‘If there are any cars so early,’ Mike said doubtfully. ‘But I suppose somebody is sure to pass, and anyone will do.’
On the other side of rising ground they found the road. Immediately below them was a slope of rough pasture running down to it which, further on, gave way to gorse bushes, the isolated clumps growing closer and closer until they formed solid thickets. The Abbey and the lane were out of sight. The road, bordered by low stone walls, remained empty, its surface blue and silent in the early light. Nothing was beyond it but peaceful fields, empty except for sheep.
They settled down in a green hollow so near the road that they had time to stop any traffic appearing from either direction. There they ate ravenously and drank the milk, finishing up with wild strawberries which hid, pink and white, among the tufts of grass. Mike recovered and felt ready for anything, though the sun had not yet risen above the sombre dawn clouds to the east and he was still cold.
‘They will all have cleared off,’ Carrie said. ‘I might have escaped long ago and the police might be on the way.’
Mike did not think so and was sure they would have a shot at finding her before they packed up and ran.
‘Beard is the warden of the Abbey and knows the place. When he hears about the pigeons he’ll guess that it was you who startled them. So you can’t be far away yet.’
But Carrie was impatient. She went to stand by the roadside while Mike remained in the hollow eating strawberries. At last a car came along, travelling so fast that he had only time to get to his feet. The driver ignored Carrie’s frantic waving. The filthy poncho, cut from a blanket, floated behind her. Her hair was wild and covered with dust from mortar and rotten wood. He may have thought that she was a gipsy running down to try and sell him something.
While she was still on the verge gazing after the vanished car, a man appeared at a curve higher up and started running towards her. A second later Beard vaulted a gate lower down the road and blocked her escape. Carrie scrambled back over the wall and dashed towards the gorse bushes with both men in hot pursuit.
Mike saw it all but was helpless. Carrie and her road! The minds of the kidnappers had worked on the same lines as hers. They had realised that they had only missed her by minutes and guessed that she would have run up to the road to try and attract somebody’s attention. So Beard had charged right round the ruins and Screw had raced up the lane. If they failed to catch her between them or if they saw her picked up by a car they would know the worst immediately.
Instinctively Mike had dropped flat. Beard could not possibly have seen him. Screw might have spotted his head when he was standing up, but was intent on Carrie and had shown no sign of noticing him. Looking out over the rim of the hollow he saw Carrie plunge into the thicket of gorse and watched her head twisting between the bushes until it disappeared.
His first impulse was to run straight down the road in the hope of coming to some house. But what might happen to Carrie meanwhile? Since the kidnappers did not know he was alive, Beard might think it was safe to return to his original plan and get rid of her down the well. By the time rescuers arrived it would be too late.
Should he show himself before bolting off for help? Wouldn’t they then call off the chase and get away while the going was good? Possibly – but he had no time to sit down and think coldly about alternatives. He was terrified of leaving Carrie alone in the hands of such brutes. They were outside all his experience of human beings and he could put no limits to what they might or might not do. So the only certainty in his mind was that Carrie needed help and that he himself knew more about gorse brakes than any of them. He could stay close on their heels without them ever suspecting that he was in the thicket.
Carrie had entered that miniature, dark green forest at a point well marked by a late cluster of golden flowers. Beard and Screw were there now, pushing through or trampling down the spiny shoots; their tempers would not be improved by the prickles by the time they grabbed her or trod on her. Mike could guess what she had done when she vanished into the solidest part of the brake. She had come across an overgrown runway made by sheep or rabbits and bolted into it. That would not hold up her pursuers for long, especially since she could only get out very slowly at the other end, if at all.
Mike reached the lower end of the thicket by crouching down under cover of the roadside wall. There the bushes were sparse but just the right height. Running up the short turf between them he was perfectly protected and by standing on tiptoe he could see without being seen. The two men were above him and to his left, slowly and painfully beating out the patch where Carrie ought to be. Beard was now carrying her poncho which she must have slipped off when it caught in the gorse; wrapped around his forearm he found it useful for fending off branches. Mike could imagine her still and silent as any squatting rabbit and just as panic-stricken by the feet which crashed nearer and nearer.
He moved up along the little green rivers of turf until he was above her thicket of refuge and on the edge of a much larger one. She could not possibly have reached it unseen, but the two men, he decided, would not be as sure of that as he was. So he wormed his way into the gorse and made as much commotion as a startled ewe trying to get out. The two searchers were on to it at once, cursing Carrie and warning her that if she didn’t come out they would tread her into the ground.
Mike silently left them to beat out the new thicket he had chosen for them and slipped away to the side where Carrie had entered the brake. He was growing more confident every minute and doubted if Beard and Screw would ever discover his existence. A dog would have had him at once, but to men – provided he was careful – he was elusive as an elf. Looking through the thin upper shoots he could see them from the waist up whenever he liked but they couldn’t see him. It was seldom that he even had to bend down.
