The Valley of the Shadow Read online

  She regarded him now with quite as much apprehension as she saw on Megan’s face. She couldn’t see how he could blame either of them for what had happened, nor, indeed, what business it was of his. But she was quite sure he would find a reason.

  Eyes narrowed, he glanced at the man on the stretcher as he stood aside to let it pass, exchanging a couple of words with Dave. Then he stepped back to block the path.

  “So you got him out alive, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir. Just.”

  “Good job. No sign of identification?”

  “No, sir. He was naked.”

  “We need to find out who he is. You’ll go with him in the ambulance and stay beside him till he speaks or till he croaks.”

  “Sir!” Megan protested. “I’m not properly dressed. I have to go home and change.”

  He surveyed her from head to toe. “You’re decenter than half the totty-birds I see in the streets. If it bothers you, I expect they’ll lend you a hospital gown.”

  “But if I’m on duty, I ought—”

  “Are you complaining about night duty? You’ve had the afternoon off,” Scumble said, most unfairly in Eleanor’s opinion. He took a notebook from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here, I don’t suppose you brought your own. You’d better get moving. Don’t want them to go without you.”

  “I’ll bring you clothes at the hospital, Megan,” Eleanor called after her. “Teazle, come! We’re not going with her.”

  Megan waved and hurried to climb into the ambulance, where Jim was already revving the engine. Slowly and noisily, it backed up the steep drive.

  The inspector turned his gaze on Eleanor. “Well, well, well, I heard you’d taken a spill, Mrs. Trewynn. No serious damage, I trust?”

  “No worse than Megan.”

  Nick broke in. “Yes, Megan was hurt, climbing onto the rocks. Not badly, but she ought to have her skinned knees seen to.”

  “She’s going to the right place, then, isn’t she,” Scumble pointed out, with that exasperating patience that made one feel like an idiot. “Plus she gets an exciting ride in a helicopter.”

  “A helicopter?”

  “That bloke doesn’t like the look of his patient. He’s going to radio for a Coast Guard helicopter to meet them somewhere there’s room to land. I suppose you think I should give your niece a break before she goes back on duty, but she’s the best person I’ve got available to make sense of anything the victim might say.”

  “Victim?” said Nick.

  “Of an accident,” the inspector said blandly. Producing a notebook and biro, he turned to Julia. “And who may this young lady be?”

  “I’m Julia Merridew.”

  “Just where do you come into the picture, Miss Merridew?”

  “I saw Megan—Detective Sergeant Pencarrow—rescue the man. She was wonderful! And then I … um…”

  “Lent the victim a bit of body warmth,” Nick suggested.

  “Exactly,” said Julia with a grateful smile.

  Unimpressed, Scumble asked, “Did you see the victim enter the water?”

  “Gosh no. We were hiking, Chaz and I, up on the cliffs. We saw Megan dive in and we ran down to see if we could help. Chaz gave Nick a hand to pull the victim out.”

  “Chaz?” The inspector eyed the youth, who was hanging back from the group. Eleanor guessed he didn’t want to come within smelling distance.

  “Charles.”

  “Surname, sir?”

  “Avery, if you really have to know.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s just a matter of routine, for my report.”

  Chaz didn’t appear to be reassured. He muttered something inaudible.

  “I can’t think why a detective inspector should have to write a report about an accident,” Eleanor said crossly, “but if you have any more questions, would you please postpone them. Miss Merridew is cold, as Megan is wearing all her warm clothes—”

  “And not much else,” Nick put in, grinning, as he stripped off his anorak and presented it to Julia with a bow.

  “—And I’m rather tired. You can come to Port Mabyn and ask me anything you please tomorrow. Not that I know anything. Right now I have to drive Julia and Chaz to Boscastle, one at a time because my car is full of stuff, then come back to pick up Nick—”

  “You needn’t worry about fitting people into your car, Mrs. Trewynn,” Scumble interrupted. “Mrs. Stearns is waiting for you up there on the road. I’m sure she’ll consider it her duty to ferry your Good Samaritans to Boscastle, being as how she’s a vicar’s wife.”

