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  He knew what it was and for a moment he was revolted. This place, it was awful. He couldn’t bear it any more. The sniffing continued. He pictured wide, wet nostrils and a drooling mouth. He stared at the door and waited for the thing to go away.

  After a while he heard footsteps shuffling away down the corridor and he was alone again. He picked up his pen and put the nib to the paper…

  Please, Mother, I can stand it here no longer...

  15

  Boy Racer

  ‘OK?’ said Max. ‘Do you think you’re ready?’

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ said James.

  ‘Then let her go!’

  James slipped the car into gear, released the brake and moved slowly forward down the driveway. For the past couple of days he had been driving round the field in the mornings and learning about the engine in the afternoons; helping Max to strip down the various parts, then cleaning and replacing them, so that he had slowly got to know how the whole thing worked.

  Max had shown him the oil sump, the gearbox, the two separate axles for the front wheels, the driveshafts, and the differential, which made the rear wheels spin at different speeds. At first James hadn’t understood the need for this, until Max demonstrated how when turning a corner the outer wheels on a car have to travel further than the inner ones and so have to spin faster to keep up.

  What at first had seemed horribly confusing was now beginning to make sense, and he appreciated just what an extraordinary machine a car was.

  Eventually Max reckoned that James was competent enough to leave the field and try the road again. So here he was, nervously negotiating the rutted track, his hands gripping the wheel, his hair blowing untidily in the wind.

  This was very different from the paddock. He was all too aware of the nearness of the trees on either side and, as he picked up speed, they swished past angrily. But he made it to the gatepost without any mishaps and swapped seats with Max so that he could turn the car round on the main road.

  ‘That was perfect,’ said his uncle, sliding across so that James could take the wheel again. ‘Now, let’s try it a little faster on the way back, eh?’

  Since returning from the castle, James had heard nothing from either Red or Meatpacker and he was growing restless. Learning to drive was keeping his mind off things, but thoughts about the Hellebores were never far away and he was anxious to be doing something more about Alfie. But they had promised to do nothing until Meatpacker got in touch.

  For the next hour, James drove up and down the drive, growing more and more confident, until Max suggested that this time he really went for it.

  ‘She’s a fast car, James. She needs to be driven hard. Really put your foot down. You can do it. Just feel the car, and feel the road…’

  James prepared himself. He knew the drive quite well by now. He pictured the bumps he had to avoid, the straights where he could accelerate safely and the bends where he would have to slow down.

  He imagined himself on the racetrack at Brooklands, lined up with the other cars, a crowd of spectators cheering. He revved the engine, hearing its growl fill the valley. He had no other thoughts in his mind now, except the car and the road. The castle wasn’t there and Eton was a million miles away.

  He selected first gear and pulled away smoothly. He was quickly into second, then third, then he had to shift down on the first bend. He grinned – now there was a good, long straight and he made it up into fourth gear before he hit the bend, shifting down and applying the brakes at the same time, then accelerating into the curve to pull him round.

  But then.

  Panic.

  There in front of him, in the middle of the road, rearing up and whinnying, was a huge black horse, its hooves flailing the air. James just managed to swerve round it and brought the car to a skidding halt, ten feet away.

  He sat there, his heart pounding, his breathing quick and shallow. That was close.

  He turned round.

  It was Wilder Lawless on Martini. The horse was still jittery and prancing about in the road, but she brought him under control and with excellent horsemanship was able to calm him down.

  ‘Sorry,’ James called out.

  ‘So you should be,’ said Wilder, who was obviously rattled.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me coming?’ James asked, getting out of the car and walking back to her.

  ‘I couldn’t get out of the road.’

  James looked. There was dense, impenetrable growth on either side.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said again, and introduced her to Uncle Max.

  ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ James asked, patting Martini on the nose to settle him.

  ‘I came to see you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect you to try and kill me.’ With that, she dismounted, keeping hold of Martini’s reins. She had relaxed a little and her manner was softer. ‘Will you walk a way with me?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure,’ said James with a shrug.

