The Twelve Clues of Christmas lg-6

by Rhys Bowen

  “Nonsense,” she said, tossing her head like an impatient mare. “We have no choice, Detective Inspector. If you let him slip through your fingers tonight, he’ll be gone.”

  The inspector stroked his chin. “I’m not sure I can round up enough men. We’ll need a good number, and backups sitting in vehicles nearby in case he makes a break for it.”

  “But they mustn’t be obvious,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “They must be laughing and having a good time with the rest of us, not appearing to look around.”

  “Not an easy task,” he said.

  “Darcy and I will keep watch,” I said. “We’ll pretend to be having our own private tryst and not necessarily keep up with the rest of you.”

  The inspector looked at me sharply. “I don’t want you exposing yourself to any danger either. By this time he might well be feeling desperate, especially if he senses that we’re on to him. And he might be armed.”

  “Darcy will look after me,” I said. “He’s been in worse situations than this.”

  “Has he?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley looked interested. “We always wondered what he did with himself. What does he do, exactly?”

  “He won’t tell me,” I replied with a smile.

  The sound of voices could be heard in the hallway outside. Lady Hawse-Gorzley looked around. “My husband,” she said in a hiss to us. “He is not to know anything about this. I absolutely forbid it.”

  At that second Sir Oswald strode into the room. “So that damned twittery woman was really an actress all along, was she? Well, I never. Had us all fooled. And harboring an escaped convict too. Hope they catch the pair of them. Coming here and eating my food!” He stomped across the room, scattering mud from his boots. “I know what I’d like to do with them—feed ’em to my pigs. That’s what I’d do.”

  “Now, don’t upset yourself, Oswald,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “And we have the inspector here.”

  “What?” He stared at Inspector Newcombe as if he’d just seen him for the first time. “How do you do,” he said brusquely. “Damned funny business.”

  I took my cue and led Darcy away down the hall to tell him what had been proposed. He wasn’t at all happy about it. “I don’t know if I want you exposed out there. If either of them suspects you had something to do with their being discovered, he might take a potshot at you too. Or she might. Who knows whether she’s the mastermind behind this.”

  “But if Lady Hawse-Gorzley is willing to risk her own life, I can hardly not do my part, can I?” I said. “After all, Geordie Lachan Rannoch followed Bonnie Prince Charlie into battle. I can’t let the side down.”

  “What happened to Geordie Lachan Rannoch?” he asked with an expression of amused tenderness.

  “He was hacked to pieces, unfortunately, but that’s not the point.”

  “The point is that the Rannochs should have learned a little sense since then.”

  “You’ll be there to keep an eye on me.”

  “I’m tempted to make you wear a saucepan lid inside your coat, in case someone shoots at you.”

  “Well, everyone is going to be carrying pots and pans, so I don’t see why not.” And we both laughed, a trifle nervously.

  But the day seemed to stretch on endlessly. The other guests felt it too, although they were not apprised of what might happen that evening. We dined well. Lady Hawse-Gorzley served leg of pork, with the most wonderful crackling, sage and onion stuffing, baked onions, roast potatoes, cauliflower cheese, and apple pie to follow. We lingered over coffee and liqueurs and afterward let off the last few indoor fireworks. Then around eleven we put on coats, hats, scarves and gloves and we all trooped down the driveway, each of us armed with a saucepan or lid and a wooden spoon to beat on it. Others were already assembling on the village green. The first thing I noticed was how hard it was to recognize anybody under all that outerwear. They might all be policemen or one of them might be Robbins. He was a big chap. That’s all I knew. And I took heart in the fact that those assembled seemed to know each other.

  More and more people came to join us and I spotted Inspector Newcombe, wearing a red balaclava and matching red scarf. Then the publican came out of the Hag and Hounds.

  “People of Tiddleton-under-Lovey, the time has come,” he announced. “I charge you all to rid this place of ghosts and ghouls, of witches and warlocks, of all manner of enchanted folk who would do us harm.” He gave a mighty beat on a big gong. In reply came a barrage of sound from the crowd. Saucepan lids were crashed together. Spoons beat on pots and a great cry rose from the crowd. It was an eerie sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A sound that belonged to another age and time. If I’d been an evil spirit, I’d have vanished then and there. I hoped Robbins would take the hint if he was anywhere around. I searched the crowd but saw nothing unusual.

