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  Max folded one side of the bonnet up and fiddled with the engine, then he slammed the flap back down decisively and got into the driving seat.

  ‘Electric starter,’ he said, and pressed a button. There was a brief whine, then the engine rasped, ticked rapidly and roared into life, creating a deafening din in the garage.

  ‘Climb aboard!’ Max yelled, and the Aston Martin rocked on its springs as James got in.

  ‘I haven’t taken her out for a good blast in months,’ said Max. ‘But she starts every time without any complaint.’

  The car felt light and anxious to tear away. Max slipped her into gear, released the brake and they were off, bouncing out of the garage into the courtyard, where they cornered sharply and shot past the house and away down the bumpy road.

  James had never driven this fast before and at first he was terrified, the wind whipped into his face and within a minute the windscreen was plastered with dead insects. The car jolted and shook, the scream of its engine reflected back off the trees. James felt sure that they would crash – but, despite what his uncle had said about losing control on the racetrack at Brooklands, he realised that Max knew exactly what he was doing and was an expert behind the wheel. James slowly grew in confidence, and by the time they pulled out on to the main road he was enjoying himself hugely. Max turned to him and grinned. ‘They’ve just scrapped the twenty-mile-an-hour speed limit,’ he shouted over the noise of the car and the rushing wind. ‘But I don’t suppose I’m going to be around long enough to fully appreciate it. Not that I ever really worried too much about it. I nearly got her up to a hundred one time on the Barnet bypass.’

  Max’s laughter was lost on the wind as they howled through Keithly and out on to the open road across the moors towards Kilcraymore. By now James was thoroughly enjoying himself and Max seemed to have come alive. Behind the wheel, all his frailty and weakness were gone, he was a young man again, happy and carefree.

  They stopped at a petrol station in Kilcraymore, where Max filled the tank and then opened the bonnet to show James what was underneath.

  ‘It’s a marvellous thing, the internal combustion engine,’ he said, gazing lovingly at the oily block of metal. ‘It’s going to change the world.’

  James peered at the hugely complicated workings.

  ‘So, if you’re going to keep up,’ said Max briskly, ‘you’d better learn how it works. What can you tell me about it?’

  ‘Not very much, I’m afraid,’ said James. ‘I know you have to put petrol in, but that’s about it.’

  ‘All right. That’s a start. So what can you tell me about petrol?’

  ‘It catches light very easily,’ said James.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Max. ‘That’s exactly it. This engine is powered by exploding petrol.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’ Max ran his hand lovingly over the engine. ‘Hidden in the middle of all this ironwork are four cylinders, each with a piston inside it, and it’s those pistons that drive the engine. You can’t see the cylinders because they’re encased in a metal jacket through which water circulates to keep it cool. Then the water passes out through this pipe here, to the radiator, here.’ Max tapped the grille at the front of the car. ‘The water’s cooled by this fan, and here’s the fan belt that drives it. Are you keeping up?’

  ‘I think so. But all I can think about is explosions.’

  ‘Yes, sorry, old son, I got sidetracked there. That’s the beauty of the petrol engine, there are so many parts, all working together in harmony. Now, this is a four-stroke engine, which means that each piston runs through a cycle of four strokes inside the cylinder.’ Max pumped his hand up and down in the air. ‘Up, down, up, down… Do you follow me?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good. My starter sets the whole thing in motion, and as the piston pumps down it creates a vacuum above it that sucks in a fine spray of petrol from the carburettor, here. As the petrol mixes with air, it turns into a highly inflammable gas. That’s the first stroke – the induction stroke. Next, you have the compression stroke, as the piston is forced back up, squashing the gas; then, as it comes back down for the third stroke, it triggers a spark of electricity from these fellows here, the sparking plugs.’

  Max indicated a row of shiny knobs along the top of the engine, and then grinned at James. ‘Now what do you suppose that little spark does to all that compressed gas?’

