by Amanda Wills
She crept into Charlie’s room and peered into his bed. Expecting to see his tousled blond head on the pillow, his thumb in his mouth, she gasped in shock when she saw the head of his biggest teddy bear instead. She whipped off the duvet and found Caroline’s fluffy cream dressing gown laying rolled up where her sleeping brother should have been. She looked wildly about the room as if he was going to jump out of his wardrobe and surprise her with a triumphant ‘Gotcha!’ But there was no sign of the six-year-old, just the usual jumble of dirty clothes, bits of Lego scattered like fallen leaves and the line of action heroes he’d set up the previous afternoon, their moulded plastic faces inscrutable. Her eyes fell on a piece of paper on his pillow. It must have slipped underneath the bear’s head when she pulled off the duvet. Scrawled in Charlie’s spidery handwriting was one word. Poppy.
She grabbed the note, unfolded it and, with mounting anxiety, read:
Deer Poppy,
I don’t think sniffer bel, beleaf, beleived me when I said I had seen a real live big cat. I have gone to find it and get a better picture for the paper. I have taken some sausages to use as bait. I will be back before tea.
Charlie
Poppy grabbed a handful of the dressing gown and lifted it to her cheek. The soft towelling smelt of Caroline and she clung to it, wishing her calm, capable stepmother was downstairs and not in a hospital bed ten miles away. Magpie padded softly into the room and jumped up next to Poppy. The cat had an uncanny knack of making an appearance whenever anything interesting was happening. His two stomachs swinging beneath him, Magpie regarded Poppy with interest, waiting for her next move.
‘You know what they say about curiosity, Magpie,’ muttered Poppy under her breath.
What should she do? The moor was no place for a daredevil six-year-old on a day like today. She didn’t want to worry Tory, of that she was certain. She had no idea how long Charlie had been gone but he may not have got far. In an instant she made up her mind.
‘I’ll go after him,’ she whispered to the cat, who was now settling down for yet another nap, making himself comfortable on Caroline’s dressing gown. He tucked his head beneath his tail and within seconds was snoring softly, his stomachs rising and falling in time to his breathing. Poppy ran into her room, grabbed her thickest fleece top and pulled on another pair of socks. She could hear the television in the lounge. Tory was obviously watching daytime TV. Perfect. She stole down the stairs, took her waterproof coat and wellies and quietly opened the back door.
Her heart sank when she heard the television go silent. ‘Poppy, is that you?’ called Tory from the sofa. Poppy took a deep breath, slipped off her boots and walked into the lounge. Smiling brightly, she said, ‘Charlie’s still comatose. I’m going to muck out Chester’s stable before the weather gets any worse. Then perhaps we can have another couple of hands of poker?’
Tory looked out of the lounge window. Although mid-morning it was as dark as dusk. ‘Alright, pet. Don’t be long though. You’ll get drenched.’
Practising her best poker face Poppy nodded. ‘OK. I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she promised, her fingers crossed behind her back.
She grabbed a couple of lead ropes from the tack room and the torch she kept on the windowsill in case there was ever a power cut. She didn’t really know why – it just made her feel a bit better prepared. Like a Girl Guide or one of the Dartmoor search and rescue people, only on a bad day.
‘Wish me luck, Chester.’ The donkey gave her a friendly nudge and she set off into the gloom. The rain was sleeting down. Poppy pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and wished she’d worn waterproof trousers. The boulder where she and Charlie had seen the big cat seemed as good a place as any to start her search, so she set off towards the tor, her chin tucked into her chest.
It was hard going. There was no wind but the fog and rain were all-consuming and visibility was down to three or four metres. Following her instinct she found the spot where she and Charlie had eaten their makeshift picnic just a few days before. It felt like a lifetime ago. She started calling his name, but the swirling fog deadened the noise so she stopped shouting and kept walking, stumbling over rocks and tussocks. The ground was so marshy in places that once she almost lost her boot to the peaty mire which threatened to swallow her rubber-clad foot like quicksand. She looked out for familiar landmarks but realised the fog was playing with her senses when she walked past the same twisted tree twice. Or was it a different tree? She couldn’t tell any more.
