Not that it was proving exactly fascinating reading: so far it seemed to be just one long list of attractions. What to do on the pier; what to do in the arcades along the seafront; where to go and what to do in the town itself. She would have been much better off buying a magazine instead.
Rose looked out of the window.
They had to be very nearly there: gulls wheeled overhead and towards the horizon she could make out the occasional tantalizing sparkle of sea.
And now she could see something else too – the end of a station platform…
“Not so fast, young lady!” wheezed the old man, as she sprang to her feet. “No one’s getting out here. We go straight through this one.”
Sure enough the train was rattling past the platform edge, too quickly for Rose to read the name on the signs, too quickly for her to notice anything much more than a station overgrown with weeds.
For a couple of seconds they were engulfed in a blur of brambles and bindweed and peeling paint.
And then it was behind them, and they were rushing onward between rows of pastel-coloured seaside houses towards their destination.
It was almost as if the little station had not existed.
“Gravenhunger Reach,” declared the old man solemnly as Rose sat back down. “There’s not been a train pulled up there in years. No need for it, you see. Not now there’s nobody living at the house.”
“What house?” asked Rose, turning to meet the old man’s gaze.
His face was brown and crinkled like a walnut, his mouth puckered up and thin, but his eyes were sharp enough, bright as pins and the colour of forget-me-nots.
“Gravenhunger Manor,” he replied. “The big house on the other side of the river. No one’s lived there for years and years.”
“But that’s where I’m going,” said Rose. “It’s where I’m staying this summer.”
The old man gaped at her, revealing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth.
“But you can’t be!” he exclaimed. “Gravenhunger Manor’s all packed up and empty.”
“I guess someone must have opened it back up,” said Rose, shrugging.
The old man muttered something under his breath, then gave way to another bout of coughing.
“It’s well known in the area, is it, this Gravenhunger Manor?” asked Rose, when he had recovered himself.
“I should say so,” said the old man. “Round here everyone’s heard of it. There’s that many stories about the place.”
He leaned forward, his face now so close to Rose she could feel the warmth of his whisky breath on her skin.
“You want to take good care of yourself, young lady. There’s some say Gravenhunger Manor’s haunted.”
Rose suppressed a laugh.
“Right,” she said. “I’ll – er – bear that in mind.” She cleared her throat. “And you say no one’s lived there for some time?”
“Not for over thirty years,” said the old man. “Not since…”
But whatever he was about to say was drowned out by an announcement that they were arriving at Gravenhunger, and by the time Rose had heaved her rucksack down from the luggage rack and settled it on to her back, she had been caught up in the sea of passengers preparing to leave the train, and the old man had disappeared.
Fighting her way down the aisle, Rose reached the train doors at last and stepped out on to the sun-drenched platform.
In the distance she could see her uncle waving at her from the ticket barrier.
She waved back, smiling.
This was the moment she had been waiting for all day: a light sea breeze ruffled her hair and she could taste the tang of salt on her lips.
Halfway along the platform she felt a hand on her shoulder. Spinning round, she came face to face with the old man.
“Just you remember what I said,” he hissed. “It’s a funny old place, Gravenhunger Manor. Strange things happen there, you mark my words.”
He fixed her with his forget-me-not eyes.
“Don’t go wandering off on your own, that’s my advice. And whatever you do, keep away from the mound on the other side of the river.”
Rose blinked at him, then turned and headed on towards the station exit.
Really, there was no stopping some people’s imaginations.
On the fourth-floor landing Phoenix paused.
Something here just wasn’t adding up.
I could see the blue sea from my bedroom window – those were the words his mother had used in her letter. I could see the blue sea from my bedroom window and the river running at the bottom of the pine forest.
Well, he’d lost count of the number of windows he’d looked through – there had to be at least six or seven bedrooms on each floor – and all he’d seen through the rain was the forest on every side of the house and the overgrown garden at the back. There had been no sign of any river however hard he had strained his eyes, and not even the faintest glimpse of sea.
He could have sworn he’d seen only four storeys when he’d looked up at the manor from outside earlier on. But was it possible there was another floor, a room higher up that he’d somehow missed?
Phoenix scoured the wall in front of him.
There was a bookcase packed with dusty volumes … a portrait of a young woman dressed in green velvet … a threadbare tapestry…
And then he saw it, half concealed behind the tapestry: a small, brass doorknob.
He hesitated for a moment, his hand on the doorknob, then gave it a sharp twist and pulled open an oak-panelled door.
A dark stairwell stretched before him, its narrow steps spiralling up and out of sight.
Phoenix began to climb, wincing at the creak of ancient floorboards beneath his feet.
One … two … three…
Four … five … six…
He steadied himself against the stairway walls.
Seven … eight…
Ahead of him was another door.
Phoenix reached out and turned the handle.
There was a groan of wood and the door swung open to reveal a low-beamed attic room, furnished with a bed and a chest of drawers.
