‘What is it, Fairclough?’
‘It says in my pocket guide to Whitby that Captain Cook was born at Marton in Cleveland. It says he moved to Great Ayton as a boy, when his father became a bailiff there, and that's where he went to school.’
‘Well, in my book he was born in Great Ayton,’ said Mr Risley-Newsome. ‘Now, Captain Cook was one of the greatest circumnavigators of the world –’
‘And of course Whitby is famous for Dracula,’ said Miss Pruitt, rising to her feet. Dominic could see that she had had enough of the lecture. ‘The author who wrote the story of Dracula, Bram Stoker, mentions Whitby in his spine-chilling tale of the most famous of all vampires.’ Dominic could see by everyone's faces and the way that they all sat up that there was a whole lot more interest now. ‘In fact, every year there is a Dracula Festival.’
‘Wow!’ exclaimed Sean.
‘And the town is full of people wearing black capes and vampire teeth.’
‘Is it on now, miss?’ asked Sean.
‘No, I don't think so, but there is the “Dracula Experience”, a sort of exhibition in the town.’
‘Could we go, miss?’ asked Velma.
‘I don't know whether we have the time,’ replied the teacher, giving Mr Risley-Newsome a sideways glance.
‘I think we heard quite enough about spooks and spectres yesterday in the tunnel, Miss Pruitt,’ said Mr Risley-Newsome. ‘I am sure the exhibition is most interesting, but it is not on my itinerary.’ The children groaned.
What a stick in the mud he is, thought Dominic.
‘Now, we should be making a start if we are to keep to the programme I have planned for the day. Before we set off, let me mention a few do's and don'ts. One: there are many potential dangers on clifftop walks – fierce winds, crumbling rocks, deep potholes and slippery footpaths –’
‘And vampire bats,’ said Sean under his breath.
‘Excuse me? Did someone say something?’ Mr Risley-Newsome scanned the faces before him. ‘If someone has something to say, then let him share it with us all, rather than mumbling inaudibly under his breath. Was it you, Dowson?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Dominic, shuffling into a position where the teacher could not see his trainers.
‘I hope not.’
‘It wasn't. I never opened my mouth.’
‘Don't take that tone with me, young man,’ started the teacher.
‘Mr Risley-Newsome,’ said Miss Pruitt, coming to Dominic's rescue, ‘as you said earlier, we should be making a start if we are going to keep to the itinerary which you have planned.’
‘Yes, that's right,’ Mr Risley-Newsome conceded, consulting his watch. ‘So, everyone be at the front of the building in half an hour.’
When the pupils, with cold faces and glum expressions, had assembled outside the youth hostel, Mr Risley-Newsome gave a final warning. ‘Now, remember what I said. This is a potentially hazardous walk, so I want everyone to be very vigilant.’
‘Sir,’ said Nathan, waving his hand in the air.
Here it comes, thought Dominic. He had seen Nathan Thomas looking at his trainers earlier and smirk before nudging Darren Wilmott and whispering something. He must have heard Michael mention the word ‘boots’ at breakfast. Now he was going to inform Mr Risley-Newsome. Dominic just knew it and then there would be fireworks.
‘What is it, Thomas?’
‘Sir, you know what you were saying about wearing the right clothes?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that everyone needs to have the appropriate gear.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, sir, wouldn't it be better if Dominic wore boots instead of the trainers that he is wearing?’
Mr Risley-Newsome's eagle eyes glinted and then focused on Dominic's feet. When he caught sight of the trainers his mouth screwed up savagely.
‘Do you ever listen, Dowson?’ he demanded, spitting out the words. ‘Do you take any notice whatsoever of what people have to say? Too busy talking or daydreaming. I must have mentioned the need to wear appropriate clothing and proper footwear more times than you have had hot dinners. Get back into the youth hostel and put on your boots and be quick about it.’
‘I can't, sir,’ replied Dominic quietly, looking down at his feet.
‘There is no such word as “can't” in my vocabulary, Dowson. Now, do as you are told and get your boots on and smartly. We haven't got all day.’
‘Sir, I can't. I haven't got any boots,’ said Dominic.
‘No boots! No boots!’ spluttered the teacher.
‘Where are they, Dominic?’ asked Miss Pruitt calmly.
