Текст книги "Dying Fall"

Автор книги: Elly Griffiths

Соавторы: Elly Griffiths
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

CHAPTER 19

After a few minutes in the Pendle Forest, Nelson is thinking longingly of Blackpool. It’s another rainy day and the clouds are low over the fields. The grass is black, the streams grey and troubled. Nelson drives slowly through the twisting lanes, cursing when he has to stop for sheep or cattle grids. Next to him, Cathbad hums serenely, looking at the lowering landscape with every appearance of pleasure. When they stop at a crossroads, a raven, huge and jet-black, regards them from the top of the signpost.

‘That,’ says Cathbad, ‘is a very bad omen.’

‘Do me a favour,’ says Nelson. ‘Don’t tell me why.’ Cathbad had, earlier, offered to tell Nelson the story of the Pendle Witches and was rudely rebuffed. ‘I don’t want to hear any bloody silly fairy stories, thanks very much.’ Cathbad hadn’t been offended although now the bird’s appearance seems to have jolted him.

‘Ravens are meant to speak with the voices of the dead,’ he says.

‘Save it for my mum,’ says Nelson. He hasn’t forgiven Cathbad for the tea party, which lasted until nearly seven o’clock. Maureen had told Cathbad all her psychic experiences and he had suggested that she might be a reincarnation of an Egyptian prophetess.

‘Your mother’s a wonderful woman,’ says Cathbad.

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

Maureen keeps saying that they must have Cathbad and Ruth for dinner one night. She persists in thinking of them as a couple (‘the babby’s the image of her daddy’) and wonders why they haven’t got married. It’s driving Nelson mad. Today Ruth has gone to see Susan Chow, the county archaeologist. She’s taken Kate with her so it’ll be a short trip.

‘Which way now?’ Nelson asks.

‘Left. Towards Fence.’

‘Jesus. What sort of a person lives in a godforsaken place like this?’

‘The same sort of person who lives on the Saltmarsh,’ says Cathbad, with a sly sideways glance.

Nelson doesn’t reply. He might not approve of Ruth’s choice of location (it’s no place to bring up a child) but he doesn’t like anyone else to criticise her. Besides, Ruth’s nothing like this Pendragon nutcase.

They reach the steep valley with the white house in the middle, like the epiglottis in a giant throat. Nelson parks the car by the gate and they approach the cottage on foot. As they walk, the wind suddenly picks up and the stunted trees on the hill lash to and fro. A flock of birds flies overhead, low and sinister.

‘Why the hell hasn’t he got a proper drive?’ asks Nelson. He could walk all day on pavements but something about the countryside makes him uneasy.

‘He hasn’t got a car,’ says Cathbad.

‘Typical.’

This time Pendragon does not come out to meet them, gun in hand. Perhaps some sixth sense has told him that this isn’t a good idea with a policeman around. They reach the front door undisturbed.

‘Pen!’ shouts Cathbad. ‘It’s me. Cathbad.’

His voice echoes dramatically around the valley. Pen, pen, pen, pen. Bad, bad, bad, bad …

‘I knew he’d be out,’ says Nelson.’ That’s what you get for not being on the phone. He’s probably gone to some wizard’s tea party.’

Cathbad tries the handle. The door opens. The next moment a solid wedge of fur and muscle flies at him.

‘Jesus.’ Nelson takes a step back.

‘It’s OK,’ says Cathbad, from a sitting position on the hearthrug. ‘He’s friendly.’

‘I can see that,’ says Nelson, rather ashamed of his reaction. He likes dogs and once owned a German Shepherd called (funnily enough) Max.

‘Hello, boy,’ says Cathbad, getting to his feet. ‘Where’s your master?’

‘Away with the fairies,’ says Nelson, looking round the low-ceilinged room with its twinkling dream-catchers. It’s like stepping back in time, he thinks. No TV, no telephone. Not even, unless he’s much mistaken, any electric light. His worst fears are realised when Cathbad lights an oil lamp to search the rest of the house. Thing, apparently undisturbed, lies down in front of the fire.

Nelson squats down and examines the embers. Still smouldering. Wherever he is, Pendragon can’t have gone far.

