by Mandy Morton
The fight started in the lounge bar but quickly spread to every corner of the inn. Tiffy Fluff, who was supposed to have announced the arrival of Santa in her official capacity as village celebrity, found herself pinned to the specials board, with the headphones which she used as winter earmuffs dangling around her neck. The Christmas tree which had looked a picture earlier was now a source of weaponry as baubles and plastic icicles were hurled through the air; Loveday Whisk – drinking a Vimto at the time – was an early casualty and had been temporarily knocked unconscious by a flying tankard.
It was the height of misfortune for Hettie and Tilly that the Atlantic’s party had to be abandoned only half an hour after it had begun. Already in the foulest of moods, Hevva and Saffron Bunn began to make their way back to Crabstock Manor much sooner than anyone had expected.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The walls in the cellar were dripping with green slime and the old brick floor was slippery. The smell of damp was overpowering, and the presence of the sea only a few yards away crashed into their minds as a yet unseen terror. They could see very little of what the cellar offered – just dark corners and recesses leading from one section to another, stretching out towards the roar of the ocean. Tilly reached for Hettie’s paw in the darkness. ‘I don’t think we should be here. I’m frightened. We’ve done our best and now I think we should go while we still can.’
It was rare for Tilly to give in to her fears. Life had dealt her some painful blows but she had always looked on the bright side and could never be described as a quitter. Hettie understood this, as they had shared so many scrapes together, and now – whatever secrets the cellar held – she knew that this was one mystery which she was also very happy to leave unsolved. If Lady Crabstock’s body was awaiting burial somewhere in that subterranean hellhole, then so be it. ‘You’re right,’ she said, leading them back to the stairs. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
They climbed the steps and had almost reached the top when they heard raised voices coming from the kitchen. ‘Even if you tried ’ard, you couldn’t be any more stupid than you are now!’ shouted Hevva Bunn, following the words with a resounding slap. ‘An’ there’s plenty more where that came from. Leaving the manor open to anyone who cares to call, with things as they are – it’s you who needs lockin’ up.’
‘But ’Evva, I tell you I did lock the front door, I know I did,’ whimpered Saffron as another blow rained down on her.
‘You can get yourself down that cellar while I check the rest of the house, and God ’elp you if we’ve ’ad visitors. ’Ere’s somethin’ to ’elp you on your way!’
‘Please, ’Evva – not your belt! I was so cut up last time,’ Saffron pleaded as the belt buckle landed first across her back, then across the side of her face.
Hettie and Tilly held their breath, wanting to intervene but knowing that their presence would only make things worse. Instinctively, they backed down the steps into the cellar as the tirade of abuse continued from the kitchen. The sobbing went on for some time, although the beating had stopped. Hettie knew that they would have to find a safe place to hide. Moving further into the warren of rooms, they settled on a stall tucked away from the main floor area, with a collection of gardening tools, an old lawnmower and a pile of abandoned sacks for company. The two cats settled themselves under the sacks and waited silently in the dark.
What came next was totally unexpected. Peeping out from the sacking, Hettie and Tilly stared in horror as a beam of light progressed across the cellar floor, stopping inches away from them. The light turned as if searching for something, and the two friends saw Christmas Paws in the full glare of the lantern she carried, her face contorted like some horrific mask from a bad joke shop. Tilly’s heart began to beat so loudly that she thought she would give them away. They shrank back into the sacking, hoping that the ghost would move on – and she did. Seconds later, the cellar was filled with a pitiful wailing, the same noise they’d heard when the ghost had appeared in the kitchen.
After some time, the wailing stopped and all was silent except for the occasional crashing wave. Hettie and Tilly were about to emerge from their sacking when the hideous form of Christmas Paws loomed out of the darkness and seemed to move towards the cellar stairs. Hettie waited for several minutes, then signalled to Tilly to stay put and fumbled her way back to the steps, using the slimy walls to guide her in the dark. On reaching the top of the steps, she listened at the door for any sound coming from the kitchen, but all was quiet. Taking a deep breath, she located the latch and gently lifted it, pushing the door open at the same time. It was as she had feared and expected – firmly locked from the other side.