‘They're at home, miss. I forgot to bring them.’
‘Oh, Dominic,’ she sighed.
‘Typical!’ sneered Mr Risley-Newsome. ‘The most important article of all and you forget to bring them.’ He took a blustering breath. ‘Well, one thing is certain and that is you are not coming on today's excursion. You will remain in the youth hostel.’
‘I am sure that if Dominic kept well away from the cliff edge –’ began Miss Pruitt.
Dominic knew she was fighting a losing battle. There was not a chance in the world of ‘Old Grisly-Gruesome’ allowing him to go.
Mr Risley-Newsome gave a little laugh. It was not a pleasant laugh. ‘That is out of the question, Miss Pruitt. There is no possibility, no possibility at all, of my taking a pupil, particularly when that pupil happens to be a walking disaster like Dowson, on a potentially hazardous trip along the cliff path and across the beach. One thing I do pride myself on is safety and I am not putting him, or indeed any pupil, at needless risk.’ He swung round to glower at Dominic. ‘You will remain in the youth hostel and complete an essay entitled: “Why it is important to wear the appropriate footwear when out walking”.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Dominic. This trip has been brilliant so far, he thought – one of the best times in my life. He loved the sea and the long sandy beaches, the screech of the gulls and the fresh salty air. Now that had all come to an end. He would be made to stay for the rest of the week inside the youth hostel by himself, writing essays when he really wanted to be outside.
Miss Pruitt appealed to the pupils who stood watching proceedings with awed expressions. ‘Has anyone, by any chance, a spare pair of boots which might fit Dominic?’
She was faced with blank expressions and a few shakes of the head.
‘Miss Pruitt,’ said Mr Risley-Newsome, ‘we are already ten minutes behind schedule. According to my itinerary we should be on the coastal footpath by now.’
‘Very well,’ said Miss Pruitt, resigned to the situation. ‘Dominic, you had better stay here today and we will discuss what to do when we return.’
‘Yes, miss,’ said Dominic. ‘Sorry, miss.’
‘These things happen, Dominic,’ she said sympathetically. ‘It's just that they seem to happen to you rather more than to anyone else.’
‘And you won't be setting foot out of the youth hostel until you have boots on your feet,’ added Mr Risley-Newsome, determined to have the last word.
Dominic took off his rucksack and made his way sadly, head down, through the crowd of pupils.
‘Hard luck, Dom,’ said Michael, patting him on the back.
‘Yeah, hard luck, Dom,’ said Gerald.
‘Somebody ought to push that Nathan Thomas off the cliff,’ said Velma, giving the boy in question such an angry look.
Dominic was not really listening to his friends. He was too upset. He did, however, catch part of the conversation between his teacher and the informer.
‘How very thoughtful of you, Nathan,’ said Miss Pruitt, approaching Nathan Thomas. Her voice was full of sarcasm,
‘Pardon, miss?’ the boy replied, with the most innocent of expressions on his face.
‘I said, how very thoughtful of you to point out Dominic's trainers to Mr Risley-Newsome.’
‘Miss, I was just trying to be helpful. I mean, something might have happened to Dominic if he was n
ot wearing boots.’
‘Oh, yes, Nathan, I am sure you were trying to be helpful. You are such a helpful and considerate boy, aren't you?’
‘But, miss –’
‘Oh, do be quiet, Nathan Thomas,’ said Miss Pruitt, quickly moving away.
Dominic watched sadly from the library window as the teachers and pupils crunched off down the gravel drive. So that was it. There would be no long walks along the sandy beaches for him, no clifftop rambles or visits to Whitby, no hikes across the lonely moors or boat trips. The words of ‘Old Grisly-Gruesome’ went round and round in his head: ‘And you won't be setting foot out of the youth hostel until you have boots on your feet.’
Eleven
Daisy Disappears
‘And what are you doing here?’ asked Miss Brewster when she found Dominic sitting in the library, staring thoughtfully out of the window. ‘You should be out getting some fresh sea air in your lungs, not sitting inside. Are you not feeling well?’
‘No, I'm fine Miss Brewster,’ replied Dominic, and then he explained the problem.
‘Boots!’ she said. ‘Is that all?’
‘It's enough,’ said Dominic sadly. ‘Without boots I can't go on any of the trips. I shall have to stop here, in the youth hostel.’
