by Nick Baker
Price nodded. ‘Mm. It all seems to fit.’
‘You know something of this?’
‘I only recently learnt of your father’s involvement in the cover-up surrounding Nexus. What I don’t know is why. Maybe you can help me. Did your father say what became of Nexus?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. I wished we’d discussed it in more detail now.’
‘You said your father felt he’d made a mistake. Did he elaborate?’
‘He told me that after Nexus’ hearing, the man’s name was never mentioned again … until you brought it up at the recent meeting, that is. It came as a complete bombshell to him when you said that Nexus had been involved with Pearly Black. He swore to me he knew nothing of this.’
‘And did you believe him?’ said Price, scrutinising Natacha closely.
‘I had no reason to doubt him. My father was always a principled man. I just think that, on this occasion, he must have got it wrong. By coming to me, it proves he was prepared to admit it,’ she replied defiantly.
Price remained silent until he eventually asked, ‘Was there anything else he said?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact there was. He told me that after the Council meeting, he made some enquiries. I believe the information he discovered corroborates your story tying Nexus to Black. He also told me that he’d arranged another meeting that would clear everything up.’
‘Do you know who he was planning to meet?’ said Price eagerly.
‘No, I’m afraid not. I wish I’d been more insistent now, but my father thought it better that I didn’t know any details. What he did tell me, though, was that he’d arranged the meeting for last night. As no one visited him before his servant left, I can only assume that the meeting took place after that—’
‘Which would suggest that your father did not spend last night alone,’ interrupted Price.
Natacha looked grim as she nodded.
‘I just wish we knew who he’d arranged to meet,’ Price continued. ‘It seems distinctly possible that whoever it was could be implicated in your father’s death. It certainly doesn’t appear that your father’s actions were those of a man about to take his own life.’
Natacha nodded. ‘I’m glad you agree, Henry. Thank you,’ she said, her words heavily laden with emotion.
Once Natacha had departed, Price shut himself away in the attic to reflect on yet another unwelcome turn of events. He looked dolefully through the dormer window at a row of dirty grey buildings lining the embankment that blended seamlessly with the sky. He smiled thinly at the way the leaden skies seemed to mirror the state of his own uncompromising mood following the news of Sir Robert’s untimely death, only adding to the burden of guilt he was already carrying.
As it happened, Nicolas Fox was due to visit later that day to provide an update on the search for Lily. Price resolved to raise the issue of Sir Robert’s death and to see if Fox really thought he had taken his own life. There was always more to the Chief of Internal Security than met the eye, and Price was well aware that what Fox had told Natacha may not have been the truth. Nonetheless, this did not explain why Fox would think that Sir Robert had killed himself; after all, he knew him as well as anybody else on the Council. On the assumption that Natacha had told the truth, and he had no reason to doubt her, it seemed far more plausible that the circumstances surrounding Sir Robert’s demise were sinister.
Price concluded that Fox knew more than he had let on to Natacha and it was up to him to find out what he was hiding. While he pondered how he would go about this, his mind inevitably drifted back to Lily. He was well aware that their relationship had been strained, but he could not believe that she would just walk out on him. He was convinced that something had happened to make her behave in this manner, but despite repeatedly going over the events surrounding her disappearance, he still had no idea why she had left.
Price turned his back on the city vista sprawled out below him and strode purposefully to the desk. He sat down and looked at the chaotic mess of books and instruments strewn across its surface, and eyed the Historoscope suspiciously. The instrument had steadfastly refused to work from the moment he had found it lying on the attic floor on the night he had returned to find Lily missing. The malfunctioning Historoscope was the only clue he had discovered, and since he was sure that no one but Lily had visited the attic on that fateful day, he could only assume that she had left it there, cast aside and broken. He had done everything in his power to get the machine working again, but the damage was so extensive, it would probably take months to fix; time he did not have.
Price banged his hand on the desk in frustration. He winced as a sickly dull ache spread up his forearm. He had no idea why Lily had used the Historoscope or what secrets it may have revealed to her. All he had discovered was that she had set off towards the derelict canal, but from there, the trail had gone cold. He had also learnt that she had recently taken to skulking off from the house, yet no one seemed to know where she had been going or what she had been up to. How could he have been so remiss? he asked himself for the umpteenth time.
He withdrew his fob watch and rubbed wearily at his eyes. He still had an hour to kill before Fox was due, and rather than just sit aimlessly around doing nothing, there had to be something he could do. He glanced at the Historoscope and wondered whether he should try to inject new life into it, but after all his vain attempts so far, he knew deep down that it was likely to be futile.
As his hand reached for the Historoscope, he heard footsteps plodding laboriously up the stairs moments before his servant appeared at the door.
‘What is it?’ said Price, noting with trepidation the agitated expression on Albright’s face.
‘I have something for you, sir,’ replied Albright, brandishing an envelope in Price’s direction.
‘A little late for the post, Albright.’
‘Exactly, sir. The letter was hand delivered just moments ago.’
‘What is it?’ said Price, furrowing his brow.
‘I don’t know, sir, but the man said that I must hand it to you immediately.’