  ‘I’ll take the car back,’ said Max. ‘See you for lunch.’

  Max drove off, and James and Wilder walked Martini up the drive to where a track led away into the woods.

  ‘Can you ride?’ Wilder asked.

  ‘Pretty well,’ said James casually.

  ‘You should come out with me some time. I could fix you up with a pony.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But that’s not what I came to talk to you about,’ said Wilder, turning to him, her vivid green eyes bright and excited. ‘After I saw you, I spoke to Sergeant White about Alfie Kelly, in Keithly Police Station.’

  ‘Did you find anything out?’

  ‘It turns out that Lord Hellebore never passed on what I told him that day up by the loch. You remember? About spotting Alfie up there.’

  ‘Did the police think it odd?’

  ‘Och. Sergeant White won’t hear anything said against the laird. He thinks he’s Father Christmas, Buffalo Bill and Saint Michael all rolled into one.’

  ‘Who’s Saint Michael?’

  Wilder laughed. ‘The patron saint of policemen.’

  They were walking between high earth banks along the bed of a dried-up stream, the sunlight filtering down through the leaves of the big alders and ancient oak trees that grew here.

  James snapped a stick off a fallen branch and swished it absent-mindedly, like a sword.

  Martini had relaxed and now ambled happily behind them, his big hooves thudding on the soft ground.

  ‘When the last laird died, everyone thought it was going to be the end for this town,’ said Wilder. ‘But Randolph has thrown money about the place, and now people walk around with big, stupid grins on their faces. As I see it, he pays us to keep out of his way. You won’t see much of him but, make no mistake, he pretty well owns this place.’

  ‘But will the police look into what you told them, do you think?’

  ‘What? Our Sergeant White?’ Wilder looked amused. ‘Have you ever met him?’

  ‘No,’ said James.

  ‘Well, he’s fat as a pig and lazy as an old cat, and every Christmas he gets a nice big hamper of food from the castle. I told you, he’s not about to start upsetting the laird by asking a lot of foolish questions. No, James, you’ll have to be your own policeman, because our Sergeant White is about as much use as a pork pie on legs when it comes to getting things done.’

  ‘I’d already pretty well decided as much myself,’ said James, trying to sound worldly-wise and grown-up.

  ‘But be careful, James,’ Wilder said, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Despite what most people round there think, Randolph Hellebore is not a very nice man.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  They had come to an open patch of land where grass and young bracken grew. Wilder let Martini go and he bent his head to feed, tearing clumps of grass up with his huge teeth.

  ‘My dad used to be the estate manager for the old laird,’ said Wilder, sitting down on a small mound. ‘He ran the place. He liked Randolph at first, when he first took over
. He made a lot of improvements. He had money to spend on the estate. But the more he got to know him as a person, the less my dad liked him. He found him a bit of a bully, and cruel with it. They argued. One day they were out riding, inspecting the new fence that was being built, and Randolph’s horse stumbled and threw him. He flew into a terrible temper and started to whip the horse terribly. My dad tried to stop him, and Randolph sacked him on the spot. That was that. My dad was out of a job. He works over near Glencoe now; he comes back some weekends, but mostly he’s too busy. It’s all changed up there now, new people, no locals. I don’t like him, James. I don’t like any man who’s cruel to animals, especially horses.’

  ‘I think it was Alfie you saw that day,’ said James. ‘I think he went up there to try and fish on the loch. Do you think Hellebore might have caught him? Do you think he might have done something to him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past him. You’ve seen what it’s like up there. Hellebore’s got some kind of secret he doesn’t want anyone to know about. The police won’t touch him.’

  ‘I might go back up there with Red,’ said James nonchalantly, tapping his boot with the stick.

