Enchanted Glass (12 page)

“I think we’re going to drown,” Aidan said miserably.

Andrew looked at him. City boy. Not used to this. Aidan’s face was wet and white, and he was shivering. Come to that, Andrew was not too happy himself. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go back to the house and wait until the rain stops.”

They tried to do that. But, by this time, neither of them was quite sure where the house was. After some muddling about — during which time a vast tree tipped several tankloads of rain, mixed with twigs, caterpillars and leaves, straight down on their heads — Andrew set off firmly in a straight line. The wood was not that large. He knew they
had to come out of it soon. Aidan followed, wriggling his shoulders and morbidly wondering if the squirming down his back was just water or in fact a large, legless critter that had somehow got in under his hood.

They found themselves in front of a wall.

It was not a large wall. It was about knee high and built of old crumbly bricks covered with moss. But the slightly sinister fact about it was that someone had filled in the gaps and low places in it with very new-looking barbed wire. It seemed to run right across the wood for as far as they could see either way.

“I don’t remember
this
!” Andrew said. “And why the barbed wire? It’s all my property. I never agreed to let anyone wire part of the wood off.”

With a bit of a grunt, he heaved one wet boot up and put it down on the other side of the wall. It went
crunch
on the dead leaves there.

As if this were a signal, there was more crunching from further along the wall. A large man in a grey knitted hat and a wet navy-blue jacket came marching up beside the wall in big rubber boots. He was carrying a gun. And there was a dog with him on a lead. An unpleasant-looking dog it was, rather like a bull terrier, with a smooth, bloated face and mean, pinkish eyes. Andrew, looking from the man’s face to the dog’s, thought that the faces were remarkably
alike, right up to the mean, pinkish eyes. All the same, the man reminded him strongly of someone else. Take away the bloating, he thought—

“Get that foot out of there,” the man growled at Andrew, “or I set the dog on you. Beyond this wall you’re trespassing.”

Andrew felt idiotic, caught astride a wall like this, but he said, “No, I’m not. I own this wood. I’m Andrew Hope. Who the devil are you?”

“Security,” growled the man. The dog growled too and strained on its lead towards Andrew’s leg.

Andrew, as haughtily as he could, took his leg back rather quickly to the other side of the wall. “Security for whom?” he said.

“For Mr Brown of course,” the man snarled. “This side of the wall and the wood’s all his. He don’t allow anyone on his property.”

“Nonsense!” Andrew said.

“You don’t believe me, go and ask Mr Brown,” the man said. “He has it all down in black and white. So get the hell out. Now.” Here the dog put its front feet on the bricks and snarled fruitily at Andrew. Drool draped its big yellow fangs.

Andrew backed away. “This is a complete fabrication!” he said angrily. “You’ve no right to turn me off my own
land! I shall certainly speak to your employer. Tell me your name.”

“Security,” the man said. “That’s all the name you’ll get. Speak to whoever you like, but you get the hell out of this wood first, before I take the dog off the lead.” He reached to where the lead was fastened to the dog’s collar. “Scarper,” he said. “Both of you. Now.”

There seemed nothing for it but to go. White with anger, Andrew swung round and marched away. He was so angry that he had no memory of having been lost in this wood a moment ago. He simply turned towards Melstone House and marched there in long, angry strides, with Aidan trotting beside him to keep up. Sure enough, rain-whitened green meadow appeared between the trees moments later. Andrew strode in among Wally Stock’s sheep, fulminating.

“That wood is
mine!
” he said. “It belonged to my grandfather. It’s marked on the deeds. I shall phone my lawyer. This Brown has absolutely no
right
to fence half of it off, let alone employ a man to threaten us!”

Aidan glanced up at Andrew’s glaring white face and was impressed. This was the first time he had seen Andrew look dangerous. He wondered what Andrew was going to do.

When they reached the house, Andrew dashed to his
study and hauled out the dusty yellow package that contained the deeds of Melstone House.

“What are you both doing, dripping water all over the house?” Mrs Stock wanted to know.

Andrew ignored her and spread the deeds out on the table, regardless of rain plopping on to them from his hair. “There you are!” he said to Aidan, impatiently brushing water off the map. “Just as I thought. That line marks the edge of the property and it goes
right round
the whole wood. The Manor land only comes up to the edge of it. Set a dog on me, would he!”

