The Ghosts of Blackbottle Rock Page 4

  He had never quite been able to figure out the layout of this church-cum-castle. Were they all one building? From afar it looked like it – but now he was close up he could only see the church. Surely you didn’t go through the church part to get to the castle? There was a side door to the church on his right – but something told him to skirt the churchyard along a narrow lane that ran uphill. A few metres further up was a turning to the right – and the entrance to the castle. Treffry House, as he now remembered Wei-Li had called it. And now he saw that they were two completely separate buildings which just happened to be next door to each other and made of what – from a distance at least – looked like a similar type and colour of stone.

  Charlie hovered at the tall open gates, which led to the entrance to Treffry House. In a courtyard at the end of a drive of tiny loose pebbles he could see two people: a Chinese-looking man in a very smart suit and tie, and a woman emerging from what looked like a kitchen door carrying a large cardboard box. She handed the box to the man, who loaded it into the back of a big, gleaming four-wheel-drive car. If they were Nemesis and Wei-Li, they didn’t betray any signs of recognising him. And now Charlie was confused. He’d convinced himself that Wei-Li was a woman, but the woman here was white European. And neither of them was Indian, like the Mohan he knew at school.

  But then that was probably a secret agent thing. If you gave yourselves names that made no sense, it would make it that much harder for an enemy who was intercepting your messages to actually identify you in person. Clever. He stepped hesitantly towards two people.

  ‘I’ll be back around nine,’ the man was saying in a refined but heavily accented voice. ‘Make sure she has her meal at seven prompt, and don’t stand for any nonsense about carrots. They are good for you.’

  The woman laughed. ‘You can’t get her to eat them, so what chance do I stand? She was older than Sue; tall and willowy, with lots of ethnic jewellery around her wrists and neck. Her accent sounded local. It was beginning to dawn on Charlie that these two might not be agents called Wei-Li and Mohan, unless they were putting on a really good act.

  Had someone played a trick on him? Were they watching from somewhere, sniggering as he made a fool of himself? But he was committed now and continued to approach, his feet scrunching loudly on the driveway. The man had already jumped into the car and was starting the engine. The woman was striding gracefully towards a side door of the main building, but finally noticed him.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Er… I’m looking for…’ Should he use the name? Was it some sort of code name that only he was supposed to know? There was no choice – what else could he say? ‘Er, is this where Wei-Li…’

  ‘Ah! Just through those double-doors, up the stairs and along the landing to the left. Look for the door that says, No Entrance – Authorised Operatives only. Something mysterious like that, anyway!’ She laughed lightly almost to herself, then strode off through the side door.

  Authorised Operatives! So there was some kind of government agency based here. But where did this man and woman fit into it, and why did they seem so unconcerned about who they allowed inside? Shouldn’t there be security guards and doors that required swipe cards or fingerprint recognition to gain entrance? Or had they been keeping him under surveillance for so long that they knew exactly who he was and so weren’t in the least worried by his arrival? Perhaps in a place like this there was tight security but it was well hidden to make the place look normal. It only swung into action if there was a potential threat…

  The house was as big as a hotel, but eerily empty and quiet. Charlie found himself in some sort of dimly lit hallway. There was a room opposite with double glass doors, and a big picture window on the far side. Through it, and standing out vividly in the low lighting, he could see the river still sparkling in the rays of the sinking sun, and the bright colours of the boats. He headed up the thickly carpeted stairway, which broadened out at the top and circled round both to the right and left like stairs in stately homes – which he supposed this was. He turned to the left as instructed and found himself going up another shorter flight of steps. There were weird abstract paintings on the walls: angular shapes, which may or may not have been human, and angry slashes of reds and purples which Charlie couldn’t decipher but found kind of unsettling. In contrast, a large stone Buddha sat serenely on a three-legged table in a corner of the smaller landing at the bottom of the final flight of stairs. And then he was at the top, looking along a long corridor also like those in hotels, with various doors of dark wood and polished brass knobs all along it. But he could only see one bearing any kind of sign, and as he made his way towards it he soon saw that it was the one he wanted. There were low voices coming from within, but it was a big, heavy door and he couldn’t make out the words. He knocked, but there was no response and the voices continued. The No Entrance – Authorised Operatives Only sign seemed to stare down at him disapprovingly, but he knocked again. And when there was still no sign that anyone had heard, he gingerly opened the door. The voices ceased abruptly. Charlie hesitated, then stepped across the threshold. What he saw only added to his confusion.

