The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 16
The Mystery Of Macgregor's Cove by June Davies
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- 1. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 16
Progress on the Akenside Cut continues, Kit wrote, sitting at the writing table in his rooms at the Bell.
Despite it being almost noon, the wintry day was dark and gloomy. The candle he’d lit cast light across his letter, and upon the carved wooden St Christopher medallion.
Since sailing from Jamaica months earlier, Kit had carried Marietta’s keepsake in his pocket, and now, as he wrote home to his elder brother, it lay at the corner of his page.
I’ve removed from lodgings in Akenside and taken up residence at a cliff-top inn overlooking Macgregor’s Cove, the same cove mentioned in Alexander’s letters to Marietta.
Alexander – Sandy – Macgregor is the innkeeper. I believe Sandy is my father. He lives here with his wife and three daughters.
Although the Bell is a busy inn with travellers overnighting or staying a day or two, I am their only lodger. I find myself drawn into their daily activities and am coming to like the Macgregors very well.
Suppose I speak out. What, then, the consequences for him and his family? Oft times, I begin to believe I should remain silent and leave Macgregor’s Cove.
Kit wrote a while longer before sealing his letter. Deep in thought, he snuffed the candle, reached for his coat and strode from his rooms on to the landing.
Amaryllis was hurrying upstairs carrying a basket of brushes, polishing cloths, beeswax and vinegar, and greeted him with her usual friendly smile.
Turning into Kit’s rooms, Amaryllis set down her basket and spotted something lying on the floor beneath the writing table.
Stooping, she retrieved a carved St Christopher and gasped in astonishment.
It was Pa’s!
“You’ve found it!”
Amaryllis spun round as Kit rushed into the room.
“Thank goodness,” he went on, coming forward to receive the medallion. “I was in the stable saddling Patch before I realised it wasn’t in my pocket.”
“It’s yours?” she queried. “How did you come by this, Mr Chesterton?”
“It’s a family heirloom, I suppose,” Kit replied, taking the St Christopher from her. “Thank you for finding it, Miss Amaryllis. I couldn’t bear to lose this.”
He hesitated, adding with a small smile, “It belonged to my mother.”
* * * *
During a lull between chores and coaches coming in, Amaryllis squeezed into her father’s shed. It was crammed with all manner of tools and objects Pa refused to throw away.
Rummaging amongst the dusty, cobwebbed shelves, Amaryllis finally unearthed a battered old tobacco tin.
She hadn’t set eyes on it since she was a little girl, and had been in here with Pa while he was looking for something.
Opening the tobacco tin, he’d tipped it upside down, spilling out a heap of long-forgotten odds and ends – amongst them a small St Christopher.
Fashioned from wood, it was very unusual, and quite unlike anything Amaryllis had ever seen.
She remembered picking it up, taking it to the light so she might better see the primitive carving, and asking Pa about it.
He’d replied that the medallion was a souvenir brought home from his Navy days, and he’d put it back into the tobacco tin.
Now, Amaryllis held the St Christopher to the light exactly as she had all those years ago. It really was distinctive.
Surely this and the keepsake belonging to Mr Chesterton’s late mother must have been carved by the same hand?
