Brindle rapped on the door. A fair woman in a print dress and straw hat opened it. The smile on her face faded the moment she saw who was standing there. ‘Oh, it’s you Zilla,’ she said coolly. She looked at Ralf. ‘Your lunch is on the table, Ralf. In you go.’
Even after everything that had already happened, the shock of seeing this woman made Ralf weak. There was an explosion of warmth in his chest and he had a sudden fear he might burst into tears. She wasn’t his mother, Ralf realised that, but the resemblance was startling and he knew instantly she was family. Hilda. The name popped into his head along with all the information he needed. She was his sister, half-sister actually, but that made no difference. She was Christmas morning. She was warmth and comfort and good food.
With a glance back at Leo, Ralf stepped through the open door into a kitchen dominated by a huge stove. Drying herbs hung from the ceiling and on every shelf there were glass jars and pots with waxed lids containing jams, pickles and chutney. Through an open pantry door he could see bacon, a bowl of eggs and a slab of marble on which there was a creamy yellow cheese. A glazed ham stood under a square of muslin on a gouged but spotlessly clean table.
Eyes welling up, Ralf stood and breathed in the strange-familiar scent of the room and, for the first time in two years, felt like he was home.
The only blemish on his sudden, perfect happiness was the tense conversation he could hear through the open door.
‘I won’t keep you,’ Miss Brindle said crisply. ‘I know you people keep odd hours.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by ‘you people’, Zilla,’ said Hilda drawing herself up to her full height. ‘But I am, as you see, ready to leave for Hawke’s Manor.’
Miss. Brindle bristled. ‘Quite. As I was about to say, I am, as you know, the Billeting Officer for this area, and –’
‘And?’
‘It’s a difficult job at the best of times without being run ragged by impertinent, young scoundrels who can’t leave well enough alone –’
‘We went through all this earlier.’
‘Yes, well. This is the last one here. Boy!’
Leo edged forward and Brindle stepped aside as if a particularly nasty smell had just assaulted her. ‘Hasn’t spoken a word since he arrived. A bit feeble-minded if you ask me, but then that’s not very surprising considering he’s… Well, be that as it may, I need to place him and I know that with the older boy gone today, the Arbuckle’s have a spare room.’
‘But do you think that’s the best –’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. He’s from an orphanage, this one. He’s used to roughing it.’
‘I still don’t see why you’re here.’
‘That’s just what I’m trying to tell you, Hilda. There’s no one in at the Arbuckle’s.’
‘They’re seeing Michael off at Dark Ferry.’
‘Well, I have to get back to the Post Office and as your brother was responsible for throwing off my schedule it’s only right that he make amends. He can look after this one,’ she said indicating Leo with a disdainful jerk of her head, ‘until they get back.’
‘Of course, Zilla. You only had to ask,’ Hilda said politely.
Brindle gave a contemptuous sniff. ‘They know where to find me, if there are any questions.’ Ralf jumped as she roared at the poor dog to come to heel and was immensely relieved to hear the woman’s brisk footsteps clatter down the path and gradually fade away.
‘You’d better come in, love,’ Hilda said. ‘Ralf, will you pour – I’m sorry dear, I don’t know your name?’
Leo held up a cardboard tag on a string round his neck. ‘Er – Leonard Antwi – Leo.’
‘Right,’ said Hilda, propping his suitcase by the table. ‘Ralf, will you pour Leo a cup of tea and cut him a sandwich? The Arbuckles won’t be back until after three, I’m thinking, so perhaps you’d like to show him round?’ She gave him a smile then looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I really must get on. I’m running late as it is.’
‘Of course,’ Ralf spluttered. The urge to rush over and hug her was making talking difficult. ‘You go. We’ll be fine.’
Hilda gave Ralf’s shorn hair a quick ruffle. ‘And do try not to get into any more trouble.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Boy on the Bridge
The sandwiches tasted incredible. Thick slices of floury soft bread, fresh churned butter and salt-sweet ham, with crumbly cheese and ripe red tomatoes on the side.
‘These tomatoes taste so – so – tomatoey,’ Leo raved, biting into his fourth one.
‘And the lemonade,’ said Ralf, wiping his hand on his sleeve. ‘I could drink pints. It’s gorgeous. Why doesn’t it taste like this at home?’
