2006 - Wildcat Moon Page 21

“Nan, you look flustered, is everything all right?” Martha asked.

  “You’ll never believe what I’m going to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I couldn’t sleep this morning so I got up early and went for a walk and guess what?”

  “What?” Archie and Martha Grimble said together.

  “The Kellys’ front door was wide open and banging in the breeze. I stopped and listened and there wasn’t a sound coming from inside the house.”

  “Maybe they were all still asleep,” Archie said.

  “No. The little ones are always awake early. They make such a racket that I can hear them in here,” Martha said.

  “I had a feeling in my water that something was up. I went inside and…”

  “And what?” asked Archie excitedly.

  “Martha, I had to put a handkerchief over my face first. It stank to high heaven in there. Anyhow I called out but there was no answer.”

  “Where were they?” Archie asked with interest.

  “The kitchen was deserted, Martha. The fire was out and the table was piled high with dirty dishes and a baby’s bottle lay on its side dribbling milk from a leaky teat.”

  “Get to the point, Nan.”

  “You’ll never believe,” she said. “The Kellys have done a moonlight flit.”

  Martha Grimble put down her tea cup and stared at Nan.

  “They never have!”

  “What’s a moonlight flit?” Archie asked but no one answered him.

  “The place is empty. They’ve gone, I tell you. Upped and bloody gone without a word to any bugger.”

  “What’s a moonlight flit?” Archie asked again.

  “It’s when someone ups sticks and buggers off in the dead of night,” Nan said helpfully.

  “Well, who would have credited it?” Martha Grimble said.

  “I heard nothing, Martha, and I live next door,” Nan exclaimed.

  “Come to think of it, Nan, I woke in the night and was sure I heard a baby cry. But I thought it was probably the wildcats in your yard and went back to sleep.”

  “Fancy not even saying goodbye, and where would they go? They hadn’t a penny to bless themselves with,” Nan said.

  “They were a funny family except for that one boy.”

  “Peter,” Archie said. He’d always liked Peter but he’d never had a chance to make friends because of the other Kelly boys.

  “She owed me fifteen pounds,” Nan said. “She had a lend because she said she needed to buy some things for the new baby that was on the way.”

  “You’ll not see that again.”

  “That’s a fact. And Mr Kelly came in last night for beer and ginger wine. That was odd because he’d never been in before. Well, that’s one slate that’ll not be settled. Ah well, more fool me!”

  “Have a cup of tea, Nan, and then you can take the bread over with you, it’s due out of the oven any time now.”

  “Oh, go on then, I will. Did you hear the sad news about Mrs Greswode?” Nan said avoiding Archie’s gaze.

  Martha winked at Nan and nodded towards Archie. She didn’t like to talk about bad things in front of him.

  Archie took the hint, got up and went to fetch a comic from his bedroom. Then, when they were chatting away at full steam he slipped back into the kitchen and curled up in a high-backed chair in the corner near the door where they wouldn’t notice him. It was called Earwigging.

  “The poor woman must have been half out of her mind to do such a thing. You’d think she’d have wanted to live for when they find the child, wouldn’t you?” Martha said.

  “You would,” Nan replied.

  “But I don’t think there’s much chance of that now after all this time, do you?” Martha said despondently.

  “I don’t suppose so,” Nan said glumly.

  “Have they found Mrs Greswode’s body?” Martha Grimble asked.

  “No. I don’t suppose they will or it’ll be unrecognizable by the time it’s washed up. A body was washed up down the coast a few weeks back and it had been half eaten by fish,” Nan said.

  Archie felt sick at the thought. He wondered had that happened to Thomas and Benjamin? He hoped not.

  “Have you seen Lena?” Martha asked.

  “I called in yesterday. She’s not looking the best. She’s taken the loss of this baby really badly. She’s getting on in years and time is running out for her.”

  “God help her. The world can be a cruel place, Nan.”

  “Alfredo looks real cut up about it. She hadn’t realized she was in the way and was further gone than they thought. She had bad pains but before they could get the doctor she was already losing the child. She was in agony and there was blood all over the place by the time the doctor got here from Rhoskilly…”

  Nan and Martha Grimble turned suddenly as Archie fainted clean away, slipped out of the chair and hit the floor with a sickening thud.

  Later that night he lay on his bed looking up at the ceiling and thinking of what Mr Galvini had said to him: “Maybe we all running away from something. Some of us knows it and some of us don’t…Then one day maybe we go away as quickly as we come. No one knows what the future is holding for us.”

  He wondered where the Kellys had come from and where they’d run away to? He wondered what would happen to him and his mammy in the future and if Romilly Greswode would even have a future.

  He got up and lit the stub of candle and placed it in front of the Virgin. Then he knelt down and prayed as moonlight slipped into the room and glinted on the silver bird that hung around his neck.

  Later he lay in bed thinking of all that Nan had said that morning. Over and over again he whispered the words: Moonlight Flit Moonlight Flit. Moonlight Flit. The words had a kind of magic quality about them.

  It sounded like something that fairies did.

