“Just a few things they want my opinion on.” With a weak smile and a nod, he went indoors.
Charles watched him go, then met her eyes. “Let’s go.”
They rode out. Not, this time, like a pair of giddy reckless children. Being responsible adults, they cantered down the lane.
And came upon Julian Fothergill. He was climbing over a stile as they turned into the lane to Fowey. Seeing them, he sat on the top of the stile; as they neared, he saluted.
“Good morning!”
Reining in, Penny smiled. “Good morning. Have you been out bird-watching?”
Two spyglasses on cords hung around Fothergill’s neck. “Indeed.” He gestured across the lane to where the footpath he was on continued toward the estuary. “I’m on my way to have a look around the river mouth to see if there’s any good vantage spots there. I heard there’s a stretch of marsh—that’s always good for spotting.”
Charles nodded in greeting. “There’s fair cover along the banks—the marsh extends out from them, but is underwater at high tide. Be careful.”
Fothergill smiled. “I will.”
“Have you had much luck?” Penny asked, wondering what questions might lead Fothergill to reveal more. He was a sunnily personable gentleman; she couldn’t see him as a murderer, but they ought to be logical and investigate all five visitors.
“Oh, yes! Just yesterday I spotted a pied gull, and…” Fothergill’s countenance glowed with a zealot’s fire as he recounted numerous species he’d seen.
“You’ve covered quite a stretch of territory,” Charles said. “You must have been down along the cliffs to spot those gulls.”
Fothergill nodded. “Until now I’ve spent most of my days closer to the cliffs. I’m gradually working my way to the estuary and plan to move slowly upriver. Actually,” he continued, “I’m glad to have run into you—you both know the area so well. I’m also something of a student of architecture, and I wondered what the best places to visit hereabouts were?”
“Restormel Castle,” Penny answered without hesitation. “Its ruins are not to be missed if only for their history, but its structure is informative and there’s quite a bit left to see. After that…” She glanced at Charles.
“The Abbey—Restormel Abbey, my house—is across the river from the castle. Filchett, my butler, will be happy to show you around. He knows the history as well as I do, and the architecture rather better.”
“And you can always stop in at Wallingham Hall,” Penny said. “I’m sure Lord Arbry won’t mind. There’s a very fine Adam fireplace in the drawing room, and the music room is considered notable.” She paused, then added, “Looe House is the other house of architectural note, but you’ll need to ride to reach it—it’s on the road to Polperro, but the owners, the Richardses, are always happy to show people with an interest around.”
“Thank you!” Fothergill beamed at them, his expression open, his gaze equally so. “You’ve been a great help.”
Domino sidled. Charles tightened his reins. “I’m afraid we must leave you—we have an appointment in Fowey.”
“Yes.” Penny sobered. “And we’ll have to walk to the chapel by the cemetery—it’s the funeral of that poor young fisherman who was murdered.”
“Oh?” Fothergill looked blank. “Did you know him, then?”
“No,” Charles said, swinging Domino down the lane. “We’re attending as representatives of the local families.”
“Ah.” Fothergill nodded. “Of course.”
He saluted them; they both nodded in reply and rode on.
Penny would have liked to discuss Fothergill, but Charles set a pace that precluded conversation. She let her thoughts spin and rode beside him. They went straight to the Pelican, left the horses there, then walked briskly along the High Street. Rather than descend to the quays, then climb up the opposite hill, they followed the High Street along the ridge and out onto the cliff in the lee of which Fowey huddled.
The cemetery was built on the highest and last stretch of land before the cliff fell away to the rocks against which the Channel’s waves broke. Today, the waves sent up a murmurous chant, a dirge for a fisherman lost.
They reached the small chapel beside the cemetery; Charles took her elbow and ushered her in. They were just in time. The plain wooden coffin stood on bare trestles before the stone altar. Someone had placed a spray of white lilies on the unpolished wood. There were few there to hear the short service, few who had known Gimby at all, but there were some “mourners.” All were known to Charles and Penny; all were inhabitants of Fowey.
Together with the rest, they followed the coffin to the graveside and watched it lowered into the earth. Each person threw a handful of soil upon the lid, then one and all, exchanging nods and glances, turned away and left the gravediggers to their task.
Charles paused to speak to the vicar, then joined Penny where she waited with Mother Gibbs, both hanging on to their hats as the wind, brisker here on the point, tried to whisk them from their heads.
Mother Gibbs bobbed a curtsy as Charles came up.
He took Penny’s arm, and the three of them started back to the town. “Have you heard anything?”