In the open, outside the thicket, he had to risk being seen. However, the men were still fully occupied and he had no trouble in reaching the yellow blossom where Carrie had dashed into cover. He twisted along the narrow ribbon of turf which she must have followed and found a strip of her poncho hanging on the spikes. This side of the patch was all trampled down and he could not be sure where was the little track or tunnel in which she had hidden. If he went any further, the tops of the bushes would begin to sway and might attract attention, so he risked calling to her quietly. Beard was damning and blasting away fifty yards uphill.
‘Carrie! Carrie! Come towards me if you can! It’s safe.’
They must have been within feet of her when they stopped searching, for she emerged at once, cracking dead stems and making far too much noise.
Beard heard it and shouted: ‘There she is!’ giving them just time to sneak down across open ground and re-enter the thicket. She followed Mike as he zigzagged silently between bushes wherever there was a passage. When he stopped they had put a useful distance between themselves and the two hunters and had reached the far side of the brake where the gorse was more open but high enough to allow hide-and-seek – though a very risky hide-and-seek.
Now that they were together, the right game was to wait and see what Beard would do. There was also Chauffeur to be considered. Beard at one point had broken off the search in order to trot up to higher ground and wave to someone on the slopes below.
‘If we could get back to the ruins while they are still looking for us here, there might be some visitors,’ Carrie said.
‘Not yet. I read a notice saying that it opens at ten. So I reckon there’s about two and a half hours to go. And probably no one will turn up till much later.’
‘Do you think there’s a telephone there?’
‘Did you see one when you were in the cottage?’ he asked.
‘No. But I wasn’t looking.’
‘There’s a line running up the lane. Electricity, I expect.’
‘They haven’t got electricity. There was an oil stove in the kitchen.’
‘And oil lamps!’ he exclaimed. ‘I remember seeing one through the window. There must
be a telephone.’
‘Then come on!’
The problem was how to get back to the Abbey. Whether they took to the road or ran over the open grass, Beard and Screw were bound to see them.
‘We’ll have to separate,’ Mike said. ‘I’ll lead them a dance here so that you can reach the wall along the road. Keep your head well down and they won’t see you! When you reach the lane run for the cottage! With luck you might meet another car on the way. If you’re in any danger of being caught, get into the wood where the tents are!’
He pointed out the lowest clump of gorse, nearly on the edge of the road, and told her to run for it when he gave the word.
‘And when you are safely behind it, watch through the branches! From where they are, they might catch sight of you on the far side of the wall, so I’ll have to move them. As soon as you see that I’m keeping them busy, over you go and off to the telephone!’
It was difficult to know exactly what their two hunters were doing until their heads were seen threading through the gorse to tackle Carrie’s original hiding place from the other side. When their backs were turned, she flitted across to the outlying clump and disappeared. She saw Mike darting from bush to bush and guessed that he was about to lead Beard up to the far corner of the gorse brake.
The move again worked like magic. They couldn’t get at him – or her, as they thought – across the middle, so they ran round the top and plunged down for the thick patch where branches were swaying and crackling. She hoped that Mike had left himself a way of retreat. He seemed a little too sure of his woodland skill. But there was no time to watch. She had been told to jump into the road when she saw her chance, and this was it.
She crouched low and hurried as fast as bent knees would take her until she was round the curve of the road and out of sight of the gorse brake. The ruins and the lane leading to them were now in full view. There were no cars in the car park and not a soul to be seen among the grey-gold, crumbling ruins of the Abbey.
6
The Chase
Alone again without Mike, Carrie felt her determination oozing away. Since her dash into the gorse everything had gone so fast that it flicked through memory as if she had been a hunted animal with little, racing paws and no other thought. Now she had time to be afraid. The ruins were so bare and the hillside so exposed, with none of that cover where Mike was so confident. She felt that wherever she went there must be eyes looking at her and expressionless faces laughing at her. Her idea of reaching the telephone did not seem so bright any longer. It was surely better to run anywhere, and run and run rather than to show herself on the open lane and car park and to risk being caught and carried down again into that terrifying darkness.
It was the sun which made her go on. She loved the sun. Mike seemed to be at home whatever nature was up to, but for her – well, unless there was blue sky, indoors was as good as out. The sun rose clear of the dawn clouds and impulsively she lifted her arms to it in welcome. It made her misery appear as something which could never happen again. There was nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. Every police station in England must have been warned to look out for Carrie Falconer. She had only to lift the telephone and say that she was at Hilcote Abbey with Mike Prowse.
She ran down the lane and into the cottage. On her earlier visit she had found the kitchen wide open, had ransacked the larder and gone no further. Now she went straight past it into the living-room. No telephone there. A door led into the warden’s office. She saw a counter, a hatch over it for selling tickets to visitors, some racks of handbooks and postcards and at last the telephone. There was no time for looking in the directory to find out if in that unknown district the police number was 999. She dialled the operator but heard no clicks. The telephone was dead.
