"Right, let's get on with it then," says Martin. He picks his way through the wet undergrowth to the base of the wall and gazes up at it. "Going to give me a bunk up, Nick?"
Nick shrugs. "I suppose so."
"Be sure to wait for me when you get over," says Bella. "You might fall in the lake."
With Nick's help, Martin scales the high wall, is briefly silhouetted against the night sky and disappears. There is a thud as he lands, followed, moments later, by a sort of sucky noise and a number of muffled expletives. Bella smiles happily. This is going to be fun. She can see now that her alarming psychic experience earlier was just her own unconscious mind running ahead of her. Obviously it knew exactly where it was going because the plan not only makes perfect sense but is wonderfully efficient, killing two, possibly even three, birds with one stone.
"You all right, Mart?" asks Nick.
"Yes, except I'm up to my knees in mud," grumbles the invisible Martin. "There's bulrushes!"
"Yup, that'll be the lake," says Bella, nodding sagely.
"You did that on purpose!" accuses Jo.
"No I didn't. You heard me warn him. He shouldn't have gone wandering off. He should have waited for me."
"I only walked about three yards," says the invisible Martin, sounding chastened.
Simon is next to go, lingering a little on the top of the wall then hurling himself off with a cry of Germolino!
"Shut that," hisses Martin. "I don't want to see the inside of a Rottweiler, even if you do."
"I should have thought that would be a noble end for an eco-activist," says Simon amiably. "Perfect recycling."
He really does hate them then, thinks Bella. This gets better and better.
"You next," says Jo, giving her a vicious little shove.
"Why me?"
"Because I said so. I don't want you running off as soon as we're over."
"Don't be stupid," says Bella disdainfully. "I could have done that anytime. Why would I do it now?"
"How should I know? They might trust you, but I don't. I wouldn't trust your sort as far as I can spit."
"There's no need for that," says Nick. He turns to Bella. "Just put your foot in my hands and the other on my shoulder. It's quite easy really."
"I know what to do, thank you," says Bella with cool politeness – she isn't prepared to forget Julius's party, even if he seems to be – and treating him as the merest stepladder she scrambles up and straddles the narrow top of the wall.
Even with her strangely night-adapted eyes she can make out little of the Manor grounds. There is the slightest glimmer here and there from the ruffled waters of the lake and in the direction of the house a single yellow light flickers as the skeletal shapes of the intervening trees sway restlessly about.
"Come to me, my little ripe fruit," says Simon, reaching up for her out of the darkness. But mindful of the slippery slope below, Bella prefers to turn and lower herself carefully down the rough brickwork, letting go at the last possible moment to drop into his arms, slightly scuffed, but with her dignity intact.
Jo swiftly follows, just managing to remain upright, and they wait for Jacqui, whose bobbing head and shoulders at last appear, accompanied by a good deal of straining and scrabbling. After a few moments she says, matter-of-factly, "I can't do it," as if defeat were a perfectly reasonable option.
"Yes you can," says Jo. "You're almost there; just put a leg over."
"I can't. I can't get it up that high. I'm not as tall as you lot."
"Just hurry up," snaps Martin impatiently. "We haven't got all night."
"I can't, I tell you," says Jacqui. "I'll just have to stay behind. Nick, I'm coming back down." And then, in alarm, "Nick, what are you doing?" for suddenly she is hanging over the top of the wall like a sack of potatoes. "I'll fall!" she cries "Stop it!"
"Just flippin' well swing round, will you!" growls the usually sanguine Nick, who perhaps is tired of people standing on him. "Go on, do it!"
"I can't!" she cries, but somehow she does, clinging desperately to the stone coping, as if to a runaway horse.
"Now jump," says Martin. "Sit up and jump. It's only a few feet for goodness' sake."
"Not more than nine or ten," adds Bella blissfully. Who knows? Perhaps she will fall and fracture her skull.
"I can't. I can't move," whimpers Jacqui.
"Don't be silly, Jaja," says Jo. "You can't stay up there. Jump off and we'll catch you."
"That's right, Jaja," says Bella, in a wheedling sort of voice. "Do it for JoJo." And then, in a parade ground bark: "If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen."
