The Tunnels of Tarcoola (2 page)

KITTY
edged down the slope and put a foot experimentally into the water to test the depth.

‘How far do you think it is to the Doughnut?' she whispered.

‘Dunno.' David pushed forward to look. ‘Far enough.'

‘How did it fill up so fast?' said Martin incredulously. ‘The tide was so low.'

‘Use your head, Marty,' snapped David. ‘Didn't you see the gaps in the cave walls?'

‘Okay, okay.' Martin felt his face burning. Sometimes he hated David.

‘As soon as the water reaches the cracks, this tunnel starts filling up. It's lower than the cave.' David flashed the torch onto the murky water lapping at their feet. ‘I should have thought of that.'

‘Well,' said Andrea. ‘Think about this: how are we going to get out?'

‘I'll see how far it is,' said Martin, pulling off his T-shirt. ‘I can swim fifty metres underwater.'

‘No, Marty!' Kitty clutched his arm. ‘It's all dark and twisty. What if you go the wrong way? There could be other passages we didn't notice.'

‘She's right,' said Andrea. ‘Or what if you get stuck, coming up through the Doughnut?'

‘I suppose you're right,' said Martin, relieved that he didn't have to enter that dark water. ‘So I guess we just wait for the tide to go out?'

‘Sure,' said David. ‘It'll be low again in about twelve hours.'

‘Twelve hours!' shrieked Kitty. ‘We can't wait that long! Mum and Dad'll kill us! Besides,' she added as an afterthought, ‘I'm hungry.'

‘We'll have to ring our parents,' said Martin. ‘Can we use your phone, David?'

David looked briefly at his phone. ‘No signal.'

‘And before you ask,' said Andrea, ‘I've got no credit.'

David was opening up his Gadget. ‘The thing is,' he said, ‘we might as well explore, right? We can use this blade to scratch arrows on the rock and mark our way.'

There was no response from the others.

‘Come on!' said David. ‘Do you want to just wait for the tide to come all the way in? It'll fill this tunnel, you know. Look around – everything's wet.'

‘We'll drown!' gasped Kitty.

‘Stop scaring her, David,' said Martin. ‘The tunnel was dry further up, and you know it.'

David shrugged. ‘Well, I'm going exploring, anyway. You lot can wait here if you like.' And he set off up the tunnel with his Gadget, leaving them in darkness.

‘Da-a-a-vid!' They stumbled after him.

David led the way back along the tunnel, flashing the torch onto the walls. At least the rocky floor was dry, and there seemed to be enough fresh air.

Martin wondered if David knew things about tides that he didn't know. Probably – he was such a knowall. For example, might a very low tide be followed by one high enough to fill the whole of the tunnel system?

Soon they reached the intersection they had found before. David scratched an arrow, pointing back the way they had come, onto the sandy tunnel wall.

‘Now what?' he said, looking at Andrea. Andrea looked at her feet.

David turned sideways and squeezed into the narrow passageway on the right. The others hesitated, watching as his torch beam flicked wildly about. Then there was darkness, and they crowded after him.

‘Back! Back!' came David's muffled voice, and with much pushing and shoving they spilled out again.

‘Fallen rocks,' he explained. ‘Better try this way.' He ducked to enter the other passage, then flashed the torch back at them.

They crawled cautiously over dry rock. This tunnel was stuffy, with a sour smell. Martin yelped as his hand touched something sharp.

‘Bones!' he said.

‘We're going to die in here!' wailed Kitty.

‘It's all right, Kitty,' said David. ‘It's only a rat or something.'

‘Rats!' shrieked Andrea.

‘Pretty big one, too,' concluded Martin. Andrea moaned. Martin grinned in the darkness.

Meanwhile, the tunnel had gradually become wider and higher, and they were able to stand up again. They walked in single file, David occasionally flashing the torch around and above them. It was easy walking for a while, then they rounded one last bend and stopped.

‘Another dead end,' sighed David.

‘Wait a minute.' Martin edged forward. ‘Give us the Gadget.' He shone the torch beam onto the wall in front of them. Then he scratched at the wall with the blade.