They took their time over the meal but eventually, full to bursting; they tidied up and went out.
As they walked back up Ralf’s lane, their footsteps sounded oddly loud. A vast stillness surrounded them and the only other noises were the soft lapping of the sea and the far off cry of gulls. Ralf didn’t think he’d been anywhere so quiet in his entire life. There was a lack of all modern noise, not a car on the street or a plane in the sky, just deep, thick peacefulness. His short meeting with his sister had filled Ralf with an intense sort of happiness but he felt he could not show it as, despite the good food, Leo was clearly miserable.
‘Can you believe that woman, Brindle!’ he grumbled as they walked. ‘She is the most poisonous, spiteful, hatchet-faced old…old…bag of spanners...’
‘If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure she’s nasty to everyone.’
‘No, Wolf,’ Leo countered. ‘There’s more to it than just nasty. She’s got it in for me, I’m telling you.’
Ralf wanted to disagree but a strong, heavy feeling in his gut, told him that Leo could well be right. He was worried about the others too, especially Alfie. Being here was weird enough for him, and he remembered the place, but how must it feel for the ten year old, dragged from everything he knew into a past so strange?
Pushing these thoughts aside, he tried to focus on where they were. Dredging his memories he led the way back to the village, putting a name to each of the now familiar landmarks and giving Leo a potted history of each of the people they passed.
After exploring the harbour they walked west down a narrow lane. After some distance they came to a fork in the road. The right hand turn was marked Chase Fort Cross but they headed left, which Ralf was fairly certain led across King’s Meadow, then up to the hills and eventually to a stark collection of rocks known locally as Fox Scar.
‘Why this time, though?’ Leo asked suddenly. ‘I mean, of all the times we could have gone back to, why here and now?’
‘Just lucky I suppose,’ said Ralf thinking of Hilda. Then, seeing Leo’s expression, he tried to change tack. ‘Look, I know there’s a war coming and everything and things might be quite tough for you here but it could be worse. At least the sun’s shining.’
‘Are you nuts?’
‘I’m just saying. At least we didn’t end up in the middle of an ice age or anything. Or coming face to face with a dinosaur.’
‘Brindle is a dinosaur!’ said Leo with feeling.
Ralf laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose she is, really. But a lot of the other people are nice.’
‘Yes, and some of them are seriously weird too. Those Muntons, for example.’ Leo shook his head as he walked. ‘And this place. It looks pretty – but isn’t it just a little bit odd? Can’t you feel it? Something’s not right.’
Leo’s words were still hanging in the air as they rounded a bend. In front of them stretched a wide expanse of flat marshland across which threaded channels of sparkling water. Tall grass whispered on every bank and all manner of water birds dipped, swam and waded. Gloria, in galoshes and sunhat, stood by a still pool near the centre of the marsh. She waved and called to them. A camera was set up on a tripod and she was peering through the viewfinder at the open expanse of King’s Meadow as they joined her.
‘Hello,’ said
Ralf. ‘What are you doing?’
Gloria grinned back at him. ‘Feeding a giraffe. What’s it look like?
‘I didn’t know you liked photography,’ he lied.
‘Why would you? I’ve only just taken it up. Needed an excuse not to have to talk to the Captain. It’s jolly interesting, though,’ she said beckoning him over. ‘Take a look at this.’
He squinted through the viewfinder where Gloria had focused the lens on a group of wading birds. ‘Looks good,’ he said politely.
‘Yes, it does, rather, doesn’t it?’ she said. ‘Of course, this is only a trial run. What I’m really after is getting some concrete evidence about the ghosts.’
Leo raised his eyebrows behind Gloria’s back. The words ‘I told you so,’ were written all over his face.
Ralf coughed. ‘Ghosts?’
‘Oh, come on Ralf,’ said Gloria. ‘There’s no point trying to keep it a secret from Leo. Someone will have seen another one before the week is out, you mark my words.’
‘They will?’
‘Obviously!’ She pulled a face at Ralf then turned to Leo to explain. ‘We’ve had an absolute rash of sightings, you know. It’s been terribly exciting. Well, some people have been upset by it, I’ll grant you, but really they shouldn’t. The ghosts are trying to communicate with us.’
