by Shaun Baines
Callum pushed back his shoulders. “Of course not. They’re not mine, are they?”
Kicking off her boots, she lay on the bed, slipping into the indent left by Callum’s body. It was comfortable, more comfortable than her bed and Holly’s eyelids grew heavy.
“There are forty-one tins. I counted them. That’s a lot to throw away,” Callum said.
A thought roused her and Holly sat up in bed.
“What about Nancy Foxglove?” She pointed to the window and the darkness beyond. “She’s out there all alone.”
“I’ll find her,” Callum said. “I promise, but what about these tins? Who do they belong to?”
Pollution was a problem everywhere. Can’t afford to dispose of something properly? Dump it by the roadside. Don’t have a refuse licence? Dump it in the sea.
Callum was a sweet man. He’d rescued her from the storm and he’d given up his bed. Holly tried not to think about how handsome he was. Or how young. Right now, Holly’s main concern was finding Nancy before the weather claimed her for itself.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a yawn. Her long and fraught day was catching up with her. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”
Closing her eyes, Holly listened to Callum heave a sigh before she drifted off to sleep.
She woke in the middle of the night, struggling to remember where she was. A blanket at the foot of the bed had been placed over her. The cairn, the sheep and the surprising appearance of Callum flashed through her mind. Holly rolled onto her side to see him asleep in the armchair. He was lit by the pulsing embers of the fire. His hands were tucked under his armpits and his chin was tucked into his chest as he shivered in his sleep.
As quietly as she could, she crept toward him, dragging the blanket behind her. Holly draped it over him and retreated back to bed, stopping at the pile of salmon tins.
Inspecting them in the struggling light, Holly wasn’t surprised to find they looked like all the other tins of salmon she’d ever seen. The picture was of a fish leaping in the air. The brand was called Wesson Brothers. It wasn’t one she’d heard of, but that wasn’t unusual in itself. Turning the tin over, she read the list of ingredients. Salmon, obviously. Spring water, some salt and a few e-numbers. Again, nothing unusual.
Weary and feeling the cold, Holly decided to forget the whole thing when her stomach growled so loudly, she feared it would wake up Callum. She wasn’t a fan of tinned fish, but it was better than rabbit stew and the tins came with their own key.
She snuck into bed, feeling like a child again, having purloined a midnight feast. Holly opened the tin and wrinkled her nose at the smell. There was something wrong with it. It smelled earthy. It smelled of soil and when she angled it to the fading light, she saw why. The contents did not match the promise on the tin.
Holly drew a deep breath. She wasn’t hungry anymore. She was nervous because opening the tin had opened up a world of possibilities with only one clear conclusion.
Those tins weren’t as harmless as she’d first thought.
Chapter Ten
“And you didn’t open any of them?” Holly asked.
Callum shook his head as they hurried to his yellow Defender jeep. “Should I have?”
Holly wasn’t sure.
“What’s in them?” Callum asked.
“I think they’re bulbs or something.”
“Plant bulbs? That doesn’t seem so bad. I’m not sure why you’re panicking so much.”
Callum opened the rear door to his Defender and Holly threw in an armful of the tins, returning to the cottage for more. Callum trailed after her.
“Someone has hidden plant bulbs in salmon tins,” she said, catching her breath between words. “That implies they didn’t want the bulbs to be found and what did you do?”
Callum stared at his muddy boots. “I found them.”
“Exactly. Why they hid them that way, I don’t know. Maybe they’re valuable. Maybe they’re dangerous. Either way, you don’t go through all that trouble to forget about them when they go missing.” Holly balanced the last of the salmon in the crook of her arm while she surveyed the cottage. “We need to get them out of here. Someone could come looking for them. Unless you’re happy with strangers coming to your door asking why you have their secret bulbs?”
Callum pulled a rifle from under his bed. He shucked the bolt and his face grew hard. As the rifle clunked into place, the sound echoed around the cottage.
Holly had received his message loud and clear. “You’re not the Lone Ranger, Callum.”
“Who?”
God, he was so young, Holly thought. “I might be overreacting, but if I’m right, we don’t want this situation to get out of hand, do we?”
“I guess not,” Callum said, lowering his rifle.
Holly tossed the tins into the back of the jeep and brushed her hands clean. “We can lose them in the estate somewhere until we figure out what to do.”
“I know a place.”
“Great. The estate is big enough to lose anything and that includes Nancy. She’s our priority today, okay?”
“Wait,” Callum said. “You don’t think the two things are linked, do you? Nancy and the bulbs?”
Holly considered the question. Had Nancy got involved in some sort of weird bulb smuggling operation? Had she discovered the bulbs before Callum, only to come to harm when their owners returned? It was a possibility, but then everything was a possibility when there was no supporting evidence.
“Let’s just get going,” she said.
Callum disposed of his rifle and they climbed into the front seats.
“So where are we going?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
The engine idled and Callum shifted in his seat. “We can’t just drive around and hope we spot her. Nancy could be anywhere.”
