When he caught up, he slowed to a walk, keeping the older man in sight. On top of the cliffs, the crashing of the sea against the rocks below echoed with elemental power, sending a prickling race of sensation across his skin. The familiar nocturnal excitement woke in his blood, and surged through his veins, demanding a hunt.
Todd flexed his fingers, fisted his hand as though he instinctively yearned for the feel of a weapon. The strange compulsion roused a whisper of fear. This sense was something new, something he had only started to feel since he arrived in Cornwall.
When he reached Lookout Cottage, Grandpa entered the front gate, then followed the path around the house to the back door. Todd skirted the garden and crouched behind the low wall. Ruby opened the door and Grandpa stepped inside.
Shadowy shapes moved behind the red-and-white checked kitchen curtains. Could Shaun's joke that Grandpa and Ruby were lovers be true? That would explain where Grandpa had gone on the night of the storm. It might also explain why he was so eager for Todd to be friends with Marigold. Was he planning to marry Ruby? Marigold would then become Todd's sister or cousin or maybe his aunt. He couldn't work out the relationship. He winced and tried to put the thought out of his mind.
After ten minutes squatting in the damp grass beside the wall, Todd's legs had gone to sleep. He was about to stand and stretch when the back door opened. Robed in black, Grandpa and Ruby stepped out into the garden. They glanced up at the moon and shared a few whispered words. So Ruby sneaked off in the middle of the night and left Marigold. What if she woke and was frightened to find her mother gone? Todd was just starting to feel angry on her behalf when Marigold slipped out of the doorway to join them.
Chapter Fourteen
Todd's breath faltered in shock. Marigold wore the same dark robe as Ruby and Grandpa, except where the adults had dark belts, hardly visible against their robes, Marigold's belt looked pale and shiny with glittery bits on the ends. She also carried a bunch of flowers in her hand. The three robed figures headed between the rows of vegetables towards the back gate, which led into the forest.
Todd took a few minutes to recover. He rose, dragging in lungfuls of damp air, trying to get his head around what he'd seen. With a curse, he tracked the garden wall to the back gate and followed them into the trees. Marigold had played him for a fool. All along, she had been involved with Grandpa in...whatever it was they were dressed up for. He'd be willing to bet it had something to do with the Wild Lord, and possibly the murders. Maybe they all seemed like suspects in Andrew's murder because they were all guilty.
A conspiracy?
Todd stopped and leaned his forehead on a tree, his heart pounding. Grandpa and Marigold! Was Shaun involved too?
An incantation came back to Todd that his father used to whisper to him when he was upset. Be still, be calm, root yourself in the soil, focus on the beat of tiny hearts, field mouse, vole, rabbit, mole. He remembered snuggling on his dad's lap, listening to the reassuring rhyme. Dad had been so warm and solid and safe. For a few seconds, Todd was back there with his father's arms around him. Gradually, his breathing slowed and he could again sense the nocturnal creatures foraging among the trees.
Now was not the time to forget the lessons Dad had taught him. Now was the time to remain calm and seek the truth, however painful.
His nostrils flared at the pungent fragrance of woodsmoke tinged with the strange tang of the vagrant's brew. The pungent plant might be what messed up his hunter's radar. He pulled up the bottom of his t-shirt, pressed it over his nose to block the smoke, and hurried on.
Beneath the trees, where the moon didn't penetrate, the darkness was intense, a deep inky blackness seething with nocturnal life. He paused, listened, sensed rather than heard the three sets of footfalls. Trusting his radar, he veered right where the path divided, and headed deeper into the woods. Gradually the sounds of life around him quieted and the night grew still.
More of the bitter woodsmoke drifted between the trees and his hunter's senses blanked. Voices started chanting nearby. He angled his head, trying to identify the voices, but there were too many chanting together to pick out individuals, certainly more than three people. So there were other villagers involved. The sound seemed to drift around him and he couldn't be sure which direction the voices were coming from. He should never have let Grandpa and the Turpins out of his sight.