He snatched up the phone and furiously punched in his lawyer’s number.

“And are you going to be in for lunch now?” Mrs Stock asked.

“Not now,” Andrew said, with the phone to his ear. “I’m too angry to eat. Hello? Can I speak to Lena Barrington-Stock, please? Urgently.”

“Did you hear me? Lunch?” Mrs Stock demanded.

A voice in Andrew’s ear was telling him that Mrs Barrington-Stock was out of the office just now, but would get in touch if Andrew would leave his name and telephone number. He scowled at Mrs Stock. “Aidan will be having lunch,” he said. “I’m busy.”

“Pardon?” asked the phone.

“Andrew Hope, Melstone House, Melstone,” Andrew said. “You’ve got my number in your records. I’ve forgotten it. Go away, Mrs Stock.” He rang off, snatched up the telephone directory and feverishly turned to the Browns.

“I’m not used to being treated like this,” Mrs Stock said. She flounced off.

Knowing there would be pages and pages of Browns, Aidan left Andrew to it and went quietly away to get into dry clothes. He came back to find Andrew still at it. And swearing.

“I’ve been through all the Browns twice now,” he told Aidan, “and there’s no Brown of Melstone Manor
in
here! The wretched crook must be ex-directory. He
would
be!”

“You could have lunch after all,” Aidan suggested.

“No, no,” Andrew said. “I’m getting angrier every minute.” He flung the directory down and went storming away upstairs.

Aidan loitered on in the study, well aware that Andrew had offended Mrs Stock very severely indeed and wondering how he could avoid going near her. Cauliflower cheese, he thought. In bucketfuls. He was still loitering in the study when Andrew stormed back in there to look at the map. Andrew was wearing much neater clothes than usual — if you didn’t count the leather patches on the
elbows of his tweed jacket — and was actually putting on a tie.

“I’m driving round to see this Mr Brown,” he said, fetching the map out of his rucksack. “Ah. Here we are. I knew getting to the Manor was tricky. You’d better keep out of Mrs Stock’s way. You could eat the sandwiches in my rucksack for lunch.” He yanked the knot of his tie angrily tight and rushed away through the hall.

“And where are you off to now?” Aidan heard Mrs Stock say.

Andrew’s voice replied, “It’s none of your business
whose
neck I want to wring!” This was followed by the front door heavily slamming. Shortly after, Aidan heard the car start up and a great scattering of gravel as Andrew roared away down the drive.

The rain seemed to be slackening. Aidan decided he would go out as soon as it stopped. In the mean time, he ate the sandwiches and then went into the living room, thinking he might play chopsticks on the piano. But Mrs Stock was there, vengefully moving the piano into the dark corner again. Aidan retreated hastily. Since the rain was now only a drizzle, he put his wet waterproof on again and went out. Anything seemed better than staying in the house with Mrs Stock.

Aidan had become used to the not-quite-as-safe feeling
beyond the grounds of Melstone House. He decided he would explore the other end of the village. So, at the end of the lane he turned right and went downhill, past the church among its trees and then past the green and the pub. There were quite a few other children about there. The local school — wherever that was — must have broken up for the holidays. Since he didn’t know any of them, Aidan went on, uphill now, past the shop and the hairdresser, towards the new houses at the end of the village. Just before he reached them, he came upon the football field. There was a big notice fixed to the hedge there announcing MELSTONE SUMMER FÊTE HERE NEXT SATURDAY and giving the date as the Saturday after next. Slightly mad, Aidan thought. He went nosily in through the gate to investigate.

There were no goalposts up, but this had not stopped eleven boys — no, two of them were girls — starting a game of football on the wet grass, with the goals marked by heaps of their clothes. The side with six players was winning. They scored two goals while Aidan watched.

Aidan went elaborately casual and sauntered over. Another goal was scored against the side with five players just as he got there. “I can be in goal for you if you like,” he offered, as if he didn’t care.

They accepted his offer at once. Aidan zipped his glasses
into his waterproof, put it to mark the goalpost with the other garments and joined in gladly. An hour or so later, the scores were even and Aidan had eleven new friends.