*

Susan Chow is a small, neat woman who makes Ruth feel like she’s more than usually enormous. She and Kate seem to fill Susan’s little office above the county library. First the pushchair gets stuck in the doorway, then Ruth can’t manoeuvre herself around the wheels to sit at the desk opposite Susan. Eventually she manages, knocking over a pile of books and a papier-mâché model of a Neolithic causewayed enclosure. She leaves Kate in the pushchair, hoping that her picture book will keep her entertained. It’s a present from Cathbad, a rather New-Agey publication called Sun, Moon, Stars. Kate loves it and refuses to be parted from it. Now she sucks a page ruminatively.

‘Thanks for seeing me,’ says Ruth, setting the enclosure back on the desk.

‘My pleasure,’ says Susan. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Dan.’

‘Me too,’ says Ruth. She doesn’t know what to say when people seem to offer her condolences about Dan. She isn’t qualified to accept them; she hasn’t seen him for nearly twenty years. All she can do is say that she’s sorry too.

‘I wanted to ask you,’ says Ruth, ‘about the day when Dan excavated the skeleton at Ribchester. You were there, weren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ says Susan, frowning slightly. ‘It was a very exciting find.’

‘I know,’ says Ruth. She hasn’t yet told Susan about the switched bones, though she knows she will have to. Now she says, ‘The bones were taken straight to the forensics lab, weren’t they?’

‘Yes,’ says Susan, sounding rather defensive. ‘I was satisfied that there was no need for an autopsy. The bones were sealed inside the tomb and we could date that pretty accurately. Mid to late fifth century.’

‘But was it standard for the bones to go to a specialist laboratory? Why not the university?’

Susan straightens the pens on her desk. ‘Clayton Henry felt they’d be safer at the laboratory. I don’t know if you know, Doctor Galloway, but there has been some unrest at Pendle recently. Far-right groups who might feel a particular interest in this find.’

‘Because of the possible connection with King Arthur?’

Susan inclines her head. ‘That’s correct.’

‘How would they have known?’

‘Word gets out. You know what universities are like.’

Ruth does know. When she got pregnant, her students knew before her parents did.

‘Did you see the bones when Dan was excavating?’ asks Ruth.

Susan looks surprised. ‘Yes. He did the actual excavation but we were all observing.’

‘All?’

‘Me, Professor Henry, his wife, some students, a few volunteers. Why do you ask?’

Ruth doesn’t answer straight away. Instead she asks, ‘Was Dan satisfied that there was just one skeleton in the tomb?’

Now Susan looks definitely intrigued. ‘Yes. We all saw it. The body was laid out in a supine position, arms across the chest, palms in pronation.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Dan thought the skeleton was definitely male, full grown, adult teeth erupted. Cause of death unclear, no obvious signs of trauma or disease. He guessed the age at about fifty, perhaps older. Of course we won’t know until the test results come back.’

‘Did you see Dan take any samples of tooth and bone for testing?’

‘Yes. He did it at the site.’

‘Where did he take them?’

‘Back to the university, I presume. Doctor Galloway, what is all this about?’

As briefly as possible, Ruth explains her discovery at CNN Forensics. Susan Chow looks completely stunned.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure there were at least two different bodies. I’ve sent samples for C14 testing and isotope analysis. Then I’ll know whether they’re from the same period or not.’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Professor Chow,’ says Ruth, rocking the pushchair with her foot. Kate has started to make ominous growling noises. ‘Who drove the bones to the lab?’

Susan frowns. ‘I think it was one of the students.’

‘Guy Delaware?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Do you know Guy at all?’

‘Only by sight. He was one of Dan’s students.’

‘Guy says that he was fully involved in the excavation. “A joint project,” he said.’

Susan smiles, rather sadly, as if she is remembering something.

‘Guy might have been involved but it was Dan’s project through and through. He was obsessed with it. As soon as he suspected who might be buried in the tomb, he was a man possessed.’

Despite herself, Ruth feels rather glad. She ought to be pleased that Guy wants to carry on Dan’s work but she finds herself feeling oddly possessive about the project – and about Dan.

She leans forward, addressing Susan over Kate’s angrily bobbing head. ‘Do you know if Dan saw the bones again after Guy delivered them to the lab?’

‘I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid. We were all waiting for the results to come back before going any further.’