‘Well, we'll just have to find you some boots, then, won't we?’
‘Easier said than done,’ said Dominic morosely. ‘Where would I get a pair of size six boots from? They don't just drop out of the sky.’
‘You never know,’ chuckled Miss Brewster. ‘You never know.’
Later that morning Dominic, having finished the essay for Mr Risley-Newsome, was drawn to the kitchen by the delicious aroma of freshly-baked bread. He found Miss Brewster standing behind a large pine table in the middle of the great white-walled room, punching a huge mountain of dough with fat floury fists.
‘I thought it wouldn't be too long before you found your way down here,’ she said.
‘I just wondered if you wanted any jobs doing,’ said Dominic. ‘I am the world's best potato-peeler, washer-upper, shoe-shiner, shelf-duster and carpet-cleaner.’
‘And a pretty good bread-taster, I'll be bound,’ said Miss Brewster, smiling.
‘I certainly wouldn't say no to a slice,’ said Dominic, eyeing a large, brown, crusty loaf, cooling on the table before him.
‘Well, it's just come out of the oven,’ said Miss Brewster. ‘You can have a nice thick crust with your lunch. Oh, and there is a little job I would like you to do for me.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ said Dominic. ‘What is it, Miss Brewster?’
‘I've been so busy today, what with the baking and such, that I haven't had time to take Daisy out.’ At the mention of her name the terrier pricked up her ears, jumped out of her basket and began running around in circles, wagging her fat stumpy tail. ‘Just look at her. Would you take her for me?’
‘I can't, Miss Brewster,’ replied Dominic. ‘I'm not allowed out of the youth hostel unless I have boots on.’
‘I know that,’ said Miss Brewster. ‘Well, a funny thing happened after our little conversation in the library. I was going out to the dustbins and a pair of size six boots just dropped out of the sky.’ Miss Brewster reached down and produced a pair of boots from underneath the table. They were an expensive-looking pair in light-brown leather with thick, blue, moulded-rubber soles and bright-yellow laces.
‘Where are they from?’ gasped Dominic.
‘They just fell out of the sky.’
‘No, really, Miss Brewster.’
‘You're not the only person in the world, you know, who forgets things. I have lots of school parties here over the year and there's always somebody who forgets something when he goes back home. I've enough lost property to start an outdoor-clothing shop. I've got anoraks, scarves, gloves, rucksacks, socks, shirts, shorts, vests and underpants. I've also got a selection of boots, including a size six, perfect for a young man who just happens to have left his own at home. Come on, then, aren't you going to try them on?’
The boots fitted snugly and Dominic's face broke into a great beaming smile. ‘They're perfect!’
‘Now, you're all set to take Daisy for her run,’ said Miss Brewster. ‘Stay at the front of the house. There are the cliffs at the back and it's steep and slippery. She's a little devil for chasing rabbits near the cliff edge is Daisy, and given half a chance will be round the back. The way she runs after them, she'll fall over the clifftop one of these days.’
‘I'll look after her, Miss Brewster,’ said Dominic. ‘She's as safe as houses with me.’
Dominic, wrapped up in his anorak, scarf and gloves and wearing his ‘new’ boots, set off down the wide gravel drive at the front of the youth hostel with a spring in his step and with Daisy scampering excitedly beside him. He turned to look back at the dark forbidding building. The windows stared down at him like cold eyes, the writhing ivy whispered in the wind and the branches in the tall sycamore tree creaked ominously. I wouldn't like to be here by myself on a dark night, Dominic said to himself. He shivered.
Daisy scurried off ahead of him and began snuffling and scratching happily in the overgrown borders surrounding the mossy lawn. After ten minutes of exploring, burrowing and sniffing, Daisy raced back to Dominic's side, panting madly.
‘It's colder than I thought out here,’ Dominic told the little terrier, patting her fat round body and shivering. His ears tingled, his cheeks stung and his nose began to run. ‘I think we'll head back.’ He thought of the warm kitchen, a steaming cup of hot sweet tea and a thick wedge of freshly-made bread with butter and strawberry jam. It was just too appealing. And that's when Daisy saw the rabbit.