She glanced round the room to see where the wires went. Perhaps there was a plug, and the kidnappers had merely disconnected it. But the wire ran up to the corner of the room and out with no break. She looked cautiously out of the front door. The wire crossed to the nearest pole all right, but where it emerged from the wall it had been cut. They had taken that precaution before they made their dash for the road which had so nearly caught her.
Now what? Mike had said that Chauffeur ought to be somewhere below the Abbey ready to intercept her if she showed herself on the long slope down to the valley. He might be still there or he might have joined the others at the gorse brake from which all that open country could be watched. The only safe route to people was to run back up the lane, turn right and keep running.
It was then that Chauffeur appeared. He was coming from the wood carrying two large packs which must be the tents and camping equipment all ready for instant departure. In another minute he would be at the cottage. There was no possible escape, for he could see both the living-room window and the front door. She jumped into the office in panic with a vague idea of locking the door against him. Then the ticket hatch caught her eye; it opened on the only side of the cottage which was out of his sight.
Carrie slid back the glass. Shoulders easily went through. With a kick and a wriggle she was upside down on the gravel walk outside. She picked herself up and was still on one knee when she heard Chauffeur enter the cottage and close the door. If he did not come into the office or go upstairs she was momentarily safe. She dashed across the path and a strip of lawn, then through an archway into a great square of crumbling walls, broken pillars and cobbles underfoot.
A notice read: THE CLOISTERS. Within the square she was hidden from the cottage but from nothing else. She ran round two sides, keeping close to the wall and looking through every arch for a hiding place. Notices pointed to THE REFECTORY, THE ABBOT’S KITCHEN, THE LIBRARY, but nothing was left of any of them beyond foundations enclosing carefully mown lawns. There wasn’t a hiding place for a mouse.
Through still another arch she saw a pile of stone and earth and a notice: EXCAVATIONS, PLEASE KEEP OUT.
‘And please jump in!’ she said to herself.
At the brink of a long trench she hesitated, for the bottom was mud. Then she laughed at herself, remembering that mud would not make much difference to her appearance, jumped in and lay flat. Provided nobody had seen her, she counted on being safe until the kidnappers stopped looking for her and lit out for their usual haunts. With any luck a party of excavators might come along before then. Did nobody ever get out and about in this desolate country? She forgot that even on a school day she would only just be getting up.
After a few minutes getting her breath back in the mud, she was more self-possessed and saw no reason why she should not watch what, if anything, was happening. The excavators had cleared a stone trough, which lay on the edge of the trench, broken in half. Through the split she had a view of the cottage and the car park, and into the great square of the cloisters by way of an arch. Unless someone walked round the excavations she was safe.
Chauffeur dropped the packs outside the cottage. He strolled casually round the ruins, seeming quite at ease, and then chose a seat on the lawn of the Abbot’s Kitchen. There he was quite close to Carrie. She had not seen him since he had driven up to her school. He looked just as a manservant ought to look – palish with a good, round stomach and solidly respectable. Anybody would trust him on sight.
In a few more minutes Screw came walking fast down the lane. Chauffeur, still preserving his air of calm, did not get up to meet him but beckoned him over.
‘Any luck?’ he asked.
‘That boy’s alive! We’ve got him.’
‘How the hell’s he alive?’
‘Got out at the bottom of the well, so he tells us.’
‘And the Falconer girl?’
‘He says she came here to telephone.’
‘Then we’re for it! Grab those packs and get out!’ Chauffeur yelled, losing all his dignified calm.
‘It’s O.K. I had cut the wire.’
‘Thank God for that!’
‘When was she here?’ Screw asked.
‘It must h
ave been while I was packing up.’
‘You didn’t see her?’
‘No. But she was in the office. The ticket window was open. I’ll bet she nipped out of it while I was coming in at the door.’
‘She’s had time to get away?’
‘Not up the lane and not into the wood. So she must be somewhere in the ruins.’
‘Have you looked for her?’
‘Not me! She’d be faster than I am. I just sat here to give the little lady confidence and let her bide till you two came back.’
It was the man’s quiet manner which frightened Carrie even more than his accurate guess. He was so positive that she could not escape. And Mike! It did not sound as if they had murdered him on the spot. But how had they caught him and what had they done with him?
That was soon answered. Beard came trotting across the fields with a bundle under his arm rolled up in the poncho. The bundle looked very still. When Beard came up to his companions she was relieved that two legs were sticking out and kicking; but they were tied together so that the movements were helpless as those of a beetle on its back.
The three had a quick talk too far away for her to overhear it. Then Chauffeur, who had said he was no runner, remained with Mike in the cottage. Beard and Screw, who most certainly could run, started to search the ruins, passing round the outside of the cloisters. Carrie lay still at the bottom of her trench, hoping in vain that she could not be distinguished from earth.
‘Come out of there, sweetie! We don’t want to get our shoes muddy.’
She dashed out of the trench on the opposite side, but Beard jumped it easily, grabbed her by the hair and simultaneously put a hand over her mouth. He carried her into the cottage and quickly gagged her with an old sock, taping it in place.
Escape into Daylight Page 6