  ‘It ignites it,’ said James.

  ‘Exactly. And there’s your explosion. It kicks the piston down with enormous energy. That energy turns the crankshaft and the flywheel and the movements of all the other pistons, and finally forces our piston back up, pushing all the waste fumes from the explosion out of the cylinder and into the exhaust pipe, through the silencer and out here.’

  Max ran a hand over the engine.

  ‘The noise you hear of an engine roaring,’ he said, ‘that’s countless small explosions going off, all four cylinders working together, turning that crankshaft.’

  He slammed the bonnet, straightened up and gripped James by the shoulder. ‘How would you like to drive her?’ he said.

  James looked at him to see whether he was teasing him, but his smile seemed genuine.

  ‘I’d like that very much,’ he said. ‘But are you sure you’d let me?’

  ‘We can give it a go,’ said Max. ‘And if it turns out you’re a complete duffer, I can always wrestle the wheel back out of your hands and we can concentrate on fishing instead. Deal?’

  It was James’s turn to smile now. ‘It was interesting this morning,’ he said, ‘but I think learning to drive will be a lot more exciting.’

  ‘Excitement,’ snapped Max. ‘That’s all modern youth is interested in – speed, thrills, noise and drama! Can’t say as I blame you, though. I learnt in the war that you’ve got to take life by the scruff of the neck, you don’t get a second shot at it. What was it the man said? “I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”’ With that, he wiped his hand on a rag, paid the garage mechanic, and they set off back to Keithly.

  When they pulled on to the rough track that led to the house, Max slowed down and stopped.

  ‘This is as good a place as any to start,’ he said. ‘There are no other cars around and it’s private land, so we can do as we please. The surface isn’t as flat and firm as it could be, but what the hell! If you can learn to handle a car on this, you should find it a breeze when you get out on to a proper road.’

  ‘But what if I lose control and crash into a tree or something?’ said James.

  ‘I shan’t be needing the old girl much longer,’ said Max, staring off down the road. ‘And I’ve no one to leave it to when I die. I don’t suppose May would have much use for it, and sister Charmian already has her beloved Bentley. So… if you prang her, then that’s life. But, tell you what, if you can look after her, she’s yours. That should be incentive enough not to steer towards the nearest mighty oak.’

  ‘Really?’ said James, beaming. ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Come along,’ said Max, opening the little door and getting out so that they could swap seats. ‘Let’s see how you get on.’

  James slid across into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel. Max had made driving look effortless but, sitting here in control, it suddenly didn’t look so easy.

  ‘What exactly are all these switches and dials and pedals and levers for?’ James said.

  Max ran through them all for him. ‘Well, you’ve got switches for lights, magneto and electric starter, then there’s the radiator thermometer, the clock – I assume you know what that’s for.’

  ‘Telling the time?’

  ‘Give the man a prize. What else have we got? Electric dashboard light, speedometer, oil-pressure gauge, electric meter to show charging of accumulator and finally the carburettor flooder. Don’t worry about them now, with time you’ll know what they all do and they won’t scare you one bit.’

  ‘And the leve
rs?’

  ‘That’s your handbrake and your gear lever. And those pedals there are your foot brake, accelerator and clutch. Can you reach all right?’

  ‘I think so.’

  James pushed the accelerator down with his foot; it was hard work, and his leg was only just long enough, but the engine woke up and howled like an angry lion. James grinned, but his heart was racing scarily. He took his foot off the pedal and the engine died down to a steady purr.

  ‘Right,’ said Max. ‘Be gentler next time, because we’re going to try and drive her forward. Starting from scratch and moving off is probably the hardest part. For you and for the car. Picture yourself walking up a steep mountain. To start off, you have to take small, quick, powerful steps, it’s a hell of a strain, but coming down the other side, you can take long, slow, easy strides. That’s what it’s like for a car. To get her moving takes terrific power, but once she’s up and running it’s much easier. Understand?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good. That’s where your gears come in. Ah, where would we be without gears? Wheels within wheels. In first gear the engine turns a tiny wheel that spins round, turning a larger wheel very slowly, then you change to second, and a larger wheel comes into play, then up through the gears until the engine is directly driving the car wheels with no gears in between. Once she’s up and running all you really have to do is steer her.’

