Hearts of Darkness (12 page)

Within an hour the fog lifted, revealing the full splendour of the imposing forest surrounds. Buxton’s house nestled at the top of a small green field above an orchard below. Further down the hill ran another field before a bank of forest. It appeared Robert Buxton had owned just the one cow, for the field stood empty, save for a wide bare trough.

Behind us the field narrowed towards a wooden gate, surrounded on both sides by thick blackberry bushes. Birds sang and the sun shone bright amidst a new, blue sky, an innocent backdrop to the malevolent drama in which we were embroiled. Behind the gate the high street, dry, dusty, and silent.

I walked up the slope and peered over the gate. ‘Elks did say we might live freely.’

Dowling squeezed past and stepped onto the road, facing west. ‘I say we talk to Elks.’

‘Did you not hear Mary Hancock?’ I protested. ‘He will lock us in the cage. I say we go everywhere
except
Elks’ house. Speak to others in the village and ask if they have seen Josselin.’

‘Harry.’ Dowling said my name like he spoke to a small child. ‘The village is plagued and you would wander the streets knocking on doors? There is no better method I can think of by which to find the Pest.’

‘We must avoid Elks at all costs,’ I replied, angered.

‘Yet he is the first we shall meet if we follow your plan.’ Dowling spoke so sweet I felt like punching him on the nose.

‘Then what is your idea?’ I answered, angry.

Dowling sighed. ‘If Josselin is in Shyam, then likely Elks is the only one who knows it,’ he argued. ‘Josselin is a hero in these parts. If they thought he resided here, they would react same as Mary Hancock. Elks knows that. So if Josselin came to Shyam seeking sanctuary, and Elks saw him first, then …’ He shrugged.

‘If Elks killed Josselin he is unlikely to confess it to us,’ I retorted.

‘He may not confess it, but it would be interesting to see his response.’

I scratched my head, uncertain what to do. ‘About as interesting as renewing acquaintance with Withypoll.’

‘We will go to Elks’ house, at least,’ Dowling insisted. ‘If he is there, we can turn back. If not, at least we might find some sign that Josselin’s been this way.’

Had we not found Josselin’s book upon the road this puzzle would seem simpler. ‘We don’t know where to find Elks’ house.’

‘We will find it,’ Dowling declared, striding off down the middle of the street.

I hurried after him, casting glances at the shadowy buildings looming out of the thinning mists. No one moved or made a sound. Were the occupants of all these houses dead?

At my insistence we left the road once we neared the church, following the graveyard wall round and into the trees. The forest closed in upon us once more. Trees reached over gravestones, protecting them from the worst of the summer heat. Long tendrils of ivy crept silently up and over the wall, entangling whole stones in their stifling embrace. There appeared no clear path for us to follow. Dowling burrowed through the undergrowth, rattling trees and destroying bushes. If there was anyone even close to the church they could not help but notice our presence.

At last we emerged upon the other side of the village, scratched and dishevelled, in a small clearing not ten paces from the road. Another path led off to the left.

I recalled the words of the landlady who spat upon my shoes. ‘Past Elks’ house is a thicket. His house stands halfway between the church and William Braine’s house,’ I remembered. ‘Braine’s house cannot be far if Town Head is just over the bridge. So Elks’ house must be close, and we must be close to the thicket.’

‘I reckon we’re in the thicket,’ said Dowling. ‘So we take the path to the left and watch for cottages.’

‘It leads down to the Delf,’ I realised. ‘Out of the village. They will arrest us if we are caught.’

‘You prefer the road?’

‘No,’ I snapped. ‘I was just saying.’

‘Stop!’ Dowling held up a hand. He lifted his nose to the air and narrowed his eyes, listening to the wind in the trees.

I heard nothing, nor smelt anything.

‘Someone is following us,’ he said at last. ‘He hangs back behind, watching.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I hear him shuffling.’

I strained my own ears but could hear nothing specific. ‘A bird or an animal.’

Dowling shook his head.

‘Who, then?’ I wondered, nervous. ‘It can’t be Elks; he would have arrested us as soon as we set foot on that path.’

Dowling stared thoughtfully towards the road. ‘I doubt he will show himself.’

