William Price Sails North chapter 1

Here it is, an all new adventure for William Price and his shipmates.  Captain Mornington is given a difficult ship with a boring and routine task.  Nobody expects to find Amelia's old nemesis, the pirate Burkett [dastardly but not dread] interrupting a mapping trip

Chapter 1

Captain Mornington returned to the ‘Thrush’ after having been summonsed to the Admiralty, looking very thoughtful; almost grim. William Price was the officer of the watch, and the captain nodded to him.

“Pass the word, Will, I want all the officers and midshipmen to dine with me:  we’ve a good crew, whoever is officer of the watch to appoint a steady hand to alert him if anything happens.”

“That sounds serious, sir,” said William.

“It is, Will; but you’ll hear about it over the meal, and no sooner, like everyone else,” said the captain.

William laughed and saluted.

“Aye aye, sir!” he said.

The Captain looked around his officers seriously.

“I’ve been promoted to Post Captain and offered a new command,” he said, abruptly.

“Congratulations, sir!” said Hector Phrayle, the first lieutenant.  When the captain of a small ship like a sloop was promoted to another ship, it often meant that his first lieutenant was offered the captaincy of the ship, with the rank of Master and Commander, in his place, if he had made no mistakes and there was no admiral’s favourite to put over him.  Mornington gave him an affectionate smile.

“Aye, if you’ve a mind to it, I make no doubt that the ‘Thrush’ would be yours – unless you care to come with me.  If you’ve any sense you’ll stay here, but I was offered the opportunity to take any officers I might; and I’ll take volunteers only.  As well as stealing half the crew,” he added dryly.  “I’ve been offered a frigate; but the frigate in question is the ‘Endeavour’.

William gasped.  The ‘Endeavour’ had been sailed into Portsmouth and handed over by its mutinous crew.

“Indeed,” murmured Mornington.  “I’m sure you are all aware of the conditions on the ‘Hermione’?”

All the officers nodded.

“Are you saying, sir, that the crew claim that the  conditions on the ‘Endeavour’ were similar, sir?” asked Brigham, the sailing master, “With an insane flogging captain who thought everyone was conspiring against him?” he sounded disbelieving.  William hid a smile; Brigham was a sceptic.

“Not identical, no, but there were enough similarities that the crew felt trapped in the same way,” said Mornington.  “And they felt that as the circumstances of the ‘Hermione’ were known, though it was a given that the ringleader would be hung, they might do worse than sue for mercy from the Admiralty.  In the event, and since they did not kill any of the officers, merely marooning them, the Admiralty has been inclined to clemency, because frankly it cannot afford to lose trained men,” he looked around his officers, “and I’ve been offered the command because I am expendable – I have no patronage to speak of, and I am unconventional.  If I fail, well, it was inevitable.  If I succeed, well, that was no more than my duty.”

“What happened to the captain, sir?” asked Hector.

“He was put ashore in good health, but accidentally tumbled  over a cliff and died, no fault of the crew,” said Mornington, “and every officer swears that this is what happened,” he added.

The officers exchanged looks.

“Did they push him, sir?” squeaked little Lord.

“Mr Lord, the court martial has their sworn deposition that it was an accident,” said Mornington, “and it would be quite wrong to speculate otherwise.”

“Keep your thoughts to yourself, laddie,” said Scully.  “Sir, the ringleader must have been quite a man.”

Mornington smiled at him.

“Aye, John – a man much like you.  A man of letters caught up by the press, who might have cursed fate and settled down to do what he could, had he not been unfortunate enough to be in such a ship, with such a captain.  I am sure you appreciate his position.”

Scully nodded.  He had been a clerk who had committed a small fraud to try to pay for a doctor for his sick mother; and had been sent from gaol to the ‘Thrush’ where the understanding kindness of William Price had turned him from mutinous thoughts to becoming a midshipman. 

“If – if he hasn’t been hanged, yet, might I talk to him?” he blurted out.

“I thought you might have the compassion to ask that,” said Mornington, with a smile.  “I’ve written you orders to that effect, and already arranged it.  He’s the only one who is to be hanged, and he accepts it philosophically, as I am told, since he declared that it was a cleaner way to die than of being flogged to death.  I am inclined to agree,” he added dryly, “his henchmen were to be given four dozen to discourage them.  Myself, I’m inclined to think that flogging men for wanting to avoid excessive flogging is a trifle ironic, but the boards of court martial rarely manage any kind of imagination, and I never said that.”