Ralf couldn’t ask any questions. He was supposed to know. He nudged Leo with his boot.
‘Oh – er, yes,’ Leo said. ‘So what have people seen?’
‘All sorts. There’s been a monk in the graveyard. A highwayman on the High Street! Chax Forest is riddled with them, if you believe all the rumours,’ she said. ‘And yesterday I saw a group of Cavalier horsemen galloping over this very spot.’
Leo couldn’t suppress a shiver and Gloria, cheered by this reaction, dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Of course some of us are more open to vibrations from the other side than others. Of everyone in King’s Hadow, I’ve seen the most,’ she said proudly. ‘I’m hearing my Spirit Guide more clearly all the time and I’d like to communicate with the ghosts that come through. It’s a shame your Ambrose wasn’t at the Circus. He could have given me some pointers.’
Spirit Guide? What did she mean, Spirit Guide? Ralf had immediately liked this eighteen-year-old version of his great aunt but felt unexpectedly deflated – sad, even. He had thought Gloria’s strange behaviour in the future was just the effect of old age but perhaps it was time to consider something else. It felt awful to think it, but maybe she’d always been crackers?
The boys loitered while she took photographs, Leo looking nervously around for signs of ghosts and Ralf asking what he hoped sounded like interested questions. When she’d finally taken all the shots she wanted, Gloria folded the tripod and dumped it into his arms without asking.
‘Ginger beer?’ she asked, collecting the rest of her things together. ‘I’ve got my cycle on the other side of the wood. Be my porters for five minutes, I might even stretch to a bun.’
The five minutes turned out to be more like twenty and carrying all Gloria’s things was hard work. King had been right, it was a scorcher of a day, the sky cloudless, sun white hot and very soon the boys were sweating, tired and thinking longingly of the promised drink. At length they reached the edge of Tarzy Wood and it was with some relief that they stepped out of the sun into cool green shade. Gloria charged on ahead, chattering on over her shoulder whilst the boys took turns carrying the tripod and camera, stumbling over what seemed like every branch, bramble and root in the process.
Very soon Ralf and Leo were lagging behind. Without Gloria next to them the woods seemed too quiet and Ralf thought of Gadd Munton’s warning. He had the sensation of eyes on his back, but when he turned there was nobody there. Leo raised his eyebrows questioningly. Ralf’s neck began to prickle and just as they were stepping out of the trees onto the lane, Ralf realised why.
‘Look!’ he whispered to Leo.
Up ahead where there should, at this time of day, have been a clear line between the wood and Sparra’s Pond, shadows stretched. Instinctively Ralf looked skywards and then right and left to confirm his suspicions. The shadows on the other side of the lane were much smaller. On their left though, where the pond’s still water met the trees, long tendrils of darkness reached out like soot stained fingers. And, even though the day was windless and still, they were moving. Ralf swallowed.
They stood, blinking in consternation, until Gloria called back over her shoulder: ‘Buck up you two!’ They scuttled to join her but she was clearly not conscious of anything strange. She hadn’t noticed the forbidding shadows but Ralf was certain that they must on no account step into them. He and Leo exchanged looks and then, on either side of Gloria, they set a course that gave the shadows a wide berth. As they passed the longest patch of darkness that touched the road, a chill hit them and they watched Gloria frown, shudder and pull her blouse more closely round her throat.
Leo had been right. Something was very wrong here. The feeling was bad enough, but moving shadows in the middle of the day were more than unusual. They were downright unnatural.
Ralf gave a sigh of relief when they emerged from the quiet hedged lane into the gentle bustle of King’s Hadow Station. As she’d promised, Gloria treated the boys to sugared buns and ginger beer at the Station Café and then she rushed off. By unspoken agreement they headed back down the lane to take another look at the shadows but when they got there the birds were singing and everything was normal.
‘We did see them, didn’t we?’ Ralf asked.
‘Yes,’ said Leo gravely. ‘I wish Seth had seen them too.’
Ralf looked up at the sun. ‘Let’s go find him. We’ve still got time to kill before the Arbuckles get back.’
Ralf was surprised when Leo started to laugh. ‘What?’
