‘So where’s that recalcitrant sister of yours, Eddie m’boy?’ he blithely enquired. ‘Did you not tell her that I'd a fancy to have her sit by me at table today?’
‘Course I did, Mr Mulligan.’ Eddie always addressed him in a proper fashion, never risked using Dexter’s given name as he hadn’t been given permission to do so. ‘I made your instructions very plain.’
‘You can’t have much control over this household, Eddie boy, if you allow a young girl to flout your wishes quite so blatantly. Women should be trained with a firm hand, I’ve always found. Don’t you agree, boys?’ Sniggers and murmurs of agreement all round. Gertie shrank further back into the corner, almost disappearing behind a Victorian scrap screen.
Eddie scowled at her, beckoning her forward with an impatient flap of his hand. ‘At least we have Gertie here to entertain you, eh? Would you like another little break perhaps?’ Eddie desperately wanted one. All he needed was five minutes alone with the deck of cards that Mulligan held so firmly in his well-manicured hands.
Dexter Mulligan’s gaze slid over Gertie’s ample figure with undisguised distaste. ‘I don’t think so.’ Gertie reached for a bottle of gin with an evident sigh of relief. ‘Pity about your sister though. She’s a pretty little thing, your Rose. Pretty as her name. Ripe for the plucking, though just a touch prickly, eh?’ He chuckled softly. ‘Are you going to stick or what?’
Eddie was staring at the jack, queen and king in his hand, pretending to shrug off his concerns as he desperately struggled to remember what cards had previously been thrown down, wondering if there was any hope of his getting a full house, if he dare risk slipping the ace from his sleeve. And then for no reason Eddie could think of, Mulligan’s tone subtly changed and he leaned forward in his seat. ‘Aren’t you concerned that something might have happened to her? She might have had an accident.’
For a moment Eddie’s mind went a complete blank as he struggled to push aside his own fears about how he could possibly hope to settle these latest losses and save his own skin, when it suddenly occurred to him that this could be the answer. If Rose had indeed suffered an accident, he might well be able to use it to his advantage. To buy more time, if nothing else. Turning to Gertie, he barked at her to run down to the village shop and see what the hell was keeping her. ‘If she’s gossiping with that Mrs Whatever-she’s-called, tell her I’ll have her guts for garters.
When Gertie had gone, Dexter Mulligan sank back in his seat with a contented sigh. ‘I await her arrival with eager anticipation. In the meantime, let’s do a bit of business. What’ve you got fer me this time? Something tasty, I hope.’
‘There’s not much left, to be honest,’ Eddie said, a careful note of regret in his voice. ‘Not that’s worth anything.’
‘You surely aren’t going to disappoint me?’ Though the words were softly spoken, the tone was menacing and Eddie got hurriedly to his feet.
‘Would I do that Mr Mulligan? No, I was simply explaining that the choice was getting more limited, that’s all. However, I’ve found this nice picture that might be of interest.’ He pulled out a heavy oil painting from behind the screen. It was of a stag on some nondescript Scottish hillside. Dexter Mulligan gazed at it in silence for some seconds.
‘We don’t have much call for Scottish Glens here in Cornwall.
‘Beautiful piece of workmanship. Don’t you think?’
Mulligan glanced at his comrades and apparently they agreed with him for he turned to Eddie and said, ‘I don’t think so Eddie, m’boy. Bit gloomy eh, and we both know you’re getting in over your head at the mo. So, I’ll settle for the rose bowl, shall I, and call it quits. Remind me of your Rose if nothing else.’
Eddie could feel the prickle of sweat on his skin like sharp little needles of ice. ‘N-no, no! The rose bowl would be missed. Been in the family for generations. I'd never get away with that. I'd be sacked. Ruined!’
Mulligan chuckled softly, a dribble of spittle at the corners of his mouth, just as if he was salivating with anticipation at some secret joke. He slapped Eddie on the back, rested a comradely arm about his shoulders that was anything but and whispered into Eddie’s ear. ‘Sacked? Ruined? Well, m’boy, what worse situation can you be in than the one you’re in right now, eh? Besides, Lord-Toffee-Nosed- Clovellan is in Canada, ain’t he? What would he know about it?’
