Chapter 18: The First Annual Portwenn Literary Festival

By the time Martin, Louisa, and Ruth returned the next day, the marquee tent had already been set up on the expansive green lawn in front of Tremethyk House and the literary festival was well underway.

The sun was shining and the air was already warm for the time of year, a complete change from the night before. The trees were glowing with yellow and orange leaves and people were posing to take selfies in front of the famed manor house. Chairs and picnic tables were set out, Al's Spice Express was one of several food trucks parked by the tent and doing great business, as were craft vendors and Bert Large selling souvenir programs. Joe Penhale was directing traffic and the shuttle bus from the village was still bringing in visitors. Book discussion groups and writing workshops were happening up in different sections of the tent.

As Louisa spotted her mother and went off with her to explore the scene, Chris Parsons came over to talk to Martin and Ruth. "I want to thank you again for letting the book club use your land," he said. "Helen is so excited about the festival. Everything's going great."

Martin nodded. "As long as everything gets cleaned up by sunset. But I have to thank you for that information you sent me about the physiological effects of ultrasound. It proved invaluable."

Ruth was curious. "Oh? What's this about?"

"I had a delusional experience of being menaced by a ghost downstairs in Sir Matthew's old chemistry lab," Martin explained. "I didn't know what to make of it but I mentioned it to Chris and he steered me to an article by an engineer who researched the link between infrasound and ghostly apparitions."

"Right," Chris said. "This engineer was working in a lab everyone thought was haunted. He was an amateur fencer and happened to bring in his sword to the lab to fix it when he noticed it vibrating. He found out the vibrations were caused by an exhaust fan that generated a standing sound wave that was bouncing between the lab walls, reaching peak intensity in the centre of the room."

"The low frequency infrasound is below the range of human hearing," Martin further explained. "I conducted some experiments in the lab yesterday, using that souvenir sword you brought back from Malaysia."

Martin turned to Chris. "I observed the blade was receiving infrasound energy that made it vibrate. I measured the vibrations and found they were strongest in the spot where the vibrating blade was, which was where I was standing when I had the delusional experience. The wave has a frequency of 19 Hz and is being caused by the exhaust fan at one end of the lab, all very similar to what the engineer found. When the fan is switched off, the wave disappears and so does the strange sensations it causes."

"Fascinating," Ruth commented. "It's like a ghost in the machine, if you like. There have been studies showing that low frequency sound can cause sensations of fear and physiological reactions such as increased heart rate and hyperventilation, similar to the low frequencies measured in a tiger's roar. Vibrations in the eye could cause shadowy shapes to appear in the retina. The whole experience must rather feel like having a paranormal panic attack." *

"Yes, well that was exactly what it was like," Martin admitted. "But I realized there had to be a rational explanation. Just as mould spores and carbon monoxide poisoning contributed to people's delusional experiences in the library.

"What? I'd like to hear more about that," Chris said, "but not right now, Helen's about to speak."

Louisa and Eleanor came over to join Martin as Helen Parsons came onto the small stage set up in the tent and spoke in the microphone. "I hope you're all enjoying our very first, and what we hope will be our first annual, Portwenn Literary Festival! Thanks to all the volunteers who worked so hard to make this come together in such a short period of time, and special thanks to Sir Martin and Lady Ellingham, for allowing us the use of this beautiful setting."

She gestured to where Martin and Louisa were standing right below the stage, and led the crowd in a round of applause. Martin scowled at the unwanted attention, as Louisa graciously waved to acknowledge the applause.

"Our workshops and small group readings have been fantastic so far," Helen continued. "And now for the highlight of our inaugural event. We want to thank our own local chemist, Sally Tishell, for her role in bringing our guest of honour here today."

She indicated Mrs. Tishell, who was standing off to the side of the stage. Unaccustomed to such attention, Sally waved and smiled shyly as the crowd applauded.

"Our guest is a distinguished poet, and an expert in Cornish and American literature, based in California, which is a centre of the worldwide Cornish diaspora I might add," Helen said. "He is here today to read his much anticipated latest poem, entitled Beautiful Cornwall. Please join me in welcoming Prof. Hugh Pascoe!"

Applause broke out again, with Sally the most enthusiastic clapper of all. The distinguished professor stepped out to centre stage and adjusted the microphone stand. He paused and rubbed his left eye. He drew breath, about to speak, then frowned and rubbed his eye again and rubbed the left sleeve of his tweed jacket.

Martin studied him. "What's wrong with him? His eye is drooping and his arm appears to be bothering him."

"Maybe his eye is always like that," Louisa said, "and I'm sure he's just nervous speaking in front of a crowd."

The professor drew another deep breath and began to speak. "Oh Cornwall, so fair, so far, faring, far, far, faro, from say far for…" He grasped the microphone stand with his right hand as if to steady himself, his non-drooping eye suddenly wide with panic. "Cornwall say, helping, far faro help…"

The crowd was growing restless. "He's channelling the spirits," said Eleanor, awestruck.