  Then the crowd launched into a chant of sorts. I couldn’t make out the words and decided that it must be in an old, long-forgotten tongue—Old Cornish, maybe. We were close to the Cornish border. In its way it was as unsettling as the cry had been. We set off, chanting, dancing, banging our noisemakers, first through one house and then another. Darcy and I deliberately hung back and watched Lady Hawse-Gorzley and Inspector Newcombe go ahead of us. We moved across to the cottages on the other side of the green. My mother and grandfather were standing at the door, smiling as everyone trooped inside and then out again. I noticed that Miss Prendergast’s cottage was avoided. Perhaps everybody sensed that true evil still lurked in there.

  Through the vicarage and then on to the cottages on the other side of the village. Nothing strange happened and I began to believe Robbins had really fled. Then up the driveway to Gorzley Hall. In through the front door, around the foyer and out again, while the servants stood on the stairs, laughing and clapping along. We waited by the front door as the first revelers came out again and began their long trek back down the drive.

  I noticed Willum’s startling red hat as he lumbered down the side of the column, nodding and dancing in his clumsy way, like a giant in a child’s fairy tale. Then suddenly it hit me. I ran and grabbed the inspector.

  “That’s not Willum, it’s Robbins,” I shouted. “Willum’s in bed with a cold.”

  The inspector didn’t waste a second. “That’s him, men. Get him.”

  At those words the fake Willum drew out a gun and fired directly at Lady Hawse-Gorzley. She stumbled and fell as he took off into the darkness. The noise of the crowd turned to howls as they pursued him.

  “Go and get help from the hall,” I shouted amid the chaos. I dropped to my knees beside Lady Hawse-Gorzley. “And summon a doctor.”

  Darcy took off back to the hall.

  Lady Hawse-Gorzley grabbed my hand. “I’m all right. Help me up.” She attempted to stand but couldn’t quite manage it. “The impudence. Thank God I’m wearing my old sheepskin coat. The hide’s thick enough to stop any bullet.”

  I opened the top buttons on the coat and saw that the white fleece around the shoulder was black with blood. “You’re bleeding badly. Just lie still until help comes from the hall.”

  “Funny,” she said, “I don’t feel a thing.” And then she fainted.

  Chapter 40

  AROUND LOVEY TOR

  NEW YEAR’S EVE

  I looked up nervously as feet ran across the gravel toward us. But they had come to help Lady Hawse-Gorzley. Then she was being picked up and carried back up the drive. I followed behind, feeling sick and scared. In spite of everything, we hadn’t managed to protect her. Surely she wasn’t going to die, was she? I’d grown rather fond of her during these twelve days at her house. I just hoped they’d caught Robbins by now and that he would hang.

  Suddenly I felt alone and exposed in the darkness and quickened my pace to catch up. I gasped and spun around as someone grabbed my arm. Wild Sal was standing beside me. “Come on, miss, quick,” she said. “That woman—the bad one. She’s getting away. She’s heading for the moor.”

  She took my sleev
e and started to lead me across the lawn and through the trees. I looked around for Darcy or someone else I recognized. “Tell them that the Prendergast woman is heading for the moor,” I shouted to the last stragglers who were milling around on the driveway. “Find Inspector Newcombe.”

  “Come on. We’ll lose her,” Sal hissed impatiently, staring ahead as if she could see somebody I couldn’t in the darkness. She grabbed my arm. Our footsteps crunched through frosty dry bracken as we came out onto the wild upland. What a lot of noise we make, I thought and instinctively glanced down at our feet.

  “You’re wearing shoes,” I said. And even as I said the words out loud I realized the truth. She wasn’t Sal at all. She was dressed in flowing robes like Sal. Her hair hung around her face and over her shoulders like Sal. But the face beneath was quite different. Before I could say anything I felt something hard shoved into my side.

