The Shadow of the Black Earl Excerpt I
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‘Look, Leo, I’ve got to get out of here. I’m going for a drive in the forest,’ said Rachael, turning on her heel. ‘I need to burn some rubber.’
‘Let me drive, you’re not fit.’
‘No. Come with me if you want, but make your mind up now.’
The Mini rumbled down the driveway, Rachael going too fast and glowering when Leo instinctively put his foot down to push a phantom brake pedal. She turned north, and after three miles or so, as Leo had dreaded, hung a left up the Raiders’ Road. This ancient artery, which ran through Kells Parish, was so rough that it was only open during the summer months. It was an old drove road and had featured in a swashbuckling romance by a local author of the Kailyard School. In the story, rustled cattle were driven along it, then on into the remote Galloway Hills. The Bruce hid amid the brake and won victories in those wild glens.
They drove past Slogarie Hill, Airie Hill and Cairn Edward Hill, the road approximately following the Black Water of Dee. The rubbly surface was rutted and pitted, and Rachael was taking it too quickly, throwing up an impressive amount of dust.
‘Rachael, this is a single-track road,’ said Leo. ‘You need to slow down. I know they hold rallies round these parts, but what if a vehicle comes the other way?’
‘Oh, hark at you, Miss Marple.’
They proceeded in miserable silence. Adjacent to Shaw Hill they passed a sign saying ‘Otter Pool – 200yds’ and Leo implored Rachael to pull in. With a sigh she acceded and rolled the car into a little grassy car park amid a towering grove of lordly fir and Scots pine. As they ambled towards the pool they glimpsed a pair of red deer disappearing into the thicket. It was an idyllic place, the Black Water of Dee broad here and formed by a series of shallow waterfalls. A heron stood transfixed on a boulder, poised to strike. Rachael sat on the flint bank and gazed at the rapids. Leo patted her shoulder sympathetically then settled down beside her. She smiled thinly at him.
Nearby, a powerful black Mercedes with tinted windows had crawled into the shadows, its engine idling in a low growl.
After a while, they returned to the Mini and began motoring towards Fell of Fleet at a more sedate pace. Rachael noticed Leo staring into the wing-mirror and then looking behind him.
‘Not seeing black cars again, are we?’
‘Whatever it was it took a right at that last fork.’
The road climbed somewhat and parted with the river, and there was now a steep earthen drop to their left.
‘Rachael, you’re going too fast again,’ complained Leo.
Suddenly, two hundred yards ahead, the black Mercedes burst from an unclassified road and raced towards them at speed, its headlights on full beam.
‘Great Scott! Look out, Rachael!’
She braked violently and took evasive action, bearing left as the Merc occupied the entire middle of the road. There was a skidding sound as Rachael lost control, the wheels hammering over the rough surface. Loose aggregate whipped up by the Merc as it passed by pinged against the Mini’s bodywork. They veered leftwards, leftwards, all the time slowing, but it was too late, and the passenger side left terra firma for thin air.
There was a violent sound of pine branches lashing the windscreen. Leo murmured ‘God help us!’ and waited for the falling sensation, but then the miracle arrived.
The Mini came to a halt, the wheels on the driver’s side resting upon the verge. Leo’s flank was cradled by the branches of a sturdy pine tree rooted to the floor of the canyon. Leo made the Sign of the Cross in thanksgiving. Rachael killed the engine and for a moment there was only the sound of birdsong and the creaking of branches.
‘Leo,’ whispered Rachael, as though to speak at a normal volume would send the vehicle careering down the drop. ‘We’re going to have to both get out of the car at exactly the same time. If I get out first, then your weight might . . .’
‘Tip me over the edge,’ he said, completing her sentence.
She nodded solemnly. Moving cautiously, she arched her body in order to let Leo haul himself over the gear stick and sit with her on his knee, her tennis skirt riding up to reveal the tops of her thighs.
‘Let’s stay like this for a wee while,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘For Pete’s sake, this is no time for kidding around! Now, I’m opening the door . . . On the count of three we’re both going to leap out . . . One, two, three!’
Rachael tumbled onto the ground and Leo landed upon her a moment later. The Mini stayed perfectly still.
‘We did it!’ they said in unison. They embraced and gazed into each other’s eyes, but the moment was spoiled by the whine of a gearbox in reverse.
Leo scrambled to his feet and withdrew the Webley. ‘I’ll pretend to aim at him, but shoot wide. That should scare him off.’
