Voice in the Mist

by Nigel Cubbage

  “Shhh!” Drew came quickly through the door and pushed it to.

  “What on earth … !”

  “Shh! We don’t want to be heard, do we?” he hissed.

  “We don’t want to be discovered, either, do we? What will Uncle Henry say if he catches you in my room in the middle of the night?”

  Drew paused, sudden realisation dawning. Rebecca thought she detected a slight blush.

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Don’t s’pose he’d be too pleased, would he? Nor Mrs Balloch!”

  “It’s no joke – and I can’t say I’m too pleased about having some hairy Scotsman barging into my room, either. Where are your manners – don’t you knock? Anyway, how did you manage to get out of your room without being seen?”

  “No problem, as it happened. The door doesn’t shut because the lock is broken and I am sleeping right at the end. The guy next to me was this great fat geezer who was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. He blocked me from sight from the rest of the room. It was really easy to slip out. So – anything gone bump in the night, yet?”

  “Nothing – except you.” Rebecca hunched back into her chair and pulled the duvet around her. Drew pulled the door open and peered out.

  “Right. You stay here and keep an eye out. I’m going down to look for ghosts.”

  Before she could open her mouth to protest, he was at the top of the stairs. She watched him crouching low and checking there was nobody about before he edged forward and disappeared from view. She left the door open a narrow crack and sat back to keep watch.

  ***

  Drew had slipped back into his clothes before leaving his room but had left off his shoes, for fear of making a noise. As he tiptoed down the icy cold stone stairs, he was beginning to regret this.

  Halfway down, his eyes gradually becoming accustomed to the gloom, he peered around the hall. The moon provided no light tonight. Shadowy pools lurked in every corner and doorway, impenetrable and unsettling. Drew did not sense that he was being watched but something indefinable made him feel uneasy. His pulse quickened as he reached the bottom of the stairs and he went quickly over to the door to the drawing room, seeking the safety of the shadows. Nothing was stirring anywhere in the castle. It was so quiet that he felt sure he would have heard someone turn over in bed in one of the rooms upstairs.

  He made a quick tour of the drawing room. Nothing was missing. Through the window, the sea had calmed a little, although there was still a heavy swell.

  Drew came back out into the hall and sat down on a chair against the wall. His eyes roamed around the gloomy interior. He was disappointed to find nothing, although he was not altogether certain what he would have done, had the thieves been at large.

  As he looked upstairs, though, he realised at once what had caused his unease.

  The Statue of Knut was no longer at the head of the stairs.

  Drew leapt to his feet. The plinth on which the statue had stood was still there but the statue had gone.

  What was going on? Despite what Rebecca had told him about her encounters with the ghostly Viking and Wolf, Drew would not believe that anything supernatural was at play. He firmly believed a moving statue could only be one of the thieves dressed up.

  His grandfather had always told him that a logical explanation exists for everything. “When you have discounted the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true.”

  Drew turned suddenly at a noise from the end of the passageway.

  Ducking back into a recess, he peered cautiously out, the blood thumping in his temple.

  He strained his eyes but it was too dark to see any further than a few feet away.

  Something heavy was scraping across the wooden floorboards, coming his way.

  In panic, he realised it was now too late to flee for the safety of Rebecca’s room without being observed.

  The noise was closer and louder.

  A shadow fell over him.

  In trepidation, he slowly looked up at the huge figure of a Viking.

  Drew gave an involuntary gasp. His heart hammering in his chest, he pressed himself back into the recess as far as he could. He held his breath and shut his eyes tightly, praying he would not be discovered.

  Time seemed to freeze.

  After what to Drew seemed like a lifetime, the shuffling footfall moved on past him. It gradually died away along the passage and he felt safe enough to open his eyes. He peered carefully around the edge of the recess, just in time to see the Viking lumbering around a corner. He leaned against the wall and took a couple of long, deep breaths. Gathering his wits again, he rushed up into Rebecca’s room and pulled the door almost to behind him. He turned to make sure he had not been observed.