Poppy felt a bubble of panic rising in her throat but she knew she had to carry on until she’d found Charlie. The two lead ropes hung like chains around her neck and her mud-covered boots felt as heavy as lead. She was saturated from head to foot. Keep walking, she told herself.
She had lost all sense of time and when she turned on the torch to look at her watch she realised with frustration that she’d left it in her bedroom. She had no idea if she’d been on the moor for one hour or three. Tory must have twigged that she had gone by now. She must also have seen Charlie’s empty bed. If she’d read his note she would have put two and two together and realised that Poppy had gone in search of her brother. Would she have called the police or the search and rescue people by now? Were they at this very moment preparing to launch a search for the two children? Poppy felt terrible for putting Tory in such a difficult situation. She trudged on. By her reckoning she had walked around the base of the tor and was heading deeper onto the moor. She and Charlie didn’t know this area as well as they knew their own tor and the Riverdale wood.
Poppy almost jumped out of her skin when a long, black face loomed out of the mist. She stifled the urge to scream, realising with relief that it was one of the black-faced sheep that grazed the moor. The animal gave her a baleful stare before turning and running off into the bracken. She tried to steady her breathing. She knew she needed to stay calm.
The fog seemed more impenetrable than ever. What hope did a six-year-old have in this? Poppy tried not to think about life without her brother – it was inconceivable. She knew Caroline would be heartbroken if anything happened to Charlie. But instead of wallowing in jealousy, Poppy remembered Tory’s advice and tried to see things through her stepmother’s eyes. Charlie was the apple of his mum’s eye but how did Caroline really feel about her? What must it have been like to take on someone else’s child? Poppy knew she could be reserved and self-contained. Caroline had described her as prickly. She’d been outraged at the time but knew deep down it was true. She’d always blamed her stepmother for not being Isobel. Caroline had tried so hard to break down the barriers Poppy had put up. Poppy wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d thrown in the towel years ago. But she never had.
Was it too late, she wondered as she tramped on through the fog. Caroline had been so sad recently. Would she ever forgive Poppy if Charlie was hurt – or worse? Poppy started bargaining with herself. If she could bring her brother back safe and sound everything would be alright. She and Caroline could try again. But that was all well and good, she thought grimly, as she tripped over yet another slab of granite lying in her path. First she had to find him.
After walking for what seemed like hours with no sign of Charlie, Poppy was beginning to feel tearful. She could hear the catch in her throat when she tried shouting his name. The rain seemed fractionally lighter and Poppy tried to convince herself that the fog was beginning to clear. But she knew she was kidding herself. Maybe she should return to Riverdale and make sure Tory had called for help. Then she realised with a sinking feeling that she’d lost all sense of direction and had no idea how to get home. Exhaustion washed over her. She found a boulder and sat down while she tried to marshal her thoughts. Under its blanket of mist the moor was deathly quiet. Poppy slumped with her head in her hands, wondering what to do. She loved Dartmoor but today it seemed the creepiest, most dangerous place on earth. To make matters worse she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.
She turned around slowly, hoping to see
the face of another sheep and not a black panther on the prowl. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw two eyes staring intently at her through the mist.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Poppy thought she must be hallucinating. She shook her head, swivelled round on the boulder and looked again, expecting to see nothing but fog. Not so. Standing about five metres away was the head of a ghost horse, looking straight at her. Cloud? No, it couldn’t be. Poppy rubbed her eyes, but he was still there when she opened them. Squinting into the mist she could just make out the outline of his body. Not a phantom at all.
‘Cloud!’ Poppy whispered. She slid off the boulder and walked slowly up to him, her hand outstretched. He stood still, lowering his head as she came close, letting her stroke him.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
‘I can’t find Charlie, Cloud. He’s gone. I don’t know what to do,’ she sobbed into his damp neck. She felt him begin to move away from her. ‘Please don’t leave me, Cloud. I’m so scared,’ she hiccupped through her tears. The pony stopped. She walked towards him, but as soon as she reached him he set off again, walking a few paces into the mist before stopping and turning to look at her. It was as if he wanted her to follow him.
