T H E
R A T T L E R
P. A. FIELDING
BOOK 1 IN THE RATTLER SERIES
TR3 2014
The Rattler copyright © 2013 P. A. Fielding
All Rights Reserved.
This story is a work of fiction. Any names, locations, or references to historical events are used fictitiously.
For Uncle Brian
It’s now or never.
Table of Contents
Prologue: The origins of a painting
1: Keep Schtum
2: Tracking a painting
3: ‘Manor Murderer’ strikes again!
4: Time’s moving forwards
5: A long winding road leads to home
6: It’s old and creepy, nothing like a new house
7: The house has history
8: He’s a joker
9: For one fright only
10: Curiosity always gets the better of us
11: Sweet dreams
12: Rediscovering the past
13: The second floor
14: The day after last night
15: Movement calling
16: You don’t mess with the other side
17: Twiggy time
18: Morning all
19: Two in the bed, one in the wardrobe
20: Cinema plus meal equals date night
21: The rise of the hypochondriac
22: Stay calm girls, the lads are here
23: A whisper of envy
24: Who are you gonna call?
25: Questions for the other side
26: The dreamers
27: Bring it to an end
28: A night to certainly forget
29: Back on familiar ground
30: The lasting effects of childhood memories
31: The reality of the problem
32: Time for reflection
33: The drugs don’t work...
34: Bad people always get bitten one day
35: Nightmares in Chelsea
36: Back to square one
37: A police visit from hell
38: Pinch me
39: Oh! Babs
40: The road to recovery
41: I just want to get out of this place
42: What did the vicar say?
43: He can’t help you
44: A paper reunion
45: With a weekend away...
46: The art of money
47: Hidden from view
48: The morning after a spooky night
49: Boys, boys, boys
Prologue: Back-Seat driver
1: Just take it easy, will yer!
2: In the middle of the road...
Prologue: The origins of a painting
1
March 13th 1896, Winchester, Hampshire; a single horse-driven carriage approached a hugely impressive 17th century Manor House. “Whoa, whoa, there!” the driver shouted, pulling back on the reins. The horse stopped. Ellwood, a smartly dressed butler, approached the carriage as the door opened, and out stepped Charles, a greying-blonde-haired, bearded, man. “Thank you. If you would like to get my bags,” he said, as he walked with a swagger towards the house.
Ellwood nodded, and proceeded to collect a small, leather handcase from inside. Meanwhile, the driver removed a wooden trunk from the rear of the carriage, and placed it on the floor. Ellwood smiled at him. “Would you mind bringing that indoors?” he asked, pleasantly. The driver wasn’t happy, and reluctantly tipped his cap.
2
Charles entered the parlour, which was packed with luxurious late 18th and early 19th century furnishings. The family had benefitted from the local mills, and the Industrial Revolution had made them rich.
“Uncle Charles!” yelled four year old Violet, as she ran excitedly to greet him. The parents, Frederick and Annie, both immaculately dressed, awaited the arrival of Charles. William, a one year old, sat on an armchair, holding a Georgian silver teether rattler encased in mother-of-pearl. He was well dressed, wearing white trousers, a white shirt, and a bright red jacket.
Charles, the brother of Annie, had been the family’s artist for the past ten years. He was very successful and spent his time travelling around Europe – when he wasn’t in London, painting portraits of politicians and aristocrats.
Charles had set up his painting equipment, his mixed linseed oils and bottles of colours were all around him on the floor. He had started to pencil a portrait of young William on canvas when two gamekeepers entered, accompanied by the sounds of piercing screams. The two men, Ainsworth and Horsley, dragged in an old lady and a man. Hagatha had long, dirty, fingernails, matted black and white hair, deep black eyes, and a high-bridged nose. Charder was gaunt looking and dressed like a tramp. The travellers’ hands had been tied with rope; their limbs were covered in blood, and their clothes torn.
The keepers dropped five rabbits, six pheasants, and two ducks onto the floor in front of them. Frederick looked at the four of them. “Annie, take the children to the Library. Charles, may I suggest tea?”
Their guest felt uncomfortable at this interruption. He hated having to stop the strokes of his right hand. “As you wish,” he replied, as he followed Annie and the children out of the room. Frederick turned towards the gamekeepers. “What is the reason for this intrusion?”
Ainsworth stepped forward. “Sir, they’ve been hunting and stole these,” he answered, pointing at the dead wildlife.
“Very well, do what we always do with poachers,” Frederick replied; he pointed through the window towards the woodland. “Rope them up.”
Suddenly, the two travellers started to wrestle free from the clutches of the gamekeepers, but to no avail. Hagatha got within two feet of Frederick. During the struggle, Charles’s oils crashed to the floor. Hagatha’s bleeding forearm scraped across the top of one red bottle, and a small drop of blood mixed with the contents.
“You harm us, and your family will be doomed. With the power of the sun!” she screamed, as she was dragged backwards by one of the gamekeepers.
Frederick was a kind man to his family and employees, but people crossed him at their peril. What followed was exactly what Frederick had ordered as the couple were taken away and hanged on a pair of Oak trees. Their stiff bodies were left hanging for two full days until they were eventually cut down by fellow travellers. These men, in the complete darkness of night, held back their emotions as they carried the bodies to their waiting family.