‘Do you know which lab Dan used for the analysis?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t. I left all that to Dan. He was very experienced.’ But he’s also dead, thinks Ruth, and all his work has vanished. Along with the bones that might belong to King Arthur himself.

‘Did anyone take photographs of the excavation?’ she asks.

‘Dan took some on his phone. And I took some for the county records.’

‘Could I see them?’

‘Yes. I’ll get copies made.’ Susan Chow still sounds troubled. ‘I’ve heard that the police are investigating Dan’s death. Do you think that this could be connected?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Ruth, ‘but I’ve learnt to be a bit wary of coincidences.’

Susan is about to answer when Kate, with a roar of rage, hurls Sun, Moon, Stars from the pushchair, knocking the causewayed enclosure to the floor once again.

*

As Kate destroys Susan Chow’s office, Sandy and Tim are actually at CNN Forensics. They are talking to Terry Durkin about the switched bones. It’s a slightly delicate situation. The police use the company a lot but Sandy disapproves of outsourcing anything and views all scientific experts with extreme suspicion. To make matters worse, Peter Greengrass, the CEO of CNN Forensics, was once a senior police forensics officer and an old enemy of Sandy’s. Now, he is offending Terry Durkin by treating him as one of his own subordinates. Tim, in between taking notes, tries to stop his boss addressing Terry as ‘Durkin’ or, worse, ‘Constable’.

‘So Constable,’ says Sandy, ‘who assigned you to this case?’

‘Mr Greengrass,’ says Terry.

‘Pete eh,’ says Sandy grimly. ‘How’s old Grassy Arse these days?’

‘He’s very well,’ says Terry. ‘He’s just received the Queen’s Commendation for his forensic work.’

‘Did he?’ says Sandy, who feels his own OBE is distinctly overdue. ‘Nice work if you can get it. So you were asked to look after these bones. Did you log them in?’

‘Yes,’ says Terry, handing over a plastic wallet. ‘The paperwork’s all here.’

Sandy doesn’t even glance down but Tim takes the wallet and looks through the papers inside. Everything seems correct. The bones were logged in by one Guy Delaware of Pendle University.

‘Who has visited the bones since they’ve been here?’ asks Sandy.

‘I don’t know,’ says Terry. ‘I’d have to check. A few people from the university have been. And Doctor Galloway the other day.’

Tim reads out from one of the photocopied sheets: ‘Bones were logged in on May 10th. Dan Golding visited several times. Guy Delaware visited on May 11th, Elaine Morgan on May 13th, Clayton Henry on May 16th.’

‘Guy Delaware,’ says Sandy. ‘He was the next-door neighbour, right? The one who called the fire brigade.’

Not for the first time, Tim makes a mental note not to underestimate his boss. Sandy has almost certainly lost the record of the 999 call but there’s nothing wrong with his memory. Guy Delaware had indeed made that call.

‘Yes,’ says Tim. ‘Elaine Morgan lived next door as well.’

‘All very cosy,’ says Sandy. He turns to Terry. ‘Why would these characters be dropping in? What were they doing?’

Terry shrugs. ‘Doing tests, taking samples for analysis, just looking. I don’t know. These bones were long dead. It’s not as if there was a police investigation.’ He looks meaningfully at Sandy.

‘Were any of these people alone with the bones?’ asks Tim.

‘Yes,’ says Terry, sounding defensive now. ‘I left them to it. Like I say, the site wasn’t sealed.’

Sandy, who has had his own experiences with sealed sites, says, ‘Could any of these people have taken some of the bones away and substituted others?’

Terry looks amazed, his sandy eyebrows disappearing into his hair. ‘Why would anyone want to do that?’

‘Just answer the question, Constable.’

Terry looks about to object, but after a martyred glance at Tim, says, ‘It’s not possible. Bags are checked on entry and departure.’

‘Who checks them?’

‘The officer on the door. Or me, if no-one else is available.’

‘So they couldn’t have switched the bones brought in on 10th May and replaced them with the bones of some other poor sod?’

‘Is that what you think happened?’

‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ says Sandy, getting up. ‘This is a police matter now.’

