Adam was puzzled by Rachel’s mental turmoil, which he could almost feel himself, but had no clue as to its cause.
“Hey, there’s Gabriel,” Adam called out, breaking the mood momentarily. In the distance, half obscured by the railings at the main gate, Rachel could see the figure of Gabriel waiting for them near the entrance.
Rachel and Adam pushed their bikes past the huge iron gates of the hall and back out into the lane. Gabriel stood patiently on the other side of the road, as if not daring to step over the threshold of the estate.
It seemed as though he were not so much coming to meet them, as waiting for them to come to him.
Gabriel’s face betrayed no emotion. He looked neither pleased to see them, nor particularly angry that they had missed their appointment at the circle.
“I’m sorry we didn’t make it,” Rachel said. “We had an accident.”
“It’s OK,” Gabriel replied, turning and walking down the lane. Rachel and Adam followed.
“We were on our way up to the circle and we got knocked off our bikes…” Rachel said, trying to fill in the details. She wasn’t sure whether Gabriel was angry with them or not.
“And the commodore guy took us back to Waverley Hall,” Adam said, as if to endorse Rachel’s story.
Gabriel stopped suddenly in the middle of the lane and turned to look at them. “Did you get the key?” he asked. Rachel’s mouth opened wide as she gasped. A grin spread across Gabriel’s face.
“What key?” Adam said, looking confused. Then he saw the look on Rachel’s face. “What key, Rachel?”
Rachel delved deep in the pocket of her shorts and pulled out the large steel key she had taken half an hour earlier.
“You stole a key? From him?” Adam asked incredulously. He jerked his thumb back at the hall, imagining the heap of trouble that would be dumped on them should the commodore find out. “You must be…”
Rachel held up her hand to silence her brother, all the time fixing Gabriel with her eyes, remembering how she thought she had heard his voice through the train window. How she had felt compelled to take the key from the door.
It was suddenly clear to her. “You’re like us,” she said.
Gabriel smiled his agreement.
“What do you mean, he’s like us?” Adam demanded. “He’s not American…”
“No, Adam,” Rachel said calmly. “He’s like you and me … you know how we can sometimes feel what the other one is thinking, influence each other’s thoughts?”
“That’s our secret,” Adam said, looking betrayed.
“No,” Rachel said. “He can do it too. Look at him. Can’t you see?”
Adam turned to Gabriel, his features twisted into an expression of defiance that barely masked the hurt.
“I’m a friend,” Adam heard Gabriel say, before he realized that Gabriel hadn’t said anything at all. That he had spoken to Adam just using his mind.
Adam looked at Rachel and she nodded; she had heard it too.
Gabriel held out his hand to Adam. Looking straight into Gabriel’s eyes, Adam took it, and, by shaking hands, accepted that the three of them shared a very special bond.
“Right,” Gabriel said. “What are you two doing later on?”
Supper seemed to take for ever as Granny Root doled out endless spoonfuls of shepherd’s pie, insisting that the twins detail the events of the afternoon. Adam splashed large dollops of the brown sauce from the bottle that had been put out on the table on to his plate. The vinegary sauce seemed to make the pie taste much better. Actually made it taste of something.
Rachel patiently explained how Commodore Wing had narrowly missed them. How – Fred, was it? – had fixed their bikes. How the commodore had taken them to the hall in case they needed a doctor.
“Were you looking where you were going?” their grandmother asked.
Celia Root had implied, by her response, that the near collision had been their fault.
Adam immediately became defensive. “He was driving way too fast. He didn’t see us, then he shouted at us.”
“I think he was shocked, Adam,” Rachel said, defending the commodore’s instant reaction. By saying something positive, she had hoped to alleviate her own guilt for stealing the key. It didn’t work.
“Oh yes, dear,” Granny Root agreed. “Gerry Wing’s a sweetie underneath it all. He’s just very used to issuing commands to people. He’s been very good to me over the years. Of course he’s in a lot of pain with his leg…”
Of all the words that Rachel could think of to describe Commodore Wing, “sweetie” was not one of them. And neither was “Gerry”.
