Then at last I heard a noise in the room next door and Angus’s voice saying, “We’re just moving a wardrobe, there’s a door behind it. Don’t worry, everything is going to be all right.” He muttered the words through his teeth as though holding something in his mouth.
Then I whispered again, “What about Phantom?”
“He’s all right. He’s all right till morning anyway,” whispered Angus. “Move your wardrobe, will you? There’s a papered-over door on the other side of it.”
I struggled and pulled and slowly edged the wardrobe away from the wall, revealing the outline of a door. The paper started to wobble and then to tear as a screwdriver poked through it.
A second later Angus and Hans appeared, smiling.
“So?” exclaimed Hans.
“What’s the time?” I asked.
“Nearly midnight. We go to the kitchen now,” said Hans. “Hurry or we will miss the news. Your little horse is all right, Jean, I promise. Do not worry, and stop shivering.”
The floorboards creaked.
“We’ll go down the back stairs. Follow me,” said Hans.
The kitchen was old-fashioned, with an Aga and a Welsh dresser, a great stone sink and wooden plate racks, and a scullery next door.
“These are my friends, Janet,” said Hans. “Angus and Jean. They know everything, but Jean is starving.”
Janet held out a small plump hand. She had hazel eyes and was wearing an apron over a brown skirt and blouse.
“Don’t make a noise, or you will be waking the baby,” she said, taking my hand. “Sit yourself down.”
“It’s good of you to have us here,” I said, while Hans fiddled with a radio and Angus paced the kitchen like a horse waiting for a race.
The radio came on.
“I feel like someone in a war,” said Angus.
“Yes, but this time we’re on the same side,” replied Hans.
“What about the light? Won’t Mr Carli be suspicious?” I asked.
“Och aye, he’ll think it’s the baby waking,” replied Janet, “and I am glad to have you. It is awful lonely here on my own. I would leave tomorrow if I had somewhere to go. I’ll be getting you something to eat while you’re listening, Jean. It is a terrible business – all those puir horses. It’s time Mr Carli was found out. I’m thinking …”
“Shhh. Shut up,” said Angus. “Listen!” He sat down at the table with us.
The radio was old and crackly. It must have been in the kitchen for years and because of that no one had thought of gagging it. It was like the dresser and the sink – part of the furniture – and because of that no one had noticed it.
The announcer was talking about the horses. He said there were no new leads, that the police were still looking for a green horse box, and for a tall, swarthy man. He said that the police were particularly interested in tracing the grey horse called Milestone and anyone seeing strange horses in their vicinity should get in touch with the police at once. He said that an international gang was involved and that the horses might now be in Europe. I think we were all shaking with excitement when he eventually stopped talking about the kidnap.
“It really is unbelievable,” I gasped. “And they think they’re in Europe.”
“The Australians are not paying; they make no mention of paying,” said Hans.
“Och aye, they’ll never pay,” said Janet.
“Why are you here, Hans? Why did you come?” asked Angus, switching off the radio.
Hans rubbed his nose and looked at us.
“You can trust us,” I said, and I knew suddenly that he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
“To settle old scores,” he said.
“What old scores, Hans?” I asked.
“I think Carli killed my father.”
I said nothing for a moment, because it seemed too awful to think about.
“How?” asked Angus.
“By accident. They were on a building site. Carli was on the crane. He let it fall – a load of bricks …” replied Hans.
“But why?” I asked.
“Because my father knew too much. He knew about the protection racket. He was going to the police. After that Mr Carli vanished.”
“You’re not a secret agent, are you?” asked Angus, sounding impressed.
“No. I am too young.”
“What about the other people here?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t trust any of them, not completely. They may have secrets too,” said Hans. “Mr Carli has been here for two years. He has been keeping quiet. He was called something else before. He has had several names. Maybe this kidnap is his last big scoop …”
“You mean ‘was’. We are going to save the horses,” said Angus. “He’s not getting away with it this time.”
“He is very clever. Someone sent me his photo; it appeared in a paper here advertising this school. I knew his face; the scar gave him away.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?” Angus asked.
“Because nothing was proved. It looked like an accident. I am the only one who remembers, and my mother. We knew it was not an accident. I think he is running out of money. The school has not been the big success he hoped, so now the kidnapping – the holding to ransom. It is all very clever, yes? Who would think of the horses here. Who but you two who came by chance and know horses? And me who is on his tail?”
“You speak good English,” I said.
“I have studied it for a long time. But now we must save you and your horse, Jean. It is our first task,” said Hans.
“Supposing one of us pretended to have appendicitis? Angus could. They would have to send him to the mainland,” I suggested.
“I think he would not be sent,” said Janet simply.
“What’s on the other side of the island? Hang on, I’ve got a map. I found it in the office when the door was open. It’s just a photocopied piece, but it’s enough,” said Angus, searching his pockets.
I leaned over his shoulder. “There must be another side to an island,” I suggested.
“Brilliant,” said Angus.
“It’s eight miles to the other side and then there is Tuath – that will be nearly a mile across the sound,” Janet told us.
“Is it inhabited?” asked Angus.
“Och aye.”
“Are there telephones?”
