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

by Michael Green

  She’d tried that before; the thought terrified her almost as much as Fergus’s threat to kill her.

  53

  ‘Fire! Fire!’ Jasper’s shouts rang out from the top of the West Tower. He’d seen the flames leaping up above the barns in Stable Court — the barns where the Chatfield’s stock of wine, cigars and other luxuries were stored.

  After a few seconds Paul walked out into the courtyard. ‘Where’s the fire?’ he called to Jasper.

  Though Paul couldn’t see the flames, he knew where the fire was.

  ‘Stable Court! Get everybody out of bed.’

  Paul turned around and walked back towards his quarters. Jasper continued to ring the bell frantically. After what seemed an age Paul emerged again, followed by Cameron.

  ‘Where are the rest?’ Jasper roared.

  ‘They’re getting dressed,’ Cameron called. ‘They won’t be long.’

  Greg and Miles ran into Lawn Court. ‘Where’s the fire?’

  ‘Looks like Stable Court,’ Paul said. Now he could see the glow reflected on the roofs of the buildings.

  Jasper rang the bell for a few more seconds before rushing down the steps of the West Tower, across Lawn Court and through into Stable Court.

  At the same time Steven, leading the four horses, slipped unseen from the stables into the park. Once clear, he swung into the saddle of Nigel’s horse.

  Mark had watched Jasper hurtle through the door at the foot of the West Tower and sprint across Lawn Court. As soon as he was out of sight, Mark lifted the huge oak beam which secured the doors to the West Gate, cracked the doors open and raced back to the lounge.

  ‘It’s time to go,’ he said to the group waiting to leave. He could hardly bear to see the anguish of those bitter partings. Fergus passed the key of the prison cell to his father.

  ‘We must go now,’ Mark said as firmly as he could.

  He led the eight adults and two children into the park. Duncan closed the door behind the escapees and replaced the oak beam before hurrying off to join the firefighters.

  The scene in Stable Court was one of pandemonium. Miles had taken charge and was organising efforts to fight the fire. An ancient hand-operated fire pump was wheeled in. There had never been a fire drill, and with the members of the community acting dumb, confusion reigned.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ Nigel demanded. He’d staggered into the courtyard with Damian. They were fast sobering up.

  ‘They’re coming,’ he was promised.

  ‘The horses!’ Miles yelled as he set off towards the stables.

  ‘They’re safe, they’ve been led out into the park,’ called a voice from out of the chaos.

  Satisfied with the assurance, Miles returned to supervise fighting the fire.

  The horses were indeed safe in the park, but not as Miles would have wished. Steven caught up with Mark and the others, who were heading away from the house. They’d already made the safety of the trees beyond the rise of the hill and were about to descend the track into the valley that led to the park gates. They were stumbling along, hampered by their rucksacks and the two children.

  Steven climbed down from Nigel’s horse.

  ‘I didn’t have time to saddle the other horses,’ he explained.

  ‘I can ride bareback,’ Allison said. ‘So can Jessica.’

  ‘I can too,’ Andrea added quickly.

  Allison, Jessica and Andrea mounted the unsaddled horses. Penny was helped into the saddle of Nigel’s horse. Lee and Tommy were passed up to their mothers.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Mark said as he began jogging down the hill. Steven, Fergus, Adam, Luke and Robert fell in behind him, with the horses bringing up the rear.

  ‘First stop, the White Horse Inn,’ Steven called as they hurried along.

  ‘Why are we going there?’ Luke asked.

  ‘We’ve got rifles and gear to pick up.’

  ‘Haven’t we got enough to carry already?’ Adam complained. With his gammy leg he was finding the jogging hard going.

  ‘Save your breath,’ Mark snapped.

  They were making good progress, but Mark was careful not to run too fast. It was going to be a long night and while the younger men were fit, he knew that Adam in particular would find it difficult.

  The column spread out as they traversed a narrow track that led to the road out of the park.

  ‘Damn,’ Andrea said. She was bringing up the rear with Penny. ‘I’ve dropped my rucksack. I’ll catch you up.’

