Beatrice, had held on to the journal for over two years before she made the closing entry in 1775. Did she forget to give it to Ned? Or did she give it to Ned who then gave it to the library? Maybe Beatrice simply forgot about the journal for two years and then gave it to the library herself. Was it possible that no one else had ever seen the journal? Or the map? But where was the map? And what was the significance of the Princess Cave and ‘the run’ that both Leslie and Rohan had mentioned?
We all stared at the journal. It was fat, dark and dog-eared and covered in stains. It looked like someone had mopped the floor with it. Dad flicked through all the pages but there was obviously no map. We were all pretty disappointed. If we didn’t have any other clues we could be stuck. “What next?” I wondered. We sat there scratching our heads for ages, until finally Dad called it quits.
“I think it’s time for lunch” he said. “Maybe a Dagwood Dog will pry loose some ideas. Let’s go to the café and talk it over.” George did a double V for Victory salute. Charlie moaned. No kale smoothies today Charles!
We had lunch at the same café. It was the only one in Looe anyhow, right across the street from the library. The menu was still Dagwood Dogs, hot chips and weak tea. Some date scones had also appeared, but these looked so old they must have been made by Julius Caesar. And this time, tomato sauce was served with the chips. “Awesome” breathed George.
We were stumped. We’d looked in every nook and cranny in Mrs. Mahoney’s ‘liberary’, even in the children’s section, but hadn’t found anything that even looked like a clue. Dad pointed out that Rohan had asked that Beatrice pass his journal and map to Ned Huxley, so that he could continue the search. Had she done this? And if she had, had Ned then given the journal to the library? And had he also given the map to the library? Or, worst of all, had he kept it? It could be anywhere. But Dad was never one to give up easily.
“We’ve been through the BDMs” said Dad. “I don’t think there’s anything more there for us. Not unless we start searching for some of the other fishermen, Mickle, Newby, Valentine and so on, but there’s nothing in either Leslie’s or Rohan’s journals that indicates there was anyone else involved in their search.”
“Maybe there’s stuff in other libraries” said Charlie. “It’s possible that some things went to other libraries.”
Dad nodded. “That’s true” he said. “Would it be likely that old journals and papers found their way into other libraries? Maybe some in nearby towns? Perhaps the map ended up in one of these.”
Max was pushing the last few cold chips around on his plate. “Let’s go and have another look” he said. “Maybe we missed something.”
“You reckon?” asked George, picking up one of Max’s chips. “We’ve been through everything. The library’s not that big.” She was right. We all stared at the table. George ate another chip.
“I think we’ve looked everywhere” said Dad. “Like George said, it’s a small library. I don’t think we’re going to find anything more. Let’s call it quits. We can have another chat tonight. Maybe we’ll come up with some ideas.”
“But what about the other libraries, the one’s that Barney said were closed? What happened to their books?”
“Good question” said Dad, frowning and rubbing his chin. He sipped his tea. “Maybe we can go back and ask Mrs. Mahoney about them. But I think they were probably not much more than a shelf or two in a local hall. They were probably integrated with the other books long ago. Or maybe even lost.”
“Worth a try though” said George, popping the last of Max’s chips into her mouth.
Dad nodded. “Yep. Absolutely worth a try. And we know that no one else has ever found anything.”
“But what if someone found something and didn’t tell anyone? They could have found the journals and the treasure and no one would know.” This was a terrible thought, but George was right again. I could feel the disappointment. Everyone looked dejected. Except George.
“I don’t know how you can eat those cold chips” said Charlie, watching George. “They’re gross.”
George laughed. “Tomato sauce, Charles. Nectar of the gods.” I reckon George would eat tomato sauce on her cereal if no one was watching.
Then Dad slapped the table. “Ok. Let’s give it another try. Let’s go see if Mrs. Mahoney has anything on the other libraries. It’s nearly one. Two more hours. Library closes at three.”
When we trooped back into the library Mrs. Mahoney was sitting on one of the kid’s chairs, packing yellow, white, red and blue blocks into a large plastic crate. There was another older lady on the other side of the room, looking at the books in ‘Cornish Cooking’. Mrs. Mahoney held her finger to her lips. “Don’t be making any noise. Marlene is hard of hearing but she still comes here for the peace and quiet.”