  ‘You make it sound easy,’ said James nervously.

  ‘Oh. It’ll take you a while to get the hang of the gears,’ said Max. ‘But soon you won’t even think about it. That’s when the car becomes a part of you and you can handle her as easily as your own four limbs.’

  Max showed James the pattern of the gears on the gearstick, and they practised without the engine running.

  ‘The theory is simple,’ Max explained. ‘You use the clutch pedal to free the engine and ease down on the accelerator to set it turning. Then you select first gear, release the clutch to engage the engine, release the brake and there you are.’

  James pumped the pedals up and down.

  ‘Not so rough,’ said Max. ‘You have to feel the pedals, get just the right balance between the accelerator and the clutch. Too little power, and she won’t cope. She’ll stall. Too much power, and she’ll leap away from you. Think you’re ready to have a go?’

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

  James’s first few efforts at starting were pretty disastrous, but he slowly got the hang of it, and eventually his concentration overcame his nervousness, so that on the seventh attempt the car lurched forward and began to trundle slowly down the track.

  ‘There you go,’ yelled Max. ‘You’re driving… into a ditch! Look out!’

  Max reached over, grabbed the wheel and steered James away from the danger, then he jammed his foot down on to the brake pedal, crushing James’s foot, so that the car lurched to a halt. The engine complained briefly then gave up and cut out.

  Max shook his head and laughed. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘let’s try somewhere with fewer hazards.’

  They relocated to the paddock behind the house, which was fairly flat and firm, and a small flock of sheep kept the grass down to a good, tight thatch. James soon got over his embarrassment and was eager to try again. This time he managed to move off after only three attempts and they bounced over the grass with confidence. He couldn’t stop a huge grin from spreading across his face as he steered the car round the field, slowly gaining more speed until the engine was whining noisily.

  ‘That means it’s time to change gear,’ Max shouted. ‘It’s exactly the same principle as starting, free the engine with the clutch pedal, then slip her into second and re-engage.’

  James did as he was told and, more by accident and good luck than anything else, he made a smooth transition into second gear.

  ‘Good lad,’ said Max. ‘You’re really getting the hang of this.’

  With that, James stalled the car and they came to a bumpy halt in the middle of the field, where a solitary sheep stood and stared at them, chewing thoughtfully.

  They heard a shout and turned to see Charmian striding across the grass towards them.

  ‘Don’t get the boy killed, will you?’ she said.

  ‘He’s a natural,’ said Max, getting stiffly out of the car.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Charmian asked.

  ‘Never better.’

  ‘Feel up to a walk before turning in?’

  ‘That’s an excellent idea,’ said Max, stretching his back. ‘I’m as stiff as a board.’

  ‘Come on, then.’

  They made their way through the woods and up the hill behind the house, taking it slowly so as not to tire Max. Just as the sun was setting, they broke free from the trees and saw open countryside for miles around.

  A buzzard soared on the breeze high above them, its broad, rounded wings spread like the wings of an aeroplane. It let out a piercing and rather sad cry and wheeled away in search of food.

  They stood there and looked out over the moors, patterned with heather and gorse and bracken, towards the purple mountains in the distance. There was no sign of any human activity apart from a thin column of smoke rising from a distant copse.

  ‘It seems preposterous that somebody could actually own all that, doesn’t it, James?’ said Max. ‘But your Lord Hellebore does.’

  ‘Which direction is the castle in?’ asked James.

