by Amanda Wills
Once they were on the moor Poppy kicked Cloud into a canter. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and the oppressive atmosphere that hung over the old Georgian manor house like smog. She wished she could turn back the clock. If only she’d hacked out with Scarlett and Red instead. What did a pair of gloves matter, in the grand scheme of things? If she hadn’t ridden over to Claydon, hadn’t let curiosity get the better of her, she’d be blissfully ignorant. She’d be looking forward to an afternoon in front of the fire, watching an old Christmas film with Caroline and Charlie.
Instead, her stomach churned with misgiving and her mind was whirring. Georgia had been kidnapped by goodness knows who. The police obviously had no clue, otherwise Inspector Pearson wouldn’t have quizzed her at such length. Poppy pictured the scrawled note. The threat it contained was clear. What would happen to Georgia if her parents didn’t hand over the two million pounds? Or if they discovered that the Cannings had called in the police? Organised criminals didn’t make idle threats. PC Bodiam said Georgia’s life was in danger. And she wouldn’t say that unless it was true.
Poppy slowed Cloud to a walk and let him stretch his neck. His ears were pricked and he looked around the moor with interest, completely oblivious to the maelstrom of thoughts swirling in Poppy’s head.
She had the horrible feeling that PC Bodiam knew she’d read the ransom note. Why else would the normally kindly PC have given her such a blunt warning to keep quiet? Poppy chastised herself for snooping. She should have minded her own business and she’d have been none the wiser. As it was she knew too much.
Would they kill Georgia? Surely not. She was worth more to them alive than dead. Alive, she was their only bargaining tool. Dead, she was a liability. Cutting off a lock of hair was an easy way to instil terror, and it had worked. The wretched look on the face of Georgia’s mum was proof of that.
What if the kidnappers were watching the house and had seen Poppy arrive? Was she now in danger, too? Were they following her, to see where she lived? And what about Cloud? Chester? They were the two most important things in Poppy’s life. What if the kidnappers hurt them to get at Poppy?
She halted the Connemara and wheeled him around, shielding her eyes from the low winter sun as she scoured the open moorland anxiously. A movement to her right caught her eye and her insides turned to ice. But it was only a solitary sheep, picking its way through a patch of boggy ground.
Cloud tossed his head with impatience. With a heavy heart, Poppy turned him towards home.
Chapter Ten
Charlie must have been watching for them from his bedroom window because she was still tying Cloud up outside his stable when he burst out of the kitchen door, his face flushed with excitement.
‘Chester’s been chosen for the Nativity! A pair of net curtains just phoned and told Mum!’
‘Good,’ said Poppy shortly, running up the stirrup leathers and loosening Cloud’s girth.
‘Good? Is that all you can say?’ said Charlie. ‘I thought you’d be as pleased as I was.’
Poppy glanced at her brother. If he suspected something was up she’d never hear the end of it. He was as tenacious as a terrier. He’d dig and probe until she gave in and told him about the kidnap. She had to pretend everything was fine. Even though it absolutely wasn’t.
‘Sorry Charlie, my feet are so cold I can’t think properly. That’s brilliant. Have you told him?’
Mollified, Charlie grinned. ‘Of course! He was especially pleased to find out he’d beaten a pantomime donkey and a Shetland pony. But he said he wouldn’t have minded if Jenny had been chosen. I think he quite liked her.’
‘So did I. She’s so sweet. But George Blackstone will be mad that she wasn’t chosen. Scarlett says he hates to lose anything.’
The kitchen window opened, emitting a fug of steam. Caroline poked her head out. ‘Good, you’re back. Lunch will be five minutes. Did you get your gloves?’
Poppy felt in the pockets of her coat and groaned. What a numbskull. After all that she’d left them in the library at Claydon Manor.
That night Poppy dreamt about Witch Cottage, an abandoned croft deep on the moor towards Princetown that locals claimed was haunted. In her dream, someone had built an impenetrable barbed wire fence just inside the dry stone wall that circled the cottage, and had driven a dozen No Trespassing signs into the peaty ground.
