Meadowbank: A dark fantasy thriller (The Shael Chronicles Book 2)

by Jonathan Kent

  'You know I do,' Thomas said. 'But do we need all this stuff?' he gave the sack a gentle shake.

  'We don't, but I do,' he said, 'I told you your job is to keep your brother safe. I'm going to check out that old place. This stuff,' he pointed to the bag, 'That's my insurance policy.'

  'Insurance against what?' Thomas asked.

  'Let's hope we never get to find out,' he said, 'Come on.'

  They closed up the shed and headed back to the house. Lucas was waiting for them in the kitchen doorway.

  'I thought you left me,' he said, Tears welling in his eyes.

  Thomas gave him a playful punch on the arm; landing it harder than he'd intended. 'I can't get rid of you that easily,' he said, the younger boy visibly brightening.

  For all they were going through, George was grateful for Thomas' level-headedness. Lucas obviously adored his brother and the eldest boys composure was going a long way to comfort him. To comfort both of them. He left the boys in the kitchen and as fast as he could he sprinted up the stairs and grabbed his service revolver from under his bed. Despite his age, and despite the seriousness of the situation, he hadn't felt this alive. This needed. In years. He folded the gun into its own cleaning cloth and headed back to the boys.

  'What now?' asked Thomas.

  'Now, we see if either Gladys or Margaret are back. I want you and Lucas to stay with them whilst I check out the mansion.'

  'No way!' said Lucas, 'There's no way you're leaving me with two grannies whilst you go off on your own with this lot,' he held up the rucksack.

  George took the bag and tried (unsuccessfully) to slide the revolver in without Thomas seeing, 'I need to know you two are safe,' he said, 'And besides, this is all probably a wild goose chase anyway. If your mum comes back, you're going to want to be here.'

  Thomas shot him a look that defied his age. 'Don't give me that crap,' he said, 'I'm fourteen years old. Not four. You go in that place alone at your age and you're likely to break a hip or something. At the very least you need me to carry that lot,' he pointed to the bag George was trying, unsuccessfully to sling over his shoulder. 'And don't forget, that's my mum in there. Do you honestly expect me to just sit tight and babysit? Face it, you need me.'

  George lowered the bag and looked at the two boys stood scared and alone in front of him. Unfortunately, Thomas had a point. Without Andrew as his wing-man, George would be on his own and despite his youthful burst of energy, he had to admit, he was an old man. Thomas had already shown he was wise beyond his years and hadn't he himself only been sixteen when he signed up for the army. He also sensed a stubborn streak in him. With time being such a precious commodity, perhaps this one was worth conceding.

  'Alright,' he said, 'But if those ladies aren't back, You need to take care of Lucas. Deal?'

  For a second he thought Thomas was going to put up a fight. Then he relaxed, 'Deal,' he said.

  George allowed Thomas to shoulder the bag and together the three of the them headed out. He had no desire to allow any harm to come of the boy and his heart sank when he saw both Gladys and Margaret walking up Meadowbank Lane towards the cottages.

  Thomas shot him a insolent look that was much more akin to a teenager's, 'Looks like I'm not the only one who thinks I should go with you,' he said.

  George had to agree; fate was clearly in favour of the boy. He looked towards the two old women walking side by side and his face brightened. 'We'll see,' he said. Thomas followed his gaze and his face dropped as firstly a silver-grey Prius followed by a pristine police cruiser drove into the lane.

  'Whatever you do,' George said, 'Don't tell them what's in the bag.'

  'You know there's only one thing that's going to keep me quiet,' Thomas said, 'I go with you.'

  Andrew and Karen had parked up and were making their way towards them. 'Fine,' George whispered, 'I think things are going to get a whole lot more interesting anyway.'

  10

  The seven of the them convened at the foot of George's garden; Karen and Andrew arriving moments before being joined by both Gladys and Margaret. They all listened intently as Andrew recounted what they found at the abandoned Prius. George then filled in the blanks around Gillian's disappearance; being careful to stick to the known facts and avoid scaring Lucas any more than he already was.

  The words hung in the air for a while before anyone spoke. It was George that finally broke the silence.

