by Bill Kitson
It was pitch black by now; what little light there had been was gone. I don’t suppose the walls of the quarry helped much either. I peered around me, though quite what I expected to see, I’ve no idea. The pain increased but I was rewarded with the sight of a glimmer of pale yellow light a few yards away. I realized it was coming from my torch which had also survived the fall; probably better than I had. As I looked, the gleam of light from the torch became two; then three; then a whole kaleidoscope of amber reflections. I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear my vision. Mistake! Big mistake! Very, very big mistake! I waited for the pain to subside. If it did, I wasn’t aware of it.
I opened my eyes again and looked cautiously towards the light. I was relieved to see only a single beam. Obviously, shaking my head had cured the problem. I still wouldn’t recommend it. I moved again, this time trying to remove the harness from round my chest whilst keeping my head still. I’m a fast learner. It proved difficult and I had to pause to allow another surge of pain to pass. Its passage was dreadfully slow. I waded slowly towards my torch which was buried in about two feet of snow. Each step was an effort. I reached the torch, bent down, and plunged my hand into the drift to retrieve it. That was a double mistake. My trouser legs were already soaked by melted snow. Now I had collected more snow up the sleeve of my jacket, inside my shirt sleeve and clinging to my hand and wrist. That would soon melt and my arm too would be cold and wet. At the time I didn’t appreciate the stupidity of what I’d done. I was busy trying to ignore the fresh pain in my head from bending over. I held the torch. Then I was holding two torches; then three. Then I blacked out again. I came to almost immediately. I was lying where I’d fallen and in falling I’d collected more snow that was already melting on me. As I moved I became aware that my foot was entangled in something. I groped around and my hand came in contact with the obstruction. It was the rope. I picked it up and held the torch to it. I worked a couple of feet along the rope until I reached the end of it. I’d been feeling pretty lousy already. The sight of the rope end made me feel ten times worse. The rope hadn’t frayed or the knot untied. The end of the rope had been severed; cut straight and clean through with a knife.
My thoughts were chaotic. It didn’t help much that I wasn’t in the best shape for logical thinking in the first place. I took a deep breath. What could have happened? Well I knew what had happened, but how did it happen? Tony said he was leaving Marsh at the top of the cliff. Then the rope had been thrown down to me. I’d called out that I was going to climb up. I remembered being surprised there had been no reply. I was unwilling to believe that Frank Marsh was the killer, the idea seemed ludicrous. I went cold, or rather I went colder. I felt a sharp pang of fear for Marsh’s safety.
Strangely, the knowledge that someone had attempted to kill me cleared my head; if only temporarily. I began to reason, for I knew my plight was still desperate. I might have survived the fall more or less intact, but I was trapped in a snowbound quarry in darkness. I was cold, wet, and aching and I had absolutely no idea how to escape from the hole I was in.
I glanced at my watch. 5.05 p.m. I wondered how Charlie had survived the pain of the journey back to the castle. I wondered again about what had happened to Marsh. I wondered who had cut the rope and tried to kill me. Most of all I wondered how the hell I was going to get out of that blasted quarry. It took a few moments, but eventually reason penetrated my poor aching skull and I began to think about the quarry. A quarry is a place where stone is dug out, I thought. Well, to be accurate, stone and aggregate. Once these products have been dug out they have to be transported from the quarry. Therefore the quarry had to have an exit road. I congratulated myself on the brilliance of my deduction. The only problem that remained was how to find the bloody road.
Whether or not it was from the effort of thinking but my vision went again. This time I didn’t pass out but I felt an unpleasant nausea; like a severe case of seasickness. I waited for it to pass. It took its time. When I began to feel marginally better I tried thinking again. The dilemma facing me was that I had to move. I was feeling colder and wetter with every passing minute. If I didn’t get some warmth soon I would be adding hypothermia to the suspected concussion I was already suffering. However, there was little point in moving for movement’s sake. I needed to walk towards the exit road not away from it and how was I to find out where it was in the dark?
