BLACKDOWN (a thriller and murder mystery) (22 page)

Blackdown was still coming to terms with what he was seeing. But it all began to fall into place. He said, ‘The attack on Blackdown Manor was a sham, designed to throw me off your scent. How could I suspect you when you and your daughter came under fire too? Except you were never in any real danger, were you? It makes sense to me now, why the fire was directed only at the windows at one end of the room. You had ordered the men you hired to do just that, so you knew where you and Julianne would be safe.’

Tresham gave a tired nod. ‘In part it was to divert attention from me, yes; but in part designed to deter you, to frighten you away. But it appears it had the opposite effect.’

‘So you really have betrayed my father,’ he said, his tone full of venom. ‘What of your friendship? Does it mean nothing?’

‘Friendship?’ Tresham laughed coldly. ‘Your father’s mind is sick and has been in steady decline since the death of your mother. He cut off our friendship a long time ago, as he cut off his life from everyone around him, including Jonathan. He disowned and banished you, his son, for the sake of an unfortunate accident, and has blamed every ill that has befallen him and that cursed estate of his on you. He is a shadow of his former self, a man so immersed in hatred and loathing that he sours everything he comes into contact with. I have no feelings for your father. He long ago washed them away with his bitter vitriol.’ He stepped closer, putting a hand on Blackdown’s shoulder. ‘But you, Thomas, you were always special to me, the son I never had…’

Blackdown shrugged away the hand. ‘Was it your idea, to create false papers to discredit my father?’

Tresham’s lips tightened into a thin, hard line. ‘No.’

‘So it was Lansdowne alone?’

‘That is not for me to say. Thomas, hear me out. You will die tonight if you do not join Ravenbard. Please reconsider.’

‘Were you involved in Jonathan’s death?’

He shook his head. ‘It is not as simple as that.’

‘Simple? My brother died, and so too my servant Addison. Don’t you see what you are involved in? It is evil. And somehow that evil has gotten its claws into you. No matter what you say about your friendship with my father I cannot believe you would abandon him and use him for your own ends, nor sink so low as to become a traitor. That is not the man I remember. That is not the man who stands before me now. You are a bad liar, Uncle. There is something else going on here, isn’t there?’

Tresham’s lips worked away at words he could not formulate. And then his face softened. ‘Do not display any change in emotion to the guard behind me,’ he said. ‘Keep up the pretence of being angry with me.’ He paused to draw in a deep breath. ‘You have seen through my bluff. I did not ask for any of this. I had no choice, Thomas,’ he said flatly.

Blackdown stared hard and deep into the man’s eyes. They were filling up with tears. ‘It’s Julianne, isn’t it? Julianne is in danger if you don’t go along with it.’

‘I… I cannot say, Thomas.’

‘Has her life been threatened? And your wife’s too?’

‘They are powerful men, Thomas,’ he whispered. ‘Some of the most powerful in the country are behind Ravenbard. My ruin is of little importance to me, but the lives of my wife and daughter…’

‘So you were forced into buying up my father’s land and passing it on to Lansdowne in order that no immediate link to Ravenbard or Lansdowne is made. The movement of Blackdown land now passes unseen from you to them.’

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. ‘I cannot say any more, Thomas, for I will be putting the lives of my wife and daughter in further danger by doing so. If you do not join Ravenbard I will be powerless to help you. I cannot see you die and have your death on my conscience, too.’

‘I don’t intend dying, Uncle.’ They looked at each other in silence. ‘Lansdowne approaches,’ he said under his breath. ‘Forgive me for what I must do.’ Then Blackdown launched himself at Tresham, grabbing him by the throat with his manacled hands. ‘You traitor!’ he yelled. ‘You damned traitor! You can all go to hell!’

One of the guards dashed forward and lunged at Blackdown with a rifle butt, hitting him squarely in the side of the head. He was bowled over and landed clumsily on the harsh stone. The guard was about to lash out again when Lansdowne’s voice called out.

‘Leave him be!’

Blackdown groaned, clutching his spinning head. He glanced up at Lord Tresham, who was rubbing his throat and gasping, and passed him a secret wink as Lansdowne strode up to the fallen man.

‘He still refuses to join,’ said Tresham.

