When the horses left the ring, the lights changed and the girl disappeared back into the gloom, so that James never saw her again. Instead, another section of the crowd was lit up, and sitting right in the middle of the pool of light was a large gentleman with a big, drooping moustache, a flat cap and a brand-new tweed jacket and tartan trousers. He looked like he had come in fancy dress – as a Scotsman – and was so out of place here among the solid local farmers in their drab, earthy colours that James couldn’t help smiling. The man was trying so hard to look Scottish that he didn’t look Scottish at all.
But then James was distracted by the trapeze artistes, swinging through space, high above the ring, almost missing their handholds, and always managing to grab on just in time.
James couldn’t decide whether they were his favourites or the strongman. He was called ‘The Mighty Donovan’ and he lifted weights with his teeth and finished his act by picking up four pretty young girls from the audience at the same time, while they squealed and he grinned triumphantly.
When it was finished, they made their way back out into the cold night air and James spotted Red Kelly with a skinny, exhausted-looking woman who gave the impression that she would rather be anywhere else than at the circus.
‘There’s my friend from the train,’ said James, and Charmian looked over.
‘Is that Annie Kelly with him?’ she said, and they pushed through the noisy crowd towards them.
‘Hey there, Jimmy,’ said Kelly when he spotted James. ‘How do?’
‘Hello,’ said James. ‘I didn’t see you in there.’
‘I saw you,’ said Red. ‘I waved, but you never spotted me. This is me Aunt Annie, by the way.’
‘Hello, Annie,’ said Charmian, who obviously knew her. ‘Any news about Alfie?’
‘No,’ said the tired-looking woman. ‘I’m afraid not.’
Charmian gave James a handful of coins and told him to go off and enjoy himself while she talked to Annie.
‘How are you getting on?’ James asked as he and Kelly wandered over to the fair. ‘Found anything out, yet?’
‘Give us a chance, mate. I’m still finding me feet.’
James tried his hand at the shooting, firing at playing cards with a battered air rifle. He soon worked out that the barrel was crooked and the sights bent but, by adjusting his shots accordingly, he managed to get on target and win a prize.
‘I’ll get something for my Uncle Max,’ he said. ‘He’ll be pleased.’ He chose a little plaster model of a guardsman in a bright-red jacket and black busby, and put it in his pocket.
They moved on to the sweet stall, and while they were studying the piles of treats on offer James spotted George Hellebore coming out of the palm reader’s tent.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘There’s the boy from my school, the one who was on the train.’
‘The big bully?’
‘Turns out he lives near here,’ said James. ‘In a castle, up on the Hellebore Estate. Have you heard of it?’
‘Oh, that’s him, is it?’
They looked at George. He had spotted them and was talking to two big farm boys. James saw him slip one of them some coins, but thought nothing of it.
They bought a bag of hard toffees and found a low grass bank in the darkness behind the tents to eat them in private.
‘My uncle thinks it’s possible that Alfie may have gone up there, to the castle, fishing,’ said James, chewing thoughtfully. ‘There’s a big lake up in the hills, Loch Silverfin. Do you think it’s worth investigating?’
‘Might be worth a nose around, yeah,’ said Kelly, prising a piece of stuck toffee off one of his sharp, yellow teeth with a dirty finger. ‘How about tomorrow? You doing anything?’
‘No. Tomorrow would be fine,’ said James.
Just then they were interrupted by a shout.
‘There they are!’
James looked up to see the two burly farm boys sauntering towards them. They were big, raw-looking lads with wiry hair and freckled skin that was tanned and cracked from being outdoors in the wind and the rain all day. They had on heavy boots and their hands looked like shovels.
‘All right, lads?’ said Kelly with a friendly smile, and he carefully put down the bag of sweets.
‘Don’t you “All right, lads?” us,’ said the larger of the two boys, who had huge ears and a nose to match. ‘We don’t like the English round here.’
James was going to point out that with a Swiss mother and a Scottish father he was no more English than they were, but decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. These boys intended to cause trouble, whatever the excuse.
Kelly jumped up, still smiling, and took a step towards the boy who’d spoken.