  ‘Say,’ said Wilder, with a broad, open smile, ‘why don’t I help you? The three of us would make a good team. Specially as I’ve got Martini, I can get about the place quicker than you two, and –’

  James cut her short. ‘But you’re a girl,’ he said. ‘We don’t want a girl along with us. This is man’s work.’

  Wilder looked at him for a moment with her mouth open in surprise, then she tipped back her head and laughed loudly.

  ‘Look at you,’ she said at last, ‘the big man with his stick. Why, you’re nothing but a wee lad, James. “Man’s work” indeed. I’m older than you and I’m bigger than you, and I’ve no doubt I’m stronger too.’

  James snorted.

  ‘Listen, you, I spend hours every day lugging great heavy bales of straw about the place,’ Wilder went on, ‘and grooming Martini, and mucking out the stables, and riding for hours every day. I’ve arms as strong as any man and with three pesky brothers I’ve had to learn to fight.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ said James.

  ‘Yes,’ said Wilder, and, before James knew what was happening, she grabbed him by the shirt, put a leg behind his and neatly tipped him backwards into the dirt. He sprang up and tried the same trick back, but Wilder was ready for him and the two of them toppled over. They rolled on the ground, wrestling for a while, until Wilder got the better of him, pinned him down on his back, straddled his chest and stuffed his mouth full of dead leaves, her muscular legs gripping him like steel.

  She leant very close to him and laughed in his face, and he saw that there were golden flecks in her green eyes.

  ‘There,’ she said. ‘That’ll teach you not to laugh at lasses.’ So saying, she jumped up, sprang into her saddle, kicked her heels into Martini’s flanks and galloped off into the trees.

  James propped himself up on his elbows and spat the leaves out of his mouth. Wilder wasn’t like most of the girls he’d met, all fussy curls and pretty dresses that they never wanted to get messy. He couldn’t imagine Wilder playing with dolls or having pretend tea parties.

  He had to agree with Kelly: Wilder Lawless was quite a girl.

  That evening after supper, armed with a hand-drawn map from Aunt Charmian and a torch from Uncle Max, James went into Keithly to find Red. His talk with Wilder had made him realise how impatient he was to find out more.

  Annie Kelly lived in a tiny two-up two-down, in a gloomy backstreet of grey terraced houses.

  James knocked on the door and Red himself answered it.

  ‘All right, Jimmy?’ he said, when he’d got over his surprise. ‘Come on in.’

  Annie Kelly was sitting in the tiny front room with three skinny children. It was dimly lit by a single gas lamp, and smoke from a sputtering coal fire filled the air. It reminded James of his little cramped room at Eton. There was hardly any furniture and a bare stone floor.

  Annie jumped up and asked him if he wanted any tea, but he declined, explaining that he’d just had supper and, after an awkward conversation, Red took him out into the backyard, where they sat on the wall next to the outhouse.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Meatpacker?’ James asked, looking up at the starry night sky.

  ‘Not a dickie,’ said Kelly, and he spat over the wall into the neighbours’ yard. ‘I’ve asked some questions about the place, like he told us, but I ain’t found out much.’

  ‘What have you found out?’

  ‘All right. To tell you the truth, I’ve found out nothing. Except that Lord Hellebore’s a good egg and everyone loves him to death. All right, so he doesn’t like company, but maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said James, and he told Red about his conversation with Wilder.

  ‘So, what do you think we should do?’ asked Kelly. ‘Should we give Meatpacker a couple more days, and if he still ain’t turned up…’

  ‘I think we should go back up there, ourselves,’ said James, ‘as soon as possible. Forget about Meatpacker.’

  ‘What do you reckon’s happened to the silly sod?’ Kelly said with a sniff. ‘Was he just giving us the brush-off? D’you reckon he never had any idea to come back and find us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said James. ‘Has nobody else seen him?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Kelly. ‘I found out where he was staying. There you go! I did find out something. It wasn’t hard. There’s only the one place around here – the pub. I think he was very at home there. His room’s paid up for the month, but they ain’t seen him since we did.’

