“Okay, so that’s why nothing comes up in a search. The society has been closed for over forty years.”
Smiley continued reading. The Society has been successful in training young vision impaired individuals in handicrafts including: basket weaving, pottery, leatherwork and their speciality, fine needlework. A picture of young men and women from an earlier era graced the screen, obviously blind and engaged in each described activity.
Smiley grinned. “Super snoop is on it!”
Scrutinising the faces, he wondered whether one of these people might even be the secretive and elusive Katie. He searched the blog for Betty Gavin’s contact details and right at the bottom of the extensive historic blog was a contact number. Smiley scribbled down the information and checked his watch, but it was way too early to contact the woman. He would have to wait till 8 am, thinking the woman would be more receptive to a phone call asking for information at a more decent hour.
*~*~*~*
The phone had started ringing early this morning, but today this didn't bother Betty Gavin. With the cold spring mornings adding another layer to her pain, Betty had been awake for hours as her eighty-two year old frame throbbed with arthritis. Beckoned by another caller, she sauntered into the musty smelling hallway for the third time since abandoning her bed, with her slow movements hindered by aching joints. The phone sat upon a small ornate table, a gift made by one of her ex-students and as she reached down to silence the insistent device, she brought the receiver slowly to her ear.
“Hello.”
“Is this Mrs Betty Gavin?”
“It’s Miss, and yes, it is.”
“Miss Gavin, my name is Smiley Williams. I’m trying to locate one of your ex-vision impaired people.”
“Students.”
“I beg your pardon?” A confused Smiley replied.
“We called them students,” Miss Gavin corrected.
“Oh, okay. I am trying to find some information on one of your ex-students.”
“The Society has been closed for forty years, Mr Williams, since the government removed our funding and most of the students have left the area. Whom are you trying to reach?”
“I only have her first name... Katie,” Smiley held his breath and waited for what seemed like ages. “Are you still there, Miss Gavin?”
“I am here. What do you want with Katie?” Miss Gavin demanded.
“So there was a Katie in your society?”
“Mr Williams, I have no idea who you are and what your purposes are in contacting our ex-students.”
Smiley drew in his breath and explained Becky’s story; her search for her birth mother; the little needlework blanket with the message; and how Becky had found it.
There was a long pause again, as if Miss Gavin was coming to a decision. She drew in a breath and then exhaled loudly, almost as if annoyance had taken a part in her reply. ”Mr Williams, I am indeed sorry for your friend, but I must inform you that Katie died in 1968.”
Now it was Smiley’s turn to sigh audibly. The news had broadsided him, unprepared for her answer.
Noting the long shocked pause from the caller, Miss Gavin felt the man’s disappointment and she stammered, “I..I am still in contact with a Bethany Graham, who was very close to Katie. If you give me your phone number, I will explain your friend's circumstances and maybe she will contact you.”
Smiley was about to argue with Miss Gavin and offered a rebuttal. “Can’t I contact her direct?”
“Mr Williams, Miss Graham is an ex-student and is extremely shy. These are my terms... take it or leave it.”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 53
With the insidious darkness hiding the shape of the cutter slowly picking its way through the shallows, low tide prevented it from approaching the shore without running aground, forcing it to stand off 200 yards from the beach. A light flashed three times from the shore, signalling the location of their passenger while a long boat, hanging from a davit, dropped over the side of the cutter and into the inky blackness. Fortunately for the oarsmen, the water was calm and the wind had died right off, but a slight chill indicated the seasons were changing. Yet with the coolness and the calm, the atmosphere was heavy and unmoving, creating a situation where every sound amplified and drifted across the flat sea surface, carrying the noise of clanging oars against the wooden boat and piercing the quiet as the two oarsmen pulled haphazardly toward the beach.
As the point of the bow ran up onto the sand, a dark shadowy figure met the long boat and castigated its crew with a hissed warning. “I could hear you coming like a couple of old women banging pots and pans in a kitchen.”
One of the oarsmen broke the silence. “Apologies, Bellaruse.”
“Just get us back to the cutter as soon as possible. This is too dangerous with the Desapo brothers so close.”
With the boss onboard, the oarsmen made a concerted effort to silence their strokes, gliding swiftly out to meet the mysterious anchored cutter. Bellaruse smiled when he saw the outline of his ship up close and the name stood out even in the dark.
Comtesse de Bellious.
“Hello, my beauty,” Bellaruse’s creepy tenderness, intensified by the gloom, appeared almost psychotic.
The ropes, still dangling from the davits, were quickly attached to the lifting points of the longboat and the three men along with the small craft were hauled aboard and the boat stowed.
With an emotionless face, Recanauf greeted Bellaruse, “Is there trouble in the township?”
Bellaruse turned to face the lights of Lightning Harbour, checking his nemeses weren’t within earshot. “The Desapo brothers are onto me and there is no sign of the earl’s sister, yet the talk suggests she has been sighted recently. Worst of all, the Desapos are planning on building a lighthouse over Black Dean and making our great monster into a pussycat. I will need to lie low for a while, until they suspect my presence no longer and then I will move again.”
