Wreckers Island (romantic suspense) (4 page)

Louise gave Emma’s arm a squeeze. ‘You and
Dan would definitely make a lovely couple if you could only see it. The
important thing is, like you say, that we are good friends and have a great
holiday here together. Now come on, let’s get some sleep.’

The weather forecast the following morning proved only too
accurate. The lighthouse crew were up early by their standards – a respectable
7.30am. They had slept well but rose to find that the sun was not getting up
with them. Rain spattered hard against the ground floor windows of the
lighthouse – mixed with sea spray thrown against the thick panes from huge waves
colliding with the rocks around them.

The sea was a foaming mass of dark grey, tossed
about by a rattling wind. They shivered at the sight and realised that there
would be no boat trips that day, not while the weather remained so bad.

If the atmosphere outside was stormy, inside
the lighthouse the tension had vanished. John and Louise seemed oblivious to
each other’s affections and Dan and Emma appeared to have accepted that their
respective hopes of romance had been dashed.

John boiled the kettle and put out four mugs
in a row. ‘Cup of tea, girls?’ he asked as Louise and Emma walked into the
kitchen. ‘Did you have a good night’s sleep?’

They nodded as they picked up their mugs of
steaming tea and took them into the lounge. They pulled rugs around them while
Louise got the fire going. Even though it was summer, the lighthouse would remain
chilly with wind and rain pounding it on all sides.

‘I think we are officially grounded today,’
declared Emma, stating the obvious. ‘You know what, I don’t mind the odd day
like this when I’m on holiday, it’s such a good excuse to relax and catch up on
reading.’

The others agreed. Although different in
their own ways, they were intelligent, thoughtful people who had got to Oxford
University for a good reason – they were studious and highly talented. They
were the sort who rarely got bored because they always found something interesting
to do with their time.

‘Let’s chill out playing cards, reading our
Kindles, drinking hot chocolate, eating some of those muffins we bought
yesterday and enjoying the glorious view of the stormy sea,’ continued Emma, sounding
cheerful and relaxed.

She was visibly happy and Dan pondered
whether possibly Louise had told her nothing was going on between her and John.
Had Emma let Louise know that John did, in fact, fancy her? Dan guessed not. Maybe
Emma would make a pass at him sooner or later. If only he had asked her out
sooner, but there was no point thinking like that, if it was meant to be, it
was meant to be. As for him, being a similar type to her, a day ‘indoors’, feet
up, hot drink and a good book, plus a stunning sea view sounded perfect.

By mid-morning the storm was raging overhead
and the sea looked dark and angry. The sight from the lighthouse was breathtaking.

‘You can imagine, can’t you, what it must
have been like aboard a creaking old vessel centuries ago and coming to grief
on the terrible rocks around here in weather like this,’ mused John, staring
through the window.

‘Oh yes, and from what I know many did – the
wreckers caused some ships to founder, but others were simply lost due to the
storms and strong currents,’ said Louise. ‘Whatever the reason, the outcome was
always the same, when ships broke up, the smugglers and looters would be on the
shore within minutes, waiting for valuables to wash up and pinching whatever
they could.

‘I would love to know more about the history
of smuggling and wrecking along the Cornish coast,’ said Dan. ‘I don’t suppose
there are any books on it in the lighthouse, are there, Louise?’

‘Hmmm, not books as such I don’t think.
There are modern books about the shipwrecks round here and some of the
treasures they contained, but I don’t think we have any in the lighthouse.’

She paused, thinking hard. ‘I tell you what
there is, in the cellar there are some old legal documents relating to the
lighthouse and a box of papers and some old record books and ledgers of various
kinds. So my parents said anyway. Apparently some of them are in Spanish or something
in a spidery copper-plate handwriting and my parents couldn’t make head nor
tail of it.’

‘That sounds interesting,’ said Dan. ‘I know
some Spanish, I might be able to translate it.’

‘Also,’ said John, ‘I’ve been wanting a
chance to explore this lighthouse more and go down that cellar, if that’s ok
Louise.’

‘Of course it is,’ she replied, ‘it’s musty in
there and not terribly interesting, but let’s go and have a look if you like.’

