Devil's Rock - Chris Speyer [33]
‘Can you show me?’
‘Finish up your tea an’ I’ll fetch the chart down.’
When they had finished eating, Zaki cleared the table and Grandad spread out the chart.
‘Look here,’ Grandad said, tapping a callused finger on the chart.
‘Stapleton’s Creek,’ read Zaki. ‘Stapleton – that was the name of the landowner, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right. Owned the land right down to the sea. There’s the lime kiln, and see? Deep water right by it. Makes sense – they would ‘ave had to bring quite big boats in there with lime for the kiln.’
‘What was the lime for?’ asked Anusha.
‘Well – they made quick lime, didn’t they – to put on the fields – stopped the soil gettin’ too acid. Of course, they say, Stapleton had another purpose.’
‘What purpose?’ asked Zaki.
‘I told you about the wreckers burying the bodies in Stapleton’s fields? Well, they say they buried ’em in quick lime. Helped ’em to rot down, you see.’
‘Urgh! Yuck!’ declared Anusha in disgust. ‘Whose bodies are you talking about?’
‘I’ll explain later.’ Zaki studied the chart; it looked quite old. ‘Are these depths fathoms or metres?’
‘Metres,’ said Grandad.
Not too old, then. But he remembered how the sandbanks moved around in the Orme; the depths would certainly have changed since the chart was drawn. In the pool by the lime kiln there was a depth of three metres marked close in-shore. So a boat could lie in there and stay afloat even at low tide. The mouth of the creek was blocked by a mudbank that a boat would only be able to cross when the tide was high. No wonder he and Michael had never bothered with this creek, seen where it met the river, it would appear to be just a muddy little backwater.
‘You can’t see the lime kiln from the main river, can you, Grandad?’
‘No. It’s all overgrown for one thing, and for another, Stapleton’s Creek tucks around behind that hill.’ He tapped the chart again.
‘What’s all this about, boy?’ Grandad looked quizzically at Zaki.
‘Have you seen the little Falmouth workboat anchored by the town moorings?’
‘I’ve seen ’er. Pretty little craft.’
‘How deep do you think her keel is?’
‘Not much. Those boats was made for workin’ in shallow water – not more ’n a metre.’
‘So she could get up that creek at high tide?’
‘Easy.’
‘And she could lie there and nobody would see her?’
‘Reckon she could.’
‘I can see you’ve got the wind in your sails, boy, but I wonder if you know where you’re headin’.’ Grandad straightened his back and poured himself another mug of tea.
‘That’s the bit we call Dragon Pool,’ said Zaki, showing Anusha where they usually anchored. ‘When we were last there, Curlew could have been in the creek and we would never have known.’ Anusha gave a little nod to show she understood the significance of this information.
Zaki turned back to Grandad. ‘The ruined cottage . . .’
‘What of it?’
‘You said a woman was living there.’
‘Years ago.’
‘What was she like? Did you ever get a good look at her?’
‘I told you before, she never spoke to nobody.’
Zaki could tell by the closed look on his grandfather’s face and by the tone of voice that he had no wish to continue this conversation but Zaki was determined to press on. There was something his grandfather was keeping from him. Of course, it made no sense to connect that woman who lived in the cottage years ago and the girl, except . . . except . . .
‘Was she young? Old?’
‘Young,’ conceded Grandad grudgingly. ‘Pretty, some said.’
‘So you knew people who saw her?’
‘Oh ay – knew. An’ little good it did them.’
‘What happened?’ It was Anusha who asked, her eyes alight with curiosity. Grandad placed his mug of tea on the table. He drew out a chair and sat facing Zaki and Anusha. He looked sternly from one to the other.
‘There was a Plymouth boat – Silver Harvest, she was called – belonged to three brothers. Hard men – heavy drinkers, and out for whatever they could get. Well, everybody knew the story of Maunder and Stapleton and there was always talk of lost treasure, but no one