‘So I see. Get him in the carriage; we’re keeping everyone waiting,’ snarled Lansdowne. He watched as Blackdown was dragged away. ‘Ravenbard wants you there, Lord Tresham, to watch proceedings,’ he said without looking at him.

‘I refuse,’ Tresham said.

Lansdowne turned to him. ‘No you do not,’ he said, and wandered purposefully away. ‘You have no choice in the matter.’

The carriage came to an untidy halt. Blackdown could not see his two companions, for the inside of the windowless carriage had been in total darkness. Their bonds had been secured before the door had been slammed shut and locked, so there was little chance of trying to make an escape. The journey appeared to have taken a lengthy time, down roads little more than cattle tracks from all accounts, their bodies thrown wildly against each other with the lurching. But now it had stopped and an unearthly, almost palpable silence descended.

The door swung open and lamplight flooded in, lighting up Jack Fowler’s terrified face. He backed away, as if trying to conceal himself from the men by shrinking into a corner of the carriage, but a pistol was thrust inside and a voice beckoned them all out. Blackdown was the first to rise and step out. He found himself surrounded by dark, almost formless trees, a shallow breeze rippling through them and causing them to hiss like the rushing of water over rocks. He glanced above the tree line; the sky was cloudless, stars crisp and bright, like holes puncturing the black velvet of heaven. A round, grinning full moon shone like a beacon and silvered the track on which they now gathered. He could smell the familiar tang of autumn, the damp leaves, the wet, musty smell of earth. The faint but acrid smell of wood smoke drifted over to him.

The three men were surrounded by at least ten armed men, all with scarves covering their lower faces. Without further ado the prisoners were bundled along, men at their head and following behind. As they broached the top of a hill, the trees gave way a little and Blackdown could see the misty flickering of a large fire burning about two miles away, a cloud of dense smoke rising from it, and he caught the rattling of metal against metal, and the thumping of drums, the sounds growing stronger and then weaker with the coming and going of the breeze. The burning of the effigy, he thought darkly.

He was shoved in the back, told to move, and the three men were led into a black tunnel formed by dense overhanging trees, the lamp lighting the way but failing to pierce the Stygian blackness ahead.

Presently they saw lights cutting through the gloom and came across two lines of men, each holding a lamp high above their heads. The three men were paraded down the centre of them and brought to a clearing where the masked men from the chamber had regrouped, the man in the wolf-mask at their centre. Blackdown recognised Lord Tresham amongst them, again wearing his white mask. They all stood in silence, but there was a detectable frisson of excitement running through the gathering.

Lansdowne, until now unseen, stepped out of the darkness and faced the prisoners. His slender form was lit by the shivering lamplight, giving him an ethereal, ghostly appearance, as if he would simply fade and disappear into the dark at any given moment.

‘Gentlemen – welcome to the arena. Your proving ground. Your lives will depend upon how you behave in the next hour. You will be taken down and released into Devilbowl Wood. Your task is to traverse its length and emerge alive.’

‘Go to hell, Lansdowne,’ Blackdown snarled. ‘And you – Ravenbard – show your damned cowardly face!’

‘Hell?’ Lansdowne grinned. ‘It is you that faces hell, Thomas.’ He held out his arm in a deliberate point. Robert Caldwell lifted his lamp at the command to reveal a small box-like carriage on four wheels nearby. At this the strange carriage rocked violently and a fear-provoking, guttural growl came from within. ‘You will have but fifteen minutes head start and then we release your hunter. He has been starved and is eager for the chase and the kill. Your simple task is to avoid being killed, but for the two of you that are soldiers there is nothing unusual in that.’ He strode over to the prisoners, but in particular addressed Blackdown. ‘Within the confines of the bowl are three small clearings. You have to find them, of course, which will not be easy. Within each clearing you will find a white silk neckerchief hanging from a branch. Collect all three and you will go free.’

‘That’s a lie and you know it, Lansdowne,’ Blackdown said, his eyes narrowing. ‘We are meant to die tonight, one way or the other, for the pleasure of your traitorous patrons. No man ever escapes the arena.’

Lansdowne shrugged. ‘Then it is for you to prove the exception to the rule, Thomas.’ He bent close. ‘We left your tongue in your mouth because there are additional wagers placed on whether you will scream out for mercy. I say you will, and have placed a significant wager to that effect.’

