The Secret of Crickley Hall

'We'll be keeping ourselves pretty busy,' Gabe told him as he waited for the tonic. 'My daughter starts at the local school Monday.' The 'local' school was several miles away in the nearest town of Merrybridge.

Pouring half the tonic water into a fresh glass and leaving the rest in the bottle, which he stood beside it, the barman nodded. 'That'll be Merrybridge Middle School, will it? She'll be all right there. Most of the village kids go to the Merry Middle. Picked up by bus from the main street. S'pect the driver will make a stop at Crickley Hall for yer daughter, no problem for him. Frank's one of my regulars so I'll mention it when he comes in tonight. The school will have to make the formal arrangement regarding payment and insurance, but that's easily done.'

'Thanks, I'd be grateful. I'm taking her in myself the first morning but I'll fix it with the school. I need to go into Ilfracombe anyway.'

'And what about the little 'un?'

'She's only five. My wife'll take care of her while we're down here.' Gabe knew Eve would teach Cally the basics of reading and writing far more strictly than any nursery school.

As the other man took the money for the drinks and food from Gabe, he remarked, 'Big place, that Crickley Hall. Yer'll be rattlin' around in it.'

'I bet it'll be cold, too, in this weather.' This came from the attractive chestnut-haired barmaid, who had come back from serving a customer at the far end of the bar. Her Devonian burr was barely noticeable; if anything, her accent was more south London than West Country. 'It'll be damp. All those old places are.'

'Yeah, I found puddles on the stairs last night and I'm not sure how they got there,' Gabe replied. 'Maybe from a loose window frame. There's a big window over the stairs. All gone this morning, though, not even damp patches left behind.'

'You wait 'til there's a proper storm. Then you'll know about it. You've probably got a leaky roof too.' The girl gave a brief mock shiver.

The barman shrugged. 'Owner's not lived there fer years and them that rented it never stayed long.'

Oh-oh, Gabe said to himself wryly, here it comes. Fifty years ago a mad axeman chopped up his family and hid the body parts all over the house, or at the turn of the last century the wealthy owner of Crickley Hall, old Charlie Crickley himself, forbade his daughter to marry the local ratcatcher and she hanged herself in the cellar.

But the bartender went on: 'That's why the place has been so neglected and why yer gettin' yer leaks.'

'I thought the old guy, Percy—Percy Judd?—took care of the house.'

The other man gave him a rueful grin. 'Percy's a bit ancient to do much upkeep. That's why the estate manager pays two ladies from the village to go in and give it a good dusting once a month. No, Percy can't do a lot on his own nowadays. To be honest wiv yer, he's only kept on out of kindness. Has he been knocking on yer door yet?'

'Yesterday, soon after we arrived. Just how old is he?'

The barman's forehead creased as he took a moment to think. He scratched his chin. 'Oh, he must be… well, I don't know for sure, but he's got to be nearly eighty by now. Served overseas wiv the army at the end of the last world war, so he must be getting' on a bit.'

Gabe whistled softly through his teeth. 'And he's still working?'

'Like I say, as a kindness. No one likes to sack him, y'see. He helps out at the church en' all, but nothing too heavy, just tending the churchyard, collectin' hymn books after Mass, that sort of thing. He's a dear old chap, set in his ways, though, determined like. Won't retire no matter how many times it's been suggested. He's harmless—won't give yer no bother.'

'He's sweet,' chimed in the barmaid.

'Customer wants serving, Frannie.' The barman gave a nod towards a customer waiting further down, two empty glasses before him on the counter. Giving Gabe one final smile, Frannie went off to take the customer's order.

The barman leaned one elbow on the bar. 'I'm the landlord of the Barnaby,' he told Gabe, 'and anything yer want to know about the area, just drop by and I'll try to oblige. If I'm not around, my wife, Vera, or our Frannie will be.'

Warmed by the man's friendliness, Gabe smiled. 'That's kind of you. I guess we'll be okay.'

'Well, don't hesitate. We could do with some new faces around 'ere. Good luck to you and yer family, Mr…?'

'Gabe Caleigh.' Gabe extended a hand across the beer mat and the landlord shook it.

'Sam Pennelly's me name. Enjoy yer stay, Mr Caleigh. Yer in a beautiful spot up there in the gorge.'

Gabe poured the rest of the tonic into its glass and was about to turn away, both glasses in his hands, when a thought struck him. 'Out of interest, how did Devil's Cleave get its name? It's kinda dark for such a wonderful place.'

Now the landlord had both elbows on the bartop as he leaned forward as if to speak confidentially. 'Centuries ago,' he said, his broad face serious, his voice husky, 'the Devil, hisself, tried to cut his way inland from the sea to flood all the villages hereabouts. First he took a bite out of the cliffs and that's how Hollow Bay came to be. Years of land erosion have widened the bay, of course. Anyway, they say after he took his first bite he attempted to gnaw his way up to the moors, but his teeth eventually got worn down to the gums and he couldn't get no further so, frustrated like, he sloped off back to sea swearing to have his revenge one day. And he did, but I'll leave that for another day, Mr Caleigh.'

The landlord straightened up and Gabe grinned at him, then froze the grin as he realized Pennelly's expression remained serious. For a beat or two there was a silence between the two men and Gabe was bemused.

Then the other man chuckled, his face breaking into a broad, yellow-toothed smile.

'Sorry, didn't mean to get a rise from yer,' the landlord apologized, continuing to smile, 'but that's how the tale goes. There's a lot of nonsense legends in these parts and they make good conversations round a roaring fire on winter nights.' He had one last chuckle before saying, 'Nice to meet you and your family, Mr Caleigh. You're always welcome at the Barnaby, so don't you stay away. You take good care of those girls of yours, now—all three of 'em I mean.'

Pennelly strolled off to talk to some customers at the other end of the bar and Gabe brought the drinks back to the table.

Eve looked up at him as he placed the glass before her. 'You seemed to be having a nice chat,' she said, and it was really a question: what were they talking about?

Gabe took his seat. 'Yeah, nice people. But I think the guy was twisting my head at the end.' He supped his beer.

'How did the guy twist your head, Daddy?' asked Cally, taking her lips from the straw she was using.

'Oh, he was just telling me how Hollow Bay and the ravine were made.'

'Gorge,' corrected Loren, who liked her father to speak proper English on occasion (she did this not out of embarrassment but because she genuinely thought she was being helpful, even though all her friends thought his American accent was cool).

'Tell us how, please,' Cally demanded noisily draining the last of her drink.

Gabe lowered his own voice as he told them the tale of how Hollow Bay and Devil's Cleave got their names.

9: THE PROJECT

'See it out there?'

Hunched in his coat against the steady drizzle, Gabe pointed over the stone harbour wall and Eve and the girls followed his direction. Loren and Cally wore yellow, hooded plastic macs while Eve had on her parka, deep blue in colour and drawn in at the waist to give it shape. While she and the girls had the hoods of their coats up, Gabe had stuffed his woollen beanie hat into one of his reefer jacket's pockets, because sometimes he enjoyed the feel of rain or wind on his face and head. His hair was already darkened by the hard rain, but his only concession to the weather was to pull his coat collar up round his neck.