Blood From a Stone (27 page)

With strength born of complete desperation, Jack grabbed hold of Wood. He hauled him against the rocky wall and, sheltering him with his body, flattened himself against the stones as, with a sound as if a giant had ripped a canvas sail, the beam collapsed.

The sound seemed to go on forever. With what seemed like complete detachment, Jack heard the hiss and smelt the singeing of cloth as the shards of burning timber caught at his sodden clothes.

Then, at long last, came silence. In the black, fire-speckled darkness of the cave, he wasn't sure if it was deafness or absence of noise. There was an incredible pressure on the small of his back. He moved slightly and the scrape of his shoe against rock reassured him. Other noises started to filter in. More creaking and snapping, more hissing and crackling as the fire licked lazily around what was left of the wood in the cave.

With the side of his face pressed hard against the gritty roughness of the rock, Jack really only knew he was alive. That seemed to take up all his thoughts, but he knew he must think. It seemed very hard to join ideas together. He had to get out, to get away from falling timbers. There were no timbers over the spring. He had to take Wood to the spring.

Wearily he dug his elbows into the ground, to drag himself out from under the fallen earth and timber. He couldn't move! Keeping his rising fear screwed down, he tried again. The pressure in his back jagged into white splinters of pain. Again he tried, and again the pain flared. A paroxysm of coughing shook him. Exhausted, he lay still, gulping the smoke-filled air.

There was silence, broken by the occasional sharp crack and flump of falling burnt wood, the high, cold sound of the spring and the rasp of his breathing.

With gritted teeth he tried a third time and fell back, chest heaving with the effort. He stretched his arms wide in front of him and tried to pull himself free, but even though the muscles in his arms and shoulders were rigid with effort, he couldn't move.

He craned his neck – it was horribly awkward – trying to see over his shoulder. The fire had died down, with just the odd spurt of flame flaring from the fallen timbers. The blinding whiteness of the fire faded to a steady glow of red under the blackness. The roof timber had fallen across the mound of earth and rubble, pinning him down. He could see the long streak of red, segmented into squares of blackened ash. His stomach turned over. The
fire was advancing up the timber, inch by lazy, lethal, inch and there was absolutely nothing he could do. When that red streak reached him and Wood, they would be slowly burned to death. It was as simple and brutal as that.

Maybe it was the pain from his back or the despair that gripped him, but Jack felt himself drifting away. He knew Wood lay beside him, completely unconscious, and could feel the rock and grit of the earthen floor against his face, but for what must have been minutes, he was incapable of action. He shook his head, trying to bring himself round and snatched another glance over his shoulder. The fire had advanced visibly along the beam.

The sound of the spring was tantalizingly close. He could really do with a drink. Instantly his thirst raged and he cursed himself for thinking of water, so close and yet so utterly out of reach. He couldn't think of anything but the splash and gurgle of the stream. It sounded almost human ...

He raised his head, listening intently. It wasn't the spring! Very faintly and from far away came the distant sounds of muffled voices. He couldn't make out the words but thought he heard his name. He tried to call back but his voice cracked dismally.

Rescuers were digging their way through the blocked entrance. They'd have all the men from the estate going full tilt, trying to break through. He took another look behind him. Although the men didn't know it, they were in a race with that streak of red advancing up the wooden beam.

He didn't think they'd make it.

It was bloody ironic, to have them within calling distance and not be able to call; to have the spring so close and not be able to drink.

His eyes narrowed. There was a fleeting light on the water. He gazed at the stream, seeing the slanting light catch the dark ripples. What on earth?

Torchlight! It had to be torchlight! There was someone coming along the passage from the well!

Hope rushed through him in a tidal wave. He raised himself on his elbows, steadied himself and, with a huge effort, called out. His voice came out as a rusty croak, but it got a response.

The light steadied. ‘Haldean? Is that you, Haldean?'

It was Frank Leigh. Frank Leigh, thought Jack with a jolt of fear, had talked about murder with Mary Hawker. Was that why Leigh had followed him into the cave? He desperately tried to move, but he was completely helpless.

There was a slushing sound from the spring as rocks and pebbles were disturbed, then, torch in hand, Frank Leigh emerged into the cave.