  Penny watched Andrea swing her horse round and dismount. The group in front increased their pace, and, fearful of being left behind, Penny pressed her horse to catch up.

  Meanwhile, back in Stable Court, the flames were devouring the barns. It was only when the roofs fell in and the sparks rising into the sky indicated the Chatfield family’s luxuries had been destroyed that the families finally began to put their hearts into stopping the spread of the fire.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ Miles complained again. In addition to the hand-operated fire cart, he’d organised a bucket chain.

  As Mark had requested, the families were continually changing places and rushing about in order to make it seem there were more people in the courtyard than was the case.

  ‘Fergus and Luke aren’t here,’ Damian said finally.

  ‘I think they’re around the other side of the stables,’ called a voice from the crowd.

  Damian stumbled off to investigate.

  The escapees reached the main gates to the park and bunched up; there was a cattle grid across the road which the horses couldn’t cross. Mark held the side gate open as the column filed past. Steven, Luke and Robert were in good shape. Adam, dragging his damaged leg, staggered, his sides heaving. The horses squeezed through in single file.

  ‘Where’s Andrea?’ Mark asked. It was the first time anyone had noticed she was missing.

  ‘She dropped her rucksack,’ Penny explained. ‘She said she’d catch up. That was ages ago.’ Then the truth hit her. ‘The bitch, she’s going to betray us again.’

  ‘I’ll go and find her,’ Allison said, swinging her horse around.

  ‘No,’ Mark shouted, fearful that Allison would be captured and he’d lose her forever.

  ‘You’d be wasting your time,’ Fergus said. ‘She’ll have ridden back to report to Damian by now. She’ll do anything to get her drugs.’

  ‘We should have left her to be dealt with by the others,’ Penny cried.

  ‘We’re running out of time,’ Mark said. He led the way up the hill that led out of the park.

  Damian had found no trace of Fergus or Luke, but he had found the stable door wide open. He ran a little way around the wall surrounding the house, searching for the missing horses, but found only the corpses of the poisoned dogs. Furious, he ran back into Stable Court and did a quick tally. Several people were missing.

  ‘Did you check the cell?’ he asked Greg.

  ‘No, I came straight over to help with the fire.’

  ‘Give me the keys.’

  Damian unlocked the door at the base of the tower, lit the lantern kept at the foot of the stairs and rushed up to the third floor.

  Relieved to find the door locked, he opened the grille and looked in. He could see no one. He held the lantern higher, moving it backwards and forwards, illuminating as much of the cell as possible. There was no sign of the prisoners.

  ‘I know you’re hiding behind the door,’ he said. ‘Walk to the centre of the room.’ There was no response. ‘If I have to come in there, you’re likely to get shot,’ he threatened.

  Still there was no response. He drew his pistol, put the lantern on the floor, unlocked the door and pushed it slightly ajar. He stood back, waiting for an escape attempt, his pistol at the ready. There was no movement.

  ‘Walk to the centre of the room!’ he shouted again. Still there was no reply. He pushed the door open a little more and again stood back, waiting for the rush from the other side of the door. None came; he pushed the lantern
forward with his foot and then bent down, trying to look above the door in case the prisoners were somehow hanging from the ceiling ready to jump him.

  He repeated the routine three more times before he’d satisfied himself there was no one above the door. They had to be hiding behind it.

  He was so angry he decided to shoot them both in cold blood. He moved cautiously through the doorway, backing into the corner of the cell before making his way around its outside walls.

  It was only when he was opposite the open door that he realised the cell was empty. He raced back down the stairs, reaching Stable Court just as Andrea’s mare galloped in. Andrea dismounted and began to pour out her report to Damian.

  When she’d finished he turned and called to his father, ‘The Kiwis have escaped and they’ve taken seven adults and two children with them!’

  ‘What?’ Nigel suddenly felt completely sober.

  ‘Allison’s gone with them, too,’ Damian added.

  ‘What?’ Nigel roared again.