It was smaller than the other rooms – more of a garret, really.
And there was something else different about it too.
Even through the rain he could see it, sparkling in a distant patch of sunlight like a treasure trove of jewels. The promised view of the sea – and much closer, the occasional flash of river as it wove its way seaward past the pine trees.
Phoenix let out a long sigh.
So this had been his mother’s bedroom. Only for a few weeks, maybe. Only until the terrible secret thing, whatever it was, had driven her family from the house for ever. But this room he was standing in right now had belonged to her.
Fumbling inside his pocket, he drew out the silver angel and nestled it in the palm of his hand.
He stroked his thumb over its wings, the sculpted metal rough and hard against his skin.
Had she had it then, he wondered – a little brighter perhaps, a bit less scratched and tarnished, but the same nevertheless?
Phoenix folded his fingers around his mother’s keepsake and squeezed it tightly, then slid it back into his pocket and crossed to the window.
Something had caught his eye – something rising up between the river and the sea, set all on its own in the middle of a stretch of land and wreathed in ribbons of swirling mist…
…a vast, barrow-shaped mound.
4.
THE VIEW FROM THE ATTIC
Dr Wainwright shouldered his niece’s rucksack and led the way out towards the station car park.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Rose,” he said. “Really it is. I can’t tell you how pleased I am you’re here. And I see you’ve been making friends already!”
He nodded back to where the old man was showing his ticket at the barrier.
Rose grinned. “I sat next to him on the way down. He was winding me up with stories about Gravenhunger Manor.
”
Her uncle raised his eyebrows.
“Stories?” he asked, stopping beside the car and unlocking it. “What kind of stories?”
He stowed the rucksack in the boot and opened the passenger door for his niece to get in.
“Oh, you know the kind of thing,” replied Rose. “Hauntings. Strange goings-on. That sort of rubbish.”
Dr Wainwright laughed. “The place certainly has character, I’ll give it that. Bucketloads of it. But as far as hauntings go, I really don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about on that score!”
Rose settled back in the car and wiped the sweat from her forehead.
“So how did you get to hear about it, anyway?” she asked, as her uncle climbed into the driver’s seat beside her. “Mum and Dad didn’t seem to know much. And the old man on the train seemed quite surprised when I told him I was staying there. He said it hadn’t been lived in for ages.”
“Well, he was right about that at least,” said her uncle, starting the engine and pulling out of the car park. “No one’s lived at Gravenhunger Manor for thirty years.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, Rose, I don’t know much about the place. We kind of agreed to look after it for someone during the summer, you see. But don’t worry, it’s not in such a bad state. It just needs a good airing.”
Rose smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be great, Uncle Joel. Where’s Phoenix, by the way?”
“I left him at the house,” said Dr Wainwright. “He’s supposed to be unpacking, but I expect he’ll be out exploring. We need to stop off for a couple of things in the village and then we can head straight back and find him. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”
“I doubt it,” said Rose. “We hardly know each other, really. To be honest I’m surprised he wanted me here at all.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied her uncle. “You’ll be a breath of fresh air. Exactly what he needs. Exactly what both of us need.”
Rose blushed to the roots of her red hair.
“So what are we stopping off for?” she asked, keen to change the subject. “Food for tonight?”
Her uncle turned the car into the high street.
“No,” he said. “I’ve brought all that with us. I forgot a few essentials, that’s all. We could do with a stock of firelighters and matches for a start.”
“Firelighters? But surely it’s too hot even to think about lighting a fire!”
Dr Wainwright looked suddenly confused.
“It’s a strange thing,” he said, “but up at the manor it was really rather cold and miserable.” He reversed into a parking space beside a small convenience store and turned off the engine. “In fact it was raining.”
He opened the car door and got out. “I’ll only be a few minutes. Are you OK waiting here?”
Rose nodded.
She watched her uncle disappear inside the shop and sat back in her seat.
It couldn’t be as bad as all that at the manor, surely? Not with weather like this only a couple of miles down the road. Still, if the house hadn’t been lived in for ages, it probably would feel a bit on the damp side, and a good fire would dry it out in no time. As for the rain, well, that wasn’t going to last for long. It was probably just a passing shower.
She glanced down the high street to where a family had gathered under a blue-and-white-striped awning, each of them clutching an ice cream.
Now that was more like it. Perhaps she could persuade her uncle to buy her one of those before they set off. It would be the perfect thing to cool her down.
She leaned out of the car window, watching enviously.
Then she frowned. A familiar-looking figure had just come into view. It was the old man from the train, ambling towards her and sucking on a pipe.
Rose ducked back inside the car. The last thing she needed right now was more dire warnings about Gravenhunger Manor.
She kept her head down as he walked past, then sneaked a look behind her.
The old man paused for a moment outside a pub on the corner of the high street and took a final draw on his pipe. And then he tapped it out on a nearby bench and went inside.