*

The dream-catchers go into a frenzy as Nelson and Cathbad rampage around the house looking for Pendragon. His bed upstairs is neatly made, the ubiquitous collection of shells and feathers hanging overhead as well as (more surprisingly) a large crucifix. The other rooms upstairs seem to be full of junk. Downstairs there’s a bathroom and a kitchen, both high on period charm and low on appliances. There is food for Thing in the kitchen as well as a covered saucepan containing what look like herbs in water.

‘Funny sort of stew,’ says Nelson.

‘It’s an infusion,’ says Cathbad. ‘I don’t know what for.’

They go outside into the walled garden. Nelson is about to trample over Dame Alice’s herbs when Cathbad calls him back. Besides, there’s no need to search, they can see the whole garden from the back step. It’s a tangle of long grass and cow parsley. The only plants that Pendragon has cultivated are the herbs. Lemon-balm and rosemary stand in neatly turned earth and there is an old beer barrel full of mint. Otherwise the weeds and the brambles run unchecked. At the back of the garden there are apple trees, already heavy with fruit, and in the centre there’s a sundial. Beyond the wall, the hill climbs steeply up to the sky, dark purple with gorse. From one of the trees, a blackbird watches them.

Nelson turns to go back into the house and almost falls over a bowl of cherries on the step.

‘What the hell’s that doing there?’

‘I think it’s an offering,’ says Cathbad. ‘The house used to be owned by Dame Alice Barley, one of the Pendle Witches, and Pendragon told me that he leaves gifts for her.’

Nelson stares at him. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes. Pendragon says that the libations have always vanished by morning.’

Nelson picks up the bowl. The fruit looks sticky and rotten; a worm is poking out of one of the cherries.

‘Well, Dame Alice isn’t playing today.’

They go back into the house, which seems darker and more oppressive than ever. Thing drinks noisily out of a bowl in the kitchen.

‘Pendragon’s not here,’ says Nelson. ‘We’d better go back.’

‘I’d like to stay for a bit,’ says Cathbad.

Nelson turns to stare at him. ‘Why?’

‘Well, someone’s got to look after Thing.’

‘Thing?’

‘The dog.’

‘He’ll be fine. He’s got enough food for a week.’

‘All the same,’ says Cathbad. ‘I want to stay. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.’

Nelson is about to tell him not to talk rubbish but even he feels something odd about the little house. So odd, in fact, that Nelson suddenly feels desperate to get back to Blackpool, the Golden Mile, traffic, Michelle.

‘I can’t leave you here with no car.’

‘I’ll be fine. It’s only a few miles to Fence. And I’ve got a phone.’ He brandishes an ancient-looking mobile.

‘Well, ring if you’re in any trouble. I’d better get back to the family.’

When he’s back in the car he thinks that there must be something very sinister indeed about Dame Alice’s cottage. He’s even looking forward to seeing Maureen.

CHAPTER 20

Ruth is bumping the pushchair down the staircase. Kate is still complaining loudly, pushing against the straps and yelling ‘Out, out, out’ like some miniature activist. Susan Chow had offered to help with the stairs but Ruth just wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Besides it’d take Susan a while to get her room back in order. So Ruth ignores Kate’s shouts and heads for the front door of the library. In a few minutes, she’ll be out in the open air and maybe they can go to a park or something.

‘Can I help you?’

A man appears at the foot of the stairs. Ruth says no thank you, she’s fine and is about to hurry past when the man says, ‘It’s Ruth, isn’t it?’

Ruth looks round in surprise. She doesn’t expect to know anyone in Blackpool (apart from Maureen, that is, and she wouldn’t put it past her to have mastered the art of shape-changing).

‘It’s Sam,’ says the man. ‘Sam Elliot. We met at Clayton’s party.’

Oh yes. Sam, Dan’s friend. He seems friendly enough but Kate is still yelling and Ruth is terrified that the people in the library will hear her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’ve got to go. We’ll get chucked out in a minute.’

‘I’ll help you,’ says Sam, opening the main doors.

Outside they are on a busy Blackpool street and Kate is quiet immediately. ‘Sun,’ she says, ‘Moon, stars.’ None of these things are visible at the moment – it’s eleven-thirty on a grey August morning – but Ruth is just relieved that she has stopped shouting.