She sank to the floor, switching her torch on for comfort. Tilly had ignored her instructions and followed her to the bottom of the steps, and she saw the look of defeat on her friend’s face in the torchlight. ‘We’re locked in, aren’t we?’ she whispered.
Hettie nodded and joined her back in the cellar. ‘Well, this is a fine bloody pickle we’re in,’ she said, trying to make light of the situation for Tilly’s benefit. ‘The good news is that all sounds quiet in the Bunns’ kitchen, so either Hevva has finished Saffron off or they’ve patched things up and are finishing the decorations on their Christmas tree in Her Ladyship’s room. We have to find a way out of here before we both die of cold or are murdered by Christmas Paws.’
At the mention of the malevolent spirit, the wailing began again – quieter this time, and punctuated by the sound of rattling chains. It occurred to Hettie that Christmas Paws was putting on quite a show for their benefit. Resigned to whatever fate was about to befall them, they adjusted their torches to full beam and went in search of the wailing and clanking. Staying together, they chose a side of the cellar each and shone their lights into every nook and cranny as they moved forward towards the intermittent noise. They passed their earlier refuge and moved on through the discarded detritus of the old manor house – furniture, rolled carpets, frames without paintings, a rusty suit of armour, shards of stained glass that had once formed pictures of brave endeavours. All seemed to be tainted with the creeping death that had infected the ancient walls, both physically and spiritually.
Entirely without warning, the cellar became an open-mouthed cave, leaving the formal structure of the house behind. In front of them, the Atlantic Ocean pounded the shore. The cave was separated from the sea by a grille of iron, designed to keep the manor safe from unwanted ship-borne visitors but open enough to allow the full blast of the elements in. Hettie remembered what Sooty had said about access to the house from outside in the days when the sea hadn’t claimed so much of the land. She could taste the salt as they stared out at the waves thrashing on the sand only yards away from them, and she knew that there would be no escape in that direction.
The floor of the cave was littered with crab pots, nets and the remnants of an old rowing boat. Tilly shone her torch around the walls and located several barrels and an assortment of waterproof clothing similar to Sooty’s fishing outfit. Raising the beam higher, she found a web of fishing nets above her head, hooked into the walls like giant hammocks. As her light fell on the nets, the wailing began again, leaving them in no doubt as to where it was coming from.
‘It’s in those nets!’ cried Tilly, dropping her torch in shock.
Hettie swung her beam at the nets and realised to her horror that there was something caught up in the webbing, and the blood-curdling noise it was making suggested that it was very much alive and in need of assistance. The two cats sprang into action and hauled one of the barrels under the nets. Hettie climbed onto it to reach the hook that the net was fixed to; dislodging it, she took the strain as Tilly steadied it from below, and the pathetic bundle was lowered gently to the floor of the cave. Slowly and carefully, they untangled the net using their teeth and claws, but nothing could have prepared them for the bag of bones they eventually released. She was old and grey, and her eyes bulged from their sockets; her bones stood out like tent poles, an
d her legs were bound in rusty chains which had cut into her fur to reveal the flesh beneath.
She hardly moved as Hettie and Tilly stared down at her, not knowing what to do next for fear of causing her more pain. Tilly reacted first by pulling off her greatcoat and covering her up, remembering the first-aid course that Hettie had sent her on. ‘We have to keep her warm,’ she said, shivering at the loss of her coat.
‘We need to get those chains off her, too. Stay here with her while I go and look for some tools.’ Hettie returned to the cellar and made her way back to where they had hidden in the sacks. The garden tools were too big for what she needed but, on closer inspection, she found an old rusted toolbox. Not caring any more about the noise she was making, she emptied the contents onto the floor and sorted through with the torch. Luck was on her side: a pair of hefty wire cutters offered themselves, along with a hammer and an assortment of chisels. She wrapped the tools in a bundle of sacks and made her way back to the cave.