  In the flickering light from the burning stables, his rage was clearly visible. But most of the community weren’t paying attention; they were looking accusingly at Andrea. It was not beyond the realms of possibility that Nigel would execute everyone he recaptured. Andrea’s treachery had put the entire escape party at risk, including her own brother.

  ‘They’re making for the White Horse Inn,’ Damian yelled as he ran to his father and brothers, who were clustered together arguing about what to do next. ‘They’ve got rifles hidden there.’

  Those members of the community operating the fire engine stopped pumping and those manning the chain ceased passing buckets. Everyone watched to see what would happen.

  ‘Keep fighting that fire!’ Damian screamed, waving his pistol in the air. The handle on the fire engine started pumping again and the buckets recommenced their slow passage.

  Nigel and his sons remained in a huddle.

  ‘If they get the rifles we’ll have trouble recapturing them,’ Damian said.

  ‘Right,’ Nigel said. ‘Damian and I will stay here. You three,’ Nigel continued, jabbing his finger at Jasper, Miles and Greg, ‘take the farm bikes and cut them off.’

  A piercing shriek split the air just as Nigel finished his sentence. He and his sons looked up. Andrea was beyond the collapsed wall of the barn, the flames engulfing her. Whoever it was that had pushed her into the flames was skulking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to slip back and join the bucket chain. Andrea, her long red hair aflame, held out her hands, begging for Duncan’s help, but the heat forced him back.

  Damian didn’t try to help her. He went for a machine gun. There was no point in continuing with the charade of the sling; he threw it on the ground as he left.

  Jasper, Greg and Miles didn’t go to Andrea’s aid either — they ran towards the barn to get their farm bikes. By the time the bikes roared out of Stable Court, the screaming had ceased.

  Nigel, pistol in hand, ordered everyone back to work.

  Mark and his party were still over a mile from the White Horse Inn when they heard the farm bikes in the park, heading along the valley, parallel with the road.

  ‘She must have told them we’re making for the White Horse,’ Fergus said.

  ‘We’ll never get there before them,’ panted Adam. The words were hardly out of his mouth when the first of the bikes spluttered to a stop. They heard the other two change direction before again swinging back parallel to the road. A second bike halted, then the third. There was silence.

  ‘Come on!’ Mark yelled. ‘We can still make it!’

  ‘I can’t go any faster,’ the limping Adam complained.

  ‘Take my horse,’ Jessica suggested.

  ‘I can’t ride,’ Adam confessed.

  They reached the inn a few minutes later.

  ‘Steven and Fergus, come with me,’ Mark called as he led the way into the building. ‘The rest of you, take the horses around the back and keep quiet.’

  Mark made his way up to the bedroom on the second floor. He was relieved to find the rifles still in their hiding place, together with the rucksack and ammunition.

  Fergus, who was keeping watch at the window, picked out the dim figures of the three Chatfield brothers emerging from the undergrowth on the other side of the road.

  ‘We must try to keep them on the other side of the road,’ Mark warned. ‘If they get their guns trained on the others we’ve had it.’

  Steven fired through the open window, narrowly missing Jasper. The Chatfield brothers scampered back into the undergrowth. A volley of shots shattered every pane of glass in the bedroom window.

  ‘Don’t waste your ammunition,’ Mark cautioned as Steven and Fergus both returned fire. ‘We haven’t got any to waste.’

  There was a noise on the stairs. Steven spun round and raced to the doorway, convinced the fourth brother had crossed further along the road and was now making his way up the stairs towards them.

  ‘Don’t shoot,’ said the voice from the stairway.

  ‘Adam! What are you doing up here?’

  ‘Well, maybe I can’t run, and maybe I can’t ride a horse, but I do know how to shoot.’

  Fergus handed him his rifle.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ Adam said to Steven. ‘Let them think we’ve gone.’

  Two minutes later, a figure emerged cautiously from the bushes and began to creep across the road. Adam fired a single shot and a body slumped forward onto the road.