  Realising her mouth had fallen open, Eleanor closed it far enough to exclaim, “Jocelyn! What on earth is she doing here?”

  “She said the vicar passed on a garbled message, from someone whose name he’d forgotten, saying that you were in difficulties in Rocky Valley.”

  That sounded like Timothy all right. Eleanor sighed. She had forgotten asking Mr. Wharton to warn Joce not to expect her for supper.

  “I’ll go up,” Nick offered, “and tell her what’s going on. Inspector, now that the ambulance has gone, I assume I’m allowed to drive down to save Mrs. Trewynn the slog up the hill?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Oh, Nick, do you think the Incorruptible will make it back up this slope?”

  “Good point. I’ll ask Mrs. Stearns to come and get you.”

  “Thank you, Nick. Here are the keys…” She felt in her pocket. “Oh dear, I must have left them in the car. But that’s all right: Bob Leacock is there. Why don’t you just drive yourself home, Nick, and Jocelyn will bring Teazle and me.”

  As Nick trudged off, Scumble turned back to Julia and Chaz. “You two, you’re planning to spend the night in Boscastle? Where can I find you if I need to?”

  Chaz scowled.

  “At the youth hostel,” Julia said, “if you’re early enough.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “We’ll be hiking all day and going home in the evening. You’d better have our phone numbers.” She gave her own.

  “I can’t see what you need it for,” Chaz said truculently.

  Scumble looked at him, nostrils flaring, nose wrinkling in a meaningful sniff. “Is there any particular reason you choose not to cooperate with the police, sir?”

  “Of course not,” he blustered. “I just think—”

  “Your trouble is, you don’t think.” Julia reeled off another phone number.

  Scumble nodded, wrote it down, and closed his notebook. “I know where to find you, Mrs. Trewynn.” Though his tone was genial, Eleanor felt as much trepidation as if he’d threatened her. “Chances are I shan’t have to bother any of you. Thank you for your help.” With another nod, he set off up the drive after Nick.

  Anxiously, Julia asked Eleanor, “Do you think your friend will mind giving us a lift?”

  “Not at all.”

  And with luck, Joce wouldn’t start scolding Eleanor for getting mixed up in police business again until she had dropped off the young people.

  A few minutes later, Jocelyn’s car nosed cautiously down the drive. As Eleanor hoped, she held her questions until they were leaving the youth hostel, an ancient building with a bowed roofline that used to be one of a row of fishermen’s cottages.

  As they drove back across the old stone bridge, Jocelyn demanded, “Well?”

  “We were just going for a walk.” Eleanor was annoyed to hear the defensive note in her voice. She told her part of the story, glad to have missed seeing the harrowing rescue, so she didn’t have to describe it.

  “Hmm. I suppose as he’s apparently an Indian, he wouldn’t care for a pastoral visit. But Timothy and I will pray for him, of course. As soon as we get home, I’m going to take a look at those grazes of yours, to make sure your Mrs. Jellicoe cleaned them thoroughly. Very kind of her. I shall remember her in my prayers, too.”

  “Please do.” It couldn’t hurt, Eleanor thought, though a thank-you letter and perhaps a box of Black Magic would probably be better appreciat
ed. “But, Joce, I can’t stay to be doctored. I must take Megan some decent clothes. She’ll be feeling pretty silly wrapped in a hospital gown.”

  “I can’t believe That Man sent her off improperly dressed!”

  “I can. It doesn’t surprise me in the least. I wonder what I have in the way of skirts that would fit her.”

  “Nothing, I imagine. She’s at least three inches taller—”

  “Length doesn’t seem to matter these days.”

  “—And commensurately larger in the waist and hips. I’m sure I can find something suitable in the shop. Not mini, as she’s on duty. There’s a nice tweed, come to think of it, that would fit perfectly, though it’s rather a bright plaid.”

  If Jocelyn Stearns said the skirt would fit perfectly, then it would. She had an inerrant eye for clothes, far more inerrant than her husband’s somewhat vague theology. She was always discreetly but smartly turned out, though she bought almost all her clothes from the LonStar shop.

  “I’ll buy it for her. I hope Nick will go with me to Launceston. I don’t like driving at night.”