Recanauf’s face contorted and even in the darkness, Bellaruse could see the hardened lines on his toughened features. “So we need to put an end to the Desapos' plan, Bellaruse,” Recanauf growled.
“Let’s get back to Contention Island before we are discovered. We can discuss the destruction of the Desapos' ill-fated building project then and maybe we can rid ourselves of the Desapos, too,” Bellaruse retorted.
Recanauf gave a muffled command, “Weigh anchor, steer a course back to Contention Island.”
*~*~*~*
Hidden in the sandstone cliffs high above the shores of Contention Island, the night lookout was bored and cold and hadn’t seen any movement worth reporting as he continually scoured the darkened sea. Nothing had happened during the day watch either, except for the normal movement of shipping in and out of the Barrett Passage. With the long hours of tedium, the lookouts were becoming complacent and tired of watching day after day. Besides, no one had told them exactly what they were looking for, anyway, just expecting a report on any unusual activity. As the night chill made him shiver, he shifted his cold numbing body from foot to foot, trying to get the circulation back into his toes. Stamping his feet and blowing his warm breath into his hands, the lookout hoped dawn’s appearance would happen soon, then his watch would be almost through.
After another bone chilling hour, the sun finally broke over the eastern horizon, bringing a welcome sense of warmth to his stiff, aching body. Then the long awaited music to his ears as three short whistles signalled the change of shift and his hammock waiting to greet his tired body.
The day watch lookout shifted on his feet and squinted against the rising morning sun, his feet resting in the same deep prints that the night watch had stamped in the soft sandstone path. After only an hour, the beginnings of a headache throbbed in his temples, with the heat and reflected light from the sea surface hurting his eyes and making the headache worse. Scouring the horizon, his gaze settled on a faint line to the west, just barely able to make out the southern beach of Lightning Ha
rbour; but then sweeping to the east, he could see nothing except endless deep ocean. To the north and some three miles away, ships could be seen nervously picking their way through the Barrett Passage and Black Dean at low tide. The sun caught his eyes as he scanned to the south where millions of reflected prisms shone off the water surface and momentarily blinded his search. Narrowing his stare and holding his hand up to shield the sun’s brilliance, he sighed, rubbing his forehead and closing his eyes against the glare as yellow flashes and eye floaters crossed his vision against his eyelids.
“Sleeping at your post, Coban?” a gruff voice shook his eyes open.
“Recanauf...?! No! I have a headache and the sun’s brightness isn’t helping,” Coban responded defensively to the hard tone of accusation.
“Does the protection of our hiding place depend on your... headache, Coban? If you fail to warn the others, our existence will be blotted out and you, along with your crew members, will go to prison. Do you wish to be hunted forever for letting them go to jail?”
Coban hung his head. It was useless trying to argue with Recanauf. “No, Recanauf.”
Recanauf scanned the skyline to the south where the sun was reflecting off the sea surface and causing him to squint, also. He checked the horizon again, his hard features concentrating on something when a vessel appeared out of the brilliance and then he saw the mammoth barge being towed behind. “Do you not see the threat appearing out of the glare. This is why you must be alert... sound the alarm!” Recanauf disappeared back into the tunnels.
Coban stared in disbelief. The only time in ten days Recanauf makes an appearance at the lookout station, he spots a threat and sounds an alarm while I have my eyes closed. Coban fumed, watching the tug towing the huge barge and then another tug followed, pushing the barge from the stern. This was an unusual event, with the strange fleet negotiating the landward side of the submerged rocky barrier and possibly coming close enough to see straight into their protected island fortress.
Crewmen scattered throughout the tunnels to take up their positions as the alarm passed around their hiding place. The Comtesse was pulled around on her mooring hard against the bay wall, making her virtually invisible to the passing convoy.
“Bellaruse!” Recanauf’s impassioned shout echoed through the tunnels and into his quarters.
“What do you mean by disturbing me?” Bellaruse growled as Recanauf entered his chamber. The two men eyed each other in a dangerous standoff.
Recanauf’s eyes narrowed as he spoke, ”If you would spend more time taking command rather than lying sulking on your bunk...! The answer to your questions with the Desapos is passing the lee of the island as we continue to play your childish game!”
“What?!” Bellaruse eyed Recanauf with a threatening gaze, springing to his feet and pushing past Recanauf, heading for the lookout position.
Coban jumped as Bellaruse approached, followed closely by Recanauf, both staring at the approaching barge.
“So this is how the Desapos are to tame our monster,” Bellaruse hissed.
*~*~*~*
Neddy and Desapo stood expectantly on the deck of Mario’s fishing boat, watching the approaching vessels. The barge dwarfed the two powerful tugs that were pushing and towing it, with a crane gantry towering high above the barge deck and four stabilizer legs, making the platform look like a huge four-legged floating insect. Being low tide, the walls of the Barrett Passage were clearly visible from the landward side, giving the tug operators a bird’s eye view of what had to happen as soon as high tide had been reached. They could hear the threat of Black Dean howling and roaring on the other side of the wall, while Desapo watched nervously as two heavy anchors dropped over the side of the barge, holding her in place until they were ready to position the platform over the walls of the passage.
