Entering the gunmetal-grey, slate-roofed establishment, I mosey through the shady, cosy bar area, beneath the beamed ceilings and past a log fire that I can envisage roaring magnificently on a vile winter's evening.
Perched halfway between Launceston and Bodmin on what was once an ancient Roman road and now overlooks a busy dual carriageway, the Jamaica Inn has been providing "shelter and sustenance" to weary travellers since the 1750s.
"There are two theories as to how the inn got its name," says owner Allen Jackson, an altogether more affable chap than Joss Merlyn, the beastly fictional proprietor of du Maurier's novel.
Theory one is that the governor of Jamaica was a local landowner. Theory two is that the inn was awash in contraband Caribbean rum - one of countless exotic items smuggled through here in the 18th and 19th centuries.
The inn doesn't shy away from its murky past - indeed, it embraces it. Not only does the pub sign feature a suspicious-looking bearded fellow with an eye patch, and a parrot on his shoulder, an in-house smugglers' museum traces how Cornwall, and the inn, became embroiled in the illicit "free trade" economy. In a bid to dodge punitive duties levied by the Crown, imported goods such as silks, tea, tobacco, spices and brandy were more frequently smuggled into Cornwall than anywhere else in England.
A wild and remote region more than 400km from London - days away on horseback, five hours by rail today - Cornwall was short of customs officials, but flush with secluded coves that were ideal for bringing ashore illicit cargo. And in its isolation, Jamaica Inn was the perfect place for storing goods before they were transported up country.
Beside the smugglers' museum there's a Daphne du Maurier room, which explores the author's literacy legacy and stocks personal possessions like her Sheraton writing desk and her published works in myriad languages.
Du Maurier was born in London, but fell in love with Cornwall as a young woman, and spent most of her life here (residing mainly in Fowey, a photogenic estuary town 40km from Bodmin Moor). It's said she became captivated by Jamaica Inn after staying here on a wintry night, in the 1930s.
Although most present-day patrons are passers-by in search of a pint and a bite, there's still room at this inn; 20 rooms, in fact. Some of the older ones, with four-poster beds and creaking floorboards, are reputedly haunted. "We've had guests tell us they've seen shadows on the walls and heard hooves on the cobbles outside in the middle of the night," says Allen Jackson.
He is so confident of the inn's enduring appeal that he's building 15 extra rooms in a modern extension.
