Blood Line: What if your family was the last left alive? (The Blood Line Trilogy Book 1)

by Michael Green

  ‘What did you have hidden, and where is it now?’

  ‘I had nothing.’

  The right thumbscrew was slipped into place too and tightened.

  For almost an hour the questioning continued, always the same question, always the same answer. The pain was excruciating; Mark’s involuntary screams reverberated around Flag Court. Allison, sitting in the staterooms, heard them. She pleaded with Nigel to do something, but he ignored her.

  Mark tried every trick he knew to steel his mind against the pain. He told himself that pain was nothing more than an electrical impulse being sent to the brain. He reminded himself that the rifles hidden at the White Horse Inn were an insurance policy that guaranteed he would see Jane, Zach and Nicole again.

  Each time the thumbscrews were tightened another voice in his head argued that there would be other rifles; that those stored in the White Horse Inn weren’t worth the pain he was suffering. But the first voice countered quickly, saying it would take time to find more rifles, and that a delay might prove fatal.

  When the argument between the voices reached stalemate, and still the pressure on his thumbs was increasing, a safety mechanism in Mark’s brain kicked in and he fainted.

  When he came to, after fainting for the third time, Mark found himself lying on the floor beside the stool. The ropes were gone, the thumbscrews were gone, and the Chatfield brothers had also gone. Only the pain remained. Miles, who had become concerned Mark could suffer a heart attack, had demanded his brothers halt the torture.

  Slowly, Mark managed to get his arms from behind his back, then he tucked his hands under his arms and rocked backwards and forwards as the pain slowly subsided. An hour later, he still had no feeling in his thumbs.

  Damian and Jasper reappeared at the door. ‘Get back on the treadmill,’ Jasper demanded.

  For a moment Mark considered defiance and then, feeling the pain surge through his arms, he walked wearily across to the treadmill. With his hands still tucked under his armpits to dull the pain, he balanced on the treads and began a slow walk. Once the brothers had left he began to berate himself for not having defied them, wondering whether or not his spirit had been broken. But by the time Steven returned at lunchtime to check on him, he was filled with fresh resolve.

  ‘Any trouble?’ Steven asked as he walked in.

  ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ Mark said, without looking around.

  ‘I’ve brought some lunch,’ Steven said, moving behind his father, ready to step on the treadmill. But as Mark stepped off, Steven saw the congealed blood matting his father’s hair. He failed to step on and the treadmill ground to a halt.

  ‘Get on,’ Mark urged.

  ‘No. What’s been happening?’

  ‘Get on, I said! I need to give you some information.’

  The urgency in his words was so great, Steven obeyed instantly.

  Mark had less than two minutes before Damian and Jasper arrived.

  ‘Why did you let the treadmill stop?’ Damian demanded.

  ‘It hasn’t stopped,’ Steven said defiantly.

  ‘It stopped,’ Damian screeched. ‘It’s not allowed to stop.’

  ‘You,’ Jasper said, pointing at Mark, ‘back on the treadmill.’

  ‘But I haven’t had my lunch.’

  ‘On the treadmill, or else,’ Damian snarled, drawing his pistol. Reluctantly Mark climbed back on.

  Jasper turned his attention to Steven. ‘Get outside.’

  Steven walked outside, followed by the two Chatfield brothers. They marched him across to the other side of the courtyard and questioned him. Looking over his shoulder and out through the open doorway, Mark could see them talking but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. A little later Jasper returned.

  ‘How many days were you in Sevenoaks?’

  ‘Two, the day we came into the park, and the previous day.’

  ‘Where did you spend the night?’

  ‘The Elephant’s Head Pub on Seal Road.’

  ‘Did you search together?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, how could we search the whole town in two days if we searched together?’

  ‘Who searched where?’

  ‘I did the top end of the town, Weald Road, Kippington and Lodge Road of course. Steven did the bottom of town — St John’s, Greatness and Wickenden.’