‘What is it?' asked Andrea.

‘This wall,' said Martin. ‘It's kind of flat.'

‘What do you mean?' Andrea ran the palm of her hand over the wall. ‘Ouch! I've got a splinter!' she cried. ‘This is wood.'

‘Marty, you're a legend!' David took the Gadget and scratched around the edges of the wall, which was caked with dirt and grime.

‘It's a door,' he said. ‘But how do we get through? We've got to find the key.'

‘Maybe it uses a secret lever,' suggested Martin, feeling around the sides.

‘Do you think we should try some magic words?' contributed Kitty.

‘Oh, come on,' said Andrea impatiently. ‘Who says it's locked?'

She put her shoulder to the door and pushed. With rusty hinges complaining, it swung stiffly open. They crowded through.

The door opened into a small, square chamber with grimy brick walls. On each of the four sides was an arch in the brickwork. In the one opposite them was another door. The other two arches had no doors, and led into darkness. To the left, a rusty iron ladder led upwards, towards faint lines of greenish light. There was a foul smell, like rotten eggs.

‘Hey, you'd know what to do here, Marty,' said David. ‘Now, let's see. If we go one way we'll have to answer a riddle; another way, fight a dragon or something; another way there'll be a dwarf who might give us information if we help him.'

‘Or on the other hand he might hack us to death with his axe,' agreed Martin. ‘So which way do you want to go?'

‘Up,' said Andrea. ‘Come on, this place stinks.' She clambered up the ladder. Martin started to follow, but David grabbed his arm.

‘Wait,' he said. ‘It might collapse if we all get on it.'

Andrea reached the top and scrabbled around, then she called down, ‘I think I need some help.' Martin was up the ladder in a flash. It creaked alarmingly under the extra weight.

‘There's a lid or something above me,' said Andrea. ‘I guess it's a trapdoor. I can't lift it.'

‘Let's try pushing it sideways,' suggested Martin. Clinging with one hand to the ladder, they both pushed hard at the obstruction.

A sliver of light appeared, and the others cheered. The gap slowly widened as they kept pushing, and they heard a clatter as something fell over. When there was enough space Andrea climbed through, then the others scrambled up to join her. Martin saw that they had torn the hinges off the trapdoor, which had been covered by a pile of empty wooden crates.

They were in a large, dim underground room dotted with square brick columns. A couple of small barred windows on one side, just under the low ceiling, allowed in some light, but the rest of the space was in deep shadow. Here and there they could see gaps like narrow doorways in the rough stone walls. More wooden crates were littered about on the dirt floor, with a couple of broken chairs and a table with a missing leg.

‘It's the Haunted House!' breathed Kitty. ‘Didn't I tell you? We're in the cellar of the Haunted House.'

Everyone knew the Haunted House near the park, beside the deserted factory. It was only accessible by a narrow laneway, and there was so much tangled wilderness of garden you could hardly make out the dark, brooding shape of the building.

‘Oh, wow!' said Andrea. ‘My sister saw the ghost once.'

‘Wooooooooo!' Martin couldn't resist running around the columns and jumping out at her.

‘Oh, very funny,' she sniffed.

‘Rosa and I came here once,' said Kitty, ignoring this exchange. ‘We looked in through the windows – those barred windows up there. I recognise them. And what's more, there's one with broken bars! I remember now! Come on.' Followed by the others, she scrambled through one of the narrow gaps into a similar space, a bit smaller and darker, festooned with cobwebs.

The cellar seemed to be a maze of odd-sized rooms, but after a bit of searching they found the window Kitty had seen. A couple of its bars were missing, and the others were twisted out of shape, leaving a gap big enough to climb through. It was a simple matter then to pile up enough old wooden chairs to climb on. Andrea and Kitty hopped up, and the boys shoved from behind.

‘Wait a minute,' said David, pausing. ‘I think we should push those crates back over the trapdoor, so no one else finds out about our tunnel.'

‘Right,' agreed Martin. ‘And we can come back tomorrow for a really good look.'

