by Holly Webb
It was hard to tell what the shape was without the special paper to cover the gaps between the sticks but as Polly came closer, she suddenly saw that it was a dog. A long-legged dog, his paws stretched out to run. “Oh! He’s beautiful!” she told Nina.
“He’s nice, isn’t he?” Nina beamed at her. “The funny thing is, I never thought of making a dog. I was planning on doing a pumpkin, but then it was almost like he appeared. He’s going to be massive.” She looked worried for a moment.
“I’ll help with him,” Polly said hopefully. Nina was making Rex, even if she didn’t know she was. He was so much part of the house, he just turned up here and there as though he popped into people’s heads when they were making things. Polly had noticed that he was actually in a lot of the paintings in the gallery – peering from between the trees, if there was a view of the house, or carved into the stone mantelpieces. Of course Rex would make sure that he was in the parade.
Polly spent the rest of the afternoon helping Nina to cover the dog lantern with paper, then she stopped on her way back to the flat to whisper into Rex’s ear how beautiful he was going to look. He didn’t move, but Polly was sure that as she walked past him up the steps, his head was held a little higher than usual.
After she had discovered the marked ballad sheet, Polly had packed all the rest of the papers her mum had copied for her back into the folder. But as she was getting ready for bed that night, she noticed a piece of paper half sticking out from behind her bedside table. She really had thrown them everywhere when she worked out that the ballad was the key to the code.
As she picked it up and put it away with the others on the desk where she did her homework, Polly realized that she had never looked at the rest of the papers in the folder. There were definitely a few more that she hadn’t seen. She took the folder to bed with her and sat with it propped against her knees, trying to work out which papers she’d already read. Some of the writing was so strange and scratchy that she had had to give up.
Then she came to a page that was definitely new – one that made her heart jump into her mouth. It was headed with the words An Account of the Trials and Execution and Dying Behaviour of Three Diabolical Robbers. Under this was a picture, drawn in heavy black lines, of three men standing on a scaffold, obviously about to be hanged. It was a bit like a newspaper article, Polly decided, swallowing hard. She supposed people had bought copies of it, like the ballad sheets. It even had a price printed on the bottom: One penny. She really hoped that this hadn’t been Jake’s copy – since it was probably reporting his brother’s death.
Now that she was perhaps about to find out what had happened, Polly didn’t want to read it. But she had to – it might tell her what had happened to Nat and Jake. And if it did, she had to tell Patch. She felt so nervous that her fingers had gone cold and it was hard to hold the piece of paper. What if poor Jake had been arrested too?
Odd phrases jumped out at her here and there – “may both old and young take warning by their unhappy fate”, “this very morning executed at Penbridge”, “brought to a shameful and untimely end”. Polly forced herself to skim through the paragraphs, looking for names. She was expecting to see Nat, but the three men were named as John Dyer, Ned Pawley and Jago Pawley. Polly read the names over again, and her breath seemed to come easier. It definitely didn’t mention Nat or Jake.
Unless – she supposed Nat might have changed his name when he ran away. Ned wasn’t that different a name to Nat, was it? Polly nibbled her nails. And Jago Pawley must be Ned Pawley’s brother, surely, and Jago did actually sound quite like Jake. Oh, this was almost worse than not knowing anything. Should she tell Patch? Would it only make him more worried about Jake than he already was? Or perhaps the news would make him remember what had happened. “I just don’t know,” Polly muttered to herself.
Sighing, she laid the folder on the floor beside the bed and turned out the light. But as she lay there, struggling to sleep, all she could think of was Patch, whimpering, “Jake… Oh, Jake…”
Polly felt even worse about not having time to help Patch because she kept seeing him when she was down at the craft room in the stables. Patch was always around, dozing by the stove in the old tack room, or busily sniffing after imaginary rats in the yard. Polly stopped to stroke him and whisper hello, when she was sure no one was looking, but she felt bad about it. Patch always looked up at her so hopefully and nuzzled at her fingers, and she knew he was waiting for her to say she’d got more news. She did have news – but she just couldn’t bear to tell him.