Holly tapped a fingernail against her front teeth. Through a rain-stained windscreen, she saw the hills and the moorland. The storm had abated and the estate had survived its onslaught like it had many times before. The landscape dropped into hidden valleys and ran to forests capable of hiding the entire village, never mind a single elderly woman. An indistinct shape moved in the distance.
Could be Nancy, Holly thought. Could be a cow.
Scratching at her chin, she cast her mind back to the conversation she’d had with Regina, wishing she’d made more notes. What was it she’d said?
“There’s a track from the Foxglove sisters’ house to Knock Lake,” Callum said, slipping the Defender into gear. “If she took a lot of walks, that’s the most obvious place to start.”
Holly grabbed Callum’s hand. “No, wait. Nancy was obsessed with the new owner of Black Rock Manor. She was keeping a file on him. It’s missing and I think she took it with her.”
“To Knock Lake?”
“No, to the manor.”
“The owner isn’t there. No one’s heard anything from him.”
“Mrs Winnow said he’d been spotted in Crockfoot and maybe Nancy knew that. I think Nancy believed he was hiding in the manor and went to confront him.”
“Over what?”
“Whatever was in her file.”
Callum picked lint from his trousers, staring at it between his fingers. “It’s more likely that she went for a walk. If she slipped and fell, she could be lying in a ditch waiting for help. With the weather we’ve been having, she won’t have long.”
“If she was out for a casual stroll, she would have taken her goat, but she left it behind.” Holly cringed at the words. It was a weak argument and she knew it.
The Defender roared to life and Callum joined the track at the end of his driveway. “Well, you seem certain,” he said. “Black Rock Manor, it is.”
Realising her hand was still on his, Holly withdrew it, closing it into a fist.
If she was wrong, Holly was putting Nancy in mortal danger, but following Callum’s suggestion was an emotional response. A voice in Holly’s head told her to be logical. Isn’t that
what good journalists did?
The fields were wet with rain, glistening in the sunlight breaking through the clouds. “What’s that?” she asked, gazing out of the window.
Callum slowed the jeep. Running along the track was more wire fencing. A twisted skeleton lay with its legs trapped in the top line, its skull submerged under brackish water.
“It’s a deer,” Callum said. “Most of the time they can jump over the fences. Sometimes they can’t. Looks like this one drowned.”
“In a ditch,” Holly said, forcing the lump from her throat.
“I’m sure you’re right and Nancy is at the manor,” Callum said and they drove on in silence.
The track widened into two lanes of broken tarmac. It rumbled beneath them, providing a soundtrack to Holly’s growing doubts. She nipped the side of her cheek with her teeth. She appreciated the fact that Callum trusted her, but her own faith was waning.
The road took them over a small bridge and through thinning trees to open ground. In the distance stood an imposing building surrounded by overgrown gardens.
“Welcome to Black Rock Manor,” Callum said in hushed tones.
Chapter Eleven
“Where did it get its name?” Holly asked as they stopped by the entrance. “It sounds like a haunted house.”
“It was built with coal. Black Rock. Not literally, but I guess that’s why. The Wentworths made their money from mining and spent some of it building the manor.”
Holly followed Callum as he climbed from the Defender. The manor was a cube with chimneys at every corner. The roof rose in a pyramidal peak at the centre. Lower windows were made of stained glass depicting various saints while the upper windows were lead-lined in grids. In the centre of the manor was a large door with an ornate knocker in the style of Northumberland’s country flower – the bloody cranesbill.
Holly reached for it, ready to announce their presence.
“I told you, there’s no one home,” Callum said.
She knocked twice and they listened to the sound reverberate through the empty rooms of the manor.
“It was worth a try,” Holly said, going for the door handle.
“The door is locked,” Callum said. “Why don’t we look around the grounds?”
Holly tried the handle and the latch gave. The door swung open with a haunted house creak.
“That’s impossible,” Callum said, pushing in front of her. “It should be locked. No-one has the keys, except the owner. Not even me.”
Beyond was a small lobby with clay tiles on the floor. Stepping inside, Holly and Callum were faced with a second door. It was engraved with the Wentworth coat of arms, which was a lion cresting the side of a mountain. Dust piled like snowdrifts in the grooves.
“If the door is open, someone could be inside,” Holly said. “It must be the new owner and maybe Nancy is with them.”
She made to push at the door, but Callum grabbed her arm, gently, but firmly.
“We can’t go in,” he said.
“Why not?”
“It’s not ours. We don’t have permission to enter.”
Holly pulled her arm away. “What if the new owner is in there? What if he has something to do with Nancy’s disappearance? Nancy might be trapped in a cupboard or something.”
The questions tumbled out. Holly’s curiosity was piqued and she didn’t understand why Callum was being so reluctant.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” she said, half-jokingly. “I’ll protect you.”
The muscles in Callum’s jaw bunched. “I ignored my instincts and followed you here because you seemed to know what you were talking about. That doesn’t give you the right to barge into my employer’s house, whether he is in there or not.”
“But you said you’d help me. What’s wrong? What have I done?”
“You trespassed on Mr MacFarlene’s land. Don’t deny it. I saw you. You put yourself in danger by stumbling around in a storm. You run me out of my own home because you’re convinced some bulb smuggling mafia are out to get me. And now you’re not listening to what I’m saying.”