When they got outside, the two girls were sitting on an old wooden bench, talking.

‘I don't care,' Andrea was saying. ‘Lots of people have seen it. It kind of hovers at that window up there.' She pointed.

‘You shouldn't tease Kitty,' said David. ‘You know there aren't any ghosts.'

‘She doesn't worry me,' Kitty assured him. ‘Anyway, I'm more frightened of the snakes.'

‘What snakes?'

‘Cec says there are snakes in the garden. He's seen one. His back yard comes right up to the fence, you know, on the other side of the lane.'

‘Cec is about a hundred, and he's got dementia,' scoffed Andrea. Still, she looked nervously around her. The darkening garden was an overgrown wilderness, with ivy creeping along the ground and up the walls of the house.

‘That's crap!' protested Kitty. ‘Cec knows all about this neighbourhood, doesn't he, Marty? Mum says his mind is clear as a bell.'

Martin was staring at Kitty's bare feet.

‘Where are your shoes and socks, Kitty?'

‘Oh.' There was a long silence. ‘I think I left them next to the Doughnut. I'd better go back and get them.'

‘Next to the Doughnut,' said David. ‘On that beach? At low tide?'

‘Um . . . Yes.'

Martin groaned.

‘YOU
talk to them, Paul.' Kitty and Martin's mother was using her very controlled voice. This was going to be bad.

‘Do you children realise what you've put your poor mother through?' thundered Paul O'Brien. ‘Do you realise that in five more minutes we would have called the police?'

‘Kitty!' Although she always said ‘You talk to them,' their mother could never stay out of it for long. ‘Look at your school dress! And where are your shoes and socks?'

Kitty opened her mouth to tell the whole story, but Martin was faster.

‘Mum, we're really sorry. Kitty lost her shoes in the park and we've been looking for them. We didn't want to come home without them.'

‘Oh, Kitty, how could you be so careless! And what about your dress?'

Kitty wasn't very good at lying, and the distracting aroma of spag bol – her favourite – wafted from the kitchen.

‘Oh . . . well, you know, I had to crawl under bushes and stuff. I'm really sorry, Mum.'

‘You should never have been in the park so late. You said you were going to David's . . . '

And so it went on. The outcome was grounding for the rest of the week. Three days, not negotiable.

After dinner, Kitty and Martin meekly cleared away without having to be nagged,

‘I think we got off okay,' Martin said quietly as he scrubbed the spaghetti pot.

Kitty nodded. ‘It's a pity, though,' she said sadly. ‘Now we'll have to wait until the weekend before we can explore those tunnels.'

They could hear a jumble of noise from the next room where their parents were watching the TV news – at least their father was, and he had plenty to say about it. Their mother was marking English assignments, chuckling now and then, occasionally giving a snort of exasperation and dashing her red pen through something.

Next morning Kitty got up very early and ironed her spare school dress. Then she hunted out a pair of Martin's old school shoes and polished them.

‘Oh dear,' her mother said, her face softening at all this industry. ‘I suppose you could have worn your trainers today.'

‘No, Mum. We're going on an excursion. It's full school uniform.'

‘Oh, did I sign the note? Have you got everything you need?'

‘Sure thing.'

Kitty stuffed her lunch into her bag and flew out the door, leaving Martin to his Weet-Bix. Their schools were in the same general direction, but she liked to be early, whereas he thought it was cool to arrive right on the bell.

At school, Mr Mac gave out instructions and handouts in the first session, then the whole of Year Six, both classes, set out on foot, clutching their clipboards. Local history was the subject, and where better to find some, said Mr Mac, than by interviewing the occupants of the Sunset Home for the Aged?

The Sunset Home was a lovely old house with stained-glass windows in a quiet street. There must have been a big garden once, but now it just had extra buildings and parking areas. A fat girl in a pink uniform and a couple of men in white overalls hovered by a side entrance, smoking and gossiping.

Once inside, Kitty and her classmates were rounded up in a wide entrance hall and given a talking-to by the Matron.
Remember, children, some of these people are quite frail and easily upset. You must all be very quiet.