Ignoring the signs, Poppy had reached in her pocket for the powerful wirecutters she had with her and had snip, snip, snipped away at the barbed wire until she’d made a gap big enough to slip through. She’d crept past the teardrop-shaped tarn to the croft’s tiny front door. She heard voices inside, low and urgent. She knelt down and looked through the keyhole. A rheumy eye stared back at her. Stifling a scream, she scrabbled to her feet and sprinted for the fence. But the wire had grown back and the barbs tore at her clothes like the arms of a giant octopus. The harder she struggled, the tighter they held her. Behind her, the sound of heavy footsteps grew closer. She dared not look around. Desperate to reach the safety of the trees, she felt in her pocket for the wirecutters. But they had turned into a pair of nail scissors. Poppy opened her lungs and screamed.
She woke with a start, her heart pounding and her pillow damp. She rubbed her eyes and steadied her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth, concentrating on the feeling of her diaphragm slowly expanding and contracting, just as she had on the day of the show. Slowly the nightmare slipped back into her unconsciousness like a retreating tide.
But the picture of Witch Cottage stayed with her as she clumped downstairs in her pyjamas and fleece slipper boots. The old croft sat resolutely in her mind’s eye as she poured milk over her cereals and sipped the mug of tea Caroline handed her. She stared vacantly into space, remembering the tiny attic under the catslide roof where pigeons nested and dust motes danced. It had been used to hide ill-gotten gains once before. Could someone be using it again?
‘Earth to Poppy. Is anyone at home?’ Caroline was standing in front of her, her hands on her hips.
Poppy brushed her fringe out of her eyes. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. What is it?’
‘I asked if you wanted another cup of tea.’ Caroline sat down and fixed her cornflower-blue eyes on Poppy’s. ‘It was the third time I’d asked. Is everything OK?’
‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Only you’ve seemed very preoccupied since you got back from Claydon Manor yesterday. You would tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn’t you?’
Poppy wasn’t normally secretive. Dad always said fondly that she wore her heart on her sleeve, just like Mum had. But lying by omission didn’t really count, did it? She crossed her fingers under the table.
‘’Course I would. And, yes please. I’d love another cup of tea.’
Cloud whickered as she let herself out of the back door. Poppy ruffled his forelock and blew softly into his nose.
‘Fancy a ride to Witch Cottage later?’ she whispered. He rubbed against her, leaving a layer of white hairs on her coat. ‘I’ll see if Scarlett and Red can come too, shall I?’
But Scarlett was otherwise engaged. Great Auntie Miriam’s down from Bristol for the day. Mum said I’ve got to stay in and entertain her. It’s so unfair! She talks to me like I’m five. AND she has more whiskers than a walrus!!! (Great Auntie Miriam, that is, not Mum. Although actually, come to mention it…) read the gloomy reply when Poppy texted her.
She was pulling on an extra pair of thermal socks when Charlie burst into her room.
‘Poppy, come and look at what I’ve made,’ he said, tugging the sleeve of her fleece.
‘If I must,’ Poppy sighed, following him into his room. Lego was strewn all over the floor in a kaleidoscope of primary colours. She winced as she trod on a red brick. Charlie was pointing to a large construction on his chest of drawers.
Poppy peered over his shoulder at a tableau of Lego people and animals all gathered around a manger.
‘It’s a Nativity
scene,’ she said.
‘Not any Nativity scene. It’s the one at St Mary’s. It’s so I can practice what we’re supposed to do. Like a dress rehearsal. Only in Lego.’
‘It’s very good. Although I’m not sure there were monkeys and baby elephants in the original Nativity,’ said Poppy.
‘They’re all I had. I’m having to use a giraffe to play Chester. But I think a pair of net curtains will be impressed, don’t you?’
‘You can’t keep calling her that,’ said Poppy, her eyes falling on Charlie’s binoculars, which were hanging from the door of his wardrobe. ‘Mind if I borrow them?’
‘What for?’ said Charlie suspiciously.
Poppy looked around her breezily. ‘A spot of bird-watching while I’m out riding,’ she said.
‘Since when have you been interested in bird-watching?’
