‘Do you think any are Nazis?’ asked Laura, her face white with horror.
Rebecca snorted. ‘Don’t be daft, Gilmour, most of them died years ago. Any that are still alive will be really old men by now. I’d heard about them but never really understood exactly what it was they did until I did a bit of digging about on the net the other night. It was only sixty or seventy years ago. It’s terrifying; they tried to exterminate an entire race simply because of what they were born as. Thank God they are gone.’
‘Nazis didn’t die out with the Second World War,’ said Drew ‘Plenty of extremist nutters around the globe. What about neo-Nazis?’
The others looked blankly at him.
‘Nazi sympathisers, alive and well – a new generation. Plenty in this country, too, racists, anti-semites. Nazism is a philosophy, not just Germans in the thirties and forties.
Some people still celebrate Hitler’s birthday, agree with what the German Nazis did. Holocaust deniers and the like, who say six million Jews didn’t get murdered in concentration camps after all. It was just a dodgy story in the newspapers.’
Laura shuddered. ‘People really believe that? But everybody knows it … it’s in history books … that’s mad!’
‘A lot of nutters in the world, Laura,’ said Drew, grimly.
Rupert shrugged. ‘Who knows? I’m hoping that his will explains things. But there have been some odd goings-on hereabouts recently. Strangers you’ve never seen before nosing about. They stand out in a quiet place like this. One of the farm workers swears he saw lights and heard voices up at the manor last night. And then, I got this.’
Rupert pulled an envelope from his pocket. Inside was a crumpled piece of paper, which he flattened out onto the table. The others craned forward to look. Somebody had scrawled a message in capital letters.
FIND THE MAN IN THE WHEELCHAIR.
IF THE MONKS OFFER HELP – BEWARE!
THEY ARE NOT WHO THEY SAY THEY
ARE. A FRIEND
‘What on earth does it mean?’ Laura pulled a face.
‘How was it delivered?’ asked Rebecca.
‘An envelope was on the mat last night when we got back. Just my name on the front.’
‘Just your name, no address?’ Rebecca looked at Rupert who shook his head.
‘Hand delivered then,’ said Drew.
‘Who’s the man in the wheelchair?’ asked Rebecca.
‘And who is this ‘friend’?’ added Drew. ‘Any monks been offering you favours or advice, Rupe?’
‘Whoa! Whoa! Let the poor guy answer!’ Laura put her hand up to try and halt the barrage of questions from Rebecca and Drew.
‘No advice,’ answered Rupert, shaking his head again, baffled. ‘There is a monastery near here though called Druid’s Rock. It’s a creepy old place on an island, which you can only get to across a narrow bridge a hundred feet up in the air. But I really have no idea at all what it means.’
‘Interesting,’ said Drew, slowly. The others looked at him, questioningly. ‘Odd that it is written in capitals. Whoever wrote it could have been worried that Rupert would recognise their writing.’
‘Do you recognise it, Rupe?’ asked Laura. He shook his head. She held up the paper to the light for a moment and squinted, trying to read something. ‘What’s that?’
Everyone crowded round. Laura pointed to the paper. ‘A watermark. It’s a religious cross, isn’t it?’ she asked.
‘Now who would use paper marked like that?’ asked Rebecca, taking the paper and holding it up to the light. ‘A vicar? … A Monk?’
‘I didn’t notice that before,’ frowned Rupert. ‘It wouldn’t be the local vicar. He’s about three hundred years old and practically blind.’
‘Blind faith and all that,’ muttered Drew absently to nobody in particular.
‘Maybe we should take it to him and ask him if he recognises it?’ asked Laura.
‘Great idea, Laura … except he’s blind,’ murmured Drew.
‘Ow!’ He jerked upright as Rebecca’s foot made sharp contact with his shin, her expression dark. Drew mouthed ‘sorry’.
‘Great idea,’ said Rebecca to Laura. ‘It might be risky going to see the monks. This is also a warning. We can go to the Smugglers’ chapel first thing in the morning. Are you sure you can’t think of anything that explains this, Rupert?’
Rupert shook his head in resignation. ‘So what do you reckon, Rebecca?’ he asked, sitting down on the sofa.