“Said what, sir?” quipped Phrayle.

Mornington smiled a thin smile.

“Well, I suppose it remains to ask which of you gentlemen will be prepared to come with me and sort out a mutinous crew,” said he.

Brigham gave a bark of laughter.

“You jest, surely, sir?” he said.

Mornington looked startled, and William noticed a slight look of hurt in his eyes.

“Mr Brigham is right, sir,” he said, “he knows we’ll all come.”

“What, is that what you meant, Brigham?” asked Mornington, lightly.

“What else, sir?” said Brigham, looking genuinely puzzled.

“I think we should let everyone make up their own minds, you know,” said Mornington.  “Will, you’ve said you’ll come too; I was hoping, John, that you would bring your experiences as well,” he looked at Scully.

“Well, obviously, sir; or there would be no point in having the last words of the ringleader to pass on,” said Scully, “and I would not desert the best captain in the navy anyway,” he added.

“Hear Hear!” piped little Lord, earning him a cuff from Prescott. 

“You mind your manners!” said Prescott, “You might be right, but it ain’t good form for us to say so first!”

“Neatly stepped around managing to do so, Mr Prescott; I believe you might even acquire tact, if not reticence, as you grow older,” said Mornington.

“And I’m with you in any sticky spot too,” said Hector. “A command might be tempting, but I’ve more to learn, sir, and I won’t learn from a better captain.”

“I expect if the men have been badly treated, they’ll need my services,” said Campbell, the surgeon.  “I’ve news on Tom Jenkins, by the way – he is hoping to be ready for service in a few weeks, so if you can arrange for him to be on light duty, sir, I’m sure he’ll be happy to join us too.”

“Oh that’s good news!” said William, warmly.  The young midshipman, who had been wounded in their adventures in Ireland, was a steady youth. 

“Well!” said Captain Mornington.  “As you are all inclined to be crazy enough to join me, let us drink a health to our success!”

The officers raised their glasses willingly to that!

Mornington spoke up again.

“I managed to persuade their Lordships that whichever of my officers joined me should each pick two picked men, as a core,” he said.  “I’m taking Yarde, my cox, and Porkins; a good gunner is worth his weight in gold.  I expect you gentlemen to confer and pick me a good mix of men who will be ready to stand by if need be.”

Scully laughed.

“Then although he’s as lubberly as a dowager in full sail, I think I must suggest Wick,” he said.  “He’s a handy fellow to have if it comes to fighting; and nobody could accuse him of slyly spying on the men.”

There was laughter.  The big, stupid seaman could never have the epithet ‘sly’ applied to him indeed!  Scully had won Wick’s personal loyalty long before he had joined the officers by being rated midshipman, and Wick had proved useful.

“He’s a bit like a nine-pounder,” laughed William, “So long as you have him aimed right, he’s a very useful asset; but be careful not to let him slip his carriage and become a loose cannon!”

William pondered who to take.

There were some old hands who were experts at sail handling, who were always an asset, but there was no suggestion that the crew of the ‘Endeavour’ were in any way inept, merely truculent and mutinous.  Loyalty would be more useful than skill; someone like Peters, who had been inclined to hoard his tot and get drunk, until Captain Mornington had explained that getting drunk risked his shipmates and that this was why it was a flogging offence.  Peters, like Wick, was slow thinking, but he knew his job as well, and was totally loyal.  On the other hand, the poachers amongst the crew were sharp, intelligent men who could be relied upon to take the initiative to sort out potential trouble in their own individualistic way.  Well, the captain had suggested discussing who to take; and really, what it boiled down to was choosing twice as many men as there were officers, and if Tom Jenkins were to be joining ship, the officers might choose two men on his account too.  That made sixteen men, and that would be a good core.  He drew up a list, and showed Hector.

“Sixteen?  There’s only seven of us,” said Hector Phrayle.

“Plus Tom Jenkins,” said William.

Hector laughed.

“Well I hope our mutinous dogs appreciate having a sea lawyer for their number two!” he said.

William pulled a face.