‘I think she’s dying,’ said Tilly, relieved at Hettie’s return. ‘She seems to be gasping for breath and she looks so frightened. I think we’re going to lose her.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ Hettie replied, setting about the chains with the cutter. The elderly cat lay still as her manacles were gently removed. Tilly pulled one of her best handkerchiefs from her cardigan pocket and ripped it in two, binding the cat’s injured paws where the chains had cut into her. Hettie arranged some of the sacks into a makeshift bed tucked away from the blast of the sea, and the two cats lifted their patient onto them. Tilly retrieved her coat, grateful for the warmth as Hettie tucked a blanket of sacking round the elderly cat, who had now closed her eyes.
‘Someone needs to be punished for this,’ said Hettie angrily. ‘And whatever happens, I’m going to make sure of it. She’s been left to die here, starved in this freezing cold place, chained like a wild animal and left without hope. What sort of maniac does that?’
Tilly stared down at the elderly cat and had no answer but her tears. She wept quietly for the hopelessness of their situation, and their inability to do anything about it.
An hour past as the three cats huddled together for warmth. The old cat’s breathing had improved and she began to show signs of life, murmuring disconnected words which gradually became more lucid. ‘You must leave before she returns,’ she whispered.
Tilly moved closer to hear more, but the cat began to sob and her words were lost. ‘Please don’t cry,’ she said. ‘We’re here to help. My name’s Tilly and this is my friend, Hettie. Would you like to tell us your name?’
‘Eloise,’ came the feeble reply.
‘It’s Lady Crabstock!’ Tilly gasped.
Hettie stared down at the desperately wasted body shrouded in sacking, suddenly more horrific than ever now that its nobility had been established. ‘Lady Crabstock,’ she began, ‘you sent for us. We’re from the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency.’
Eloise Crabstock struggled to sit up as her eyes adjusted to the light of Tilly’s torch. ‘You are too late to save me, but you must try and save yourselves. She’ll come back soon. She’s promised to kill me tomorrow if I don’t die tonight, and she’ll kill you, too, if she finds you. There’s nothing you can do. The prophesy will be fulfilled.’
‘Who is going to kill you?’ asked Hettie, knowing the answer already.
‘Christmas Paws,’ came the expected reply. ‘She’s murdered all my family one by one. Now it’s time for me to die and the curse will finally leave the manor.’
Hettie could see that Lady Crabstock was far too weak and frightened for any meaningful discussion on the capability of ghosts to torture and murder, so she decided to turn the subject away from the Crabstock curse to more urgent matters. ‘How long have you been down here?’
Lady Crabstock looked bewildered at the question but did her best to respond. ‘I’m not really sure. It was just after I’d seen Christmas, the same day I wrote to you. I was ill with a cold. Marlon took the letter and I went to bed. Oh, I’m sorry – I just can’t remember anything after that. I’ve been in this cave for a long time, I think. I woke up on the floor in chains, I remember that. She came to me and bound me up in the nets. She visits me when it gets dark. At first I cried for water and food, but she laughed at me. Then I just gave up.’
Lady Crabstock began to sob again, reminding Hettie of just how fragile she was. It seemed pointless to go over what had happened when they needed to make some sort of attempt at escape. Tilly had been spot on about their first meeting with her, but who had they spoken to through the veil of bed curtains? Had Hevva Bunn doubled back and slipped into his mistress’s bedsheets? Or was Christmas Paws more earthly than her legend suggested? The really big question was where the Bunns fitted in. They must be aware that Lady Crabstock had gone missing. They’d taken over her room and Saffron had been told to check the cellar, and her conversation with the chemist that afternoon had inferred that she was still looking after her employer. Nothing made any real sense, but clearly Christmas Paws was building to her final act of murder, regardless of who else was involved.
The new bout of sobbing had exhausted Eloise Crabstock. She settled back on her sacking and closed her eyes, and Hettie called Tilly over to the pile of nets that had so recently imprisoned her. ‘Give me a hand to put these back up there on that hook. We’ll wrap the chains up in them to make it look like she’s still caught in the nets. If the ghostly Miss Paws decides to pay another visit, she’ll think that Lady Crabstock has finally died.’ The two cats worked hard to put the web of nets back on the hooks and were satisfied that all looked as they had found it.