Shame is clearly the spur, for with a little sob Jacqui immediately sits up and then, quite unnecessarily, stands on the wall, where she wobbles dangerously backwards, to a general gasp from below, flails her arms wildly, wobbles forwards, then half jumps, half falls, to be caught, more or less, by Jo and Martin.
"There you are you see," says Jo, putting a comforting arm round her while looking murderously at Bella. "I knew you could do it."
"Ow! Ow! Bugger! Shit!" winces Jacqui, standing on one leg.
"What's the matter?"
"I've broken my bloody ankle, that's what!"
After a while, having established that the ankle isn't, in fact, broken but merely sprained they move slowly on; Jacqui limping between Simon and Nick, who by some mighty feat of athleticism has scaled the wall unaided before demonstrating his previously unsuspected first aid skills.
As Bella predicted, a narrow strip of woodland conceals their progress; so dense, however, with chest-high briars that large detours are frequently required to avoid the worst of them.
"Should have brought a machete," mutters Martin.
"Ouch!" gasps Jacqui.
"Try to keep your weight off it," says Nick.
"No, I've been scratched!"
Bella makes only a token show of leading the way, allowing Martin and Jo to beat the trail and only intervening when they threaten to become totally lost. When she is sure no-one is watching she looks surreptitiously at her watch. It is one-fifteen. Mustn't get ahead of schedule.
They meander tortuously round the edge of the lake, sadly without anyone tumbling headlong into it, until they come to a broad stretch of lawn, bounded by a great thicket of rhododendrons. Through this she obliges them to crouch and weave like children playing cowboys and Indians, until in the distance, above a long, balustraded terrace, they can at last see the many-gabled rear of the house. Even as they watch, the solitary light that Bella saw earlier goes out. All is in darkness.
"Nice little place," remarks Nick. "Wouldn't mind it myself."
"Why couldn't we have got over the wall here?" demands Jo.
Bella is just debating how to answer this perfectly reasonable question when Martin urgently whispers "Down!" and everyone drops to the ground. A tall, broad-shouldered man is standing just a few yards away at the edge of the lawn, his arms folded and his legs planted firmly apart. There is, in fact, little point in hiding, since clearly he must have seen them.
"Boy, am I glad to see you!" cries Bella, and immediately runs to him, throwing her arms demonstratively round his neck. After a moment, Simon goes to join them.
"The fucking bastards!" spits Jo. "I knew we shouldn't have trusted them."
Martin looks desperately around him, perhaps expecting a baying mob of estate workers, armed with axe handles and pitchforks. Surprisingly there is no-one. "He's alone," he hisses. "We could rush him."
"And then what?" says Nick, rising wearily to his feet.
"All right, we could run away then."
"I can't," wails Jacqui. "I can hardly walk."
"Don't worry, he can't touch us," says the experienced Jo. "Trespass isn't a crime. All he can do is ask us to leave by the shortest route. And I bet that isn't the way we came in."
They find Simon leaning familiarly against the stranger, as if posing for a group photo. "Big bloke isn't he?" he remarks. "Butt naked too, I see; clearly a
relative of yours, Blossom."
"Not terribly well-hung though," giggles Bella, running a hand between his bronze thighs.
Martin is not amused. "I'm just about sick of this," he says, yet again. "What the hell's the point of crawling for miles through the bloody shrubbery if you two are going to arse about in full view of the house?"
"It doesn't matter now, they're all in bed," says Simon, gesturing at the sleeping Manor. "Look, no lights."
"All the same, I think we'd better keep our voices down from now on," says Bella. "Come on, it's just over there. And keep very close to me, in case you set off a security light."
"Anything else we should be warned about," asks Nick sardonically. "Nasty nymphs? Dangerous garden gnomes?"
"No, just naked men," says Bella, "There are quite a few, dotted about. Grandma used to collect them. Mummy used to say they were the only men that were any use because at least they frightened off the burglars."
"She was right about that anyway," growls Jo.