  “I’d take you myself except that there’s a parish meeting tonight that will collapse in chaos if I’m not there to hold the reins. But I’m sure Nicholas will drive you. I’ll say this for him, he’s generally obliging, in spite of his casual dress and manners. You’d better take my car. It’s more reliable than yours.”

  “The Incorruptible hasn’t broken down in ages!”

  “Therefore it’s the more likely to break down now. I don’t like to think of you stuck on the moor at night.”

  “Well, thank you, we’ll certainly get there quicker in yours, especially with the weight of the cart wheels in the back of mine. Iron rims instead of tyres! I can’t think how the poor horses pulled them.”

  “You found some cart wheels? Wonderful! We always get a good price for those once they’ve been cleaned up. We’ll take the Incorruptible up to the vicarage tomorrow and Timothy can help unload them.”

  Eleanor tried to envision the tall, thin, wispy vicar struggling to extricate the wheels from the backseat. “I think you’d better ask Mr. Irvin from the newsagent’s to help you.”

  “Good idea. Now, Eleanor, promise me you’ll have a nurse look at your injuries when you get to the hospital.”

  “It’s not necessary, honestly. Mrs. Jellicoe slathered Germolene on everything. Can’t you smell it?”

  Jocelyn sniffed. “Now you mention it … I didn’t notice before because that boy smelled of an illegal substance.” Her second sniff expressed her disapproval.

  “It’s not likely to do him much harm, unless he’s arrested. The Indians and Chinese use it in all sorts of medical preparations. Speaking of medical, I do hope Mr. Scumble will talk to Rajendra—Dr. Prthnavi—about the man Megan saved. He, if anyone, is likely to know something about him.”

  “There aren’t many Indians hereabouts,” Joce agreed. “The restaurant in Camelford, of course. I don’t know of any others, though of course they’re not likely to turn up in church. Oh, Timothy mentioned a new canon at Truro Cathedral who’s Indian. What I can’t see is why a detective inspector has any interest at all in the unfortunate man, except that it was Megan who got him out of the water.”

  “Only because his identity is a mystery, I suppose. Naturally that would appeal to a detective. But, you know, it’s all very well Megan sitting by his bedside waiting for him to speak, only what if he doesn’t speak English? It would be much more useful for Rajendra to be there. Except, of course, that India has so many languages … Oh well, in case Scumble doesn’t ask for Rajendra’s help, I’ll talk to him myself.”

  “Eleanor! You had much better stay out of it. You know what That Man thinks of your meddling in his crimes.”

  “But he’s been at pains to tell us there is no crime.”

  “True. Very well, if you insist on going to see Dr. Prthnavi tomorrow, I shall come with you.”

  Eleanor would have much preferred to go alone. However, she knew better than to try to dissuade Jocelyn from doing what she chose to perceive as her Christian duty.

  “All right,” she said, holding back a sigh. “I’ll ring him up and see when a visit would be convenient.”

  SEVEN

  Eleanor rang up Rajendra Prthnavi from home while Jocelyn retrieved the chosen skirt from the shop. He was out on a call, but his wife, Lois, a cheerful Birmingham girl who had never lost her Midland accent, assured Eleanor he’d be happy to talk to her that evening.

  “And you’ll stay to supper, of course.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but a friend will be with me—”

  “Any friend of yours is welcome, too.”

  That evening, Jocelyn’s duty to her parishioners trumped her duty to accompany Eleanor to see the doctor, but she was rather annoyed. “You should have asked to see him tomorrow,” she said severely.

  “Nick and I are going over to Launceston anyway … And for all we know, it may be urgent.”

  “Oh, very well. But you must tell me all about it in the morning.”

  In comparison to the Incorruptible, Jocelyn’s car was so comfortable that Eleanor dozed as Nick drove over the moors to Launceston. The journey took about half as long as in the aged Morris Minor, though, and she was still very weary when they reached the hospital.

  “No need for you to go in. I’ll take it,” Nick offered, reaching for the bag on the backseat that contained the tweed skirt Joce had picked out for Megan.