‘Thanks,’ she says to Sam. ‘I don’t think Kate’s a big fan of quiet libraries.’

‘Libraries aren’t quiet these days,’ says Sam. ‘It’s all multimedia and outreach and gift shops.’

Blackpool Central Library is a grand old Victorian building, but inside it is indeed a brave new world of plate glass and electronic displays. Ruth rather misses the dusty bookshelves of her student days.

Sam says, ‘I shouldn’t complain about outreach. I’m here to give a talk on Blackpool in the war. The library is really hot on local history.’

‘Sounds interesting,’ says Ruth. ‘I was visiting the county archaeologist.’

‘Susan Chow?’ says Sam. ‘Is this about Dan’s discovery?’

‘Yes,’ says Ruth, not sure how much she should tell him. Sam says he was Dan’s friend but how can she be sure? And, as Susan said, news travels fast amongst academics.

‘Look,’ says Sam. ‘I’ve got half an hour before my lecture. Would you like to get a cup of coffee?’

Kate is silent, watching the buses go past, so Ruth says yes.

*

After a while, Cathbad decides that he’d better tackle Dame Alice head on. It’s no good hiding from the fact – Pendragon has disappeared and Dame Alice must know where he is. She didn’t seem to like the cherries much so Cathbad searches for something better. In the fridge he finds four cans of beer, and in the larder some rather crumbly oatcakes. No wine, unfortunately, but Dame Alice was probably a tough countrywoman who liked a good pint of stout. This is Guinness, which, Cathbad reckons, should be good enough for anyone. Pen must have got the taste for it when he lived in Ireland. Cathbad fills a glass with the beautiful black liquid and finishes the can himself. He has a feeling that he might need it before the day is over.

He goes outside into the garden because that’s where he felt her presence the strongest. The clouds are still dark overhead and the bird still watches from the tree. Even when Thing runs out of the house, barking wildly, the bird does not fly away.

Cathbad places the Guinness and the oatcake on the sundial. He raises his hands to the sky: ‘Dame Alice, accept my offering and help me find my friend.’

Thing stops his mad circling and comes to sit at Cathbad’s feet. For a few moments everything is completely still and then, from the apple tree, the bird caws once.

Cathbad reckons that’s all the answer he’s going to get.

*

They go to an Italian cafe where Kate is treated like a queen. She gets a special chair, a frothy milk drink and a selection of tiny cakes glistening with glazed fruit. Sam and Ruth get more prosaic cappuccinos, though these too are excellent. The proprietor obviously thinks Kate is their (joint) child and is fulsome with compliments. Ruth is getting used to people making assumptions about Kate’s parentage but Sam is obviously uncomfortable.

‘She’s not …’ he says when Signor Tino tells him to savour each fleeting moment of Kate’s babyhood. ‘Oh, never mind.’

‘Do you have children?’ asks Ruth.

‘No,’ says Sam. ‘Too late now, I suppose.’ His voice is cheerful but his eyes look rather sad. He has a weather-beaten face with light blue eyes that look very directly at you. He has a boyish outdoorsy look, like a grown-up scout, though his hair is starting to recede.

‘You’ve got plenty of time,’ says Ruth. ‘How old are you?’

‘Forty-two.’

‘Same as me.’ Same as Dan, she thinks.

‘Anyway,’ she says. ‘There’s no rush for a man. No biological clock, I mean.’

‘No,’ says Sam, putting sugar in his coffee. ‘But I had kind of expected to be married with kids by now.’

He looks like a dad, thinks Ruth. The sort of father who would take his children swimming and cycling. Camping in summer with a small excitable dog in the back of the Volvo. It turns out that she was right about the dog. Sam tells her that he has a Jack Russell called Griffin. Ruth volunteers that she has a cat.

‘I always thought I’d end up a single woman alone with her cat,’ she says. ‘I never expected to be married or have children. Well, I’m not married but I do have Kate.’

‘Cake,’ says Kate loudly. Signor Tino is instantly at her side with new supplies.

‘You’re lucky.’

‘I know.’

There is a short silence and then Sam says, ‘So why were you seeing Susan?’

Ruth is expecting this question but is still not sure how to answer it. She doesn’t want to tell Sam about the switched bones but, on the other hand, he might be able to give her some useful information.

