The Seaside Corpse, page 16
“Good luck, gentlemen!” she said.
The other boys had arrived for breakfast by the time Hector returned. From a shake of his head, I understood that he’d heard nothing of Nina’s conversation with Mr. Fibbley. We had a momentary celebration when Helen delivered a platter of pancakes, sprinkled with brown sugar.
“What do you think Everett is eating in jail?” said Arthur.
A single night in the icy cell had turned the prisoner’s hair the color of snow. Sunken cheeks, bloodshot eyes, a forlorn heart…
“Gruel,” I said. “Infested with weevils.”
Gloom fell upon us. But then came the mechanical clattering of an approaching vehicle.
Hurrah! The Strongest Man in the World was here to save the day! He hitched the Spotted Pony to the fence beside the backhouse and unloaded a coiled chain from the Runabout.
Nina emerged from the work tent, followed by a cheerful Mr. Fibbley. What devious plot had he set in motion that made him smile like that? Aha! Everett’s precious Brownie camera hung on a strap around his neck.
“Good morning, dear lady!” called Cavalier Jones.
“What’s he doing here?” Oscar was staring not at Mr. Jones but at Mr. Fibbley. Last night this man had been in the forest, lurking in the undergrowth. And here he was now, looking like a cat who’d unlatched a birdcage.
“He brought a letter,” I said, “from Everett at the jailhouse.”
“Your timing is perfect,” said Nina to Mr. Jones. “We’re setting out now.” To Mr. Fibbley, she said, “I’ll leave you here with the young people. They’ll bring you along in good time to reach the site at low tide, which occurs this morning at eight minutes after eleven. I’m heading down to meet P.C. Sackett and his boat.”
“Wonderful,” said Mr. Fibbley, “and thank you for the opportunity to use Mr. Tobie’s camera as he requested. It is an occasion worthy of—”
Nina had already turned away with Mr. Jones, and they strode toward the path to the beach.
I scowled at Mr. Fibbley with what I hoped he recognized as disgust. “Does Everett know that he gave you permission to use the camera?” I said.
Mr. Osteda’s motorcar arrived to interrupt, with horn blaring and with my grandmother sitting grandly next to the driver.
“Oh good, you’re here!” I hugged her. It had entirely slipped my mind that she was coming! Since yesterday’s farewell, we had seen the last of Miss Spinns, witnessed Everett’s unjust arrest, ventured through eerie twilit countryside to recruit the Strongest Man in the World and watched our main suspect calmly prepare herself for battle with a prehistoric monster. The excitement of a visit from Grannie Jane had been overshadowed.
“Thank you, Mr. Osteda, for playing chauffeur,” I said.
His eye was less swollen today, the livid violet fading to mauve and yellow on his brown skin.
“My very great pleasure,” he said, “and one more chance to remind the lady that I am ready and willing to give the ichthyosaur a good home.”
“Goodness,” said my grandmother, suddenly face-to-face with Mr. Fibbley. “This is most unexpected. You do have a way of simply appearing.”
“It is my specialty, Mrs. Morton,” said Mr. Fibbley.
Grannie introduced him to Oscar’s father. “This young man has been quite useful at moments of crisis,” she explained. “Though I cannot say his presence is a comfort, as it often accompanies disaster.”
“Alas,” said Mr. Fibbley, “a reporter thrives on the disasters of others.”
Helen bustled out from the cook tent with a small hamper, which Mr. Osteda gallantly hoisted. The rest of us were spurred to gather our own supplies. In my specially stitched pocket, I had my notebook and two sharpened pencils. Not that I expected time to write while excavating an ancient fossil! We also carried our collecting sacks, bulging with jacket-making materials and two flasks of water. Eager Mr. Fibbley declared he could wait no longer and hurried ahead, with Arthur and Hector close on his heels. The rest of us brought the lunch, a parasol, and a folding chair for Grannie Jane’s vigil. She would view the drama from the same spot on the cliff where we’d watched yesterday’s disappointing dress rehearsal.
“Can you see Constable Sackett’s boat, Mrs. Morton?” said Helen. From this high up, the boat appeared to be as small and insubstantial as a leaf.