“So his leg … is it wooden?” Adam asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
His grandmother laughed out loud. “Wooden? He’s not a pirate, darling. Of course not. I think it was metal when he first lost it. But now they make them very lifelike. Plastic, I think.”
Now that the subject had been broached, Rachel wanted more. “So how did he lose it, Gran?”
Celia took a deep breath, and for a split second Rachel saw a look pass over her grandmother’s face that could have been admiration, sympathy or something else.
“There was a terrible accident,” she said. “His wife died.”
Rachel suddenly saw the face of the handsome woman in the flyer’s uniform. The black frame on top of the piano.
“It was terribly sad,” Granny Root said thickly. She stared into the distance for a few moments before suddenly gathering the empty plates together, signalling the end of supper, and wheeling her chair away from them towards the sink.
Rachel threw a look at Adam, then got up to help.
They washed the dishes in silence and afterwards Granny Root trundled away to watch television. “It’s Treasure Hunters,” she called out from the sitting room. “I never miss it…”
Rachel and Adam politely joined their grandmother in front of the television. Rachel listened to the enthusiastic tones of the TV archaeologist as he tramped across a rainy British field: waving his arms about and explaining where the Romans had once been; looking out for ridges and dips in the landscape that gave him clues.
Adam seemed interested enough, listening intently as his grandmother added her own commentary to the programme, but Rachel was unable to settle, or concentrate on the facts the presenter was outlining.
Butterflies of anticipation fluttered around her stomach as she stared at the screen. She knew, as soon as her grandmother went off to bed, that she would be looking for clues of her own.
Less than one hour later, Rachel and Adam were standing in the near darkness, just inside the entrance gates of Waverley Hall.
Granny Root had announced her usual, early bedtime soon after Treasure Hunters had finished. Adam had helped her through to the downstairs bedroom and the twins had breathed a collective sigh of relief before grabbing torches and slipping out by the back door.
They had not seen a single soul as they’d cut across from the garden over the field, or as they’d stolen through long pools of shadow past the pub where, as Gabriel had promised them, the commodore’s old red Bentley was still parked outside.
Now, as they stood hidden from the road by the gatehouse, there was nobody to be seen near the grounds of Waverley. Least of all Gabriel, who had promised to meet them there.
Adam’s teeth began to chatter, not because it was particularly cold, but because his nerves were beginning to get hold of him. His hand deep in his pocket, he turned over the coin that Jacob Honeyman had given him. He took it out and flipped it; looked at it in the dying light.
Heads. A good sign, perhaps.
It was against Adam’s better judgement that they were here at all, about to snoop around the cavernous house while nobody was home. Somehow, walking back that afternoon, Gabriel had convinced the twins that exploring the house was a good idea, that it would reveal some of the secrets of the village. Rachel had momentarily wondered why it was so important to find out more about the circle a
nd the village, but Gabriel had impressed upon her his need to find something, a truth, a revelation that might change all their lives.
Rachel had been persuaded by Gabriel’s calm and gentle manner and suddenly creeping around a spooky old manor-house in the dark had seemed like the best idea in the world. Adam had been more reluctant, wondering if Gabriel had somehow managed to hypnotize them both, but found himself agreeing to the plan all the same. Gabriel had flattered them; had told them that he could only do it with their help. After all Rachel had got him the key, hadn’t she?
They were already in deep.
Rachel looked up at the cloudless night sky. The patterns of the main constellations twinkled clearly above her head. One star appeared to flare brighter than the rest, then faded to a speck of light. Rachel watched for a moment as the light died, and wondered whether Gabriel would turn up at all. Just as the doubt was taking shape in her mind she turned her head to see Gabriel peering at her, his face close to her own, his green eyes almost luminous in the twilight.