Poppy swiped them from the door knob and flashed him an innocent smile. ‘Since now.’
The binoculars safely stored in an old rucksack, Poppy and Cloud set off towards Witch Cottage. Poppy whistled tunelessly as her pony’s long stride ate up the miles. A pale sun glimmered in the hazy winter sky and gulls swooped and soared overhead.
Eventually they reached the small band of evergreens that hid the cottage from view. Although Poppy had only discovered the old croft that summer, Cloud knew it of old, and she gave him his head so he could pick his own path through the trees.
As the gaps in the conifers widened and sunlight pierced the dark canopy once again, Poppy halted her pony.
‘We need to be careful. Just in case,’ she said, jumping to the ground and slipping the rucksack from her shoulders. As she undid the straps she realised her fingers were trembling.
Did she really think Georgia Canning was being held to ransom in the derelict cottage, watched over by a gang of faceless kidnappers? Despite all she’d seen at Claydon Manor it still seemed totally ridiculous that a fourteen-year-old girl could disappear without trace.
Poppy led Cloud to the edge of the trees and fiddled with the lens of the binoculars until the old stone building swam into focus. There was the teardrop-shaped tarn she and Charlie had picnicked by. Next to it was the dry stone wall that circled the cottage. Poppy tracked back and forth, taking in every detail. The front door was still hanging off its ancient hinges, although the battalion of nettles that had guarded it all summer had died down. The window frames were still rotting and the hole in the catslide roof was even bigger than she remembered.
Satisfied she had covered every foot of the cottage, Poppy shoved the binoculars back into her rucksack and pulled it on. There was no sign of Georgia, but she knew she had to check inside, just to be sure.
Glancing left and right, she led Cloud past the tarn and looped his reins over an old fence post. She pushed open the front door and stepped into the small, square room that must once have been the parlour. She was immediately transported back to the dramatic day Jodie had admitted she was planning to smuggle stolen mobile phones into Dartmoor Prison two and a half miles away.
Poppy still remembered the determined set of Jodie’s jaw as she’d defended her decision, claiming it was the only way she could raise enough money to keep Nethercote open. Luckily Poppy had shown her another way and, with the help of Biscuit, the horse sanctuary’s future was now secure.
Today the room was empty, apart from the decaying body of a dead pigeon in the fireplace. Poppy shivered, hoping it wasn’t an omen.
The kitchen was empty, too. Poppy crept up the narrow staircase to the two tiny rooms in the eaves. But she knew before she poked her head around each door that there was no-one in them.
There was no doubt the place was deserted. She was an idiot for even thinking she’d find Georgia. Who did she think she was – Sherlock flippin’ Holmes? If Devon and Cornwall Police had no inkling where the girl was, why should she, Poppy McKeever?
She ran lightly down the stairs, eager to be outside. She fished in her pocket for a handful of pony nuts and gave them to Cloud. ‘That’s for being patient while I was playing detective.’
She was tightening his girth when he stiffened and sniffed the wind.
‘There’s no-one here, silly,’ she said.
But Cloud’s nostrils flared and he wheeled around, wrenching the reins from her hands. She watched in horror as he weaved through the trees, stirrups flapping and his tail high.
‘Cloud, come back!’ she called, trying to keep her voice steady. He slid to a halt and watched her. ‘That’s it, good boy. Stand still and I’ll come and get you. There’s nothing to be frightened of.’
And then she heard the crackle of footsteps on the forest floor. Cloud, who was gawping at something over her right shoulder, gave a high-pitch whinny, spun on his hocks and cantered deeper into the trees. Fear crept down Poppy’s spine like a droplet of icy water.
Her hand flew to her mouth and her rucksack dropped to the floor like a stone. She’d thought Witch Cottage was deserted. How wrong she’d been.
A bear of a man in camouflage fatigues and a green balaclava was standing four paces away. Poppy took two steps back, colliding with the solid trunk of a conifer.
Her eyes darted nervously to the large metal contraption in his left hand and then over her shoulder to Cloud. The Connemara had stopped on the edge of the small forest and was watching them intently.