“Poor fellow,” said Grannie Jane. “He’s pulling against an ebbing tide!”
“He needs my Oscar,” said Mr. Osteda. “One of the best young rowers in Texas.” Oscar flushed, but he glanced at me to be sure I’d heard. His boasting had been true after all!
Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Volkov were as far across the ledges as the tide permitted, hefting the burden of four stretchers loaded with digging tools and horse blankets. Mr. Jones carried the chain draped around his neck and shoulders like a scarf. Nina, by herself, strode toward the heap of rocks slowly becoming visible above the water.
“Hadn’t we better get moving?” I said.
“We cannot be late on this occasion,” Hector agreed.
“Come on, then,” said Arthur. “If you’re quite comfortable, Mrs. Morton?”
But Oscar’s father had recognized Cavalier Jones from afar and made a noise like a cat expelling a hair ball. “Why is he one of the party?”
“He has volunteered to assist with the lift,” said Oscar. “Maybe you should stay up here with Mrs. Morton? You’ll be helping no one if you start a fight. Look what happened last time.”
Mr. Osteda ignored his son. No chance he’d allow Cavalier Jones any closer to the ichthyosaur than he himself planned to be. So, it was Helen who stayed with Grannie Jane at the lookout on the cliff, while the rest of us scurried our way down to the beach. I turned to wave at my grandmother before we set out across the ledges, and she twirled her parasol in reply.
* * *
P.C. Sackett’s lovely boat was painted green with red trim. Gold letters spelled out Touch Wood on the side. He had maneuvered it close to the right spot. The boat still had water to float on, but we could see the top of Nina’s marker pile every time a wave drew back. The constable tossed an anchor overboard and rested the oars while he bobbed up and down. The tide soon would leave him beached, and his part in the drama could begin. The men deposited their loads on the bumpy seabed, waiting for Izzy to be exposed, when they would all move forward in a rush. Nina paced back and forth, still a few yards from where the boat rocked on little more than a foot of water. She looked like a hungry lioness stalking her prey, a scholar filling her pen before an examination, a singer humming the warm-up bars before her solo.
“The weather is on our side, Missus,” said Mr. Jarvis. “Wind from the north, offshore, keeping the waves low.” There were no waves at all, just now. The sea was calm, the sky hazy, the conditions perfect for the mad race to dig up a poor old sea monster.
Nina had entrusted Hector with Everett’s stopwatch, with instructions to report every few minutes on the time ticking by. Izzy would be fully exposed at sixteen minutes before eleven o’clock. Lowest tide would occur at eight minutes past eleven. That turning point, halfway through, meant there’d be twenty-four minutes left before the water came tumbling back to interrupt our task. Task? An almighty, gargantuan labor of Hercules! If we could not have the demigod himself, please let Cavalier Jones perform as heroically! At the moment, the strongman was examining the Touch Wood, rocking it gently as if to test its capacity. Mr. Osteda’s eyes flicked between him and the fossilized carcass at his feet.
“The time is nineteen minutes before eleven o’clock,” said Hector. “Three minutes to the starting gun.”
The quarrymen were already wading around the site in their wellies, jabbing in stakes at either end of Izzy’s visible parts.
“Sand buildup is light today,” said Nina. “We’ll have that off in no time.”
She inspected her motley crew of rescuers. All but two of the grown-ups were pulling on gloves. Mr. Osteda’s hands were jammed in the pockets of his very white trousers. He had not moved one inch from his viewing spot. Mr. Fibbley scribbled in his notebook. Oscar and Arthur and I had less durable cotton versions of the heavy canvas work gloves worn by Nina and the men, but we too were awaiting the signal to begin with pounding hearts.
“Ready?” Nina said.
“Ready!” said Hector. “Take your marks!” He clicked the button. “Go!”
The fossil recovery was underway.
Chapter 23
An Urgent Mission
“All hands!” Nina fell to her knees and began to dig. Seven more of us knelt to help. We scooped and scraped off wet silt and debris left behind by the sea during the night. The scent of seaweed and brine filled the air. When we’d uncovered what was visible of Izzy above the seabed, Nina signaled for us, the children, to scramble out of the way.
