Chapter 8 Lord of the manor
By some miracle they had both survived the crash, and even with all the broken glass around Amaryllis couldn’t see any blood. She had to talk Christopher out of the Range Rover, of course, since he was clinging to his seat with a sort of death grip.
‘Inspector Smith said we should stay in the car,’ he said stubbornly.
‘I’m saying we need to get out of it now, and find somewhere better to shelter,’ she told him. She lifted down Christopher’s rucksack and heaved it over her shoulders. She didn’t have her own personal rucksack with her, which she now regretted: it was a lucky charm which she considered to have helped her survive various life-threatening incidents on the borders of unfriendly nations. She supposed she might include the USA in her personal list of these: she wasn’t confident of a welcome there since the Pearson MacPherson fiasco.
At last she talked him out of the Range Rover.
‘The landlord’s going to be a bit annoyed,’ he said, looking at the damage.
‘It’s all cosmetic,’ she said casually, starting to lead the way.
He stopped in his tracks before they had gone twenty metres.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Don’t ask me - I’m just as lost as you are. Maybe even more.’
‘What did we bump into just now, anyway?’
She wished he hadn’t asked her that. ‘Um - a pick-up truck.’
‘Dave’s?’
She nodded, trying to minimise the panic by not putting it into words.
‘So - where’s Dave?’
‘Not in there, that’s for sure.’
Christopher stood still for another moment, obviously thinking hard. Or maybe his expression had just frozen in place. This was always a possibility in his case: he reminded Amaryllis of her grandmother, who used to say if she looked cross the wind might change and she would be stuck like that for ever. Only in Christopher’s case it was a permanent air of bewilderment that was programmed into his features.
‘Don’t stand there too long, you’ll freeze to the spot,’ she warned him, stamping her feet.
‘Can’t we follow his tracks?’
‘Covered up. I had a quick look. While you were deciding whether to get out of the car or not.’
‘Are there any houses near here? Can you see any lights?’
‘No, but we might not see them through the snow.’
‘Should we give him a shout in case he’s somewhere around?’
‘If you like.’
They stood and called Dave’s name a few times, but they quickly felt ridiculous.
‘We should have borrowed a search and rescue dog,’ said Christopher.
‘I don’t know where we’d have found one of those at short notice.’
The snow was falling hard again, and Amaryllis was seriously worried that they wouldn’t find any shelter. She saw that snow had already accumulated inside the Range Rover, driving in through the shattered windscreen, and of course Dave’s pick-up truck had been completely covered, though it must only have been a matter of hours since he had left it there.
‘Come on - there’s a wood over this way. We’ll get a bit of shelter in there as we go along.’
She didn’t wait for him to come to life, but headed off towards the pine trees she could see just a little further along the track that led off the road they had driven up - she guessed it was a rough forestry track since the snow lay in ridges along it as if covering furrows made by tractor wheels or something similar. She looked over her shoulder a few minutes later and found him trudging along a few metres behind her, head down.
It was indeed more sheltered under the trees, which were quite densely packed - Amaryllis guessed this was a miniature plantation rather than a natural wood - but to make up for the shelter, there was a constant danger of large clumps of snow falling on them from the heavily loaded branches. She followed what seemed to be a path that led more or less in a straight line. If they had plunged in among the trees they might have been better protected from the wind and the snow, but there was an increased risk of getting lost if they did that, and the dense darkness would make it more dangerous even to walk along.
After what seemed like a long time, they came to a fence.
‘Deer fence,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Hope it’s not electric. It’s a good sign, otherwise.’
‘Why? We can’t get through.’
‘We could if we had to,’ she said. ‘But let’s walk along it and see if there’s a gate. Have you got the map?’
In the lee of a particularly bushy pine tree, they unfolded the map and held it between them. It took several attempts to work out where they might be, mainly because it was hard to see which way was up, but once they were reasonably sure, Amaryllis held the torch steady so that they could both see.
‘Pitkirtlyhill Wood,’ she said.
‘I thought it was bigger than this,’ said Christopher.
‘I didn’t think you knew your way around here.’
‘No, I don’t, but there was some sort of local saying about things being as big and dense as Pitkirtlyhill Wood.’
‘Was there a legend about the king being defeated only if Pitkirtlyhill Wood should come to proud Longannet?’ enquired Amaryllis.
Christopher glared at her. ‘It’s unlucky to quote Macbeth,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t exactly quoting it,’ Amaryllis pointed out. ‘And you’ve just said the name, anyway! All the bad luck will land on you.’
He sighed in a long-suffering manner. ‘We’ll both be unlucky if we get hypothermia standing out here arguing about Shakespeare, won’t we?’
‘Hmm, that’s interesting,’ she said, looking at the map again.
‘What?’
