Meanwhile Gardens

by Charles Caselton

  They ran to the back of the chapel, soon discovering a metal grille about eighteen inches wide that lined the side of the building.

  “What’s down there?” Nicky asked.

  “The cellars or foundations I imagine.”

  “Hum!” Nicky’s call brought forth a pattering of feet. “Here he is!”

  The dog, looking snug in his little red jacket, appeared out of the darkness below them.

  “How did you get down there?” Ollie asked in exasperation.

  Hum gave a friendly bark in reply before heading back into the shadows.

  “Hum!” Ollie put the authoritarian tone in his voice. It did the trick. The hound returned under the grille. He looked at the worried faces above him, wagged his tail and grinned before vanishing into the darkness once more.

  “Dog school, dog school, dog school,” Ollie muttered. “Try and keep him here if he comes back.”

  “How??”

  “I’ll go and see if anyone’s around.” Ollie dashed to the front of the building but the chapel, as always, was closed. A clumsily typed notice on the door told him that tours of the cemetery and catacombs took place every Sunday at 2:00pm. Ollie suddenly had a dreadful thought. He ran back to where Nicky waited above the grille.

  “Can’t we just leave him there for a couple of days?” Nicky said. “It might teach him a lesson.”

  “It’s tempting,” Ollie had to admit, “but I think we should get him out as soon as possible because – ”

  “You’re too soft on him Ol.”

  “ – because I think he’s in the catacombs.”

  Nicky came to the realisation Ollie had come to moments before. “You don’t mean – ?”

  “I do. Imagine the fun he would have with shrouded corpses.”

  “Or human bones,” Nicky shuddered, macabre images of a marrow-hungry Hum filling her mind.

  They quickly found what they were looking for. Beside the colonnade a section of metal grille had rusted and collapsed inwards. About ten feet below stone glistened damp and hard. Looking down they could see a narrow ledge running halfway along the wall.

  “If nothing else we’ll at least be able to get back out.”

  “We?” Nicky asked.

  “Of course,” Ollie began lowering himself through the narrow space. “I’m not going in there alone.”

  Cursing Hum, Nicky followed. Her feet easily found the ledge and from there she jumped to the floor, landing beside Ollie with a thump that echoed across the flagstones.

  “Are you ok?” Ollie whispered.

  “Sort of.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Hum,” Ollie muttered. “What might it do to a stupid hound?”

  Or an even stupider human? Nicky thought unhappily.

  Ollie lifted the collar of his coat and pulled it tighter around him. His eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom. He could see a passage stretching into the darkness at the end of which was another dim shaft of light. That must be the other side of the chapel Ollie realised. He could also make out the outline of another passage cutting through the middle of the building.

  “Hum!” he whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” Nicky said out loud. “Who’s going to hear you?”

  “Who’s going to hear me?” Hearing his own voice gave Ollie a measure of confidence. With a hint of a swagger he set off into the unknown and rather scary.

  “Wait for me!” Nicky hurried behind him.

  Floor-to-ceiling archways lined the passage. Some were caged with iron bars, some had been bricked up and others were closed by solid iron doors with elaborate gothic locks.

  “As if dying wasn’t bad enough imagine being put somewhere like this!” Ollie exclaimed.

  “D’you hear anything?”

  Ollie stopped and listened but there was nothing to alert him to Hum’s presence. All that could be heard was an occasional dripping as water seeped from the ground above into the underground chambers. There was no hint of the traffic or trains, nor of the planes stacking overhead getting ready to land at Heathrow.

  “It’s so quiet,” Ollie said amazed. “Some might say a deathly hush filled the space.”

  Nicky gave a reluctant chuckle, more of nervousness than of mirth, “Or a deadly silence.”

  A sudden shiver flared down Ollie’s spine. He jumped swiftly to the centre of the passage, the vision of skeletal hands reaching through the bars had suddenly become unbearable.

  Nicky whistled softly. “Hum!” she implored, but there was nothing, not a distant bark, not a muffled patter of paws, nothing.