  It was late evening when Archie put the key in the lock of the chapel door and turned it. He stepped swiftly inside the wobbly chapel, closed the door and locked it.

  The dying rays of the sinking sun lit the round window and a myriad of colours dappled across the altar.

  He wiped away a layer of dust from one of the pews and sat down.

  He tried to imagine William Dally and the other kids standing hi here on the night of Thomas Greswode’s funeral.

  Stooping down, he picked up a dusty hymn book from the filthy floor. It was damp to the touch and the pages were melding together with age and mould. He prised the pages apart and looked down. Hymn number 15, ‘Eternal Father Strong to Save’…

  The hymn that William Dally said they’d sung!

  He looked up at the hymn board.

  Hymn number 15.

  He turned the pages of the hymn book as quickly as he could.

  Hymn number 176. ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’…

  He felt a shiver whisper up his backbone. It was as if no time at all had passed since the night when William Dally and his friends had been right here in the wobbly chapel. They’d sung their favourite hymns and even put the numbers up on the hymn board.

  Then Wilf had locked hi Gwennie and she’d frightened the life out of them popping up from behind a rock down on the beach. And not long after the black man had blown his brains out in here and the chapel had been locked up and abandoned.

  He looked around warily; more fearful now that he knew someone had killed himself in here. He didn’t like to think of funerals and people blowing their brains out.

  Then he remembered what Benjamin had said in his letter;

  You’re a scholar and a gentleman, the type of boy who could find outthings like a proper detective if he put his mind to it and stopped beingafraid of every bloody thing.

  He stood up very straight and thrust out his chin.

  He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t afraid of ghosts or any bloody thing! So there.

  He had muscles now and he was growing stronger.

  He wondered why on earth would anyone come in here to k
ill themselves?

  And why did the black man want to kill himself? Was it because Thomas had died?

  Or because of the row he’d had with Mr Greswode? He didn’t know and he’d never know.

  He wandered around and paused dose to the door. There was a stone receptacle for holy water but it was dry as a bone. Next to it, set into the wall, was a metal-fronted collecting box and he wondered who had last emptied it before the chapel was closed down? There was a rusted-up keyhole on the box and some words written in Latin on the front.

  He made his way over to the font and walked around it.

  The top was covered with a thick round wooden lid, shaped like a millstone. He tried to lift it but it was stuck fast. He noticed, though, that there was a small hole in the middle of the lid.

  With enormous effort he clambered up on top of the font and sat there looking around him at the ruined chapel.

  He couldn’t for the life of him fathom out what Benjamin had wanted him to find in here. Unless, unless he’d just wanted him to do something brave for once in his life. Maybe talking about there being mysteries to solve was just to get Archie interested!

  There was nothing to be found here. The best thing he could do was to lock the place up, throw the key away and leave well alone.

  One day soon the winter storms would bring the chapel to the ground, it would be blown away into the sea and nothing would be left.

  He was about to climb down from the font when he turned his attention to the hole in the middle of the wooden lid. He wondered if there was still any water in the font and who the last child to be christened was.

  The hole was small but his hands were little. Mammy often asked him to help get things out of small places.

  He rolled up the sleeves of his jumper and squeezed his hand down into the hole. It was a long way down and he had to lie across the font His hand made contact with the stone basin but it was dry as a bone; the water must have dried up years ago. He pulled out his hand clutching a ball of mouldy feathers, before thrusting his arm in again and scrabbling around until his fingers touched against something hard. He got it between his fingers and lifted it out He turned it over and realized that it was an old button. There was a loop on the back where it would have been sewn onto a garment Maybe it had fallen off the priest’s arm when he was baptizing a baby. He spat on the button and rubbed it on his jumper. He spat again and rubbed harder. There was some sort of pattern on the front of the button. He took out his penknife, flicked it open and began to scrape away the grime. It took him ages but as it got cleaner he could see that it was an ivory button on which someone had carved an elephant.

  It was unusual and lovely.

  He put it down on the font and put his arm back down into the hole.

  His arm began to-ache and his ribs grew stiff. Then just as he was about to give up, his fingers touched against something else. He managed to get a hold on it but then dropped it. He tried again and moments later he pulled something up out of the hole.

  In the palm of his hand lay a small, ornate crucifix on a broken chain. It was covered in dust and mouse droppings and he shook it to remove the worst of them. He spat on it and nibbed it on his jumper. As he held it up, it shone dully in the dying light.

  Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him and spun around, lost his grip and fell off the font. He landed with a thump, scrabbled to his feet, rubbed his bruised knees and tried to stop the scream that was growing in the pit of his belly.

  Jesus! There was someone here in the chapel.

  There was a clunk. The sound of wheezing, and a slow deep groaning.

  Any minute now he was going to pee himself with fright.

  Bugger Benjamin Tregantle telling him not to be afraid of anything.

  Help me, Mammy!

  The door to the cupboard next to the altar creaked open and he stood rooted to the spot, looking into eyes as fearful as his own.

  Gwennie blinked and stared at the small boy peeping over the top of the font.

