by Jeff Mills
She recalled that dreadful day when they had roughly taken her from the dark, damp cell in Exeter gaol and made her walk up those wooden stairs. She could still smell and feel the sting of the rotten vegetables and fruit that the gloating spectators had thrown at her, her sister and friend. The memory of the rough scratching of the rope around her neck, the stench of urine and vomit on the black hood that was pulled over her head and the feeling of floating momentarily as the trap door opened, flooded into her mind. From then on, everything became very uncertain in her memory.
Thoughts flashed through her mind of vague shadows, the feeling of movement of a cart, being knocked and moved around by someone or something that had very little strength, of being forced to drink foul-tasting liquids which felt as if they were burning her insides and then, peace. A feeling of being out of her body, just floating in thin air, not feeling or sensing anything for what seemed an eternity.
She had had Christianity forced on her throughout her life and this, she thought, must be what heaven was like, just a peaceful floating feeling. This had been interrupted quite suddenly a few short weeks ago. The taste of the foul golden liquid forced into her mouth was still fresh in her memory; the sudden pain and awareness of objects around her and the agonising sensation of a rope around her neck, getting tighter and tighter.
Suddenly a voice, a familiar voice, calling her name: Jane. Jane. Jane. Jane. Then light. Dim at first and hurting her eyes but slowly becoming brighter and brighter, during which time her name, Jane, Jane, echoed in her ears. An image began taking shape, blurred but a face. The lips moved and her name was coming from them. Jane. Jane. The face became clearer and the lips drew back into a smile.
There was a sudden noise and a large rat ran out from a crevice where it had been hiding. Immediately, Putricia was back in this world and she shook her head to clear her thoughts. Her progress was slow, as she was unsure if any of those no-good-for-nothing creatures who called themselves humans were around. The tunnel widened and she came into the smaller cave. It was empty except for some partially smashed old wooden crates in which the gnomes had been imprisoned and the two old wooden coffins. The lids had been moved and stacked to one side. She inched her way over to them and touched them gently, running her fingers over the letters crudely engraved in their tops.
Moving on, she crossed to the connecting tunnel and made her way to its end. The main cave loomed in front of her, dark and silent. The floor was strewn with jars and bottles, some, still unbroken, radiating different colours of iridescent light. Her own coffin lay empty beside the table, its lid propped up against the wall. She gently ran her fingers over the letters J.T.
How long had she spent in there? One. Two. Three hundred years or more. The whole time seemed like a dream. She felt a lump come to her throat and unconsciously put her hand up to touch it. The rough skin and the scar circling her neck brought her back to reality and she moved on.
The fire under the cauldron was cold and as she bent down to place wood and rekindle it, she banged against the metal. It echoed like a bell, the noise bouncing around the empty cave. Pulling a spill of wood from a rotting log, she used it to take a flame from her lamp to the fire. The tinder-dry twigs rapidly took hold. Slowly the fire grew and the flame licked and flickered over the cast iron surface of the cauldron, leaving sooty shadows.
Holding the lamp as high above her head as she could, she searched for the book that her sister had described, that gave the recipe which she so dearly sought. It loomed out of the darkness, the gold-metal corner edging glinting in the lamp light.
Eagerly tearing through the brown curled pages she hunted through it until… yes, there it was. She rubbed her skeletal hand over the pages to flatten them but age had made the vellum rigid and uncompliant. She noted the ingredients and what was needed. Sifting through the broken containers, one by one, she found what she needed and added them to the steaming cauldron.
Hours passed, yet there was no sign of a let-up. More lamps had been found and lit, their flickering light sending shadows dancing across the walls. The colour of the bubbling liquid in the cauldron changing with each addition from the vials and bottles until it became a sparkling golden colour.
With a sigh, the woman collapsed onto an old box and took a last look at the thumb-worn pages. The cave echoed as she slammed the book shut and sat back with a satisfied smile. “There’s just one more thing I need,” she thought and closed her eyes.
Chapter 50
The Unexpected Occupant
Sunday was lie-in day in the Bennett household and no one stirred until nine o’clock, except Jake, who was whining and pawing at the kitchen door, waiting for his breakfast.
Mr Bennett came down in his dressing gown and slippers, rubbed the dog’s head and filled his bowl with Chappie. By the time the kettle had been filled and plugged into make a cup of tea, the bowl was clean and the animal was jumping around trying to persuade his master to give him some more. Mr Bennett looked up the stairs and shook his head.
“If her upstairs knows of this then I’ll be in for it,” he said laughingly to the dog and gave him a second helping.
The kettle had just boiled when Stephanie came into the room, still looking half asleep, her hair in a tangle and with only one slipper on.
“What’s up with you?” her father asked. “Can’t you sleep or something? To what do we owe this honour of your company this early on a Sunday?”
His daughter looked at him bleary-eyed.
“If you must know, I’m going out with Marty and his family this morning. They’re going to a car boot sale and the last time that Sharon, Marty’s sister, went there she picked up some really good cheap dresses, some with designer labels, so I agreed to go with her to see what I can find. She’s picking me up at 9.15.”