He pointed the pistol slightly to the left of the black car, which was some distance away, and fired. The bullet thumped into a pine bole. The kickback was only moderate but still sent a shard of protest though his damaged right hand. Leo double-gripped the pistol and adjusted his stance. He fired one, two, three shots more, the final one whanging off the Merc’s rear offside wheel arch. British lead on German steel after all these years.
‘Oh dear, I didn’t mean to do that!’ grumbled Leo.
The Merc sped away amid a cloud of grit.
‘I got the licence number,’ said Rachael. ‘T44 WTB. I’ll see if I can get a trace on it later. There’s a hacker who posts stuff from the DVLA’s database.’
Leo nodded vaguely, then broke the Webley to eject the spent cartridges, withdrew four new rounds and inserted them into the empty chambers. ‘It looks like we’re walking back,’ he said. ‘We can call the garage in St John’s Town and arrange for them to collect the keys from you. Hopefully they can then tow the car out of the tree without its getting written off.’
They began the long walk back through the weald, traversing sunny heaths, negotiating green thickets and fording cooling streams. They kept the road in their vicinity for orientation, occasionally crouching down when they thought they heard an engine. Eventually they reached Sannox House. Rachael consulted her computer and informed Leo that the Mercedes’ registration number was ‘unassigned’; therefore it had been wearing a false plate. Sun-tired and dusty, they collapsed onto the drawing-room sofa and held each other tenderly. He begged her to return with him to the Greatorixes for safety’s sake, but she refused.
‘Let me drive, you’re not fit.’
‘No. Come with me if you want, but make your mind up now.’
The Mini rumbled down the driveway, Rachael going too fast and glowering when Leo instinctively put his foot down to push a phantom brake pedal. She turned north, and after three miles or so, as Leo had dreaded, hung a left up the Raiders’ Road. This ancient artery, which ran through Kells Parish, was so rough that it was only open during the summer months. It was an old drove road and had featured in a swashbuckling romance by a local author of the Kailyard School. In the story, rustled cattle were driven along it, then on into the remote Galloway Hills. The Bruce hid amid the brake and won victories in those wild glens.
They drove past Slogarie Hill, Airie Hill and Cairn Edward Hill, the road approximately following the Black Water of Dee. The rubbly surface was rutted and pitted, and Rachael was taking it too quickly, throwing up an impressive amount of dust.
‘Rachael, this is a single-track road,’ said Leo. ‘You need to slow down. I know they hold rallies round these parts, but what if a vehicle comes the other way?’
‘Oh, hark at you, Miss Marple.’
They proceeded in miserable silence. Adjacent to Shaw Hill they passed a sign saying ‘Otter Pool – 200yds’ and Leo implored Rachael to pull in. With a sigh she acceded and rolled the car into a little grassy car park amid a towering grove of lordly fir and Scots pine. As they ambled towards the pool they glimpsed a pair of red deer disappearing into the thicket. It was an idyllic place, the Black Water of Dee broad here and formed by a series of shallow waterfalls. A heron stood transfixed on a boulder, poised to strike. Rachael sat on the flint bank and gazed at the rapids. Leo patted her shoulder sympathetically then settled down beside her. She smiled thinly at him.
Nearby, a powerful black Mercedes with tinted windows had crawled into the shadows, its engine idling in a low growl.
After a while, they returned to the Mini and began motoring towards Fell of Fleet at a more sedate pace. Rachael noticed Leo staring into the wing-mirror and then looking behind him.
‘Not seeing black cars again, are we?’
‘Whatever it was it took a right at that last fork.’
The road climbed somewhat and parted with the river, and there was now a steep earthen drop to their left.
‘Rachael, you’re going too fast again,’ complained Leo.
Suddenly, two hundred yards ahead, the black Mercedes burst from an unclassified road and raced towards them at speed, its headlights on full beam.
‘Great Scott! Look out, Rachael!’
She braked violently and took evasive action, bearing left as the Merc occupied the entire middle of the road. There was a skidding sound as Rachael lost control, the wheels hammering over the rough surface. Loose aggregate whipped up by the Merc as it passed by pinged against the Mini’s bodywork. They veered leftwards, leftwards, all the time slowing, but it was too late, and the passenger side left terra firma for thin air.
There was a violent sound of pine branches lashing the windscreen. Leo murmured ‘God help us!’ and waited for the falling sensation, but then the miracle arrived.
