Well, she couldn’t stay and stare rudely, invading the Praeds’ privacy. She retreated but at once cried out, realizing she was held fast by brambles that clung to her loose-fitting blouse. ‘Oh damn,’ she muttered, colouring hotly even though, as far as she was aware, her nosiness had not been observed.
‘Fine language for a lady, I must say.’
Kitty caught her breath. She had been discovered in the act of spying. That alone was shaming enough, but she knew who owned the husky, mocking voice behind her. It was Rob, the good-looking fisherman. She did not know why, but he was the last local she wanted to make a fool of herself in front of. Then she became cross and defensive, for this man was laughing at her and would probably gain further amusement at her expense by telling his mates all about this humiliating incident. She swung her head round and her sun hat hit him in the face. It would serve him right for being so close to her – and he was very close to her. She smirked at seeing him rub his face, which was unmarked by her action, and loftily met his gaze, his eyes annoyingly still frill of amusement. ‘I’d be grateful if you helped me to be rid of these brambles.’
Grinning, Rob reached for the front of her body. ‘Hold still, don’t want to spoil your nice clothes. I’ll have you free in a mo.’
Kitty was amazed as he deftly pulled the brambles away from her with firm fingers. He held the whippy branches inside his hands so they couldn’t spring back at her. She pulled back out of the way. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, awed. She couldn’t imagine anyone else performing such a foolhardy rescue.
Rob displayed his empty, remarkably unscratched hands. They were leathery and bore numerous old scars. ‘Not a bit. These hands have spent too many years being drenched by cold salt water and spurred by ropes and hooks and fish scales.’ He gazed directly into Kitty’s shocked eyes. ‘And I’d have done it anyway, for you. I’m Rob Praed and you’re Miss Kitty Copeland. Everyone knows who you are, and your friend Miss Elizabeth Tresaile. Very pleased to meet you again, Kitty.’
Kitty knew she was staring at him in doe-like fashion, rather stupidly. Rob Praed was an outrageous flirt, the sort of man who left a string of broken hearts pining for him, but she couldn’t help herself revealing the effect he was having on her. She had never seen such a gorgeous, sensuous man before. A tingle as intense as an electric shock went all the way through her when she felt his warm rough hand enclose hers in a firm handshake. He kept her hand inside his and held it close to his body. She should find his provocative manner contemptible but she did not, even while instinctively knowing that Rob was the kind of man who, without particularly trying, made women lose their better judgement.
‘You’re a Praed.’ She tried not to squeak. ‘You live here?’
‘My Uncle Lofty does. He skippers the family lugger. We’re off on the morning tide. I was just going in. Join me and meet everyone, my Auntie Posy, my cousins and my two sisters. And there’ll be other fishermen of the fleet and their families. They’ll soon be spilling outside with their plates of food and drink anyway. We always have a get-together when we start a new fishing season, pilchards this time.’
Kitty wished his eyes would stop twinkling at her so beguilingly. Calling together her wits she tugged her hand free from his. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly intrude. I was on my way to…’
‘Don’t be daft, the family and neighbours will be glad to have you. There’ll be plenty of grub to go round.’ He had Kitty by the elbow and was taking her towards the garden gate.
‘But I…’ Oh shut up, she told herself. You want to go inside and you want to go inside with him.
* * *
Joe and his pal Richard Opie, the son of a Portcowl hotelier, had left Joe’s tree house, climbed over the side hedge and made their way through the woods. Emerging from the trees they had crossed the lane and then, via farmland, they had reached the mean place that was Claze Wyn.
The boys were flat on their bellies, hidden among a mass of wild willow bushes, spying on the rear of the huddle of decrepit buildings. Any garden that might once have been there was long trounced by hordes of stinging nettles and other wild growth. Claze Wyn was the home of the local hard nut, Gabby Magor, an unkempt, hard-drinking woman who dressed like a man and had the physique of a lumbering ox. She was loud mouthed and a determined troublemaker. Gabby Magor had a criminal record including two prison sentences, one served for receiving stolen goods and the other for causing grievous bodily harm to fisherman Davey Vage, the adoptive father of Beth’s as yet unmet half-sister Evie Vage. A row of elder trees in full creamy-white flower backed away from the crumbling cob and thatch, two-up-two-down cottage. Later in the year Gabby Magor would harvest the prolific sprays of tiny black elderberries for wine making. She produced various wines, which she sold to local outlets. Beforehand she would barter suspect but desirable goods for the fruit, vegetables, yeast and sugar she would need. She would consume none herself; she was a beer drinker and had a swollen, hard belly as a result.