  Kids. There were just two kids. One was only about ten, of Asian appearance. He wore dark-framed glasses and was dressed like a fifty-year-old who thought jeans were too daring. He was sitting at a desk, the blueish light from a computer screen bathing his brown face and reflecting in the lenses of his spectacles. He glanced up at Charlie momentarily then returned to his screen, pushing his glasses further up his nose before commencing to jab rapidly and fluently at his keyboard. The other occupant of the room was a girl who appeared to be around Charlie’s age – maybe twelve or thirteen. She looked Chinese and was sitting in a large, comfy armchair by a window, the sunlight illuminating her shoulder-length black hair and trendy purple top like a stage spotlight. Beside her was a telescope, pointing out towards Polruan.

  Oh – and the girl was stunningly, impossibly beautiful.

  She had the most exquisite, petite, doll-like features Charlie had ever seen. The gorgeous Anna from Edinburgh paled into insignificance beside her (although admittedly she was at something of an unfair disadvantage, since Charlie had only ever seen her in a rather dodgy digital photo).

  ‘Hi!’ said the girl brightly, springing lightly from her chair and walking over to him. Her rose petal cheeks glowed and her midnight-black eyes twinkled, and he felt something inside going all gooey.

  ‘Hi…’ But then Charlie remembered why he was here, and managed to snap himself out of the spell. He twisted his head back to double-check the sign on the door, and there was no mistake. This was supposed to be where the Authorised Operatives were to be found.

  ‘But…you’re kids!’

  ‘Try getting an adult to believe your story,’ said the boy at the computer curtly, not looking away from his monitor.

  ‘I have,’ Charlie faltered.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Take no notice of him,’ the girl said breezily. There was just a faint Chinese undertone to what otherwise sounded like ‘standard English’ accent. ‘We’re glad you came! Come and sit down, and I’ll explain everything.’

  She waved him over to the big chair she’d been sitting in, and since there was no other seat she nimbly swung herself up onto a table, shoving some paperwork aside to make room, and assumed a cross-legged position.

  ‘The boy who probably gave you a bit of a fright earlier on is Mohan, sometimes known as The Geek. Because that pretty much sums up what he is.’

  Charlie heard Mohan snort derisively, still not deigning to avert his gaze from his work. He was beginning to wonder whether coming here had been a big mistake.

  ‘Look, it’ll be dark soon and I can’t stay too long. I really need to discuss this thing with you.’ They might be kids, but at least they seemed confident, like people who knew what they were doing. ‘What information have you got on him? Is he dangerous? What’s he up to?’

  Mohan stopped typing and finally turned
to Charlie. ‘We’ve been aware of him for a long time. There are still some gaps in our knowledge, but we think we have all the information we need in order to finally get rid of him.’

  Charlie had never heard someone so young sound so self-assured and grown-up. But – get rid of him? ‘I don’t know about that. I mean, I might even be wrong—’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Wei-Li. ‘Your suspicions are right. You must be sensitive.’

  ‘Well, I have become a bit touchy I suppose. But before Dad’s new woman came along—’

  ‘No, Charlie – I mean sensitive as in psychic. Like me!’

  ‘Oh. Er…’

  If she’s psychic, does that mean she can read my thoughts? Does she know I fancy her?

  Charlie felt himself blushing, studying her face carefully for any signs that she was searching his soul. He also decided to try to think only of football when he looked her way from now on.

