The Skeleton Room by Kate Ellis Read Free Book Online

off a boat or chucked themselves off a cliff. No doubt we’ll read all about
     it in the local paper in due course.’
    The man looked relieved, as if the incident of the body in the sea had been preying on his mind.
    Neil held out his hand. ‘I didn’t have time to introduce myself last time we met. I’m Neil Watson.’
    The man shook his hand. ‘Robin Carrington,’ he muttered.
    ‘Do you live in that cottage or are you here on holiday?’
    ‘It belongs to a friend. I’m down here to do some work.’
    ‘What do you do?’
    He hesitated. ‘I’m a genealogist. I trace people’s ancestors.’
    ‘Really?’
    The man sensed Neil’s interest and carried on. ‘I’m working for a family in the States who think they have local connections.’
    ‘So how did they contact you?’
    ‘Through the Internet. I have my own business.’
    ‘Successful?’
    ‘Oh, yes. They say that after pornography genealogy’s the most popular thing on the Internet. It’s what people want, a history.
     I suppose that’s what we all want.’ He smiled. ‘I make a living from it, anyway.’
    ‘This your first time down here?’
    ‘No. I come down every year. I need a break from London.’
    ‘How’s your work going?’
    Carrington smiled. ‘Very well. I’ve been rooting through local church registers and it turns out that my clients are related
     by marriage to the family who owned a big house near here: Chadleigh Hall. They were called Iddacombe.’
    Neil nodded. He knew about the Iddacombes, local landowners and shipowners. They had owned the
Celestina
.
    ‘My clients are called Smithers and they live in Connecticut. An Isaiah Smithers was master of a ship called the
Celestina
and his wife was an Iddacombe. I read in the local paper that you’re working on the wreck of the
Celestina
.’
    ‘That’s right. Have you found out much about Captain Smithers?’
    ‘Only that he’s buried in the graveyard of that little chapel just along the cliff path; the one that belongs to the hall.’
    ‘I’ll have to go along and pay my respects,’ said Neil. ‘Look, you’re very welcome to come down here any time and see what
     we’re bringing up from the wreck. And if you’ve got any information about Captain Smithers or the Iddacombes . . .’
    ‘Isaiah Smithers’ wife was a Mary Anne Iddacombe and she was the daughter of John and Mercy Iddacombe, who owned Chadleigh
     Hall. She’s buried in the graveyard too, and it looks like they died together when the
Celestina
was wrecked. She must have sailed with her husband.’
    ‘Bet she wished she’d stayed at home.’ Neil was running out of things to say. And he felt a sudden pang of hunger for the
     fish and chips waiting for him at the Wreckers. ‘I’m off to the pub now for something to eat. Fancy a pint?’ He felt obliged
     to be sociable.
    Robin Carrington shook his head.
    ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. See you soon maybe.’
    He trudged back down the beach and, as he picked up his rucksack, he turned. Carrington was gazing out to sea, oblivious to
     the antics of the young people near by. Gazing out to the place where Captain Isaiah Smithers had lost his life.
    Wesley Peterson made his way back to his modern detached house at the top of the town, strolling through the steep streets,
     between tubs and window boxes festooned with colour and scenting the early evening air. It had been a beautiful day and it
     would have been a pity to use the car. He stopped to catch his breath and turned round. As he looked at the rooftops of the
     town spread out below him, tumbling down to the glistening ribbon of the River Trad, he had no regrets about leaving London
     and the Met far behind.
    As he walked on towards home he thought of Trevor Gilbert. He and Rachel had taken him to the hospital mortuary to identify
     his wife’s body. He had gone into the room with dread, the smell of death and air freshenermaking his stomach churn, and he had watched as Rachel had taken Trevor’s arm