Rebecca stared into the flames of the fire. ‘I think … once you have heard the will reading tonight we should go and look around the old manor house. Too late to find the vicar at the chapel, so let’s have a good look round and see if we can find any clues why lights were on the other night.’
‘I knew it! An evening out with Rebecca McOwan … breaking into a spooky house!’ Drew shook his head, trying to conceal a smile.
Rebecca gave him a sweet smile in return. ‘Exactly. Cold and gloomy. You should feel right at home, Drew.’
Chapter 4
The Message
Cool evening air wafted along the farmhouse passageway from the open back door as Drew was pulling on his coat in the high beamed hall. A grandfather clock by the foot of the stairs struck seven. Rupert appeared through a door from the room where the will reading had been taking place, clutching an envelope.
Their eyes met.
‘I didn’t say before but I’m sorry about your Grandda.’
‘Why? You didn’t know him,’ Rupert said with a wry grin.
Drew smiled, surprised. ‘Well, it’s … what you’re supposed to say, isn’t it? Like when you say ‘How are you’ on the phone. You don’t even listen to the answer most of the time.’
Rupert smiled broadly. ‘I can see you and I are going to get on.’
‘How did the reading go?’ Hearing their voices, Rebecca joined them in the hallway, quickly followed by Laura.
Rupert motioned to be quiet. ‘Not here,’ he whispered. ‘Come on, let’s get to the manor.’
‘Is it far?’
‘There’s a shortcut through the woods past the old Smugglers’ Chapel. It’s up and down and a bit overgrown in places but just follow me.’
Before they could move, the door opened again. The next person to emerge was John Sky who stalked out, looked right through them and marched off furiously down the passageway, followed by Rupert’s mother, her face a mixture of puzzlement and concern.
Their footsteps died away.
‘Don’t think he got the star prize,’ muttered Drew, in tones that only Rebecca could hear.
‘Rupert’s Mum must be finding this really hard. Surely he should be worrying about her, not himself,’ muttered Rebecca, scowling after Sky.
Next to appear was the solicitor, Baverstock, clutching his briefcase. He puffed out his cheeks, his expression suggesting it had not been a harmonious meeting and he was relieved it was over. He was closely attending an old man in a wheelchair. Rebecca grabbed Drew’s arm immediately. Laura raised her eyebrows excitedly at Rupert but he shrugged. The man in the wheelchair did not look at them. Baverstock followed him through the front door and could be seen helping him into a car, which drove swiftly away.
The last to come out were Uncle Gaston and Aunt Guinevere. For all that Guinevere was petite, her husband was huge. ‘The original gentle giant’ had been Laura’s description.
He stooped through the doorway and stood in the hallway, watching the departing car.
‘Who was that in the wheelchair, Uncle?’ asked Rupert.
‘I haven’t got a clue, lad,’ his Uncle answered slowly in a deep, resonant voice.
‘He was introduced as the executor, produced an envelope for you, said nothing and left.’
‘He only appeared just as the solicitor was about to begin,’ added Guinevere.
‘Mr Sky looked pretty unhappy,’ Rupert smiled mischievously.
‘I think we’re all a bit bemused,’ said Gaston, not being drawn into a smile. ‘We
’re told we can’t hold the funeral yet; the family is called together; Rupert is given the keys to a boat and an envelope, told not to divulge the nature of the contents and we’re all to meet again in two weeks for the will reading. I’d call that strange.’
His wife smiled weakly and they retreated down the passageway after Rupert’s mother and John Sky. The four youngsters watched them go.
‘I didn’t realize you hadn’t had the funeral yet,’ said Rebecca, looking at Rupert.
‘We have just been told by the solicitor we cannot have it until a condition of the will has been fulfilled.’
‘What condition?’
‘Nobody seems to know! And won’t for another two weeks. Solicitor says he is foresworn by the terms of the will to say nothing more until two weeks hence. We can’t even visit the body at the undertakers. Mum and Uncle Gaston haven’t even seen him.’
‘Rupert!’ John Sky’s voice barked suddenly from the Dining Room. Rupert started and looked nervously at his friends.