‘He’ll come back when the war’s over, and if all his good stuff is gone, he’ll crucify me.’
Even Syd and Bob seemed to find this amusing and laughed like drains. Mulligan’s expression, however, was deadly serious. ‘They’re laughing because they know you’ve really nothing to lose. I would’ve beaten him to it by then.’
Three things happened next, almost simultaneously. The secreted ace chose that precise moment to fall from out of his shirt cuff and deposit itself face up on the table; Gertie burst into the room announcing that not a soul had seen Rose. But it was as Eddie looked up into Mulligan’s accusing glare that the idea came to him. The perfect solution to get him off the hook.
‘Can we have a bit of a chat about this problem, Mr Mulligan?’
‘I’m all ears, Eddie m’boy All ears.’
‘You’ve upset him good and proper this time.’ Gertie issued this warning with a look of pleased satisfaction on her plump face. There were flecks of egg still at the corners of her mouth, remnants of vegetable peelings still scattered about the kitchen table and a sink full of dirty crockery. Rose concluded that they had eaten pretty much what she had planned for them. Neither had thought to clear away or wash up.
‘Where is he?’
‘With his friends a’course. In the library.’
Rose went to the sink and turned the taps full on. A rush of cold water filled the stone basin. ‘Hasn’t he even fixed the dratted boiler?’ Gertie shrugged her fat shoulders and moved away, as if it were none of her business. Rose flung a tea towel at her. ‘Here, you’re the flippin’ housekeeper, you do it,’ and calling Tizz to heel, marched off.
Her rebellion was soon squashed, as she’d known that it would be. Eddie found her hiding among the raspberry canes and Rose had never seen him so angry. A white line tightened his upper lip as he berated her for her negligence and lack of consideration. Tizz got up from where she’d been lying in a patch of autumn sunshine and came to stand beside her, leaning protectively against her leg.
Rose quickly apologised, attempting to explain about the accident, the broken bike, the injured ankle but the unmitigated anger in his eyes seemed to stop the words in her throat. Besides, she would never dare to tell him about the lunch; or the treat of finding two new friends. Eddie would only taunt and ridicule her for bothering with people who’d be gone in a matter of weeks. She needn’t have worried. He wasn’t listening to a word she said.
He bluntly instructed her to go and clean up the kitchen at once, and then to scrub the floor. Rose hastened to comply, deciding that it would be worth cleaning twenty kitchens for the pleasure of those two precious hours spent in the company of her new friends. She thought Eddie would be content to leave it at that, but, as he turned to go, he issued one further instruction.
‘My associates are still here. In the library. See that you bring a good bottle of whisky with the tea.’
Rose bridled. ‘Whisky? I’ll bring the tea, and even a few biscuits, but I’m taking nothing from the wine cellar. That’s stealing. If you want whisky, you can fetch it yourself.’
He was beside her in seconds, grabbed her arm and actually shook her. ‘You’ll fetch the bleeding whisky and afterwards you’ll go upstairs with Mr Mulligan. It’s all arranged. And don’t bloody argue because you’re lucky he didn’t finish me off there and then. I owes him a bit o’ money and he’s not one to mess with, ain’t Dexter Mulligan. So you be a good girl and sweeten him up for me.’
Rose listened aghast, not quite able to take in the full implication of his words, for all they were clear enough. He’d never actually used physical violence on her, though he gener
ally found other, more appropriate ways of gaining her obedience. But this was one step too far for Rose and she was momentarily shocked into silence.
‘Do you hear me? Are you taking this in?’ Tizz gave a low, warning growl.
Rose stood her ground unflinching, and glared back at her brother in mutinous defiance. It was the years of her adolescence all over again. ‘I’ll no such thing. Send Gertie. She’s your whore, not me. And I’m still not fetching any whisky.’
He lifted his hand as if driven at last to strike her and the dog leapt. Rose let out a scream as man and dog wrestled. Although it was Tizz she feared for, she knew who would win. Eddie reached for a broom, swung it and there was a yelp of pain. He grabbed Tizz by the collar and began to drag her away.
