2006 - Wildcat Moon by Babs Horton Page A

late,” she said politely.
    “Don’t worry about that. Trains never arrive here on time.”
    The old man struggled to lift her valise into the car and Clementine resisted the urge to giggle as he handed her clumsily into the back of the vehicle.
    “You planning on staying at Killivray long?” the man asked, glancing at her in the mirror.
    Clementine kept her head turned away; she didn’t want to look into his eyes.
    “A few years, I dare say.”
    “Suppose it won’t be so bad for someone middle-aged like yourself. I reckon it would drive a youngster mad shut up there away from the world.”
    Clementine smirked. Middle-aged indeed! Well, the wig and glasses had certainly worked their magic!
    “Why do you say shut up away from the world?”
    “Because, Ma’am, the Greswodes don’t come out much. Funny lot of buggers they are. No visitors ever. I only get called out to drive about three times a year. Couple of trips to St Werburgh’s and the rest of the time they stay cooped up in the house.”
    “I see,” said Clementine.
    “Still you’re a foreigner, aren’t you? Mayhap you won’t find them strange at all.”
    Clementine put her hand to her mouth to cover her smile. Soon he grew tired of talking and she stared out of the window as the car bumped along the narrow country lanes.
    The closer they got to Killivray House the more excited she became. This was going to be one of the best acting roles of her life and when this unexpected episode was over she would be free and life would never be as bad again. She got out of the car, thanked the driver and gave him a half-crown.
    “First tip I ever had doing this run. Tight as a camel’s arse that lot are, as well as peculiar,” he said, nodding towards the house.
    Clementine Fernaud took a deep breath and walked up to the front door, tugged the bell pull and waited expectantly.
     
    Archie Grimble gawped at the open-mouthed girl standing before him. This must be the little girl from Killivray House, the one the Skallies folk said wasn’t quite right in the head.
    The girl stared back at Archie, her nostrils quivering with fear, eyebrows arched. She looked Archie up and down curiously, walked around him slowly, put out a trembling hand to touch him and then seemed to think better of it. Then she said, “Are you Thomas Greswode?”
    Archie stared at her in astonishment. He shook his head and tried to find his voice.
    “No,” he squeaked.
    “Are you quite sure?”
    People were right about her, she was nuts all right.
    “I’m sure I’m not.”
    “You’re absolutely positive? You look a little like him.”
    “Do I? Well, I’m not him because Thomas Greswode is dead.”
    The girl cocked her head on one side and narrowed her eyes. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. He, Thomas Greswode, is not dead because I saw him just this morning.”
    Archie felt the hairs on the nape of his neck bristle and a tremor of fear rattled up his backbone. He took a small step backwards away from this peculiar girl; he’d met enough bloody lunatics for one day.
    He knew that you were supposed to humour mad people until you had the chance to run away. You mustn’t startle them or they were apt to do dangerous things.
    “W…where did you see him?” he asked.
    “He was standing inside the summerhouse,” she said defiantly. “He was looking out of the window and he smiled at me.”
    “Oh.” Archie looked uncomfortably down at his feet.
    “You don’t believe me, do you?” There was a tremor and the hint of a challenge in her voice.
    “I, the thing is, there’s a kind of gravestone thing in the w…wobbly chapel with his name on and it does say that he’s dead.”
    “When was he supposed to have died?”
    “August the, er, 21 st 1900.”
    “But that was ages ago.”
    “He drowned off Skilly Point. He was only twelve.”
    The girl stuck out her chin and said haughtily, “He couldn’t possibly have drowned anyway because he’s a very good swimmer.”
    “How do you