Page 19 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
St Ethel’s church. The ruins she was skirting round had, supposedly, one winter’s night over a hundred and fifty years ago, been the site of a horrific battle: screams and shouts were heard, the rhythmic sound of horses’ hooves, the crackle of flames. It sounded horrendous, but it also hadn’t been real.
Giving up on her juggling endeavours, Ollie gazed at the sea for a moment, spread about below her and closer thanit was from her barn, the way it shimmied and shivered in the weak morning light. Then she found a piece of the churchyard wall that was still intact, and perched on it while Henry skirted the uneven ground, nose down, tail up. She opened the book, her eyes scanning the tiny print.
‘Listen to this,’ she called to her dog. ‘When the alarmed villagers rushed out on that dark night in 1872, some of them hefting weapons, others with buckets of water to quench the flames, they found St Ethel’s church poised and silent, the horrific sounds fading as if swallowed by the sea.’ She shook her head. ‘Except for one unusual thing. There was a light glowing from within, bright enough to make the stained-glass window beneath the bell tower shine.’ She looked up. There was nothing left of the stained glass now.
‘The rector had been one of the first to hear the commotion, and he unlocked the door but found only darkness. The light was gone, and nothing of the phantom battle remained. This author has done extensive research into the area, and can find no battle to speak of, none that could have played out here, its haunting echo carrying through the years. But, if you go walking in Port Karadow late on the first of December, and stray too far from the welcome glow of the Christmas lights, be sure to avoid St Ethel’s church. Even in its ruined state, those lost soldiers might still be searching for shelter.’
Ollie swallowed, a chill running down her spine. She would have appreciated a hug with her dog, but he was sniffing the church wall, no doubt searching for something a lot more solid than ghosts.
‘This author,’ Ollie repeated, checking the front of the book and the title page, even though she had already examined it thoroughly. ‘It doesn’t say who the author is, though.How can a book not have an author?’ She was flicking through the pages, trying to find clues, when her phone buzzed on her knee. ‘Shit!’ She grabbed it before it fell onto the rocky ground. ‘Hello?’
‘Ollie? Hey. It’s Max.’ Even his voice set off tingles inside her.
‘Oh! Hi. Am I late? Sorry, I—’
‘No, I’m early. Are you on your way to the café?’
‘I’m five minutes away, near St Ethel’s church.’
‘The ruins? What are you doing there?’
Ollie glanced at the book. ‘Come and meet me, and I’ll tell you.’
‘OK.’ He sounded intrigued and amused, and Ollie grinned at the phone. ‘Give me ten.’
‘See you soon.’ She hung up.
She was coming round the side of the ruins, having done a circuit and found only signs that someone very real had been using the site as a party venue, when she saw him. Short navy jacket, dark jeans, a blue and white-striped scarf wrapped around his neck. He was holding two takeaway cups, which perked her up as much as the sight of him. There wasn’t much in the way of wind, but there was a bitter chill in the air.
Henry spotted him too, and raced forward, barking.
‘Henry, no!’ She had a vision of him jumping up and Max being covered in scalding coffee, but her dog, while clearly excited, didn’t raise his paws, and simply danced around the café owner with unbridled joy.
‘Hello.’ Max put the cups on the wall and crouched, ruffling Henry’s fur. He looked up when Ollie approached. ‘He’s very well behaved. Have you been training him?’
Ollie felt a flush of pleasure at the compliment, even though it wasn’t hers to accept. ‘My friend, Melissa, took him to classes when he was a puppy. Since then, I’ve read a few books, tried to keep him on track that way.’
‘Why am I not surprised that you put your faith in a book?’
Ollie laughed. ‘I do have a bit of a thing for them.’ She almost added that she’d been reading books on how to retrain herself, too.
Max stood and handed her a cup. ‘So what are you doing out here?’ He gestured at the discarded beer cans. ‘There are a lot of beautiful walks around Port Karadow, but this place is less salubrious. The council try and keep it clean, but they can’t always stay on top of it.’
‘What do you know about it?’ Ollie lifted the lid off her cup and blew on the hot liquid, inhaling the rich, milky steam. ‘Thank you so much for this.’
‘What do I know about the church?’ Max shrugged. ‘Not a whole lot. It’s ancient, obviously, and falling down. Some people think it should be cordoned off; that it’s not safe.’
‘You don’t know anything about the phantom battle?’
Max laughed. ‘What? No, I’ve never heard of a phantom battle. Have you been going too hard at the incense?’
Ollie failed to hide her surprise. ‘Who told you I’m an incense fiend?’
He ran a hand through his curls, but didn’t look away. ‘I’m sorry. It was Lizzy. She heard from Marion, that—’
‘Of course.’ Ollie waited for the stab of embarrassment, but the only thing she felt was amusement. ‘Did she also tell you about my overpriced Christmas decorations?’
Max smiled, his discomfort dissipating when he realised she wasn’t offended. ‘They sound great. If you can’t be over the top at Christmas, when can you be?’