‘Albright? What’s the matter?’ asked Price, reading the concern in his servant’s voice.
‘He said the letter has something to do with Lily. He just forced it into my hands and turned tail. I tried to stop him, but he was gone in a flash. I brought it straight upstairs.’
Price leapt from his chair and took the letter. He tore open the blank envelope and withdrew a single sheet of hand-written text, quickly reading it in open-mouthed horror.
I have your daughter. Travel by car to Up Wellow in the South Downs. Park in the village and enter the church. Arrive by 4 p.m. and wait to be contacted. If you are not alone or you are followed you will never see your daughter again.
‘Is everything all right, sir?’ said Albright.
‘Perfectly,’ replied Price, his voice cracking incongruently with emotion while he methodically folded the note and slipped it into a jacket pocket.
‘Get the car ready, Albright. I’ll be leaving straight away,’ Price said, reflexively checking his watch.
‘But, sir …’
Price held up a hand. ‘I know, Albright. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to contact Nicolas Fox and inform him that I won’t be available this afternoon. Tell him something’s cropped up, and that I’ll be in touch.’
‘What should I—?’
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something. Oh, and Albright, please make sure he doesn’t follow me. I’m afraid this is rather important. Do you understand?’
Albright nodded. ‘Of course, sir. I’ll tell him that you’ve been called away on urgent business.’
Price nodded. Albright had faithfully served him for many years and was well versed in the art of discretion. He would not let him down. ‘Good man,’ he replied.
‘Your vehicle will be ready presently,’ Albright added, turning promptly on his heels and heading towards the stairwell.
‘Oh, Albright, just one more
thing. Did you get a look at the man’s face?’
Albright thought for a moment. ‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t, sir. He was wearing a cap and it was pulled down over his face.’
‘Is there anything else you can remember?’
‘It all happened so quickly, but there is one thing that seemed a little strange.’
‘What is it?’ said Price, inclining his head quizzically.
‘The man said that if I didn’t hand the letter to you immediately, the lady would have his guts for garters. He made me promise I’d deliver it straight away.’
‘Thank you, Albright,’ said Price circumspectly. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
28
THE STONE OF MADNESS
Ælfric’s Folly
PRICE’S ESTIMATE WAS UNERRINGLY accurate in predicting the time it would take to escape the sprawling city suburbs for the gently rolling English countryside. The traffic was light, and it was not long before he caught a glimpse of the South Downs rising in the distance well in advance of the deadline the note had set. He had committed the road map to memory before leaving London and had driven like a man possessed to the small village of Up Wellow, nestled in an isolated backwater of the Downs on the border between Hampshire and Sussex. The last few miles dragged interminably due to a gargantuan tractor that seemed to block his way at every turn along the single-track lane. A fine drizzle hampered his progress even further, and the overgrown hedgerows that straddled the lanes gave an ominous feel to the final leg of the journey.
Finally, the hedgerows broke, giving way to a row of dilapidated barns and isolated farm buildings on the outskirts of the small village. A sorry-looking sign hinted at what was to come, and it was no surprise to find the streets deserted. Price slowed the vehicle to a snail’s pace while he peered through the steamed-up windscreen at the cottages on either side of the road. The village comprised of a score of small, squat stone dwellings overlooked by the square tower of a Norman church that slowly materialised through the misty rain as he pulled over and killed the engine.
He locked the car and set off along a muddy track that led to the church. The lychgate was choked with bindweed and ivy, and he had to push the dangling weeds aside to reach a small graveyard littered with crumbling tombstones. He looked on in dismay at the strangely forlorn place where ancient, misshapen yew trees cast dark shadows across the monuments in the oppressive light, making him wonder how long it had been since anyone had tended this sacred, yet oddly, neglected place. In the short time it had taken to walk from the car, the drizzle had seeped through his jacket, and he shivered involuntarily as he dived for cover under the arched entrance to the church. He glanced over his shoulder before turning the round metal handle of the wooden door and had to push with the full weight of his shoulder for the door to respond. He crossed the threshold and stood motionless, searching for anomalies that would alert him to the presence of anyone else. Energy licked reflexively over his fingertips as he readied himself for action, but the church remained peacefully quiet. He edged into the musty interior of the nave and headed along a narrow aisle bordered by a short row of pews. He crept towards the chancel in search of a hiding-place that would provide an unobstructed view of the entrance and settled on a cranny behind the choristers’ bench where he sat down and waited.
Price barely had time to settle before footsteps rang out from the path and the door flew open. A thickset man entered the church muttering under his breath. ‘Blasted weather,’ he said, brushing the worst of the rain from his shoulders.
The man was dressed in tattered khaki fatigues visible below the hem of a shabby dun-coloured greatcoat. He scratched irritably at grey stubble on his weather-beaten face with filthy nails that protruded beyond the ends of fingerless gloves.
The man peered into the dim interior of the church, but his blank expression merely affirmed that he could not see what he was looking for. He ambled along the aisle, turning his head methodically, first one way and then the other, checking along each row of pews.
‘Ye in ’ere?’ the man called out. ‘Seen yer set off from the village. Ye must be hidin’ in ’ere somewhere.’