‘I was asking about the excavation,’ she says. ‘Were you there?’

‘I was at the early digs,’ he says. ‘But I’m a modern historian, not an archaeologist. Guy’s the man you should ask.’

‘Was Guy a friend of Dan’s?’

‘Yes,’ says Sam, wincing slightly as Kate drops a cream cake on the floor. ‘They were good friends even after …’

Ruth picks up the cake. She has to resist a temptation to eat it. ‘Even after what?’

‘Well, Elaine is Guy’s best friend. I don’t think there’s anything sexual there. They’re more like brother and sister. So when Elaine started seeing Dan …’

‘Elaine went out with Dan?’ This would tie in with Elaine’s appearance at Dan’s funeral (in Sam’s company) but Ruth still can’t quite see the two together.

‘Yes. They had quite a romance. It was all very intense. But then they broke up and Elaine went back to living with Guy. But, all the time, Dan and Guy – and Elaine too – were working on the dig together. It must have been very difficult sometimes.’

‘Why did they break up?’

‘I don’t know. I think, from something Dan said that he just didn’t want to get involved in a serious relationship. After all, he hadn’t been divorced long.’

‘So Dan was the one who finished it?’

‘I think so. Yes.’

Then Elaine moved back next door. It sounded like some French farce with the same people going in and out of the same doors, but Ruth is sure that it didn’t seem funny at the time. Suddenly, as clear as day, she remembers the 68 bus and Dan’s lips pressed to hers. She wonders whether Elaine was in love with him.

‘Did Dan tell you much about the dig?’ she asks.

‘At the beginning. He told me about the Raven God and all that. It was exciting because Britain was meant to be Christian at the time, but here was this pagan temple. But the bones … no. He didn’t tell me about them.’

I wonder why not, thinks Ruth. ‘Have you ever heard anything about any Neo-Nazi groups on campus?’ she asks. ‘Anyone who might have had an interest in the dig?’

Sam, like Clayton before him, looks uncomfortable. ‘We all know about the far right, but they’re a load of nutters. No one takes them seriously.’

‘Have you heard of a group called the White Hand? A sort of splinter group.’

Sam shakes his head. ‘The White Hand? No, I don’t think so.’

But Dan was afraid of something, thinks Ruth. And so, apparently, was Guy. After all, he was the one who insisted on taking the bones to the police lab.

‘I’ve got to go,’ says Sam, looking at his watch. ‘Nice to meet you again. Do get in touch with Guy, he knows everything about the excavation. After all, he’s the one writing the book now.’

‘What?’

‘Yes. After Dan died, Guy thought that he should write a book about the discovery. As a kind of tribute to Dan. Bye, Ruth. Bye, Kate.’

He pats Kate on the head and she puts a jammy hand on his back. Ruth hopes he won’t notice.

‘Bye bye, Daddy,’ says Signor Tino tenderly.

*

As the afternoon draws on, Thing starts to get more and more nervous. He whimpers, he stares at the door, he walks round and round the main room, always coming back to sit at Cathbad’s feet and stare at him fixedly. Cathbad, after eating some bread and cheese from the larder and drinking another can of Guinness, has decided that the best thing to do is to sit and wait. So he sits in the wizard’s chair by the fire and tries to connect with the energies of the house. After a while he is so successful that he falls asleep. He wakes to find the room much colder and Thing with a paw on his knee, looking up entreatingly.

‘OK,’ says Cathbad, ‘you win.’

He gets up, rubbing his arms to bring the circulation back. He’s wearing a jacket and a jumper but he’s still cold. He wishes he’d brought his cloak, which – as he’s always telling Nelson – is warm and practical as well as being a symbol of his druidical power. To be honest, he could do with a little of that power right now.

Thing leads him to the foot of the stairs and Cathbad decides to go up and have another look around. There could be an attic somewhere that they had overlooked the first time. The thought of what they might find in such a room sends the first real shivers of fear down his spine.

Cathbad lights another oil lamp. The house is much darker now, the corners have almost disappeared into the shadows, and it’ll be even darker upstairs, where the windows are small. He decides to search thoroughly, looking for clues. What he’s looking for he doesn’t quite know but he knows something is wrong in the little house; just as Thing knows, his nose pressed to Cathbad’s leg, tail between legs; just as Dame Alice knows, although she’s keeping her own counsel.