"He does sound a bit like Lamorna and her Mayan spirit guide," Louisa said, more sceptically.

Martin had a sudden revelation. "His speech is impaired. He's experiencing aphasia!"

The professor suddenly slumped to the floor and Martin was already leaping up onto the stage and into action, as the crowd gasped. "Call an ambulance," he shouted to Penhale, who was holding the onlookers back.

"I'm on it, Doc," the constable replied, pulling out his mobile. "I told the ambulance service to be on alert in case of any emergencies at this gathering. I can have them here in five minutes."

Martin checked that the man was breathing and pulled out a penlight to examine the drooping eye. The professor slowly began to recover and began speaking more normally, but in a slurred voice. "What'sh happening? Who're you?"

"I'm Dr. Ellingham. You appear to have suffered a transient ischemic attack, known as TIA, a minor stroke."

"My eye'sh blurry and my arm feelsh numb but iss shlightly better now."

"Yes, those are all symptoms and you had a brief episode of aphasia, which is the inability to properly form language. Have had this sort of attack before?"

"No, but my father and grandfather each died of a stroke, both of them at age 50," the professor said, now sounding a bit clearer but more alarmed. "I've already outlived them by 15 years. I thought I was in the clear."

"Mm, that's no guarantee. Family history is definitely a concern. You appear to be getting better for the moment, but a TIA means you're at risk of a major stroke within the next 48 hours. You need to get to hospital as soon as possible for a full examination."

The ambulance had already pulled up to the edge of the stage and the EMTs were opening the rear door.

"Is there anyone you want to accompany you in the ambulance?" Martin asked.

Sally Tishell was beaming with pride as the professor was introduced, in shock when he began to babble, and horrified when he collapsed. She ran up the steps onto the small stage and Joe Penhale had to physically hold her back. "Give the poor man some space," the constable told her, as Martin began his examination.

She was practically crying with relief when she heard the professor's voice get clearer and stronger as he recovered from his TIA, but shocked when she heard Martin say there was a risk of major stroke soon.

The professor now seemed overcome by the seriousness of his situation. So when Martin asked if there was anyone he wanted to accompany him in the ambulance, he looked up right into the small crowd Penhale was holding back and seemed to recognize someone. "Hwegen!" he shouted hoarsely.

Sally burst past the constable and ran toward him, as the professor staggered to his feet and dodged her embrace. He awkwardly brushed past her, knocking her to the floor unnoticed, as an elegantly dressed woman she had never seen before rushed onto the stage and into his arms. "Hwegen Claire," he said, "you made it!"

"Oh Hugh, my plane was delayed, my taxi just made it here from Newquay Airport. I wouldn't have missed your poem premiere for the world, darling," said the woman in an American accent. "What happened?"

He began explaining the situation to her as he introduced her to the EMTs as his new girlfriend, newly arrived from California. They were helped into the ambulance, and drove away as the crowd watched and applauded.

It was all over so fast. Sally was still sprawled on the now empty stage, holding back her tears. Then two strong arms reached down and effortlessly lifted her onto her feet. "Are you all right?" came that familiar voice. "Did you injure yourself in the fall?"

She looked up at him, like she was seeing him for the first time, with his close cropped silver hair gleaming in the sun and those distinctive ears silhouetted against the sky. It was like she had never realized just how tall he was, how magnetic his pale blue-grey eyes were, and how smartly tailored he always was in his bespoke suits. "No, I'm fine, thank you, er…Sir Martin."

"Hm. I prefer simply being called Dr. Ellingham." With that, he strode away.

Morwenna had been helping Al at the food truck but as the ambulance drove away she took advantage of the distraction to slip away and walk up to the garden behind Tremethyk House. She walked along the twisting path, enjoying the thought that her late grandfather had walked there in his youth when he was gardener here. Finally, she came to the three ancient Doctor's Stones. She stood a while, just enjoying how peaceful it was, so nice to be away from the crowd. When she felt ready, she knelt to look through the hole stone and put her hands on the bottom rim. The sun had warmed the stone and it felt good.

"Well, here I go," she thought.

She pushed her arms and head through and crawled, pushing with her knees and feet until her slim body slipped through the circular opening and she landed with her elbows on the soft earth on the other side.

"So that's done then," she thought. "I don't feel any different, but you wouldn't, would you. Not right away." She stood up, brushed a bit of dirt off her clothes, looked around to make sure nobody saw, and walked back to the festival.

To be continued…

*Note: For anyone interested in learning more about this, Vic Tandy was an engineer and lecturer on information technology at Coventry University in England. He was known for his research into the relationship between low frequency infrasound and ghostly apparitions in the 1980s. You can find out more about him on Wikipedia and other places online.