Price wondered whether he should just take the man out, but there was something about his demeanour that made him hesitate. He did not look a threat, and while Price could not be sure of his role in Lily’s abduction, it would be safer to hear him out rather than do something he might later regret.
He remained motionless until the man was within a few feet of his crouched position. ‘Looking for me?’ he said, suddenly emerging from his hiding-place. He held his arms languidly to each side, feigning a relaxed attitude that was at complete odds with the enhanced state of readiness coursing through his body.
‘Aye, I am that,’ replied the man. ‘I can see from yer appearance yer the man I was sent to meet. Not many of yer type with long hair an’ flashy clothes round ’ere, now is there?’
Price nodded grimly. ‘Where’s Lily? If she’s suffered any harm—’
‘Don’t know nought of this Lily yer talkin’ abou’,’ interrupted the man. ‘C’mon, I ain’t got no time to waste, just gotta get ye somewhere, tha’s all,’ he said, turning on his heels and making for the exit on the assumption that Price would follow.
Price inherently knew that the man was telling the truth; he was someone who had been recruited to guide him and nothing more. ‘Who sent you?’ he demanded, grabbing the man’s thick coat as he caught up with him in the churchyard, almost spinning him round with the force of his grip.
‘Can’t tell ye that, mate. Simple reason is I dunno. Got this message in the pub las’ night that someone was waitin’ for me outside.’ He held up a hand. ‘An’ afore ye ask, it was dark an’ I couldn’t see ’er face. Told me to come an’ meet ye ’ere today. ’Er said there’d be good money in it. Paid me fifty quid up front, ’er did, an’ there’d be more to come if I did as ’er said. Now, let’s be ’avin’ yer. I ain’t got no time for idle banter. Follow me. It ain’t far.’ With that, the man pulled free of Price’s grip and set off from the graveyard at a good pace.
After passing through the lychgate, the man took off in the opposite direction to the village along a narrow path leading up a sharp escarpment. The track was slick with mud from the recent rain, and Price frequently lost his footing as he tried to keep up while overhanging branches tore at his clothes. When the path finally emerged from an avenue of hedgerows into a grassy clearing, the man halted to survey the short distance that remained to the top of the hill.
‘Where are we going?’ Price demanded, slowly regaining his breath.
‘C’mon, ye’ll see. We’re almost there now,’ the man replied, setting off for the final ascent.
Minutes later, the men stood on the exposed ridge of a hill looking back at the tiny buildings of Up Wellow, set out below them like a model village. Price caught a whiff of tobacco emanating from the man’s clothes as they stood in silence side by side, making him wonder what kind of life this man must lead.
‘Lived ’ere all me life, I ’ave,’ said the man as if he had read Price’s thoughts.
‘What do you do?’ enquired Price, feeling a little more empathetic towards him.
‘Not much. Makes me livin’ off the land. Trappin’ an’ the like. Bit a poachin’ an’ maybe some beatin’ in the ’untin’ season.’
Price nodded. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Owen,’ he replied. His features momentarily softened before he turned his back on the village. ‘C’mon, we need to go thisaway now,’ he said, indicating with an outstretched finger towards a gently undulating plateau of pasture and scrub.
Price squinted through the murky light. He could just make out the outline of a building rising above the patchy vegetation, approximately half a mile distant. He rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing. ‘What on earth is that?’ he said, staring in confusion at the towering structure that rose up like a finger pointing to the heavens.
‘It’s know
n as Ælfric’s Folly. C’mon, ye’ll see. That’s where I’m takin’ yer, an’ I’d bet whoever’s behind all this will be watchin’ out for us,’ replied Owen as he set off towards the tower.
Price caught up with the man after a few strides. He reasoned that if they were being watched, it would not be wise to dawdle, despite his determination to glean as much as he could from this man in preparation for whatever lay ahead.
As they drew nearer to the strange looking building, it took on the appearance of an oddly incongruent octagonal Gothic tower. Price counted five arched windows rising up the side of the sandstone tower, and he gasped in amazement when his eyes settled on an ominous crenellated battlement at the summit.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it, and built in such a place too,’ said Price between breaths, regarding a structure that rose over a hundred feet into the sky. ‘What do you know of it, Owen?’
‘Everyone round ’ere knows that story. ’Twas built by a man by the name of Victor Ælfric,’ replied Owen without breaking stride. ‘Poor sod ’ad just returned from them Opium Wars fightin’ the blessed Chinkies. Ælfric was a naval marine officer; saw service under Bremer at the blockade of the Pearl River, ’e did. ’E was taken bad while ’e was out there an’ was evacuated ’ome. Them doctors thought ’e’d contracted one of them foreign diseases, see, but eventually, they found out ’e’d got consumption. ’E was sent to one of them sanitoria they were buildin’ at the time for the fresh country air. Anyways, ol’ Ælfric didn’t like it where they sent ’im, so ’e ’ad this tower built. It went up in under a year, an’ just as well it did, ’cause the poor sod only managed to see out a few years before ’e died. ’Twas rumoured ’e slept on them battlements under the stars for the fresh air, but I dunno, must ’ave been flamin’ cold if ye ask me.’
