by Shaun Baines
“Nothing’s been taken, except for a few hides I’d brought from the cottage.”
“Hides?”
“Deer hides and rabbit fur. Just to keep me warm.”
Holly’s hands turned into fists. “He lured us away so he could go through your room.” Hot air jetted from her nostrils. “I’m starting to get really sick of this guy.”
“He left us a message,” Callum said. “Something to show us it was him.”
He tiptoed through the debris of his room and reached for a pair of Y-fronts lying on his pillow.
“These aren’t mine, by the way,” Callum said.
“Arnold must have known we’d seen them back at the manor when we first discovered him.”
“I only hope they’re clean,” Callum said, stretching the elastic band between his thumbs. “That’s the message.”
As the Y-fronts expanded, Holly saw writing inked onto the baggy material.
“He can’t believe we’re going to fall for it again, can he?” she asked.
The message read – Meet me at the Faery Ring.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Callum crawled along Holly’s driveway, his eyes scanning the windows of her home.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” he asked.
Holly patted his knee. “Go back to The Travelling Star. Tidy your room. I’ll be fine. It’s just a quick visit. I know where the Faery Ring is. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, but you better take this,” Callum said, handing her a rucksack. “It might save your life.”
“What is it?” Holly unzipped the bag and rummaged through the contents. There was a map, compass, spare socks and something that looked like Kendal Mint Cake. “Seriously? There’s enough in here for an exploration of deepest Peru. I don’t need all of this.”
Callum reached into the rucksack and pulled out a Maglite torch. He slapped it into his hand as if he was about to club someone.
“It’s for your protection,” he said, dropping it back into the rucksack. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with”
Holly didn’t want to argue. They weren’t playing Arnold’s game anymore, she thought. It was time to take the fight to him.
Holly leapt from the Defender before Callum had the chance to frighten her anymore. She waited for him to leave and crept toward her house.
The garden was clear. Nothing lurked in the bushes. Derek’s shed was locked. For a second, she thought she heard something scratching at the door. Holly paused, but when she heard nothing more, she dismissed it as an overactive imagination.
Outside of the shed, Derek had cemented a wooden cross into the ground.
Arnold’s note to meet at the Faery Ring was another diversion. While they chased him around the estate, he’d be free to ransack another home, but not this one.
Dropping the rucksack by the door, Holly slipped into her cottage, stealing down the corridor. Her eyes were fixed on a shape through the glass of the kitchen door. It was bulky, too bulky to be Derek. The figure was hunched over, humming to itself while it worked.
Holly held her breath, gripping the door handle with her right hand, making a fist of her left. She wished Callum hadn’t left so readily.
The door banged against the wall as she threw it open. The figure in the kitchen spun around in shock.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Two glass tumblers fell from Mr MacFarlene’s loose grip and he clutched a hand to his chest. “Bloody hell. I think I passed a stone.”
“I asked you a question,” Holly said, stepping into the kitchen.
Looking to the half empty bottle of whisky on the counter, Mr MacFarlene turned to the broken fragments of glass on the floor. “Having a wee dram with your husband or I was until you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Holly smelled alcohol. She wasn’t sure if it came from the whisky on the floor or if it was seeping through the pores of Mr MacFarlene’s skin.
“I hope you’re not planning on driving your tractor again,” Holly said.
Mr MacFarlene raised his eyebrows. “Again?”
Holly ground her teeth together. It was hard to berate a person for something they didn’t remember.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” she said, straddling the broken glass. “Help me tidy this up.”
Holly grabbed a dustpan and brush and thrust them into Mr MacFarlene’s hands. He swept up what remained of the tumblers and emptied the dustpan into the kitchen bin while Holly watched over her folded arms.
Placing the cleaning tools on the bench, Mr MacFarlene wasted no time in finding new glasses to fill.
“Would you like one?” he asked. “You look like it might do you some good.”
