'But Charles Crickley built this place,' Gabe prompted.
'Drew the plans for it hisself, he did. Weren't one for fancy ideas.'
'That explains a lot,' said Eve as she poured boiling water over a tea bag in a cup.
'No one likes the look of Crickley Hall,' commented Percy with a sigh. 'Don't like it much meself, never have done.'
'You've worked here a long time?' Eve was now pouring water over the coffee granules.
'All me life. Here and the parish church, I've looked after 'em both. They gives me help with the churchyard nowadays, but I takes care of Crickley Hall on my own. Like I says, jus' a coupla days a week, I come in. Tend the garden mainly.'
He must be seventy-something if he's a day, thought Gabe, glancing at Eve.
'Only time I didn't,' Percy went on, 'were towards the end of the last world war. Sent abroad then, to fight for me country.'
Yup, Gabe confirmed to himself, definitely in his late seventies or early eighties even, if he'd been old enough to fight the Germans back then. He studied the short, wiry man with interest.
'Ol' Crickley blasted a shelf out of Devil's Cleave with dynamite,' Percy continued, 'then built his home on it. Then he dug down to the ol' river that runs underground down the Cleave, made hisself a well in Crickley Hall's cellar. Even though the Bay River was only yards from his front door, he must've reckoned he'd have his own fresh water supply inside the house. Maybe he thought it were purer that way. An' he liked things simple, did Crickley, plain like. Only fancy part were the big hall itself.'
'Yeah, we noticed,' agreed Gabe.
'If he liked things simple,' put in Eve, 'and presumably functional, that must be why the kitchen is at the front.'
'The las' of the Crickleys lef' here in '39,' Percy went on unbidden, 'jus' afore the shebang in Europe started. They wanted to avoid the trouble, thought England were doomed. Scarpered off to Canada, while I stayed on to work 'til I got my call-up papers. Be then, gov'mint had requisitioned the place 'cause it were empty an' they thought it'd do for evacuees. Sold coupla times since—Crickleys didn't want it no more—then the Templetons come along an' bought it. Retired early, Mr Templeton sold his business—somethin' to do with packagin' he told me—an lef' the city fer the countryside. Thought him an' his missis would be content, like, down here.'
She handed Percy his tea and he took it with a nod of gratitude. He blew into the cup to cool it as Eve came back to the table with Gabe's steaming coffee.
'I've just spotted Chester out there sitting under the tree with the swing,' she said anxiously. 'He's looking very sorry for himself.'
'Let him sulk for a while,' said Gabe. 'I'll get him in a minute. He's gotta get used to this place.'
Percy carefully put his cup back onto the saucer. He said gravely: 'Pets don't shine to Crickley Hall.'
Eve returned her gaze to the mongrel, feeling sorry for Chester sitting out there all alone, evidently confused by their long journey away from the home he had always known. Even from the kitchen window she could see that Chester was shivering.
She tapped on the glass to get his attention while the two men behind her continued talking. But the dog wouldn't look her way. He seemed rapt on something quite close to him.
The swing. The swing was swaying gently, but more so than before, when they had first arrived: back and forth it went, almost as if someone—a child—were sitting on it. But of course it was empty.
Must be the wind, Eve thought. But then, although it was raining, the leaves and the tree branches were perfectly still, as were the shrubbery and the longer tufts of grass. There was no wind.
5: LOREN CALEIGH
Wearing a yellow Fat Face long-sleeved T-shirt and beige fatigues more suited to summer than autumn, Loren pulled up her younger sister's baby-blue bedsheet and plumped up the Shrek and Princess Fiona pillow. She reached for the colourful Shrek, Fiona and Donkey duvet at her feet and dragged it up onto the narrow bed, which was twin to her own bed a few feet away. Dad and 'Uncle' Vern had brought them from their real home and put them together a week ago (she and Cally had slept in the spare room until the move). Her long brown hair hung over her face as she tucked the duvet's end and sides under the mattress and when she stood upright there was a frown marring her features.
Loren was at that sensitive, awkward stage of being neither a teenager nor a child, a time when hormones were kicking in and sudden outbreaks of tears were not uncommon. Her thin arms and legs were beginning to develop beyond cuteness. Although she didn't feel it, she was just a normal pre-teenager.
She didn't like Crickley Hall, she didn't like it at all. Away from her friends, having to start a new school on Monday where she would stand out like a freak, a city girl among country bumpkins. It wasn't fair. It was too harsh.
Then she remembered the main reason for the temporary move. It wasn't just because of Dad's job—he often spent weeks away from home on various engineering assignments. No, this time it was because they had to get Mummy away from their proper house. Loren's eyes glistened as she thought of Cameron; what a lovely little brother he was. Now he was gone and Mummy still hadn't got over it. It hadn't been her fault. Mummy was tired and couldn't help falling asleep on the park bench. Cam had just wandered off and someone bad had taken him. Loren tried to imagine who could be that bad, what wicked person would snatch a small boy away and keep him all this time. Why didn't they bring him back, or let him go so that the police or someone kind could find him and bring him home to his family? Who could be that dreadful?
She brushed at her damp eyes with the back of one hand. Dad said they had to be strong for Mummy's sake and she, Loren, had done her best. She rarely cried over Cam any more even though she missed him terribly; she almost had right then because she was in a strange place and was already feeling homesick.
She leaned forward to straighten the duvet and as she did so she caught something moving out of the corner of her eye. Something small had walked past the doorway—no, had run past the bedroom door. She hadn't heard footsteps, but she had definitely seen a blur go past.
It must be Cally. It seemed to be her size even if it was rushed.
'Cally?' Loren called out. 'Is that you out there?'
No reply.
She walked to the open door and looked along the balustraded landing that ran round two sides of the big hall.
Nothing. No one there.
Except… Loren wasn't sure she'd really heard it. But it came again. It sounded like a whimper.
Loren stepped out onto the landing and looked to her right, towards where she thought the sound had come from. Holding her breath, she listened.
It came again. A quiet little sob. And then again. A small child crying.
'Cally?' she called again. 'What's wrong? What's the matter?'
Loren could hear the low buzz of conversation coming from the kitchen doorway below, but the sound she strained to hear again wasn't from there. She took a few paces along the landing, then stopped when she heard another whimper. It came from a cupboard set in the wall.
'Cally,' she called again, this time somewhat irritated. Why wouldn't her sister answer her?
She went to the closed cupboard. Was Cally playing a game, hiding from her? Now she'd shut herself in the cupboard and had become afraid of the dark. But then why didn't she just come out? Had she locked herself in? But she couldn't have: the key was in the lock.