  “What – who – er, oh it’s you” said Rebecca, who had clearly been asleep. She quickly rubbed her eyes in an attempt to hide the fact. Drew was too excited and breathless to have noticed, however, and immediately launched into the tale of the moving Knut.

  “It has to be one of the thieves,” he said finally.

  “But are they stealing the statue or is the man pretending to be the statue the one doing the stealing?” He kept an eye out through the crack in the door as he whispered.

  “You saw nothing downstairs?”

  “Nothing. The mask and collar were still there, there was no sign of the real Knut and nobody was about. It would take at least two blokes to carry that thing.”

  “Why would they steal it?” Rebecca furrowed her brow.

  “It isn’t old or supposed to be valuable, or anything is it? If you ask me, I think it’s just put on display to show what Knut looked like. The clothes are probably worth more than the statue. I hate to say it but your mad idea about Knut being a thief must be right.”

  Drew turned back to face her.

  “He can’t be working alone, because he’ll need help to put the real one back.”

  They were quiet for a few moments, puzzling what to do next.

  “Are you sure the mask and the collar are still in place?” whispered Rebecca.

  “Well, it was dark but I’m fairly sure. I could go down and check again.” There was a slight nervous edge in his voice as he suggested this. He turned back to the door and peered out through the narrow opening. All at once, his arm started waving frantically, beckoning Rebecca forward.

  “What on earth –” Rebecca started to speak but what she saw through the gap in the doorway caused the words to stop in her throat.

  In the shadowy passageway by the top of the stairs, Knut the Strong was standing just a few metres from the door. Rebecca gasped.

  As they watched, the huge, menacing Viking turned and trudged slowly and silently towards them. The massive bulk was clothed in a long black sackcloth coat, with dulled steel epaulettes and armguards. The face was hidden behind a visor, attached to the famous horned Viking helmet. Rebecca feared it had heard them and was coming to the room.

  But it stopped. For what seemed like an eternity, the warrior stood in the semi-darkness, staring intently down to the hall below. Behind the door, Drew and Rebecca hardly dared to breathe. The slightest creak of a floorboard or noise, now, would give them away.

  A second man appeared out of nowhere and joined the Viking. He whispered something into his ear and disappeared swiftly downstairs. In his slow measured tread, the warrior followed.

  Drew turned to Rebecca, his expression awestruck. For a few seconds, neither of them could find anything to say. Eventually, Rebecca shook her head in disbelief. “You have to pinch yourself to remind you it’s a Frenchman dressed up,” she breathed.

  “I have to go back down and see what they’re up to. We have to know.”

  Drew looked none too certain that he felt this was sensible. Rebecca puffed out her cheeks. There did not seem to be any alternative. She put a hand on Drew’s arm.

  “Don’t do anything daft. And whatever you do, don’t let them see you. We can go to Uncle Henry in the morning and get the police involved.”
/>
  She eyed him anxiously as she said this. For the first time that she could remember, his usual light-hearted air seemed to have deserted him and he looked uncertain. He set his face into a determined grimace and put a hand on the door handle. With just a fraction of a second’s hesitation, he was gone.

  CHAPTER 13 – Stealing Statues

  Rebecca woke with a start. She was still huddled in her chair and wondered how long she had been asleep. Her neck was painful and stiff. The room was very cold, although from the noises now emanating from the radiator, she guessed the heating was starting up. She wondered where Drew was and checked her watch.

  Horrified, she saw it was now just after seven in the morning.

  What had happened? Why had Drew not come back and woken her?

  Light was seeping through the thick curtains at her window. She leapt to her feet, forgetting her injured ankle and immediately crumpled as a stab of pain shot up her leg. She just managed to grab a chair to prevent herself falling to the floor. She hobbled to the door and looked out. Sunlight was streaming onto the landing and she could make out voices downstairs. Hamish Balloch and his wife were talking about the breakfast arrangements for their impromptu guests and instructing the cook to make preparations. Rebecca shuffled over to the balustrade at the top of the staircase and peered down.