Holly shook her head. “I’m busy, thanks. Where’s Derek?”
Mr MacFarlene sipped from his whisky. “He’s in the sitting room, drunk as a skunk. I saw him at the hub and thought I better get him home.”
“I don’t suppose the fact that he had more booze persuaded you any?” Holly asked.
Mr MacFarlene drained his glass and started on the other. “He’s in a bad way. I was trying to help.”
Leaving the kitchen, Holly opened the door to the sitting room. It was small and dark with a brick fireplace and an unlit fire. A plum coloured sofa was pressed under a window and facing a wooden coffee table. A flat screen TV Holly had inherited from her parents was mounted on the wall.
Derek sat on the edge of the sofa. His hair had a greasy hue. His shirt was tight around a bulging midriff and he swayed over a wedding album gripped tightly in his arms.
“What are you doing?” Holly asked.
Startled, Derek dropped the album, the photographs scattering from their thin sleeves. He looked up, his eyes taking a moment to focus on Holly.
“There you are,” Derek said, his words heavy with booze. Trying to stand, he fell back into the sofa, his legs wriggling in the air, like a woodlouse on its back.
Holly rushed forward, dragging Derek into an upright position. When he waved away her assistance, Holly picked up a photograph of herself from the floor. She was younger with fewer lines on her face and more hope in her eyes.
“When are you going to be my husband again?” she asked, unsure if she was asking herself or Derek.
If it was Derek, then he didn’t answer, but his face crumpled as if he was going to cry.
“I know things aren’t easy for you here,” Holly continued, “but this is our home now. We have to accept that.”
“It’s not my home,” Derek said. “It’s yours. Your house. Your village. Your friends.”
Holly gathered the photographs from the floor, slipping them inside the wedding album and slamming it shut.
“And where is your friend? Your gamekeeper boyfriend?” Derek asked.
Holly’s jaw ached from clenching too tightly. Hissing out a breath, she forced herself to relax. “He’s busy.”
“Too busy to come to your home? I thought he liked it here.”
“For your information, I had to make an excuse,” Holly said. “He wanted to come inside, but I knew you’d be drunk. I knew you’d be bitter and making a fool of yourself. I lost everything in London too, you know? You have to get on with the rest of your life and you have to decide if I’m going to be a part of that.”
Holly turned at the sound of Mr MacFarlene clearing his throat. He stood in the doorway staring at his feet.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked the floor.
Holly returned her gaze to Derek, who was holding his head in his hands.
“We’re fine,” Holly said, swallowing down the lie. “I’m not here to fight, but I need to know if anyone’s been here. Anyone suspicious.”
“No-one’s been here,” Derek said. “Just me and the farmer man.”
Mr MacFarlene stepped around Holly and handed Derek a tumbler of whisky.
“Isn’t it time you stopped that?” she asked.
Derek raised the gl
ass and downed the liquid in one.
“We’ve just got started,” he said. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do. Not like I’ve got a job.”
“You could find one,” Holly offered. “I could ask around for you.”
“Never used to drink,” Derek said. “Not till I got here. People need a purpose in life. Without it, what else is there?”
The sofa creaked as Derek slopped forward, his hand slapping on the wooden table. His fingers crawled over the wedding album, pulling it toward him. Opening it, the photographs dropped into his lap.
“We used to be good together,” he said. “It used to work.”
He cut a pathetic figure, Holly thought. It was difficult to see him reduced so low, painful to realise the love for her husband wouldn’t save him. She was tied to Derek in ways she couldn’t explain, but his current trajectory was taking him to a place Holly couldn’t go.
She caught Mr MacFarlene’s eye. “While you’ve been here, has there been anyone skulking around?”
“Like who?”
“Like never you mind,” she said. “Answer the question.”
“No one,” Mr MacFarlene said. “No one I could see. Why are you asking?”
“I’m worried someone might try and break into my home.” Holly danced on the spot, itching to start her journey to the Faery Ring.