People said of Gabby Magor, ‘She’s as mean and cruel as the day is long. Be sure to keep out of her way.’ Magor was in effect banned from the cove, for most of the traders refused to serve her. Periodically she ventured down to Portcowl to show, as she said, that ‘I spit on those bastards who dare to look down on me.’ She would try to provoke a disturbance, often by baiting and offending holidaymakers.
Gabby Magor was well known for animal neglect and cruelty. An ageing donkey, as well as various cats and dogs – all of which she’d got on a whim then quickly become bored with – and fowl had all suffered at the end of her vicious temper and hobnail boots. Joe was in no doubt it was Gabby Magor who had thrown away little puppy Grace to meet a wretched death in the woods. For that, the Magor hag was going to pay.
Chaplin was dutifully down at Joe’s side, panting softly in expectation and as eager to leap into action as the boys were. Joe was peering through binoculars.
‘Can you see the old mare?’ Richard whispered. His face, like Joe’s, was daubed for camouflage with mud scooped from a frog pool en route. Because he had bright ginger hair, Joe had ordered Richard to wear a black kerchief, pirate style, to prevent him being easily spotted. Joe wore a deerstalker hat. He’d say himself that he looked silly in it but he swore it helped him to deduce things, like one of his fictional heroes, Sherlock Holmes. Joe had a tool belt round his waist, the few selected tools for the moment resting on his back.
‘No sign of her,’ Joe whispered back. ‘Or her rickety old bike.’
The boys had been to Claze Wyn before and knew its layout. The only things Joe could see moving through the binoculars were Gabby Magor’s scraggy hens, roosters and bantams in an inadequate coop and wire run. ‘They’re easy fox bait. That dragon doesn’t care about a thing,’ Joe whispered in disgust.
Suddenly Chaplin shot up on his paws and turned swiftly round and growled a low warning in his throat. Joe swivelled his upper body round, afraid that he and Richard had been discovered. He had his fists around a stout pole like a Sherwood Forest outlaw; it would be needed to ward off the thrashing Gabby Magor would mete out over the double trespass. Then he snarled, reached up and yanked down to the ground the girl who had sneaked up on them. ‘What the heck are you doing here, Lily Praed? Have you been following us?’
‘Only part of the way,’ replied the pigtailed, perky wisp of a girl, unfazed by her rough treatment. ‘What’re you two up to then? What game are you playing?’
‘Mind your own ruddy business, maid,’ Richard scowled. The glowing redness of his freckled face showed how furious he was with Lily.
Lily merely looked from boy to boy, grinning in self-glory. The boys bragged about their scouting skills but she had outwitted them.
‘Keep down,’ Joe hissed at her.
‘Why aren’t you with that stupid gang of giggling girls you’re usually with?’ Richard demanded, while Joe resumed his surveillance. ‘Come to that, shouldn’t you be at home? Your lot’s about to go off pilchard driving and they’ll be
having a big get-together. Clear off, Lily Praed, or I’ll make you.’
‘Huh, just try it, carrot top! Anyway, I’m not always with the girls. Sometimes I play by myself.’ Lily got ready to pinch him.
‘Shush you two! You’ll give us away,’ Joe hissed again, and cursed under his breath.
‘If you’re wondering if Gabby Magor is there, well I can tell you she isn’t,’ Lily crowed. ‘I saw her on her bike arriving at her cousin Barbara Faull’s place. That was about an hour ago. She probably went there to scrounge a meal till she goes off to some pub somewhere. So what’re you two up to then?’
‘Brilliant,’ Joe said, referring to the information. He stood up, but still cautiously eyed Claze Wyn. A war widow, Mrs Faull lived in a solitary roadside house only a couple of miles away. Adults said darkly that the women weren’t really cousins but Joe had not yet worked out their exact relationship. ‘And what we’re doing here, girl, is of no interest to you.’ He jerked his head. ‘On your way.’
‘Not till you tell me why you’re here.’ Lily scurried to her feet and saucily waggled her skimpy hips from side to side.
