‘I’m here, Will,’ he called, leaning out into the funnel.
Then stepping back into the room, he took a lantern off a hook and lifted it, surveying the scene of devastation that he had created.
Behind him, footsteps heralded the arrival of a young man. He was wearing thick woollen trousers, tied with string below the knees and an open-necked shirt.
‘What’s to do, Mr Lewis?’ the boy asked, then, seeing the mess in the room, he gasped. ‘What’s happened?’
‘You have not heard?’ the man called Mr Lewis asked him. ‘I would have thought it would have been the talk of the county. Mr Crawden comes here to Golden House on the first of the month.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Lewis,’ the boy said, sounding genuinely upset. ‘Sorrier than I can say. I would not have the Crawdens living here for a year’s pay.’
‘Well, Will,’ Mr Lewis said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder, ‘that’s the way it will be.’
‘Where will you go, Mr Lewis?’
‘I keep the land. My wife and I and the babe will live up at the forester’s cottage near Goldenwater.’
‘The land is yours?’ Will asked.
‘I have it in writing.’ As he spoke, Lewis crossed to the table and produced a thick book. ‘Here, I have the paper here, tucked into my journal.’
Alice at once recognized the book. It was the one Miss Prewett had brought from the museum. Jonas Lewis’s book.
‘I can’t read, Mr Lewis, you know that.’
Jonas Lewis held the paper close to the lamp and read aloud: ‘“An agreement made between Jonas Lewis of Golden House . . .” oh, you don’t need to hear all that. “All the estate of the said Golden House shall remain the property of the vendor and his family and descendants on the full and certain understanding that should he, or any member of his family or said descendants choose to sell the land, then, at such time, the purchaser, the above named Edmund Arthur Crawden, his next of kin or his descendants shall have first refusal on the property for as long as the said Edmund Arthur Crawden, his next of kin or his descendants shall be the owners of Golden House. In the event of Edmund Arthur Crawden, his next of kin or his descendants selling Golden House, he, his next of kin or his descendants shall first offer the property to Jonas Lewis, his next of kin or descendants . . .” That’s how it’s divided, Will. Crawden has the house. I have the estate. He gets the estate if I want to sell. I get the house if he wants to sell.’ He laughed, bitterly. ‘Though what I could purchase it with is a matter of some conjecture, as Edmund Crawden very well knows. So there it is. I have done the best I could. It’s all legal. All signed and sealed.’ As he spoke, he replaced the journal on the workbench and threw the paper down beside it.
‘Then you’ve not lost everything, Mr Lewis,’ the boy said.
‘Everything, Will. I move out of this house without a penny to my name.’
‘You have the land, Mr Lewis,’ Will reminded him.
‘And no money to care for it. He’s got me, Will. I am punished.’
Jonas Lewis walked slowly round the room kicking over the rubble.
‘What about the jars of chemicals, Mr Lewis?’ Will asked, crossing to the shelves where rows of bottles still stood.
‘I have disposed of all the lethal toxics. There is nothing dangerous left. At least I can leave a tidy bench, Will.’
‘Tidy!’ Will exclaimed, looking round at the piles of destruction.
‘I have not done yet,’ Lewis said.
‘Couldn’t you make some money out of these things, Mr Lewis? The quicksilver. That might raise a few shillings.’
Lewis shook his head.
‘I will not be making any more money out of any of this,’ he replied, grimly. ‘My days of money making are over!’ and he smiled, bleakly, as if at some private joke. ‘No. Everything must stay. It does not belong to me.’
‘To Crawden? He owns all this as well?’
‘No, Not Crawden, Will. The house, more like. This all belongs to the house.’
‘Does Crawden know about this place?’
Jonas Lewis shook his head.
‘Nor will he. I want a service of you, Will, for which I cannot pay.’
‘I’ve had payment enough from you in my time, Mr Lewis.’
‘It will not be easy and it has to be done fast.’
‘I’ll do what you asked. I’ll shore up the opening for you, surely. I’ll start now.’