  There was no sign of Drew but the statue was back in place.

  She was about to go inspect it when her Uncle’s voice stopped her short.

  “My! Up and about early, aren’t we?” he said, cheerfully. “I thought I should go and help with the feeding of the five thousand – show willing and all that. How’s the ankle this morning?”

  “Er, oh, sore but better, thanks,” Rebecca stuttered, unnerved by her uncle’s unexpected appearance and his liveliness at such an hour. She smiled weakly.

  “I – I was looking for an empty bathroom”.

  “Down the end there and on the right, I think, for the ablutions,” he offered helpfully and went downstairs.

  Rebecca paid rather less attention than usual to bathroom preparations that morning. She was desperate to know what Drew had discovered and what had happened in the night. She was annoyed that she had let herself fall asleep and also that he had not woken her to tell her anything. This led her to an entirely different concern, that perhaps he had not been able to tell her because he had been discovered and prevented from returning upstairs. A feeling of alarm gripped her, as a vision of Drew lying somewhere, having been hit over the head, passed through her mind. Or perhaps he had been discovered and taken prisoner?

  “Now you are being silly,” she muttered. She must remain calm and rational. The more likely scenario was that he, like herself, had simply fallen asleep somewhere. Dismissing her fears as the product of her active imagination, she faced the bathroom mirror.

  As she returned from the bathroom, fully dressed, Rebecca’s attention was drawn once more to the statue of Knut. She took a deep breath and went over to examine it more closely. A few paces short of it, she hesitated, suddenly fearful.

  What if it was still a man in disguise?

  She stopped, eying the statue warily, wondering whether she should wait for somebody else to come by. Narrowing her eyes, she scanned for anything which would give it away. Knut the Strong remained absolutely still, without a tremor of movement and stared back from behind his steel visor.

  If it was one of the French mime artistes, he was an excellent actor.

  Rebecca was almost certain, however, that this was the real statue. Where there should have been flesh around the neck below the visor, she could only detect a grey substance, which did not look human. Holding her breath, she took a pace forward and reached out her hand – cold and definitely not a man.

  Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Rebecca stood back and smiled at her own fears.

  The thieves must have replaced the statue during the night, she reasoned. She frowned. That would mean, surely, that they had achieved their aim and that Drew would almost certainly have seen them doing it.

  Where was Drew? Rebecca was peeved he had not yet appeared. If the thieves had been successful, this would mean the mask and collar had been replaced.

  Her attention was drawn by more people talking. An enticing smell of frying bacon wafted upstairs and she realised how hungry she was. Some people passed by behind her on their way downstairs and she started to follow them.

  Rebecca entered the dining room, where breakfast had been laid out on a long table. Given the unforeseen circumstances which had compelled the audience to stay overnight, Rebecca marvelled at the extent of what was on offer this morning. There were cereals, breads, jams and marmalades and a very impressive array of hot dishes. She noticed a large dish of bacon, which she had smelled upstairs and made herself a bacon roll. Over by the window, her Uncle was chatting to some people she did not recognise. There was still no sign of Drew.

  She was becoming quite concerned now.

  Another group entered the room, leaving the door open behind them. Rebecca began to grumble inwardly at the draught of cold air, when she saw two men struggling across the Hall with one of the large wooden boxes of theatre costumes. They came out of the room which had served as the store and were making their way towards the main door. The box was evidently very heavy, as it seemed to require a significant effort to move it.

  Rebecca was about to turn away when, from behind them, appeared the shaggy head of Drew. He did not see Rebecca, rather more preoccupied with what the men were up to and who was in the hall. She watched, barely able to suppress a giggle as he tiptoed out of the door, hopping quickly and rather comically in just bare feet on the cold floor. He disappeared from her line of vision in the direction of the stairs.