‘It’s getting really cold in here,’ said Tilly, pulling her coat around her. ‘I think we should find a better place in the cellar, away from the sea, until we decide what to do.’
Hettie agreed. Leaving Tilly with Lady Crabstock, she returned to the cellar to scout out a place of safety. The beam of her torch was becoming weaker as it played on the mountain of discarded furniture, eventually coming to rest on an old oak dresser tucked away in a recess. She had a brief pang for home as she pictured the staff sideboard in their little room, where Tilly kept everything that had a purpose in life. On closer inspection, the old dresser was perfect: the bottom part of it had a giant cupboard with two doors which would make a perfect sanctuary for Lady Crabstock while they plotted their escape.
She returned triumphant to the cave, and she and Tilly carried their patient on her sacking to her new hideaway in the cellar. Having installed Eloise Crabstock in the dresser, Hettie and Tilly settled themselves on a bit of old carpet to take a look at Sooty’s map again. The cellar was marked, and in the failing light of Hettie’s torch they noticed that – as well as the entrance now cut off by the sea – there was a coal chute that came into the cellar from outside. ‘Let’s take a look,’ said Hettie, getting to her feet. ‘It looks like it’s under the kitchen.’
They made their way back to the stairs which led up to the kitchen, pausing briefly to check for any sound from above. ‘Look,’ whispered Tilly. ‘There’s the coal heap and there’s rain coming in from outside.’ With a leap that surprised herself, Tilly clambered onto the pile of coal and worked her way to the top of the stack.
‘What can you see?’ demanded Hettie, impatient for news.
There was a cracking sound, followed by an avalanche of coal as Tilly tumbled back down to the cellar floor. A little dazed, she sat for a moment before reporting her findings. ‘There’s a wooden cover over the coal hole, but it’s rotten and I managed to pull a plank off before I fell. I think I might be able to squeeze through it if I took my coat off.’
Hettie was pleased that at last they had a chance to put the horrors of Crabstock Manor behind them. ‘One of us should go for help. We’ll never get Lady Crabstock out that way. I think we’re going to have to trust Sooty Perkins.’
Tilly agreed and got to her feet, taking her coat off. ‘I think I’ll have to go. You won’t fit through the hole
, but you’ll have to pass me my coat or I’ll freeze out there.’
Before Hettie could argue, Tilly had scaled the coal heap once again and was busily squeezing herself out. Hettie followed her to the top of the stack and posted her coat through the hole. ‘Good luck and be careful,’ she said, then she lost her balance, too, and slid to the bottom of the coal mountain. Picking herself up, she returned to the oak dresser to check on the patient. She was sleeping, and for a moment all was peaceful in the cellar below Crabstock Manor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tilly shivered. The cellar had been cold, but that was nothing compared to the icy blast that she found herself in now, and she knew that she would have to keep moving if her joints weren’t to seize up altogether. The manor glared down at her like an unbreachable fortress of evil. She felt so small as she battled against the wind, staying close to the walls of the house for shelter until she had reached the driveway. She chose to pick her way through the burial ground rather than use the path to the road, just in case she was spotted by the Bunns from one of the windows.
Eventually, reaching the cliff road, she looked back at the house and was pleased to see that it was all in darkness. Pulling her hat down almost to her nose, she struck out for the village. Every bone in her body hurt. The extreme cold was taking its toll and, to make matters worse, it had begun to snow – gently at first, filling the night sky with white dancing feathers as they fell to earth, followed by a relentless torrent of thick flakes which settled quickly on the ground. Tilly’s already slow progress was almost at a standstill. The storm was blinding her and the wind had picked up even more, blasting the snow into thick sculptures which wrapped themselves around the trees and the drystone walls that marked the road to the village. She could see nothing ahead, and dragged herself blindly forward into the blizzard.