Jack blinked, shying away from the dazzling light in his hand. Frank Leigh dropped to his knees beside him, his breath coming in great gulps. The torchlight showed Wood, slumped against the wall. Leigh reached and touched Wood's face, then dropped his head in relief as he felt the warmth of life on his skin.

‘Are you all right?'

Jack couldn't answer. Frank Leigh stood up, shining the torch along the heap of rubble and wood. ‘I see what the trouble is. Hold on. I think I can shift it.'

Leigh stripped off his sodden coat and, wrapping it round his hands, took one end of the beam and heaved.

The beam, weakened by the fire, splintered into two, and Jack felt the pressure on his back lighten. He reached out his hands and Frank Leigh took him under the shoulders and pulled. Jack felt himself move and, with the new freedom, dug his foot into the earth behind, adding his strength to Leigh's. Frank Leigh heaved again and this time Jack was able to scramble free.

Jack crawled to the stream and plunged his face into the icy water, taking great gulps of the shallow water. It was, perhaps, one of the very best moments of his life.

He didn't want to move, but Frank Leigh slipped his arms under his shoulders again. ‘Come on. Let me get you across the spring. We'll be safe on the other side.'

With Leigh's help, Jack stumbled through the water and collapsed against the rocky wall. Beside him, Frank Leigh knelt beside the unconscious Wood, wiping his face with a handkerchief he wrung out in the stream. Wood groaned briefly, then relapsed into unconsciousness.

‘He's taken quite a battering,' Leigh said. ‘Thank God he's still alive.'

He stood up and shone the torch round the cave, face contorting as he saw the mound of mud, earth and fallen timbers blocking the entrance.

He laid a hand on Jack's shoulder. ‘You got him out of that?' Jack nodded. Frank Leigh's hand tightened briefly on his shoulder. He felt in his pocket and brought out a hip flask, helping Jack to drink.

‘We're safe now,' said Leigh. ‘My men are digging their way in and the fire brigade is on its way. All we can do is wait.'

Jack felt the brandy sting his throat, then utter exhaustion claimed him and he fell asleep.

He awoke as a light shone in his face. A fireman was kneeling by him, shaking his shoulder. ‘Come on, son, let's get you out of here.' He helped him stand up. ‘Easy does it. Nothing broken? Good lad.'

The men had cleared a hole through the rubble at the entrance. Dimly, he heard the sound of a ragged cheer as he was helped through the rubble. It was wonderful to see their faces and hear their kindly, concerned voices as he crawled through the passage, stood upright and walked out into the open once more. It was daylight outside, the strong early morning sun blinding against the marble white of the temple.

Isabelle, her face drawn with anxiety, ran to him and buried her face into his shoulder. ‘Jack! Thank God you're safe.'

He was so tired he could hardly stand.

‘Leave him to us, miss,' said a fireman beside him. ‘He needs to get to bed and see a doctor too, I shouldn't wonder. He'll be all right now.'

‘Mr Leigh,' Jack managed to say. ‘He saved us. Wood and me.' He couldn't think why, exactly, but it seemed very important that Isabelle should know what Frank Leigh had done. ‘Leigh saved us. Good man.'

‘Don't you worry, sir,' said the fireman comfortingly. ‘He'll get the credit he's due. Let's get you back to the house.'

He had a hazy, chopped-up vision of sunlit lawns, the oak hall and staircase of the house and then, without knowing quite how he got there, there was the coolness of linen sheets next to his skin and he slept.

It was eleven o'clock in the morning. Jack, after a long sleep and a very welcome late breakfast served on a tray in bed, was submitting, with strained patience, to Doctor Sutton's ministrations.

‘Hmm. There's some bruising on your back ...'

‘You're telling me!' said Jack with feeling, as the doctor's firm fingers explored the small of his back. ‘Easy with that rib! I had half of Sussex fall on top of it.'

‘It didn't do you any lasting harm,' said the doctor with a grin. ‘You've got a good few cuts, bumps and grazes, but all in all, you'll live. Here, let me help you sit up.'

‘How's Wood?' asked Jack, once he was propped up against the pillows.

‘Well, like you, he'll be a bit stiff and sore for a few days, but there's nothing that won't cure. From what I've heard, it was lucky for him that you got to him in time.'

‘And lucky for both of us that Mr Leigh arrived when he did.'