Louise flicked a lever on the wall and a
hole opened in the floor beneath the spiral staircase. They could see steps
leading below. Louise lit an oil lamp to take as there was no natural light.

The cellar had that musty, salty, fish and
oilskins smell that you get on ships and it felt almost as if they were entering
a ship’s hold. A couple of old trunks lay scattered about, covered in cobwebs.
The first they opened contained rusting tools which looked at least a century
old. In the other were the documents and notebooks to which Louise had
referred. She lifted a handful out: parchments, stamped with red sealing wax,
which appeared to be legal particulars relating to the construction of the
lighthouse and its sale. Underneath were a couple of ledgers and a
leather-bound notebook filled with elegant, looping copperplate script on
yellowed, fox-marked pages. It was impossible to decipher in such low light.

‘I tell you what,’ said Dan. ‘Why don’t we
take this box back with us, we’ll have a better chance of making out its
contents in daylight.’

The others agreed but while they were down
there, they looked about for any crevices and nooks and crannies they could
find. ‘You never know,’ said John, ‘there might be a secret passageway or
something.’

If so, it was well hidden. Nor were there
any iron rings or levers embedded in the wall. They came across a few old
curiosities – bric-a-brac, old lamp wicks and tins of what appeared to be
ancient lamp oil – no doubt dating back to the days when oil powered the great
lighthouse lamp.

Disappointed, but nonetheless curious about the
documents in the chest, the four students climbed the steep stone stairs back
to the ground floor, blinking in the bright daylight. The weather had not
improved. If anything it had got worse. The sky was greenish-black and the sea a
turbulent mass of grey and white foam, angrily splattering itself over the
rocks of Wreckers Island.

‘Let’s haul the box up to the lamp room and look
at its contents there,’ suggested Louise. ‘That’s the best place for natural
light. We could take a nice mug of coffee or chocolate up and enjoy the amazing
storm at the same time.’

John and Dan lugged the box up the winding
staircase while the girls followed with mugs of hot drinks and biscuits. There
was no furniture so they took some rugs and cushions.

‘Isn’t this magical,’ said Louise.

‘You know,’ said Dan, ‘I still have to pinch
myself that you weren’t fibbing when you invited us to a place like this, but
I’m so glad I did believe you in the end. It’s simply awesome, especially with
this gale blowing. You can actually feel it buffeting the lighthouse. I hope it
won’t blow over!’

For a few minutes, the leather-bound trunk
was forgotten as the four of them sat on the rugs, gazing through the glass, sipping
their drinks and nibbling their snacks.

‘Right,’ said Dan, eventually. ‘Let’s spread
out the contents of the box carefully on the rug and see what we can make of
it.’

The parchments relating to the island and
construction of the lighthouse were written in obscure 19th century legal
jargon. There was a scale map of the lighthouse and, interestingly, of the
island itself prior to its construction. The year the lighthouse was built was
given in Roman numerals – MDCCCLXXVII.

‘I wonder what that would be,’ mused Louise.
‘I wish I was better at things like this.’

‘1877,’ said Dan within seconds.

The others looked at him, impressed.

‘It’s easy,’ he said. ‘People never seem to
learn Roman numerals properly these days – M is 1,000, D is 500, three Cs gives
you 300, so that’s 1800. L is 50, add the two Xs which is 20 and VII which is
seven – 1877. You never know when it will come in useful.’

‘Ah, you’re not just a pretty face, are you!’
said Emma, playfully pinching his cheek.

‘Ok, what’s the year 1644 in Roman
numerals,’ teased Louise.

‘MDCXLIV,’ replied Dan within a second. ‘Ok,
come on, it isn’t Latin we need but Spanish, I want to try and work out the
writing in that notebook if I can. It doesn’t seem to bear any relation to the
legal documents belonging to the lighthouse.’

He picked it up carefully. As they had noticed
in the cellar, it was filled with spidery writing in proper ink on thick
parchment-type pages.

‘Look, a date on the inside cover – can you
see, el 30 de Octubre, MDCCLXXX. That’s the 30th October, 1780.’

‘1780!’ exclaimed the others. So this was an
incredibly old book which pre-dated the lighthouse by more than a century.

‘What do you think, Dan?’ asked Emma. ‘Can
you make any of the words out?’

