pasty. “This right, is it? Some people want them with veg, but you didn’t ask for that, did you?”
“No,” said Jude. “A proper Cornish pasty’s got lots of veg inside, hasn’t it?”
“You’re right, my lover.” The woman set the two plates down on the table. The smell that rose from them was wonderful. The pastry was solid – not the nasty flaky kind that features in so many mass-produced pasties – and there was a neat finger-pinched seam along the top of the plump oval. “And the pasties at the Tinner’s Lamp are certainly proper ones. Now do you want any sauce?”
“Again, a proper Cornish pasty shouldn’t need any sauce.”
“You’re right again, my lover. But we get so many emmets down here who want to smother them with ketchup and brown sauce you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Have you had a busy summer?” Carole yet again envied her neighbour’s ability to slip effortlessly into conversation with total strangers.
The landlord’s wife pulled a glum face. “Not that good. Weather’s been fine, but the tourists’ve stayed away. Nope, lot of people round here have felt the pinch. All the B & B’s and what-have-you been half-empty. So where are you two staying?”
“Treboddick.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of nuance in the monosyllable. The landlord’s wife knew exactly where they meant, and exactly who ran the place. And she had some reservations about the owners. “Don’t think they’ve had a great summer either. Worse than most people round here, I reckon.”
“We’ve only just arrived, but it looks to be a beautiful spot,” Carole contributed.
“Oh yes, no question about that. But everywhere in Cornwall’s beautiful. You’ve got to provide more than beauty if you’re going to get the punters in.”
“‘En Suite Bathrooms’ and ‘Sky Television’?”
“All that certainly. But you got to do a bit more. Make your guests welcome, not treat them like you’re doing them a favour by letting them stay in your place.”
The implicit criticism struck a chord. Mopsa’s lack of interest in them and lack of preparation for their arrival was characteristic of the Lockes. Rowley welcoming guests to his precious Treboddick would no doubt be even more condescending.
“How long’re you staying down here?”
“Oh, probably just till the weekend.”
“Well, it’s a lovely area for walking. And if you want to go out for a day’s fishing, just let me know. My brother can organize all that for you.”
They thanked her, but thought it unlikely that they would want to go out fishing.
“He does just pleasure trips too. There’s some bits of the old mine workings and that you can only get a good view of from the sea.”
“Well, thank you. We’ll bear it in mind,” said Carole politely.
“Looks like there was a mine at Treboddick,” Jude suggested.
“Oh, certainly, that’s Loveday. There are mines all along the coast here. Hence the name of this pub. Tin mining was very big in the mid-nineteenth century. That and smuggling, of course. There’ve been attempts to revive it since – the tin mining I’m talking about now – but not very successful. If you want to see how it works, though, they’ve got this kind of working museum just down the coast at Geevor. That’s worth a look. Most of the places, though, it’s just ruins. Particularly of the pump house. A lot of the mine workings was under the sea, so they had to be constantly pumping the water out.”
“It looks like the remains of one of those at Treboddick.”
“You’re right. About all there is left of Wheal Loveday.”
Carole and Jude exchanged looks. Of course! Now they really had got something. They’d both known that the Cornish word for a mine was ‘wheal’, but neither of them had made the connection. They’d never seen it written down, but now they both felt sure that what they’d observed the young Lockes playing was ‘The Wheal Quest’ with an ‘a’; and that its inspiration definitely came from Treboddick.
? Death under the Dryer ?
Twenty-Six
Whether because of the long drive or the Tinner’s Lamp’s excellent pasties and Chardonnay, both Carole and Jude slept exceptionally well that night. By her standards, Carole in fact overslept, waking at seven-thirty in a panic about getting Gulliver out before he soiled the cottage floor. Neither of the women were big breakfasters – except on those days when Jude suddenly felt like an All-Day Special – and they made do with the rather meagre Welcome Pack which Mopsa had left in their fridge.
It was warm enough for them to sit in the little back garden and look out over the sea as they finished their morning drinks – herbal tea for Jude, black instant coffee for Carole. Gulliver panted restlessly at their feet, the loop of his lead round the leg of a chair. His nose was giving him lots of impressions, the most dominant being that they were in excellent walking country. If the smells around the cottage were good, how much better might they be along the coastal path. “So we’re here,” said Carole. “What do we do now?” Jude looked out across the Atlantic, apparently not ready to commit herself.
“I mean, Gulliver’s definitely going to need a long walk.”
“Yes, and in these wonderful surroundings it would be madness for us not to go for a long walk.”
“On the other hand…” Carole lowered her voice histrionically, “…what are we going to do about…
“Well, anything we are going to do about
“So that means we have to watch her front door all day until she goes out.”
“It might not be all day.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, she might go out early.”
“Really, Jude, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”
“No. Sorry. I am really. Promise.”
“Huh.”
“Of course, there is another way of discovering when Mopsa’s going out.”
“Which is?”
“We could ask her.”
“What!”
Jude was only away a few minutes. Carole was washing up their breakfast things when she returned, humming. “Mopsa’s going out to the shops at about eleven.”
“How do you know?”
“Like I said I was going to, I asked her.”
“But didn’t she think it was odd?”
“No, of course she didn’t. She has no suspicion of us. She just thinks we’re a pair of punters who are – thank God – paying some rental money at the end of what’s been a very bad season.”
“So what did you say?”
“I said: ‘Are you by any chance going to the shops because if you are would you mind getting a few things for us?’”
“What things?”
“Oh, I thought of some stuff. Muesli, yoghurt.”
I might have known it wouldn’t have been anything useful like bacon and eggs, thought Carole.
“And Mopsa said that was fine. And I gave her some cash, and she’s going to give me some change. It wasn’t very difficult.”
“And did she say where she was going shopping? Because that’ll give us an idea of how long she’s likely to be
