‘Oh no! Campbell! … Why?’ she sighed in resignation.
‘Wait for me! I’ll come with you!’ Rupert jumped up and rushed off in pursuit.
‘Rupert! Where are they off to?’ asked Laura, turning to Rebecca.
‘No idea.’ Rebecca shook her head.
‘Pretty chivalrous of the boys to abandon their ladies in creepy woods, I must say!’ Laura’s tone was indignant as she stared after the fast disappearing boys.
‘What’s the problem?’ Rebecca gave a dismissive snort, turning her back on the departing duo.
‘Shouldn’t we follow?’ Laura looked anxious.
‘Why? We’ll get a lot more done without them. Men are but the baggage that slows women down, my Aunt Kitty says. I believe the gate was this way?’ She ran a hand through her hair and looked expectantly at Laura, indicating the path ahead. ‘Let’s just hope Campbell doesn’t get them both locked up somewhere we can’t find them. Last time he did something like this he spent the night marooned in the tower of an auld Scottish castle…’
* * *
Drew was gaining on the fleeing monk. Leaves and small branches whipped against his face and arms as the headlong pursuit took them crashing through the undergrowth.
The man was now only a few yards ahead, gasping for air as he ran. Whoever this was, he was human and evidently unused to such exertion. But just as he came within grasping distance, a particularly solid branch thudded against Drew’s shoulder, knocking him off balance. He stumbled, threw up a hand in self-protection and lost his footing on the slippery mud, sprawling down a slope. Dazed, he shook his head until his senses started to clear. He got gingerly back to his feet. In front of him now was a small church, lit up by the ghostly moonlight. A low mist hung licking at the gravestones. Everywhere was still and deathly quiet. The monk had vanished.
‘D’oh!’ he fumed, dusting off mud and twigs.
‘Blimey … where did you learn to run like that? … Have you got… rockets on your feet, or something… You’re not even out of breath …’ Rupert finally arrived at Drew’s shoulder, panting, leaning on him.
‘It’s in the genes,’ said Drew. ‘Generations fleeing the English.’
‘Spooky place!’ Rupert breathed hard, looking around the graveyard. ‘This is now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out.’
Drew looked at him. ‘Blimey, Rupe! Don’t go trying to scare us, or anything … who said that anyway?’
‘Shakespeare. Hamlet actually.’
‘Laura said you were a bit of an accie.’
‘Accie?’
‘Academic. Actually, technically being an ‘accie’ makes you a fan of Hamilton Accies F.C. Not my nation’s finest so probably best left alone.’
‘Where d’he go?’ Rupert stared around them into the moonlight.
‘He must be in there.’ Drew pointed at the small church. ‘Bit early for morning service though. The Smugglers’ Chapel, I presume?’
Rupert nodded. ‘Yeah, the haunted chapel … creepy, isn’t it? This path is called the Traitor’s Walk. And lucky you stopped when you did, ’cause the sea is just … there.’
He pointed to where the tree-line ended a few yards away. ‘Rather a high cliff. There’s an old wrecker’s path down to the shore. They used to ring the bell to warn the smugglers when his Lordship’s soldiers were coming which is how the chapel got its name. The pastor gave the smugglers sanctuary in the crypts. Until they caught the Black Monk and hung him from the tower. Let him hang until the crows had picked his bones clean.’
Drew winced. ‘So cultured in those days! Let’s see if our man is inside. Perhaps we can find out who he is and what he’s up to.’
Rupert laid a hand on Drew’s arm, a look of apprehension on his face. ‘What if … just supposing he’s a Nazi? What do we do? I don’t fancy tangling with one of those nutters.’
‘Leave him to me,’ said Drew, with more bravado than he actually felt. ‘We Scots have been dealing with European invaders for years.’
Rupert gave him a quizzical look.
‘Vikings…English…Tourists.’
* * *
Morbed Manor stood silent and dark, a brooding presence. Its best days were past. The outside had long been given up to creeper and cobwebs, lending an atmosphere of dilapidated elegance. Holes gaped in the roof where tiles were missing. On one side, some of the windows were boarded up and the wall was still faintly blackened where a fire had raged through the conservatory years before. Rebecca and Laura slipped through the gate in the wall into the moonlit grounds. They hid behind the sweeping boughs of a large, elegant pine tree, watching the house for unwelcome visitors. An owl hooted in the branches above their heads, causing them both to jump.