The Mini came to a halt, the wheels on the driver’s side resting upon the verge. Leo’s flank was cradled by the branches of a sturdy pine tree rooted to the floor of the canyon. Leo made the Sign of the Cross in thanksgiving. Rachael killed the engine and for a moment there was only the sound of birdsong and the creaking of branches.
‘Leo,’ whispered Rachael, as though to speak at a normal volume would send the vehicle careering down the drop. ‘We’re going to have to both get out of the car at exactly the same time. If I get out first, then your weight might . . .’
‘Tip me over the edge,’ he said, completing her sentence.
She nodded solemnly. Moving cautiously, she arched her body in order to let Leo haul himself over the gear stick and sit with her on his knee, her tennis skirt riding up to reveal the tops of her thighs.
‘Let’s stay like this for a wee while,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘For Pete’s sake, this is no time for kidding around! Now, I’m opening the door . . . On the count of three we’re both going to leap out . . . One, two, three!’
Rachael tumbled onto the ground and Leo landed upon her a moment later. The Mini stayed perfectly still.
‘We did it!’ they said in unison. They embraced and gazed into each other’s eyes, but the moment was spoiled by the whine of a gearbox in reverse.
Leo scrambled to his feet and withdrew the Webley. ‘I’ll pretend to aim at him, but shoot wide. That should scare him off.’
He pointed the pistol slightly to the left of the black car, which was some distance away, and fired. The bullet thumped into a pine bole. The kickback was only moderate but still sent a shard of protest though his damaged right hand. Leo double-gripped the pistol and adjusted his stance. He fired one, two, three shots more, the final one whanging off the Merc’s rear offside wheel arch. British lead on German steel after all these years.
‘Oh dear, I didn’t mean to do that!’ grumbled Leo.
The Merc sped away amid a cloud of grit.
‘I got the licence number,’ said Rachael. ‘T44 WTB. I’ll see if I can get a trace on it later. There’s a hacker who posts stuff from the DVLA’s database.’
Leo nodded vaguely, then broke the Webley to eject the spent cartridges, withdrew four new rounds and inserted them into the empty chambers. ‘It looks like we’re walking back,’ he said. ‘We can call the garage in St John’s Town and arrange for them to collect the keys from you. Hopefully they can then tow the car out of the tree without its getting written off.’
They began the long walk back through the weald, traversing sunny heaths, negotiating green thickets and fording cooling streams. They kept the road in their vicinity for orientation, occasionally crouching down when they thought they heard an engine. Eventually they reached Sannox House. Rachael consulted her computer and informed Leo that the Mercedes’ registration number was ‘unassigned’; therefore it had been wearing a false plate. Sun-tired and dusty, they collapsed onto the drawing-room sofa and held each other tenderly. He begged her to return with him to the Greatorixes for safety’s sake, but she refused.
The Shadow of the Black Earl Excerpt II |
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The attic windows were not covered, and although the moon was new, Leo and Rachael’s exploration was aided by the summer gloaming.
Many of the rooms, which were presumably once servants’ quarters and smelled of old wood, stour and mothballs, were now storage areas filled with artworks sheathed in cloths, toys, obsolete furniture, bird cages and creepy headless mannequins. Rachael terrified herself by catching her own reflection in the speckled glass of a cheval mirror. Then there was a chilling moment when the torchlight illuminated a marionette with the twisted, wicked face of a witch. At one point, Rachael placed her hand on Leo’s arm as in the corridor outside came the pad of footsteps and the unmistakeable report of Cynthia and Jimmy’s voices.
‘They’re on our patch,’ whispered Rachael.
‘Then let us delve deeper, back in time.’
Leo now led Rachael, finding the corridor perpendicular to the one they had already traversed. He calculated that two floors below them was the library, which he knew was connected to the remnants of the sixteenth-century portion of the house. This corridor terminated at a door, and Leo tried the handle. It opened, and revealed a windowless, pitch-black chamber. The flooring and roofing were nineteenth-century, probably replaced after the 1870 fire. The walls were constructed from large granite slabs, and on the one facing them was another door, distinctive due to its archaic, arched design.
‘I’ll wager that leads to the tower. Come on, let’s try it,’ proposed Leo, already striding across the boards. He twisted the fossilised handle, an extravagant, S-shaped affair.
‘It won’t give,’ he said. ‘It must be locked or seized up.’