  “You have to stop being so trusting,” the woman said in her own voice, far coarser and more common than Wild Sal’s. “You’re all so bloody stupid around here. Now get moving.”

  The thing in my side didn’t feel sharp. Not a knife, then. A gun.

  “What do you want with me?” I tried to make my voice sound calm and in control. “You could have gotten away by now and nobody would have noticed.”

  She gave a little cackle in her throat. “You’re my ticket to freedom, duckie. We always planned to take a hostage and you were too good to turn down. Keep moving.”

  And she prodded me forward. We stumbled upward in complete darkness, falling over rocks until we came to some kind of path, then we moved along more rapidly. Suddenly the woman froze.

  “Hold on,” she said, listening, and sure enough we heard feet crunching up through the bracken toward us. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound,” she whispered. “I’ve killed enough people recently that one more won’t be no trouble at all.”

  I heard her cock the gun. It’s Darcy, I thought. He’s come to save me and he’s going to be shot. I made up my mind. I was going to shout out a warning and run as soon as he got close enough. Then a voice whispered, “Trix, is that you?”

  “Over here,” she called back and Mr. Robbins himself came toward us. “Lost them easy enough,” he said. He had now shed his Willum disguise and was dressed head to toe in black, including a black balaclava so that he blended into the darkness of the night with only his face hovering, disembodied, which somehow made the whole thing more alarming. I was shivering now, and not just with cold. He came closer and noticed me.

  “Who’s this?”

  “We got ourselves a good hostage, Rob. She’s the one I told you about—relative of the king.”

  He came up to me, took my chin in his hand and grinned at me.

  “Well done, Trix. She should be good for a safe passage to South America.” He gave my head a nasty tweak as he released me. “Come on, then, let’s get moving. The motor’s this way, down behind that pub.”

  I looked around me and saw no lights. The valley now lay hidden in mist. It was creeping upward toward us, moving like a live thing.

  “Mist is coming in,” he said. “All the better for us. They’ll never find us now. Safe to use this, I think.”

  He turned on a small torch, shining it on the ground around us. We started to move to our right. Far below us we heard a deep baying.

  “They’ve got dogs, Rob,” Trixie said nervously.

  “Don’t matter. They’ll never catch up with us in this.”

  We plunged forward into mist. I felt its icy dampness on my face and all sound seemed to be deadened, apart from the heavy tread of Robbins’s boots. I was trying to stop the rising panic I felt. If I ran off into the mist, would they shoot me before I could get away? If we were ambushed when we reached their motorcar, they’d shoot me without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Where’s that bloody lake?” he muttered. “We don’t want to go anywhere near that. I almost copped it when I had to drop that toffy-nosed hunting bloke into the bog.”

  “We should be well to the right of it if we stay on this path,” she said. “It will drop down behind the pub soon.”

  Far below us a dog howled again, an eerie sound that seemed to echo all around us. I remembered that the hound of the Baskervilles hunted on this very moor. Right now I’d have welcomed the sight of him.

  We plunged on in silence. Then Robbins said, “We should be right above that pub by now. The path should be starting to go down.”

  But it didn’t.

  Then Trixie spoke. “I don’t think this is a proper path. It’s just an animal track.”

  “Then where is the damned path?” he snapped back.

  “How should I know?”

  “You’re the one who has had five years to scout out the place. Hurry up, I’m freezing.”

  “You’re freezing? I’m freezing in this stupid getup.”

  Then through the darkness I thought I heard a flapping sound. The others heard it too.

  “One of them bloody swans,” Trixie said. “If the lake’s over there then we must have swung too far to our left. No wonder we didn’t find the right path. Come on. This way.”

  She took the torch from him and struck out to her right. Robbins gave me a rough shove and forced me ahead of him.

  We forged ahead in silence, stumbling now that we no longer had the least semblance of a path to follow. Mist swirled, cleared, then closed in again. It was a world of unreality and I lost all track of time. It felt as if I had been stumbling forward for eternity.

