The Maritime Museum

Lena wrote to the maritime museum in Bristol that evening, explaining that she had found a lighthouse keeper's log and was following up on research into a vessel called the Maren Castle, and asking whether there was any record of correspondence from an Alistair Fenn of Carrow Island in the late 1970s.

She did not expect a quick response, but the museum's archivist, a woman named Dr Henley, replied within three days.

Yes, she said, there was a letter from Alistair Fenn, dated January 1979. It was in the museum's general correspondence archive for that year and had been there since receipt. It had not been specifically catalogued or followed up.

Would Lena like a copy?

Yes, Lena replied. She would very much like a copy.

The copy arrived by email four days later.

The letter was three pages, in the same clear handwriting as the log, setting out all of Alistair Fenn's observations of the grey vessel in careful order. His description of the vessel's appearance and behaviour. His hypothesis about atmospheric optics. His tentative identification of the vessel as the Maren Castle, with a request for any additional information the museum might have about that ship.

At the end of the letter he had written: I recognise this may seem an unusual inquiry. I want to be clear that I am not reporting a supernatural phenomenon. I am reporting an optical one. The distinction matters to me. I am a lighthouse keeper. My work depends on accurate observation of the sea. I record what I see, and I have seen this vessel on fourteen separate occasions over seven years. I believe an explanation exists. I believe the Maren Castle, or its image, is present in the waters below this headland under specific conditions. If you have records that might help establish what happened to that vessel in February 1932, I would be grateful to have them.

Lena read the letter twice and then read the museum archivist's accompanying email.

Dr Henley had taken the opportunity to look up the Maren Castle herself, she said. The ship had indeed been lost in February 1932 with all seven crew. The wreck had never been located. There were records of a coastguard investigation at the time that had concluded the ship had gone down in the storm, exact location unknown. The seven crew members were named in the museum's records.

She had attached the names.

Lena opened the attachment.

Seven names. She read through them. The names of men who had gone out on a February morning in 1932 and not come back. She read them carefully, the way you read something that deserved careful reading.

The last name on the list was: Thomas Fenn, crew member. Age 24.

Lena looked at this for a long moment.

Fenn. The same surname as the lighthouse keeper who had watched for that ship for seven years.

She wrote to Marta immediately.

Marta called rather than texting back, which told Lena something about how she had received the information.

"Thomas Fenn," Marta said. "My grandfather was born in 1930. He would have been two years old in 1932."

"Thomas Fenn was twenty-four in 1932," Lena said carefully.

"His father," Marta said. "My grandfather's father. He died before my grandfather could remember him." A pause. "He never mentioned this. He never said anything about his father being lost on a ship. I knew he had grown up without a father but I assumed illness, I don't know why I assumed that." Another pause, longer. "He spent seven years watching for a ship that carried his father."

Lena said nothing, because there was nothing adequate to say.

"And he developed a scientific explanation," Marta said. "Because he was that kind of person.

He saw his father's ship and he turned it into an optical phenomenon because that was how he was able to keep looking at it." Her voice was steady, the steadiness of someone deciding to be steady. "He wrote to a museum and asked for the records. He wanted to know what happened."

"The wreck was never found," Lena said gently. "The investigation concluded they went down in the storm but didn't establish exactly where."

"So he never knew," Marta said.

"No," Lena said. "Not from the official records."

There was a pause.

"But he kept watching," Marta said. "For years."

"Until 1978 at least," Lena said. "That's the last grey vessel entry in the log."

Marta was quiet for a moment. "He retired in 1987," she said. "He lived on the island until he died in 2009. He could see the water from his house." Another pause. "He never said anything."