‘Where are you taking her? What are you doing? Oh no, not the cellar. Please, don’t lock her in the cellar. Not again. You know how she hates it in the dark. Put me in the dratted cellar if you must, you great bully, but leave Tizz out of this.’
Struggling to hang onto the writhing, wriggling animal, yet Eddie was able to reach out and grasp her wrist. ‘Yeah, why not. You can keep the bloody dog company. Mebbe then you’ll both learn the value of obedience. And it’ll give you time to appreciate that Dexter Mulligan is the lesser of two evils.’
Tizz did her best to protect Rose but both dog and girl knew their efforts to be futile. Eddie dragged the pair of them along the stone-flagged passages of Clovellan House, down the dark steps to the damp, stinking cellars where once Roundheads had secured their captives. He flung them inside the ice cold cell and slammed shut the solid, iron studded door. ‘Shout all you like. No one can here you in there. Soundproof, these doors, so the torture victims wouldn’t disturb the master of the house.’ He laughed. ‘There’s a bit of candle. Use it wisely, it’s little more an inch or two long. Mebbe by morning you’ll see the wisdom of making Dexter Mulligan a happy man, then he’ll cancel my gambling debt. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’
‘Why should I? It’s not my fault. You were stupid to get involved with him in the first place.’
‘Sanctimonious little madam. Always so bloody prissy and self-righteous. The one everybody loves to cuddle and pet. Stole my inheritance, my heritage, the love of my parents, and now you’ll stand by and see Mulligan’s henchmen make mincemeat of me, would you? I think not. You cool your heels in here for a while, girl. I’ll force obedience out of you, one way or another, see if I don’t.’ The sounds of his laughter echoed back along the empty passage as the ring of his footsteps retreated.
Lou worked hard on the bicycle repairs, spurred on by guilt. A few days later, she suggested they return it and Gracie agreed to go with her so that they could renew their apologies for having caused the damage in the first place, and perhaps make arrangements to meet up with Rose again.
They chose one evening when there was no lecture and slipped out after supper to walk the mile and a half through the wooded estate to the tiny lodge house. A plump woman with shaggy, red dyed hair, dressed in a grubby jumper and skirt, told them she was up at the main house.
‘We could leave the bicycle here, I suppose,’ said Lou doubtfully.
‘No, no, let’s find her,’ Gracie insisted, acting on an instinct that Rose could be in need of a friend or two.
‘You might not find her,’ the woman called after them. ‘It’s a big place.’
‘It is indeed,’ Lou agreed as they walked into the courtyard, ‘and very like the Marie Celeste.’
There wasn’t a soul in sight. Not in the courtyard, the myriad outhouses and pantries, the stables, nor in the vast empty kitchen. They goggled at the rows of gleaming copper saucepans hung about the walls, at the massive oak table which occupied the centre of the room, the huge range which seemed to fill one entire wall and even sported a spit.
‘Golly! You could roast a whole ox on that thing, a pig anyway.’
Lou giggled. ‘I expect they do, every Sunday. Pity we missed it, today being Thursday.’
Only two doors led out of the great kitchen, one back the way they had come, the other presumably being the entrance to the rest of the house. Nervous of being caught where she’d no right to be, Lou crept to this door and peeped through.
‘Hello! Anyone there? Rosieee!’ No reply. She glanced back at Gracie and, encouraged by her nod of agreement, tried again, taking a few steps along the stone passage. ‘Hello!’ Somewhere in the gloom ahead Lou thought she heard a rumble of sound and waited, trying to decide what it was exactly. She jumped when she felt something move beside her, but it was only Gracie and the two girls clung to each other, remaining very still as they listened.
‘Sounds like some sort of machine, in dire need of a drop of oil I should think, judging by all that whining noise its making. Mebbe she’s vaccuuming and can’t hear us.’
‘Could it be a dog?’
‘Surely not. No dog would whine so much, would it?’
‘What should we do?’ Gracie edged along the passage, uncertain, straining to penetrate the gloomy darkness ahead.
‘Happen we should just walk in, bold as brass like. What do you reckon? If we saw Lord Clovellan himself, we could say we’d popped in to have a chat with Rose. Back home in Rochdale, folk burst in without even knocking, at all hours of the day and night.’
