Amanda Cadabra and The Hidden Depths by Holly Bell (best love novels of all time txt) 📕

‘Let’s have a pile for dark too: dark grey, brown, blue or green. Just in case.’

They commenced. Most were beige, blue, red or green. Some had dust jackets to be checked under; some were ring binders in mottled grey. In the end, there were just three truly black books on the table before them. They each took one.

‘Understanding Seventeenth-Century Drainpipes by S P Outleigh,’ read the inspector, looking at the title, doubtfully.

‘About as inspiring as this one,’ replied Amanda, ‘Making Your Own Potting Shed – A Guide for Girls of All Ages, by Ina Woude and Natalie Tooley.’

They looked hopefully at Jonathan who seemed to be absorbed in the slender, leather-bound work in his hands.

‘Erm … there is a title on the front: Climb Every Mountain by Joey Crimpscale. But inside it appears to be a journal. Hand-written. Only … I don’t recognise the words.’ He handed it across the table to the inspector, who perused it, slowing turning the pages.

‘This appears to be in Cornish.’ He passed it to Amanda, who immediately began to study it. ‘Do you know anything about this book, Mr Sheppard?’

‘Not much. I mean, even though it’s one of mine.’

‘Yours?’

‘Well, only technically. It was in a box of volumes I was given by a friend who didn't have room for them. I stored them down here, meaning to sort through and give some to the library and some to charity. I remember the title, Climb Every Mountain, but I never looked inside the covers until just now.’

‘It’s a diary,’ said Amanda, reading. ‘The handwriting isn’t clear, as though it was written by someone with poor eyesight or in bad light. Grandpa used to write like this when he couldn’t be bothered to put on his glasses.’

‘What does it say?’

‘It’s a … a journey, I think. Please give me a few moments, Inspector.’

‘Of course.’ He left her to read. ‘Mr Sheppard, can you recall who gave you the books?’

‘Yes, it was er ... Lyn … Lynford Warder. Yes, chaps used to call him Hoarder Warder because he never threw anything away. Then he moved or something, and didn’t have room, and distributed his excess to anyone who’d give it houseroom.’

‘And you did? Have houseroom?’

‘Yes, at the time. But when I moved to Sunken Madley and into The Elms, I didn’t want to start off by asking for space in the cellar or attic, especially when I couldn’t be sure at that time how dry they were. So, I asked Mrs Pagely if I could put them down here, until I could sort the wheat from the chaff, so to speak.’

‘Yes, I see. Do you have any contact details for Mr Warder?’

‘Erm … my word … well, I’m sure if I don’t, I can find someone who does. You think this journal might be important?’

‘It might, Mr Sheppard.’

Amanda looked up and remarked,

‘You know what’s odd about this journal?’

The men looked at her expectantly.

‘It’s written like I would write. I learned Cornish from my grandparents and then took exams for it, as I got older. But I’ve hardly used it conversationally for years. And this is how I’d write it now. But why would I want to?’

‘So someone either needed to practice their Cornish,’ suggested Trelawney, ‘or …’

‘It’s like Elizabeth and Edward and Latin,’ pronounced Amanda triumphantly.

‘Please do explain, Miss Ca … ah … you mean Queen Elizabeth I?’

‘Princess, as she would have been then,’ chimed in Jonathan, ‘and Prince Edward, Tudor monarchs to be. Yes, of course.’

‘As children, they spoke to one another in Latin,’ contributed Trelawney.

‘Yes! As a sort of secret code,’ finished Amanda. ‘So, what if that’s why the writer used Cornish? Because he didn’t want it to be understood by anyone else?’

‘Entirely plausible,’ agreed the inspector.

‘Wait, please …’ Amanda quickly flicked to the final pages and read for a moment in silence. ‘Yes … you see?’ She turned the book towards Trelawney, tracing the words with her finger. ‘Ev a wra ow mires – he watches me. Yma own dhymm – I am afraid. Let me see the last entry … yes! See? Ny allav vy gortos moy – I cannot wait any longer. And here’s the final sentence. Re gemerro an gwyns homma dhe weresyer – May the wind take this to … a helper. That's all.’ She raised her head, wide-eyed. ‘The poor writer was afraid for their life!’

‘I think we’ve found our clue, Miss Cadab…’ Suddenly he stopped and held up a finger for silence. Jonathan’s keen hearing had already spun his head in the direction of the stairs leading back up into the library. There was no sound, but Amanda had the overwhelming sense of a fourth person sharing their space, unseen, just around the first landing.

Trelawney softly put back his chair, stood up, and moved noiselessly across the stone floor. As he set a foot on the first stair, there was a sound of a door whooshing above. Trelawney bolted up the steps and out into the area behind the counter. There was no one to be seen.

Mrs Pagely approached.

‘Is everything all right, Inspector?’

‘Yes, but did you just see anyone come out of the stacks?’

‘Erm … no, Inspector, but then I’ve been reshelving.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Pagely. We’ll all be coming up soon.’

Trelawney returned to the basement. Amanda and Jonathan looked up at him enquiringly.

‘Did you see anyone?’ she asked.

‘No, and neither did anyone else.’

‘They must have been quick.’

‘I’m sure there was someone there,’ insisted Jonathan.

‘So am I, Mr Sheppard. Whoever it was certainly knows how to keep quiet and move stealthily. I was no more aware of his presence until now than you. Unfortunately, whoever it was now knows that we hold what could be a vital clue.’

‘But how does this connect to Samantha?’ asked Amanda.

‘How indeed? Time for some good old-fashioned police work,’ Trelawney stated with relief. ‘Miss Cadabra, please could you continue reading the journal. Mr Sheppard, let us set about locating your Mr Warder, if you would be so kind. But let us, above all,