“You’d better get your skates on then,” insisted her father. “It’s gone nine already.”
“What!” she screamed. “Why didn’t to tell me before. Look at me, I’m a mess. What’ll Marty say if he sees me like this.”
She turned and ran out of the kitchen. Mr Bennett heard her pounding up the stairs, almost colliding with Emma who was coming out of her bedroom to go to the bathroom.
“Out o’ the way!” Stephanie screamed and the bathroom door slammed, followed by the sound of running water.
“Women!” Her father sighed and poured the hot water into the tea-pot.
Emma came into the kitchen and said a cheery good morning. Going to the cupboard, she took out the packet of cornflakes, poured herself a bowlful, went to the fridge, poured some milk onto the cereal and was about to return the container when Mr Bennett asked her to leave it out as he needed it for the tea. She smiled, handed him the carton and sat at the table and started to dig into the bowl in front of her.
“Tea Emma?” Mr Bennett held up a cup.
“Yes please,” she replied, spraying a mouthful of cereals over the table. She blushed and apologised before continuing with her breakfast. In between spoonfuls, she confided to Hugo’s father that she was feeling much better and she had enjoyed getting out and going on the trip into Bideford the day before.
“I think that it’s about time I went back to school,” she said, this time making sure that her breakfast stayed in her mouth. “I know that I am missing so much and, since I was a new-comer to the school in the first place, I don’t want to get left behind.”
Mr Bennett agreed that it was time to get on with life and was proud of the young girl and her adult attitude to her situation.
“We’re making progress with the Social Services,” he reassured her but these things take time. Are you sure that you are happy to come and live with us?”
She nodded with enthusiasm but could not answer as she had another mouthful of cornflakes.
At that point the doorbell rang and Mr Bennett went to answer it.
A tall thin blond girl stood at t
he doorway.
“Oh hello. I’m Sharon, Marty’s sister. Is Stephanie ready? We arranged to go to the car boot sale in Torrington.”
Before he had a chance to answer, a whirlwind flew past him that was his daughter.
She shouted, “Hi, Sharon. Thanks, Dad.”
Before he could utter a word, they had jumped into a green Land Rover Discovery and were heading up the road, with Stephanie’s hand waving out of the window.
“Whatever next?” he sighed and closed the door.
“Who was that dear?” came a voice from the bottom of the stairs and his wife came into the kitchen with a towel round her head, rubbing her wet hair.
“That was your daughter... I think.” He smiled at his wife.
“What’s the noise about?” came another voice. Into the kitchen came Hugo, wearing the top from one pair of pyjamas and the bottoms from another.
“What in the world have you got on?” his mother scolded him.
He looked down at himself, shrugged and went to help himself to a bowl of cornflakes, which he took to the table and noisily started to eat. His parents just looked at each other in desperation.
“What’s everyone doing this morning? It looks quite bright outside,” his father asked, looking around.
Mrs Bennett said that she was planning to go to visit her friend, Sue Smith, who lived in Westward Ho! She was an expert at making and decorating cakes and she wanted to go around to pick up some hints and recipes.
And catch up on the latest gossip, Mr Bennett thought and grinned. He turned and looked at his son, their eyes lighting up with the prospect of the tasty goodies to come, for both knew that, whenever his wife called round at Sue’s, she always was eager on her return to try out the recipes she had been given.
“I think that I’ll drive over to Barnstaple,” declared Mr Bennett. “I need some screws and other bits so that I can finish that job I’ve been doing in the shed. What about you two? Want to come?”
The two children looked at each other and shook their heads.
“My friend, Archie Coleman, has asked me to go round to his house and help him build his model of HMS Hood, a famous battleship from World War Two.”
“That just leaves you then?” Mr Bennett said, looking at Emma.
“Oh, since it’s a nice day I think that I’ll take Jake for a walk. I haven’t been out much and the fresh air will do me good.”
“Right then. That’s settled,” and they got on with the business of breakfast.
* * *
By 10.30 the house had emptied except for Emma and the dog. Emma had used the freedom of the bathroom to have a shower and wash her hair. She picked up the deodorant and was about to use it when she thought back to the last time she used it and the disastrous consequences it had resulted in when its smell had alerted Kadavera to her and Hugo’s presence, resulting in their capture. She was about to put it down but then thought to herself.
“The witches have gone so there’s no need to worry anymore.” So she gave herself a liberal dose. Even Jake looked up and gave a sniff as she passed when she finally had dressed and put on her light jacket.
She looked outside, checked that the weather had not changed, then with a flurry of the dog’s paws on the wooden floor, she grabbed his lead and headed outside.
Other than the trip to Bideford the previous day and her parents’ funeral, this was the first time she had been outside and she inhaled the salty air as she started her walk. Jake ran on ahead, stopping periodically and looking around to see where she was.
Suddenly, he stopped and sniffed the air, then without looking back, he headed for the cliff edge and bounded down onto the pebbled beach, directly toward the cave. Emma saw him go and called him back but the dog vanished into the tunnel. The blue and white police tape fluttered as he dashed underneath. Emma continued to call him but realised it was no use as she saw a yellow-brown tail disappear under the tape.