‘The woods here are creepy, I don’t like them,’ Laura shivered. ‘The further you go, the trees seem to close in around you. You get the feeling something horrible happened here.’
‘Some places have an aura,’ said Rebecca. ‘And judging by some of the grisly tales we’ve heard, something horrible probably did happen here.’
The grounds appeared deserted. The two girls emerged cautiously and began a circuit of the house. At the rear, they found their way onto a terrace overlooking the beautiful cove. Rebecca stopped and closed her eyes, facing into the breeze. ‘What a spot,’ she murmured.
‘What is the bay called?’
‘Not sure – we call it Elephant Beach. See that big rock in the cliff over there, shaped like a gigantic elephant.’
Rebecca followed where Laura was pointing and smiled. They continued cautiously, finally returning to the shelter of the large pine.
‘Looks like we’re alone,’ whispered Rebecca.
‘Stay here a moment and keep watch. I’ll see if the side door is open.’ Laura disappeared through a creeper-covered archway, leaving Rebecca momentarily on her own under the trees. She looked up through the branches at the darkened, shadowy windows of the old manor. They held an air of mystery, of secrets undivulged. A gust of wind disturbed the foliage around her and whipped her hair across her face. Suddenly compelled, she gazed up at the moon. It had slipped momentarily behind clouds racing across the cold winter sky. Darkness.
A roar of hooves thundering along the road. The snarl of a coachman, the crack of a whip.
Magnificent, powerful, terrifying black horses, snorting, eyes wide and flaring, heads jerking, each fighting the reins. A black carriage without crest or marking, the driver’s scarf covering all but his eyes. Inside the window a face, a woman, imploring, beseeching, clawing at the glass. ‘Who are you? Why are you doing this? For pity’s sake! For pity’s sake!’
Rebecca clutched her hand to her chest, her breath coming in short gasps. Just like in her dream! Who was the woman in the carriage? She blinked, breathed deeply and peered out through the branches. The moon shone brilliantly overhead with no trace of clouds. The air was completely still without a breath of wind. The branches of the trees hung down, motionless. ‘Pull yourself together, girl,’ she muttered to herself and emerged from the trees. She followed Laura’s path through the archway. The two girls almost crashed into each other at the conservatory door. Rebecca decided to say nothing about what she had just experienced.
‘There is one fatal flaw to this plan … we might need the boys after all …’ Laura looked nervously at Rebecca as she spoke. Rebecca fixed her with a disbelieving stare.
‘Well, Rupert is actually the only one who knows his way around the house and what he might be looking for.’
‘You haven’t been here before?’
‘Not inside, no.’
There was a pause. Rebecca sniffed. ‘There is a modern, technical solution to this problem.’ From her pocket, she produced her mobile phone and smiled sweetly at her friend. ‘Rupert’s phone number, please? We can call him and he can tell us where to go.’
Laura looked glum, venturing a nervous smile. ‘Er, problem. Rupert hates mobiles. He said they ‘are an in
trusion into the lives of those interesting and cool enough not to need one.’
‘… But Drew will have one surely?’
‘Does that mean you think he is neither interesting nor cool?’ A wicked smile on Rebecca’s face was concealed from Laura.
‘Oh no! No, I meant to say, I mean –’
‘Joke!’ Rebecca put a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘But another problem. Large parts of the Scottish Highlands haven’t yet entered twenty-first century communications, particularly around Rahsaig and Knoydart. All those big mountains. You’ll remember that my phone didn’t work when I was up there.
Drew doesn’t have one either. We’ll just have to find our own way about.’
* * *
As Drew entered the dim quiet of the Smugglers’ Chapel, he thought he caught a glimpse of sudden movement by a door at the foot of the bell tower. ‘There!’ he hissed to Rupert.
‘What?’
‘Over by that door! Didn’t you see it?’
‘It’s bloody dark, Drew!’