The horrible description of the hanged robbers was always in the back of her mind. She was almost sure that Ned and Jago weren’t Nat and Jake, but only almost. The story had been written to be as sad as possible, with all the details of the robbers praying for forgiveness and worrying about their mothers. If one of them had only been a boy of ten or eleven, Polly thought it would have said so. The writer would have made a big fuss about such a young child being in league with dangerous robbers.
Still, every time she saw Patch’s worried, wistful face, she felt guilty. The words seemed to be building up inside her, wanting to spill out. Keeping the secret hurt. She hadn’t even told Rex about her latest discovery. She was secretly glad she hadn’t had a spare moment to speak to him over the last few days in the run-up to the lantern parade. She was sure he would say they must tell Patch the truth…
Polly wondered what Rex would think when he saw the huge lantern Nina had made. It was finished now, just in time for the parade that night, and Nina had shown Polly what it would look like with little nightlights shining inside. Polly couldn’t wait to see the giant dog outside in the dark and all the other lanterns too. She had a star lantern that Mum had helped her to make to go with her witch’s costume.
Polly made a face at herself in her bedroom mirror – it wasn’t a very exciting costume. She had black school trousers on, a long black top she’d borrowed from Mum and her old witch’s hat. She’d been so busy helping out that she hadn’t had time to make a really clever costume in the end. She didn’t mind, though. It had been so nice, working on the lanterns and spending more time with her mum.
Polly was putting on the witch’s hat and adding some green glitter gel to her cheeks to make herself look a bit more magical when Rex put his head round her bedroom door. He looked at the glitter curiously and Polly raised her hands to fend him off. “Don’t jump up and lick me! It won’t taste nice! Are you coming to the parade? It starts at six, so not for an hour.”
“Maybe. But I need you to come with me now.” Rex leaned round her to sniff at the glitter pot. “Are you sure it wouldn’t taste good? It looks as though it would.”
“Where are we going?” Polly asked, frowning. “I can’t be late for the parade, Rex. It’s Mum’s big thing.”
“We have to. It’s for Patch, Polly. He needs us.” The way Rex said it, his voice echoing deeply around the room, Polly knew that he was right. She had to go.
“What is it?” she called as she grabbed her torch and hurried after him down the stairs. “Where are we going?”
“To the tree. The secrets tree, where we found the message.”
“Rex, no!” Polly stopped, looking down at him. “It’s dark already! I don’t want to go out there, not through the woods. It’ll be scary.”
“You’d be scared, when you’re with me?” Rex fixed her with his huge dark eyes, his voice gentle.
“Well … no. I suppose not. But do we have to?” Polly twisted her fingers together. “I don’t like that tree – there’s something spooky about it. And it’s Halloween. I don’t really believe in all that stuff – witches and vampires and werewolves. But you’re a ghost, sort of, aren’t you, and William definitely is. I mean, what if something awful happens?”
“It won’t. Something important will happen, that’s why we’re going.”
“Is she coming, Rex?” Patch appeared at the bottom of the twisting staircase. “We should go! We’re going to find out,
I know we are. I can feel it. I’m starting to remember, but I need to go back to the tree. It all happened there, I’m sure of it.”
The two dogs ran ahead of Polly as she stepped out into the darkness. It was very dark, even though there was a full moon. Thin clouds were racing in front of it, so the moonlight was flickery and strange. And it was cold. At least it wasn’t raining to spoil the parade, Polly told herself. She was trying not to be feeble, but the thought of walking through the woods and the clutching, fingerish branches of the ancient tree made her feel shivery. And that was without even worrying about vampires or werewolves. Mind you, she was pretty sure Rex could see off a werewolf – he was very big. She wished he and Patch wouldn’t run so far ahead, though…
She was peering through the darkness, flashing the torch about and trying to see where the dogs had gone, when a figure appeared beside her out of the night. He was huge and he was masked, his eyes glittering at her in the dim light of the torch. A cloak swirled around him as he leaned over Polly and she was sure that he was about to grab her. She screamed and whirled round to run back to the house, but the massive figure gasped and stammered, “Polly, stop! It’s only me.”
