The Two Confessions by John Whitbourn (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

waythe country is poor and always will be. Even Hartland Abbey is fortified; itswalls thick and windowless, save for loopholes. But it is better now thanformerly. Each village has a tower from the old times, before the Navy came,before 'Kernow' was subdued. They are still kept in good repair.

Near to Welcombe is a valley where nobody will go because it is hauntedby the spirit of Damned Drake - he who sold his soul in hope of thwarting theHoly Armada, only to be doubly betrayed. They say that when his 'Golden Hind'blew asunder Drake's broken body was hurled all the way here from PlymouthSound. Nor is that the worst nonsense I have heard. There are few schools, asyou may guess. I go and sit in that silent valley when I wish for solitude andfreedom from mankind's silly chatter - and that is often now.

But be entirely confident, and never doubt, that I shall always hungerand thirst for your company. Its absence, through others' actions, islike a toothache to me. A word from you will dull the pain.

I will write again. Till then, I am your

 SAMUELTREVAN

 

Samuelconsulted his pocket watch. It had taken the best part of an evening to haul thisletter out from the torrent of what he'd actually like to say. He didn'tbegrudge the time however, for there was nothing better to do.

So,now he had two communications to entrust to the postal courier tomorrow. Eventhough it meant a tedious trip all the way to Hartland to the nearestacceptance point, Samuel reckoned the commitment as time well spent. For allthat the first had taken far less effort to compose, he had hopes, or perhaps apremonition, it might prove just as important as the outpouring to hislady-love. Tonight and tomorrow's efforts would push matters forward somewhat.Whether it be a lot or a little wasn't in his hands.

Hewent to take a drink from his long-cold posset night-cap, only to find avariety of bugs had left this life by drowning in it. Both insect-enrichedliquid and pottery mug went out of the window.

Itonly remained to sign, seal and address his handiwork, and doing so brought ithome to Samuel how low he'd sunk. Both letters had to go under some or othersubterfuge.

Onehe'd need to send 'care of' St Philip Howard's Orphanage and rely on FatherOmar's reluctant indulgence. To do otherwise was as good as chucking it on thefire himself.

Thesecond could be sent direct for sure, and even the return address was the trueone. But in writing to 'The Holy and Supervisory College of MercantileTrade, Sub-school: Resources: Chapter of Minerals and Mining', at theChurch's Westminster Citadel, he judged it wisest not to use his real name.

Samueltook up the inkstick again and chuckled wryly as he signed himself 'J'[for Judas] Farncombe'.

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cHAPTER 18

‘But your name ain'tthis...,’ said the Landlord.

‘Farncombe'smy mother's maiden name. I use it for business purposes.’

‘Noit weren't. I knew your mother, bless her.’

Thelook Landlord got gave birth to fears greater than his misgivings. He allowedSamuel to snatch the letter from his doubting hand.

‘Trustme,’ Samuel growled.

‘Ohdon't mind I,’ the man complained, ‘I just run this place: the place where youlive - for the moment.’

Trevanhadn't heard him. He was already half way back to his room. Fragments of apapal-red wax seal were left on the stairway.

Hedidn't even sit down to read it. There was that feeling of premonition again,of a high path foretold and destined.

'Dear Mr Farncombe', it read.

 Ad Majorum Dei Gloriam

We acknowledge your enquiry of the 23rd inst. The Prior of the Mineralsand Mining minor-chapter requires that I advise you of the followingintelligence:

 

It is inconceivable that there might be, or ever has been, mineralextraction of any size or consequence in the region described. Reference to themost recent All-England survey (1978) by the Holy and Supervisory College'sprospecting staff shows that the rock strata thereabouts are a barren womb asregards useful deposits.

For your further elucidation, I can add that the Earth's mantle in thisarea (among the first substance brought into being by the Deity) has beenwonderfully conjured into extravagant forms by later convulsions attending theCreation. Such much-mutated antediluvian layers are rarely found to be ofutility.

Thus, whilst this region's coast and exposed areas may attract remarkand specialist study by cause of the twisted rock forms revealed, it has neverfeatured prominently - or indeed at all - in the annals of mining endeavour.'

I trust that the above will assist (or enable you to desist) yourenquiries.

 

I remain, sir, yourbrother in G*d

Samueldidn't bother with the signature or the pre-printed prayer to St Piran (patronof Miners) beneath. He had no desire to be indebted to any individual, least ofall to some scholar-monk lackey of the Church. Nor had he anything to say to asaint. More importantly, his thoughts were racing ahead, unwilling to bedetained by civility's pedestrian pace.

‘Gotcha!’he exhaled, and throttled the letter in his hand.

************

Theywere well spaced out, and often concealed by years (centuries?) of neglect.Stunted trees, impenetrable gorse and the impoverished stumpy grass of the areablurred the rims. All the same, thirty minutes none too hard search revealedthree shafts plummeting into the earth. He strongly suspected there were othersfurther off or less easily approachable.

Samuelstood on the very edge of the last one discovered and peered within. There wereeven shrubs-grown-to-saplings which had lodged and survived in the crumblingshaft-walls. Desperate for life they lunged steeply for the sun, away fromstarvation and the blackness below.

Hetested the depths with a stone. Long seconds went by before its impact tokenedwater. Echoes sounded far below him and lingered unpleasantly overlong.

Projectedinto the murk he had a sudden image of her face, of her flesh,and all her collective deliciousness. It was marvellously vivid. This he alsotook as a sign; that he should see her so clear in this place. The route towhat he wanted started here. The way to one lay through the other.

‘Neverfear,’ Samuel told the dark interior, and perhaps Melissa Farncombe also, ‘I'llget to the bottom of you.’

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cHAPTER 19

‘Go on, fill 'er up an'kill me orf!’

TheLandlord took the old man's leathern tankard to the racked barrels behind thebar, but put an edge of protest on compliance.

‘You'vea thirst on