“I won’t necessarily be number two, you know,” he said, “we will be getting more officers, and I’m not that senior.  I may be lucky to find myself only fourth and not relegated back to the gunroom with the boys.”

Hector Phrayle laughed.

“Well you won’t be worse than fourth, and fourth on a frigate is preferable, they say, to being first on a sloop; perhaps the captain will manage to take some newly passed boys, wet behind the ears, who won’t get berths anywhere else now the war with Boney is over and the American activity much abated.”

William brightened.

“I confess I’d not mind that, and we have some good enough hands to train them up, and John Scully of course.”

“Yes; you’ve wrought wonders with him.  In a way it’s a shame there’s not likely to be any chance of action in the near future, he’s a man who could rise and do well.  Still!  We may have a bit too much excitement if there’s still mutiny in our new crew.”

“To be honest, I fancy the fight is gone out of them,” said William.  “Other than the usual malcontents, I fancy they have been much cowed, and then subdued by the proceedings regarding their mutiny – though they had, at least, the good sense not to desert.  Once our lads have spread some stories, and Scully is allowed to pass on the last words of their erstwhile ringleader, I fancy they’ll be only too willing to be given a second chance with a captain who is merciful and who abhors flogging.  That’s why I wanted Peters; because he’s going to explain why the captain has used flogging rarely.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Hector.  “I suggest we all put in some money too, towards buying prizes for competitions, it worked very well putting the ‘Thrush’ together as a company.”

“It did indeed,” said William. 

Scully went to visit Tom Green, the ringleader of the mutineers; and was met with some truculence.

“I think I’m past needing an advocate,” said that individual, “and you don’t look much like a parson,” he added, “sir,” rather reluctantly.

“I’m more by nature of dominie to the other brats, as it happens,” said Scully, mildly, “and I’ll be serving on the ‘Endeavour’ and I wanted to share my story with you; and see if you have any message then for your former shipmates, since I had a similar introduction to the sea as you – which is why I’m old for a midshipman.  I saw you half sneering,” he added. “I was a clerk; and I was considering mutiny just because I knew I could lead the hands to it.  Only unlike you, I was lucky.  I had a captain who avoided flogging, and one of his officers showed me that if I used my brains, I could get myself rated Midshipman and rise accordingly.  I liked that idea better than the other one he suggested of being purser’s mate and rise to purser.  Because I find the beautiful dance of sail handling more interesting than adding up rows of figures.  If I’d had your experience with a mad captain, I don’t doubt but that I’d be waiting to be hanged too.”

Green looked at him afresh.

“Well, that’s a tale to be told,” he said.  “It was intolerable – floggings for looking the wrong way, or saying ‘aye-aye’ with the wrong tone, and what was the wrong way of looking, or the wrong tone was in his head, however respectful any of us tried to be.  I never started out with mutinous thoughts, sir, because I looked upon it as just bad luck and I was going to lie low and keep quiet and hope the war ended and I might have a chance to be discharged.  But the captain took exception to me having educated speech – got the idea that I was mocking him.  And as I wasn’t the only one he picked on, men or officers, some of us got together, and I found myself the one able to lead.  We figured that the other officers must take their chances marooned with him, rather than be tainted with mutiny, poor devils; they’d all get hung.  We killed the captain’s spies, I’m afraid, because it was them or us, and took the ship,” he scratched the side of his face thoughtfully and added,  “the officers were not really fighting hard, but you don’t have to mention that to anyone,”

“Never heard a word about it,” said Scully.

“Thanks… anyway, I heard they did for the captain, or he did for himself, so I suppose they’ll be back on board too,” said Green.

“As far as I know, they’re being dispersed,” said Scully.  “Bad for discipline to return them; might even end up beached.”

“Better than ending up dead like one of the men under me wanted,” said Green.  “He’s still aboard, as I wouldn’t have him as one of my helpmates; name’s Colne.  He’s vicious, and he likes to hurt.  Look out for him.”

“Thanks, Greene: I will,” said Scully.  “And I’ll pass it on unofficially.  Anything you want me to say to the crew?”

“Just tell them that they’ve got a second chance and are lucky to have a captain who doesn’t like flogging, and they should make the most of their second chance,” said Green.  “Thank you for coming.  I resented it, but… well, thank you.”