In this way, both Aidan and Andrew missed the incident that was The Last Straw for Mrs Stock that caused her to collect Shaun and leave early. She had left a note in which her feelings seemed to have got the better of her spelling:

You still dint give Shaun any work. There was some woman prowelling round the house gouping in windows
, I
went out and gave her
a
peace of my mind. Mr Stock run out of collyflours so I did you potato cheese. We sent her packing.

Y
ou got to Melstone Manor by taking the narrow road behind the church, although you had to be careful not to take the
other
narrow road with the signpost that said MELFORD. Most days, Andrew might have made this mistake. But that day his fury drove him into the right, unlabelled road and then jouncing and bumping down what proved to be an unpaved lane. This lane suddenly became a potholed track through parkland and fine trees. A herd of deer bolted out of his angry way. He swept round a corner and came to the Manor.

The Manor was highly Elizabethan. It had tall chimneys, lots of black beams on the outside and large numbers of big, dim, diamond-paned windows. It had gables enough to supply several manor houses.

“Just like a ghost movie!” Andrew said between his teeth. “A bad B movie! Absurd!”

He parked in front of the mighty black oak front door, marched through the drizzle and up the brick steps, and hauled on the large brass bell ring. A dim jangling sounded somewhere inside.

Andrew waited, hoping very much that he had arrived in time to interrupt Mr Brown’s lunch. He was just about to haul on the bell pull even harder, when the door opened with the most impressive creak. A short, fat man in morning dress looked up at him. “Yes, sir?”

The butler, Andrew thought. There
would
be a butler. There was something about the man’s little plump face that struck him as familiar, but he was too angry to wonder about it. “I want to see Mr Brown,” he said. “Now.”

“Yes, sir. What name shall I say, sir?” the little man asked.

This seemed too easy. Andrew refused to be put off by it. “Tell him Professor Hope,” he snarled. Everyone here thought he was a professor. He might as well make use of it. “From Melstone House,” he added menacingly.

“Yes, sir. Please to follow me, sir.” The butler waved Andrew into the house and shut the door behind him with another impressive creak. Then he went pattering away
into the gloomy interior, past carved oak panelling and across acres of red tiles.

Andrew followed. The fact that he was being let in without question made him angrier than ever. The butler didn’t even seem to notice he was angry. Trying to take the wind out of my sails! he thought. There was a strong smell of roast beef in the air. It led Andrew to hope that he was about to burst in on Mr Brown feeding, probably with a napkin under his chin and a decanter by his fat elbow.

But it seemed that lunch at the Manor must be over. The butler led him to a dark and cushy library-place, where leather-bound books glimmered on the walls and red leather chairs with buttons on stood about on a deep fawn carpet. A small fire flickered at the bottom of a vast, arched chimney-piece with a coat of arms on its leaded front.

“A Professor Hope to see you, sir,” the butler said, holding open the fat linenfold oak door. “From Melstone House, he tells me.”

“Come in, come in, Professor,” said a pleasant, silvery voice. A tall silvery gentleman in a very smooth pinstriped suit stood up from beside the fire and advanced with his hand out. “I’m very pleased to meet the tenant of Melstone House. Can I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you,” Andrew said, glad that he was not much of a drinker. “And it’s not
tenant.
It’s
owner.
” He
managed to avoid shaking hands with Mr Brown by taking his glasses off and cleaning them. To his naked eyes, the man looked even taller, and impossibly slender. There seemed to be a sort of silvery haze around him.

Mr Brown took his hand back. He seemed perplexed. “But surely, my dear sir, your name should be Brandon if you’re not a tenant?”

“Jocelyn Brandon was my grandfather,” Andrew said. “And I’m sorry to make your acquaintance on an unfriendly note, but I’ve come to complain.”

“Dear, dear,” said Mr Brown. “Well, if you won’t have a drink, at least take a seat and unburden yourself.”

He waved Andrew to the red buttoned chair opposite the one he had been sitting in himself. Andrew had always thought that this kind of chair was probably acutely uncomfortable. He sat down warily and found he was quite right. The thing was all slippery knobbles. Deep instinct caused Andrew to keep his glasses off. On the pretext of finding a smear on the left lens and then on the right one, Andrew managed to keep his eyes naked for most of what followed.