“Whoa, you freaked me out,” Adam whispered hoarsely at Gabriel. “Where did you come from?”
Gabriel pointed upward towards the roof of the gatehouse. “Up there. Just wanted to make sure the coast was clear.”
Rachel looked round and turned her face upward again towards the sky. It was as clear as it was ever going to be. She looked at Gabriel, who smiled reassuringly.
“Ready?” he asked.
Moments later they found themselves at the back of the hall, crossing a flagstoned yard to the back of the house by the kitchen steps. Adam shone his torch at the kitchen window while Rachel tried the door. It opened easily into the darkened kitchen and the three of them crept in.
“He probably hasn’t missed the key at all,” Adam whispered, as much to himself as the others. “No harm done.”
“Do you know which way the room with the books and the telescope is?” Gabriel said, without bothering to lower his voice. Rachel and Adam flinched at the noise, wondering how Gabriel knew about the study.
“This way,” Rachel said, pointing out of the kitchen with her torch to the back stairs.
The study door was closed and Gabriel stepped forward to open it, pushing as the bottom caught against the carpet on the other side. He walked into the darkened room and Rachel and Adam followed him.
Gabriel snapped on a desk lamp, which suddenly cast deep shadows across the study, illuminating the stern features of the commodore, who stared down from the portrait on the wall. Rachel felt herself gulp. It was almost as if the man himself were watching them. Gabriel, however, had no such qualms. “It’s just a picture,” he said.
Adam stared at the picture. He didn’t look so sure.
“Did he show you any … maps or anything?”
Adam shook his head. Commodore Wing had been at pains to whisk them through this room, without letting them look at anything much.
Gabriel set about leafing through the documents that were strewn on the desk, unrolling a tube of yellowed parchment covered in small, scratchy handwriting.
“What are you looking for?” Rachel asked.
“Not sure till I find it. But I think you’d call it a survey map or something.”
Rachel peered round the room, closely scrutinizing one or two framed prints on the wall that appeared to detail the landscape of the surrounding area. “Any of these?” she said.
Gabriel shook his head. “This one won’t be on show,” he said. He set about searching with renewed vigour: pulling books from the shelves, opening drawers and rifling through the contents. Rachel and Adam exchanged a look. This can’t be right, they were both thinking. What if someone were to come back?
Gabriel turned to look at them, reading their thoughts and stopping his search momentarily.
“Stop worrying,” he said. “The old man’ll be gone long enough.”
Commodore Wing nudged his empty tankard back across the bar and got stiffly to his feet. He nodded, grunting a curt, “G’night,” to Tom Hatcham, who was busy drying glasses.
Hatcham looked at the clock above the bar. “Early night, commodore?”
“Busy day,” Commodore Wing answered. “Had Celia Root’s grandchildren over at the hall earlier. Bit of a run-in with their bicycles.”
“Oh yes?” Hatcham raised his eyebrows, curious to know more.
“Nice kids actually. Girl’s charming. Very bright, like her mother. Boy didn’t seem too bad, either. Don’t think we’ll have any trouble from them.”
Hatcham appeared to think about it as he watched the commodore limp over to the door, followed by the massive figure of the Irish wolfhound.
“Hope not,” he muttered to himself.
Slamming the bolts on the door, Hatcham heard the roar as the Bentley’s engine was fired into life and the low purr as the car moved off into the night.
* * *
“I think this might be what we’re looking for,” Gabriel said.
He was holding up a thick, folded document, tied with a piece of string, that he had retrieved from a large wooden chest on the floor. On the outside of the vellum, drawn in ink, was an ornate version of the Triskellion.
Rachel looked round the study. Gabriel had moved books, letters, pictures and chairs in his efforts to find the map. The portrait of the commodore seemed to look down on them with increased ferocity at the chaos in the study. Rachel hurriedly began to tidy up, straightening furniture and closing drawers as Gabriel carefully unfolded the map.