Callum’s face was puckered in frustration and Holly turned away from him. He was right to be annoyed.
“I’m asking a lot of you,” Holly said. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to go inside, then why did you bring me here?”
“Because,” Callum said, smoothing out a crease in his shirt, “you asked me to and I can’t - ”
Holly had raised her hand, interrupting Callum’s speech. Her ears were trained to the rasps and groans of the house. “I can hear something.”
Callum let out a sigh. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not. I promise.”
Together, they listened to the house. Callum leaned in, bringing his face close to hers.
“Intruders,” he said, taking the lead. “There is someone inside.”
“Let’s hope it’s Nancy and not a ghost.”
They crept into the manor and found themselves in a wide space with high ceilings. The walls were decorated in peeling murals. Dust sheets were thrown over hidden furniture. The sun beamed through a stained-glass window of Saint George throttling a dragon. The muted image was projected at their feet.
“This is the Reception room,” Callum whispered. “When the Wentworths held their balls or banquets, they’d stand here and greet their guests as they entered.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
“Dad told me. He was invited once. He told me all about it when I was a kid.”
“Your father attended one of the Wentworths’ events? They must have thought highly of him.”
Callum nodded, puffing out his chest. “It wasn’t long after the mine closed. They had to dismiss a lot of staff. Dad stepped in as an under-butler.”
He turned to the murals above him, a smile playing on his lips.
Holly understood Callum then, or rather the reason she had upset him. Holly had once been the wife of a wealthy London estate agent and was now a journalist at a failing newspaper and a part-time barmaid. She may not have much, but it gifted her a unique perspective.
Holly gave him a playful nudge with her shoulder. “Just because they have money doesn’t make them better than you, Callum. You don’t have to doff your cap anymore.”
He looked at her, confusion in his eyes. “Sure I do.”
They walked from room to room, pausing, listening and then moving on. Most of the remaining furniture was covered in shrouds and her earlier comments of Black Rock being haunted gave Holly the chills. It was cold in the manor, but filled with an old-world majesty. It was easy to see how Callum had been seduced by Black Rock’s splendour.
Some of the rooms were oak-panelled, retaining the scent of beeswax candles. Others had velveteen wallpaper and chandeliers that had been converted from using candles, to gas and finally to electricity.
Holly climbed a spiral staircase to the upper rooms with Callum in tow. The kaleidoscopic tints of the stained-glass windows were gone. Upstairs, the light was stark as if designed to replicate the Northumberland winter. There were more dust sheets, more dust and the floorboards groaned with every step.
“There are footprints everywhere,” Callum said, dropping to his haunches. “They’re going this way.”
They continued down the corridor, coming to a closed door.
“Be careful,” she whispered and swung it open.
Behind the door was a bedroom without a bed. Dust sheets had been pulled to the floor, exposing the glossy wood of wardrobes. In the middle were an inflatable mattress and an open sleeping bag, looking like a large, discarded sock. There was a gas stove for cooking and slips of silver packaging.
Callum picked up one of them. “Camping food. This one is curried prawns.”
“They smell as bad as your rabbit stew.”
“Someone is staying here,” Callum said. “Who? Is it Nancy?”
A washing line hung by the window. Holly unpegged a pair of large Y-fronts and held
them in front of Callum.
“Not unless Nancy has a secret,” she said.
“They’re big enough to use as sails,” Callum said. “You could cross the Atlantic with those.”
Holly dropped the underwear, kicking them aside and wiping her hands on her trousers. “Whoever is living here, it’s not Nancy and it’s not the owner of Black Rock.”
“I understand it’s not Nancy, but why not the owner?”
“Because anyone who can afford this place won’t be camping in it.”
“But only the owner has access to Black Rock.” Callum stooped to a pile of dirty outdoor clothes and pulled out a set of keys, jangling them in front of Holly. A wooden duck keyring swung in his hand.
“These are the keys to the manor,” Callum said.
“Could they have been stolen?”
Callum slipped them into his pocket. “They don’t belong here, that’s for certain.”
“Well, if they weren’t stolen before, they are now,” Holly said.
Callum opened his mouth to speak and stopped. Slowly, he raised a finger to his lips and pointed to the ceiling. Holly froze, her eyes following the direction of his finger. The air was still. Callum was still. And Holly couldn’t hear a thing.
“Is anybody there?” Callum shouted.
A floorboard creaked, sending a shudder down Holly’s spine.
“Nancy?” she asked.
A clattering noise came from the room above.
Callum bolted to the door with Holly in pursuit.
“It’s the servants’ quarters,” Callum shouted over his shoulder. “Quickly. Through here.”
Holly struggled to keep up, her breath coming in gulps. She bounced off the walls, knocking dust sheets and vases to the floor. She pretended not to hear them smashing as she stumbled up a second staircase, her lungs burning.
Callum took the stairs three at a time while Holly cursed the day she’d given up using her Stairmaster.
They stopped at a half-open door. Callum hid behind it, looking like he’d done no more than a light jog. Holly arrived, wiping sweaty hair from her brow. He pulled her in beside him and she tried not to touch him with her slick skin.