Dan took the notebook over to the huge
window to get as much natural light on it as possible. Not only was the writing
decorated with numerous flourishes, curls and loops, but in places the ink was
faded and smudged. Even for a native Spaniard it would be no easy task to
decipher.

‘It looks to me like a sort of diary,’ said
Dan, slowly. ‘I think perhaps it has been written by a ship’s captain, there
are dates and places mentioned and little maps but most of it appears to be flowing
description of some kind.’

‘What does it say?’ asked John, eagerly.

‘Don’t crowd round me please!’ replied Dan,
not enjoying being put on the spot. ‘I could do with putting this notebook on a
table and I’ll need to get some writing paper, a pen and my Spanish dictionary,
pull up a chair and have a few minutes’ peace while I try to work it out.’

Dan went off to get some stationery and his dictionary
while Louise fetched him a fold-up table and camping chair from the store room.
Emma went downstairs and got him another coffee and more biscuits to keep him
supplied.

He returned with what he called his small
Spanish dictionary. ‘I didn’t bring my big one,’ he said, ‘because I wasn’t anticipating
needing to translate a centuries-old Spanish diary while we were on holiday.’

‘Well,’ said John, grinning, ‘it shows you
should never assume anything. I’m glad we didn’t jet off anywhere in the end,
you’d have had us paying a fortune going over the weight limits for the
flight.’

“That’s true,’ agreed Dan. ‘I suppose I have
brought rather a few dictionaries with me – French, Cornish, Welsh – and
Spanish of course.’

Emma ruffled his hair affectionately.
'That’s our Dan,’ she said. ‘Right, come on everybody, let’s go back downstairs
and give Dan some peace while he tries to translate that strange old journal.’

That was tactful of Emma – she knew Dan
would not want an audience and be pressured into any kind of instant result.
Dan glanced up gratefully as he saw the others troop downstairs. Emma was
right, he needed peace and quiet to tackle it.

At first he stared at the graceful handwriting
with some dismay, bordering on panic. His Spanish wasn’t anywhere near the
standard of his French and trying to read this was different from crystal clear
typewritten text. He took a sip of coffee and began on page one. Rather than worrying
about the words he didn’t know, he decided to simply try to attune himself to
the patterns and cadences of the sentences and the handwriting style. Once he
was sure which letters were which, it would become easier.

Slowly, with his mind focussed and the only
distractions the roar of the sea and the mewing of gulls, Dan found himself transported
back to 1780. It was clearly a diary with regular, dated entries and plenty of
references to the weather and sea conditions. It was likely to belong to a
captain or senior officer on a Spanish vessel but where was it sailing and who
and what was on board?

Dan discovered, to his excitement,
references to places along the Devon and Cornish coasts. It occurred to him
that he would be better off reading some of the journal entries towards the
end, as well as the beginning, since that would give him some clue as to what
ultimately happened. One place name caught his eye in the final, dramatic entry
– Gunwalloe Cove – that was the bay here, surely! He began to read.

Ayer por la noche, ocurrió el
desastre
– Last night disaster struck.

Una terrible tormenta estalló y se lanzó
contra las rocas feroces. Se oyó el ruido más horrible de la división de
madera. Todos los hombres a bordo fueron arrojados al mar agitado
– A
terrible storm blew up and we were hurled onto fierce rocks. There was the most
horrendous sound of wood splitting. All men on board were thrown into the
raging sea.

Dan’s heart began to beat faster as he came
upon references to ‘el tesoro’ – treasure. Further on,
cientos de lingotes
de oro y incontables cientos de monedas de oro y plata –
hundreds of ingots
of gold and countless hundreds of gold and silver coins –
se perdió por la
borda –
were lost overboard.

With the occasional help of his dictionary, Dan
continued reading, his fingers trembling as he wrote down the English
translation.

‘I managed to scramble to safety in
Gunwalloe Cove and there I sheltered until dawn broke.

‘I can only assume that all my seafaring
colleagues were lost, for I saw no sign of life the following morning, only
corpses floating in the water and thrown onto the shore. I had nothing save a
few personal possessions. A few things I managed to salvage from the water,
including a chest of gold ingots and several handfuls of coins washed up by the
tide.