  Coming to the main passage Ollie looked up and down to find countless other corridors opening off it in some strange subterranean grid.

  Nicky whistled again and was rewarded by a flash of colour running across the centre passageway several corridors up. In his little red coat, she thought, this was too Julie Christie, too Don’t Look Now for words.

  Ollie strode purposefully onwards until something happened to stop him in his tracks. He felt it first around his face as it exploded up from the ground. Yelling with both hands raised he pushed it away and jumped back, still pummelling the air with his hands. This incident caused Nicky’s already frayed nerves to shred further. Unable to restrain herself she let out an alarming scream.

  It took a while for them to realise what had happened, even longer for their hearts to slow down. The startled pigeon fluttered a few yards down the nearest side corridor before stopping and twitching nervously.

  “Go towards the light!” Ollie shooed the bird towards the dim glimmer at the end of the passage. The bird hopped a few steps but was unsure. “Towards the light!” he hissed, feeling uncomfortably like a new age guru preaching to his disciples.

  “Set it free Ol!”

  “But – ” Ollie was unsure on two counts; unsure whether he could catch the poor bird even if he wanted to and unsure whether he could find his way back to the broken grille anyway. He took a deep breath in the hope it would make the decision making easier. “Maybe this is his home,” he reasoned. “Maybe freeing it would leave a nest of hungry chicks – ” before Nicky could comment Hum’s familiar bark was heard. Saved from the ornithological dilemma Ollie moved quickly on, his eye taken by faint phosphorescence on the wall ahead of him.

  Nicky had also seen the odd gleaming. “Is that a light switch?”

  “I bet it doesn’t work,” Ollie jabbed the button with his fist. To his relief three bare bulbs, evenly spaced along the dank walls, fizzled into action. Lines of side passages stretched before him in the wan glow. The entrances to some were closed with thick doors whilst others remained open.

  “There he is!” Ahead of them Hum slipped into a side corridor through a heavy door open ajar. “Come here!” Ollie ordered now totally fed up with the hound. “I have three words for you Hum – ” he said the words slowly and clearly: “Battersea. Dogs. Home.”

  As if to express the dog’s indifference the lights chose that moment to go out.

  “I’ll get it,” Ollie fumbled his way back towards the switch. As he pressed the oddly luminescent circle he jumped back screaming, feeling warm flesh and fingers beneath his own.

  When the lights flickered into their dull wattage what Ollie saw caused the cry to die in his throat and to rise in Nicky’s. Illuminated in the glow was a bald man with an impressive purple birthmark across the centre and side of his head. Ollie knew who it was in a second – the unfriendly cemetery guard who had been sniffing around Rion’s place on the canal.

  Gorby also recognised Ollie.

  “I – ” Ollie began but his chest was still constricted with fear.

  “How did you get down here?” Gorby asked in a mystified, although slightly menacing, tone.

  “My dog – ” Ollie took in a huge gulp of air, “ – must have fallen through somewhere.”

  In the silence the guard slowly looked Ollie up and down. “Haven’t we spoken about this sort of thing before?” he asked.

  Ollie knew
full well they had but refused to answer.

  “If he’d been on a lead this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “And if the area around the chapel hadn’t been so unsafe this wouldn’t have happened,” Nicky retorted. “Imagine if a child had fallen down here, you need signs at the front warning of the danger.”

  Feeling the guard’s eyes on him caused an involuntary shiver to ripple through Ollie’s body.

  “Where’s the dog now?” Gorby asked.

  As if on cue a snarling was heard from where Hum had vanished moments before.

  Ollie made for the corridor with the huge door open ajar, but was stopped by the guard. “Stay here,” Gorby ordered.

  As another snarling was heard, this time louder, Ollie pushed past the guard, “You want me to get my dog I’ll get him!”

  Quickly followed by Gorby and Nicky, Ollie shoved open the heavy door. He found himself in a side corridor like all the others. Several of the vaults in this smaller passage had been bricked up although some remained caged and open to view. Light spilled from under one closed with a door.

  It was from this one that again the snarling began.