“I don’t think that I can imagine how bad it has been,” said Scully, soberly, “but you have my word I’ll do my best for your men.”

Green held out his hand; and Scully shook it, recalling wryly how William had shaken his hand against the protocols of discipline when first William had offered him help.  Sometimes the meeting of men went beyond discipline and protocol. 

Dragons, mating and eggs

 I thought it was about time I wrote down some definitive 'facts' about my world of Dragons

Dragons, eggs and mating

The normal colours for dragons are Amethyst lore-wyrms, Diamond spell-wyrms, Beryl speed-worms, Ruby war-wyrms and Topaz nurture-wyrms.

Under normal circumstances, only Ruby and Topaz are sexually aware and fertile.  There are a preponderance of male Ruby dragons and female Topaz dragons.  The mix of the two gives the full normal range of eggs with a small chance of an Opal egg on which more anon.

A male and female Ruby can mate.

A male and female Topaz can mate

Eggs from any single-colour pairing significantly reduces the number of other colours.

A female dragon will come into season every 4-6 years, and will lay 3-18 eggs

Normal matings of Ruby x Topaz produce:

5% Amethyst

10% Diamond

 9%  Beryl

31% Ruby

 44%  Topaz

1% other, which may be Opal or it may be an infertile egg, a sport or a deformed dragon.

In a mating of Ruby x Ruby the results are as follows:

90% Ruby

9% Topaz

1% other which is more likely to be sport, deformed or infertile than one of the other colours.

In a mating of Topaz x Topaz

1% Amethyst, Diamond or Beryl

9% Ruby

89% Topz

1% other which is more likely to be sport, deformed or infertile than one of the other colours.

In times of warfare, there tend to be more female Rubies laid to increase Ruby x Ruby matings for more war-wyrms. Dragons have an unconscious level of divination.  As the eggs can be stored, this can be a long-term divination, when times are good, for when times are bad, as with the production of an Opal egg in normal matings.

Topaz do carry latently the other colours but without the Ruby stimulation it is less likely to express.

Unusual eggs.

The unconscious divination causes the occasional Opal egg to be laid.  The sexual maturity of an Opal dragon awakens a sexual drive in Amethyst dragons, which the intellectuals of the dragon world find unnerving so they prefer not to talk about it.  

An Opal dragon matures at around 5 years old like other dragons, but typically only comes into season every 10 years or so; the result of this is 2-12 eggs.

The other colours are Onyx Leader-wyrms,  Tourmaline healer-wyrms, Rose Quartz empathy-wyrms, Emerald truth-wyrms and Sapphire talent-wyrms.   Opal dragons can also lay Amethyst, Diamond and Beryl eggs, and rarely, other Opals.

Onyx wyrms are produced if there is going to need to be a cohesion between dragonkind.  Dragons like to lair together, but on the whole are pretty unco-ordinated in large numbers, finding co-operation difficult.  An Onyx wyrm is, however, immediately obeyed by all Rubies.

Tourmaline dragons, like Amethyst dragons live a very long time, expand the lifespan of their Bonded, and though nobody knows this yet at the Legr will Bond, like Amethyst dragons, more than once.

Rose Quartz dragons and Emerald dragons tend to be shelled when increasing numbers is desirable, to better check out the hearts and minds of potential Bonders.

Sapphire dragons also live longer, and expand the lifespan of their Bonded but will not survive past the loss of their human Bond.  The muse is too deeply intertwined.

Eggs from an Opal x Amethyst clutch

2% Onyx

15% Tourmaline

13 % Rose Quartz

4% Emerald

15% Sapphire

28% Amethyst

15% Diamond

5% Beryl

2% Opal

1% Other – sports, deformed or infertile.  Opal matings have a slightly higher chance of a sport which might become a new type.

There have been no known Opal x Opal matings.

As Opal dragons awaken awareness in Amethysts of the appropriate gender, there have been no Amethyst x Amethyst matings. If there was the very unlikely situation of a male and a female Opal dragon, both on season at once [and I do not rule out that a female Opal could drive a male Opal into season]  then it would be possible for sexually awakened male and female Amethysts to mate. 

I want this clarified in case of this series generating fan fiction and also to be a laid down set of rules for if I should extend the stories after the six books about Bess.

Falconburg Rising is out

I finally got around to doing the revisions and published!