‘I promise I will kill you, Lansdowne,’ he said insistently. ‘And you’ll be the one screaming out for mercy.’

Lansdowne’s smiled faded and he turned around. He stared at the shadowy form of the wolf-masked figure, who gave a slow nod. ‘Ravenbard demands the games begin,’ said Lansdowne.

‘Remember my promise…’ said Blackdown as the three men were shoved brusquely towards an opening in the trees, looking like the unfathomable maw of a giant beast about to swallow them whole.

The ground beneath their feet shelved steeply as they staggered through the narrow passage, the trees arching overhead, unseen brambles tearing at their legs, the moon glimpsed briefly through the ragged treetops. Then the ground levelled out and Blackdown knew they’d reached the base of the huge bowl that gave Devilbowl Wood its name. They were in a small clearing. All men automatically turned to their captors. There were at least eight men, all armed, weapons pointing in their direction. Behind the guards they saw the strange carriage being trundled down the slope by more uniformed men, who brought it to a halt. They heard snarls and shuffling from within, and Jack Fowler gasped in fear at the gut-wrenching sounds. Two men, one of them Robert Caldwell, stood by the carriage, keys dangling from his hands. They hovered near a rusted old lock on what appeared to be a small door.

The other guard reached into his pocket and withdrew a watch. He calmly opened the case, held it before a lamp and peered at the dial. More men stepped forward and began to untie the prisoners, a bristling wall of firearms aimed at them. ‘You have fifteen minutes,’ said the man with the watch as the ropes and chains were taken from the three men.

As soon as Fowler was released he turned and fled noisily into the brush. Blackdown and Callisto watched him flee. The prize-fighter stared at Blackdown, who was rubbing life back into his hands.

‘Don’t even think about doing anything rash, Blackdown,’ said the guard. ‘You’ll be shot dead in an instant.’ He glanced at his pocket watch. ‘What are you waiting for? Time is running out.’

‘I’m memorising your face,’ he replied.

The guard’s cool demeanour showed evidence of cracking for an instant as he looked deep into Blackdown’s uncompromising eyes. But he lifted his pistol and aimed it squarely at Blackdown’s chest. ‘I could shoot you here and now, tell Lansdowne you tried to rush me.’

‘And spoil their fun?’ Blackdown laughed, which had the effect of unsettling the guard further. He turned to Callisto. ‘Come, let’s see if we can find our friend Fowler before he does himself harm.’

Blackdown spun on his heel and stepped out of the clearing and into the wood. Callisto followed. The two men plunged into the foliage, Blackdown picking up speed as soon as he was certain he was out of sight of the guards. A few minutes passed and then he paused, turning at last to Callisto, whose face was terrified.

‘We’re in one hell of a pickle here, Callisto,’ said Blackdown. He pointed. ‘I have explored this place already. The ridge all around the wood is guarded by Lansdowne’s private army, and set with many mantraps to prevent our escape. We have both seen what this beast-man can do. We are no match for his strength or his cunning. At least, not as individuals. But together we can beat this game of theirs.’

Callisto grunted and searched the undergrowth. He picked up a hefty branch and weighed it in his hand.

‘I think we will need more than that,’ said Blackdown, ‘but it is a start.’ He sighed, put a hand on the man’s bare, muscled arm. ‘We’ll make them pay for what they did to you, Callisto. For what they did to my brother.’

Callisto’s face set granite-hard and he put a finger to his severed tongue without thinking. It was then they heard the loud rustling of leaves, the cracking of branches underfoot. Blackdown held up a hand and they held their breaths. With his hand still held aloft, Blackdown pushed quietly through the undergrowth and Jack Fowler gave a shriek from his temporary hiding place and bolted from cover like a rabbit.

‘Fowler, wait!’ Blackdown insisted. ‘We must stick together!’

But Fowler was gone in an instant, swallowed by the foliage. They heard his blind blundering, his terror-stricken body crashing through the undergrowth.

‘He makes more noise than a rampaging elephant,’ said Blackdown. ‘Our time is nearly up. They will be releasing the beast-man any time now. It will not take him long to find us, so you must do as I say, Callisto. When I demand quiet, you will fall as quiet as a mouse, do you understand?’ He waited till Callisto nodded. ‘We must reach the pool at Devilbowl Wood’s centre.’