  ‘My main skill is to be able to communicate with those who have passed over,’ she added.

  God, this is weird…

  ‘Anyway,’ said Mohan, picking up the story again. ‘He has been up to his tricks in Polruan for quite some time, although few locals will admit it openly. He was born in 1815—’

  ‘Whaaat?’

  ‘—and he was a merchant of some sort. I haven’t found out what sort exactly, but anyway he made money by buying and selling things—’

  ‘Whoah!’ Charlie cried. ‘Eighteen-fifteen? What the hell’s going on here? Who are you people?’

  ‘Oh, I should have said,’ Wei-Li replied. ‘We are Fowey Paranormal Investigations. We have known for years that the house you are staying in is haunted – several others are in Polruan – but you are the first person we’ve been able to convince. We can help your ghost to walk into the light – we’ve done it before with others!’

  ‘Ghost? What about Henry Penhale?’

  ‘Henry Penhale?’ Wei-Li and Mohan asked in unison.

  Charlie thought about the initials of the name of their group, and the penny suddenly dropped. ‘Fowey Paranormal Investigations – the FPI! Oh, pleeease! One talks to dead people, and what does the other do?’ Charlie demanded, looking Mohan’s way. ‘Catch vampires? My life is in danger from a possible murderer and all I get is a pair of nutters!’

  He launched himself out of the chair and strode towards the door.

  Wei-Li’s voice stopped Charlie in his tracks. What she said in her calm, quiet, kindly voice, froze him to the spot.

  ‘Your mother says she loves the pink angel.’

  He stood with his back to the room, unable to turn and face her for a moment. He swallowed hard at the lump, which had filled his throat, and blinked away the stinging tears that swam before his eyes and threatened to spill down his cheeks.

  He had put a little pink angel by the tree where his mum’s ashes had been scattered. He was only six then, and it was just a cheap, plastic thing he’d seen in a toyshop. But it was his choice. His own innocent little gift to her. And whenever he had since visited the tree and seen that angel, it had always felt that Mum was close by. Really. Not like a memory, but really…

  ‘She likes Sue. She’s glad your father is happy again… She hopes you can be too.’

  ‘Stop it!’ he cried, spinning round. ‘Don’t make things up like that. It’s cruel.’ He was so choked that could hardly get the words out, and he knew she could not possibly be making them up. It was too much. Charlie’s strength failed him without warning and he crumpled, sobbing. It had been a long time coming, and it was almost a relief now that it had.

  He felt Wei-Li’s arm around his shoulders, soothing, like a cloak of comfort that kept out the bad and kept in the good. She led him gently back to the chair and sat him down.

  ‘Forget the ghost,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry we got it so wrong. It seems you have a much more serious danger to face, and we have the skills to help you. We will help you.’

  six

  ‘Tell us about this man,’ Wei-Li quietly urged. Charlie was back in the embrace of the big leather armchair and she was on the floor in front of him with her legs folded beneath her, sitting on her heels. The nearness of those profoundly dark eyes looking up at him was both comforting and slightly disconcerting. Even Mohan now seemed interested in the story he was about to hear and sat sideways in his chair, looking on intently.

  Charlie told them about how shifty the Creep had seemed, how he had seen him tearing the page out of the old book and had then found out about the stolen parish register.

  Mohan instantly swivelled back to his computer. ‘I read something about that…’

  ‘It was taken from Lanteglos Church,’ Charlie told him. ‘I found it by accident in an old newspaper.’

  ‘Yes – here it is… Something odd about it. The thief or thieves ignored stuff that was worth a lot of money.’

  ‘So they had a specific reason for wanting the register,’ Wei-Li chipped in.

  ‘Not “they”,’ Charlie insisted. ‘Him. I just know it. There is a particular baptism, marriage or burial that’s important to him.’