Falconburg Rising, an exciting second book in the Falconburg trilogy. Great reading for the holidays coming up!

Paperback and Kindle

UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1797615513

US https://www.amazon.com/dp/1797615513

the cottage, a short story

I dreamed this last night.  I had to get it written down soonest.  Tissues for the end warning

The cottage

“Charles, there is a letter from my great-aunt along with confirmation that she left me the cottage and Fluffy,” I said.

“Fluffy?  That outsize cat she wore about like a tippet? I wonder she didn’t leave the cottage to him,” said Charles.

Charles is what my great-aunt Hetty referred to as my ‘gentleman friend’ which is closer than the modern appellation of ‘boyfriend’.  Charles has his boyish moments but he is definitely a gentleman.  And it is as well that he was brought up that way, and with a firm set of ethics, because in business he is a slippery customer and sails as close to the wind as his morals permit.  He is fairly feline himself, and Hetty took to him because Fluffy did. Charles grumbled about orange hairs on his customary silver grey suit, but I did not notice him dislodging the cat.

“Actually,” I said, “She said in her letter that she would have left Fluffy the cottage if she thought she could get away with it, and for me to inherit after him as he has no heirs of his body which he acknowledges.  She had him neutered when he was a kitten so I doubt he has any heirs of his body at all.”

“How old is he now?”

“Nineteen?” I hazarded a guess, counting on my fingers.  “Not a bad age for any cat.  He is half Maine Coone, I don’t know if that makes a difference.”

“Who is looking after him?”

“A paid companion, until I get there to take over,” I said.  “She told me I need to live in the cottage for Fluffy’s lifetime, and ask my gentleman friend to do something about the cows, but not to be frightened by them.  Surely she wasn’t losing it?  I don’t believe she has ever kept cows.”

“We can drive down this afternoon if you like,” said Charles. “I’ve never seen the famous cottage, she has always visited you.  Let me put through a couple of phone calls so I can take time off; you pack for both of us, you know what I like.”

Charles has no need to work, but the idea of being idle is anathema to him. However, he is amenable to the idea of holidays, so long as he does not, as he puts it, lose the finger from the pulse.  As I write freelance articles, it matters little where I am to do so.  Charles told me that I did not have to work, and I asked him how he would feel if told he could take his finger off the pulse.  The look of wild horror was answer enough.  He is a control freak but he is my control freak.

The journey to the East coast was uneventful, and Gippestowe was much as I had imagined it.  It was once a seaside resort and the Victorian parts were a decaying grandeur, like an old lady a little too fond of her sherry, and gone to seed.  The modern part was the port.  Hetty’s cottage was just below the lowest bridging point and was an anachronistic architectural gem between the concrete 1960s bridge and the derelict warehouses which nobody seemed to either own or cared to demolish, surrounded by chainlink fencing, and looking very ugly. 

Charles frowned.

“That diminishes the value of what looks like a genuine 14^th century mercantile house,” he said, disapprovingly.  “I wonder who owns that rubbish?”

 I assumed he meant the warehouses, not my aunt’s cottage, which is what she always referred to as a messuage, a walled property. It had about a quarter of an acre of land, which is big in a town centre, if not large by the standards of Charles’ country house where we  usually live.

We parked, and I took the keys the solicitor had sent, to let us in.  The lock was modern enough.  A teenage girl looked up from where she was working, writing something.

“Oh!  You’ll be Miss Cubitt.  I’m Tracey; your aunt let me do my homework here in return for helping with Fluffy.  My ‘A’ levels are coming up and I have five siblings at home.”

“Tracey, please feel free to continue to use the house for peace and quiet,” I said.  “And perhaps you can help me with Fluffy’s routine.”

Fluffy unwound himself from Tracey’s feet, plodded over to me on solemn quiet pugs and then launched himself straight into the air.

I was used to this, and caught him with a grunt at his weight.  He had not gone as high as he usually did; poor old boy, he was slowing down.

I hadn’t said a thing! But he growled at me anyway and swiped a velvet paw at my nose.  I settled him on my shoulders. It seemed the right thing to do.