  “Thank you, dear. Ask how he’s doing, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  Eleanor waited anxiously for news. At last Nick returned, shaking his head when he saw her watching.

  “Not visiting hours. The porter wouldn’t let me go in to find someone to ask, as I’m not a relative. I told him the poor chap has no known relatives and that I helped rescue him, but nothing doing. I left the skirt with him. I hope it gets to Megan.”

  “I suppose he’s just doing his job, but how maddening.”

  “If nothing else, the doctor should be able to find out his condition.”

  “True. I do hope he’s come round by now.”

  They drove north through the town and across the ancient bridge over the River Kinsey. From there, Nick followed Eleanor’s directions—though she frequently lost her keys, she rarely lost her way. Near Goodmansleigh, they pulled up in front of a west-facing thatched cottage converted from two farm labourers’ tiny dwellings. In front, enclosed by a white picket fence, was a small garden crammed with dahlias of every conceivable colour and shape. They glowed in the afterglow of the sunset.

  “Damn, I wish I’d brought my camera! Too twee for words, but the tourists would eat it up.”

  “I expect Lois has photos, or would let you borrow their camera.”

  Nick instantly metamorphosed from a solicitous friend into an artist with a mission. “Come on then, quick, before the light changes.” He herded Eleanor up the short path and reached past her to knock on the door.

  Lois Prthnavi opened the door wearing an apron and wielding a wooden spoon. A nurse when she married Rajendra, she had given up work when they had children. Now that the boys were away at school, she took on part-time supply jobs during term time, but she loved cooking, so the doctor had no cause for complaint. Mouthwatering smells of Indian spices and frying onions wafted past her. “Eleanor, lovely to see you. You didn’t bring the little dog?”

  “No, I left her at home this evening.”

  “Come in, bab, come in, I’ve got stuff on the range that needs stirring. And you’re Mr. Gresham—”

  “Nick, please. How do you do, Mrs. Prthnavi. Your garden is magnificent.”

  “Nick’s absolutely dying to take some photos in this evening light, but he didn’t bring his camera.”

  “You must use ours. Here, Raj always keeps it on the hall table. He says it’s no use if you can’t lay your hands on it when you want it. It’s not fancy, but there should be plenty of film.”

 
“Thanks!” Nick strode back down the path.

  “He’ll apologise once he’s caught the light.” Eleanor closed the door behind her against the chilly air and followed Lois into the small slate-floored kitchen, dominated and warmed by a modern oil-fired Aga.

  “Not to worry. We’ve got one of his pictures of the coast, and Raj would buy one of his musical abstracts like a shot if we had anywhere big enough to hang it. Eleanor, you’re not ill, are you? No, of course not. You’d go to the surgery.”

  “Do I look as if I’m on my last legs? I’m just tired and a bit banged up. I tripped on a rough footpath, nothing serious.”

  “Raj should be home any moment. He rang when he left the patient’s house.”

  “No, really, that’s not what I want to talk to him about. Though it’s sort of connected. I wouldn’t have troubled him till morning except that we had to come over to Launceston to take a skirt to the hospital for Megan.”

  “Megan—your niece? She’s in hospital? I’m sure Raj will go and examine her if you’re not happy with her care, only there’s etiquette to be observed with second opinions. He’ll explain—”

  “Megan’s there as a police officer, not a patient. Sorry, I’m muddling you.”

  “Never mind. You can explain it all to Raj after dinner.”

  “Perhaps I’d better leave the explanation to Nick!”

  “He’s mixed up in whatever it is, too? No, don’t answer, it can wait. Let Raj relax over supper before you tell us.” Lois took an earthenware casserole from the slow oven, emptied into it the fragrant contents of one of her pans, and returned it to the oven. “Or is it private?”

  “Not exactly. I expect Megan’s inspector would just as soon the story didn’t get about, but too many people know what happened to keep it secret.”

  “You’re really whetting my appetite!”

  “Not as much, I’m sure, as the smell of what you’re cooking is whetting mine!”

  “And mine! I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Prthnavi, I let myself in. I’ve finished your film, I’m afraid. Would you rather I had it processed and sent you the prints and negatives of your pictures, or the other way round? I’d pay for mine, of course.”