‘If it’s all the same to you, Jock,’ he said, ‘we don’t want a fight.’
The boy jostled him while his friend advanced on James, his red-knuckled fists raised. James stood up.
‘You no want a fight, eh?’ he said in a weaselly, high-pitched voice. ‘Typical English cowards.’ He sneered and shoved James backwards. He stumbled and fell on his backside, and the boy laughed.
James quickly jumped up again. His attacker was shaking his head mockingly and shuffling towards him. James held his ground, looking him in the eye, and suddenly realised that the boy was about to take a swing at him. He ducked the blow and, without thinking, hit back. It was a lucky punch and he got him in the stomach before he had a chance to react. The boy was more shocked than hurt and was about to come back at James when he glanced across to see how his friend was getting on.
James had no idea what Kelly had done to the big-eared boy, but he was down on the floor, curled up in a ball, gasping for breath and clutching his belly, his nose bleeding. The smaller boy looked scared now. He helped his friend to his feet.
‘Are you all right, Angus?’ he said, his voice jittery.
‘Aye.’ Angus looked warily at Kelly, who was standing casually as if nothing had happened.
‘No hard feelings, eh, Jock?’ he said, and after a moment’s thought Angus shook his hand.
Kelly held out his hand. ‘Come on,’ said Kelly. ‘Let’s get back and find the girls.’
James laughed as they left the stunned farm boys behind, and Kelly joined in with him. The two of them excitedly reviewed the brief fight, and when James asked Kelly exactly what he had done he slyly tapped his nose. ‘Aha,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you one day.’
‘Will you teach me to fight like you?’
‘You seemed to look after yourself all right.’
‘I was lucky. He was pretty tough, it was like hitting a sack of flour. If he hadn’t got scared off, he might have really hurt me.’
‘Well, that’s the trick, you see,’ said Kelly. ‘Always try and scare them off before they can get the measure of you.’
They eventually found the two aunts, talking by the car.
Charmian explained that she had offered to drive Annie back into Keithly and, as they all squeezed into the Bentley, James asked if it would be all right if he went off with Red tomorrow for the day. Charmian said it was fine with her, as long as he was back in time for supper and kept out of any mischief.
That night, as James lay in his cosy bed up in the rafters, he looked at the little plaster soldier he’d won at the fair and thought about George Hellebore. It was as if every step he’d taken since meeting him in Judy’s Passage had been leading in one direction, towards the big castle up on the moors, and James pictured George somewhere inside that castle, lying in his own bed.
James put the soldier on his bedside table next to his water jug, and turned on his side. The moonlight streaming in through his window created a silver patch of light on the floor that danced and shimmered. He slowly felt himself drifting into sleep.
Suddenly, from outside, there came the horrible shriek of a fox, like a child in pain. James shuddered. He was glad he had heard foxes before at his aunt’s house in Kent, though the sound always made him feel uneasy. But there was something
else making him feel this way, a tightness in his chest… a restlessness. He sat up and took a sip of water.
He was excited.
Excited and slightly scared.
Tomorrow he would be going to the Hellebores’ castle.
12
The Black Mare
Max was already up when James came down for breakfast. He was sitting at the kitchen table, poking at an uneaten bowl of porridge with his spoon, while a severe-looking woman with scraped-back hair bustled about the place, cleaning round him.
James gave him the plaster guardsman, and Max set it proudly in the middle of the table to keep watch over the salt cellar.
‘So,’ he said brightly, clapping his hands, ‘all set for another driving lesson? And then I thought we’d give the fishing another try. I feel very optimistic this morning. I’m sure we’ll catch us a whole shoal of fish!’
James didn’t know how to say it, so he came straight out with it. ‘Actually, Uncle Max,’ he said, ‘I have other plans for today. I’m going off with a friend I met on the train.’
He was sure he saw a faint look of disappointment pass across Max’s tired face, but it was soon gone.
‘Of course,’ said his uncle, and he forced a smile. ‘You’re a boy. You don’t want to be stuck with an old duffer like me the whole time, and you did rather wear me out yesterday. Day of rest will do me good.’