‘Hang on to that fold a minute… Look. There.’
Still holding the torch in one hand, she traced a path with her other hand. It led straight to Old Pitkirtlyhill House.
‘Maybe we’ll go and visit the lord of the manor,’ she said.
It took a while to find the gate, since the fence didn’t follow a straight line but seemed to curve round and then back in the middle. At least the exercise should keep hypothermia at bay for a bit longer, Amaryllis reflected. Every time she looked round to check on Christopher, she found he was still trudging along in her footsteps, head down. She thought of Good King Wenceslas but she didn’t think singing it would be very popular. In any case whenever she opened her mouth it got filled with snowflakes and the icy wind snapped at the back of her throat, which wasn’t at all pleasant.
The gate, when they found it, was large and solid, with metal bars, and spikes on the top. Definitely designed to keep out unwelcome visitors - or even welcome ones, presumably. They gazed at it respectfully for a moment.
‘Do you think there’s a bell?’ said Christopher.
‘They wouldn’t let us in even if there was,’ said Amaryllis. She took something out of the pocket of her parka. ‘We’ll just have to go through the fence.’
‘How are we supposed to -?’ Christopher began, and then he saw what she was doing. She was clipping a hole in the wire of the fence with the wire cutters she presumably always carried around with her.
‘How do you know it isn’t electric? And what if they have guard dogs?’
She laughed. ‘I’ll take both these chances. And actually, I already know it isn’t electric. There we are. Do you want to go first?’
‘But how would Dave have got in there?’
‘In one of several possible ways. The owner of the house, or his gamekeeper or butler, if he has one, might have been passing in his car and picked him up and offered him a bed for the night. Or the gate happened to be open when Dave came along, and he wandered in, and he’s probably even now sitting by a roaring fire and being offered port and cigars by some old family retainer. Can’t you just picture the scene?’
‘No,’ said Christopher. ‘And there’s something weird about the way you can always come up with at least two alter
native explanations for everything that happens.’
‘It isn’t weird,’ said Amaryllis, wriggling through the hole in the fence. ‘It’s creative.’
Christopher followed, but she could tell it was against his better judgement.
‘We’ll end up getting arrested,’ he grumbled.
Funny, she thought, although she would have imagined Mal was the best person to have an adventure with, she was enjoying observing Christopher’s reactions and appreciating his sardonic comments more than she would ever have admitted. Maybe it was because he was so different from her, whereas she had a kind of fellow-feeling for Mal, as if they were long-lost twins or something. She had a suspicion that it might get boring and perhaps even irritating to be with someone so like herself for long periods of time.
There was what seemed to be a drive under the snow on the other side of the gate. They followed it round in a big curve between more trees. The snow was petering out, and it felt even colder than before. It would have been nice to be sitting by a roaring fire. But maybe when they reached Old Pitkirtlyhill House they would be invited in to sit beside one. Even better if Dave was indeed there. But, despite the positive images she had sketched for Christopher’s benefit, she was starting to think it was unlikely. Could he really have got into the grounds? Did he have the stamina to walk up a long snow-covered drive?
‘Phew, I hope Dave hasn’t passed out somewhere if he’s managed to get this far,’ said Christopher, glancing round with an uneasy expression. ‘What if he’s under a pile of snow somewhere and we’ve walked right past him?’
‘If he’s under a pile of snow it’s - oh, look at that!’
They had turned another corner and emerged from the shadow of the trees into an open parkland which made the perfect frame for what looked like a classic Georgian house: good proportions, two rows of big windows, one or two with lights on, a curving flight of steps leading up to rather a grand front door under a portico with pillars. The clouds had blown over, at least temporarily, and the moon now shone on everything, giving them an excellent view of the building but casting an odd blueish light on the banks of snow that had been built up at the sides of the drive.
Amaryllis didn’t usually waste time admiring scenery - it had often been dangerous to stand still for too long in her past career - but she took a couple of minutes to stare at the house and its setting.
‘No dogs yet,’ muttered Christopher. ‘What do we do? Are you going to search the outbuildings?’
‘I think we’ll just walk up to the front door and announce ourselves,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Then we’ll get some help to search for Dave.’
Christopher still looked doubtful. ‘What if they throw us out? Or call the police?’
‘Fine,’ said Amaryllis. ‘We’ll go somewhere else.’
She marched on up the steps at the front of the house. She heard Christopher breathing hard behind her.
She faced the front door - actually a double door. There was a big old-fashioned bell to ring, as well as an ornate door-knocker.
‘A Christmas Carol,’ said Christopher in an undertone.
‘What?’
‘Marley’s Ghost.’
She was half-turned to listen to his explanation when the door opened suddenly.
‘Why, hello, Amaryllis,’ said Mal. ‘This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’
Frozen in Crime Page 8