“First, the trench,” she instructed Cavalier Jones. “Observe the quarrymen.”
Nina picked up her tools. Every man now also held a large chisel and a hammer. Mr. Jones watched Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Volkov intently, prepared to mimic their moves. Mr. Jarvis issued clipped instructions, and the others followed orders without hesitation. A chorus of thunking and cracking began.
“Forty-one minutes remaining,” Hector called out.
A perimeter was marked by cutting a trough through layers of shale. It looked like the moat around a model-sized castle, about as wide as a man’s hand, and a foot deep. Constable Sackett climbed out of his boat, now resting at an angle on the seabed. He grunted as his feet hit the rocky ledge and paused to wipe his forehead with his jacket sleeve. When the trench was complete around Izzy’s perimeter, Mr. Volkov and Mr. Jarvis seized their mattocks, equipped with both chopping and digging blades. The work began in earnest, cutting through years of shale layered like the pages of a book.
The fossil would need to come out in pieces, as they could never raise it all in one go. I could not see everything, with so many bent backs blocking the view, but it seemed the trick was to first shift each of the slabs sideways rather than upward. This wrenched apart the connection with the solid layer below, making the actual lift much easier. The quarrymen turned the handles of their tools—Craa-aack!—and then came a smattering of praise.
“That does it!”
“You’ve got her!”
“Well done, men!” Nina had stepped aside when the heavyweight cutting tools appeared but watched every move from a nearby crouch.
“Thirty-one minutes,” said Hector.
Mr. Volkov dragged one of the stretchers to rest beside the trench at Izzy’s top end. The ferocious skull was the main prize, and first to be extracted. The jawbone full of teeth was more than two feet long, with a gaping eye socket so big it might have held a pineapple.
Time for Mr. Cavalier Jones to take center stage. With an apology to Nina, he removed his shirt and stood before us in only his vest. I’d not ever been so close to—nor seen so much of—a grown man’s skin, apart from my own Papa. I felt my eyes double in size. Hector was staring in equal astonishment. The Strongest Man in the World had truly tremendous arm muscles! He squatted low, arms reaching wide. He spread his gloved fingers, and slid them into a place hidden for more than a million years. Ever so slowly, he lifted the stone skull with its fearsome grimace.
“Hold there!” Mr. Fibbley snapped a photograph in the half-second hesitation before Mr. Volkov stooped to help guide the slab with the head onto the first stretcher. Cavalier Jones stood up and gave a radiant smile, shaking out his arms.
Whew! We exhaled, all of us together, in a gust of amazement. Mr. Fibbley took another photo.
“No time to celebrate,” Nina told the men. “Three slabs to go.”
I peeled off my gloves, slid the collecting sack from my shoulder and plunged my fingers into the wool wadding. Our part in the enterprise was about to begin! At Nina’s signal, Arthur, Oscar and I dropped beside the massive, astonishing head.
“We’ve reached the halfway point,” Hector called out. “Twenty-four minutes left.”
“This is the perfect task for you,” I said, over my shoulder. “Bossy boots.” He smiled in absolute agreement.
“But we could use your help!” Nina spoke firmly to Hector. Every one of those hideous teeth needed a jacket! In less than twenty-four minutes! Hector, reluctantly, got down on his knees and joined us in cramming cushions of lambswool around every knob. The system we’d practiced yesterday was swiftly put into motion. Hector and I stuffed wool between each tooth, filling the gaps. Arthur helped Oscar wrap and tuck the strips of linen that kept the wool in place.
Nina showed the men where next to cut. Mr. Fibbley leaned down to capture a picture of her, hand hovering above the majestic rib cage, the bones as tidy and taut as strings on a harp. Nina shook her head at the reporter. “Enough,” she said. “We’re working here.”
“But…the beautiful flipper,” said Mr. Fibbley. He snapped quickly in case she stopped him. The intricate pattern of small bones in the front paddle was as lovely as a Turkish mosaic. Again Mr. Jones crouched low and twisted the slab already loosened by the quarrymen. With their assistance (though truly, he did not appear to need it), he grasped the chunk of stone and levered it onto the second waiting stretcher. At once, Oscar and Arthur moved over to the rib cage with a heap of woolly padding and linen strips. Hector and I continued with the teeth.