‘Time? Time to kill?’ Leo chuckled. ‘Good one.’
Keen to find Seth they hurried back to the High Street, ignoring the curious glances directed at Leo.
‘You wouldn’t think they had shadows creeping all over the place and a load of ghosts running around would you?’ said Leo, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Judging by the looks I’m getting, the most unusual thing in King’s Hadow at the moment is me. You’d think I was from Saturn not Southwark.’
Winters’ small cottage was on the banks of the River Dribble, which because of the weather, was dotted with paddlers and bobbing with swimmers all the way from the ford down to the sea. Leo was desperate to join them.
‘I’m boiling!’ he said tetchily. ‘Let’s have a swim. I bet the others’ll turn up here if we wait long enough.’
He was suffering in his big red jumper and Ralf too was feeling sticky and irritable. Ralf was about to strip off when he saw a smallish, rather weedy lad hauling himself on to the side of the bridge above the river.
‘I don’t believe it!’ Ralf groaned. ‘What is this kid’s problem?’
‘What?’
‘It’s the same boy I saved from Highgate Ponds in our time!’ Ralf said through gritted teeth. ‘He must have a death wish or something!’ He was already running.
‘Shouldn’t we be keeping a low profile?’ Leo panted as he caught up with him. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to draw attention to ourselves.’
‘What am I supposed to do – let him drown?’
‘Fair point.’
Luckily the boy was hesitating on the wall and Ralf was able to grab him before he jumped. Luckier still, Leo and a group of four other King’s Hadow boys had followed him on to the bridge. Ralf couldn’t recall their names but they clearly knew him and were eager to help. They all hung on to the kid to stop him trying to throw himself off a second time.
Ralf was employing his previous strategy of holding the boy’s arm behind his back when –
‘Don’t be an ass, Ralf,’ said a familiar voice. ‘We’re doing something here.’
Ralf groaned as he manoeuvred himself and the small boy to face King who, it turned out, had been the one who’d
dared him to jump in the first place. A beefy Tank Tatchell, stained and sweaty, stood grinning like a loon at his shoulder. Ralf groaned again. He’d been right. Tank was Gormless George. Gormless George was Tank. Great.
‘Doing what?’ Ralf asked, keeping a firm hold of the boy who kept trying to squirm from his grasp. ‘Trying to kill him?’ The moment the words were out of his mouth, Ralf knew they were a mistake. You didn’t embarrass King in front of his friends. He wouldn’t back down now.
King’s face flushed. ‘Let him go, Ralf.’
Ralf deliberately softened his tone. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous?’
‘Don’t be such a killjoy. Will’s just been telling me he’s done it hundreds of times.’
That was it. Ralf suddenly remembered the boy’s name was William and he lived in the village. Ralf gave the startled looking boy a stern look but let go of his arm and stepped forward. ‘He’s lying, King.
‘Rubbish! You’re fine, aren’t you?’ King said, clapping an arm round Will’s shoulders.
‘He’s just trying to impress you, Julian. Can’t you see that?’
‘You’re just upset because he’s not trying to impress you!’ King’s cheeks flushed a shade pinker. He pushed Will to one side and squared up to Ralf. ‘Why are you being such a ruddy ass?’
‘It’s not about me, you idiot!’ Ralf shouted. ‘It’s about him. He’ll drown!’
Ralf was as sure of this now as he had been the first time at the ponds on Hampstead Heath. He was determined to stop him and the whole thing might have ended in fists there and then if Will’s sister hadn’t turned up, boxed him smartly round the ear and dragged him home.
‘You know you can’t swim, you little fool!’ she shrieked, cuffing him again. ‘You wait ‘till Mother hears, Will Tomkins. She’ll skin you alive!’
It was only when Will’s squalling had faded that Ralf realised how much trouble he was in. Tank looked like he might be up for a fight but it was King he was really worried about. ‘They only moved in a week ago,’ the tall boy said softly. ‘How did you know?’ Ralf swallowed. He tried to fob King off with a weak story about having seen Will in the water earlier, but he could tell King didn’t believe him. When he looked round at King’s cronies he realised why alarm bells were ringing. The emotion he could see on all their faces was a simple one – fear.
The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue Page 11