3
Five days later, the painting of William had been completed, and sat prominently on the landing. Charles said his goodbyes and travelled back to Kensington. However, all was not well in the Mather household; four servants had been struck down with a bad case of boils, and had left the house. Then, there was an eerie feeling about the place, and people felt that something wasn’t quite right. The strange atmosphere had begun the moment the picture of William had been hung on the wall. It was a marvellous painting and there was no denying that Charles had, indeed, got talent, but there was something about it that made the tiny hairs on the back of the neck stand up.
Frederick was taking his usual morning walk through the grounds, which included a huge lake, when Winston, his gardener, ran quickly towards him. It was clear from his facial expression that all was not well. He stopped, gasping for breath, in front of Frederick.
“Sir, come quick, there’s been an accident!”
“What do you mean?” Frederick replied, anxiously.
Winston pointed towards the lake. The two men ran to the edge, past a white wooden boathouse and some ducks. “There! You see him?” shouted Winston; and there it was, a body, floating, head-down in the water. Frederick gawped at A
insworth’s stiff body.
“Hurry, let’s get him out! Get the boat.”
The two men ran to the boathouse. As Winston opened one of the double doors, a large, black crow zoomed directly at him before flying off. The building housed a small rowing boat and other sailing equipment as well as gardening gear; it was very dark inside and the only light came from the opened door, which led onto the lake. The wooden roof beams creaked eerily; the noise came from a darkened area to the right of the boat. A strong, gaseous smell hit the pair as they entered.
“Winston, open the door,” ordered Frederick, as he looked around the gloomy interior. Winston opened the door and the light flooded in. Winston saw Horsley’s body as it dangled and gently swayed from side to side, and took a deep breath. He covered his mouth using his right hand and started coughing uncontrollably. Frederick approached the hysterical man.
“What is it?”
Winston simply pointed at the body. Horsley’s clothes were ripped and torn, there were scratch marks on his face, and his eyes had been gouged out. “The work of the crow, no doubt,” said Winston. Frederick approached the hanging man. “Help me cut him down.” He held the body as Winston picked up a pair of garden shears and cut the rope. The body slumped to the floor. The men examined the body. “Do you think Ainsworth did this,” said Winston, “or those bloody travellers, seeking revenge?”
This wasn’t the first time the family had had conflicts with travellers. They mostly stole and poached, and hoped not to get caught before they moved on. Frederick scratched his head several times. He was puzzled. “I can’t comprehend it; we need to get the other body before anyone else sees it,” ordered Frederick.
4
Between them, the men pulled the boat out from the boathouse, launched it, got in, and Winston took the oars. They slowly approached Ainsworth’s sodden body. With speed and urgency they attached a rope to the corpse and Winston began rowing back to the bank where, a few minutes later, they pulled the carcass out of the water. The body was slashed from head to toe. It looked as if a sharp blade had cut through the clothing and sliced into the soft flesh. The neck was red raw as if the body had been hanged prior to being thrown into the lake. Frederick bent down and inspected the body. “We should send for the law.”
1: Keep Schtum
1
A horse-driven police carriage waited outside the house, and the driver seemed engrossed as he read a newspaper. Inside the parlour were Frederick, Winston, and two detectives, Lockhart and Dryden. Ellwood entered. He carried a silver tray, complete with tea and biscuits, which he placed on a small round table for the men. “Thank you,” said Frederick, as the butler poured the tea. Lockhart had a youthful look, and black greasy hair; Dryden was older, bald, and overweight. They were both neatly dressed in sober, dark, three-piece suits, complete with pocket watches on gold chains. “Did the men have any enemies, sir?” asked Lockhart as he drank his tea. “Not as far as I know, apart from the travellers. They’d had a dispute with them several days before,” responded Frederick.
Frederick was a cool man under pressure; none of his body language indicated he had anything to hide. He wasn’t going to let Winston talk freely as he’d probably disclose the fact that the travellers had been hanged. Dryden took over the questioning.
“That’s interesting,” he continued, “what was the problem?”
“They forced the travellers off my land,” was Frederick’s sharp-toned response.
2
It was now late afternoon and Victoria, the cook, had started to prepare the evening meal in the kitchen. Victoria, an overweight lady, had worked for the family since the age of 14. She had been on her own since the kitchen maids had left because of their boils, and she felt the strain.
Shiny brass and copper pots and pans hung around two walls, with cupboards below, and there was a large butcher’s block in the centre of the room. There was a black Range cooker along one wall, and two Butler sinks in front of the window. She walked into the pantry for the vegetables and immediately coughed at the strange smell of rotting vegetables.
“What is that stench?”
The atmosphere was suddenly spine-tingling; the hairs on her neck stood up. As she returned to the kitchen, all of the cupboard doors had been opened as if someone had been looking for something. Her heart started to beat faster and faster as she looked fearfully around. She quickly noticed that every single brass pot and pan from the walls had been stacked neatly on the floor. Victoria rubbed her hands as a cold breeze shot across the room. “Hello? Ellwood?” she panicked, and dropped the vegetables onto floor. There was silence.