Callisto frowned, touched Blackdown on the arm, his expression questioning.

‘Trust me, I know what I am doing.’

‘Are you certain it is safe?’ the guard asked, failing to hide the trembling in his voice.

Robert Caldwell glowered at his companion derisively. His unkempt appearance gave the impression of a common farmhand. He had a leather whip in one hand. ‘I am the beast’s master,’ he said, a grin splitting his face. ‘His trainer. He is safe with me, safe with Robert Caldwell – but I would not let him see you. My boy dislikes strangers.’

The guards backed nervously away, standing some distance behind the carriage. ‘I hope Harvey Grey trained you well in his arts, Caldwell,’ said the guard, attempting to inject a little courage into his voice.

‘I know all that he knew and more. I am better at the job than he.’ He slid the key into the lock. The creature within the carriage began to growl, and gave two deep barks like that of a German Shepherd. The carriage rocked with his pacing. ‘I am master of the beast now,’ Caldwell said. ‘He’ll only kill at my command. Lansdowne trusts me with his beast-man and no other. I have powers over the beast that not even Harvey Grey had. Grey knew that. So did Pettigrew. I am the master of this game now, while you – you are but Lansdowne’s lowly foot soldier.’

‘As you used to be, too, Caldwell. Do not forget that,’ said the guard, eyeing the man as he turned the key. ‘It’s not so long ago you were a poor redcoat, one of Wellington’s scum.’ There was a resounding snap of metal as the wooden door was unlocked. The guards, as one, took another step backwards and raised their firearms.

‘Aye. And I fought long and hard for His Grace, and for my king and country, and look what thanks I got when it was all done with. Living the life of a beggar before Pettigrew took me in and gave me work, a place to shelter. To hell with king and country, that’s what I say! What time is it?’

The guard looked at his pocket watch. ‘Two minutes to go,’ he said.

‘And to hell with two minutes,’ Caldwell said, sliding a bolt and opening the door.

The clearing fell silent, save for the rustling of the leaves and the men’s heavy, expectant breathing. Nothing stirred from within the carriage.

Then, in a blur, a large black shape covered in hair bound from the vehicle and ran on all fours to the edge of the clearing. Here it stopped, its upper torso caught in a puddle of moonlight, its craggy head slowly turning to face the men. It bared its teeth and hissed, saliva dripping from the corner of its wide mouth. It lunged unexpectedly towards the men, growling, its hairy muscular form appearing to ripple, and one of the guards gave a tiny, muffled scream of terror. But the beast halted ten yards before Caldwell.

Caldwell held up the whip. ‘Get back, you brute. Get in there and find them! Kill them, boy! Kill them all!’

The creature, for the most part bathed in shadow, its eyes reflecting the moonlight, swayed a little as if caught by a strong breeze. It studied Caldwell closely, sniffed the air, a clawed hand clutching the earth. It raised its head and gave a prolonged icy howl, and with that it sprang into the brush and was lost from sight.

‘It is the devil’s child!’ said the guard, his voice tremulous.

Robert Caldwell smiled. ‘He is
my
child,’ he said with pride. ‘My dear, dear boy!’

Jack Fowler had experienced much that was horrific in war. As a youngster it had made him physically sick, much to the amusement of his fellow soldiers. But some of them were no more than animals and devoid of feeling, of human compassion, recruited from some of the worst parts of the worst towns and cities – thieves, outcasts, murderers, and the army took them all and put lethal weapons in their hands. He’d seen gut-wrenching instances of the bloody remains of dead and mutilated women and children in Spain and Portugal, massacred by the French army; but he had also seen at first hand the brutality of the British forces, especially towards the enemy. War brought out the beast in many. Jack Fowler was no beast. He had been a farmhand, forced into the army through starvation. He was so emaciated that even the desperate recruiting sergeant offering the king’s shilling almost refused to accept him. Jack Fowler had begged him to take him on, and eventually take him on he did. And so Jack Fowler became a soldier, a proud member of the 95
th
Rifles, a Greenjacket, his skill with a rifle invaluable to the skirmishing role they played.