Joe allowed himself a moment to be amused by the fact that her head came no higher than his chest. She was daintily built, but it was well known that her slight stature and bright-eyed, delicately shaped face belied her playfulness and gritty will. She was the youngest child in the Praed family, and all of them, along with just about everyone else in Portcowl, doted on her. Joe did not share Richard’s disgust at girls but he didn’t see them as trustworthy. In his view most of them were destined to become gossips. And he hated being halted by anyone’s silly behaviour.
‘Never. I’d cut my throat with a rusty razor first.’ He fashioned a dramatic slash in front of his neck.
‘Go on then.’ Putting her little grubby hands on the hip line of her untidy dress, Lily made mocking faces at him. ‘Do it. I dare you. I’ll stay right here and watch. Just don’t splash any blood on my dress. I’d have a hard job explaining that to my mum.’
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake!’ Richard seethed between his teeth. ‘Get rid of her, Joe. We need to get on.’
Joe gazed down sternly at young skinny Lily. She had dirty smudges on her face but her dimples, either side of her baby-pink lips, marked her as quite a character. She was a pipsqueak of a thing, harmless and funny, but nevertheless a pest. He lowered his eye line to hers and assumed his most deadly serious expression. ‘Run home! Run as fast as you can. It’s for your own good, Lily Praed. Claze Wyn is haunted, everyone knows that. I bet your mother and father have warned you never to come here, eh?’ Lily nodded, her tiny teeth clamped to her bottom lip. ‘How the spirits here specially like to get their clammy claw hands on little girls. Run home, Lily, run for your life, before one of those monstrous beings gets angry and rises up and stops you getting away safely.’
‘Huh!’ Lily replied loud and bravely, although she edged back from Joe and glanced nervously in all directions. ‘Ghosts are a load of rubbish. My big brother Linford says so, and my cousin Rob. Rob says you only see spirits when you’ve had too much to drink. You’re just trying to scare me.’
‘The ghosts here are as real as we are,’ Joe went on in a deep rasping voice, grabbing Lily’s tiny shoulder and holding her fast. ‘No one but wicked people have ever lived on this site. They were like the people you see in your worst nightmares, people more evil than anyone can imagine. The ghosts here aren’t the stuff of the usual silly rumours, like headless horsemen or a lady floating in a white dress. This place was once the hideout of a den of smugglers. After a big double-cross they slit the throats of a riding officer and an excise man. And then there was a mad father who murdered all his daughters in their beds. You must get away from here at once, Lily. Honestly, I’m only trying to save you.’
Joe won the argument.
Lily’s bright grey eyes were now shining with fear and her pointy little chin was quivering. Joe Vyvyan seemed so big and awesome, and believable. ‘B-but no other girls have been hurt by an evil ghost round these parts. I would’ve heard of it. My mum’s only told me to stay away from here in case Gabby Magor lashes out at me in temper.’
‘That’s because—’
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake, Joe, stop going on and on. Just get rid of the ruddy little nuisance.’
Richard’s cry of impatience let Joe down as surely as if he had been climbing a cliff face using a burning rope. Lily saw right through Joe’s ruse. The expression on her pixie face switched from apprehension to smirking disdain. ‘Come to think of it I have heard there’s s’posed to be ghosts here, but not like you’re saying. They’re made of cow pee, dung and piskie dust. You’re a rotten liar, Joe Vyvyan! Now tell me why you’re spying on Claze Wyn or I’ll tell my father and brothers you were trying to scare me to death and delib’rately give me nightmares. I’ll tell my cousin, Rob. I’ll tell him both you boys threatened to hurt me. He’ll get you for that. Rob will “’aave” you in the sea. Both of you. Drown you dead and good riddance. Rat bags!’
‘Now see what you’ve done,’ Joe growled at Richard. After nearly succeeding in frightening Lily away he now had the unnecessary task of trying to placate her. Any of the Praeds would deal out harsh punishment to whoever dared terrify their darling little princess, but Rob Praed had a mean streak. He didn’t easily forgive and forget. Joe couldn’t risk his mother getting upset either if he got a black eye and more retribution for tormenting a supposedly sweet little girl. ‘Look here, Lily. Boys do what they do and girls do what they do and they don’t really mix, agreed? I’m sorry for trying to scare you. How about I treat you to an ice cream? A large one? I’ve got a thrupenny piece on me.’
‘Yeah, take it and go,’ Richard muttered, moodily kicking at a patch of long grass.