To return the way we came would be pointless. To step out on the road so close to the church would attract the attention of all. ‘We carry on,’ I decided.

Dowling headed left, sweeping aside loose branches clawing at his clothes. I followed, bracing myself against surprise attack.

The path fell off steeply and I almost tripped as we clambered down a bank, tearing the skin of my face against a stray thorn, but then it flattened and broadened out onto the forest floor. The tangled bushes disappeared, replaced by a wide expanse of trees, the ground between them covered only with leaves and low scrub.

‘Come on,’ Dowling beckoned, pointing to a fallen trunk. ‘We’ll lie behind it and see who comes.’

I hurried after him and lay against the grassy floor. I watched from between a cleft in the dead wood at one end of the log, Dowling watched from the other.

‘This must be where Josselin brought Elks’ dog,’ I whispered.

‘If that is indeed what happened,’ Dowling replied, gruff. ‘We have
only the word of a foul-tempered landlady.’

A large spider stepped onto my sleeve and crept carefully across my wrist.

‘There,’ Dowling whispered. ‘Someone has reached the edge of the bushes.’

I saw nothing. Perhaps the bushes trembled a bit.

‘He’s not sure,’ Dowling said.

His eyes were at least twenty years older than mine, so how could he see what I couldn’t? Maybe he was going mad. I eyed him sideways, saw him squinting intently.

‘It can’t be anyone local,’ I said. ‘They wouldn’t dare descend into the Delf.’

‘It’s a man,’ Dowling murmured. ‘Dressed a bit like you.’

Then I saw him, a lean fellow with cropped scalp, wearing a linen shirt and close-fitting breeches above brown, leather riding boots. A simple costume well cut. A sword hung from his belt, gleaming dull in the low light beneath the forest canopy. He stepped out onto the leafy floor like a mouse venturing from beneath a cupboard, then scanned the scene afore him before hurrying down the track.

‘Who the devil is it?’ Dowling muttered. ‘Some trick of Arlington’s?’

‘Most likely,’ I replied. ‘Send two spies in to do a job, then another spy to spy on the spies.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Dowling. ‘Yet he treads less fearfully than we do. Why does he not worry about Elks?’

‘Because he works for Elks.’

‘Then why does he not rally reinforcements to catch us before we make an escape through the Delf?’ He shook his head. ‘It makes no sense.’

‘We should follow him and find out,’ I suggested, heart pounding.

‘He will hear you coming a hundred yards away,’ said Dowling, which remark left me speechless, coming from such a great elephant.

We lay there upon the forest floor for another hour or more, waiting to see if he would return, which he did not.

By the time I stood, I was soaked to the skin with morning dew. Dowling staggered to his feet like an old man, and we crept down the same path where walked the stranger. The village lay off to our right, hidden behind a thick row of more linden trees. Another fifty yards on the path led downwards again, into the depths of the green dell.

I turned back. ‘We have come too far. The house must be closer to the street than we hoped.’

Dowling took a few steps off the track. ‘It cannot be too far, else Josselin would not have thought to bring the dog here. There must be a cottage just inside the row of trees with easy passage out into the forest. We just need to look closer.’ He led us up to the treeline and we backtracked towards the church.

Not more than twenty strides back we found the passage, branches from either side grown into each other to form a tight tunnel. The entrance was overgrown and the pathway covered in long grass. The cottage sat tucked inside the trees, perched upon a shallow rise. All was quiet.

I felt naked when we stepped out onto the grass and scampered to the rear of the building, away from the windows. Dowling followed, crouched over like a great bear.

‘I cannot think he would be at home,’ I said, hopefully.

‘He has to sleep some time,’ Dowling replied.

I edged closer to the glass window and plucked up courage to peer through it. I had an unblocked view from the back of house through to the front. In front of a fireplace, to my right, stood a single, wooden chair with tall back and no discernible legs, like it had been hewn from a single stump of wood. To the left, two long, wooden shelves bearing various pots and plates. Further to the left a narrow, wooden staircase led upstairs. If Elks was here, he would be in bed. A long, wooden chest sat low under the window ahead of me, next to the front door.

‘The kitchen table is clear,’ I said. ‘If he has just gone to bed, I reckon he would have eaten something first and left it to later to clear up.’