James felt terrible about letting his uncle down, but Max didn’t want him to worry. With a cheerful whistle he got up and cleared away his bowl.
‘This is May, by the way,’ he said, putting an arm round the housekeeper. ‘An absolute treasure. I don’t know what I’d do without her.’
May nodded briefly.
‘Hello,’ said James, and he introduced himself.
‘Pleased to meet ye,’ said May, and carried on cleaning. Over the coming days James was to learn that May wasn’t as gruff and fierce as she seemed at first, she was just a little shy. She didn’t like to chatter and was wary of strangers, but once she got to know you she was very kind-hearted and she was obviously devoted to Max.
James ate a quick breakfast and at ten o’clock he was standing outside the pub in Keithly, waiting for Red Kelly. Presently he spotted him strolling up the road, whistling, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his cap on the back of his head.
‘Wotcha, cock!’ he called out when he saw James. ‘All set?’
‘I suppose so,’ said James, holding up the knapsack that contained his lunch, plus a map and compass that his uncle had given him. Kelly had his own food in a small brown-paper bag and didn’t really look equipped for a long hike over the moors. He was wearing a thin collarless shirt, a pair of tatty black trousers held up with braces, and a huge pair of heavy town boots. ‘So, which way do we go, then?’ he said, looking up and down the street and sniffing.
‘I’ve got this,’ said James, taking a map out of his pocket.
‘Gissa look,’ said Kelly, and James unfolded it on top of a low wall.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Kelly, squinting at it. ‘Makes you think, don’t it? You see a map of London and it’s all roads and houses.’ He jabbed the map with a grubby finger. ‘There’s nothing here, is there? It’s all just empty, white space.’
Indeed there were only a few thin traces of roads across the map, which consisted mostly of hills, woods, rivers and great empty stretches of nothing.
‘Here’s where we are,’ said James, pointing to the little cluster of black squares that made up Keithly. ‘And this is the road to the castle.’
He followed the line of the road as it wormed its way across the map.
‘It’s not very straight, is it?’ said Red.
‘No, it avoids these boggy areas; see, the little symbols that look like tufts of grass? And it has to connect all these scattered houses and farms, then cross the river at this bridge here…’
‘That’s a river, is it?’ said Kelly, squinting at the map.
‘Yes, An Abhainn Dhubh, “The Black River
”. It runs past my uncle’s house. He told me that the peat up on the moors seeps into the water and turns it dark brown.’
‘That’s going to take ages, tramping all the way up there,’ moaned Kelly.
‘No. We won’t go by road,’ James explained. ‘We’ll cut across country. It’ll be much more direct, but we’ll have to be careful, these bogs can be dangerous. We’ll try and avoid the worst parts round here, Am Boglach Dubh, “The Black Mire”. I think the best route would be to cross the river here, at this ford, then go up the glen, towards this ruined monastery, here.’ James pointed out a monument symbol next to a ruin symbol on the map. ‘Then we’ll keep to higher ground, along this ridge, skirting the worst of the bogs. The ground should be drier from here on, and we should easily get up to the pass at Am Bealach Geal and through to Loch Silverfin.’
‘Why’s there a picture of a fish there?’ said Kelly, frowning. ‘What does that mean?’
‘That’s not actually a fish – that’s the loch. Loch Silverfin. It’s named after a giant fish from Scottish folk tales. It’s where Alfie may have gone fishing. And this here, that looks like the fish’s eye, that’s Castle Hellebore.’
Kelly peered at the map.
‘They’ve spelt “castle” wrong,’ he said. ‘It says “Caisteal”.’
‘That’s the Scottish spelling. This is an old map. Look, they’ve even got the Gaelic spelling of Silverfin – It’Airgid…’
But James could see that Kelly had already lost interest and was kicking a stone around like a football. ‘You’re in charge of map-reading,’ he said.
‘All right,’ said James, folding the map away. ‘Let’s go, then.’
They walked out of the village and up a winding track, through a copse of scrappy, twisted birch and hazel trees, towards the moors. They were soon out in the open and faced with a huge expanse of tough, wiry grass that rose steadily away from them.