‘Betcha I get a deaf one. Will I still have to be quiet then?' Rosa whispered in Kitty's ear, and they both giggled.

‘Katherine O'Brien?'

‘Here, Miss.'

‘Miss Gordon, Ward E. It's a single room, up the stairs, first on the left. Call the nurse if you have trouble with her.'

What sort of trouble? wondered Kitty as she climbed the stairs.

Miss Gordon was sitting by her bed facing the window, where you could just see the tops of the trees in the park. She had a bony back and clouds of white hair.

Kitty cleared her throat. There was no response. She coughed. Miss Gordon kept gazing out at the treetops. Kitty reached forward tentatively and touched her shoulder.

The old lady turned. Her face was a maze of wrinkles, her blue eyes vacant.

‘Miss Gordon? My name's Kitty. I have to interview you – for my school, you know. I have to ask you some questions.'

The blue eyes slowly, dreamily, came to rest on Kitty's face.

‘Eh?'

Kitty started again. ‘Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your life?'

‘Questions? Yes, dear.'

‘Um . . . Okay.' Kitty hoped that meant she didn't mind. ‘So . . . um . . . Before you were in the Home, where did you live?'

‘Where did I live? Didn't they tell you, dear?' Miss Gordon drew herself up proudly. ‘Tarcoola. I was the mistress of Tarcoola.'

‘Oh. Really? Tarcoola?' Kitty wrote it down. ‘Is that near here?'

‘Near here?' The old lady looked around vaguely. ‘It's by the water. You could watch the sailing boats go by. Ask anyone, dear. Everyone knows Tarcoola. They should have told you.'

She seemed to shrink into herself, frowning, and turned away from Kitty, lost in some vision of the past.

‘It sounds lovely,' said Kitty. ‘Tarcoola!'

‘Oh, yes.' The old lady turned back. ‘The parties we had! The ladies in their frocks. All the big cars, coming up the driveway.'

This sounded promising. Kitty wrote it down.

‘Is that where you were born?' she asked next.

‘I should think not, dear. I was born in Christina Street. There on the corner of Forrester's Lane. Do you know it?'

‘Oh, yes, I do! My friend lives in that street. I go there all the time.'

‘It was a good street.' Miss Gordon smiled. ‘Our house had two bedrooms, you know, and a scullery. And Mother had her roses.'

‘What school did you go to?'

‘Well, we all went to the nuns. I had five brothers and three sisters, and where Mother got the money for the uniforms I don't know, after they closed the Pit. Everything had to be spick and span in those days. Do you go to the nuns, dear?' She seemed to focus for the first time on Kitty, with her neatly plaited hair and polished shoes.

‘Oh no. I go to the public school, you know, over the road from the . . . from the nuns.'

There was a slightly frosty silence, and Kitty looked at the notes she had scribbled.

‘Excuse me, what was the Pit?'

‘Hmmm?'

‘You said, “after they closed the Pit.” '

‘Oh, it was a shame, yes, with all the miners out of work. Father had to go back to the wharves and there wasn't much there either, once the Depression started. It was a terrible time, with all the younger ones still at home.'

‘So the Pit was a mine?'

‘Yes, dear, the coal mine. But you don't want to know about that. It's all gone now. Father always said it was a good thing none of the boys would be going down the Pit. Did I tell you I had five brothers?'

‘Yes. Does that mean there were nine children in your family?'

‘Nine? Nine. Yes. I suppose that's right. Five boys and four girls. And a couple more little ones that Mother lost.'

‘Oh. How did she lose them?' Kitty supposed that with more than nine children trailing behind, you might easily lose one or two.

‘Well, I think it was the diphtheria, but one died of the Spanish Flu just before I was born. Poor Mother – she always took it so hard. I was one of the youngest, and Mother hoped I would stay at home and help her. But I had to go into service like my sisters.'

Kitty understood now about the lost babies. Her mother liked wandering through old churchyards on holidays, and they had seen many family graves, sad little lists of babies and young children buried with nearly every ‘wife of the above'. She was puzzled, however, as to what ‘service' meant. The Army, or the Navy?