From his position, Desapo could see a group of men mingling on the deck of the leading tug and quickly recognised the familiar stonemasons he’d worked with for many years. The stonecutters were pointing at the exposed walls and gesturing to each other as they did with every new project, until Desapo had a chance to convince them the obstacles could be overcome. It was like a little dance that had to happen before they could settle into any new job and see a way through the challenges they faced and proceed with the new project. Old Jock, in particular was a powerful voice, pulling against Desapo’s leadership and pointing out to the crew the impossible nature of the job. Once Desapo set easily attainable goals for the first couple of days until the crew got into the swing, Old Jock would lose interest in his complaining and the job could proceed without his hindrance.
Desapo felt a hand slap across his back, the stinging sensation shaking him from his thoughts.
“Well, Desapo,” Neddy grinned, “how do you like your new job site?”
Desapo swallowed hard and nodded... there was a lot riding on Neddy’s idea.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 54
Unlocking the office door and pushing it open, Tess was greeted with the sounds of a spirited cuckoo clock announcing 8 am and time to start work. Initially, Tess and Katrina had disagreed on the validity of a cuckoo clock in an office environment, but now with its homely and soothing greeting, Tess was happy she’d won the issue. Mr Parduck seemed most amused by it and accepted it, but Mr Desapo appeared to take umbrage. Tess wasn’t sure about Mr Desapo and although he gave the impression of affability and offered a gentlemanly attitude, his stiff businesslike manner at times was overpowering, as if he was boss and not Mr Parduck.
Before the two ladies could swing into their new morning routine, two men in overalls waited with tool box in hand by the door. “Morning, madam. We have come to fit your two-way radio receiver.”
“Oh, yes. Come in,” Tess invited, expecting the tradesmen.
Some discussion followed while the two workmen glanced around the office. ”Where do you want the station fitted?” one asked.
“Station?” Tess returned with a questioning expression.
“Yes, miss, the receiver and hand piece,” the workman glanced back at his friend as if he was talking to a simpleton. “Maybe on that desk,” he pointed with enthusiasm to an empty table by a wall, not waiting for Tess’ reply.
Tess consented with a nod and they got to work installing the two-way radio.
The morning’s activities were disturbed by constant banging and heavy boots up on the tin roof, as if a giant gopher had taken up residence above their heads. Cables and wires hung untidily from the ceiling and down the wall, until they were hidden neatly by steel conduit, bringing order back into the ladies' neat and ordered environment. In the absence of both Mr Parduck and Mr Desapo and with the telephone constantly ringing, the ladies were forced to make crucial decisions, with the boss and their engineer deserting the office for the landing process of the new work platform an hour out to sea.
By the time the workmen had powered up the radio transmitter, it was early afternoon and the office was busy with more visitors seeking the boss’ attention. With a small radio tower installed on the roof, the reach of the communications device had been enhanced, gaining the ability to reach ships far out to sea. Satisfied the installation had gone to plan and now all that remained was an equipment test, Tess and Katrina were summoned over to where the radio transmitter had been placed and a demonstration swiftly followed.
“Leave the power on at all times,” the workman instructed, “so the set remains operative. Set your dial to channel 6, the universal call channel and then push the call button,” the workman demonstrated pushing and releasing the handpiece’s button and the set responded, making a clicking noise.
Nodding appropriately, the ladies tried to absorb this strange new technology and the instruction for its use.
“Hold the handpiece to your mouth, like so, and press the button and speak normally. Once you have made contact with the vessel you’re calling, tell them to switch to channel 58, which is your designated channel.”
Tess appeared
to be confused and Katie was wide eyed with apprehension.
“Okay, let’s try it,” the workman bubbled. He set the channel dial to channel 6 and handed the microphone to Katie. “Now, to call the person you want to reach, push the button and ask for that person.”
Katie’s demeanour was filled with nervousness, but she obeyed the man. She pushed the button. “Hello, Mr Parduck, are you there?” she spoke into the device then released it.
“Over!” the workman added.
“Excuse me!” Katie queried.
“When you talk and finish calling, you end with over. That tells the receiver that you have finished speaking and they can answer you back.”
Katie pushed the button again and repeated, ”Over,” into the handset.
A voice she didn’t recognise responded immediately, “Hello, love, this is Mr Pheasant. It appears Mr Parduck ain't wanna be answerin' but I’d be more an' willen' to talk to you... over.”
Without so much as a blink, Katrina pushed the transmit button and responded, “It is obvious, sir, that your level of intelligence is lacking to the point that, I am convinced, you would not understand the difference between the two creatures, making any conversation on my behalf a complete waste of my time. I would be grateful if, before you attempt to further engage myself and demonstrate your complete ignorance, you would at least avail yourself of some kind of understanding of the English language... over.”
Complete shocked silence followed, equally in the room and on the airways, with both workmen staring at each other in astonishment.
“This is Mr Parduck. Katie, is that you?” Neddy responded.