by Shaun Baines
“They’re inside that room,” he whispered. “I want you to stay here until it’s safe.”
“I…can…take…care of…myself,” Holly said between pants.
Shucking off his wax coat, Callum dropped it on the floor. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing forearms like twisted metal. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“What are you going to do? Knock his block off? We need to ask him some questions.”
“This won’t take long,” Callum said.
Holly didn’t doubt it. Callum seemed more than capable of subduing the type of man who wore Y-fronts, but Holly hadn’t come this far to lose her only lead.
She launched from their hiding place before Callum could stop her, his jacket entangling itself around her feet. Running into the room, it clamped around her ankles. She fell with a thump with no time to scream. Open-mouthed, Holly skidded along the floor before crumpling into a heap. She was winded, hoping the ground would take mercy on her and swallow her whole.
The curtains were drawn and the room was in darkness. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw a shape standing in the corner.
“What are you doing here?” Holly asked.
Chapter Twelve
“Are you okay?” Callum asked.
His presence startled the shape in the corner and it charged at them. Callum flung himself on top of Holly, rolling her to one side. The shape missed them, leaping onto a battered table before jumping through the doorway.
Callum watched it canter out of the room. “Was that a goat?”
Its hooves clattered down the staircase to the floor below.
“It belongs to Nancy,” Holly said, propping herself up on her elbow. “I saw it back at Bellcraig Stack, but it was tied to a tree. It must have chewed through the rope.”
“How did it get in here?” Callum asked. “The doors were closed and I doubt it used the keys.”
Holly dusted herself down. “At least we know who was making all the noise.”
Callum stared through the doorway. “We have to catch it.”
“What for?”
“A goat will chew anything. Not just rope. It will eat tapestries, paintings, Y-fronts. It might even break a vase or two.”
Holly rubbed the side of her face. “You heard me do that, did you?”
“I can’t leave a goat in here to damage the manor. Come on.”
They sneaked down the narrow staircase to the second floor.
“I think I can hear it,” Callum said.
“Me, too. It’s in one of the bedrooms.”
A crash of something breaking came from the far end of the corridor.
They hurried along to the last room. The door was open and they peered inside. A writing desk was lying on the floor in front of a family portrait hanging on the wall.
The goat was on its hind legs, nibbling at a corner of the painting.
“Take that out of your mouth right now,” shouted Callum.
Startled, the goat charged at them again.
But Callum was ready. He crouched, holding out his arms, ready to make the catch.
The goat bounded toward him. With a flick of its hind quarters, it sailed over him and onto his back. It leapt to safety and escaped down the winding staircase to the lower ground.
“I hope you’re are a better gamekeeper than you are a shepherd,” Holly said, grabbing a dust sheet from the fallen writer’s table. “We need to get it out of the manor. We worry about getting it back to Bellcraig Stack later, right?”
Rubbing his lower spine where the goat had trodden on him, Callum gave her a nod.
“Then follow me,” Holly said.
The goat was pacing the Reception room when they descended the final staircase.
“Open the front door,” Holly said.
Callum edged around the goat, giving it as much space as possible. He reached the door and opened it. A cool wind blew in, stirring the dust on the floor into tiny tornados.
The goat raised its head and sniffed the air.
Holding a corner of the dust sheet in each hand, Holly widened her arms. The sheeting billowed with the breeze and she ran at the goat, like a matador. The goat bucked and ran for the exit, swerving at the last moment. It barrelled through a door in the oak panelling and Callum sprang forward, snapping it shut.
“Where did it go?” Holly asked.
“It’s trapped in the pantry,” he said with a smile. “There’s nothing in there for it to chew on.”
“How ironic,” Holly said. “What are we going to do now?”
Callum stared at the ground, pinching his shoulders. “I could always fetch my rifle.”
“No,” Holly said. “It’s not a wild animal. It’s a pet.”
“It’ll starve to death. That’s worse in my book.”
Holly sucked air over her teeth. “Well, you’ll have to go in there and get it,” she said, pushing Callum toward the pantry.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re a gamekeeper.” Holly handed him the dust sheet. “Catch it in this. Throw it outside.”
Callum raised an eyebrow.
“Trust me. It will work,” Holly said.
The gamekeeper didn’t look convinced.
Holly stood by the pantry door, ready to fling it open.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Does it matter?”
With a crank of the handle, Callum rushed into the darkness with Holly quickly shutting him inside. There were a series of bangs and the odd expletive. After a while, the pantry fell silent.
“Callum?” Holly asked. “Have you got it?”
“It’s gone,” Callum’s muffled voice answered.
Holly inched open the door, squinting inside. “What did you say?”
The pantry was long and narrow with shelves down either side. The food had long been eaten, except for a lonely jar of pickled cucumbers nobody wanted.
Callum marched to the far end. “It’s gone,” he repeated, patting the walls as if to assure himself they were there. “I don’t understand.”
Frustrated, Holly left him in his search and went to the front door. The wind cooled her face and she sat on the step, propping her elbows on her knees.