‘You’re a good man, Will,’ Jonas Lewis said.
‘Tell me one thing, Mr Lewis. All the experimenting – did it come to anything? Was it worth it?’
‘No, Will. It came to nothing and it brought me nothing with it,’ Jonas replied with utter sadness.
‘What was it that you were hoping for?’ the boy asked. ‘I mean – what were you trying to make?’
‘Something of myself,’ Jonas Lewis answered. ‘I was trying to better myself.’
‘Good Lord save us, Mr Lewis. You were the master of Golden House. What more could you want?’
‘There’s always more, Will. That is the danger. Come, we must leave this place. How long will it take you to block the door? I’ll help you?’
Will Hardwick shrugged.
‘Not long. But it’ll be working under difficulties. I can do half the course from this side – then I’ll have to climb out and complete the work on the well side. It won’t be smooth with the wall. I’ll have to leave myself a ledge to stand on. Then there’s the stone to get down from the top and the mortar . . .’
‘Can you do it, Will?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Lewis. That’s my trade, isn’t it?’
‘And then you’ll never speak of this place, Will. To anyone? For me?’
‘How have I got a trade, Mr Lewis, but thanks to you? Who looked after us when Dad died? You. I’ll do it. I’ll start at once.’
‘No, Will. Tomorrow. By then the fire will have died down.’
‘Fire?’ Will asked, sounding surprised.
‘I told you,’ Jonas Lewis replied. ‘I will leave a tidy bench.’ And, as he spoke, he picked up one of the lanterns and threw it at the pile of refuse he had made between the fire and the table.
The oil from the lamp seeped out, as the glass lantern smashed against the stone floor. The flame from the lamp ignited the oil and with a hollow roar the papers and books started to burn.
‘Out, Will! Quick now,’ Jonas Lewis said, pushing the boy towards the door. ‘There are chemicals here that will make a merry blaze.’
‘But, sir, won’t the fire bring the whole place down?’ Will had to shout to be heard above the increasing sound of the fire.
‘I think not, Will. I think the Magus chose his laboratory well. These solid stone walls will withstand a holocaust. Out boy, out! The heat is intolerable.’
Jonas pushed Will before him towards the opening. The flames were leaping through the great mound of papers and wood. The fire was well constructed and, as it grew in strength so it gathered into its blazing heart large pieces of wood and bigger, heavy leather-bound tomes.
‘Goodbye, scene of my despair!’ Jonas Lewis said, from the door. Then he was just about to step out of the opening, when he saw his journal lying on the table.
‘My journal,’ he cried and, covering his mouth and nose with his arm, he beat his way back into the raging, smoke-filled room, and grabbed the book up off the table. Then, coughing and spluttering, he made a dash for the opening and disappeared.
‘Will!’ Mary screamed. ‘The document! The paper he was reading from. He’s left it on the table.’
‘Come on,’ said the spider, ‘this place is getting too hot for my liking.’
‘No! Wait,’ William cried and, as he did so, he fell on to his feet on the stone floor.
The smoke was filling the room and now several small explosions indicated that some of the chemical jars were bursting, filling the air with noxious fumes. William was gasping and coughing. His eyes were running and the heat from the fire was singeing th
e hairs on his head.
‘Will!’ Alice screamed, trying to reach him.
‘Go back, Alice!’ he shouted. ‘You and Mary get out. I’ve got to try . . .’
Flames were leaping across the floor, following a trail of oil, between him and the table. Covering his face with his arm he jumped across this river of fire and grabbed the paper from the bench where Jonas had thrown it. Then, turning, he saw that between him and the opening the ground had turned into a raging inferno as the flames devoured everything combustible within their reach.
‘William!’ Mary screamed, her voice coming from the funnel on the other side of the flames.
‘Help me!’ William wailed, panic seizing at him and making his legs weak and his spirit waver.
‘Take care, William!’ a voice in his head whispered. ‘If you act with a motive – you must look after yourself.’
‘I’m not doing it for myself,’ William cried.