It was munching away merrily in a clump of spiky grass when the dog caught sight of it. The terrier made a low grumbling noise and then bounded off at high speed in the creature's direction. The startled rabbit shot round the side of the house with a flash of white tail and a yelping Daisy in hot pursuit.
‘Daisy! Daisy!’ shouted Dominic, running after her. ‘Come back!’
To the rear of the house a dismal rain-soaked landscape dropped away sharply to a low wire fence which skirted the cliff edge.
‘Daisy! Daisy!’ called Dominic frantically. ‘Come here, girl! Daisy, where are you?’
Then he spotted her racing in the direction of the church after the terrified rabbit. The dog disappeared over a grassy hillock. Dominic's heart began to pound in his chest and, despite the cold wind, his face was now hot with panic. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he recalled Miss Brewster's warning not to go round the back of the house, near the steep cliff edge. He thought of Miss Pruitt's comment that trouble always seemed to follow him about and Mr Risley-Newsome's words about him being a nuisance of the first order, a number one mischief-maker, a storyteller, a ‘ne'er-do-well’. He would be in real trouble yet again if Daisy disappeared. Dominic could picture what would happen if he returned to the youth hostel without the dog: Miss Brewster distraught and weeping, Miss Pruitt sighing and despairing and Mr Risley-Newsome fuming mad.
‘Oh, Daisy,’ he moaned, ‘where have you gone?’
Just as a deep-seated dread was beginning to set in, he heard an excited yelping in the distance. Dominic set off running in the direction of the noise. He soon found himself in front of the square, squat, grey church with the red, rusting, iron railings.
‘Daisy!’ he shouted, looking all around him. ‘Daisy, where are you?’
His cries were answered by a frantic barking, coming from the overgrown wooded area to the front of the church.
A few moments later Dominic found himself in a strange, dark, overgrown world of gnarled trees, choking briars and twisting thorns, moss-covered logs and creeping ivy. The copse smelt of rotting wood, mouldy mushrooms and wild garlic and felt very, very eerie and unwelcoming. Ignoring the prickles and the sharp branches which scratched at his face, Dominic pushed deeper into the tangled jungle in the direction of the yapping. The barking suddenly stopped.
Save for the crunching of his feet on the fallen branches, all was silent.
‘Daisy! Daisy!’ shouted Dominic. ‘Where are you?’
Again his heart missed a beat when there came an answering yelp. It sounded as if the dog's barking was coming from some long, echoey tunnel. Dominic tugged and pushed, pulled and trampled his way into a small clearing. The barking seemed to be coming from directly beneath him. He put his ear to the ground and heard the dog yapping and yelping for all she was worth. Next Dominic started scratching away the branches and leaves and tugging up tussocks of grass and weeds until his fingers felt something hard and metallic.
It was a large, rusting ring of iron set in a slab of pale-grey stone. To the side was a hole, just about big enough for a small dog to scramble through.
‘Daisy!’ Dominic shouted. ‘Are you down there?’ There was a whining response. ‘How did you get down there, you silly dog?’
He thought for a moment or two how he might get her out. Then he cleared the rest of the weeds and branches to expose the square of stone. It looked like a sort of trapdoor. He tugged at the metal ring, but the slab would not budge.
‘Don't worry, Daisy. I'll get you out!’ he shouted down the hole.
Get her out, he thought, but how? Think Dominic, he said to himself. Keep calm and use your brains. The dog's trapped down a hole but doesn't sound in any pain. With a torch, a spade and length of rope, he reckoned he could rescue her if only he could move the stone slab.
Dominic hurried back to the youth hostel. Through his mind rushed the most amazing thoughts. Might he have discovered the smugglers' tunnel? There might be a secret passageway beneath the ground leading to a cave stacked with treasure. He might be the first person to go in there in two hundred years.
Having collected his torch from the bedroom, a thick nylon rope from the tack room and a rusty spade which he found round the back of the house, Dominic hurried back to his discovery.
In no time at all he was in the clearing again, shouting into the darkness below him. ‘I'm here, Daisy. I'll soon have you out.’
There was a whimpering from underground. Dominic hacked and dug at the earth round the slab and, using the spade as a lever, managed to move the stone inch by inch. He shone his torch into the blackness beneath it and gasped. The beam lit up a narrow flight of roughly hewn steps. Looking up were Daisy's shining eyes.
Dominic's Discovery Page 9