“Aye, of course.”
“Jean can go,” said Hans.
“What, eight miles and then swim a mile? I can’t. I tell you, I can’t do it,” I said.
“But Phantom can. You can ride him, and he can swim. It is possible,” said Hans.
“You swim better than I do,” Angus argued. “Look, there are little islands in between where you can stop and rest. And we must stay and guard the horses.”
“And sabotage the planes,” said Hans.
“When do I go?” I asked.
“At low tide,” answered Hans. “There’s a chart of tides by the boathouse.”
“It is a long way over the hills,” said Janet. “Right over the top and awful steep on the other side.”
“And then rocks?” I asked.
“There’s a sandy bay,” she said. “White sand, you canna miss it. I played there as a child. White sands and seals with their pups.”
“It sounds like heaven,” said Angus.
“You had better keep the map, Jean,” said Hans, putting it into my hand. “We won’t be going far.”
Looking at him I suddenly saw how tense he was. Janet was making us cocoa.
“Here ye are,” she said, handing us each a mug. “You must be keeping up your energy.”
We drank our cocoa in silence. I was seeing the white sand, the seals and the swim which lay ahead, while Hans turned a signet ring round and round on the third finger of his right hand, and Angus gnawed at his nails.
“Now we’d better go back to bed,” Angus said, “and try to sleep.”
We took our mugs to the sink.
“No one suspects me. I will go to the boathouse in the morning and look at the charts,” said Hans.
“Now we’ll put the wardrobes back – and then shall we meet after lunch tomorrow?” asked Angus. “Take the number Dad gave us, Jean.”
“Yes. I think,” I said slowly, “I’ll go after lunch. Unless something else crops up. If Phantom is in danger I shan’t wait. Thank you for everything, Janet.”
We crept back to our rooms. I went back through the door behind the wardrobe, and pushed it back to hide the damaged wall. I climbed into bed and was suddenly homesick. I longed for our cottage, for the small windows, for the orchard, for the safety of being at home, for the beech woods and the long, straight track to Dominic’s farm, even the sound of the commuter traffic starting up in the morning . Suddenly the silence in my room seemed to dominate everything. I put out the light and slowly dawn came, with the cheerful chatter of birds. I must have slept then, for I was woken by the sound of giggling outside.
A voice squeaked, “You’ve overslept. Breakfast is almost over. I thought you would like to know.” More giggling came from outside the passage.
“Thank you,” I shouted. “What’s the time?”
“Nine o’clock, time for lessons. Quick! Run! Miss Pitcher’s coming.”
Suddenly I wished I was their age, just eight or nine, with no real worries. I tried my door. It was not locked any more.
Then I remembered Phantom. I pulled back the curtains. Mist lay over the bay, thicker than muslin. I pulled on jeans and a tee shirt and rushed downstairs.
Hans was standing by the window. “It is misty, is it not?” he asked.
Suddenly the night before seemed like a dream. “Is everything the same?” I asked.
“Yes, nothing is changed.”
I helped myself to a boiled egg.
“You are late. Lessons have started. The big man will be angry,” said Hans.
“I’m scared. I wish I was going now,” I muttered. The thought of what lay ahead hung over me, heavy as a storm about to break.
“You will be all right. We will win. But you must eat,” said Hans.
“Where’s Angus?”
“Learning his maths.”
“I’ll go before lunch,” I muttered. “Tell them I went riding. They can think I’m lost. It will be better that way.” I forced a scone into my mouth, not tasting it.
“What about Angus?” asked Hans.
“Tell him I couldn’t wait, okay?”
Hans looked straight at me as though his eyes could give me courage.
“All right, and the best of British luck,” he said.
I changed into jodhpurs and found Caroline waiting for me in the square.
“Would you like to jump? I’ve put up some new fences,” she said.
“Great,” I said, running down my stirrups.
Were her hands shaking while she helped me? Or did I imagine it? I thought I read anxiety on her face, and that her voice was strained.
“Right. We’ll start with the cavaletti,” she said. The mist had vanished. The sea was calm and blue-green. Phantom jumped beautifully. Caroline corrected my leg position, told me to measure my strides as I approached each fence and talked about ground lines. I tried to concentrate, but all the time I was imagining Tuath, seeing myself on the other side of the sound, riding for help.
“Right, once more. Off you go,” Caroline called. The course was about three feet high. There were only five fences. Phantom flew over them as though they weren’t there; as though they were nothing.
“He can certainly jump,” said Caroline. “What would you like to do next?”
“Can we have a little hack? Just to cool Phantom down,” I suggested.
“If you promise to be good.”
I nodded, suddenly unable to speak.
“Don’t go far,” she continued, looking at her watch. “Be back by twelve-thirty.”
“All right. Thank you, thank you very much,” I said, turning Phantom, wondering whether I would ever see her again.
“Remember to walk the last bit home,” she said.
“Sure,” I shouted. “I won’t forget.”
8
I had left the map behind but I had in my hat the special telephone number we can always use if we are in trouble. I knew the way was straight over the hills, up and then down to the sea. It seemed simple enough. Phantom walked with a long, swinging stride, while I suddenly felt courageous, like someone in a war crossing the enemy lines. I even sang a little and thought of my parents in the Middle East. There should be troubles out there, I thought, but instead it’s Angus and me who are having the adventures.