She slowly closed the cupboards, and put the pots and pans back in their rightful places; the atmosphere gradually returned to normal and she started to relax. She firmly believed it was a prank by Thomas, the stable boy. “Thomas! I do wish you would stop playing tricks. One of these days Mr Mather is going to catch you in the act,” she muttered. Her mind soon returned to preparing dinner for the family – and again the temperature dropped. “What is happening today? Why is it so cold?” she grumbled as she cut up the vegetables and put on the meat to boil. They were having stew and dumplings.
All was well until a dark mist flashed in front of her eyes. When she looked up, she saw Hagatha opposite her. Victoria screamed; the knife slipped and cut her left hand. Then, the six servant bells on the wall unexpectedly rang frantically; she panicked and rushed, terrified, out of the room.
Victoria, in her haste, bumped into Ellwood in the main hallway. “Victoria! You shouldn’t be running,” he said in a raised voice. It was only then that he saw the blood as it dripped from her hand. “What have you been doing?” he asked, kindly. He took two white handkerchiefs from his pocket and wrapped them around the wound. Victoria hugged him, tearfully.
“I saw her, I saw her,” she stuttered.
“Who did you see? You’re not making sense. I need you to calm down. Now, tell me. What happened?”
“She’s here.”
“Who? Who are you talking about?”
“That traveller woman! In the kitchen.”
Ellwood led her to a small table and chair. “Don’t be silly, wait here and I will have a look.” Victoria nervously watched him walk towards the kitchen. She tightened the makeshift bandage over her bloodied hand.
3
He entered the kitchen. The place was freezing. “It’s certainly cold in here,” he said. The kitchen was, as he expected, empty; the only sound to be heard was the pan as it boiled away merrily on the Range.
When Ellwood returned to the hallway, after he had checked the kitchen and the pantry and moved the pan off the heat, he found Frederick talking to Victoria, who was still shaken by what she had seen and heard.
“What did you see, Ellwood?” asked Frederick.
“Nothing, sir,” he replied.
Frederick addressed Victoria. “You have had quite a shock, and your hand needs attention. Ellwood will take you to town to see the doctor,” he said, caringly. Ellwood nodded his agreement, but was reluctant to leave the family alone under the strange circumstances. “There is no need to worry, Ellwood. We will be fine. Just call at Winston’s and tell him he is required.”
4
Victoria, wrapped in a woollen blanket, sat in a black carriage, anxiously fidgeting as she waited for Ellwood to hitch up the horse. Her wound was still bleeding and she felt faint. She jumped, nervously, as Ellwood appeared at the carriage window. “All ready now,” he said, and climbed aboard. The cook’s nerves had taken a serious battering that night; she struggled to take in what had happened. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t get the image of Hagatha out of her mind.
Ellwood slowly trotted the horse down the long and dark lane towards the front gates to where Winston lived alone in a tiny cottage, thankful that the full moon provided some light. Ellwood pulled up the horse, and jumped down from the carriage.
“I won’t keep you long, Victoria.”
�
��Please don’t linger,” she replied timidly; she wanted to be out of the gates and away – and not return.
The glow from the fire shone faintly through the small, square, mullioned windows. He knocked loudly on the brown, wooden door. “Hurry up, Winston,” he said, knocking again, even louder. The uneasy butler glanced back towards the impatient Victoria, opened the cottage door and walked slowly in. The room was small and cluttered; a log fire was burning in the fireplace and, directly in front of it, in an armchair, sat Winston. “Winston, did you not hear me knocking? God it’s warm in here.” The gardener said nothing; he remained still. Ellwood tentatively approached him and tapped him on his left shoulder. “Winston, you are required at the Manor House.” The gardener remained silent. Ellwood crouched down and turned to face the sleeping man. Winston wasn’t asleep – nor was he alive!
“Bastards! Who is doing this?” Ellwood yelled, as his eyes scanned the tiny room. The gardener had been stabbed several times in the chest, his eyes gouged out, and his neck had red rope marks. The cottage went icy cold. He hugged his shoulders. “I know you’re here? I command you to show your selves.” He waited. No response. “You cowards!” he roared.
Victoria watched him as he came out of the cottage and walked towards her. “I heard shouting. Where’s Winston?” she asked nervously. “There’s been an accident, but don’t worry. I must get you to the doctor.” The butler guided the horse out of the gate and towards the village. He started to worry about the Mather family being on their own given the recent murders. He knew that the travellers were to blame for frightening the cook, and for the brutal killings of his colleagues. They were taking their revenge before they moved on to another part of the country.
5
Meanwhile, back at the Manor House all was not well. Annie had put the children to bed, read them a bedtime story, and then re-joined her husband in the parlour. “Has Winston not arrived?” she asked. Frederick stood in front of the fire. “No, still waiting my dear,” he replied. What happened next shocked and stunned them. The Manor was plunged into darkness. Four loud thuds came from the ceiling above. “My God!” exclaimed Frederick, “the children.”
The Rattler (Rattler Trilogy Book 1) Page 1