After about half a mile Cloud came to a halt. Poppy stood next to him, her right hand resting lightly on his withers. In front of them was a sheer drop, a cliff of granite left by quarrymen two centuries earlier and now as much a part of the Dartmoor landscape as the tors that towered, unseen, above them. In the mist Poppy couldn’t tell how deep the quarry was. She could hear Cloud breathing. She looked at him, hoping she wasn’t about to send him galloping for the hills. She took a deep breath and yelled as loudly as she could.
‘CHAR-LIE!’
The sound reverberated around the old quarry. Cloud stiffened beneath her hand, but didn’t move. She called again, louder this time. As the echoes died away she thought she heard something. She called once more. This time she definitely heard an answering shout coming from the bottom of the quarry.
‘Poppy! Is that you?’
‘Charlie! I’m here! What happened? Are you OK?’
‘I’m alright. I was looking for the big cat when I fell down this cliff. I haven’t hurt myself but I couldn’t climb back up again. I thought I might be here all night.’ His voice sounded ragged and Poppy felt her heart contract.
‘Don’t worry, I’m here now. And guess who helped me find you?’
‘Was it Cloud? He was with me before. He came right up to me and I stroked his nose. I didn’t find the big cat but I did find Cloud for you.’
Poppy looked at the pony and then down into the quarry. Below her feet the rain-sodden grass gave way to a giant slab of granite which marked the edge of the quarry.
‘Charlie, how far down did you fall, can you remember?’ she called.
‘Um. You know how high the roof of Chester’s stable is?’
Poppy thought, that’s not so bad.
‘About four times as high as that.’
Oh.
‘But the bottom was more of a slope than a drop. I was doing my stuntman roll, otherwise I would’ve probably stopped sooner.’
‘Your stuntman roll?’ she asked incredulously. Only Charlie could be thinking of stunts at a time like this.
‘It’s to stop you breaking any bones. You tuck up, then roll down the hill.’ Poppy could only assume her brother was giving a practical demonstration to the nearest sheep. But this wasn’t getting them anywhere.
‘Charlie, listen. I’m going to come down to get you. I’ve got a couple of lead ropes to help get you up safely.’ She looked at Cloud again. His solid strength was so reassuring she couldn’t face the thought of leaving him. It was probably the last chance she would have to catch him and return him to Riverdale before the drift. She couldn’t bear the thought of him back at George Blackstone’s farm. But she had to help Charlie.
Poppy clung to the pony’s neck and whispered, ‘Stay safe, Cloud.’ He whickered softly and she reluctantly let him go. She took a couple of steps forward and sat on the edge of the quarry. She felt the unyielding stone beneath her as she turned onto her front and slithered down. For one terrifying moment she felt nothing but air beneath her feet as she dangled like a string puppet over the edge of the cliff. Her fingers curled around the root of an old gorse bush and she held on desperately while her feet struggled to find a foothold among the seams of granite.
‘Poppy! Are you coming?’ Charlie shouted from somewhere below.
‘Yes. I’m on my way,’ she called back, resisting the urge to look down. Her feet found a crevice and she edged her way along it until she felt a slab of stone sticking out like a shelf. She stepped onto it gratefully. Her arms and legs felt like jelly and her fingers were numb.
‘Not far now!’ she called to her brother in a voice that sounded a lot braver than she felt. Once more she turned over and inched her way over the drop.
‘I can see your wellies!’ cried Charlie.
If Charlie could see her feet Poppy calculated that she couldn’t have too far to fall. She took a deep breath and let go of the rock shelf, waiting for the ground to hit her. When she landed it was onto a gorse bush which ripped her waterproof coat. She felt its thorns tear her cheek as she tumbled onto the boggy grass beneath. Charlie ran up to her, appearing out of the fog like a tornado. He had painted his face with streaks of green and black and was wearing his camouflage trousers and a green waterproof coat. He would have been impossible to spot even on a clear day.
‘Poppy!’ He launched himself at her. She opened her arms and held him tightly. His face felt icy. He wriggled out of her grasp and looked at her, his blue eyes widening. ‘You’re bleeding!’