  “Hum!” Ollie called.

  The door to the vault opened a crack and a man with tightly set eyes peered out. He held the struggling, snapping dog at arm’s length in front of him. Just as it seemed Hum was going to deliver a nasty nip to his captor the man dropped him, nodded to the guard and quickly closed the door. The dog continued pawing at the iron door upon which a coat of arms could be seen. Ollie picked Hum up, held him close and took a quick glance through the spyhole. Even though it was made for inside looking out Ollie could see a blurred image of what looked like three people.

  “It’s a private vault,” Gorby pulled Ollie away from the peephole. With one arm firmly around the young man and the other around Nicky, the guard shepherded them out of the passage.

  Inside the Rosleagh vault Beck had his hand over Rion’s mouth while Senior stood with his back against the door. In a fury Rion bit into Beck’s fingers. “Help!” she yelped before Senior and his twin restrained her.

  The dog struggled in his arms upon hearing the stifled cry. “What was that?” Ollie asked.

  Gorby gave no indication of having heard anything. “What was what?” he asked impatiently.

  “Didn’t you hear it?” Nicky, unsure whether she had heard anything or not, spoke up in support of Ollie.

  “Hear what?” the guard firmly closed the door before they could go back to the small corridor. “I must ask you to leave. Our clients come here to be with their loved ones. They do not appreciate intrusion in any form.” Gorby gestured for them to follow him down the central passageway, “Please.”

  Ollie looked back, he sensed something was going on but didn’t know what to do.

  Gorby again began to shepherd them down the centre passageway. “Please,” he said more firmly.

  They shrugged off the guard’s grip and followed.

  “What are your names?” Gorby took a small pocketbook from his jacket.

  Without thinking Ollie answered, “Oliver Michaelson.” He could have kicked himself as the words spilled out. How many times had he told Nicky never to give your real name to officials in dodgy situations?

  Nicky remembered Ollie’s oft-repeated advice even if he hadn’t. “Carina Fitzboodle,” she replied coolly.

  Gorby jotted the names down, snapped the notebook shut with a flourish and returned it to its place. After twenty yards he turned off the centre passageway onto some narrow stone stairs that wound their way up to the ground level. Nicky and Ollie followed a few paces behind, Ollie inwardly cursing his own stupidity.

  They walked in silence through the neglected chapel, its once grand ceiling depicting the heavens now sadly showing signs of decay, before leaving through the main entrance.

  “Keep your dog on a lead,” Gorby said.

  Before Ollie could think of a suitable reply the enormous chapel door clanged shut behind him.

  “I can’t believe you gave him your real name!” Nicky said astounded. “How many times – ?”

  “I know. I know,” Ollie stood under the Doric columns. After a few seconds lost in thought he turned to his friend, “There were three people in that vault.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No – well, yes, – I think so,” he kicked the ground in exasperation. “God Nicky – who knows?”

  Nicky put her arms around him, “Maybe they were just mourners like he said.”

  “Maybe,” but Ollie wasn’t convinced.

  Defiantly keeping Hum off the lead they set off towards the van. In his preoccupied state Ollie forgot to collect his tin of Kensal Green that Jake had so kindly kept for him.

  “Get her ready,” Gorby pulled Beck to one side. “Do you need any more?” he whispered out of reach of Rion’s hearing.

  “K?” Beck asked, referring to the horse tranquillizer they had been using to subdue the young girl.

  Gorby nodded.

  “There’s loads left.”

  “Make sure nothing goes wrong.” Before Gorby left he took a quick look at Rion who sobbed on the mattress, her face to the wall.

  “When do you expect to move?” asked Senior.

  “Soon enough.”

  Enough time, Senior hoped, to retrieve the jewels and return the bars to their original state.

  Senior peered after Gorby as he left down the corridor. Satisfied that he had gone the leader of the twins returned to the Rosleagh vault. “Come on,” he went to unlock Rion’s section, “stop the waterworks.”