  It was the boy they called Archie Grimble who lived in Bag End. The one she’d tried to save from those bloody Kelly boys. The boy looked back at her aghast, his mouth wide open and the sun glinting off his spectacles.

  Gwennie spoke first.

  “What in God’s name are you doing in here?”

  “I…I…I’m allowed. I have a key,” he stammered.

  “You do?”

  “I know how you got in though. I found out the secret way by accident.”

  “Did you now? What are you snooping about in here for?”

  “Nothing,” he said and blushed crimson.

  “You’re not a very good liar!”

  Archie looked down at his feet.

  “Well, this place could tell a few stories if only the walls could speak.”

  “It’s a shame they can’t,” he muttered.

  “I haven’t been in here since…”

  There was a long and awkward silence until Archie said, “You had a funeral in here for Thomas Greswode, didn’t you?”

  She looked at him quizzically. “How do you know about that?”

  “I’m a detective in my spare time.”

  She threw back her head and laughed a toothless laugh.

  Archie stiffened and took a step backwards.

  She grew quiet and watched him with shrewd, lively eyes.

  “Don’t worry, son, I’ll not hurt you. I went to two funerals for Thomas Greswode. I mourned him twice over.”

  He took another step away from her.

  “I’m not doing any harm here,” he said. “I’m just looking for clues.”

  “You’re trying to solve some sort of mystery?”

  He nodded.

  “And what’s the mystery?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How can you solve a mystery if-you don’t know what it is?”

  Archie looked down at his feet again.

  She smiled a gummy smile. “I came here to bury the past and yet I find a young whippersnapper in here ferreting about. I don’t know what mystery you’re trying to solve but I’ll bet the wobbly chapel has plenty of secrets. It dates back hundreds of years. See the altar there, that was part of an old ship.”

  “Was it?”

  “It sank off Skilly Point. Everyone on board except two perished and one of them was the fellow who built the first house here on Bloater Row.”

  “That was Hogwash House, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “He was a Spaniard. He’s buried over here, look, along with his missus.”

  Archie looked at the memorial tablet set into the floor.

  “Angeles Gabriel. Only the locals couldn’t get their tongues round a mouthful of a name like that so they called him the Angel of Espagne. Gradually it got changed to Spayne and no doubt after that to Payne…”

  “Like the Paynes in the Peapods?”

  “That’s right. You’ve only got to look at the colouring of that pair to know their ancestors are not English.”

  “So they’d be related to the first settler?”

  “I reckon it’s likely. Angeles Spain made a fortune and built Killivray House and then he lost it all again. A bit of a gambler, it was said. If he hadn’t lost his fortune then there would probably be Paynes in Killivray House today.”

  “So when did the Greswodes get Killivray House?”

  “The story is that one of the Greswodes had a bet with Angeles. The Greswode family used to live at Nanskelly. The Spaniard lost and the Greswodes got Killivray. And a sad day for Killivray it was when they moved in.”

  “You don’t like the Greswodes?”

  “Like them? I wouldn’t piss on them if their arses was burning.”

  Archie looked at her with wide eyes.

  “Why do you think the black man killed himself?”

  “The black man had a name,” she said. “He was called Bo, well that’s what we called him. His full name was Boreo Orore.”

  “Oh,” said Archie and
he remembered the Bo mentioned in the diary who had been so kind to Thomas.

  “I think that he killed himself because he was a coward when it came to it, in the end.”

  Archie wrinkled his brow. “He couldn’t have been a coward to blow his own brains out.”

  Gwennie winced and clasped her hands together tightly. “It might have seemed like a brave act to him but he left me to face the music alone. And yet all along he’d promised me he would take the three of us back to Africa…”

  “To see the enormous sunsets and hear the calling of elephants and lions at night?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I told you, I’m a detective,” he said with a shy grin.

  For a moment the wrinkles seemed to fade and her face looked almost young.

  “What were you doing up on top of the font? Trying to christen yourself?”

  “No. I was just investigating. You see there’s a hole in the top. I wondered if there was anything in there.”

  “A mountain of muck, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “I found these.”

  He held out his hand and showed her the button and the crucifix.

  She looked down at them in silence and Archie watched in consternation as her lip began to tremble and tears slipped from her eyes, gathering in the wrinkles of her face, making tributaries down her cheeks.

  He fumbled in the pocket of his shorts for his handkerchief and held it out to her. She took it and wiped her eyes and face.

  “Can I touch them?”

  “Yes,” He held them out to her and she took them with a shaking hand.

  “These belonged to Bo,” she whispered in a voice cracked with emotion.

  Archie wrinkled up his forehead in puzzlement. “How do you know?”

  “I knew everything about him.”

  “Why do you think someone put them in the font?”

  Gwennie looked up and there was a light in her eyes that alarmed him.

  “He would never have taken this off,” she said, holding up the crucifix. “It was a parting gift from his mother before he left Africa for England.”

  “He wanted to go back to Africa, didn’t he?”

  Gwennie looked at Archie steadfastly. “He never wanted to leave in the first place. He came on the promise of being able to go back one day, to make some money and help his family.”