There was a brief hiatus in which a mutual sexual energy seemed to stir, and Leo wondered if now was the time to draw Rachael towards him, or if this ambience was all in his imagining. The trouble was he had simply grown out of the habit of trusting his instincts in such matters; it had been so long. The spell was broken by the sound of someone walking slowly towards them down the corridor from where they had entered. It was one person’s footsteps, and therefore presumably Fordyce. Leo frantically flashed his torch around, but there was nowhere to hide. They killed their lights and listened as the door mechanism turned.
But no one came in.
The stood perfectly still for a minute or so, the dark silence pressing upon them. Then Rachael whispered, ‘He must have gone away.’
They switched their torches back on and crossed the floor, then slowly opened the door. The corridor was empty.
‘He must have crept off; perhaps he heard some of the others,’ hissed Leo.
They walked on quietly, keeping their torches pointed downwards.
When they reached the T-junction, Leo peered round the corner, shining his torch left and right.
‘All clear,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s deposit ourselves in one of the old servants’ rooms.’
At that moment, Leo thought he heard a man’s voice somewhere to his left make an exclamation; a bump to the head on a rafter or – could it be? – a cry of sensual pleasure. He thought of Jimmy up here somewhere with Cynthia.
Therefore he led Rachael to the right, and they sneaked down the corridor until Leo chose a door, turned the handle and pushed. And as they regarded the ghoulish face of the figure standing before them, Leo started violently and uttered an oath while Rachael let out a gasp of sheer terror.
The figure reached out its right arm and grabbed Leo by the shoulder.
Many of the rooms, which were presumably once servants’ quarters and smelled of old wood, stour and mothballs, were now storage areas filled with artworks sheathed in cloths, toys, obsolete furniture, bird cages and creepy headless mannequins. Rachael terrified herself by catching her own reflection in the speckled glass of a cheval mirror. Then there was a chilling moment when the torchlight illuminated a marionette with the twisted, wicked face of a witch. At one point, Rachael placed her hand on Leo’s arm as in the corridor outside came the pad of footsteps and the unmistakeable report of Cynthia and Jimmy’s voices.
‘They’re on our patch,’ whispered Rachael.
‘Then let us delve deeper, back in time.’
Leo now led Rachael, finding the corridor perpendicular to the one they had already traversed. He calculated that two floors below them was the library, which he knew was connected to the remnants of the sixteenth-century portion of the house. This corridor terminated at a door, and Leo tried the handle. It opened, and revealed a windowless, pitch-black chamber. The flooring and roofing were nineteenth-century, probably replaced after the 1870 fire. The walls were constructed from large granite slabs, and on the one facing them was another door, distinctive due to its archaic, arched design.
‘I’ll wager that leads to the tower. Come on, let’s try it,’ proposed Leo, already striding across the boards. He twisted the fossilised handle, an extravagant, S-shaped affair.
‘It won’t give,’ he said. ‘It must be locked or seized up.’
There was a brief hiatus in which a mutual sexual energy seemed to stir, and Leo wondered if now was the time to draw Rachael towards him, or if this ambience was all in his imagining. The trouble was he had simply grown out of the habit of trusting his instincts in such matters; it had been so long. The spell was broken by the sound of someone walking slowly towards them down the corridor from where they had entered. It was one person’s footsteps, and therefore presumably Fordyce. Leo frantically flashed his torch around, but there was nowhere to hide. They killed their lights and listened as the door mechanism turned.
But no one came in.
The stood perfectly still for a minute or so, the dark silence pressing upon them. Then Rachael whispered, ‘He must have gone away.’
They switched their torches back on and crossed the floor, then slowly opened the door. The corridor was empty.
‘He must have crept off; perhaps he heard some of the others,’ hissed Leo.
They walked on quietly, keeping their torches pointed downwards.
When they reached the T-junction, Leo peered round the corner, shining his torch left and right.
‘All clear,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s deposit ourselves in one of the old servants’ rooms.’
At that moment, Leo thought he heard a man’s voice somewhere to his left make an exclamation; a bump to the head on a rafter or – could it be? – a cry of sensual pleasure. He thought of Jimmy up here somewhere with Cynthia.
Therefore he led Rachael to the right, and they sneaked down the corridor until Leo chose a door, turned the handle and pushed. And as they regarded the ghoulish face of the figure standing before them, Leo started violently and uttered an oath while Rachael let out a gasp of sheer terror.
The figure reached out its right arm and grabbed Leo by the shoulder.