  Still sobbing the young girl looked up at him. Her eyes were red from crying. In a rage she got up from the mattress and clung to the bars. “What do you want from me?” she screamed at the twins.

  Senior rethought his plans to let her out and put the key back in his pocket.

  Rion was scared.

  But for the first time since her ordeal began she dared to hope. The sight of Hum had at once confused her and raised her spirit. It meant she must still be near Meanwhile Gardens – at least she wasn’t in Ireland – it also meant people were looking for her. Where Hum was, Ollie and the rest couldn’t be far behind.

  It didn’t take her long to figure out that she must be in the catacombs beneath Kensal Green Cemetery.

  The twins observed her, Beck blankly, Senior more troubled. Rion felt her eyes well up again. She returned to the mattress, held the blankets tightly to her and stared at the damp, pockmarked bricks. After a few seconds she reached into her back pocket. Rion removed the cutting of Blondin and smoothed it out. She stared at the familiar image of the tightrope walker with the frying pan in hand, the waters of Niagara crashing beneath him.

  What would he have done?

  Behind her the twins carried on sawing, each minute bringing them closer to the Rosleagh jewels they were so determined to possess.

  All was quiet when Ollie finished recounting the recent events in Bridlington and in the catacombs. Gem ‘n Em looked at each other in slight bewilderment before Auntie Em stood up and went to the phone, “Neil should know about this.” They listened in silence as she tried dialling up her tame inspector, but without success. “Neil’s off duty until tomorrow. They wouldn’t give me his mobile number.”

  “We’ll phone him first thing,” Nicky reassured her.

  “What do you think was going on in the catacombs?”

  “Only Hum knows don’t you boy?” Ollie stroked the dog that had squeezed on the sofa beside him. “There aren’t many times I wish he could talk but this is one of them.”

  Hum pricked up his ears as if aware he was being talked about before scrambling from the sofa and dashing down the stairs. A knock at the door followed.

  “I’ll get it,” Nicky said, following the dog.

  Gem ‘n Em and Ollie strained to find out who it was but all they could hear were muffled voices. Moments later Jake appeared.

  “Thought you should know the guards at the cemet
ery have blocked off Heron Point – there’s still a way in of course, at least to old lags like me,” he smiled. “Also,” Jake handed a battered tobacco tin to Ollie, “you forgot this.”

  “Thanks mate. You didn’t have to bring it round though. I could have collected it tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, well, I – ” Jake shuffled his feet before looking up.

  Ollie wasn’t the only one to notice the slightly bashful smile that passed between Jake and Nicky.

  “Would you like to stay for supper Jake?” Auntie Em asked quick as a flash. “We have plenty.”

  27

  UNCOMMON JEWELS

  Rion woke to excited cries. She turned to see Beck reaching through the bars for the studded green velvet box that lay at the foot of the Earl of Rosleagh’s similarly clad coffin.

  “This is it!” Senior crowed triumphantly.

  Beck’s hands inched towards the jewel box, “Nearly there!” With a yelp he touched it, got his fingers around the back and manoeuvred it into his other hand. Slowly, slowly he pulled the studded box out until he held it, arms trembling, before his brother.

  “Feel the weight of it!” Beck said impressed.

  Rion looked on as Senior took the box from his twin. He balanced it in his hands and shook it slightly, smiling with satisfaction upon hearing the jewels inside rattle about.

  Beck sat down on the Countess of Rosleagh’s elaborate chair. “Open it!” he implored.

  Senior examined the box from all angles. He tipped it upside down, grinning each time the stones rolled from one end to the other. After a while he found what he was looking for.

  “You don’t get craftsmanship like that any more,” he pointed to the rose on the Rosleagh coat of arms. “D’ye see?”

  Beck looked closely at the studded velvet box. “See what?”

  Rion tried to make out that she wasn’t interested but looked on from the corner of her eye.

  With the thinnest blade on his penknife Senior lifted a petal of the intricately carved rose. “There,” he identified a tiny, narrow slit, “that’ll be it.” Senior poked his blade through the slot and wriggled it about. He smiled when the top of the box sprang open.