‘Rupert! We want to talk to you! Come in here now, please.’
The softer tones of Rupert’s mother could be heard placating in the background. Rupert took a deep breath and went into the Dining Room. The others followed along the hallway as quietly as they could and took up position outside the door. The door remained open, allowing them to eavesdrop. Sky stood on one side of the dining room beside Rachel. Rupert faced them across the big oak table. Sky fixed him with a phosphorescent stare.
‘You will please tell everybody what is in the envelope the solicitor gave you.’
‘But I was told not to. In any case, I haven’t opened it myself yet,’ answered Rupert, surprise tinged with defiance in his voice.
‘Then you can open it now.’
There was a pause, during which Rupert bravely faced down the stare from opposite.
‘We are waiting, Rupert.’ Sky’s tone was cold, his face taught and white.
‘No,’ said Rupert, simply and quietly, meeting Sky’s glare with more courage than he knew he had. Outside in the hallway, Rebecca and Laura exchanged a nervous look.
‘John, do you really think –’ Rupert’s mother began to speak but was silenced by the raised hand of Sky.
‘Rachel, my dear, I am doing this for you … and for Gaston. You both have as much right to know what is in that envelope, since you are the Admiral’s heirs.’
‘But if his Grandfather wrote a note to Rupert and wanted him to read it himself, then I think we should honour that wish.’ Rachel looked to Gaston for support.
‘Rachel is right, John,’ said Gaston. ‘I know you have the best of intentions but we really should honour the last wishes of my father. That is what Albert would have said too, I am certain. And as you know, the Admiral valued his opinion greatly.’
John Sky was visibly stung by this last remark and glared at Gaston. Albert was Rachel’s late husband, Rupert’s father, who had died a few years before. Gaston returned Sky’s look without blinking. He had meant his words to hit home and they had. Clearly very put out, Sky bristled and adjusted the collar and tie he was wearing. ‘Very well. Seeing as you are obviously all against me on this issue, you must do as you please. My intervention in this matter is clearly unwelcome.’ And with that, he turned on his heel and left the room.
‘John! John! Come back!’ Rachel started to follow him, throwing an apologetic look at Gaston and Guinevere as she left the room. At the door she paused. ‘How could Dad have left things like this? I’m really cross with him.’ She called after John Sky, her voice fading away along the corridor. A few seconds later, muffled voices could be heard upstairs.
‘Poor Rachel,’ murmured Guinevere.
‘Indeed,’ said Gaston, shortly. ‘As if all this wasn’t difficult enough.’
Rupert stood awkwardly in front of his Aunt and Uncle, not quite sure what to do.
Guinevere smiled fondly at him. ‘Off you go. Let everybody cool down a little.’
Grateful for the excuse to leave, Rupert departed swiftly. Once he was out of earshot, Gaston looked down at Guinevere, a look of fury crossing his huge brow. ‘That man Sky …’ He left the sentence unfinished.
Chapter 5
The Monk
Stars twinkled in the bright moonlit evening, the gentle rolling Cornish hills melting into blankets of dark blue and purple as far as the eye could see. Born and bred in the city, with its background soundtrack of traffic and people, Rebecca was struck by the quiet. The call of a solitary bird some distance away was the only sound to break the peace. She drew her coat closer about her against the chilly air. ‘Deafening silence,’ she murmured.
The four had lost no time in slipping quickly and quietly out of the house, anxious to avoid being seen. They hurried through the farm buildings, crossed a stile into the lane, not stopping until the farm was well out of sight behind the high hedgerow.
‘So, Rupert, what happened in there?’
Rupert was clearly still nervous and gestured them to follow him through another gap in the high hedge. He led the way, running through thick brambles, down a steep incline, across a stream and into a field. A barn nestled at the edge of a wooded copse in the far corner, into which they all followed. In the dim interior, he stopped and turned, waving the envelope.
‘It was all really odd. He left one thing, his boat, to me. No mention of money, or who gets the house. There’s going to be a second reading in two weeks’ time. The solicitor said he could not say any more. The man in the wheelchair was Grandpa’s executor. He just handed me this envelope and that was it. I was specifically told not to open it in there. You saw how mad Sky is but there is nothing he can do. I think he thought he was about to get rich. Or Mum was and therefore him too if they get hitched.’
