The Forgotten Son

by Andy Frankham-Allen

  He turned back to Ray and George. Both men looked peaceful, although confused. Whatever had happened was related to the presence of the Yeti – Lethbridge-Stewart didn’t know how, but he’d bet his army pension on it. The Intelligence had shown an ability to possess people, he’d seen it twice. First with Professor Travers and then with Arnold. Was this the first sign?

  ‘Are you both okay?’

  Ray frowned. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘No voices in your head?’ Lethbridge-Stewart asked. The men shook their heads. ‘Good. At the first sign of a voice, even a whisper, you let me know.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ George said, and Ray nodded his agreement.

  ‘This Intelligence thing, is it the Whisperer?’ Ray asked.

  ‘It could be.’

  ‘I always thought the Whisperer and the Hollow Man were the same thing, but now…’ Ray looked down at his sweating hands.

  ‘We need to find out,’ Lethbridge-Stewart said. ‘Ray, you need to tell me…’

  The rumbling of a vehicle sounded along the path. Lethbridge-Stewart looked away from them and smiled. It was his Land Rover. It slowed and stopped by them.

  Private Bishop stepped out of the vehicle and saluted. ‘Sir, we’ve just scouted the outer limits of the village and there’s no way out. The Yeti have surrounded us, sir. They’ve blocked every road and guarded the fields and meadows. And they appear to be spreading a kind of fungus stuff from some sort of gun.’

  ‘Web, Private, not fungus. The Intelligence used it in London, too. Which means we’re likely cut off. Pass me the binoculars.’

  Bishop reached in to the Land Rover and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He chucked them to Lethbridge-Stewart. He opened the passenger door and used the inside of the front cab as a step to lift himself up for a better look. He put the binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the area around them. It was true. At strategic positions, as far as the eyes could see, Yeti ringed the area surrounding the village. He couldn’t see very far east of them, but he suspected there were more Yeti that side too. Even with the binoculars the full extent of the web was hard to make out, fading as it did under the glare of the sun. But he would lay money on it blocking the entire village, and if not yet, then it would soon.

  It was decided. Lethbridge-Stewart ushered Ray and George into the back of the Land Rover and ordered Bishop to take them all back to Redrose.

  Owain looked up at the sound of the front door opening. The men had returned. He turned to Mary. She still hadn’t moved an inch. It didn’t matter. If Gordon hadn’t found the trace of pure consciousness by now…

  He snatched the control-millin from Mary’s head and fastened it back on top of his own. Owain closed his eyes as he once again felt Gordon’s presence fill him.

  I was not finished.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry,’ Owain said in a whisper. ‘But they’re all back.’

  For a moment there was a silence, then Gordon spoke again. Then go, let me see what they have to say.

  Owain went to do as he was told, but he stopped at the bedroom door. ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head and taking a deep breath. ‘First of all I need to know a few things.’

  The men gathered in the living room, each taking a seat. Lethbridge-Stewart stood before them, his swagger stick held in his hands. He had found it on the dashboard of the Land Rover, and gratefully picked it up. He probably looked an odd sight, only in partial uniform and a weather-beaten old coat, brandishing the swagger stick like a weapon. But he never quite felt right giving orders without his stick to wave around.

  ‘We seem to have a problem, gentlemen, and we need to find a solution. But before that, I think we all need to gather our stories, find all the pieces. We know now that the Intelligence is connected to this Hollow Man of the Manor, although how we’ve yet to work out.’ He turned to George. ‘Can you go and get your son? He knows something, he must do. He spent the night up by the Manor.’

  ‘If he said he doesn’t know anything then…’

  Ray snapped, talking over George. ‘You know that’s not true. You said yourself he’s been acting odd since he visited the Manor last week. He knows something,’ he added with a whisper.

  George looked furious, but swallowed his anger and nodded at Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘Very well, Colonel. But I still don’t think…’

  ‘Snap to it, Private!’