A flagstoned path follows the rear wall of the stable block, which in summer would be all but hidden behind a variety of shrubs and climbers. Now, however, it is just possible to make out small, square windows at regular intervals. "One, two, three, four," counts Bella. "It's that one." Adding, for Jo's benefit: "By that Cotoneaster."
"You mean this is the estate office?" says Martin.
"Yup, we've arrived."
"How do we get in?" asks Nick. "No, don't tell me, let me guess. Through the window?"
"Bella nods. "You've got it."
"It's very small," observes Martin
"Yes, I suppose it is."
"What's wrong with the door?" demands Jo.
"Nothing, if you don't mind going over the roof."
"Well that doesn't look so difficult," says Martin, peering upwards."
"Oh no, definitely not," says Jacqui, backing away. "Count me out."
"That's what I thought," says Bella sweetly.
"Where does this go?" says Jo, pointing along the path.
"Nowhere, it's a dead end."
"Give me a couple of minutes," sighs Nick and slides his backpack off his shoulders. Ninety seconds later he is squeezing his big frame through the open window.
"Have you ever thought of taking this up professionally?" Asks Simon, impressed.
"I think I'll stick to selling stationery thanks," says Nick from inside. "Christ, it's like the black hole of Calcutta in here. I can't see a damned thing."
"I'd better go next," says Bella. "I know where the light switch is." Taking hold of the low, cast-iron gutter she swings her long legs easily up and through the window. She is beginning to rather enjoy these physical challenges.
"No, wait!" whispers Nick from the darkness. "There's someone in here!"
"It's all right," says Bella, "it's only one of the horses."
"Horses!"
"Yes, it's a stable block, remember?"
"No, they're in here I tell you! I can hear them breathing."
"Don't be silly," says Bella, dropping down beside him. "Who would be here in the dark at two in the morning?" But as she feels for the light switch a familiar grey-blue aura rises up, seemingly disembodied in the darkness, and a large hand grabs her wrist. "You made me jump," she says crossly. "Suppose I'd cried out?"
"What? Who is it?" demands Nick, his voice sounding a little shaky.
"Me," says Jo sourly, turning on the light.
"Jo? How did you get in there?" asks Jacqui from the window. "Did you climb over the roof?"
"No," says Jo, "I came through a perfectly ordinary gate and then through the door, which, incidently, was unlocked. I suggest you do the same. As for you," she shakes Bella's wrist. "I'd like some answers."
"I told you," says Bella. "It has to look like an outside job. Let go of me!"
"Oh I see. And how is dragging us half across the Manor grounds going to help? Are they supposed to find our footprints in the mud? It wouldn't surprise me to find the yard gates are unlocked as well."
Bella detaches herself with difficulty from Jo's steely grip. "No, they're not, they're chained up, like I said. Go and see for yourself."
Martin scrambles in, followed by Simon. "Never mind all that. Where are these plans?"
"I don't know," admits Bella. "In that desk?"
Nick immediately begins to work his way through the desk drawers, starting at the bottom in true burglar fashion. As they stand and watch, a rattling on the roof tells them it has begun to rain heavily again.
Jo looks disdainfully around her. "Bastards!" she snarls, scowling at the hunting prints on the walls. She picks up one of the piled Horse and Hound magazines and waves it under Bella's nose. "Murdering bastards!"
Nick is now rummaging through John Rook's neglected letters and invoices. "Nothing here, that I can see."
"Filing cabinet?" suggests Martin, and slides open the top drawer. "Nope, just a load of junk in this one. Hello, what's this?"
"Shotgun cartridges!" snaps Jo. "For killing things!"
"Only rabbits," says Bella, and immediately wishes she hadn't.
"Only rabbits," says Jo with her usual heavy sarcasm. "Well that's all right then. And what's this? A gin trap! We'll get you for this if nothing else!"
"It's not mine," says Bella indignantly.
"Oh, and whose is it then?"
"I don't know; John's, I suppose, the manager."
"Your employee."
"No. Well, yes, I suppose so."
"Well is he or isn't he?"
"Sort of, I suppose."
"So, you let your employees kill and maim innocent creatures do you? And you let your sister and her chinless cronies torture and kill foxes, and you don't even try to stop them. You're no better than they are!"