‘So what happened when you were in the service?'

‘Work! You young people today . . . Up before dawn, washing and scrubbing. We blacked the stove every day, first thing, before it was lit. I hate to think how much hot water I carried up those stairs. It was three years before I was allowed to touch the silver. Lovely silver they had – not as good as Tarcoola, though. Mr Wolf liked to have the best, always the best. He brought such beautiful things with him from Europe.'

Kitty was floundering. She searched for clues.

‘Um . . . did you wear a uniform, in the . . . in service?'

‘Oh yes. They were old-fashioned there, of course – the black dress, everything starched – even the little white cap. I wasn't any bigger than you are when I started, dear. When I put the apron on you could hardly see me at all! Like a walking tent!'

They both laughed. Miss Gordon sighed.

‘I hope you don't have to go into service, dear.'

‘Oh! I don't think so. I'm going to be a vet.'

Miss Gordon clearly wasn't listening. Her gaze strayed back to the trees.

‘I was good to the girls at Tarcoola. Mr Wolf never understood that. I didn't take any nonsense, though.'

Kitty was wondering if she would ever be able to make sense of her notes.

‘So . . . ' she ventured, ‘was Mr Wolf your boss?'

‘I beg your pardon!' Miss Gordon drew herself up. ‘Mr Wolf was my husband. Didn't I tell you I was mistress of the house?'

Kitty became aware of someone behind her. It was Rosa, jiggling with impatience.

‘Come on, Kitty! Everyone's downstairs waiting.'

‘In a minute.'

Kitty turned back to the old lady. ‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I have to go now.' She held out her hand.

Miss Gordon – or was it Mrs Wolf? – took Kitty's hand and held it against her cheek. Despite the wrinkles, her skin was soft and cool.

‘Goodbye, then, dear. What did you say your name was?'

‘Kitty.'

‘What a lovely old-fashioned name. It's been so nice having a chat.'

Kitty quickly stacked her notes and glanced at the printed question sheet on top.

‘Oh, I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I forgot to ask you about your birthday.'

Miss Gordon drew back suddenly. ‘Don't you ask about that!' Her voice was a harsh whisper.

‘Oh. Okay.'

‘They all kept asking me,' mumbled the old lady. ‘But I wouldn't tell them. It's yours, he said.'

‘It's okay,' said Kitty. ‘I won't ask. I'm sorry.'

She took Miss Gordon's hand. After a moment the blue eyes focused on her.

‘You will come and see me soon, won't you?' said the old lady, as if nothing had happened.

‘Yes, if I can.'

Rosa was waiting outside. ‘I think I might have got the wrong person!' whispered Kitty. ‘But she was a bit muddled, so I can't be sure.'

They passed a plump nurse who was heading into the ward.

‘Wait a minute,' Kitty muttered. She ran after the nurse. ‘Excuse me! That lady in there, what's her name?'

‘That's Clarissa. Miss Clarissa Gordon.'

‘Oh, it was the right one. She said she was married to someone called Mr Wolf.' Kitty couldn't help giggling a little.

‘She thinks she was, poor thing.' The nurse leaned a little closer. ‘Bigamy!' she breathed.

‘Oh!' What was bigamy, Kitty wondered. ‘Well, anyway, would I be allowed to visit her again?'

‘Yes, of course. It does them good to have visitors. She doesn't see anyone except the priest from one year to the next.'

‘Thanks.' Kitty ran back to Rosa.

‘What's bigamy?' she asked as they hurried down the stairs.

‘Oh, it's . . . um . . . I'm sure I've heard of it . . . '

‘It's a great story,' continued Kitty. ‘She used to be a servant, I think, but she ended up really posh. She says she was mistress of Tarcoola.'

‘No kidding!' gasped Rosa. ‘Tarcoola?'

‘Yes, do you know where that is?'

‘Course I do. Didn't you see the name above the door?'

Kitty looked blank.

‘When we went in that time?' persisted Rosa. ‘The name's carved above the front door.'

She paused for effect. ‘The Haunted House!'