‘Well – do this for yourself boy, all the same,’ the voice insisted. ‘Get out of here, William, NOW!’
And, as he heard this urgent command, William ran as fast as he could, straight through the middle of the flames towards the opening.
He arrived, coughing and spluttering, at the iron ladder. Stuffing the folded paper into the belt of his jeans, he started to climb as fast as he could. Below him he could see smoke and tongues of flame issuing out of the opening. The funnel was acting exactly like a chimney, drawing the fire upwards.
William pulled himself up the ladder, rung after rung, until he felt a fresh breeze blowing on his face. Looking up, he saw the branches of a huge bush blocking his way. He reached the top of the ladder, and forced his way through the clutter of branches over the side of a low wall. Then, squirming and turning, he pushed his way through the bush and with a final effort fell out of a jungle of leaves and twigs on to a side path at the corner of the walled, kitchen garden of Golden House.
Mary and Alice were waiting for him, clinging together, desperately. Their faces were covered with soot and grime and there were tears on their cheeks.
‘Oh, Will,’ Mary said, running and putting her arms round him. ‘I thought . . .’ and she couldn’t speak any more for the tears.
‘What are you three up to?’ a voice said, and turning, they saw Dan, the young builder, standing by the yard gate.
‘Nothing. We’ve just been playing.’ William said, quickly.
‘Playing?’ Dan said. ‘You want to be careful playing in that corner, you know. There’s an old well behind that bush. I’ve told Jack about it. It needs boarding over or a metal cover putting on it. Dangerous things, wells,’ and he went off, into the yard.
‘Are you all right?’ Mary asked William, as soon as he’d gone.
He nodded and wiped his grimy hands on his jeans. One hand brushed a thick sheaf of papers sticking out of his belt. He pulled them out, remembering.
‘What is it?’ Mary asked.
‘The missing document,’ William said, looking at the large copperplate writing on the first page. ‘It’s the Bill of Sale drawn up between Jonas Lewis and Edmund Crawden.’
‘Oh, Will!’ Alice whispered. ‘Does that mean we’ve won? Have we saved Golden Valley?’
‘We have the proof now that the land belongs not to the Crawdens but to Meg – yes, maybe we’ve won,’ William replied, but his voice sounded doubtful.
‘Let’s tell them at once!’ Mary cried.
But William shook his head, looking at the paper in his hand with a puzzled expression.
‘No, we must wait,’ he said.
‘Why?’ the girls cried in unison, their impatience showing.
‘I’m not sure,’ he replied, ‘We must get it right this time. We mustn’t make Jonas Lewis’s mistake . . .’ and he walked away from them, deep in thought, stuffing the document back into his jeans.
25
‘The Matter is Finally Closed’
ON A SOFT summer evening, two weeks later, the children returned to Four Fields. They climbed the steep hillside behind Golden House and, skirting the badger sett, they passed the yew tree and the standing stone, reaching the shore of the lake as the sun was beginning to set in a haze of golden light over the hills behind Goldenspring. Birds were singing in the boughs of the forest trees and the surface of the lake reflected the milk-blue sky like a discarded mirror.
William had been strangely morose and unforthcoming since the events in the Magician’s laboratory, which had infuriated the girls, who were anxious to tell Jack that they had found the missing document and that therefore they could save Goldenwater from the Crawdens.
‘It really proves that the land doesn’t belong to the Crawdens,’ Mary exclaimed excitedly after they’d all studied it closely.
But William had continued to be deeply troubled and wouldn’t talk about the subject. For the next few days he had carefully avoided any further discussions. This hadn’t been too difficult, because the children had been busy helping to prepare a room for Meg, for her to use when she came out of hospital. But now, as they were walking towards Four Fields, he knew the time had come when he couldn’t put it off any longer.
They were to meet Jack and Phoebe who were driving there, taking Meg with them. It was the first time Meg had been back since the day of her accident and it had been her suggestion that they should all go together. She had been discharged from hospital the week before and had agreed reluctantly to stay at Golden House;
‘But only temporarily,’ she’d added, shyly, when Phoebe had invited her. ‘I mustn’t be a nuisance to anyone.’