Cathbad makes a methodical tour of Pendragon’s bedroom, a long, low room with a double bed under the vaulted eaves. Pendragon would have had trouble standing up in here, thinks Cathbad. The bed is neatly made with a patchwork quilt, the bedside table empty apart from a teacup containing mouldy leaves and a book of old ballads. Cathbad opens the oak chest at the foot of the bed. It is full of bed linen, carefully folded with lavender. The wardrobe, jammed under one of the beams, contains a collection of robes as well as some more utilitarian garments, mostly jeans and work shirts. There is nothing else in the room, no bookcase, no photographs, nothing of a personal nature at all. Cathbad glances up at the wooden crucifix on the wall and offers up a quick prayer to Saint Anthony, patron saint of finding things. Help me find Pendragon before it’s too late.

The other two rooms are full of personal stuff. Tea chests full of books, an old bicycle, sundry items of broken furniture, a huge Victorian bird cage, several gloomy old paintings, even a chipped cistern and sink. Pendragon obviously just shuts the door on these rooms and lives in minimalist splendour in the master bedroom. Cathbad is about to go back downstairs when something flashes across his brain, like a subliminal advertising message. There was another door. It was in Pendragon’s bedroom, just by the wardrobe. A low door, half hidden by a curtain. Cathbad turns back, trying to find a calming mantra to slow his heart down.

The door is locked but Cathbad, who has an excellent visual memory, remembers a bunch of keys hanging by the larder in the kitchen. He runs back downstairs, Thing clattering at his side. He spends a few frustrating minutes trying different keys but eventually one – an unobtrusive Yale – fits.

He switches on the light and sees a tiny room, barely six feet wide, containing a desk, office chair and laptop. Cathbad pauses. Something shocking has just happened. What was it? He switched on the light … In a house lit by oil-fired lamps, he has switched on a light. And in front of him is a perfect slice of twenty-first-century life. Desk, laptop, mobile phone, even an iPod in its dock. Shelves hold lever-arch files and a wireless modem twinkles with green lights. It is as if he has gone forward in time, stepped into the wardrobe and discovered a high-tech Narnia. But even as he sits at the desk, he knows that this hidden room can’t mean anything good. Pendragon must have his reasons for hiding his links with the outside world but Cathbad can’t think of any that make him see his old friend in a warm and twinkly light.

He opens the laptop. It asks him for a password and – exercising his psychic powers – he guesses ‘Thing’. The computer flashes into life. The first file he sees is titled White Hand. Cathbad’s heart sinks. He doesn’t want to find out any more. He is about to close the case when something catches his eye, a silver pimple at the side of the screen. A memory stick. He clicks onto the C drive and reads the words ‘Dan’s Computer’.

*

Ruth is on the beach when she gets Cathbad’s message. She felt that Kate deserved some time running about after the library and the cafe. So after a healthy lunch of chips on the pier, they headed down to the sands. As soon as they got there it started to rain and even the donkeys had sought shelter. But Ruth and Kate play on, jumping over puddles and writing in the sand. Kate is wearing a raincoat but Ruth has forgotten to bring hers and soon her hair is hanging in wet ribbons and her feet are soaking in their thin shoes. She takes them off and runs barefoot, enjoying the feeling of the cool sand between her toes. ‘Me too,’ yells Kate, so Ruth takes her shoes off too and they both run, laughing, in and out of the freezing water. For those few moments, Ruth feels that she is completely happy.

The tide comes in incredibly quickly, faster even than on the Saltmarsh. Now, it’s as if the sea is erasing all the frivolities of Blackpool life – the donkeys’ hoof-prints, the writing on the sand (Ruth has read at least two ‘Marry Me’s), the chip wrappers and the half-eaten ice creams. Ruth thinks of an Etchasketch that was given to Kate last Christmas. It was too old for her but Ruth spent many happy hours writing or drawing and then watching as the inexorable line moved across the screen, restoring everything to smooth blankness. The moving finger writes and, having writ, moves on. Eventually, Ruth and Kate are standing on the steps, looking out at an expanse of water. The beach has completely vanished.