By the time she reached the entrance, she was panting. The tape said, ‘Police Line Do Not Cross.’ She looked around and called into the tunnel for Jake to come out but there was no response. Looking around again to make sure that she was not observed, she pushed the tape apart and wriggled herself inside.
As she walked further into the tunnel she wished that she had brought a torch or something with her as it was getting progressively darker and she had to feel along the wall to prevent herself banging into the rocks. Suddenly her hand touched something metal.
She felt around it and, in the almost non-existent light, she realised that it was one of the old miners’ lamps that had been left there. She lifted it from the notch in which it stood and gave it a shake; Yes, there was still some fuel inside its tank. Feeling around to see if there was anything she could use to light it, she found, in the same recess where she had discovered the lamp, a small piece of stone and its smooth glass-like surface made her convinced it was a piece of flint.
Before moving to Devon she had belonged to the Brownies and then Girl Guides. Fortunately, she had passed her fire-lighting badge. She smiled as she thought back to her Akela, Mrs Robinson, telling the group how, having this knowledge, might be useful one day, and how Silvia Brown, one of the other guides in the group, had mocked her, saying that everyone used matches these days. This would prove Akela was right after all, and would be proud of her, if she could remember how to do it.
Kneeling down, she ran her fingers over the floor and soon found enough small twigs and pieces of grass that had blown into the tunnel to act as kindling. She gripped the stone in one hand and the lamp in the other and as hard as she could she gave the lamp a glancing blow with the stone. A spark. Then another. She bundled up the kindling and struck again.
Three strikes later, there was a glow from the kindling. Quickly, putting her face to the floor, she gently blew on the small ember. It sprang into life and its light flickered and cast shadows on the walls. Using the flame, before it died, Emma chose, from out of the assorted kindling material, a small twig that was burning brightly. Carefully she picked it up and used it to light the lamp.
As the light from the lamp increased, the flame from the kindling died down and flickered out, leaving only a faint receding glow. She thought a silent thank you to her Akela and was convinced that she would have been proud of her if she had known that she had succeeded in a real-life situation. Again, thinking back to her training, Emma stamped on the ashes of the kindling to make sure that it was truly out with no possibility of a fire spreading.
Now able to see where she was treading, Emma steadily made her way up the tunnel and into the small cave. Seeing the coffins still there sent a shiver down her back. She called to Jake again but no sound could be heard.
No! Wait! What was that? She could hear a faint barking echoing from further up the tunnel in the main cave. Buoyed by the knowledge that she had finally tracked that dumb animal down, she hurried towards the sound. As she entered the tunnel that connected the two caves, she thought she saw a dim light in the distance. Yes. It was definitely a light. As she proceeded it became brighter until she emerged into the main cavern. The animal was standing facing her next to the steaming cauldron. The young girl stopped dead.
This is supposed to be empty, she said to herself and looked around at the lit lamps and containers. A noise behind her made her spin around.
“Welcome my dear. I’m so glad to see you.” A cold voice echoed around the cave followed by a piercing scream.
* * *
It was three hours later when Emma emerged from the cave. She held her hand up to her eyes to shield them from the blinding light. Slowly she looked around and wiped a drop of of golden liquid from the corner of her mouth. Jake sat quietly, cowering by her side. She smiled and sniffed the air as if it were perfume. A dark cloud moved over the sun and the slight breeze chilled the air. As the sunlight streamed back, the beach was empty, with ju
st a few human and dog prints in the sand between the rocks, prints which the incoming tide would rapidly obliterate.
Chapter 51
The End of the Cave
“Look, sir, someone’s been messing about here. The tape’s been broken.” The sergeant held the torn ends of the police tape up to show his superior.
“Bet it was those louts from the village. They don’t miss a trick. They’d nick anything if they thought that they could get away with it.”
The inspector walked over and looked at the ends of the tape. “Right, you lot.” He pointed and looked towards a gang of workers dressed in blue overalls and yellow hard hats. “Clear it out, and I mean everything. Oh and whatever you do don’t damage that big cooking pot thing or those wooden boxes with the initials carved on the lids. The local museum made a special point of telling me they wanted them. What for, I don’t know.”
The workers entered the tunnel, and before long a pair of them emerged sweating, with one of the coffins held between them.
“Where do you want it?” one of them shouted to the inspector.
“Stick them on that flat-bed.” He pointed to a small truck parked a little way up the cliff.
“It’s blinking warm in there!” the workman shouted. “Did you know some idiot has been lighting a fire under that big pot in there? It’s still warm.”
“What! Where are those security people I asked to look after this place? If you want something doing, then do it yourself,” he muttered under his breath but loud enough for his sergeant to hear. “Come on! I suppose that we’d better take a look.”
Progress was difficult for the two policemen as both were quite tall and they had to bend double in places to get through. They had to squeeze themselves very tightly against the wall to allow the two pairs of workers carrying the other two coffins to pass by.