‘So who is this guy in the wheelchair?’ Drew asked.
‘He didn’t say … nobody knew …and he never said a word. Mum seemed surprised that he was the executor but reckoned he was vaguely familiar. You’d think he must be the guy in the note I got but he never even looked at me. He just sat there, staring at Sky. It was weird!’
‘Well go on! Open the envelope and see what’s in it!’ urged Laura.
Rupert pulled out a set of keys and regarded them. ‘The boat and boathouse, I guess,’ he said. Next he fished out a piece of paper. ‘It’s Grandpa’s writing … like a spider has crawled out of a bottle of ink.’ Rupert smiled wistfully. Everyone crowded forward eagerly, shining their torches onto the piece of paper. Rupert read aloud.
‘Rupert,
Among great detectives may you find a man of conscience. Be warned that generations have not changed the true enemy.
Your loving Grandpa
…Well what the heck does that mean? Grandpa!’ Rupert looked indignantly at the sheet of paper.
‘Boy did he love his riddles!’
‘Does it make any sense?’ asked Rebecca. ‘It’s obviously written so it doesn’t give anything away to the wrong person’.
‘So he’d want only Rupert to understand?’ said Laura. ‘It must be important if he was that afraid of anyone else reading it. Is the solicitor the ‘man of conscience’, do you think? Seeing as he gave you something?’
‘It must mean something, surely?’ Rebecca frowned at Rupert.
‘Well ... ‘detectives’ might be his detective books. Grandpa had stacks of them, always had his nose in one. He used to call them his men of inspiration. He loved proper detective stories like Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, Inspector Morse. There are shelves full of them up at the Manor.’
‘Maybe there’s a clue in one of them,’ said Laura. ‘Why ‘great’ detectives?’
‘Sherlock Holmes was the greatest detective in England, wasn’t he … and Poirot the greatest in Belgium?’ asked Drew.
‘Belgium?’ Rebecca looked at Drew as if he had taken leave of his senses.
‘Yes!’ Rupert livened up immediately. He looked at the note again. His expression gradually returned to puzzlement. ‘But …?’<
br />
Silence fell again.
‘We have to snoop around,’ said Rebecca, getting to her feet. ‘Come on. We’ll find something.’
‘Probably a whole heap of trouble, knowing you,’ said Drew.
* * *
From the woods circling the edge of the Manor grounds, the chimneys of the old house were just visible rising through the trees ahead. They emerged into a clearing, bordered on one side by a high, brick wall, covered with moss and creeper. The ancient brickwork was faded and crumbling.
‘This is a challenge!’ said Drew, regarding the wall towering above their heads.
‘There’s a small gate a bit further along. Brings us in through the bushes and across the lawns. Avoids the driveway.’ Rupert looked over his shoulder, as if this was important.
‘Why avoid the drive?’ asked Laura.
‘Like I said, odd comings and goings,’ replied Rupert, mysteriously.
‘Lights, strangers about. We can get in round the back, out of sight. There’s a door through the conservatory.’
At that moment, Laura uttered a strangled croak of fear. A short distance ahead of them, lit up in a pool of moonlight in the middle of the path stood a lone, hooded figure.
‘A monk!’ hissed Rebecca, her hand on Drew’s arm.
The figure stood motionless, apparently watching the house. Drew made an urgent gesture to the others to hide, narrowed his eyes and squinted. ‘Can’t see his face. What is a monk doing spying on the house?’
‘Is it the Black Monk?’ said Laura, tremulously. At that precise second, she trod on a dry twig which snapped in half, the sudden crack causing the monk to look round. His eyes fixed on them momentarily. In a trice he vanished into the bushes.
‘Clumsy!’ Rebecca turned on Laura, whose expression turned to mortification.
‘I couldn’t help it!’ she wailed.
Drew leapt to his feet and dashed towards the bushes through which the monk had taken sudden flight. ‘I’m after him!’ he shouted before Rebecca could stop him.
The Legend of the Black Monk Page 4