Dad pulled up one of the other kid’s chairs and sat down. So did Charlie and George. There were no other chairs so Max and I sat on the floor. Mrs. Mahoney stopped packing the blocks and turned her chair around so we all faced one another. “No luck?” she asked.
“No luck Mrs. Mahoney” said Dad. “We’ve been through everything on every shelf. But there’s nothing on anything associated with smuggling in the 18th century. And not many other journals or papers from that period. You said that there’s been a lot of treasure hunters in the past. Do you think that they might have taken some of your books away?”
Mrs. Mahoney nodded. “Yes. I have no doubt the many of them have taken books away and not returned them. Some of the old maps even. It’s ever the way isn’t it?”
“You have old maps?” suddenly Dad’s voice was urgent. I felt a surge of excitement.
But Mrs. Mahoney had no good news for us. “Not so much old maps. More like new maps really. The maps that we have were prepared by the Admiralty. Around the time of the Second World War. There’s nothing that dates back earlier than that.” I felt another wave of disappointment flow over us. But then Dad asked about the ‘liberaries’.
“Mrs. Mahoney, last night when we were talking with Barney he said that there used to be a number of small libraries in the villages close by. He mentioned Seaton and Widegates. Is there any chance some of the books from those libraries might still be around?”
“Why yes, of course, the branches. But we had four actually, not two. There was one in Seaton and one in Widegates, but there were also branches in Liskeard and Herodsfoot. Though, truth be known, Herodsfoot wasn’t used very much. It was in the church hall at All Saints, and with Father Thomas getting on and all, the hall wasn’t open very often.”
“What happened to the branches?” asked Charlie
“Well the branches were closed down a long time back. In the 70s I think. The town council over in Truro couldn’t see its way to funding the branches when there were so many other things to spend money on. The roads, the water, the hospitals and so on.”
“What happened when the branches were closed?” asked Dad. “What happened to the books?”
Mrs. Mahoney frowned, then looked surprised. “Well. Now that’s a thought” she said. “I haven’t thought about those books for over twenty years. When the branches were closed all the books were packed and taken away to storage. My memory isn’t what it was but I recall no more than six or eight chests. The branches were never very large mind you, sometimes nothing more than a few shelves in the corner. But always much appreciated by the village.” Mrs. Mahoney paused for a moment, lost in her thoughts. “I do recall that we had trouble in getting in touch with Father Thomas. All the other branches were long closed but we hadn’t been able to speak with the father and have the books packed and stored.”
“Where did the books go to be stored?” asked Dad. But Mrs. Mahoney wasn’t finished. She leaned forward and whispered.
“Father Thomas liked the rum you know. And sometimes he would sleep a whole day. And he never answered his phone or his door. He was a terror. Why one time he fell out of the pulpit because the rum was on him. And only Doris Tregear and Marjorie Tims in
the flock that morning, mind you. Well, they weren’t able to lift the father and help him to a chair. He was too heavy you know, and he was so addled that he couldn’t help himself. They had to walk nearly all the way to Duloe before they saw Malcolm Addison. Malcolm was plowing and went with them back to the church. They put the father in a chair and gave him water and a fan. It was a terrible to-do.”
“So were the books from the church hall ever packed?” asked Dad.
“Oh yes. Really it was all too much for Father Thomas. The church was closed soon after the pulpit incident and Father Thomas retired to a church home in Plymouth. Everything was sold, all the pews and furniture and so on. Even the old stove and hot water in the church hall. But finally two men from the town council went down and packed up the books.”
“And the books?” said Dad.
“Yes. They were packed and sent to storage with the others.”
“Where were they sent for storage?” Dad was very patient, but it was killing me. And I could see George was starting to fidget again. And Charlie was rolling her eyes.
Mrs. Mahoney thought for a second, then her face brightened. “Why here of course. All the books were sent here.” I felt my heart drop through the floor. And everyone else’s as well. Even Dad seemed deflated. He waved his hands towards the bookshelves.