  Rebecca turned towards the French windows, relieved he had come to no apparent harm. Outside, the sun was beaming down, the storm having blown itself out during the night. A man opened the French windows and Rebecca followed a group onto a large raised patio area, looking down over a stone balustrade to Loch Scresort and the sea. She was now able to admire the full splendour of the Island of Rum.

  “This island is a bit of a well-kept secret,” said Henry, gravitating towards his niece as she limped down some steps and onto the lawn, biting into her bacon roll as she went.

  “Not many people come here, since there are no hotels on the island. There are some beautiful mountains, though, just above the castle here.”

  He paused to look up at the mountains, soft and green in the morning sunshine.

  “The Rum Cuillin – where I saw my first Golden Eagle. Came over the top of a ridge and there he was, not twenty metres away, a real beauty.”

  Rebecca smiled to herself. She took a long breath of fresh morning air.

  “A rare spot, though – as you like to say.” She tried to mimic his accent.

  “So where’s our Campbell this bright, sunny morn?” asked Henry, triggering an immediate gulp from Rebecca.

  “Oh, er, he’s … I think he’s overslept… haven’t seen him yet.” She did not sound terribly convincing, even to herself. Luckily, at that moment, Drew appeared in the doorway of the French windows and waved merrily. He bounded down the steps.

  “And a braw bricht mornin’ to ye!” he chirped, in his best Rob Roy accent.

  “How are we today? Where did the storm go?”

  “Did you sleep okay, young Drew? You certainly slept long enough – the boat’s due soon. I’m going to get one of those bacon butties Rebecca has. Can I get you one?”

  “Aye, that’d be great, thanks.” He paused until Henry had moved out of earshot and then turned, animatedly to Rebecca.

  “So, what happened then?” She asked in a low whisper.

  “Well, you are not going to believe it. I’ve only just got out of the room – that’s why I’m late down.”

  “I know. I saw you coming out after those blokes with the crate.”

  “Yeah, well, I went down last night and waited in the drawing room. I do
n’t know where those two guys went. There was nobody around for ages but the mask and collar have been swapped! My, it was cold! I didn’t have anything on my feet, either.”

  Rebecca suppressed a smile, remembering his exit from the costume store just a few minutes previously. Drew continued.

  “I did some poking about in that store room. Well, I found Knut there, the real Knut – that is, the real statue of Knut. They put him behind the curtains. So I figured that if I waited, they were bound to come back. I hid behind that screen thing in the far corner and covered myself over with some bits of the costumes. Anyway, about two o’clock, I know it was then because the clock in the hall had just struck, I heard voices in the hall. Sure enough, two blokes came in.”

  “Was one of them the ghost?”

  “It was too dark to tell. They had torches too. I kept my head down but I could just about see what they were up to. One had just swapped the mask and collar and I saw him put them in a crate. They got old Knut out from behind the curtains and took him out. They were very quiet. I guessed they were taking him back upstairs. They were soon back. One of them was one of the French geezers – he had this really thick accent but the other was English. Then – and this is the bit you’ll like – they started talking about the robberies. We have been right all along. They are forging things and stealing the originals. The idea is that nobody notices the real ones have gone until it’s too late. And, here’s the thing; Sibley is in on it. I heard the English one say that something had to be at Sibley’s shop by such and such or it would miss the shipment abroad.”

  Rebecca let out a short yell of triumph.

  “I knew it!” she smiled, her eyes ablaze. “Go on – what else?”

  “They’re doing the forgeries at the old ruin near Rahsaig. We’ll have to go and suss it out. Some bloke is camped there, doing the paintings. It’s the perfect place, if you think about it. Halfway between Loch Nevis and Loch Hourn in the middle of nowhere – nobody ever goes up there.”

  “So is that where the boat we saw was headed?” They wandered slowly round the velvet lawns, careful not to stray into earshot of any of their fellow guests. Rebecca kept a watchful eye on the French windows for the return of her uncle.