Charles and I left Tracey wrestling with angular momentum and explored.  It was a house which was full of odd corners.  Oddly, the only window which looked directly onto the dock was the attic window, a room which encompassed the whole area under the eaves, though it had been properly boarded out, and plasterboard over the eaves suggested that Hetty had made sure it was a space which could be used.  One window looked downriver, one looked upriver, and one onto the garden.

“Den?” asked Charles.

“I think so,” I said.  “A desk looking out onto the garden and ottomans at the other two windows.  Though the view of the warehouses is less salubrious.”

“There is at least the sweep of the river,” said Charles. “I find the bridge less appetising.”

“Sometimes looking on the bustle of human life is good,” I said.

“I expect there are ants’ nests in the garden if you like that sort of thing,” said Charles, rudely.

I ignored him. 

We had settled in nicely for a couple of days when we had our first caller.

He was a man whose clothing was a bit too studiedly expensive, and he had a moustache.  I don’t like men with moustaches, so I was not charmed by the brilliance of his ultra-white smile.

“Miss Hannah Cubitt?  I’m John Devlin.  My commiserations on the loss of your grandmother.”

“Great aunt,” I corrected. “Aunt Hetty told us she was going to die on the sixteenth; sometimes she was extraordinarily accurate.  Her diary was in her effects and it says on the day of her death ‘Expecting to be run over unexpectedly; will stay in all day.’  She was killed by a hit and run driver when putting out the dustbin.”

“Terrible,” said Mr. Devlin. “The carelessness of people these days.  I had no idea she had family; you’ve not visited before.”

“No, Hetty liked visiting people and disliked her own routine being put out of kilter,” I said. “You will pardon me, but you don’t seem like a friend of hers.”

“Oh!  I am a neighbour in a manner of speaking,” said Devlin.  “I own the warehouses next door; and I wanted to purchase this house so I can make a clean sweep of demolishing everything.   Your aunt would not sell.”

“So I should think,” I said.  “This is a listed building, so you could not demolish it anyway.  And I’m not selling either.”

“Your aunt was eccentric; surely a young lady like you ...”

“I’m eccentric too,” I said.  “Good day.”

Charles was standing on the stairs, out of sight of the door, listening.

“That was very revealing,” he said. “Why do I think that if he bought this house, a tragic accident would see it demolished, or burned to the ground?”

“He has plenty of room with those two warehouses to demolish them and develop,” I said.  “And if he goes for the current trend of dockland luxury flats, the quaint medieval building next door would be a selling point.”

“Moreso if he owned it and turned it into a museum-cum-tea-shoppe,” said Charles.  “And you could do worse than consider that yourself, employing people like Tracey, though you’d have to have her certificated for food hygiene.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I don’t think Fluffy would like it, and he has been Hetty’s loyal companion since she found him in a drain and popped him in her pocket to drive him home.  That was in the days when her main vehicle was a huge motorbike,” I added.

“I’m going to miss Hetty, even though I only met her a few times,” said Charles. “She was one of a kind.  And you’re the same, which is why I love you.  Why don’t we get married?”

“You only want a legal share of Fluffy,” I teased.  “I swore I wouldn’t be a gold digger and marry someone so financially out of my league.”

“Oh, well, you’re a land owner now,” said Charles.  “It evens the score.”

It didn’t, but it was nice of him to say so.

“Well, I need to nip back to the city for a day or two,” said Charles.  “I’ll be back tonight if I can, but don’t worry if I can’t make it until the weekend.” He kissed me and departed.

Hetty’s house really was like a museum.  I found a playbill from 1789 in a bookshelf, and one wardrobe was full of her grandmother’s Victorian gowns.

I almost had to try one of them on.

Fortunately her grandmother had not been a lady with a nineteen inch waist, though I found I still needed the corset to be able to get into one of those beautiful dresses.

And then I heard a noise downstairs.

It was not time for Tracey to arrive, she was at school; and Fluffy was with me.  And he, fool cat, took a flying leap for the top of the wardrobe, dislodging a box of something which cascaded all over me.  I was later to discover that it was a box of Georgian wig powder.

I hastened out of my room onto the gallery which surrounded what Hetty called the vestibule, which I would have called a great hall.  I heard a gasp; down below a man with a petrol can in one hand and newspaper in the other dropped both, and fled.

I could smell petrol.

I phoned the police first, and then Charles, and sobbed all over him.

“I’ll be there inside two hours,” he said.