With an arm in front of his face to ward off the branches, he made slow progress. The chanting voices continued, but whichever way he turned seemed to be the wrong direction. Time wandered by. He didn't know if he'd been in the woods for minutes or hours. He turned in a circle, all sense of direction gone. This never happened to him. Never. Except in this damned woods. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, illuminating a narrow path between the trees. Ahead, he thought he saw figures moving. He ran along the path, branches whipping at his face. Eventually the forest thinned. He burst out into a clearing and skidded to a halt. His gaze swept the open area taking in the fact he was alone. His stab of annoyance faded when he saw the three standing stones. This was the clearing he'd discovered the first time he came to the woods.
A thin wisp of smoke rising from the fire pit at the center of the stone circle carried the pungent tang he recognized. Todd circled the stones and found flowers scattered at the foot of the stone with the carved face. Todd knelt and fingered the papery petals. They hadn't wilted yet. They must be the flowers Marigold had been holding. Were they an offering to the Green Man?
He found a stick and poked at the smoldering remains of the fire, hoping to fish out a leaf or twig he could use to identify what caused the smell. A few of the glowing twigs flared again then collapsed into ash.
In the faint light of the moon, he scanned the area, looking for anything that might tell him what had gone on here. He picked up a single gleaming gold thread that he guessed had fallen from Marigold's belt. He tucked the thread in his pocket and walked around the stone circle until he stood in front of the Green Man's face. When he'd arrived, the flowers on the ground had grabbed his attention. Now he noticed he'd missed something. On the granite beneath the carved face was a dark mark. He brushed his fingertips across the area, sniffed them, and smelled burnt wood. Someone had drawn a symbol or image on the megalith using charcoal, but it was too dark to see it.
The people who had recently vacated the clearing had left him just what he needed to make a light. Quickly, before the fire died, Todd grabbed a dead branch tipped with crispy dry leaves. He pushed the end in the fire pit. It caught light and he held his makeshift firebrand in front of the charcoal drawing. The picture was a simple stylized image, but the distinctive pointed nose, pricked ears and brush tail left Todd in no doubt what it was. A fox.
He stared at the sketch until the flaming oak leaves dropped from his torch and he tossed the stick in the fire pit. After his shock and feelings of betrayal earlier, he now felt strangely emotionless. What significance did the drawing of his namesake animal have? Was it anything to do with him or simply coincidence?
With a frustrated sigh, he found the path out, his hunter's radar back in action, pointing him in the right direction. Why would the people of Porthallow be interested in him? Even as the question formed in his mind, he already knew the answer. Because of Dad. Had Dad worshiped the Green Man with them when he lived here? Todd didn't remember his father ever mentioning religion or God. If Dad had worshiped anything, it was the spirit of nature.
Todd exited the wood into the field and made his way back to the coast path. When he passed the Turpins' cottage, he saw shadows moving behind the curtains. Hopefully Grandpa was still with them. If he arrived home first and found Todd's bed empty, there would be difficult questions to answer. But maybe the time had come to confront Grandpa and get the difficult questions out in the open.
***
Todd dragged himself out of bed halfway through the morning. He stood in the conservatory eating peanut butter on toast, watching sheets of rain sweep in from the sea to batter t
he windows and roof.
He'd planned to find Marigold to ask her about the previous night, but she'd be at home in this weather. Visiting there meant facing Ruby Turpin. He didn't feel like doing that until he'd persuaded Marigold to tell him what was going on. He also wanted to do some more gardening for Edna, but that was out of the question as well.
Grandpa rushed into the kitchen and put on the kettle. He beckoned Todd. "Just the lad I need. One of my staff has let me down again. Time for you to earn your keep."
After popping the last of his toast in his mouth, he wiped his hands on his jeans. He had nothing better to do, so why not. "Do I get paid?" So far, he hadn't received any money for the few hours he'd worked.
"Cheeky young beggar. Roof over your head and food in your belly not enough?"
Todd gave him a noncommittal look.
"Minimum wage, then. Will that do?"
"Thanks, Grandpa." He wanted everything he could earn to buy tools now that he'd decided to start a gardening business.