Poppy chanced another look at the man, who was pulling off the balaclava with his right hand. He shoved it in his pocket. He had a thatch of red hair and a nose that was squished to one side as though it had been broken and hadn’t set straight. He was the walker she’d seen on Barrow Ridge, she was sure of it. The one Inspector Pearson had been so interested in.
‘Sorry for frightening your pony,’ he said in a growly voice. ‘Do you need a hand catching him?’
He waved the metal contraption towards Cloud. Poppy flinched, and edged around the conifer.
The man ducked into a small, square green canvas tent, covered with conifer branches, that Poppy hadn’t noticed. He reappeared seconds later with a neatly-quartered apple in his hand. ‘Will this help?’
Never take sweets from strangers, Caroline used to drill into Poppy and Charlie when they were little. Poppy dithered. Catching Cloud would be easier with an apple, but this gruff man could have escaped from Dartmoor Prison for all she knew.
Not waiting for an answer, he thrust the pieces of apple into Poppy’s hand. She jumped as if she’d been scalded, muttered her thanks and fled through the trees. Once there was a safe distance between them she chanced a look over her shoulder. The man had turned his back to her and was on his knees, fiddling with the metal contraption. It had three legs and a black handle on the top.
Cloud was still watching her, his ears pricked. As Poppy edged towards him she breathed deeply, trying not to let her anxiety transmit to her pony. She held out a quarter of the apple and he extended his neck towards her. She stood still, letting him come to her. He snaffled the apple, his whiskers tickling her palm. Relief flooded her system as her hands tightened around his reins.
‘Good boy,’ she said, springing into the saddle and turning him for home.
As they retraced their steps across the moor Poppy wondered about the burly camouflage-clad man and what he was doing, camped out in the woods in the middle of winter. It seemed unlikely he had anything to do with Georgia’s disappearance. Perhaps he was a rough sleeper, seeking shelter in Witch Cottage. Perhaps he lived off the land, a wild man of the woods, and that contraption was a trap in which he caught rabbits.
At least she now knew that Georgia wasn’t being kept in the old croft. So much for her theory that the abductors were using it as their base. She was right back at square one.
Little did she know that within twenty four short hours, Georgia’s whereabouts would be the least of her worries.
Chapter Eleven
The alarm on Poppy’s phone woke her at half six. She allowed herself two presses of the snooze button before she threw back the duvet and j
umped out of bed. It wasn’t until she’d started pulling on her leggings, ready to race out of the house to muck out, feed and turn out Cloud and Chester before breakfast and school, that she remembered it was the first day of the Christmas holidays. Bliss. Two whole weeks with nothing to do. Well, she had tons of coursework but that could wait until the New Year.
‘Don’t forget we’re picking your dad up from Bristol airport today,’ said Caroline, as Poppy wolfed down three slices of toast and raspberry jam. Charlie whooped and Poppy grinned. Once Dad was home Christmas could begin.
They sang along to the radio on the long drive to Bristol, stopping for hot chocolates at a motorway service station to break the journey. Dad’s plane had not long landed as they walked into the arrivals lounge and soon he was enveloping them all in a big bear hug.
‘So, tell me your news,’ he said as they set off for home.
‘Where do I start?’ said Charlie.
‘At the beginning?’ he said.
‘Well, first we had the donkey auditions for this year’s Nativity, held by a pair of net curtains.’
‘A pair of what?’
Caroline gave a wry smile. ‘Charlie means Reverend Annette Kirton.’
‘Obviously,’ said Dad, his mouth twitching. ‘And then what?’
‘And then she only went and chose Chester for the starring role.’
‘That’s brilliant! And Poppy, what’ve you been up to?’
Poppy met her dad’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. If only she could tell him what had really been happening. But she’d promised the police. She shrugged. ‘Nothing much.’
Caroline turned around in her seat. ‘Apart from coming third in your first ever show.’
‘Oh yeah,’ grinned Poppy. ‘I forgot about that.’
Two hours later Mike McKeever pulled into the Riverdale drive. ‘D’you remember the day we moved in?’