Adam stopped his own feeble attempts at tidying and looked over Gabriel’s shoulder. The map looked very old and was covered in dotted, inky lines that made continuous intersecting, circular patterns in an irregular grid.
Like Triskellions within Triskellions.
“It’s the village,” Adam said. “This must have been made hundreds of years ago.” All he could see of the village they knew was the moor with the chalk circle, the church and what looked like a small settlement of huts where Waverley Hall now stood.
Where they now stood…
“Rachel, check this out,” Adam said, turning to his sister.
“It can wait till later,” she replied briskly. “Look, help me to clean up, will you? We can’t leave anything out of place.”
Suddenly a door slammed near by. Inside the house. Rachel and Adam froze for an instant, staring helplessly at each other. What should they do? Hide?
Run…?
Before either of them had a chance to decide on the best option, the door of the study crashed open and the commodore stood framed in the doorway. At his side, the huge wolfhound strained at the leash, growling and baring his fangs.
The commodore was pointing a shotgun.
He bellowed at them in a voice that would have struck terror into a parade ground of battle-hardened servicemen.
“What the bloody hell do you think you two are doing?”
In the split second before she burst into tears, Rachel registered the word “two”. She was already starting to shake as she turned her head.
Gabriel had completely disappeared.
Celia Root seemed immune to her granddaughter’s sobs, raising a hand to demand silence and refusing to look at her.
Rachel felt as if a veil had been lifted. As soon as the commodore had discovered them in his house, the scales had fallen from her eyes and she’d seen clearly how stupid she had been. She’d cried as the commodore had bundled Adam and herself into the Bentley and continued to weep all the way back to Root Cottage.
It was not just about being discovered breaking into Waverley Hall. Somehow, all the tensions and fears of the previous days, weeks – months even – seemed to be pouring out of her. Her face had quickly turned puffy with tears and red with undeniable guilt.
Adam said nothing, his head hung in shame, as Commodore Wing paced around the sitting room of Root Cottage.
“I can’t believe it. Leave the damn house empty for a couple of hours and this happens. I’m absolutely furious, Celia.”
Rachel raised her head a little to see her frail grandmother. Wearing a floral dressing gown and supporting herself shakily against the back of a chair, Celia Root’s eyes darted around the room, unable to settle upon anything, least of all the three other occupants of the room. Rachel sobbed harder as she saw the terrible shame carved deep across her grandmother’s face.
“I don’t know what to say, Gerald, I really don’t,” Celia Root spoke in a hoarse whisper, staring intently at the floor.
“And as for this cock and bull story about the boy leaving his music pod or whatever it is…” the commodore shouted, waving his arms about.
Rachel took a deep breath. “It’s not true,” she said.
Adam stared fiercely at her. “Rachel…”
“It’s not true that we left something behind.” She sucked in another breath, fighting the urge to sob again. “We were just … curious.”
Granny Root and Commodore Wing looked at Rachel.
“Curious enough to break into someone’s house and go through their private affairs?” Commodore Wing demanded.
Adam looked up, the fierce tone of the old man’s voice bringing him to the verge of tears. It hadn’t been his idea. He’d been against it. It was Gabriel’s fault. Adam wasn’t going to take the rap; he’d tell them about Gabriel. Rachel looked at her brother and guessed what he was about to do. She gathered a little courage and decided that a small attack might be the best form of defence.
“No,” Rachel said. “That was really, really stupid, and we’re really sorry. But, you know, we’ve only been here a few days and already we’ve been beaten up and nearly run over. People have been kind of weird to us, when Mom said we’d be welcome here. Not exactly the friendliest place, is it? It’s like everyone’s hiding things from us. We just wonder what the big deal is, you know?” She tried to hold the commodore’s gaze, but faltered after a few seconds, and sobbed again.
Adam raised his head a little, amazed at his sister’s nerve. Commodore Wing looked at Celia Root, his eyes widening.
Triskellion Page 8