He spent the rest of the morning loading boxes from the storeroom into a wire cage on wheels, which he then wheeled into the shop and unpacked. At lunchtime, he got to use the cash register while one of the women took a break. After lunch, he went back to stocking shelves.
Today he didn't mind the task that would normally have bored him silly. It gave him time to think. He decided the garment bag he'd found empty on Grandpa's bed on the night of the storm must have held his robe. This gave Todd the idea of searching Grandpa's room. He might find a clue about what had been going on in the woods last night.
During his lunch break, Todd raced upstairs and crept into the back bedroom. The room held a faint tangy fragrance, possibly a trace of the smoke from last night.
He left the door ajar so he could hear the creak of the stairs and went straight to the old oak wardrobe in the corner. He pulled on the door and it didn't budge. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he looked around for a key. Why lock a stupid wardrobe—unless something was hidden inside?
Opening drawers one after the other, he rifled through socks, underpants, and vests, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. He hated prying through Grandpa's things, but even so, he couldn't stop himself. He was close to a breakthrough.
Eventually in exasperation, he closed the last drawer and slapped his hands on his thighs. Where on earth was the key? As a last resort, he felt along the top of the wardrobe. His fingers made contact with a small metal object. It was such an obvious hiding place, he was annoyed with himself for not looking there first.
He unlocked the doors and cautiously pulled them open. Shirts, trousers, and jackets hung neatly inside, with the garment bag at the far end. Todd pulled it out, willing something to be inside.
The weight of the plastic carrier made his heart rate pick up as he laid the bag on the bed. As he unzipped the side, the pungent smell of woodsmoke leaked out. Inside he found a robe like a priest or monk would wear. In the darkness last night, it had looked black, but the fabric was the deep brown of seasoned oak. Around the sleeves, an intricately embroidered pattern decorated the plain material. He turned the sleeve into the dull light from the window. The Celtic knot design reminded him of something he'd seen in one of his father's books.
He dashed across the landing to his bedroom and grabbed a Green Man book off his bedside table. Then he returned to the back bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, book on his lap, and leafed through until he found the page he remembered.
According to the author, the design on Grandpa's robes was a traditional Celtic pattern symbolizing the cycle of life, often used during the worship of Cernunnos. This was confirmation that Grandpa had been worshiping the Wild Lord.
Carefully, Todd returned the robe to the garment bag before hanging it back in the wardrobe. He relocked the doors and replaced the key in its hiding place.
He smoothed the bed cover and was about to head for the door when the title of the book beside Grandpa's bed caught his eye. Lord of the Wildwood by William P. Cardell.
Cardell? Could that be Mrs. Bishop's father? Todd dropped his Green Man book on the bed and reached for the one on the bedside table. He opened the cover and read the inside of the jacket.
Renowned anthropologist Professor Cardell spent many years researching what he terms peoples' belief systems, as opposed to organized religions. In this book he details the astonishing similarities between the divine beings worshiped in isolated communities across the world.
Todd leafed through the book. It read like an academic text, but every three or four pages there was a photograph or sketch. Many were the same as the images in the Green Man books, but there were also photos of cave paintings and primitive sculptures that he hadn't seen before.
He sat on the edge of the bed and was just starting to read when Grandpa called up the stairs. Todd jolted back to the present with a shock as he remembered he was still in Grandpa's bedroom. Reluctantly he placed the book back beside the bed. He couldn't take it without Grandpa knowing he'd been in his room.
Because Professor Cardell gave Marigold lessons, Todd had assumed he was a retired teacher. Instead, he was an expert on the Wild Lord. It would be too much of a coincidence for him to live on the hill above Lords Wood and not know what went on there. And from what Mrs. Keller had told him, Professor Cardell had known Dad's real parents. A tingle ran through Todd, excitement mixed with trepidation. He was finally on to something.