So Meg was installed at the front of the house in the Tudor part of the building, in the room that they had prepared for her. Her cats had moved in with her and the dogs slept outside her window and, in a matter of days, the place had started to take on the cluttered appearance of the kitchen at Four Fields.
During all this time the children had waited in vain for the return of the Magician. Jasper told them that the old man had not been well, but that he would know precisely all that had taken place and he’d come when it was necessary.
‘That’s the way it is with the Master,’ he told them. ‘He comes when you least expect him and rarely when you want him!’
Now, as they walked slowly along the shore of the lake, William explained why he longed to see Stephen Tyler more than he had ever done before.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ he told them.
‘About what?’ Mary asked.
‘Jack says the planning permission comes up for discussion before the council next week. If we’re going to stop the Crawdens pushing through their plan – we have to do it now.’
‘But we can stop them, William,’ Alice insisted. ‘Show them the legal paper thing.’
‘I daren’t,’ William whispered.
‘Why?’ Mary cried.
‘Two reasons,’ William said, taking a stone and flinging it out across the surface of the lake.
‘What reasons?’ Mary insisted.
‘Well, first,’ William said, pushing a lock of hair away from his forehead as he spoke, ‘the Magician always said we weren’t allowed to change history. I think that’s why he kept looking into the future. I suppose it’s all right to influence events before they’ve taken place. But, if you change something in the past . . . then it makes a nonsense of everything that follows after it. Like say . . . if somebody in the past had died, but we decided it would be better for some reason to keep them alive a bit longer, so we warned them of what was going to happen and saved their lives . . . then all the events that followed afterwards – still in our past – couldn’t work. Because everything would be different. The person would be alive . . . instead of dead. History would have been changed. We can’t do that. We can influence the future, we can’t change the past.’
‘But it’s only some pieces of paper, William!’ Alice protested, impatiently. ‘We could have found them anywhere.’
‘But we didn’t, Alice. We know they were burnt in tha
t fire . . . or rather, they should have been burnt,’ and, as he spoke, he produced the folded pages from inside his shirt, where he’d put them for safe-keeping before they set out. ‘I suppose, in a way,’ he said, looking at them thoughtfully, ‘I’ve already changed history. I should have let them burn.’
‘But you didn’t – so I think you should use them,’ Alice said quickly.
‘No, Alice!’ William’s voice was racked with fear. ‘That’s how it starts!’
‘What? What starts?’
‘Using the magic for our own ends.’
‘But that’s what we were told to do,’ Mary pointed out.
‘Never,’ William said, shaking his head. ‘We were never told to use the magic. That’s how Jonas Lewis ended up making gold. Don’t you see? He wanted to be free of his debts. He wanted the gold for his own use. We want to prevent Crawden from building his Theme Park here. Well, doesn’t that mean we want the magic for our own use as well?’
‘But we were told to save the valley.’
‘Yes,’ William nodded. ‘But somehow we have to do it ourselves. All the magic should do is help us, ourselves, on our own, to achieve our ends. So that we do the saving – and don’t just leave it to magic. Otherwise we could just sit back and . . . whenever we wanted something changed . . . we’d work a spell, like what happens in fairy stories. But it isn’t like that – or it shouldn’t be. In fact it mustn’t be.’
Mary nodded, thoughtfully.
‘We can use the knowledge though, can’t we?’
‘How?’ William asked.
Mary shrugged.
‘I don’t know. But, I mean, we can’t pretend we don’t know what’s in the Bill of Sale. We can’t pretend that we didn’t see what happened in the laboratory. It may have been by magic that we know these things – but we can’t pretend now that it never happened. What I’m trying to say is – we’ve seen certain things only because the magic led us to them.’
‘Yes. I agree with that,’ William said, reluctantly.
‘So,’ Mary insisted, ‘you agree that the magic can be allowed to help us to know things?’
The Tunnel Behind the Waterfall Page 20