Phoenix gazed out of the window at the curious-shaped mound on the other side of the river.
It felt so strange, standing here in the exact same place his mother had once stood, looking out at the same view – as if he had somehow been transported back in time. He half expected to turn round and find her there behind him.
He started, his eye caught by a flutter of movement just above his head. Glancing up, he saw a huge yellow moth trapped inside the top folds of the curtains.
Phoenix shuddered. Gravenhunger Manor might have been grand in its day, but it certainly wasn’t any more. As far as he could make out, the whole house was falling apart.
He stepped away from the window and made for the stairs.
Fresh air. That was what he needed. Fresh air and then a proper night’s sleep.
Letting himself out on to the landing, he shut the door behind him and headed down to the ground floor – past the grandfather clock, past the luggage in the hallway and out through the front door.
Of course, he really ought to be getting on with unpacking his stuff. But it wouldn’t hurt to leave it a while longer, would it? At least he knew which room he was having.
Phoenix stood for a moment in the driveway, breathing in the rainy air, then set off round the back of the house towards the overgrown garden, which stretched for a hundred metres or so before merging with the forest beyond.
Not far from its border with the trees, a pair of swings was swaying from the branches of an old apple tree.
He made his way along the path towards them, past broken trellises and weed-infested vegetable beds, straggling brambles and drifts of tall nettles.
Reaching out, he ran his fingers over one of the wooden seats, recoiling as the edge of the swing crumbled away at his touch.
Who had last swung on these? His mother, perhaps? Had they been put up for her?
In the distance he could hear the hum of a car engine approaching down the track.
They were back – and any minute now Dad would be calling to him to come and say hello to Rose.
Well, his cousin would just have to wait. He didn’t want to see anyone right now – least of all some sympathetic girl he hardly knew.
Phoenix darted out of the rain into the forest.
He was running now, dodging between the pines, chasing through clearings, sliding down steep banks strewn with fallen pine cones and then up the other side, his breath coming in noisy rasps.
When at last he paused, bent nearly double and clutching his aching sides, he sensed daylight between the trees ahead. What was more, the noise of the car engine had disappeared … and a new sound was pounding in his ears.
Guessing at what must lie ahead, he straightened up and hurried out into the rain.
Before him raged the river he had glimpsed from the attic window, and across it, not far from where he was standing, lay an ancient-looking fallen pine, its massive trunk straddling the wild grey water beneath.
Phoenix picked his way through the undergrowth towards it.
His father had asked him not to go beyond the garden, hadn’t he?
But there was no way he was going back yet. Not until he could sneak in without being noticed and hide himself away in the little attic bedroom. Anyway, now he was here he might as well take a quick look. Get across the river and up the embankment on the other side. Check out that weird-shaped mound he had seen from the house.
He hitched himself on to the tree-trunk bridge and dug his knees into its sides.
He’d keep this little expedition to himself.
After all, secrets were what his family seemed to do best.
Rose peered inside the last of the fourth-floor bedrooms and sighed.
What on earth had possessed her uncle to take on a place like this over the summer? It had to be about the most depressing house she had ever set foot in.
>
From the outside it was grand enough – all fancy stonework and tall chimneys, but inside the rooms were dark and dusty, with long strips of wallpaper hanging off the walls. Patches of damp rose from the floors and the furniture had been draped in heavy sheets. It was just like something out of that spooky Victorian novel they’d started reading in class last term. Uncle Joel was kidding himself if he reckoned all it needed was a good airing.
He’d been right about the weather, though. After the blistering heat of the village, it didn’t make sense at all. A cold wind whistled around the eaves and rain fell from a leaden sky.
She closed the door to the bedroom and clattered back down the stairs.
She’d been round the whole house twice now, trekking through the maze of corridors until her legs ached, and her cousin was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like she’d been expecting a welcome party or anything, but at least he could have shown his face when she’d arrived. Surely that wouldn’t have been too much to ask.
In the drawing room she could hear her uncle cursing over the fire he was trying to light in the huge stone hearth.
Poor Uncle Joel. He’d taken one look at the multiplying rain clouds when they had returned from the station and hurried off to light a fire, telling Rose to go and find Phoenix.
Well, she hadn’t found him.
And there was no point spending any more time looking for him, either. He would turn up when he was good and ready. In the meantime, she might just as well get on with picking herself a bedroom: after all, there were enough to choose from.
First, though, she would make herself useful and wheel the bikes in out of the rain. She’d noticed a garden shed round the back of the house – they would be fine in there.
Emerging from the shed a few minutes later, Rose glanced up at the looming black clouds, then stopped still, her eye caught by a room tucked away in the eaves.
So there were five storeys to Gravenhunger Manor, not four…
She must have missed something. A door, maybe, with a staircase leading to another bedroom…
Gravenhunger Page 3