"It's as old as the hills, says Martin glancing dismissively at the trap. Look, it's rusted solid. Let's try the bottom drawer, behind those magazines. Excuse me please, Jo."
Bella is alarmed to note that Jo's aura, which from the beginning has been in a high state of arousal, is now rapidly acquiring a sort of turbid opacity, like a storm cloud. This, she knows, often precedes an extreme emotional outburst, in Jo's case probably involving physical violence. Moving slowly, almost casually, as if dealing with a dangerous animal, she surreptitiously puts the old sofa between them, just in case. She wonders where Jacqui is. It should only have taken her moments to limp round the outside of the block. With any luck she has become lost. Maybe she has tried to retrace her steps and fallen in the lake and drowned; there is no harm in hoping. Bella imagines her lifeless body floating face-down, the fish nibbling at her macerated flesh. Simon would mourn for a week or two, no doubt, but then forget his silly crush on her, realising where his true interests lie. Who knows? Perhaps if she were to will it hard enough, it would happen.
*
Her arms folded, Miranda paces restlessly up and down the stable. She has put on a padded jacket, although it won't do up across her bump. "Where the hell has he got to? He was supposed to be on his way ages ago."
Bluebell, hunched miserably over the now comatose Percy, looks up. "Was that a car? I thought I heard the car."
"No, I don't think so. I thought I heard voices actually. What's the matter with that silly animal?" She raises her voice. "Boo, will you shut up, please! I'm trying to listen."
"He's getting awfully restless. I expect he knows there's something wrong."
"More likely he's got a rat in with him. He hates rats, he's a complete coward. Oh God, now the dogs have started. Perhaps it was the car after all. I'd better go and sort them out before they eat Reg." She turns and looks back. "You know, I'm wondering if perhaps you should go home."
"Go home!"
"Or at least not be here. It might be better."
*
"Ah, here we are!" says Nick, fetching out a plump, green folder. "Tenstones Ball Clay and Minerals Ltd."
"I knew it had to be somewhere," says Bella, relieved.
They all gather r
ound as he opens it. "This looks like a map, wouldn't you say?"
"Copy of an O.S. map," says Martin, helping to spread it out on the desk.
"The crosshatched bit is the proposed mining area perhaps?"
Martin nods. "Well if it is, there's certainly a lot of it."
"You see!" cries Bella triumphantly. "I told you, they're out to ruin the Heath."
"There's all this other bumf as well," says Nick. "Let's see: application for planning consent. Acceptance of planning consent! Yes, it's all here. But wait a minute, isn't this stuff rather old?"
"Let me see that," says Martin, snatching up the yellowing document. "I should think it bloody well is old; this is dated nineteen fifty-four!"
"That doesn't matter," says Bella. "It's still got nearly twenty years to run. I don't think they even have to submit another, except for any alterations. If they did, it would probably just be a formality."
"But there's no new stuff here," protests Martin, turning over the pages. "No new papers, no memo's, no letters, nothing. It's all musty-smelling and done up in ribbon, as if it hasn't been taken out for years."
Bella considers this. "Well I don't suppose it was taken out for years, not until recently." She notices Nick looking at her rather strangely. It is not the first time he has looked at her like that tonight. Is he, perhaps, regretting not accepting her offer in the churchyard? Well it's far too late now.
"The thing is, Bella," he says, "there isn't really any evidence here that your family actually intends to reopen the pit. I'm not saying they don't, but there's nothing here to indicate that they do. We need more than this."
"But I saw them," protests Bella. "I heard them talking about it. Behind my back!" She starts to leaf through the papers herself. There must surely be something. She said they were here. Where are they? They must be indoors somewhere, or at Windy Point. Damn!
"Nick's right," says Martin, "We're obviously going to need some sort of documentary proof. Just one letter, or even an internal memo would do, as long as it's recently dated."
"If you ask me, she's barmy," sneers Jo. "There never was any plan and she's dragged us here on a wild goose chase. Let's just trash the place and get out."
Isabella: A sort of romance Page 35