Polly turned, looking at him doubtfully. “Stephen?”
“Yes, look.” He pulled off the mask and there he was, just the gardener in a long dark cloak, looking very apologetic. “Sorry, Polly. I forgot that the mask was a bit scary. It’s my costume for the parade.”
“What are you?” Polly whispered.
“Oh, I’m a highwayman. Do you like it? A bit different, isn’t it? Where are you off to, anyway?”
Polly swallowed. She hated to lie to him but he was never going to let her wander off into the woods on her own. For a moment, a little bit of her wanted to let Stephen take her back to the house, where it was safe and the highwaymen were only friends dressed up. But then she saw the dark shapes of Rex and Patch, staring at her anxiously from the woodland just ahead. “I’m just getting something for Mum,” she lied, crossing her fingers and trying to sound calm.
“OK, well don’t be long. You don’t want to miss the start of the parade. It’s going to be a night we won’t forget, I’m sure.”
Polly nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think you’re right.”
“It was the same time of year,” Patch muttered as he and Polly and Rex crept through the trees. “All Hallows’ Eve. I remember…”
“Did you come out to the tree? Is that why we have to?” Polly asked.
“Yes. Jake had a letter for his brother. They used to exchange notes, you see. A few weeks after he’d started working at the hall, he found a letter in one of the horse’s stalls. It was Emperor’s stall – Jake always did Emperor – there were three stable boys and they shared the work. So Nat had been watching and knew that was probably a good place to leave a note as no one else would pick it up. Jake said it was lucky he’d found it, though, because it was left in Emperor’s hay net, and he said Emperor was an old pig and he might well have just eaten it and not cared.”
“It was from Nat?” Rex asked, peering down at Patch through the darkness.
“Yes. He wrote that he’d waited for Jake on the beach at full moon, like always, but Jake hadn’t come. So he’d gone to the cottage but it was empty. It was only then that he’d found out about their father dying. Nat stopped one of the village boys who wouldn’t have known him. He pretended to be an old friend of Jake’s father and asked him what had happened. The boy told him Jake was working up at the hall.” Patch growled. “And I reckon he went straight back to his cronies and told them they had a man on the inside now. The note told him about the hole in the tree, and said to leave his answer there.”
“You think the gang were using Jake to find out when rich travellers would be passing along the road to Penhallow?” Polly asked worriedly.
“They tried. Jake said they kept asking but he never knew. And he didn’t! He was only a stable boy.”
“I suppose that’s why they had the code set up,” Polly said. “If they thought he was going to be passing secrets.”
“He never did,” Patch said stubbornly. “Never.”
“Would he have told them, if he did know?” Rex put in, and Patch was silent. The only sound was the wind rattling the dry leaves on the trees and the scuff of the dogs’ claws on the ground.
“I don’t know,” Patch muttered at last. “Jake loved his brother. He’d have done anything to help Nat.”
“So you came out here that night with a letter? That one we found, warning Nat to run?” Rex asked.
“Must have been. Jake didn’t talk about it,” Patch replied thoughtfully. “He sat there with the sheets of paper, counting the words and whispering to hisself. He were worried, I could see that. He hardly even spoke a word to me that day and he was jumpy as a cat.”
“He was right to be worried,” Polly whispered. It was too hard to keep the secret any longer. It felt like it was burning inside her. “I should have told you before. I found another paper, not a ballad sheet. It was a notice of a hanging. They did catch them, three of them.”
“Polly!” Rex looked up at her, and even in the faint light from the torch, his eyes gleamed.
Polly turned away. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t bear to say. It already feels like we’ve made things worse.”
Rex sighed. “I know – but it’s his story, Polly. The truth belongs to Patch, don’t you see?”