  'These footprints,' he said, 'You're sure they're identical to the ones we found out back?'

  Andrew nodded, 'One hundred percent.'

  'And you say the car was unlocked, but untouched?'

  'Lizzy always gets it cleaned before she goes away on courses. She likes to make a good impression. There was barely a speck of dirt on it.'

  George frowned as he put the pieces together in his mind. 'If we are talking about the same fella,' he said, 'Then it doesn't make a lot of sense. That's over two miles from there to here and what, carrying someone?'

  'Lets not get ahead of ourselves here, George,' said Karen, 'We have no evidence that any wrongdoing has happened. All we have is an abandoned car and a set of footprints.'

  'That's crap,' said Thomas, 'We have way more than that,' he turned to Andrew, 'Has your wife ever just abandoned her car like that?'

  Andrew shook his head. 'Of course not.'

  'And you know my mum, Karen,' he continued, 'She would never just up and leave. She was always very careful in letting us know where she was. Something is seriously wrong here. You have to see that!'

  'I do,' said Karen, 'But it makes no sense.'

  The two old women had been silent throughout this exchange and it was Gladys - ten years Margaret's senior and ninety two on her next birthday - who spoke first. 'If they've been taken into that mansion,' she said, 'Then it makes perfect sense.'

  As one, they turned to her. She was leaning on the wall of George's garden with a battered walking stick propping up her other side. She was thin. Stick thin and with wisps of white hair sprouting from her head. With obvious effort she lifted her cane and pointed it towards the old house. 'That place,' she continued, 'Has evil in its heart and has taken people before.'

  'That's ridiculous,' said Karen, 'There's no open missing person cases in this area.'

  'And there won't be, missy,' she said. 'Not recently anyway. But look back a few years and you'll see.'

  'Well, I'm sold,' said Andrew, 'And if we don't move quick, God knows what's going to happen.'

  'Trust me young man,' she whispered and lowered her cane, 'God has nothing to do with this.'

  'Look,' said Andrew, 'I really appreciate your help, but we don't have a lot of time here. My wife...'

  'Your wife has been taken by that Hatton boy. Snatched her and Gillian last night. Took them in there,' she raised her cane again. This time, it shook with the effort, 'He's under its spell.'

  Karen slapped her forehead. 'Of course!' she said, 'Peter!' Although Dean and herself had lived on the lane for a good few years, they hadn't had a lot to do with the Hatton's. The mother kept herself to herself and the son, who was freakishly tall, did likewise. Karen would see him most mornings walking into the village to catch the early bus. She would put his height close to seven foot; with feet to match.

  She turned and marched along the row of houses and moments later was hammering on the door of number six. 'Peter!' she yelled, 'Peter. It's the police. Can you open the door please, we need to speak to you.'

  Andrew had caught up with her; the others were huddled together back on the lane. 'Karen,' he said, 'He's not going to be in there.'

  'Shhh,' she hissed and listened. There was nothing. She hammered the door again. 'Peter! We need to speak to you,' She paused the hammering to listen again.

  'Karen,' Andrew said and tugged at her sleeve, 'We haven't got time for this. He's not going to be in there!'

  'Andrew!' she said, 'We have procedures. We have to follow up every possible lead.'

  'Fuck the procedures!' he said, 'We
have a chance here and the more time we waste, the slimmer the chance gets.'

  There was a moment's hesitation where he could visibly see her calculating the different scenarios and then she succumbed. She turned from the door to follow him and the door clicked open behind them.

  'Hello?' said a timid voice, 'Is there a problem?'

  'Oh thank god,' said Karen, 'Colleen, is Peter at home?'

  'I'm sorry, what?' The last time Andrew had seen Colleen Hatton was just after they moved in. He remembered her being quiet and softly spoken, but she was polite and well presented. This woman was not. Her hair looked like it hadn't seen a brush in a month, with big black clumps sticking up in all different directions. She was wearing an XXL blue t-shirt (clearly one of Peter's) which was covered in stains from god knew where. But worst of all were her eyes. They were both bloodshot and encircled with ugly dark rings.