‘Sadly, Lou, this isn’t anything like Rochdale. They might think we were trespassing, or trying to steal the family silver.’
‘Nay! Why would they think that?’ But Lou considered the point with all seriousness and finally conceded Gracie was probably right. She was disappointed all the same, having been looking forward to seeing Rose again, and she somehow felt the need to know that the girl was all right. ‘I just thought...’ Lou began, then became aware of a strange musty odour which she hadn’t noticed before. It brought her up short, causing a cold, chill prickle of fear to creep down her spine. Then she felt the faintest touch upon her neck. ‘What was that? Did you feel something?’
‘No, could be a ghost.’
Lou started, ‘Oh don’t even suggest such a thing.’ Another sound, higher pitched this time, like an eery cry, followed by a noise like a door banging. ‘Eeh heck, happen you’re right. I don’t like this place. Too quiet by half. I’m off.’
So saying she turned tail and ran, Gracie at her heel, chuckling softly, though what she could find so amusing about all of this, Lou failed to imagine. Even her own rather droll sense of humour had quite deserted her. She felt chilled to the bone with the creepiness of the place. Nothing would persuade her ever to go near it again. Rose would have to come to them. They scampered back through the kitchen, the pantries and larders, and out into the courtyard where Lou let out a great sigh of relief.
‘By heck, that were a rum do. What do you reckon made that noise?’
Gracie said nothing, merely gazed at her friend out of wide, suspiciously bright eyes.
They left the bicycle propped up in the laundry with a note attached to the handlebars, inviting Rose to come over any evening for a gossip. Then they set off back to camp, Gracie still struggling to stifle her giggles. It was only when Lou finally lost patience and insisted that she explain what was so damned funny, did Gracie admit that it had been she who’d tickled Lou’s neck, with the fringe of her scarf. ‘I was the ghost.’
Lou let out a great roar, Gracie squealed in pretended alarm and the pair were racing back up the long drive, their fright and nervousness forgotten and only the fun remaining.
Had they looked back at the house, they might have seen the pale outline of a heart-shaped face in one of the hooded windows, watching them go.
Chapter Five
Part of their responsibility was to ensure that the quality of the wood they cut was of the very best. To hammer this home, a day or two later they were woken an hour earlier than usual, loaded up onto the lorries and taken to visit a mine. The Supervisor was in charge as usual, though Matron came along too.
‘Just to keep you gels in order,’ she bluntly
informed them as she climbed up front beside the driver in her long brown coat and hat; a remark greeted with subdued groans all round.
The mine was many miles from camp and, as they climbed down from the lorries, Gracie noticed that Matron had remained in the cab. She went over and tapped on the window, thinking perhaps the old dear had nodded off and hadn’t realised they’d arrived.
‘We’re here.’
The window was wound down and Matron’s fierce face pushed through the gap. ‘Then jump to it, Freeman. You don’t need me to hold your hand.’
‘Aren’t you coming down with us?’ Gracie politely enquired.
‘Of course she is,’ came the Super’s voice from behind. ‘Aren’t you Elsie? Nothing you’d like better than an underground tour, as we all would. Anything you girls do, we can do.’
But as the Super marched off, calling to the other girls to get in line and be sharp about it, Gracie looked back at Matron, now forever Elsie in her mind, and was quick enough to see the colour drain from her face.
‘Don’t you fancy it?’ she asked, quite kindly. ‘Some people have a dread of confined spaces. Claustrophobia. Is that a problem you suffer from, Matron?’
The woman looked as if she would dearly love to deny it. Her face was contorted into tight folds, the mouth pursed into a sunray of wrinkles. She made what looked like an attempt to get out of the truck but then seemed to lose control of her muscles, as if she were paralysed and simply couldn’t bring herself to climb down. She began to shake. There was no doubt now in Gracie’s mind. She had indeed found Matron’s Achilles heel. The poor woman was terrified of going down that mine.
‘Stay there. I’ll tell Super you’re not feeling well, shall I?’ Gracie suddenly realised that this was perfectly true. ‘Actually you don’t look too good. I think you should get out of the truck. Here, let me help you.’
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