  ‘Who had the rucksack?’

  Mark hadn’t anticipated that question. ‘I did. That’s how I came to leave the tin of beans at Lodge Road.’

  Satisfied, Jasper left, walked across the courtyard and sent Steven back to the gardens.

  ‘We’re going to have to be smarter and more careful in future,’ Mark said, as Steven rejoined him in the Punishment Room after dinner.

  ‘You can say that again. You should see the state of your face. So what happened?’

  Mark told Steven about his questioning.

  ‘Just as well you had time to brief me.’

  ‘We only just had enough time. They’ve obviously got an alarm rigged up to let them know when the treadmill stops.’

  ‘We’ve got to find out how it works,’ Steven said.

  ‘We’ve got to find out a whole heap about this place. And we’re not going to discover much if we spend all our time in this room.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. How many nights have you spent in a proper bed since you’ve been at Haver?’

  Mark smiled wryly. He’d still not had one night in a bed since his arrival.

  ‘Exactly,’ Steven continued. ‘At least I’ve managed a couple of nights.’

  ‘From now on, let’s keep our heads down and stay out of trouble.’

  ‘Suits me. I’d far rather be out there enjoying a bit of company.’

  ‘Any company in particular?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  Mark smiled again. Some girl had obviously taken his son’s fancy. No doubt he would find out who soon enough.

  Part 4

  45

  By late October, winter beckoned; the bracken had turned rust coloured and beneath the bare trees a carpet of red and yellow leaves lay glistening in the early morning dew. During November the mornings became colder and frost replaced the dew. As January gave way to February the ice in the puddles survived the thin winter sunshine. Each morning the park was searched for deer that hadn’t survived the bitterness of the night.

  Not that they were dependent on deer or rabbit meat any longer. The previous summer had been kind. Stocks of cheese and butter, bottled fruits and vegetables, and sacks of wheat had been stockpiled. The barns around Stable Court, which held the Chatfields’ private stores, were also overflowing — with fine wine, cigars and other luxuries located during the brothers’ foraging expeditions.

  Yet despite the estate’s success, Nigel spent his days prowling frustrated and dissatisfied around his quarters. He had never mixed with the rest of the community; even at meal times he remained within his own family group.

  There was one outsider in the Chatfield family — Allison, the cousin he’d taken as his wife. And Allison was the major cause of his frustration. She was submissive and polite, as she had been since he’d blackmailed her into joining him. But her politeness only served to accentuate her lack of affection. In fact it was more than a lack of affection; he suspected she hated him. She only joined him in the king’s bed when he demanded, and then only suffered his advances under duress. There was no love. She’d failed to provide him with another son, or even a daughter.

  He didn’t know Allison had a supply of ‘morning after’ pills. She would never bear Nigel’s child if she could help it.

  He consoled himself with the knowledge that at least everything was running smoothly and he could enjoy his power. He was Lord of the Manor. The Haver estate was functioning well, the peasants were behaving themselves, and he and his sons were living in luxury.

  His authority was rarely challenged now. His sons had broken the spirits of those troublesome Kiwis. There were fewer transgressions now. In fa
ct, there were just sufficient incidents to keep the treadmill manned, but not so few that they ever needed another foxhunt. He was pleased about that; he didn’t really want to risk another incident like the last one.

  However, Nigel’s reading of the situation was flawed in many respects. His sons had not broken the Kiwis’ spirits. In reality, a state of unspoken truce had been reached between the two factions. Mark and Steven no longer openly challenged the Chatfield brothers’ authority, and the brothers in turn took care not to provoke incidents that might spark confrontation.

  But it was an uneasy truce. The Chatfield brothers, while they would never admit it, even to themselves, respected the fighting spirit of the two New Zealanders. In the confrontations that had occurred so far, the brothers knew Mark and Steven had scored at least moral victories. Moreover, they sensed those small victories had weakened their own position. They feared further confrontations would make it worse.