‘Come on!’
Behind a row of pews was a low doorway. Drew pushed the door open and went through into a narrow, dingy room, the only other exit from which was a wooden staircase that led up, presumably, to the bells. Four ropes hung down through holes in a wooden ceiling above, like tentacles in the moonlight.
‘Fancy waking whoever it was?’ grinned Drew. ‘I’ve always wanted to pull one of these! Hey, maybe we’ll even alert a few smugglers.’
Rupert looked uncertain. A muffled sound from above caused him to grab Drew’s arm to warn him to be silent. They crept carefully upstairs, treading as quietly as they could, until they could just see into the level above. They peered into the shadows. The small landing seemed to be completely empty. A shaft of moonlight lit up the wooden floor through a narrow slit. The noise came again, much closer and clearer this time; a scratchy, scuttling sound. A split second later, a rat shot across the lighted area of floor and disappeared.
Drew leaped backwards. ‘Aw shoot! Rats! I hate rats!’
‘Rattus rattus, much maligned, actually’, whispered Rupert. ‘Terribly clever and sociable little chaps.’
‘Eh?’
‘In London you are never more than ten feet from a rat, did you know that?’
‘Aye, I’ve heard that about the English,’ muttered Drew. ‘You’ll not convince me they are nice little chaps, Rupe, so let’s just check out the tower.’
There was one more flight of stairs. Conscious of every creak and every breath, they crept up until they reached the top of the bell tower and looked cautiously inside. ‘Nobody here,’ said Rupert, relaxing for a moment. His eyebrows crossed, puzzled. ‘So where did he go?’
Drew crossed over to a slatted window and looked down.
‘He came in through that door downstairs. Did you see another way out?’
Rupert shook his head. ‘Come on, shall we look again?’
They returned to the ground floor, inspecting every nook and cranny to no avail. The other doors were locked. They stood in the middle of the deserted chapel.
‘Nothing.’ Drew kicked a pew, frustrated.
‘We ought to get back to the others,’ said Rupert, eventually. ‘Check they’re okay …the Manor’s pretty scary at night. Half of it is a ruin.’
‘You don’t know Rebecca very well, do you?’ Drew’s grin returned. ‘A woman less likely to be scared does not exist. But you’re probably right. We’d best be getting back.’
As they moved outside, they were arrested in their tracks. A bell tolled up in the tower.
On the ramparts at the very top, something moved but was gone in an instant. Rupert grabbed Drew’s sleeve involuntarily. ‘Look!’ he managed a strangled whisper. ‘Did you see …’ After a few seconds, Rupert realized Drew’s attention had been drawn elsewhere.
‘Who is ringing it?’ Drew was pointing through the door of the church, where the bell-ropes could clearly be seen in a shaft of moonlight, hanging motionless and unattended.
‘Your monk?’ Rupert’s voice faltered.
‘Where is he?’ Drew stared back up to the top of the tower. The atmosphere took on a sudden, icy chill.
‘Do you think …’ Rupert’s voice tailed off into awestruck silence.
‘I don’t know what to think …’ Drew shook his head.
‘I don’t … believe in ghosts,’ said Rupert.
Drew looked at him uncertainly. A cloud passed over the moon, plunging everywhere into momentary darkness. The bell tolled again. Without looking at one another, Drew and Rupert ran.
Chapter 6
The Intruders
Casting nervous looks around the moonlit Manor grounds to ensure they were not observed, Laura pulled on the lock of the long, low conservatory until it slipped and the door opened. The two girls went quickly inside. It was surprisingly warm and humid. Rows of plants and pots and archways of unusual leaves and shrubs led to the door to the house. It opened noiselessly.
‘The kitchen,’ whispered Laura, looking around.
Rebecca ran a finger over the surface of a mahogany table, and wrinkled her nose.
‘How long is it since the Admiral was here? Something smells seriously bad.’
‘Some days, I think.’
‘Surely there‘s a lady that does? I thought Rupert’s family was gentry.’
They passed through another door into a low passage out into the hall.