  ‘It could mean one of three things, I suppose,’ said James. ‘That he’s done a bunk and gone off without saying anything. That he’s still up there finding stuff out… Or that –’

  ‘Something’s happened to him,’ said Kelly darkly, and he mimed slitting his throat.

  16

  Nobody Can Hold a Bond Forever

  When James got back to the cottage, he found Aunt Charmian in the kitchen and he asked her if he could go off camping for a couple of nights with Red. After some debate she decided it would be all right as long as he was sensible and didn’t cause trouble for anybody else or do anything silly that might put them in danger.

  James said nothing about Alfie, or Meatpacker, or Lord Hellebore. This was between him and Kelly and the big American, and he was worried that if he told his aunt she wouldn’t let him go. Also, some of Meatpacker’s Pinkerton secrecy must have rubbed off on him.

  They were interrupted by the arrival of Max, shuffling into the kitchen wrapped in a blanket. He looked deathly pale and utterly exhausted.

  ‘I heard voices. Can’t sleep,’ he wheezed.

  ‘You should get back to your bed,’ said Charmian.

  ‘I know I should…’ said Max with a great sigh. ‘But sometimes it seems such a waste of one’s life, sleeping.’

  ‘Well, it may seem a waste to you, but I’m dog-tired,’ said Charmian, lighting a candle, ‘so I’m for my bed. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t keep the boy up too late.’

  ‘Shan’t,’ said Max with a wink to James.

  ‘I’ll pack you some lunch in the morning,’ said Charmian on her way out. ‘And I’ll put together a first-aid kit for you, James. Goodnight.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said James, when Aunt Charmian had gone. ‘I hate going to bed sometimes, I always feel I’m missing out on so much…’

  ‘I remember one time when your father and I were boys,’ said Max. ‘We decided it would be the thing to stay up all night. We tried everything to keep ourselves awake, but in the end we both fell asleep, and in the morning, of course, we both pretended that we hadn’t.’

  ‘I can’t really picture you and Father as boys like me,’ said James.

  ‘Oh, we were, you can believe it! And before that we were babies, and before that… we were twinkles in your grandfather’s eye.’
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  Max stared into the fire and James watched him. Somewhere behind the yellowish wrinkled skin and the black-rimmed eyes, he saw the boy that Max had once been.

  ‘It’s a funny thing, growing up,’ said Max. ‘We none of us think that it will ever happen to us. I still feel like a small boy most of the time, and then I look in the mirror and – Who’s that? – it’s as if a magician has stolen up on me in the night and turned me into an old man. And it’ll happen to you, James. One day you’ll be an old codger like me.’

  ‘You’re not an old codger,’ said James.

  ‘I feel like one,’ said Max, and he coughed quietly into his handkerchief.

  After that he was silent for a long while, and they sat there, sharing each other’s company, until Max at last spoke again.

  ‘Do you have any idea what you’d like to be when you’re grown up?’ he asked.

  ‘I haven’t really given it much thought,’ said James.

  ‘Not an engine driver or a fireman or a soldier?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe an explorer. I’d love to see more of the world.’

  ‘That’s a good ambition.’

  ‘Or a spy like you,’ said James.

  ‘Oh,’ said Max, and he quickly changed the subject. ‘You did well in the car today,’ he said. ‘Same thing again tomorrow? And then maybe in the afternoon some more fishing. I’m itching to get back on the river.’

  Once again James had to disappoint Max, and he told him of his plans with Red.

  ‘Ah, so that’s what the packed lunch and the first-aid kit are for,’ said Max. ‘That sounds like a grand plan. I used to love camping…’

  Then he fell silent again, the light from the fire dancing on his face.

  At last he spoke, and his voice was so soft and quiet that James could barely hear him. ‘You asked me the other day if I was ever caught during the war,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said James. ‘But I didn’t mean to be nosy.’