‘Exactly,' said Doctor Sutton, fastening up his bag. ‘I'll leave you to your visitors, Major Haldean. You've got some people who are very anxious to see you.'

He opened the door and ushered in Isabelle and, unexpectedly, Superintendent Edward Ashley.

‘My word, Haldean,' said Ashley, ‘you look a great deal better than I expected, after hearing what Mrs Stanton had to say on the telephone.'

He brought the fireside chairs over to the bed for himself and Isabelle. ‘We got the report of the fire first thing. As soon as I heard what it was and where it was, I was prepared to bet my pension you'd be involved in it somehow. Then, of course, Mrs Stanton rang and told me what had happened. No sooner had I put the telephone down from you, Mrs Stanton, I had a note to call on Mrs Leigh double quick and pronto, as her sapphires had been stolen.'

‘And have you seen her?'

‘Of course.' He shrugged. ‘I don't know if the jewels have been stolen or not. That chap Duggleby seems convinced they're fake but what the truth of the matter is, is more than I can tell, so I've called in some help. There's a jeweller in Lewes, a chap called Bloomenfield, who's helped me out a couple of times before. He owned a shop in Hatton Garden before he retired. I've sent him a wire and he's promised to call in and give us his expert opinion.'

‘Well, that should clear that up, anyway,' said Jack.

‘Only if the jewels are real. If they've been stolen, how the dickens was it done? Mrs Leigh looked at them when they arrived from the jewellers yesterday, then locked them away securely in the safe.'

‘If it's the safe in the study, it's been bust before.'

‘True. If they have been stolen, the thief has to be someone in the house. With the sole exception of Mrs Hawker, everyone who was here yesterday is still on the premises, and even she's expected to call later on, so Mrs Leigh's agreed to sit it out until Mr Bloomenfield's had his say. She's not happy, though.'

‘Does Mr Leigh know about this jeweller chappie coming?'

Ashley shook his head. ‘Not from me, he doesn't. They're not his sapphires. And, after hearing what Mrs Stanton had to say, I'm a bit leery of Mr Leigh.'

‘I told Mr Ashley about the séance,' said Isabelle. ‘And what I heard Mr Leigh and Mrs Hawker say in the gallery. I can't understand it.' She shuddered. ‘I can't tell you how creepy the séance was, Mr Ashley.'

‘It seems very odd altogether,' said Ashley. ‘I've been asking around and there's no end of stories about Breagan Stump.' He scratched his chin distractedly. ‘The local lads – and you'd say they were ordinary, sensible police officers who'd laugh at the idea of ghosts and suchlike – said to a man they wouldn't spend a night in Breagan Stump, not if you offered them a hundred pounds.'

‘I just don't know,' said Jack. ‘If it was a trick, it's hard to see what anyone would get out of it.'

‘Come on, Jack,' said Isabelle. She glanced behind her to see that the bedroom door was firmly shut. ‘After what I heard Mrs Hawker and Mr Leigh say? Mrs Hawker was out to get you and Wood as well.'

‘In that case, why did Mr Leigh turn up when he did? He saved my life and Wood's, Belle. There's no two ways about that.'

‘Are you sure you didn't get the wrong end of the stick, Mrs Stanton?' suggested Ashley.

Isabelle shook her head. ‘I don't see how I could've done.'

Ashley sucked his cheeks in thoughtfully. ‘Who suggested the séance? Mrs Hawker?'

‘As a matter of fact, it wasn't,' said Isabelle. ‘It was Celia, who you'd think would be the last person to suggest holding a séance.'

‘Why did she do it, then?'

‘I honestly thought it was because she's been making sheep's eyes at Leonard Duggleby.' She grinned. ‘I suppose she's a bit too old for Postman's Knock, but it's much the same idea, isn't it? Duggleby's the resident expert on that beastly cave and everything in it and Celia wanted to call up the spirits of the cave. She couldn't give tuppence about the cave before Duggleby came along.'

Ashley raised his eyebrows. ‘Leonard Duggleby? He's an odd sort for a lady like Miss Leigh to take a fancy to.'

Isabelle shook her head. ‘Jack couldn't see it either, but he
is
attractive.' Jack and Ashley swapped baffled glances. ‘I don't suppose it'll come to anything,' she added. ‘Anyway, that's all by the way. Celia suggested the séance but Mrs Hawker was very quick to back her up.'