She listened to Callum’s angry mutterings as he thrashed around the pantry. What was going on, she thought? She’d felt sure Nancy would be waiting for them at the manor. It was the most obvious place to hide.
But was she hiding? Perhaps she was on the run. Nancy might have met the new owner. Perhaps the meeting had gone badly and she’d been forced to flee the estate.
Or maybe Callum was right and Nancy was in a ditch somewhere, waiting to be discovered.
Holly lowered her spinning head when it jerked to attention at something moving through the tall grass.
“Callum,” she hissed.
More banging. A litany of swear words and then it went quiet.
“What the chuff is that?” Callum asked from the pantry.
Holding her breath, Holly’s eyes were trained on the grounds. She took her time in standing, wincing as her boots scraped the ground.
The goat ambled through the grass, churning a green dock leaf around its mouth.
This time Holly was determined to capture it.
“Hey, there was a hidden door,” Callum said, suddenly appearing in front of her.
The goat took off, carving a path through the garden. It bounced through the air, kicking out its legs. The goat was enjoying this too much, she thought and turned to Callum with a frown.
“Sorry about that,” he said to his shoes.
Holly sighed. “How did it get into the manor?”
“Goats are as dumb as sheep, but they’re curious creatures. They butt their heads against stuff they don’t understand.”
“Sounds familiar,” Holly said.
“Probably rammed the secret door open from the outside,” Callum said. “Did the same to get out. The hinge was spring loaded so the door snapped shut right after.”
>
They watched the goat run giddy circles. It drew closer to the border, threatening to disappear through a row of rhododendrons.
“You want to go and catch it?” Callum asked without enthusiasm.
Holly cupped her weary face and stared at the yellow Defender instead. “Let’s walk along the path to Knock Lake. I think you were right all along.”
As if it had heard her, the goat stopped its capering. It backed away from the border and glanced in their direction.
“What’s it doing?” Holly asked. “Has it smelled something?”
Callum tucked his long hair behind his ears. “Something has spooked it.”
He started a slow walk toward the bushes. Holly expected the goat to run, but it remained stationary, stamping its hooves into the ground.
Callum approached in a zig-zag fashion and Holly followed his footsteps through the grass.
“Why isn’t it running?” she asked when she reached him.
“I told you, they’re curious animals,” he said. “I guess it’s found something.”
As they approached, the goat’s nostrils flared, its shaggy legs dancing, ready to bolt, but it didn’t go far. It trotted to a flattened plain of grass and dropped to its knobbly knees, braying softly.
“It sounds like it’s crying,” Holly said.
Moving slowly, they reached the border when Holly’s blood ran cold. She saw the feet first. The legs were hidden under an ankle length dress. The body was wrapped in layers of wool and the head was covered with a shawl stained with blood.
Holly pressed fingers to her open mouth and they shook against her lips.
“We were too late,” she said.
Callum placed an arm around her shoulders. “But we found her.”
Shrugging off Callum’s hold, Holly inched toward the body, fear building with every tentative step. Gritting her teeth, she tugged the shawl from the face.
“No, we didn’t,” she said. “It’s not Nancy. This is Regina, her sister.”
Chapter Thirteen
Wansbeck General Hospital was on the outskirts of Ashington, an ex-mining town near the north-east coast. Like all hospitals, it smelled of anti-bacterial soap and illness. It was a hive of medical practitioners rushing from one bed to another. There was the rattle of rolling trolleys and the bark of insistent voices.
But the ward that housed Regina’s unconscious form was hushed in quiet.
Holly stood shoulder to shoulder with Derek. Her husband had insisted on using the car to pick up his daily newspaper from Little Belton. Unable to reach the hospital by other means, Holly made Derek drive them to the hospital.
They were listening to Reverend Applecroft whispering a prayer over Regina’s bed. Mr MacFarlene stood in the corner, his fingers playing with the clasps of his sporran. Big Gregg stood next to him, tapping his false leg against the wall. The Winnows had brought flowers, stationing them on every flat surface they could find. Old Jack stood alone, disguising his despair with a muted smile.
After discovering Regina and her shallow breathing, Holly had attempted to call for an ambulance. Her signal was weak and she marched the overgrown lawns with her phone held in the air. As she climbed a tree, searching for one bar, an ambulance miraculously appeared. It hurtled past her in a disco of flashing lights and she tumbled from the full two feet she had managed to climb.
Callum explained what had happened and the paramedics called the police. Both Holly and Callum had been interviewed about their involvement. Statements were signed and fingerprints were taken. The manor had been searched for the mysterious squatter after Callum demanded it be done.
The police found neither the squatter nor any of his belongings.
It led to further questions and more time in the interview room. When the officer in charge seemed satisfied that Holly and Callum hadn’t attacked Regina, or had any motivation to do so, they were released under a cloud of suspicion.
In the hospital, Holly stared at Regina’s bandaged head and let her eyes travel around the room.
Derek squeezed her hand so hard it made her jump.
“Who are you looking for?” he asked.
“No one.”
The Reverend’s monologue mutated into the Lord’s prayer and the occupants of the room mumbled along.
“Really? Because you seem to be spending a lot of time with no one recently.”