I imagined telling Dominic all about it when I was home again. I saw him leaning on a fork, a little bovine like his cows, listening. I’m living, I thought, and I’m going to save the horses and let the Australians see there are still people of courage in Britain. I sang pop songs and songs from shows.
The sun was hot on my back, Phantom was sweating and the path was still uphill. I turned in my saddle and I could see the bay far below, so I knew I was still on the wrong side of the island. The path was very steep, and suddenly I felt vulnerable and was glad that Phantom was not grey but that he blended so well with the yellowing bracken. Birds wheeled over us, dipped and were lost above the sea. If Mr Carli looks through binoculars he can see me quite clearly, I thought. But why should he look through binoculars? I started to whistle. Sheep moved out of our way, panting in their thick coats. Two goats peered at us from behind a boulder. The path still wound up and up, and the bay was still behind us, empty and clear, far, far, below. When we are at the top we’ll see the other side and Tuath, I thought. I shall start singing again then, and there will be only the downward path ahead, and then the swim … We crossed some peaty ground. Phantom stopped to drink, sucking the dark water from the wet grass as though it were wine.
“Nearly there,” I said, “just a few more strides and we’ll be looking down on Tuath.”
I dismounted and squelched through the peat, until the top of the hill became a plateau and beyond lay another hill. I sat on a rock and rested.
“It doesn’t matter. We’ve still got plenty of time,” I told Phantom. “Not to worry.”
Brave words, because inside I was beginning to quake and there was a funny feeling down my spine. A small voice was asking, ‘Supposing you never reach the other side? What then?’
I shook myself and Phantom shook himself too. Then I mounted and rode on.
We crossed the plateau and started to walk downhill. Flies swarmed above our heads. The path was steep so I led Phantom, and my hair stuck to my head with sweat while I wondered what the time was, how long we had been travelling, how much time there was left?
Phantom slipped and slid, his nylon girth was sticky with sweat, his sides dark with it. We reached the bottom and started to climb again, wading through bracken which seemed as endless as a prairie.
“Not far now,” I told him. “We’ll get cool in the sea. Not to worry.”
Flies bit us both, deer fled from us, leaving a path through the bracken. I should have waited, I thought, found out the tides and the time. I should have brought food, a knife, money. I cursed myself for being impulsive. I wished I could tell the time by the sun. I looked back. I couldn’t see the bay any more, nothing but bracken and peat, and grey, brown and green hills. Suppose we are walking in a circle, I thought. Suppose we find ourselves back by the house with Mr Carli waiting for us. Suppose we fail.
It was then that I heard an aeroplane droning overhead. Mr Carli, my mind screamed. Mr Carli and George, armed to the teeth. I saw a hollow, dived for it, dragging a reluctant Phantom, who had decided I was mad and was not co-operating any more. There were rowan trees in the hollow, rocks, even a sort of cave with bracken growing everywhere. I pulled Phantom towards the cave and cursed him when he would not move.
I stood beneath the rocks and waited. I wondered if Mr Carli had binoculars. Could he take aerial photograp
hs as they did in wars and enlarge them afterwards? My brain ran riot. I imagined Angus and Hans locked in a room, one of the Australian horses being shot. The headlines in the papers. A hoof sent to the Australians to prove that their horse was really dead; a piece of ear – wasn’t that more likely? But the aeroplane had gone now. I pulled Phantom after me and started to climb again. Now I hated the hills. I longed for home as one longs for water when one is thirsty, and for the cool beechwoods so sombre and peaceful; for the dreaming trees, the tracks thick with rustling leaves in autumn, thicker than the thickest carpet; for the telephone and the motorists passing along the road, for the feeling that help was always near and that I was not alone.
We reached the summit of the hill, and there was still another hill. I sat down and looked at it while Phantom nudged my back and the flies swarmed around his head. When I am home I will never complain again, I thought. I shall be so happy, so relieved, it will be like a dream come true.
“But we’ve got to go on,” I told Phantom. “There is no other way.”
It is supposed to be eight miles, I thought, to the other side. But eight miles up and down these hills is like fifty on the flat. How will we ever make the other side? Phantom was dragging now. He had lost faith in me, convinced we were lost. He was right of course. Horses usually are. They have a way of knowing when you are scared or lost. He looked at me with his dark eyes and refused to budge. ‘I want to go back,’ he said, as plainly as though he were speaking.
“Walk on,” I commanded, and hit him with the reins, ignoring the hurt look in his eyes.
We came to a burn and drank. The sun had moved, even I could see that – I who had never taken an interest in such things before. We came to a waterfall, alone and unadmired, and then to the ruins of old cottages which suddenly gave me hope. Then our sheep path widened and became a track. Phantom pricked his ears and hope came back into his eyes. Now the smell was different and we could feel salt in the air. The sky was decorated with seagulls like birds on wallpaper. I did not dare to hope.
Phantom Horse 5: Phantom Horse – Island Mystery Page 6