  ‘We can be more specific than that,’ said Mohan, still studying the online accounts.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Deaths or burials, that’s what he was interested in. Parish registers do record baptisms and marriages as well – but the stolen book was just a burial register. It covered the years…let me see…1839 to 1863.’

  ‘But you said something about a killer, not thief,’ Wei-Li said.

  ‘I was coming to that. Not long afterwards, I saw him hiding a rolled up rug in the storeroom of his shop…’

  ‘And?’ Mohan prompted him bluntly.

  ‘And it looked heavy, as if it had a body in it.’

  ‘But you didn’t see a body? Feet sticking out? Trail of blood?’

  ‘No, but…’

  The more Charlie thought about it – what he had actually seen as opposed to what he suspected – the less certain he became in his own conclusions.

  ‘Big rugs are pretty heavy anyway,’ Wei-Li suggested sympathetically.

  Mohan, who had been rattling away on the keyboard again, announced that there had been no reports of missing people or murders in the area for years.

  “Well all right, maybe the body in the rug was my imagination. The Creep had me spooked by that time. But he was definitely acting suspiciously even then – he didn’t want people to see what he was up to.’

  ‘Maybe he’s just one of these strange people who feel the need to steal random things,’ said Mohan. ‘Some weirdoes steal clothes they don’t need from washing lines. Some people shoplift little items yet they’re rich enough to be able to buy the whole shop.’

  ‘But Henry Penhale…’ Wei-Li mused. ‘I mean, he’s well known around here.’

  ‘And much further afield,’ Mohan added. ‘A very respected figure. Very popular. Local historian, writes articles for magazines, gives talks on the radio.’

  That got Charlie’s hackles up. ‘Doesn’t mean he’s a saint.’ He glanced out of the window and saw the blue skies darkening. ‘I’ve got to go now. Thanks for offering to help – but it’s not up to me to find out who stole the burials register. And if Penhale’s isn’t a murderer, well, all the rest is someone else’s problem. I hope you catch your ghost – but I haven’t seen one where we’re staying.’

  It was only then that Charlie remembered the face at the window on East Street. For a second, he felt a chill run through him – but quickly dismissed it. No murderers, no ghosts. Forget it.

  Wei-Li showed him to the door and stepped out into the corridor with him. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Polruan.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ He realised how grumpy he must sound. ‘But thanks…’

  ‘And what I said about your mother was true. Bye, Charlie.’

  She kissed him on the cheek and went back inside.

  As Charlie sat on the ferry watching the first stars appear above the hil
ls that surrounded Polruan and Fowey, he could still feel the warm glow on his right cheek where Wei-Li had kissed him…

  The tempting smell of dinner greeted him as soon as he opened the cottage door. So much had happened today that he didn’t have the energy to be angry with Sue, and when she made a friendly enquiry as to what he’d been up to, rather than being irritated by her nosiness he responded casually without really thinking.

  ‘Made a couple of new friends in Fowey.’

  ‘That’s good!’

  ‘You know that big castle thing next to the church?’

  ‘Treffry House, yes.’

  ‘Well, they live there. Or at least one of them does.’

  ‘Wow!’ Dad cried. ‘You’ve been inside Treffry House?’

  ‘Yep.’

  It took him a while to build up to it, but later, when he was helping Dad to clear the dinner table, Charlie asked as insouciantly as possible, ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘Nah! Load of rubbish.’

  ‘I do,’ said Sue, still sitting at the table.

  Dad seemed thrown for a moment. He was so used to being in tune with her and them agreeing on everything. ‘Oh…well…I suppose anything’s possible, but…’

  Sue remained unperturbed. ‘I saw one three years ago. I was in a library, researching for an article on local men who fought at Waterloo. There was a man with old-fashioned whiskers and a bushy moustache sitting in a chair the far a corner of the room, just staring into space. I thought he was odd, but I just tried to ignore him. He seemed perfectly real and solid. When I was leaving I saw a little display on the wall. The library had once been the private home of a rich businessman and there was a picture of him – the man I’d seen in the corner!’