  Without another word George stood and left the room. It was the old story – once a soldier, always a soldier. Which reminded Lethbridge-Stewart of another point he needed to clear up.

  ‘Henry, how are you holding up?’

  The pub landlord glanced around the room, and received a nod of encouragement from Bishop. ‘Sorry about earlier, Alistair. I did my National Service, of course, but I returned for my family. And all this…’ He shook his head. ‘They are my priority.’

  ‘Which regiment?’

  ‘I was with the 1st Battalion of the Gloucestershire Regiment at the Battle of the Imjin River,’ Henry said. ‘I served my two years then returned home. I was never called up again.’

  Lethbridge-Stewart nodded. ‘I was in Korea too,’ he said. ‘And I’ve seen a lot more death since, Henry, but nothing compared to the events of London. I need you at your best if you wish to help me protect this village. And your family.’

  Henry nodded solemnly. ‘You can count on me, Colonel.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Lethbridge-Stewart said, the same time as Ray mumbled, ‘About time.’

  Henry turned to Ray. ‘What was that?’

  Lethbridge-Stewart hefted his stick, ready to bring it crashing down on the table before an argument could begin, but he reconsidered. Neither man would be any use to him, or each other, if they did not get their house in order.

  ‘I said about time,’ Ray said, this time louder. ‘Have you any idea how it’s been for me? To be mocked at every turn? Even when people were patting me on the back for the books I’d written I could see their sly looks. They believed I was making up stories, embellishing the local myth. And you could have done something about it!’

  Henry shook his head. ‘Perhaps, but what good would speaking up do? What good did it do you, Raymond? No, I’m sorry, but I did the right thing.’

  Ray clearly couldn’t believe his ears, for he sat down like a man defeated. For his own part Lethbridge-Stewart was not surprised by Henry’s reaction. Even now the man looked at Ray like he was barmy. Too many years had passed by for this issue to be resolved. And they had no more to waste for reconciliations right now. They had to move before the web completely sealed them in, if it hadn’t already.

  He turned to Bishop. ‘Private, you say all the roads out of Bledoe are blocked by Yeti? Very well. I want you and Henry to take the Land Rover across the fields and see if there’s a gap in their perimeter. We still need to recce the Manor, but if that’s not possible we can at least get some figures for when I contact Major General Hamilton.’

  Ray looked up. ‘You’re bringing the army here?’

  ‘It’s either that, or we take care of the Intelligence on our own.’

  Ray didn’t like the sound of that idea. Once Bishop and Henry had gone and Lethbridge-Stewart returned his attention to Ray, he noticed his old friend fingering a photograph.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘This is all connected to your brother, I’m certain of it,’ Ray said.

  ‘Not that again. Listen to me, I do not…’

  Ray handed the photograph to Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘Yes, you do. Look, this a photograph of you, me and James, taken in the autumn of 1937. Look at James, tell me he’s not your brother.’

  Lethbridge-Stewart looked down at the picture. The three boys all looked familiar: dark hair, similar clothes. But two of them especially looked alike. There were a few years between them, but Lethbridge-Stewart could not deny the evidence of his eyes. There before him was his brother, the brother he had forgotten.

  What kind of man forgot his own brother?
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  ‘It’s all connected,’ he said, looking up. ‘My memory loss, my mother returning here to find my father, Arnold… Somehow it’s all connected to the Intelligence being here now.’ He handed the photograph back to Ray. ‘You need to tell me everything that happened in 1937, everything that led to James’ death. The answer is in the past, it has to be.’

  Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart listened as Ray told his story, and as the words continued so too did the fuzziness of his memory. Upstairs Mary Lethbridge-Stewart continued to dream of the events that caused her breakdown. And all the while the Great Intelligence’s web continued to spread.