‘Am I?’ She felt her cheek. It was wet. She looked at her scarlet hand and back at Charlie. ‘I’m fine,’ she answered. ‘But are you OK?’
‘I ate the sausages I was going to use as bait for the big cat but they’ve made me really thirsty and I forgot to bring a drink. And I’m freezing. I think I’d like to go home now,’ he said. Together they looked up at the side of the quarry. The sheer granite looked as impenetrable as the walls of a castle. Poppy thought carefully. Even with the two lead ropes she doubted they would be able to climb even half way up the cliff. How on earth were they ever going to get out?
‘Hold on a minute. Did you say Cloud came to you when you were down here?’ she asked.
‘Yes. He came so close I was able to stroke him. He wasn’t frightened at all.’
‘There’s no way Cloud could have made it down that drop. It means there must be another way out of the quarry.’ Poppy rubbed her cheek again and considered. ‘If this was a quarry they must have got the granite out somehow. I bet there’s a path, maybe even an old railway track. We just need to find it.’
Shivering, Charlie looked at his sister. ‘Maybe we could look for Cloud’s hoofprints? They might show us the way.’
‘Yes, that’s a good idea. Wait - I have a torch somewhere.’ She fished about in the pocket of her waterproof. ‘Here it is. I thought it might come in useful.’
Together they searched for Cloud’s hoofprints, using the beam of the torch to light the ground. But the peaty soil was so waterlogged it would have been impossible to make out the footprints of an elephant, let alone a pony.
Poppy began to lose hope that they’d ever find their way out.
‘I’m so tired. Can’t we find somewhere to sit down for a while? Just until the sun comes out?’ Charlie wheedled. Poppy knew she had to keep her brother moving. She took his hand. His teeth had started to chatter.
‘You’re freezing. Take my coat, that’ll warm you up a bit. Let’s sing a song to keep us going. You choose.’ And so to Ten in a Bed they carried on tramping through the fog away from the granite cliff-face. Occasionally a startled sheep would leap out of their path and once they heard the plaintiff caw of a rook flying overhead. Progress was slow. Charlie, normally so full of bounce, was let
hargic. Every now and then he would plead with her to stop for a rest. Finally she relented and they found a boulder to perch on.
‘Just for five minutes,’ she told him firmly, wrapping her arm around him in an attempt to keep him warm. ‘I wonder if the search and rescue people are out looking for us,’ she thought out loud. ‘Maybe they’re only minutes away. I expect they have one of those big St Bernard dogs with them with a barrel around his collar filled with chocolate.’ She attempted a smile.
‘Do you think they might be? I hope so. I miss Mum.’
‘So do I,’ said Poppy, knowing it was true.
‘Do you think we’ll ever get home?’ he asked sleepily.
Poppy gave her brother a squeeze. ‘Of course we will. I promised Mum I’d look after you, didn’t I?’ She’d tried the word experimentally. It didn’t sound as awkward as she’d thought it might. A few minutes later, as she rubbed her hands together in a feeble attempt to warm her freezing fingers, she noticed his head droop forward.
‘Charlie!’ she said urgently. ‘Don’t fall asleep. We need to keep moving.’ She pulled him to a standing position and held onto him as he started swaying. She took his hand and they stumbled on through the fog. Then suddenly she stopped.
‘Wait a minute. Isn’t this the rock we had our picnic on? We can’t be far from Riverdale.’
Charlie, still shivering, shrugged his shoulders. He looked utterly defeated. ‘I don’t want to walk any more. I just want to go to sleep,’ he whined, his bottom lip wobbling.
Feeling increasingly desperate Poppy tried to adopt Caroline’s calm manner. ‘Charlie, we are nearly home, I promise. Just a little bit further, then you can go to bed with a lovely hot water bottle. Think how nice that’ll be.’
A cry pierced the gloom but Poppy dismissed it as another rook, wheeling overhead. They continued trudging wearily on. But the call was followed by another, louder this time. Poppy listened hard with blood pounding in her head, her senses on full alert. Please let it be help, she thought. For Charlie’s sake.