‘Not everyone is like you, Harry,’ Dowling replied.

He reminded me of Jane. It was she who cleared up after me, she who kept me fed and watered. I considered again her strange behaviour the night I left. I had never seen her cry before, not even in Cocksmouth. When I went to her room she insisted I lie next to her and let her rest her head on my arm.

Dowling nudged me aside and peered through the window himself. ‘No one has been home for several days,’ he said, confident. ‘I wonder if we have the right house.’

He headed round to the front of the building and I followed close behind. The main street hid from view behind high bushes, taller than a man. Such a peaceful little cottage, I reflected. Not how I would have imagined the house of Hugh Elks, nor his brother after him.

The front door creaked upon its hinges as Dowling pushed it, unlocked.

‘I will go upstairs,’ Dowling volunteered in a low growl.

‘We will go together,’ I insisted, ‘but you may go first if it pleases you.’

The stairs squeaked louder than the door, but no one rushed to apprehend us. In one room stood a single wooden bed with simple tester and next to it a chair.

Dowling placed a hand flat upon the naked straw mattress. ‘If Elks lived here before, he is living elsewhere now. No one has slept here for at least four or five days.’

‘About the time Josselin is supposed to have arrived.’ I wandered into the empty, second room and stared out the window. I could see over the hedge and into the window of the cottage opposite. Elks stood with arms folded staring straight back. I gasped and slapped my palm against my chest.

‘We have to leave,’ I cried, rushing back into the first bedroom, but Dowling was gone.

I crashed down the stairs, oblivious to creaking floorboards, just as Dowling lowered the lid of the chest. He stared at me with pale face and wide eyes.

‘Elks is just across the street.’ I grabbed for the door, but too late. Three men walked down the path, Elks in the middle, each leading a squat black dog. I stepped backwards into the kitchen afore calming myself enough to stop quaking. The door opened slowly and Elks stepped over the threshold. His dog stopped panting and growled, sharp, yellow teeth protruding from betwixt black gums.

Elks eyed Dowling with malevolent stare. ‘What are you doing?’

The two fellows that followed towered over him, one a young man with thick arms and shiny bald head, the other leaner with bright-orange hair. One dog barked, the other simmered like a
boiling pot. I thought of Mary Hancock and her new-found intent to leave Shyam with all six children. God help her.

‘We came to see you,’ I lied.

‘Why?’ he sneered, yanking at the rope that restrained his dog.

‘There is a dead cow in my brother’s house and we cannot open the door,’ I explained. ‘The carcass is covered in flies and the cow has destroyed all the furniture. We hoped you might suggest somewhere else we might stay, at least for a night.’

‘Why so?’ he scowled. ‘You have all day to clean up the house. You come here instead? And how did you find me?’

‘We asked directions,’ I replied, which was not a lie.

He beckoned to his companions with a forefinger, that they might stand betwixt us and the door. ‘Of whom?’

‘We didn’t ask a name,’ I answered, not wanting to divert Elks’ attentions to the restless Hancocks.

Elks shook his head, disgusted. ‘What mysterious fellows you are,’ he declared. ‘A man or a woman?’

‘A woman,’ I replied quickly. ‘We found her close to the church.’

Elks laughed low, a bitter cackle, bereft of humour. His two companions joined in. ‘You met a woman close to the church who told you where I live?’

‘No,’ Dowling intervened. ‘We met the woman at Buxton’s house who told us you live close to the church. She was dark-haired with two children. I think she lives close by.’

I felt stunned, shocked he betrayed the Hancocks.

‘Mary Hancock,’ said the bald man. ‘But she has six children.’

‘She spoke of six children,’ Dowling confirmed, ‘but had only two of them with her, a boy and a girl. They paid their respects at Robert’s grave and we shared with them our predicament.’

‘Why did you say you found her close to the church?’ Elks asked me, allowing his grip upon the dog’s leash to slip a few inches. The dog pulled forwards, straining.

‘It is not so far,’ I replied, attention upon the hound. ‘She spoke of the church, told us it’s closed.’

‘And so you came straight here,’ said Elks.

‘We came from the back of the church,’ Dowling replied quickly. ‘We saw another fellow wandering there and thought to ask him exactly where you lived. We followed him down into the thicket but lost him.’