  — CHAPTER ELEVEN —

  The Forgotten Son

  IT WAS THE LAST DAY of the summer holiday in 1937, and the Lethbridge-Stewarts had decided on a day break to Pentire Head before the children returned to school and Gordon to military service. It wouldn’t be long before life went back to normal, the fun of summer forgotten, and Mary would resume her part-time voluntary work with the Salvation Army once again. It had been a while since she’d been sent anywhere interesting, now that England seemed to be coming out of the depression it had sunk into over the past decade. No more visits to London or being sent up North to help out with the soup kitchens, just the odd bit of charity work here and there, arranging fêtes and helping out at festivals. She was sure her sons were at least grateful for that. Her weeks away meant they often staying with the Phillips. Not that either James or Alistair minded being put up by the Phillips’ when the need arose, but they obviously preferred it when their mother was around. Especially Alistair, who was definitely a mummy’s boy.

  She watched from the blanket on which she and Gordon sat, while her boys played out on the field, not too far from the bluff. Raymond had been allowed to join them, and James was clearly glad of that. The two boys were always inseparable, especially during summer holidays, and she knew that had Raymond remained in Bledoe, James would have sulked the entire day. He was almost twelve now, they both were, and tomorrow they would be moving up to Liskeard Grammar School – where such sulking would not be looked kindly upon. She had tried to warn him of this, but James hadn’t listened. Even Gordon had tried to have a word, but their eldest son was almost twelve now, and was starting to think he knew better.

  Well, he would soon learn. The chances were that he and Raymond would not even be in the same class, not like they had been throughout infants and juniors. It would be quite a shock for him, and only the first of many. Almost twelve, then he’d be a teenager… How would she cope raising a teenage son?

  And then there was Alistair. Every lesson she learned from James she would apply to her youngest. There may have only been three years between them, but that was a huge gap in development. In some ways, despite eleven years of experience, she still felt like she was new to all this. That she had so far to go. She wondered if her own mother had ever felt like that. Life now was so different to how it had been back when she was James’ age.

  Alistair was chasing Raymond now, the boys’ game of piggy-in-the-middle having turned into an unfair version of ‘it’. James was egging Alistair on, as he often seemed to be doing these days, and calling for Raymond to throw the ball over the younger boy and to him. Poor Alistair, he didn’t have very long legs and the older boys ran rings around him. Still, the sight made both Mary and her husband laugh.

  ‘Fit as a fiddle,’ Gordon said around his pipe. ‘Mark my words, Mary, Alistair will end up in the army.’

  Gordon always liked to say such things, but Mary wasn’t so sure she agreed. Alistair hated everything about the military, though he was careful not to tell his father that. Mary had taught him well. She suspected, as Alistair got older and his understanding grew, that his views would change, but for now he blamed the military for taking his father away so often. It didn’t matter to Alistair if his daddy was a hero; he just wanted his dad to attend school sports days and the like.

  One day he would understand that the Lethbridge-Stewarts had a proud military history, going back well over four hundred years to when they were the Stewarts up in Lanark and the Lethbridges in Devon, before the two families had become one through marriage. Mary couldn’t recall who the first Lethbridge-Stewart had been, although she knew Gordon had told her several times. She wasn’t one for family history – even her own held little interest to her. She could barely remember what Grandpa Gore did for a living when she was a little girl.

  ‘Let’s not talk about your job now,’ she said to Gordon. ‘This is the last day we have as a family for a while. Let’s make the most of it, shall we?’

  Gordon looked at her, his deep brown eyes dragging her towards him. He pecked her on the lips with a smile and tapped her on the shoulder. ‘You’re it!’ he said, and scrambled to his feet.

  Mary gathered up the low hem of her skirt and stood up as primly as she could, giggling like a school girl ready to play kiss-chase. She wished they could have more days like these, but life always found a way to intrude. But not today, she decided, chasing her husband to whistles of encouragement from the boys.

  Mary laughed, quite giddy with happiness.

  It was several weekends later that the boys decided to visit the Manor. Alistair wanted to come with them but James told him no. That didn’t stop Alistair. He followed them anyway. James tried to send him back, but Alistair promised to tell their mum, and James knew he was beaten. After all he wasn’t allowed up to Draynes Wood on his own – and being with Raymond probably wouldn’t count in their parent’s eyes.