  Mark and Steven had realised they needed to keep out of trouble. They had also come to recognise that they couldn’t change the thinking of the other members of the community while they were manning the treadmill.

  Mark and Steven had began serious preparations for an escape from Haver while at the same time working to undermine Nigel’s authority. It was too risky to openly recruit members of the community to accompany them back to New Zealand, should they find a way to escape. Such activities would undoubtedly have been reported back to Nigel. Instead, they took every opportunity they could to talk about the community they had created at Gulf Harbour.

  For some of their relatives it was the description of schoolrooms, computers and entertainment systems powered by solar panels that appealed. For Adam Dalton and his sons Luke and Robert, the image of Raconteur sailing around the Hauraki Gulf was an added attraction. Their own yacht now lay moored at Greenwich, unloved and untended.

  However, it was something less tangible that really set the two communities apart. What Gulf Harbour offered, and Haver did not — the intangible they all craved — was democracy. They wanted control over their own lives.

  Mark and Steven didn’t openly say they were thinking of returning to New Zealand. If asked, they would simply sigh and say, ‘It would be nice to think one day we’d be able to go back and see the rest of the family.’

  The person who Mark came closest to confiding in was his brother Paul. But to Mark’s surprise, and disappointment, his brother answered his question before it could be asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ Paul said one day, after Mark had been singing the praises of New Zealand, ‘even if you and Steven were to go back to New Zealand, I wouldn’t go with you.’

  Mark was taken aback by the fervour in his brother’s voice. ‘Surely that would depend on the circumstances?’

  ‘I wouldn’t leave Britain under any circumstances. If I’d wanted to go to New Zealand I would have emigrated years ago when you and Christopher left.’

  Paul had gone out of his way to make his point. It was as if he’d guessed Mark and Steven’s intentions and wanted to ensure he wouldn’t be put in the position of being asked to join them. The matter was never discussed again, and from that moment on Mark didn’t include Paul or his daughters in his preparations.

  Those preparations were soon in full swing. In a cavity in the ceiling above Steven’s room, Mark and Steven began to assemble an assortment of items that would aid their escape. Rope, a compass, dried food and plastic water bottles were all secreted away. Also in the hiding place were ten small rucksacks they had made from canvas and leather found in the attic.

  Quietly and unobtrusively, they began to scrutinise the house and the surrounding grounds, identifying possible escape routes. It was more difficult to find a solution to the dogs, which roamed free outside the walls of the house during the night. Apart from being certain to maul anyone who tried to escape, their barking would alert Nigel and his sons.

  Their second objective — undermining the Chatfield family and bringing about a change of regime — was going to be a much riskier and more protracted undertaking.

  Nigel was also incorrect in assuming the estate was running smoothly because his sons had successfully subjugated the other members of the community. There were other circumstances of which Nigel and his sons had no inkling.

  Some members remained cowed, particularly those who were carrying two brandings; stepping out of line again would result in their execution. But a few were beginning to gain a little self-confidence. That confidence was, in large part, due to the fact that members of the different families were now co-operating. And that co-operation had to do with the treadmill.

  Mark and Steven enjoyed one great advantage over other members of the community; they knew that if things didn’t improve they intended to return to New Zealand. That knowledge freed them, and they viewed the discomforts and humiliation they were suffering as temporary burdens.

  Steven’s trade skills opened many doors. One day he found Fergus struggling to fix a jammed window and offered to help. Fergus, like the rest of the Steeds, lacked the skills required for much of his work. He accepted Steven’s help gladly, and soon all the Steeds were asking Steven for advice.

  In return, the Steeds turned a blind eye when Steven slipped into their workshop and borrowed their tools. Soon the children of the community were pulling along wooden toy trains and cars. Eventually every child had at least one wooden toy, and one child — Penny Morgan’s blond-haired, fine-featured young son Lee — had several.