  Karen had obviously seen the state of the woman, but Andrew had to give her credit for her deadpan reaction. 'Peter?' she continued, 'Is he at home?'

  'I don't think so,' Colleen said, 'Is he in trouble?' She gave the impression of someone who had just woken from a particularly long sleep.

  'No nothing like that,' said Karen, 'Do you mind if I take a look?'

  'Of course,' said Colleen and stepped aside to allow Karen past. Her movements were just as dopey as her voice.

  Either sleeping pills or alcohol, Andrew thought. Probably both.

  Colleen didn't attempt to follow Karen; just stood in the doorway looking at Andrew. 'What time is it?' she said.

  'Nearly nine am,'

  'Oh yes,' she said, 'That's right.' They stood that way for an age whilst Karen searched the house. Andrew became more and more uncomfortable with the silence; Colleen was oblivious to it. She just stood there with that dopey grin across her face. He was about to call into the house, when Karen appeared in the doorway shaking her head.

  'Nothing?' he asked.

  Ignoring the question, Karen turned to Colleen. 'Mrs Hatton,' she said, 'Have you any idea where Peter is. Any idea at all. It really is a matter of some urgency.'

  She took such a long time to answer, Andrew wasn't sure she was going to. 'I suppose he's at work,' she finally said, 'Is he not there?'

  'We'll try there next,' said Karen, 'But in the meantime, if he does come home can you call the station?'

  'The station?'

  As she turned away, Andrew saw her finally lose patience and roll her eyes. 'Come on,' she said, 'I've had enough of this shit. I'm sorry for not listening, but we have to follow the proper lines of enquiry.'

  'Don't apologise,' he said, 'I get it. Was there nothing?'

  'Apart from a fine collection of empty Vodka bottles,' she said, 'All I found was this,' she held up a giant sized blue and white sports trainer. 'Looks like we have the right man.'

  'Looks that way,' he said, 'How do you want to play this?'

  'Though it pains me to agree with you,' she said, 'I think we need to get in that mansion ASAP. I do need to call this in first, though. Can't have a community PC going rogue!' She thought he would protest further at this, but instead he smiled.

  'Good,' he said, 'There's something I need to do first, anyway.'

  'Oh? What's that?'

  'I need to see exactly what that old woman knows about this fucking mansion.'

  'How long do you need?' she said.

  'Five minutes?'

  'Make it three and we have a deal,' she said. She gave him that quirky half smile again and headed to her car. Andrew left it a beat and then headed in the opposite direction to the spinsters cottage.

  11

  Whilst Karen searched the house, Margaret had suggested they went into their cottage to await the outcome. Primarily this was to get Gladys rested after her morning walk. But it was also for Lucas. She could tell the younger boy was getting more and more fraught, especially now a second woman had gone missing.

  Thomas had started to protest, but a steadying hand from George had won him over. Margaret took Lucas into the kitchen where he politely accepted her offer of milk and cookies. The other three made their way into the lounge. For an eight year old, Margaret thought he was holding up pretty well. She was however, fearful of what was to come. As a relative newcomer to the area, she'd heard stories of the old mansion; mostly from Gladys, but also from conversations she’d had with the villagers.

  She hoped for the sake of the boys that the majority of these weren't true.

  The front door rattled and Andrew came through. 'How's the little guy holding up?' he said, motioning to Lucas.

  'As good as can be expected, I suppose.' She took his arm and lead him back to the hallway. 'Do we know anything yet?' she whispered.

  'Nothing more, I'm afraid. Peter wasn't home. His mother was there, but she seemed pretty vacant.'

  'What now then?' she said, 'Do you really think they've been taken. In there.'

  'I hope not, but everything seems to be pointing that way. Do you think Gladys will be up for a few questions?'

  'About the mansion?' she said, 'I suppose so. But go easy. I know you're desperate for answers, but she's old and fragile. I'm not sure bringing all that up again is going to do her any good.'

  'I understand,' he said, 'But if she knows something. It could just be the edge we need.'

  He slipped into the lounge and both George and Thomas looked up expectantly. He shook his head and the disappointment - especially on the boy - was obvious. He sat next to Gladys on the sofa. At first, she didn't acknowledge him and for a minute he thought she was asleep. Then, with a sharp intake of breath that made them all jump, she turned to him.