At one end was an ornate wooden staircase and at the other the front door, in front of which was a glass storm porch. On wood- panelled walls, paintings of bejewelled ladies and whiskery men with wigs and portly bellies, worthies from bygone ages, gazed down in haughty disdain. Glass cases housed stuffed badgers, otters and martens and mighty deer antlers from beasts slain over the centuries by generations of sporting Dewhurst-Hobbs.
Rebecca studied the portraits. ‘What’s the collective noun for double-doughnuts? A ring?’
At the foot of the stairs was a grainy old map of the coast of Cornwall, which listed the shipwrecks over the centuries. Laura read an inscription underneath.
‘From Lucifer’s Horns we reared in fright,
A watery grave by day or night.’
Rebecca looked over her shoulder. ‘Lucifer’s Horns again. You get a feeling we’re going to find out a bit more about them … Anyway, ground floor first. You take that side.’ She pointed towards a wooden door and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
‘I knew you’d suggest something like this,’ said Laura, fidgetting. ‘Can’t we stick together?’
‘Woman or mouse, Gilmour?’ challenged Rebecca, shaking her head.
‘Weep-weep-weep?’ squeaked Laura hopefully.
‘Oh, come on! But we’ll take twice as long now.’
Panelled doors led off the majestic hallway. Rebecca grasped the closest doorknob. Laura followed her into what was evidently the library. French windows led out to the garden.
Their torches lit up leather-bound armchairs either side of a cosy fireplace. A pile of books sat on a table between the chairs. On the walls were shelves filled with hundreds of books. A ladder led up to a narrow gallery around the higher shelves.
‘Bingo! First door and it’s the books. Wow! Read a bit, didn’t he? No time to waste, then, judging by this lot. Unless you have any more objections, why don’t you start that side and I’ll start up there?’
Rebecca pointed up to the gallery and clambered up the ladder.
‘What are we looking for?’ asked Laura, standing in the middle of the room.
‘Detective books, dummy!’
They worked their way along the shelves, checking the title of each book. With so many, it made for slow progress.
‘Wait! Did you hear that?’ Rebecca turned and stopped abruptly.
‘What?’ asked Laura, coming to the centre of the floor and looking anxiously up at her friend. Seconds later they heard the unmistakable throb of a motorbike engine.
‘It must be comi
ng here!’ Rebecca whispered as Laura went to the French windows and squinted through a gap in the curtains.
She withdrew her head swiftly. ‘It already is here!’ she hissed. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Don’t panic!’ said Rebecca. ‘Try to see where they go. Stay out of sight, though!’
Laura swallowed, gripped the curtain and peered outside. She almost fell over in fright.
A leather-clad rider in a helmet was approaching the window. Laura waved frantically to Rebecca to get out of sight and shrank back into the corner behind the end of the curtain.
The handle of the French window turned slowly but did not open. It was shaken vigorously but remained closed. Silence.
Moments later a door was tried further along. Rebecca leaned over the balcony and whispered urgently down to Laura. ‘Where’s he gone? Quick! Have another look!’
At that moment, they heard glass smashing in the room next door. ‘He must have busted the window to get in!’ said Laura, fearfully. ‘Quick, hide!’
‘Don’t be daft!’ whispered Rebecca, hastening to the top of the ladder. ‘We’ve got to find out what he’s up to! Go outside and look.’
Laura recoiled in horror. ‘You have got to be joking!’
‘Laura!’ growled Rebecca. ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, you wuss! All right, I’ll go! Get up here out of sight.’ Rebecca gave her friend a look of resignation. ‘And try not to let him hear your teeth chattering.’
Rebecca slid down the ladder and watched Laura shin gratefully up to the relative safety of the gallery. There were times when she could move quite fast, she thought to herself, somewhat uncharitably. Rebecca turned the key, slipped the catch and passed quickly outside onto the veranda. Pressing herself against the wall, she edged along until she could peek inside. At first it was difficult to make out anything in the dark, the shadows and reflections playing tricks on her. Then she saw him. The rider was rifling through a desk. He had not removed his helmet, so identification was impossible. He was obviously not concerned about leaving traces, pulling out drawers and scattering the contents onto the floor.
The Legend of the Black Monk Page 5