  ‘That’ll hold them up. Let’s get going,’ Adam whispered.

  They hurried down the stairs and rejoined the others behind the building. Pushing down a fence at the foot of the beer garden, they guided the horses onto the narrow path that ran along the other side of the fence. Mark led the way; Adam limped along at the rear, carrying a rifle and looking anxiously behind them.

  Mark needn’t have worried. Jasper kept calling to Miles but got no answer. When there’d been silence from the White Horse Inn for five minutes he ordered Greg to crawl forward and drag his brother back. When they had Miles safely back in the undergrowth, they realised he was dead. They had no stomach to continue the chase.

  It was already light when Jasper and Greg finally found the courage to face their father and walked back through the gates of the West Tower. They’d left their brother’s body in the park, out of sight of the house.

  The fight to save the barns had failed, but the community had prevented the flames spreading to the remainder of the house. Everyone was sitting exhausted in the Great Hall when Jasper and Greg entered. The Morgan girls were serving a makeshift breakfast. Damian sat in the Minstrel Gallery, his machine gun trained menacingly on the group below. Nigel sat alone at the large table, his pistol in front of him. There were now only four chairs at the table on the dais; he’d smashed Allison’s to smithereens in his anger. She would never sit at the top table again. He’d planned an unspeakable death for her when she was recaptured.

  54

  Nigel’s eyes lit up as Jasper and Greg entered the Great Hall. Miles was not with them and he assumed his favourite son was guarding the prisoners outside. A buzz of speculation reverberated around the hall. Had their relatives been captured? Had they escaped?

  Jasper whispered in his father’s ear. Nigel, who was already haggard after the night’s events, looked even worse once Jasper had finished talking. Greg sat down and removed his pistol from its holster as Jasper took Nigel’s arm and led him out of the room. Everyone sensed that something terrible had happened.

  When the meal was over, the community looked towards Greg, waiting for his instructions. ‘You’re to remain here,’ he instructed. No one complained; they were all exhausted.

  Damian was also desperate for news but unwilling to leave his machine gun. He gestured to Greg, who made his way to the Minstrel Gallery. The noise in the Great Hall subsided as everyone strained to overhear the brothers’ conversation. Greg spoke in the barest of whispers; only Damian’s white face indicated that thi
ngs weren’t going well for the Chatfields.

  Greg returned to the dais, but Jasper came back and ordered his brother to accompany him. The community were left in Damian’s hands. He scowled down at them from the Minstrel Gallery, his grip tight on the machine gun. They all sensed the danger they were in and even the young children sat quietly at the tables.

  With everybody under guard in the Great Hall, Jasper and Greg walked across the park and lifted the corpse of their brother onto a stretcher. They carried it deep into the private gardens beside the house where their grief-stricken father waited to view the body of his son. Melanie Morgan, who was working the treadmill, glanced over her shoulder and saw the stretcher being carried across Flag Court. The blanket over the stretcher indicated a corpse and she began to cry, fearing it was her sister Penny.

  It was mid-morning before the families were ordered to return to their quarters. Speculation continued for the rest of the morning. Eventually family members retired to their rooms, but despite their tiredness, few could sleep.

  Meanwhile, Nigel and his sons stood around the grave that had been dug in the rose garden. They lowered Miles’s corpse into the ground. There were no prayers, only Nigel’s tears and the brothers’ anger. There would be no cross and no tombstone; they would not tell anyone else in the community what had happened to Miles. Had it not been for Melanie seeing the stretcher being carried across Flag Court, the others might have assumed Miles was still alive. Had the body been that of anyone other than a Chatfield, it would have been displayed as a trophy, and it was that which finally convinced everybody the unmarked grave contained Miles.

  When the last sod of earth had been patted down on the grave, the Chatfield family retired to the Turner Gallery and debated what to do next.

  ‘We know they’re making for Gillingham,’ Jasper said. ‘And we know the name of their yacht — Osprey.’

  Nigel looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was two in the afternoon. ‘How long will it take them to get to Gillingham?’