“I need you to stay with Derek,” she said to Mr MacFarlene as she moved to the doorway.
The farmer crouched by the sofa, removing Derek’s shoes and placing them safely on a newspaper. “What for?”
“In case someone comes calling,” Holly said, “and don’t be getting drunk and falling asleep. Eyes open.”
With a saddened glance at her husband, Holly left them to it, hurrying down the corridor.
“And lock the front door after I’m gone,” she shouted back to Mr MacFarlene.
Outside, the air was cooler than when she had arrived. It nipped at her face. Looking over Knock Lake, a herd of deer lingered by the shoreline. They weren’t drinking. They were staring at her, jostling to get a better view. The herd seemed lost without Star, looking to Holly for inspiration.
She did up the buttons of her coat and marched in the direction of the Faery Ring. Callum had told her of a shortcut and she hoped he would be there when she arrived.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Hanging Tree was far behind Holly as she climbed the next hill. Puffing like a steam engine and ankle deep in spring grass, she saw the track that had led her to Callum’s cottage. To the right was the cairn where she’d been humiliated by sheep.
The ravens watched her through beady eyes. Like black arrows, they circled overhead, never resting or silent.
She turned to the south where the broken branches of a forest scratched the sky. Holly remembered Mr Winnow mentioning the Faery Ring, but with her life spiralling out of control, she hadn’t had time to visit it. Some part of her was pleased to have the opportunity. The other part was scared.
Adjusting the straps on Callum’s rucksack, its weight rubbed against her shoulders. Holly struggled over a drystone wall. The forest loomed above her as she approached. According to Callum, the ring was on the other side, but it was best to walk around the circumference. Too many tangled roots, too many watery bogs, he’d said.
Holly liked how Callum worried about her, but it could be cloying. Her city days had wiped clean any residual understanding of country ways, but she wasn’t completely useless, she thought. She could still walk through a forest without getting lost.
Stepping into the shadows, Holly waded through the trees. The ground was slippery and wet with last year’s leaves. Yellow mushrooms twisted from the ground. Holly felt eyes upon her, hoping they belonged to the ravens.
The trees were thirsty for light, yearning for the sky in a jumble of branches. The trek seemed endless and Holly attempted to ignore the panic gnawing at the back of her skull.
With each step, her feet grew increasingly damp and her legs grew leaden. Her mind turned to ghosts and a tale she’d heard from her mother. Legend held that the forest was also the home of a land hydra, a multi-headed dragon living in the forest trees. When one head was removed, two more grew in its place.
Little Belton was mired in local legends and gossip. The estate inspired tales of magical creatures and while gossip might hold a grain of truth, Holly was certain the legends were false. But her surety did little to calm her racing thoughts as she imagined the many eyes of the hydra watching her from the canopy.
Holly was tired and almost prepared to admit she was lost. Exhaustion and fear fed the supernatural, she warned herself. Not science or discovery.
The cracking of a branch jerked her to a stop. It had come from her right, but the forest was too gloomy to make anything out. She ferreted through the rucksack, producing the Maglite torch Callum had given her. Casting the beam through the trees, she caught sight of a long, white face floating in the dark.
Holly pressed her hand to her mouth. It wasn’t a hydra or a ghoul. It was a single buck deer rubbing its velvet horns against a tree. Pausing in a ray of light, the deer snorted at her. He butted the tree, shaking his head in the leaves fluttering around his haunches. He trotted through the forest before looking at Holly over his shoulder.
With a decreasing number of options, Holly decided to follow. The deer skipped ahead, pausing now and again for her to catch up. He never allowed her too close, but neither did he lose sight of her. Was this the reincarnation of Star, she wondered? Had he returned to guide her home?
The deer bolted, leaping over a sunken bog. Holly raced after him, lancing the torch through the dark, but the deer had disappeared. She listened to the silence, hoping to track him somehow.