  ‘See where those big hills are?’ said Max, pointing with his stick.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, there’s a lake behind them, Loch Silverfin, and the castle’s on the lake, on a small spit of land, almost like an island. There’s one road goes up from the village, but they’re pretty much cut off from us mere mortals; they’ve near as damn it built a small town of their own up there.’

  James wondered about George Hellebore. It was as if their two fates were somehow bound together.

  ‘We’d best be getting back,’ said Charmian. ‘We’ve got a busy evening ahead of us. It’s the circus tonight, and it’ll be dark soon.’

  ‘And cold,’ said Max.

  James took one last look back up towards the far-off hills and made a decision.

  He was going to go and take a look at the Hellebores’ castle as soon as he could.

  11

  We Don’t Like The English Round Here

  Max wasn’t up to going to the circus and, after a quick supper of rabbit stew that he barely touched, he turned in for the night. James watched him painfully struggle up the stairs to his bedroom, all the life gone out of him. With his hunched shoulders and shuffling walk, he looked very frail, like a ninety-year-old man.

  Later, in the Bentley, purring along the road to Kilcraymore, Charmian asked James if he was enjoying himself.

  ‘Yes,’ said James, ‘very much so. I had a fantastic time in the car this afternoon.’

  ‘Good. I was worried you’d be bored, with only adults for company.’ Charmian didn’t take her eyes off the twisting, uneven road. ‘And Max seems to be having a whale of time. I haven’t seen him so full of beans since I’ve been up here. Your arrival has really perked him up. I’m a bit of a disappointment to him, I think – I’ve never been able to quite share his enthusiasm for fishing.’

  They chatted some more about Max and the fishing while they drove down the deserted country lanes, the twin lights of the Bentley carving a path ahead of them through the darkness. All they could hear was the gentle roar of the twin exhausts. James marvelled at Charmian’s driving; now that he knew how much went into controlling a car, he realised just how expert she was.

  The drive seemed to pass in no time and soon James saw the big, striped circus tent, strung with lights, rising up out of the night like a huge birthday cake dropped to earth by some clumsy giant.

  Charmian parked in a muddy field and they joined the throng of excited locals making their way towards the tent. There were so many people that James thought the entire surrounding countryside must h
ave been emptied. There were all types, from tiny babies being carried by their mothers to bent old men with long white beards, all happily chatting and milling around on the trampled grass.

  They bought two tickets at a kiosk and joined the queue to get in. Nearby, a noisy and smelly steam-powered generator was chuntering away and an organ was playing ‘Sweet Molly Malone’. There was a row of attractions here: a coconut shy, a shooting range, a hall of mirrors, a fortune teller, as well as stalls selling sweets and toffee apples. James had wondered if he was going to be too old for all this, but now he was here he was caught up in the excitement, and he asked his aunt if he could have a proper look around later.

  Inside, the tent was dimly lit with coloured bulbs powered by the generator, and there was a powerful smell of animals and sawdust. James took his place on a wooden bench as a small, raggedy band struck up a wobbly tune that James recognised as ‘The March Of The Gladiators’, and then a fat, sweaty ringmaster led in the parade. There were acrobats, jugglers, clowns, horses, a tired old elephant and a troupe of performing monkeys.

  James had seen better circuses before, but he enjoyed himself nevertheless. Sitting there in the dark among the crowd of laughing and clapping people, with the music and the lights, there was a magical, other-worldly atmosphere.

  The first highlight was the equestrian act. Two fat white ponies ran round the ring while three girls in sparkly silver outfits balanced on the horses’ backs and jumped from one to the other and even turned somersaults.

  At one point, the light changed in such a way that it picked out just one face in the crowd: a girl with long, blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. The reflections from the acrobats’ sequins sent dancing, starry lights across her pale skin and her eyes seemed to shine. They were the most vivid emerald colour that James had ever seen. He thought it must be a trick of the light. She was sitting right at the front, almost directly opposite James, and she was absolutely hypnotised by the horses; James had never seen anyone staring with such intense, happy concentration before.