  'Didn't find the Hatton boy then?' she said.

  'No, I'm afraid not, only Colleen was in.'

  'They're a weird bunch. I always thought there was something going on between the two of them. Something unnatural.'

  He looked at George who only raised an eyebrow. He could have been saying hurry up, or he could quite easily have been saying she had a point. 'Mrs...' Dawning horror struck him as he realised he didn't know her surname. 'Gladys, sorry,' he continued. Hopefully saving himself. Could you tell me...'

  She cut him off. 'You want to know what I know about that evil house and whether it'll help with finding your wife. Is that about the gist of it?'

  'That's about the gist alright,' he said, 'You can read me like a book.' He hoped the flattering tone would help, but it had the opposite effect.

  'Young man,' she hissed, 'I've had more cocks than a rooster farm. Been wooed by more men than I care to mention. Those days are gone now and if you want to hear what I have to say, then you can stop with the fucking patronising.'

  Andrew rocked back, 'Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend.'

  Gladys was cackling. 'No bother,' she said patting his knee. 'I guess you can see why I never married. I find men are only useful for one thing.' She shot him a playful wink and started cackling again. This time she cackled so hard, it turned into a full blown cough.

  Andrew turned to George and the look he got this time was obvious; we haven't got time for this! He waited for the coughing to subside before he continued. 'Gladys,' he said. 'What can you tell me about the mansion?'

  She turned and looked him in the eye. Up close, her features were hideous; ugly liver spots high on her cheeks and both eyes misted with cataracts. 'You must remember,' she began, all humor now gone from her voice. 'I was only a young girl when that place was last lived in.'

  'Anything you can remember could really help us.'

  'You interrupt me again young man,' she snapped, 'And you can be on your way. As I was saying, I may have only been a young girl - not much older than the little one in there - but I can still remember what my Pa told me.'

  Another coughing fit overcame her. When it finished, she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a dirty handkerchief. 'My Pa was the groundsman for the Meadowbank estate for twenty five years,' she continued, obvious pride in her voice. 'From 1911, right throug
h the war, right through the depression until he was fired in 1931. In it's heyday, that place employed some fifty or so workers. Maids and chefs and the like. Most lived in the village except for the heads - like my Pa - they got to live with their families in these cottages. Considered quite a luxury I reckon, but my Pa thought it was because lord and master Mr Meadowbank wanted his staff on hand day and night. Fine place it was though, back in the day.' She trailed off and stared through the lounge window; her eyes misty with memory.

  'He wasn't a lord,' she said, 'No, nothing like that. Just had some fancy job up in London. But the way he acted with the staff, he sure thought he was one. He would hold lavish parties and invite all kinds of gentry. Very swish. There were rumours he was quite close to the Kaiser, but that was before my time and Pa never spoke much about that. He did speak about the spectacle of the place though. Probably to fill his little girl's head with wonder more than anything. But he said on its day the mansion could rival the Titanic in all its over the top splendour. Can you imagine?'

  George, Andrew and Thomas could imagine very well. A splendid mansion with acres of beautifully maintained grounds. Lavish parties with Champagne flowing. No care for what was really happening in the world, as long as their fine china was on show. George Meadowbank, the talk of the town.

  'And then it all changed,' she said. Although bright sunlight was streaming through the windows, her face seemed to darken, 'Must have been about 1930 by my guess. I was only a young pup myself. Pa said that Mrs Meadowbank was struck down and bedridden with consumption. Some of the finest doctors came to see her, but it was no good. Within a month she was dead,' She reached out with a gnarled hand and grasped Andrews wrist. Every sinew in his body wanted to recoil, but he remained still with that dry leathery hand caressing his, 'And this is where you need to listen very carefully,' she said. 'The death of George's wife hit him hard. He became a recluse, locked himself in his bedroom for days on end. Not speaking. Not answering the maids. Totally shut himself away from society. Nothing at all like the old George. He also became obsessed that his wife wasn't dead. He thought she was alive and trapped.'