When Tony and I had left the castle we had walked directly towards the setting sun: due west in other words. That meant the quarry face, down which I’d fallen, was the northern rim of the quarry. I was standing in front of that face, so I was facing more or less due south. The main road ran to the south of the castle, therefore it ran to the south of the quarry. If the operators of the quarry had been logical businessmen they would have put the track leading from the quarry on the side nearest the main road. Oh great, I thought, if my reasoning was correct that meant I had to wade the full width of the quarry, in the dark, encountering God knows what obstacles and all of them obscured by the snow.
As if the thought had prompted it, bad had just become worse: the falling snow was getting heavier. I shelved the thought that I might have got my thinking wrong, that the road might be on the east or the west of the quarry. Why think that? I didn’t need depressing. I was depressed enough already. It took almost an hour to find that road, an hour of wading, slipping, falling, getting colder, getting wetter, getting angrier, cursing, swearing, and threatening vengeance. My journey wasn’t made any easier by the load I was carrying. The rope was evidence; evidence that might be needed in a court of law. Alternatively, I could use it to hang the bastard who’d tried to kill me; who might still succeed if I couldn’t get out of that place soon.
I paused for breath before tackling the exit road; but not for long. Although the exercise had warmed me slightly I knew I was beginning to lose sensation in the extremities of my fingers and toes. I thought about frostbite. I remembered with horror some of the cases I’d seen; gangrenous and evil-smelling obscenities that had once been healthy feet and legs. I tried to summon up amnesia on that subject. It didn’t work. I needed to get up this track and across to the cliff top before I could consider returning to the castle. I wondered whether the castle’s inhabitants had raised the alarm yet. Surely they would be aware I’d been missing far too long. Then I remembered Charlie’s injuries. If my blood didn’t run cold at the thought, it was because it was already cold enough. They would be preoccupied with Charlie and caring for him. Even if they’d noticed I was missing, who was there to come to my rescue?
The thought of the cliff top reminded me of Frank. I set off to battle my way up the track. Snow had drifted across it and the going was hard in some places; close to impossible in others. Eventually, I reached a point where the road that had been a cutting levelled out and I emerged onto flat land. I had escaped the quarry. I had surmounted the track. I was warmer from the exercise. I had completed half my journey. Or, to look at it from another point of view, I still had to make my way round the rim of the quarry from the south to the north side, to the cliff top, then I had to find out what had happened to Frank, then I had to get to the castle. I was wet, I was tired, I was feeling sick, and the headache was bad again. Oh, and the snow was falling heavier still.
I was lucky in choosing the first part of my route, for there was a large, flat expanse I later discovered was a patch devoted to grassland. That made walking somewhat easier. On the downside, I was now walking directly into the snowstorm. A phrase of the weather forecasters came to mind: ‘drifting in a north-easterly wind.’ The snow was being blown into my face. That raised the prospect of drifting.
I battled on and eventually reached a hedge. I looked at my watch and saw with surprise that it was 7.30 p.m.; to me it felt more like midnight. The hedge was a thorn one. It presented me with an interesting and different challenge – although those weren’t the words I used at the time. I struggled through and emerged on the other side. The scratches it inflicted on
every exposed part of me were a distraction from the pounding headache, sore chest, aching ribs, sore shins, sore knees, and sore temper. Not a welcome distraction; just a distraction.
The field beyond the hedge had been ploughed but not sown. That meant it was rutted, ruts I had to cross rather than walk along. More fun. I got across the field after countless more falls and prepared to do battle with another thorn hedge. It proved tougher than the first. I wondered if hedge number one had warned his colleague to be on the lookout for an attacker on the prowl. Then I realized I was becoming delirious; to imagine a conversation between intelligent hedges. I shook my head to clear it. Who said I was a fast learner? Tell him he’s a liar.
I stood on the other side and regained my breath; if not my composure. I was muddy, bloody and angry. I was also wet and tired and aching from head to toe. I looked at my watch again. It was 8.15 p.m. I’d be late for dinner again, I thought, and began to giggle. I sobered up at the sound. This wouldn’t do. Hysteria added to delirium added to concussion. I really wasn’t feeling very well.
