A day or so later, Daniel came home to find Eleanor kneeling on the floor of the living room surrounded by paper. “What have you got there?”
“I’ve been having a clear-out.” Eleanor patted one of the battered cartons. “I expected them to be full of ancient invoices and shop paperwork from Frederick Williams’ time, but a couple contain old newspapers and magazines and they’re fascinating. Look – some of the Victorian ones are falling apart, but the papers from the 1920s are in good condition. The adverts are hilarious.” She spread out the pages on the low coffee table. “I definitely need some of this magic soap that washes all the fat from your body leaving you slender as a flower.” She pulled out another paper. “And I’m sure my puddings would benefit from the inclusion of evaporated milk. I might be able to use these adverts in the historical window display I’m planning.”
Joining Eleanor on the carpet, Daniel leafed through the pile. “This paper is from the 1890s. Your predecessor clearly wasn’t a man who ever threw anything away.”
Eleanor smiled. “I remember when I bought the shop that Mr Williams told me he used to sell vintage newspapers. They were in with the stuff he left me but, to be honest, I’d forgotten I had them.”
“I can see why he threw them in with the deal.”
“Don’t be mean,” said Eleanor, playfully slapping her husband’s arm. “There are plenty of people who trade in old papers and magazines or they cut out and sell the illustrations separately and make a mint. Which, I guess, explains why some of the pages are missing. Anyway, I ought to ring Frederick and tell him what I’ve found in case he wants them back.”
“I thought you bought them from him?”
“Technically yes, but I’d still prefer to double-check.”
“That’s very honourable of you, El, but I doubt he’ll even remember they exist – those boxes must have been in the office for a very long time.” Daniel opened up one of the magazines. “There’s an interesting story here about a runaway mule. It looks like the owner unhitched it from the cart and the animal took its chance of freedom and legged it, causing chaos in the market square. Oh,” he frowned, “don’t read the last bit it will upset you.”
“I already have and it did. The unlucky beast was caught and ‘soundly whipped’.” Eleanor sighed. “They were harsh times and people weren’t always treated more kindly than the animals.” She began riffling through the newspapers. “I’ve been reading the news and features and there’s a story that seems to have gripped the population here in the South West for some weeks.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s in a section entitled ‘50 Years Ago’ in a paper from 1922.” Eleanor turned over a Bovril advert. “It’s about a boy who was accused of stealing some jewellery. It clearly raised a lot of debate, with people arguing for and against the lad. The fact it was featured in a paper half a century after the event suggests it was quite a big deal.”
“What happened to the little rascal? Did he end up being thrashed like that unfortunate animal?”
“I don’t know. The page with the verdict on it is missing. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“Not really – it may have had a particularly exciting advertisement on it,” said Daniel. “Or perhaps it was used to wrap something like fish and chips.”
“Ooh, fish and chips! I wish you hadn’t said those words.” Eleanor rubbed her tummy, which gurgled in response. “I’m ravenous and today is supposed to be one of my fasting days when all I can eat is lettuce and half a handful of blueberries.”
Daniel stood up and pulled his wife to her feet. “I’ve said a hundred times you don’t need to lose any weight – you’re perfect as you are.”
“Do you think so?” she asked, pinching the soft skin around her waist.
“I honestly do.”
“Well, in that case Dan, cod and small chips for me, please. Hold the mushy peas.”
“Would you like me to fetch them so we can have supper here in the comfort of our warm kitchen, or would you prefer to freeze your socks off by the sea?”
“Freezing by the sea, of course. It’s the only way to eat fish and chips. I’ll grab my coat.”
Half an hour later they were huddled together on their favourite bench on the sea front munching their supper. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant evening: the low clouds had a yellow tinge and there was the hint of a storm brewing over the horizon.
“I’ve been thinking about that story,” said Eleanor, licking her salty fingers.
“About the donkey?”
“It was a mule, not a donkey. But no – not about that. About John Able, the boy who was arrested. He was only eleven and the snippet I read suggested he was likely to be sent to prison.”
“So?”
“So, I’d quite like to find out what happened to him.”
Daniel thought for a moment. “When did this all happen?”
“Sometime in the 1870s, I think.”
“Were they deporting ne’er-do-wells to Australia then? He may have made a new life in the Antipodes or begun a long life of crime here.”
“I hope the answer isn’t the latter.”
Daniel paused to wipe his mouth. “If he was stealing stuff as a nipper, I suspect he was a proper little villain.”
Eleanor was shocked. “You can’t say that without knowing the circumstances, Dan.”
“Theft is theft.”
“You sound like Erika! In any case, I can’t believe a child of his age would steal for no reason.”
Daniel shrugged. “I guess you’ll never know what happened.”
“But I could try to find out.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Eleanor, popping the crispy bits of her chips from the bottom of the bag into her mouth, “but I reckon Jim might be able to help.”
“Your journalist friend?” Daniel nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose he would be a good person to ask, but wouldn’t it make more sense to visit the library first?”
“And put up with Dismal Deirdre droning on about what a fabulous local history selection they have all over again? Nope.” Eleanor shook her head. “I’m afraid that Combemouth Library will be absolutely my last resort until they bring in one of those bright young women from Waterborough.”
The wind had changed direction, sending sand swirling around their feet, and the air had acquired a strange metallic tang that heralded a storm. From their bench on the promenade, they could see a dense clump of rain clouds heading straight for them.
Daniel took Eleanor’s empty paper and scrunched it into a ball before deftly firing it into a nearby bin. “Goal!” Leaping to his feet he took her hand. “Ready to go?”
“I am!” she said, as they turned and ran back towards home, the rain at their backs.
* * *
While she was waiting for the kettle to boil, Eleanor decided to call Jim Rowe. Since marrying Dan, she’d neglected quite a few of her friends, especially the men she used to hang around with. There had also been a tricky period after Jim and Erika had broken up: they had gone out together for almost a year and Eleanor felt she couldn’t see too much of Jim out of loyalty to her colleague. The fact the relationship hadn’t endured had been hugely upsetting for Erika, and it wasn’t until she and Jim had found a way to be civil again that Eleanor really felt able to socialise with him.
When Jim answered the phone, Eleanor asked if he would be free for a beer sometime. “It would be great to see you, but I also have a favour to ask.”
“Sure, it’s been a while since we had a drink together.”
“You’re right – I’m sorry about that, but I have been ridiculously busy.” Eleanor pulled a face, aware of what a weak excuse it was and glad Jim couldn’t see her cringing.
“It’s okay,” said Jim, kindly. “I understand. So when and where?”
“What are you doing tomorrow evening?”
“Nothing in particular.”
“Fancy a pint at the King’s Head? My treat.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Great – I’ll see you then.”
“Oh, and what’s the favour about?”
“I want your advice on how I might investigate some local history.”
“Sounds intriguing!”
“It is, Jim, and I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”