  Steven spent as much time as he could with Penny. She encouraged him. She served the meals at the Grey table, and the growing size of Steven’s portions didn’t pass unnoticed by his father. And others were commenting that romance was in the air.

  Like Fergus before him, Steven had been spoilt for choice. There were simply too few eligible males in the community. Fergus was very much in love with his cousin Jessica Dalton, who like others in her family was dark, pretty and petite. She could hold her own with her cousins, though — her sharp mind made up for her size.

  Steven found Cameron Steed’s daughters Kimberley and Rebecca fun to be with, and Fergus’s sister Virginia. But at first he’d been most strongly attracted to Virginia’s twin, Andrea. She was undoubtedly the reigning beauty at Haver, but he soon found the fiery redhead’s wild mood swings difficult to handle and drifted towards the quieter and more loving Penny. She didn’t have Andrea’s stunning looks, but Penny was attractive. She had her mother’s sharp features but they were softened by her mass of curly blonde hair.

  Steven wasn’t the only one who’d become a target for Cupid’s arrow. Mark was developing a strong affection for his cousin Allison, and she for him. The increasing warmth of her feelings for Mark was making it even more difficult for her to tolerate Nigel.

  It had started innocently enough. Mark was visiting his Aunt Margaret in her quarters, shortly after he had finished his treadmill punishment after the foxhunt. While he was there, Allison arrived to see her mother.

  ‘I’m glad to have the chance to thank you,’ he said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For looking after Steven after he was beaten up by Damian and Jasper.’

  ‘I was only sorry I couldn’t do more. He really needed a doctor rather than a nurse.’

  ‘Well, I appreciate your help. I know you took a risk. And thanks also for not turning me in to Nigel when you saw me crawling past the gate.’

  Allison laughed. ‘I got the fright of my life. How ever did you manage to give them the run-around like that? No, don’t tell me,’ she added quickly. ‘Everyone thinks I might be the spy, so the less I know the better.’

  ‘Spy indeed!’ Aunt Margaret was scornful.

  ‘I don’t think you’re the spy,’ Mark said. ‘If you were in Nigel’s camp you would have turned me in when you saw me crawling past the gate. But do you have any idea who the spy is?’

  Allison shook her head. ‘None, but whoever it is, they report to Damian, and whenever a
major event occurs there’s talk of “making a payment”.’

  ‘Any idea what the payment is?’

  Allison shook her head again and glanced at her watch. ‘Look, Mum, I’m sorry, I can’t stay. I’ll pop back tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t go,’ Mark said quickly — perhaps a little too quickly.

  ‘I had trouble getting away today. Nigel’s in a foul mood. I’ll be back at the same time tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see you then.’

  They did meet again the next day, and on many subsequent days. Sometimes they would take it in turns to push Aunt Margaret around in her wheelchair as they talked; sometimes they would find themselves alone, particularly if the old lady found some excuse to leave her sitting room and wheel herself away to her bedroom for a few minutes.

  Aunt Margaret seemed to be leaving them alone with increasing regularity and for progressively longer periods of time. The two cousins laughed together, talked about intimate things, and enjoyed one another’s company. Mark, of course, talked about New Zealand at great length.

  ‘If only …’ Allison had said on one occasion.

  ‘If only what?’

  ‘I think you know.’

  They’d developed a habit of kissing when they met and again when they parted. As the weeks passed, their embraces became more urgent.

  ‘Well, I’m off to my room,’ Aunt Margaret said one day. ‘You two can say goodbye and let yourselves out.’

  After that she always followed the same routine, allowing them more and more time alone together.

  While Nigel wouldn’t relax his dictate that each family group be allocated specific tasks, even the Chatfield brothers were eventually forced to call upon Steven’s trade skills. When the clock in Cromwell’s Tower stopped, the Steed family were unable to get it working again.

  ‘Why don’t you let Steven have a look at it?’ Duncan had said to Jasper in desperation. ‘After all, he’s the only qualified tradesman here.’