Lily puckered her mouth as she considered the offer. Joe, she thought, was genuinely trying to make amends, but Richard’s snarkiness was getting on her gidge, as her Granny Praed was apt to say over an annoyance. ‘My family buy me as much ice cream as I want. So it’s no deal. Tell me why you’re here like I wanted to know in the first place. I won’t blab to no one else, I swear on my heart.’
‘If you don’t bugger off this minute, I’ll drag you back a way and tie you to a bleddy tree until Joe and I have done what we’re intending to, and you can tell the devil for all I care!’ Richard bawled. His hands were clawed as if he wanted to put them around Lily’s narrow neck.
‘Aarh!’ Lily shrieked in temper. ‘You swore, Richard Opie. You swore two bad words. I’ll tell your father and you’ll get a thrashing. Your father’s a lay preacher in chapel and he’ll be ashamed of your bad language, and you bullying a girl four years younger.’
‘Stop it, both of you.’ Joe threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Keep your trap shut, Rich. You’re making it worse. You have to be a leader about these things. We’re here on a serious matter and now we’re just going to have to compromise. Lily, are you prepared to become an honorary boy for the afternoon?’
‘What?’ Lily was puzzled at first, but then getting his meaning she squealed excitedly. ‘Yes! I’ll be anything you like if I can join in your adventure.’
‘Joe, are you mad?’ Richard protested in disgust.
‘A bit, perhaps, but we’ve got no choice. We need to get on. It’s dicey hanging around here. If Gabby Magor was to suddenly come back…’ Joe clutched Lily by the wrist. ‘You have to swear allegiance to us and you have to swear to never, ever reveal what we’re about to do. Got it? Or your guts will spill out over the ground and you’ll die a gruesome death.’
‘Got it,’ Lily replied in awed tones. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘You’d better not let us down or I’ll cut off your pigtails and stuff them down your throat. Never forget, Lily Praed, this is an honourable undertaking,’ Richard barked, grabbing Lily’s other wrist.
‘Heads together,’ Joe issued in the manner of a commanding officer, which was how he saw himself.
The boys l
owered their heads to the little girl, one dark, one red and one wheat-coloured head in a solemn huddle.
‘Repeat after me, Lily Praed,’ Joe ordered. ‘I swear by my flesh and blood that I will never tell a soul about what we’re about to do.’
Lily gravely made the vow.
‘If you break your oath something terrible will happen to one of your family,’ Joe intoned with all the threat of an imminent thunderstorm. ‘We’re here to mete out retribution on Gabby Magor for abandoning a poor helpless puppy and leaving it to die, and we’ll also make sure there’s no other ill-treated animals here. Before we leave we’ll throw the chickens the kitchen scraps we’ve brought. Right, let’s get to it.’
* * *
The gang of four, led by Joe and Chaplin, with Lily in the middle and Richard at the rear, crept out of the willows, but not before Lily’s willing face and hands were daubed with dirt and her long plaits pushed out of the way down the back of her dress. Hunched over and ready to flee if necessary, they reached Gabby Magor’s hard, dusty, nettle-infested ground, and crept over endless rolled-up fag ends and spent matches. They skirted round miscellaneous rubbish, hunks of rusting metal, bits of animal bones and a dead squashed rat. Keeping as diligent as the boys, Lily didn’t utter a breath of disgust, but when a short bendy wire washing line came into view at the side of the cottage, she halted to gape amazed at a pair of flannel bloomers, the size of which would make an ensemble of clothes for her.
Richard bumped into her. ‘Move!’ He pushed her along roughly.
Lily nearly staggered into Joe, but she wasn’t cross about the push. She shouldn’t have taken her mind off the quest.
Joe made straight for a sort of shed made of rough wooden slats. A quick look through the cracks and he was sure there were no unfortunate animals left to languish inside. There was no point in checking through the filthy cottage windows. Gabby Magor was too rotten to let a creature have the dubious comfort of being inside her manky home. He next went to a privy-sized, stone-walled, slate-roofed outhouse, sheltered under the shade of a hawthorn tree. There was no window and the fortress-strong padlock meant it could only be Gabby’s wine store. ‘Keep lookout,’ he ordered the pair. Tight-lipped and eagle-eyed, Richard and Lily stationed themselves at the corners of the buildings and peered all about the dismal surroundings. Chaplin paced about near Joe, on guard.
Leaving Shades Page 13