‘Can you see that tower, way over there?’ said James, pointing. ‘It’s all that remains of the old monastery. We’ll take fresh bearings once we get there.’
‘You’re the boss, Jimmy-boy,’ said Kelly, whipping at the grass with a stick he’d picked up.
The ground soon became soggy and Kelly complained that his boots were filling with water. Then, when they got to the river, which was wide and shallow at this point, soaking away at the edges into an ill-defined bog, they had to pick their way across it using stepping stones. Kelly slipped in twice and warmed the chilly air with red-hot curses. They plodded along after that, ankle-deep in wet mud.
James was wearing plimsolls that would have been useless on harder rocky ground, but were ideal for this kind of terrain. With each step, though, the soft ground released his foot with a sucking squelch.
Am Boglach Dubh, the Black Mire, was well named. The water was a murky dark brown and sluggish black bugs buzzed around over the surface. James picked a handful of bog myrtle and crushed its greyish-green leaves in his hands, releasing a strong scent of resin.
‘Here,’ he said to the disgruntled Kelly, ‘rub some of this on you. It’s still a little early in the year for midges, but they’ll still be a pest. This’ll help keep them away.’
Kelly looked at the plants and sniffed.
‘No thanks,’ he said, ‘if it’s all the same with you.’ And he pushed past James, muttering under his breath, his boots squelching.
Forty minutes later, they began the climb up the side of the low hill where the monastery had once stood. The air was cool, but Kelly was sweating. Halfway up he stopped, swore, and spat on the ground.
‘Gordon Bennett,’ he said. ‘This walking business is a bit much, isn’t it? I never walked this far in me life before. How much further is it?’
‘We’re probably about halfway,’ said James. ‘But it should get a little easier once we’re up into the hills.’
‘I thought we was in the bleeding hills,’ whined Kelly. ‘What’s this, then, if it’s not a hill?’
‘Yes, but it gets steeper from here on in.’
‘And you can tell all that just by looking at the map?’
‘Come on, I’ll show you.’
They struggled to the top and sat down on a pile of fallen stonework.
‘Look,’ said James, unfolding the map again. ‘These are contour lines; the nearer they are to each other, the steeper the ground, so you can see, we’re here, and –’
‘All right, all right, save your breath,’ said Kelly. ‘The map’s your area. Now, how about a drink?’ He pulled a bottle of beer out of the bag he’d been clutching.
‘I don’t think that’s a great idea,’ said James, laughing. ‘Is that all you’ve brought with you?’
‘Don’t you worry,’ said Kelly, taking a knife out of his pocket. ‘This’ll keep me going.’ He levered the top off the bottle with the blade and took a good long drink.
For a while Kelly’s prediction seemed accurate; he was glad to be on firmer, drier ground and he marched along singing, telling rude jokes, asking James all sorts of questions and smoking cigarettes, but slowly he began to grow tired and grumpy, and started complaining until James had had enough.
‘Maybe if you didn’t moan so much, you’d have more energy for walking,’ he said.
‘I’m fed up with walking, and I’m fed up with the countryside,’ Kelly grumbled. ‘It just seems to go on forever – the same – what’s the bloody point of it? There’s no shops, no houses, nothing to look at, just miles and miles of bloody grass and rocks and hills and – what’s that bloody prickly stuff keeps scratching me legs called again?’
‘Gorse.’
‘Gorse! I don’t care if I never see another gorse bush as long as I live. And these bleeding insects!’ He slapped the back of his hand. ‘The countryside is all right in pictures, but in real life it’s a dump. I’m knackered. Maybe I’ll just wait here and you can pick me up on the way back,’ he said, sitting down.
James shook his head. He wasn’t tired at all. This was nothing compared to the cross-country run at Eton. In fact he was enjoying being out and getting some exercise. It was glorious up here: you could see for miles; back behind them to the south were the river and the woods and the houses of Keithly, and ahead of them, beyond the rocky hills, were the mountains, shrouded in heavy, grey clouds. Way off to the west, the ground fell away towards the coast, and James was sure he could just see a glint of light off the sea.