My sense of direction appeared to have deserted me. This didn’t really surprise me as all the other senses seemed to have vanished along with it. After a few moments the snow slackened briefly and I was able to make out a darker line that I thought was in the general area of where I wanted to be. I hoped and prayed it had been in my eyesight rather than my imagination. I set off towards it, banishing the thought of falling over the cliff in the dark. Not again, I thought; once a day’s quite enough.
I found the cliff edge. Then I found the oak tree. Then I found Frank Marsh. He was lying alongside the tree partially buried by the snow. I shook him gently and he groaned. That was one plus point. At least he was alive. I shone the torch on him. He was lying face down. At the base of his skull was an ugly looking egg-shaped lump. No wonder he hadn’t replied when I called him.
I turned him gently on his side into the recovery position. His eyes rolled up alarmingly in their sockets; then returned to a more normal position and I could see he was regaining consciousness. ‘Marsh,’ I said loudly. ‘Frank, come on, wake up.’
He stirred and groaned once more. ‘Don’t try to talk yet,’ I told him, although I didn’t think he was about to. After I’d iced his wound with snow I helped him to his feet. The brief respite seemed to have alleviated my own problems slightly, which was as well as I knew I’d need what little strength I had left to help get Marsh back to the castle.
We reached our destination just in time to prevent a full blown row. Eve and Cathy Marsh were the protagonists on one side; ranged against them the other adults, apart from Tony, Harriet, and Charlotte, who were presumably tending Charlie.
I helped Frank along the corridor and opened the kitchen door, the room was empty. We staggered through and I opened the door into the dining hall. The bright light hit my eyeballs with searing force. I stood there supporting Marsh, both of us in a dreadful state. We must have made an impressive sight. Eve was the first to react. ‘Adam, are you injured, what happened?’
I smiled weakly. I couldn’t manage anything stronger. I helped Frank into a nearby chair. ‘Sammy,’ I called the youngster. I waited until she came over to me. ‘Do me a favour, love. Run upstairs and ask your mum and dad and gran to come down, please.’
Cathy Marsh was fussing over her husband. ‘He’s had a nasty bang on the back of his head,’ I told her, ‘he needs to be put to bed. Watch out for concussion.’
I leaned against the back of a chair. It was all right me advising other people about concussion, but my own headache was back to full power. I felt nauseous and the room was flickering as if in an old movie. ‘Evie,’ I murmured. ‘Help me off with this, will you?’
I pointed to the rope. As she was uncoiling it I said, ‘Lay it down on the table, please.’
I was aware, in a detached sort of way that the others were eyeing me curiously. I didn’t care. Tony and Harriet arrived, followed an instant later by Charlotte and Sammy.
‘Adam, what happened, where have you been until now?’ Tony asked.
‘I’ve been very busy,’ I told him, ‘and I’ve got news for you. Not just you, Tony,’ – I was beginning to feel light-headed – ‘but for everyone; all except for one, that is.’
I paused and waited. Everyone waited. I’m not sure what they thought I was going to do or say. I was aware that I must look a strange sight to them, soaked through, scratched, bloody, and mud-bespattered; looking as if I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Well that was wrong, I’d gone through forwards. What had I been about to say? Something important. I remembered. ‘How’s Charlie?’ I enquired.
‘I put his leg in a splint as a precaution. I’m not sure if it’s broken, it could just be badly sprained.’ It was Charlotte who replied. ‘He’s resting now. He seemed very concerned about you, said you had something to tell us.’
‘Yes I do. What was it though?’
I could feel Eve’s arm around my waist, supporting me. I needed it. My brain cleared momentarily. ‘I said I had something to tell you. I said someone in this room already knows what I’m about to say. The person who murdered Beaumont on Christmas Eve had a day off yesterday, but they’ve been extra busy today. Two attempted murders and a serious assault. I’d say that was a pretty fair afternoon’s work.’
‘Adam, what on earth are you babbling on about?’ It was Polly Jardine who interrupted.