“I’m clearing off,” said Mr. Fibbley. “I’ll get this film to the chemist and be there on the beach to greet the boat when it arrives. Good luck, everyone!”
“Time?” called Nina.
Hector paused in his wrapping to check the watch. “Nineteen and a half minutes,” he said.
“I’ll come with you, Mr. Fibbley.” Mr. Osteda looked with dismay at the wet sand attached to his calfskin boots. “I anticipate a happy meeting with the creature on dry land.”
“Goodbye, Dad.” Oscar, absorbed in bandaging ribs, did not glance up.
Mr. Jones flexed his muscles and bent his knees to make the third and then the fourth extractions, shifting each to its own waiting stretcher. The skeleton was deeper into the shale on these slabs, not requiring so much padding as the skull had.
“Fourteen minutes,” said Hector.
Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Volkov heaved together (what Mr. Jones had lifted alone!) and moved the stretchers closer to the Touch Wood. Nina’s fingers raced over our bindings and found no fault.
But now, the side of the rowboat, nearly as high as Hector was tall, became an imposing barrier. Mr. Jones did not hesitate in recruiting P.C. Sackett. Together, using the heavy chain, they engineered a winch to raise the loaded stretchers into the air. One after another, the slabs of rock-hard bones were laid along the bottom of the boat and covered with horse blankets.
Sackett, however, found that he could not climb up the side.
“What do you weigh?” said Mr. Jones. “Two hundred forty pound?” A keen eye for measuring weight! “The poor vessel will struggle to float as it is,” he said, “let alone with you on top.”
“I don’t see as you’ve got a choice,” said P.C. Sackett, insulted. “I goes with the boat.”
“Let Oscar row,” said Hector. “He wins the races, rowing.”
Nina looked at Oscar, who was nodding furiously. “I can do it,” he said.
“P.C. Sackett,” said Nina. The constable’s fingers twitched, as if he’d been tempted to salute her. “We’ve paid you five pounds for the use of your boat. We will double that for not holding things up now. Step aside and let us get on.” Her eyes darted to where the tide was eagerly rolling our way.
P.C. Sackett looked at his beloved Touch Wood and then at Oscar.
“You’re asking me to let a young scamp take my boat, with a load what’s terrible heavy, and row it agin the tide around Church Cliff, all by hisself? Not for ten pound nor five times ten.”
Mr. Jones put a hand on the constable’s shoulder. “Sir,” he said. “If you’ve been to the Cavalier Jones Cavalcade, you’ll know that people can perform the most marvelous—”
But P.C. Sackett was shaking his head. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “We hasn’t been yet to the circus, what with having five little ones and—”
This admission allowed Mr. Jones a new tactic. “Why then! Get yourselves over to Seaton this week, and I will be honored to provide your family with a private box, in gratitude for—” A whoosh of water rolled over the toes of his boots.
“Put the boy in the boat,” said Nina.
Mr. Jones slipped his hands around Oscar’s waist, lifted him over the side and dropped him directly on the seat. Oscar spun himself around to face the right direction, back toward the prow. His knees were bent up, but that was due to the skull beneath his feet. P.C. Sackett’s eyes filled with tears. He put a hand on one of the oarlocks.
“If anything happens—” he said.
“If anything happens,” Oscar interrupted, “if I’m swamped or we go down, I’ll swim for shore. My father will buy you a new boat, even better than this one. The fossil is too heavy to float away! It will be safe until the next low tide. Meanwhile, the ocean is barely fluttering, see? I do know how to row. All I need is a bit of water.” And he laughed.
“You’ll be all right?” Nina said. “Until the sea lifts the boat?” She plonked her foot down like a baby in a puddle, making a noisy splash. No one seemed to mind their feet getting wet.
“I’m fine,” said Oscar. “You go on ahead.”
Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Volkov had shouldered their tools and were already striding across the ledges. They would meet Nina and the Touch Wood, to manage Izzy’s transportation from the town beach to Camp Crewe. First, though, they needed to climb all the way up the cliff path, past the church and along the road, lugging those tools that would have added unnecessary weight in the boat.