***
Mist hung over the harbor like wraiths rising from the sea. Everything was still and unusually silent, all sound muffled by the damp air. However much he needed money, Todd couldn't spend another day stocking shelves in the shop or he would go mad with boredom. And he was starting to feel uncomfortable around Grandpa. He wanted to question him about his nocturnal visit to the woods, and ask him why he'd lied about having a wife, and where Dad had come from. But he had to live with Grandpa for another three weeks. Life would be very awkward if they fell out. He hurled a stone into the sea with a muted plop and watched the ripples.
"Hey, man. What's up?" Shaun walked across the pebbles in paint-spattered canvas shoes, Picasso loping along a few paces ahead. The dog greeted Todd with a wet nose against his hand.
"Nothing much." Todd crouched and rested his cheek on the top of Picasso's head, stroking him. Shaun and his softy mutt would be gone in a couple of days. Todd would be stuck in Porthallow alone with a bunch of freaks who might also be murderers.
Todd sat on the stones and put his arm around Picasso's neck. Shaun crouched beside him and tossed a handful of pebbles into the water. Whatever was going on in the village couldn't involve Shaun because he'd only been here for a few months. Todd was starting to think Shaun might be the only sane person around.
Shaun sighed and rose to his feet. "I have to get back. I'm in the middle of packing my stuff."
"Can I come with you and tell you what I've found out?"
"Sure, man. Long as you don't mind me packing at the same time."
They walked up the street in single file to pass the wheelie bins lined up on the sidewalk in front of the quaint cottages like alien invaders. Shaun's wheelie bin was crammed so full the lid wouldn't close, and three black trash bags were stacked beside it.
A huge sign in the gallery window read, HALF PRICE SALE. Canvases of sunsets over the sea and green Cornish valleys were propped around the walls with sale stickers on them. "No room to take 'em all," Shaun said. "Don't really want to, anyway. They belong here." He scanned the lineup of pictures, then selected a small canvas and tossed it to Todd.
Todd caught the picture one-handed and turned it over. The painting showed Picasso standing on the rocks above the harbor. In the background lay the grassy cliff top dotted with pink bunches of thrift and, stretching into the distance, gleaming white-topped waves.
"Happy birthday," Shaun said and grinned.
"My birthday's not till November."
"Then you're one lucky dude."
"Thanks, Shaun."
Todd examined the painting, how Picasso stood with his ears pricked and a doggy smile on his face. His chest tightened and he turned to stare at the street. "Wish I could come with you," he mumbled. He didn't belong anywhere, not at home with Mum or here with Grandpa. None of them really wanted him around.
Shaun finished sliding three canvasses into a plywood carton. "Okay, tell Uncle Shaun what's up," he said, rubbing his hands on his jeans.
With the picture of Picasso pressed against his chest, Todd struggled to breathe, his chest hollow and achy. For a few seconds tears clogged his throat and he was scared he might cry, then the surge of emotion rolled away and he regained control. "It's Grandpa and Marigold. And Dad."
Shaun's eyebrows rose. "Time for a chocky moo cow break. Come on." He ambled through to the studio at the back, grabbed two chocolate milk cartons out of his fridge, and tossed one to Todd.
After slumping in the chair, Shaun stretched out his legs. His easel and palette were gone, the paint stains on the floor the only evidence he'd worked here. Todd dropped into the ratty armchair and propped the painting at his side. Picasso rested his chin on Todd's knee, gazing up at him with soulful brown eyes.
"Someone should give that dog a psychology degree. He always knows when people need a little TLC." Shaun cracked open his milk carton and sucked on the straw.
Todd stared at the smiling cow on the side of the cold carton cradled in his hand. Picasso licked his lips. A reluctant smile pulled at Todd's mouth. "He only loves me for my chocolate milk."
"You might be right," Shaun said with a wry smile.
Leaning his head back, Todd stared at the stained ceiling where water must have leaked in. "Grandpa went out again last night." He expected Shaun to make some crack about Ruby Turpin being Grandpa's girlfriend, but his friend stayed silent. "I followed him up to the Turpins' house. At first I thought you must be right about them getting together." He glanced across at Shaun to see his reaction.
Wildwood (YA Paranormal Mystery) Page 12