  They had barely made it to the Manor when they encountered the strange apparition that would one day be known as the Hollow Man. After their encounter, puzzled by the odd event, Raymond and Alistair had no choice but to follow James back home.

  ‘What happened?’ Ray asked again, as they crossed the sports field, his mind still unable to grasp what he’d seen. ‘That man… He… What happened to him?’

  James looked back at him, his brown eyes darker than usual. Ray swallowed. Words weren’t necessary.

  Both James and Alistair had been very quiet on the walk back from Draynes Wood; Alistair in a sulk because his brother was ignoring him, but James…

  He turned away from Ray, just in time to notice Henry running across the field towards them. He was out of breath, his excitement bubbling over. ‘What was that?’ he asked as soon as he reached them.

  James didn’t stop walking. He just kept on going forward, ignoring Henry completely. Henry turned to Raymond.

  ‘I saw it all – up by the Manor! That man! You have to tell me what happened!’

  Alistair pulled on James’ sleeve. ‘James, we have to tell someone!’

  James shook Alistair off, the suddenness of the action causing Alistair to fall onto his rump in the muddy grass. Both Raymond and Henry stopped, looking from James to Alistair in shock. They had never seen James look so angry.

  ‘We keep our gobs shut, do you hear me, Al?’ he snapped. ‘We never talk about this again!’

  ‘But what did happen? Where did the man go?’ Raymond asked.

  ‘What man? There was no man!’ James walked up to Raymond and jabbed him in the stomach with his finger. ‘We didn’t see anything because there was nothing to see. Got it?’

  Raymond didn’t know what to say.

  ‘And that goes for you, too, Henry. I don’t know what you think you saw, but you’re wrong. Now go home!’ With that, James stormed off, leaving his brother behind.

  Raymond was at a loss. He had seen James upset before, but never so bossy and angry. If anything he was the least angry boy in their gang, which they called the Bledoe Cadets. Every day at the gang hut was funny when James was around. No playtime at school was ever boring with James. But this… Raymond had never seen anything like it.

  ‘We need to meet with the rest of the gang,’ Henry said, helping Alistair to his feet.

  Alistair’s face beamed, his hazel eyes lighting up despite the tears that had been welling there. ‘Can I come?’<
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  Raymond didn’t like this. ‘James said we can’t talk about it.’

  ‘James isn’t the gang leader,’ Henry pointed out. He looked down at Alistair, who was now pulling at his sleeve. ‘No,’ Henry said, ‘you can’t come. Only boys over ten can be a Cadet.’

  Alistair’s face scrunched. Then, a moment later, he smiled again. ‘But what about Jemima? She’s not a boy, and she’s only nine!’

  ‘Jemima’s different.’

  Alistair was not to be beaten, and so began a series of questions, growing more and more indignant as Henry’s answers proved less and less sufficient. Raymond knew why Jemima was allowed – because Henry fancied her, even though she was always talking to James and barely ever spoke to Henry. But James didn’t fancy her, he just saw her as a girl who he could play his jokes on. Jemima never seemed to mind; indeed, the more cruel the joke, the more she seemed to fancy him.

  Raymond would never understand girls, he was sure. Just like he didn’t understand the sudden change in James. But he did know it had something to do with that man in the woods. Something had happened when the man touched James. Something very bad indeed.

  Mary looked out of the window, and was dismayed to see James sitting on his own while Raymond and Henry continued to play in the garden. They were even letting Alistair join in, which was most unlike them, and her youngest kept looking over at his brother, his face torn between concern at James’ apparent solitude, and joy at finally being part of the gang.

  Apparent solitude only because, even though James sat alone, he appeared to be talking to someone. It wasn’t a very heated conversation, at least not this time, but it was keeping his attention completely. He barely even noticed his friends in the garden with him.

  Mary turned away and let out a deep breath of air.

  ‘Still worried?’ Eileen asked, peering out of the window beside Mary.

  ‘It’s not normal, is it?’