The forest was denser here with rotten trees fringed with wet fungi. Holly heard nothing but the call of Black Eye Bobby.
The buck was gone and she was more lost than ever.
“What an idiot,” she shouted, throwing Callum’s rucksack at a tree. There was a crack and the tree shifted, splintering as its rotten stump broke free of the ground. With a groan, it collapsed into the arms of other trees and they fell like dominoes, clearing a path for Holly.
Through the gap was the stony outcrop known as the Faery Ring.
Holly made hesitant steps toward it. Whether it was land dragons, faeries or the karmic reincarnation of a stag, she was simply glad to be out of the forest. She made a cursory search for Callum’s rucksack, knowing full well it was buried under a ton of wood and mushrooms.
Holly walked out of the treeline, turning her face to the sunlight. Despite the cool air, it felt good on her skin. She sat on a tuft of grass at the base of the outcrop. She’d arrived. She was at the Faery Ring, but there were no faeries. No ring. Instead, Holly was surrounded by rocks whose faces were twisted into gargoyle grins.
The buck, which was not a ghost, waited for her with his herd by a meandering stream.
The outcrop towered over ten feet, ending in triangular rocks jutting into the sky. Lichen carpeted the stone, painting it a mottled yellow. To Holly, the Faery Ring resembled a crown until she noticed beetles and millipedes scuttling over its surface.
A rock tumbled from above, missing Holly by an inch. The noise startled the deer and they scattered. Holly jumped to her feet and looked to the top of the crown.
At the height of the outcrop was a figure silhouetted by the sun.
Forcing her heart to stop hammering, Holly took a stand.
“I’m here, Arnold,” she said. “What do you want?”
The figure was difficult to make out, but it seemed to retreat from view, melting into the sunlight.
Holly heard rocks falling as if something was scaling down the outcrop. She held tightly onto Callum’s Maglite, gripping it with her right hand, slapping it into her left. If Arnold got too close, Holly would protect herself.
The figure appeared from behind a boulder. It wasn’t Arnold Salting. It was the last person Holly expected to see.
/>
The Maglite slipped from her hand. It bounced over the rocks and cartwheeled into the muddy boots of a woman, who picked up the torch and held it like a weapon, pointing it at Holly.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Nancy?” Holly asked, clutching a hand to her chest. “I can’t believe it. We found you.”
In the distance came the distressed calls of the herd, calling each other together.
“I think I found you, dear,” Nancy said. She lobbed the Maglite to Holly, who fumbled the catch. The torch hit the jagged edge of a rock and ejected its batteries.
“We’ve been so worried about you,” Holly said. “Are you coming home?”
Nancy was dressed in woollen cardigans and dresses. They were layered like the pages of a book swollen with damp. They made her look rounder than Holly remembered, but her face was thin and raw from the weather.
“You got our message?” Nancy asked.
“Message? On the Y-fronts?” Holly gasped. “You’re working with Arnold Salting?”
“For what it’s worth, he’s sorry for what happened with Mr Winnow. He shouldn’t have lost his temper.”
“And for rifling through Callum’s belongings?” Holly asked.
“Actually, that was me.” Nancy retrieved a handkerchief from the folds of her dress. “Young people don’t carry these anymore, do they?” she asked, looking pointedly at Holly’s grimy hands.
Holly took the handkerchief and wiped her palms clean, remembering how Old Jack had said the same.
“Arnold had to make sure you went to Hamley village,” Nancy said. “He was watching you while I took the opportunity to search Callum’s room.”
“But why?” Holly asked, casting the handkerchief aside.
“I’m afraid, we need more bulbs.”
“Arnold stole all that we had,” Holly said. “You must have them.”
Nancy ground her heel into the floor. “We’re running out of time, dear. Arcadia Leisure is more dangerous than you know.”
“You’re wrong,” Holly said. “I read your notes. I know what happened in Eureka. I know what they’ve got planned for our village.”