Polly nodded, feeling her shoulders hunch up. She was ashamed… Rex nudged her gently, his muzzle resting on her shoulder so his damp nose pressed into her neck. “You should have told us,” he said gently.
“Tell me now!” Patch yelped.
“It wasn’t the right names,” Polly said quickly, turning back to look at Patch. “It didn’t say Jake or Nat, Patch, I promise it didn’t. But … but it did say Ned and Jago Pawley. And I thought that was a bit close. Do you know what Jake’s last name was?”
The little dog only stared at her, frightened into silence.
“I shouldn’t suppose he does…” Rex muttered. “He’d only have heard him called Jake. Unless the ladies and gentlemen used his surname if they asked him to do something. Pawley – did you ever hear anyone in the stables call Jake that?” he asked Patch gently.
“No…” the terrier whispered. “Only Jake.” Then he shook his ears. “I have to know – and now. Us have to get to that tree. I’m starting to remember more of it, the closer I get. Like the path’s lighting up in front of my paws.”
“So … Jake hid the letter,” Polly said. “What happened after that? Do you remember?”
“Yes… Us hid it, just as it was growing dark…” Patch stopped, gazing up at her wide-eyed as he remembered. “But on the way back, us heard him whistling! He was there, in the trees, watching us!”
“Nat was?”
“Yes. And his horse was there with him, tied up to one of the branches. A skinny old chestnut mare. But … but. Ah, that’s it. Jake couldn’t stop. He’d nipped out to hide the letter when he shouldn’t have done and he had to be back before he was missed. He whispered that he’d meet Nat later. He told him to wait at the tree and he’d be back, and it was important – he had news.”
“So you went out again that night.”
“No.” Patch’s voice dropped. He sounded almost ashamed as he answered Rex. “He left me behind. He said he couldn’t risk me barking, in case I got them caught. I’d never! What was he thinking? But he was determined. He told me to stay and he went off. But I wasn’t going to let him! He was scared, I knew that. I followed him. I never thought…”
“What? What happened?” Polly demanded.
“He was angry with me. He marched me back again by the scruff of my neck and he shut me up!” Patch’s voice went into a whimper of hurt. “He shut me in that old shed round the back of the stables and he barred the door. I couldn’t get out, even though I tried and tried. I wasn’t leaving him to go out to the woods alone in the dark. I clawed at the door but it wouldn
’t budge, and I barked and barked…” Patch was silent, and Polly shone her torch at him, wondering if he was too upset to talk. But he was staring at Rex, almost as if he’d never seen him before. “It was thee! I barked and I barked and ye came,” he whispered.
“You did?” Polly squeaked. It was the first time she had heard of Rex playing a part in another dog’s story.
Rex inclined his head in a slow nod. “Yes. One of my dogs was desperate and afraid. Of course I came. I always did, even if sometimes all I could do was to be there with them…”
“Ye let me out!” Patch jumped up, dancing excitedly around Rex, leaping up and licking at the bigger dog’s muzzle. “It was thee!”
“Yes. Do you want to see what happened then?”
“Yes!” Polly and Patch said together.
“We’re almost at the tree.” Rex peered forward through the dark shadows of the trees, and Polly shone the torch and saw that he was right.
There was the open grass and the secrets tree, Jake’s secrets tree, looming up before them. She walked out into the moonlit clearing with one hand buried in the wiry fur of Rex’s neck and Patch pressed trembling against her ankles.
“Huddle down here, at the side of the tree,” Rex murmured. “They won’t see us. You can watch.”
Polly crouched down among the gnarled roots, her hand pressed against the rough bark.
Rex crept underneath her arm. “Lean on me. You don’t need to be afraid, Polly, I promise. Turn off the torch.” Patch snuggled up close in front of them both and Polly thought that he had far more right to be nervous than she did. She could feel him shaking. It was Patch’s own story that Rex was telling and the little dog was terrified.
