The Murder of Busy Lizzie

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The landing-beach at which the boat had put in stretched northwards for upwards of a mile. Surveying it from the cliff-top on the following morning, Sebastian, who had a towel round his neck and his swim-trunks on under his flannel trousers, remarked to his sister, who was similarly clad except that she wore a bikini top under her sweater, that he was not impressed by the facilities which the greyish shore afforded.

‘I don’t think I want to bathe here,’ he said ‘and then there’s that awful grind up the hill to get back. My legs always feel like jelly after I’ve been swimming.’

‘Well, let’s walk about a bit,’ suggested Margaret. ‘Breakfast isn’t until eight. We’ve heaps of time.’ They walked to the tip of the island. From there, the mainland, which at first had been discernable through the early morning haze, was out of sight and all that faced the holiday-makers was a vast expanse of sea. They rounded a headland, glanced back at the south-east lighthouse of the island and then found themselves looking down on a tiny cove. ‘That might do,’ Margaret went on. ‘Let’s find a way down.’

‘It still looks rather mucky,’ objected Sebastian. ‘I hate bathing from shale and pebbles. Besides, the sea looks pretty rough and there are rocks.’

‘There’s somebody swimming, anyway.’

The descent to the beach was precipitous, but there were steps cuts here and there, and at the back of the cove they found a large cave with a rocky ledge on which were the clothes presumably belonging to the swimmer. They shed their own outer lendings and picked their way painfully over sharp pebbles and precariously over bright- green slippery rocks to get into the water. It was shallow and clear, except for dark strands of seaweed, and it struck cold at that hour of the morning. Margaret crouched in the shallow sea on what appeared to be a shelf of rock and then, using her hands, lifted herself sufficiently to be able to propel her body forwards towards the dark green billows. The rocky shelf ended with some abruptness, and she found herself submerged in six feet of water. She surfaced and began to swim. Sebastian followed suit and the next moment they were hailed by the other swimmer, who came threshing towards them on a clean, crisp stroke which made their own quite adequate efforts look puerile and clumsy.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Just thought I’d better tip you off to stay pretty well inshore. Out there is the race they call Dead Man’s Day. Once you get caught in that, you’ve had it.’ She turned and threshed away. Five minutes later she was on the rocky shelf and was wading purposefully towards the cave.

‘That’s her,’ said Margaret, floating and allowing the waves to carry her slightly shorewards.

‘That’s who?’ asked Sebastian, pushing the long hair away from his eyes.

‘The woman we saw yesterday. Gavin. She waved to us from outside that house.’

‘Wonder how long she’ll take to dress? I shall soon have had enough of this. It’s damn’ cold and I want my breakfast.’

‘Oh, dear, yes, it is cold, isn’t it?’

‘Well, there’s nothing to stop you going ashore. I’ll have to wait until she’s through, though, I suppose.’ He turned and swam along level with the coast, mindful of the warning about Dead Man’s Day. Margaret watched his somewhat laboured stroke and contrasted it with the human torpedo who had come in to speak to them, then she turned in the direction of the shore, swam as fast as she could, hoisted herself on to the ledge and staggered ungracefully over stones towards the cave.

The woman, who seemed to be as energetic out of the water as in it, was just pulling a sweater on over a towelling shirt. Having done this, she unconcernedly dried her magnificent legs, shook back her damp hair, which appeared to have received a vigorous preliminary rubbing, and said, as she pulled on her trousers,

‘Hope you didn’t mind my butting in.’

‘Of course not. Very good of you, although my brother and I are pretty careful in strange waters.’

‘Good for you. Staying here long?’

‘A month. Your name—my brother spotted it on your luggage…’

‘Gavin. Laura to my friends.’

‘Our name is Lovelaine. I’m Margaret, my brother is Sebastian. We’re staying here with my father. The hotel belongs to my aunt.’

‘Oh, yes? Well, I hope I’ll see you again.’ She pulled on a pair of rope-soled shoes and added, ‘Wouldn’t your brother like to dress now? I’m just off.’

‘Yes, I expect he’s feeling cold,’ said Margaret. ‘I’ll signal him.’ She stepped out of the cave and waved and beckoned. Sebastian thankfully waded ashore, but, when he reached his sister, he said,

‘Oh, dear! I thought you meant the cave would be vacant, but she’s still in there, isn’t she?’

‘I’ll get your towel,’ said Margaret. ‘You can begin to dry yourself out here.’

‘This wind is chilly. Why did you wave if she isn’t ready?’

‘She said she was.’ Margaret went into the cave. There was no sign of Laura. She and the wet swimsuit which she had flung down were both gone. Bewildered, the girl returned to her brother. ‘The cave’s all yours,’ she said. ‘Laura Gavin seems to have done a disappearing trick. Hurry up and get dressed. I want my breakfast.’

‘She can’t have disappeared,’ said Sebastian. ‘She certainly didn’t leave the cave while I was coming out of the water. I’d have seen her.’

‘I suppose you would. Anyway, she isn’t in there now.’

Sebastian entered the cave, dried himself and dressed and then said, ‘I think I’ve got it. This cave must have been a smugglers’ hole. That means there’s another way up to the top of the cliffs from the back of it. I’ve heard of such things before. There must be a natural fault in the rock. Let’s find it.’

This proved to be a simple operation. Not only was there a natural fissure in the back of the cave, but rough steps had been chopped out to make a steep ascent and a short cut to the cliff-top.’

‘Fun!’ said Sebastian. ‘But I don’t think I’ll bathe before breakfast another time. I got damn’ cold hanging about waiting to get into the cave.’

‘Well, you don’t need to bother about me. You never do. I’ll tell you what. I saw some steps up to the lighthouse while I was in the water. Let’s go that way back.’

‘Worse than the climb up from the cave, wouldn’t it be?’

‘I don’t know, but I like steps.’

‘And what happens when we get to the lighthouse? Ten to one we’ll have to come all the way down again.’

‘Oh, well, all right, then. I’ll do it by myself sometime.’ They toiled up the rest of the slope, flung their wet swim-suits down on the sitting-room floor of the chalet and found their father already at breakfast when they went over to the hotel.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Have you been swimming? I hope you didn’t take any risks. I’ve been talking to the porter. He has come back on duty today. He tells me that the currents around the island are very treacherous and can be extremely dangerous.’

‘Yes, we know,’ said Margaret. ‘The Gavin woman—Laura—was there, and she warned us about Dead Man’s Day.’

‘That was very good of her. Well, sit down and have your breakfast. The bacon and eggs come from the farm and are excellent.’

‘Any news of Aunt Eliza?’ asked Sebastian.

‘None. I could hardly ask the porter about her, and so far there is nobody in charge of reception. I think you may like to make yourselves scarce as soon as you have had your breakfast. The hotel is already in a state of near- confusion preparing for a vast influx of visitors, so that it promises little hope of any peace and quiet this morning.’

‘Oh, the bird-watchers’ conference, I suppose,’ said Sebastian. ‘Maggie and I will be out of it, anyway. We’re going to explore the island. Do you think, Father, that we could ask for a packed lunch? If there’s going to be a sort of spring-cleaning done here, I want no part of it.’

‘I should have liked to come with you, but I think I will stay here to greet Lizzie upon her arrival. I did ask the porter about steamers and it appears that one is due today, but not another one until Saturday. Wednesdays,