The police arrived before then, and gave me a funny look.

“Going to a party, miss?” asked the SOCO officer.

“No, I ... oh, I was messing about trying on some of the old clothes in Hetty’s closet,” I said.

“I wager chummy took you for a ghost in that grey lace with the powder all over you,” he said.

“Powder? Oh! Fluffy knocked it off,” I said.  I glanced towards the mirror over the mantel of the fireplace. “Oh!” I added.  A grey face with tear streaks looked back at me, and grey hair.  “No wonder he fled,” I added.

They found fingerprints on the petrol can, which suggested that whoever it was would turn out to be some low life.  I mentioned the offer to buy from Mr. Devlin, but they did not seem hopeful of tying the crime to him.  They asked about my boyfriend and my own will, and were confused when I laughed at them, until I explained that a piddling little cottage in an obscure seaside town was small potatoes to my lover.  And that as he had asked me to marry him, he would be a fool to kill me before he was an unequivocal beneficiary in any case.  I was more certain that it was Devlin.  Why he wanted me out and to have the cottage was the puzzle.  I was more angry than afraid; Fluffy had been at risk as well as me.

Charles arrived home as promised, not much more than two hours later, and we locked the place up like Fort Knox.

We were in bed later when I heard cattle lowing.  Charles was straight up the ladder into the loft, as naked as the day he was born.  Really he was poetry in motion, as athletic as any cat. I confess, I purred.

He was down shortly after, looking grim, and dialled a number.

“Coastguard?  I think you may want to intercept the Mary-Anne, coming down the River Gippy.  I have reason to believe she is carrying illegally raised veal. Yes, my name is Charles Rosier, I am residing currently at Old Guildhall Cottage, Gippestowe.”

He came back to bed.

“Veal?” I said.

“Your great-aunt was spot on that I can get that sorted out,” said Charles.  “I know a few people.  I could see, just, the loading of them.  I suspect they are being raised in conditions not legal in England, and it’s a short crossing to Europe.  Avoiding one lot of customs by keeping and loading them from a secluded warehouse would net him a mint.  I wager that the views of decaying inner walls we can see through the windows of the warehouse  by the street are painted canvas, and the same for anyone passing up or down the river on the other side.  No wonder the chainlink is so sturdy; it is to keep the cows in.”

“But why did he want the cottage as well?  He can’t pull it down, and if he burned it down, there is no way he could use the land, as it would be visible.”

“I suspect he feared what you might see,” said Charles.  “And I do wonder if your aunt reported hearing cows to the police.  They seem not to have taken her seriously if so, but if her niece also reported such noises?  I doubt Hetty could get up that ladder, too, for the one window facing the right way, but you might do so.”

“Then why did he kill her?  I assume he did kill her,” I said.

Charles shrugged.

“Didn’t you say that he had no idea what relationship you had at first, and seemed surprised that she had relatives?  I expect he expected the place to fall into disrepair through being empty.”

Fluffy crept down between us at this point, purring up a storm, so we gave up talking to pet him.

His feat with the powder had, after all, quite possibly saved my life.  The young thug with the petrol can might have threatened me had he not thought me to be a ghost.

Mr. Devlin was shortly under arrest, and the cattle in the warehouse taken away by the RSPCA, and I told them that I believed my great aunt had reported the sounds of cattle to the police and had been ignored. 

Writing off little old ladies as senile and hearing things is not a good habit to get into.

Charles was back in London for a day or two, and I was sitting at the dressing table when I looked not at my own reflection, but into the eyes of my great aunt.  She winked at me, and mouthed ‘Marry him’ to me.

“I will,” I said.  “I had decided to say yes.”

She smiled.

And then Fluffy leaped past me, right into the mirror, and arranged himself around her neck in his usual fashion.  And he winked at me too.  I gasped, and then all I saw was myself.

I turned round.  Fluffy was on the bed, curled up, looking as if he was asleep.

He was dead.

“Thank you for saving my life, Fluffy,” I said.

I swear, I heard a purr.

We buried him in the garden, with full honours, and Charles had a tombstone carved, saying “Fluffy, a brave and loyal cat.” 

We moved in full time.  The house in the country was just a house.  This was family.  And Charles bought up some of the waterfront which belonged to Devlin, to make a larger garden.