  Suddenly the mist parted again and he cried out, “You stupid cow. You’re leading us astray. Look, that must be the tor over there. We’re going down the wrong side.” And with that he strode out ahead of us. Trixie jammed the gun into my side again. “Get going. Keep up with him.”

  We half ran, half stumbled as he vanished into the mist. Suddenly we heard him swear.

  “Watch your step,” he called back. “I’m into a bloody bog.” We heard him swear again under his breath. Then he shouted, with panic in his voice, “Trix, I can’t move my feet. Give me a hand.”

  “Where are you?” she called. “I can’t see you.”

  “Over here.” The voice echoed and bounced from unseen peaks.

  She swung the torch around, but the light couldn’t penetrate the mist.

  “For God’s sake, woman, get a move on. I’m bloody well sinking.” His voice sounded desperate now.

  “I can’t see you.” Her voice was full of fear. “Keep talking.”

  “I’m sinking, damn it. Come and get me out of this infernal thing.”

  She started running, first left, then right, like a frightened animal. “Robbie, where are you?”

  “Here. I’m here.”

  She must have remembered me because she turned to grab my arm and drag me with her. Suddenly we stumbled upon a frightening scene. Only a few yards away from us Robbie Robbins was now up to his waist in the bog. He was thrashing and struggling but he had nothing around him but liquid mud. Trixie screamed, dropped the torch and ran forward. “Oh, my God. Oh, no. Robbie.” She plunged toward him and grabbed his hands, trying with all her strength to pull him clear. The torch fell propped against a clump of grass, throwing an eerie light on the scene.

  “It’s no use,” he said. “You’re not strong enough to pull me out. I’m done for. Save yourself now, Trix. Go on, run for it. Take her with you.”

  “I’m not leaving you, you bloody fool. Try harder. Move. Kick.”

  “I can’t move a bleeding thing,” he said. “My legs are held fast. Run for it, Trix. If they catch you, you’ll swing.”

  I could see she was hesitating. The spectacle was horrendous to watch—the bog silently sucking him down. She let go of his hand and then she shrieked. “It’s got me, too. I can’t move my feet.”

  Although it looked as if she was standing on grass, she was in bog above her ankles.

  She turned back to me. “Help me,” she called.

  I stood there in a m
oment of absolute indecision. I was free. I could run away now and leave them. It was what they deserved, after all. They hadn’t thought twice when they turned the gas tap on a poor old woman or smashed Mr. Barclay’s head in with a piece of masonry. The Lovey Curse was taking its revenge. I started to walk away, but I couldn’t. However despicably they had behaved, I could not leave anyone to die. I told myself I could run for help, but I knew it would be too late. I took a deep breath and stepped gingerly onto the tufted grass that edged the bog.

  He was now almost up to his neck, his eyes bulging in terror. She was in past her knees. I felt my own feet beginning to sink as I chose the tufts of grass to stand on. “Here, give me your hand.”

  I reached out to her and felt her bony hand grasp mine. It was like being held by a skeleton. “Try to get one leg free,” I urged.

  She grunted and groaned. “I can’t move them an inch,” she said. “Pull harder.”

  I took both her hands and pulled. It seemed that her struggles were only making her sink more quickly.

  “I’m going, Trix. Damn it. What a bloody stupid way to end it,” Robbins called. She let go of me to turn back to him. “No, Robbie. No!” she screamed, trying to grasp at his face, his hair. We watched in silent fascination as the mud rose over his mouth. We heard him cough and splutter. Then it was past his eyes and then there was a horrible sucking sound and the bog claimed him completely.

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to die like that. You have to get me out quickly.”

  I grasped her hands again, but she was now up to her thighs. Suddenly she realized that it was impossible. She was caught.

  “Well, if I’m going, then you are too,” she said and she gave a mighty jerk, catching me off guard and sending me sprawling forward into stinking mire. I tried to scramble to my feet but she still had my hands in a grip of iron and I felt the pull of the bog gripping my legs. I wriggled and strained, trying to break her grip on me. I heard her laughing.

  “I guess you won’t be marrying a prince anytime soon,” she said.