“Leave it be,” Holly said.
Derek stiffened. “The whole village has come to see Regan,” he said, picking dirt from under his fingernails, “and your new boyfriend hasn’t even shown up.”
“Her name is Regina,” Holly said.
“Whatever.”
Holly sniffed loudly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Old Jack raised his head, his blue eyes searching their faces, but Derek didn’t seem to notice.
“What am I supposed to think?” he hissed. “You spent the night with him. I thought you’d been in an accident. I was worried sick.”
The door to the room was open. Outside were more villagers waiting to pay their respects. Some had flowers, others had brought baked goods, but none of them was Callum.
“And what’s worse,” Derek continued, “is that I found my wife had spent the night with a gamekeeper from one of the busy-bodies in the village. That drunken farmer over there. He collared me. Oh, he couldn’t wait to let me know. Do you know how humiliating that was?”
“You read the Daily Mail, Derek. You deserve to be humiliated.”
“That’s right. Make fun of me,” Derek said, throwing his arms into the air. “Make fun of your stupid, worthless husband who can’t even get a job.”
“If you spent more time looking for one instead of building that bloody shed, I wouldn’t mind. And I’ve told you, over and over again, we were trapped by a storm.”
When she stopped shouting, her voice had been replaced by the soft shuffling of feet.
The Reverend’s white knuckles gripped his Bible. “Perhaps you would like to take your dispute away from the injured.”
Holly caught Old Jack pointing toward the door.
“Sorry,” she said to the crowd. She looked to her husband, about to apologise, but he had already slipped away. The gap he had left was filled by a newcomer taking the opportunity to offer both their condolences and their homemade brandy snaps.
The Reverend cleared his throat and continued with his prayers. By the time he had finished, Holly was halfway to Callum’s cottage.
***
It was dark by the time she arrived. The cottage glowed from the inside, looking cheerful and welcoming, but Holly was guided by a light behind the building.
Callum sat in a weathered deckchair, its stripes washed away by the weather. A fire danced at his feet and he poked it with a stick, tracing the burning end through the air, painting in circles of light.
“How did it go?” he asked without turning around.
Holly sat cross-legged by his side, the fire warming her face. “How do you do that? How did you know it was me?”
“Spent more time with you than I have most other people,” he said with a sad smile.
They stared into the fire.
“No one likes hospitals,” Holly said. “You’d be pretty weird if you did, but you should have been there.”
The fire lit the surrounding area in a yellow halo and Holly made out the outline of a headstone in the distance.
“When my Dad died,” Callum said, “I was the only person there.”
“Your Dad is…” Holly didn’t finish the sentence, realising her mistake. When Callum had said his father was out back, she had assumed he lived behind the cottage somewhere. Callum was young. His father should still be alive, but if Regina’s attack proved anything, it was that danger came unannounced.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Was he unwell?”
“Mam wasn’t around. It was always just me and him.” Callum kicked at a stone, sending it into the flames. “It was right that it wa
s only me at the end.”
“What happened?”
The glowing tip of his charred stick died. Callum licked his fingers and extinguished the last of the heat. “When the Wentworths left, he was out of work. The mines were gone. There were no jobs anywhere. There was nothing for him. That rifle I use? That was his. A father should hold onto his son in his final moments. My Dad held onto that rifle.”
The words dried in Holly’s mouth.
“Giving your life in service of others…” Callum said with a pause, “…when they leave, there’s no one to replace them. Dad couldn’t let go. He was loyal to the end.”
“You’re living that same life,” Holly said.
The air was warm, but Callum shuddered. “It’s not hospitals, I mind. I knew the whole village would be there for Regina. They’re good like that. The best thing I can do for them is to remember what my Dad taught me. He always said, never burden the people you love. That’s what I would have been if I’d turned up.”
Holly tightened her coat. “Sometimes they want to be burdened.”
“Why are you here?” Callum asked. “It’s late.”
“I had an argument with my husband.” Holly swallowed, fighting a lump in her throat. “He’s under so much pressure and I’m making it worse. I’m never around.”
“What did he do in London?”
“He was an estate agent, a successful one, but the market slumped. People stopped buying houses. I did his books. I saw it all in black and white. Derek blamed housing trends. He blamed Brexit. He blamed himself. It was all those things, I suppose. We became a sinking ship. We laid off staff. We moved to smaller premises. We jettisoned everything to stay afloat, but it didn’t matter. We sank anyway.
“I persuaded him we needed a new start. My parents came from here. The house had been empty since they died.”
Holly glanced at her wedding band as it glowed in the firelight. “My parents…they met in their teens. Never spent more than a night apart in over fifty-two years. That means something, doesn’t it? A marriage like that?”
“Devotion like that is rare,” Callum said.
“I thought Little Belton was the answer,” Holly said. “I thought some of that magic might rub off on Derek and me. For all the blame he threw around, I never blamed him, but now, I kinda do. He doesn’t talk to anyone, least of all me. He’s either drunk or playing with his new shed. If he made more of an effort…I know it’s difficult coming to a new place, but if he got to know people, he’d find they’re decent. They could help, like they helped me.”