they passed the boulder, with Dave in the equivalent position at the back. Megan shook her head, stepping forward.

  “No,” she said in her police-officer voice. “I hope no one’s going to fall, but if they do we don’t want the first aid experts to be the ones to go over the edge. Parts of the path are pretty dodgy. You’d better swap places.”

  Dave looked annoyed but said grudgingly, “You’re right. Switch round.”

  “Thanks a lot!” Chaz muttered sarcastically, just loud enough to be heard.

  On a count of three, the four men lifted the poles.

  “Now watch your step, for heaven’s sake,” said Dave. “If we go too fast for you, speak up. It’s no good us coming all this way just to end up dumping the poor bugger in the stream. Right, let’s go.”

  Eleanor didn’t want to watch them round the outcrop, though she would have if watching and cheering them on—silently—could aid them in their peril.

  Megan had already hoisted one of the rucksacks and slung it on her back. She picked up the first aid kit. “Sure you can manage Nick’s stuff, Aunt Nell?”

  “Yes. You go ahead.”

  With a wave, Megan followed the stretcher.

  Eleanor crossed the slate to where Nick’s satchel, camera, and tripod lay, well out of the way of the spray of any errant wave. The other rucksack was nearby, and bending over it, the girl, who had put on a sleeveless shirt.

  “Hello. I’m Megan’s aunt, Mrs. Trewynn. And you’re Julia.”

  “That’s right. I say, would you mind awfully if I took off these shorts and put on my jeans? Megan could have borrowed them if she could’ve got into them, but as she couldn’t … It’s not as warm as it was.”

  “Of course not, dear. It’s kind of you to lend your pullover to Megan. Have you brought another woollie?”

  “’Fraid not. But she’s welcome to it. She was soooo cold when she came out of the sea. Isn’t she fabulous? I’ve never known a police detective before. There, that’s better.” Fastening her jeans, she looked at Eleanor, who had Nick’s satchel over one shoulder, the camera by its strap over the other, and the tripod clasped to her bosom. “Just let me get my rucksack settled and I’ll take the camera and tripod, if you can manage the satchel.”

  About to respond with some indignation that she could perfectly well carry everything, Eleanor reminded herself of the wisdom of allowing people to follow their charitable impulses. Besides, she was tired, and she had already tripped once, and the camera was both heavy and valuable. Nick would not be happy if she were to damage it in another fall.

  “Thank you, that would be a help.”

  By the time they had sorted themselves out, the stretcher party and Megan were out of sight, having rounded the curve without untoward incident. Eleanor and Julia set off after them, Teazle scurrying ahead.

  “I hope Chaz wasn’t too obnoxious,” Julia said, falling behind as they reached the narrow path.

  “My dear, even if he was, which he wasn’t, I wouldn’t dream of criticising your boyfriend when you’re just behind me with a nasty drop to our left.”

  Julia laughed. “Oh, that’s all right. He’s not my boyfriend, though he sometimes behaves as if he thinks he is. We’re both doing geology at Exeter, and as we live quite near each other, we sometimes do things together in the summer vac. The rocks on this stretch of coast are pretty interesting—but don’t worry, I won’t bore you with them!”

  “Cliffs and coves and caves,” Eleanor said vaguely. “And narrow inlets like this one. And there are mines of some sort, aren’t there? I’ve seen warning signs about old mine shafts. I’m sure it must all be fascinating.”

  “To us. I’m glad Chaz wasn’t too awful. He’s racially prejudiced, you see, and he made the most awful remarks when the poor man turned out to be Indian. I had to shut him up.”

  “Yes, I heard a bit of that. To do him justice, though, he asked if I needed help when I—” She didn’t want to go into her pathetic collapse over the steering wheel. “Well, never mind. You both live in this part of the world?”

  “He’s from Flushing. Across the river from Falmouth?”

  “I know it. Where the Victorian ships’ captains built their mansions.”

  “One of which is Chaz’s family’s. They’re in shipping, I think, though his father’s an architect. There’s some sort of family connection with Boscastle, too.”

  “And you? Teazle, come! You’ve just dried off. Don’t go swimming again.”

  Teazle, poised on the edge of the stream, hesitated a moment before obeying, scrambling up the steep slope to the path. They were well beyond the obtrusive boulder now, and safely past the spot where Eleanor had tripped earlier. The last glimpse Eleanor had caught of the stretcher party, they were on the bridge leading to the ruined mill.

  “Good girl.”

  “She’s a sweetie. Our dog, Merlin, is the result of an unintended encounter between a pedigree black Lab and a farm sheepdog, with all the best points of both. We live in Mabe Burnthouse, not far from Falmouth. Chaz’s dad gave us a lift to Tintagel, where we started this morning, and he’s supposed to meet us in Boscastle tomorrow. He had to come over here on business. Hell, we’re not going to be able to finish the hike before dark! Is it far by road to Boscastle?�
��

  “Two or three miles. But don’t worry about it, I’ll take you in the … Oh, I forgot, I’ve got those dratted wooden cart wheels on the backseat!”

  “Wooden cart wheels? I thought those went out with Queen Victoria!”

  Eleanor explained her acquisition and the difficulty of extracting it from the Morris Minor. “But Nick and Chaz could get them out. Or, better, I can drive you down one by one and pick up Nick on the way home.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but we can easily walk it.”

  “It’s a narrow, winding road. I’d hate to think of you walking it in the dark. And I don’t know what we’re going to do about the clothes you lent Megan and Nick.”

  “They can’t go home dressed—undressed—the way they were when Chaz and I first saw them! There’s no hurry about returning the clothes.”

  “We’ll sort it out tomorrow. Except—Heavens!—Megan can’t drive a police car back to Launceston in nothing but a pullover and knickers. She’ll have to come home with me.”

  “You wouldn’t think rescuing a drowning man would lead to so many complications!”

  They caught up with the others as the men were manoeuvring the stretcher across the upper bridge. To get round the corners they had to lift it above the railings while two were climbing the steps and the other two walking backwards on the bridge. Then they reversed the process descending the other steps. It all looked very precarious to Eleanor, but they managed it without dropping the stretcher.

  Megan stopped in the middle of the bridge, staring past the stretcher party, and said, “Oh, hell!”

  SIX

  Detective Inspector Scumble stood at the top of the footpath, looking irritated, admittedly nothing out of the ordinary for him. Megan’s boss was a large, solid man whose limited supply of patience was sorely tried by the vagaries of Eleanor’s memory. He failed to understand why—though she always remembered people—she could be relied on to forget where she had put a vital clue, what time she had done whatever it was she had done, and whether she had locked her doors.