‘Ah Polly, pretty Polly,’ I chided her, ‘don’t you know? I hope you don’t. I’ll tell you, shall I? I mean whoever murdered Beaumont also pushed Charlie off the edge of the cliff into the quarry. That was attempted murder number one. Charlie told me about it whilst we were stuck together on that ledge. No, I don’t mean we were stuck together,’ I giggled, ‘I mean we were on the ledge together. Not content with that, our murderous friend bashed poor Frank over the head and knocked him unconscious. I don’t think that counts as attempted murder really, though; only assault. Then he or she sliced through the rope as I was climbing up the quarry side and sent me falling to what they hoped would be my death. That was attempted murder number two. But I foiled them; ha ha. Fortunately, I hadn’t climbed very far when the rope was cut. They couldn’t have counted on that, or on me landing in a snowdrift that broke my fall. Or on me spotting that the rope hadn’t given way,’ – I held up the end of the rope and the clean cut was visible to everyone. Everyone bar me that is, for the lights in the chandeliers were beginning to multiply and merge, merge and multiply and multiply and multiply …
I felt my knees buckle; then the lights went out.
I’m not sure what the time was when I passed out. The next few hours are only a hazy recollection of vaguely witnessed events. I came to some form of consciousness to find I was in bed. My first sensation was one of hearing. I listened; unwilling to try anything more active. I tried to identify the sound I could hear dimly. The noise was a gentle one and after a few seconds I was able to identify it. I knew there was someone nearby, someone extremely close. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to hear the sound of their breathing.
Having established that, my curiosity was stirred. I was faced with a choice. I could either ask who was there or open my eyes and look. My head ached and the whole of my body felt sore but in spite of this I decided to risk it.
I opened my eyes. Ouch! I closed them again briefly, then tried once more. The second time the pain was marginally less intense. I waited; the room was in semi-darkness, the sole light coming from a lamp that was outside my field of vision. I was in my bedroom at Mulgrave Castle; that I could tell. I was pleased, not only did I know who I was; I also knew where I was. These were giant steps forward on the road to recovery. Recovery from what I couldn’t remember until I moved slightly and the levels of pain jolted my memory. I listened once more. The sound seemed to be coming from my left. I gathered up courage and moved my head slowly. I did slowly very well. Although I was alone beneath the duvet I wasn’t the only occupant of the bed. My companion was lyin
g asleep and fully clothed on top of the duvet. I felt a vague disappointment.
I wasn’t sure whether my next action was brave or rash. I turned over slowly to face my companion. The movement, slight and painfully slow as it had been, was sufficient to wake her.
‘Hello, back in the land of the living?’ She smiled.
‘Hello,’ I said wittily. My voice sounded strange, more of a croak than speech.
I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘What happened; how did I get here?’
‘You fainted, and no wonder after what you’d been through. You were unconscious until the early hours of the morning then you woke up briefly, before falling asleep.’
I felt the vague stirrings of a memory. ‘What happened when I woke up?’
She smiled secretively. ‘You don’t remember?’
‘Not really, no. I don’t remember much to be honest. I don’t even know how I got upstairs, who undressed me, anything like that.’
‘Four of us carried you upstairs. You were soaked to the skin and freezing cold. I had to get you out of those wet clothes and towelled dry. I was petrified you’d get pneumonia or hypothermia. You’re heavier than you look, especially when you’re unconscious.’
I suppose I should have been embarrassed but it seemed unimportant. ‘Thank you, that was devotion beyond the call of duty. I suppose you’ve been lying on top of the duvet guarding me all night?’
‘Er, no, not all night,’ she admitted. She blushed slightly. ‘I packed you round with hot water bottles but they weren’t doing the trick. You were shivering violently with cold. I was terribly worried. Your temperature seemed to be going down and your pulse rate was very sluggish.’
‘So you took your clothes off, got into bed, and held me until I warmed through?’ I suggested.
The blush deepened. ‘I had to, I couldn’t think of anything else,’ she said defensively. ‘You seemed to be unconscious. I didn’t think you’d remember.’