The Beasts of Clawstone Castle

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sir George did not like picnics, and he particularly did not like picnics by the sea. He did not like sitting bolt upright in the sand, or paddling in icy water or trudging across sand dunes carrying hampers and rugs.

But three days after the men in white coats had been, Sir George sat staring out to sea with his legs sticking out in front of him and his tweed hat jammed down on his head — and beside him sat his sister Emily. She too was not fond of picnics: her back hurt when she sat without a support and both the Percivals thought that folding chairs and beach umbrellas and those sorts of things were vulgar. Sir George wore his tweed suit and Emily wore her fifteen-year-old knitted skirt, and both of them wanted only one thing: that the picnic, and the day, should be over.

The bay where they sat was very beautiful: a golden curve of sand with a view of two islands in the distance, and just enough of a breeze to crown the waves with little crests of white. The tide was out; the hard-packed sand rippled near the waterline, the rocks sparkled in the sun. Madlyn and Ned had taken their nets and were fishing the pools, calling out to Rollo when they found a starfish or a scuttling crab or a cluster of anemones.

But Rollo, who could have named all the creatures that they found, sat beside his Great-Uncle George, silent and still, as though he too was old, and had a back that hurt, and wished that the day was over.

The ghosts had stayed behind in the castle. They were going to keep Cousin Howard company.

‘It’s the salt spray from the sea, you know,’ Ranulf had explained. ‘A ghost’s ectoplasm can stand most things, but salt makes it curdle.’

Actually this wasn’t true. There is nothing that ghosts like better than a visit to the seaside, but the ghosts were being tactful. They thought that on this historic and horrible day, the family might like to be alone.

Madlyn had caught a tiny green fish with a frog-like face and called out to Rollo.

‘Look! I think it’s a blenny.’

Rollo glanced up for a moment, but he did not move from his great-uncle’s side.

Madlyn bit her lip. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said miserably to Ned. ‘He can’t go on like this.’ She threw the fish back into the pool and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

‘I don’t want to spoil things for my parents, but perhaps I ought to ask them to come home.’

‘He’ll be better when today is past,’ said Ned. ‘He keeps seeing it all in his head.’

For this was the day when the men were coming to take away the cattle. It was to get Rollo out of the way that Sir George had insisted on this picnic by the sea.

‘Come on, I’ll take you for an ice cream,’ Ned said to Madlyn. ‘The van’s just coming down.’

They came back with with three vanilla cones and handed one to Rollo who thanked them politely, but when they came back five minutes later he was still holding it out in front of him while the melting ice cream dripped down his hand.

And so the day dragged on.

They unpacked the lunch which Aunt Emily had prepared, and did their best with it. The eggs were not quite hard-boiled and squirted a little as they bit into them, the slices of cucumber inside the sandwiches seemed to be jet-propelled and shot on to their laps, and the scones were some that Emily had made for an earlier Open Day. But it didn’t matter because quite soon everything they were eating became covered in sand.

In the afternoon, Madlyn and Ned found some children at the other end of the beach and joined them in a game of cricket — and then at last Uncle George took out his watch and said it was four o’clock and they could go home.

As they drove through the village there was no need to ask if it was all over. People stood outside their houses looking silent and grave, and when they waved to Sir George they might have been greeting a passing hearse.

And even through the windows of the car the children could smell what had happened. The summer scents which usually came on the breeze were gone: the smell of flowers, and fresh-cut grass, and heather from the hills. Instead there was only one odour: the heavy, dark stench of disinfectant, stinging the nostrils, catching the throat.

They got out and climbed stiffly up the steps. In the upstairs salon, the ghosts were waiting for them.

‘We wanted to speak to you,’ said Ranulf. He looked tired and tense and under his shirt they could hear the rat greedily gnawing. ‘We have come to a decision. We feel that we will be in the way if we stay. You will want to be private among yourselves.’

‘With no Open Days you will not need us,’ began Mr Smith, ‘so we will go away and—’

What happened next surprised everyone and it surprised Madlyn most of all.

If there was one thing Madlyn was known for, it was her even temper, her good manners and her wish to behave well and make people happy. Now she suddenly went mad. She stamped her feet. She screamed. She hurled abuse.

‘How dare you?’ she yelled at the ghosts. ‘I’ve had enough! Rollo’s making himself ill — he’ll probably die and my parents are miles away and I don’t know what to do and now you dare to go away and leave us. I can’t stand it, I can’t and I won’t—’

And she threw herself on to the ground and burst into violent and uncontrollable sobs.

The ghosts stood round in dismay. Aunt Emily tried to go to her and stepped back as Madlyn kicked out.

‘Leave me alone. I hate you all. Just go away and leave me alone.’

And then, as they all stared helplessly, not knowing what to do, there was … a kind of stirring … and then, quite on their own, The Feet walked slowly, steadily, to where Madlyn lay on the ground, still shaken by sobs.

The Feet did not say anything, for reasons which are obvious, but they settled down to keep watch beside her. One foot guarded her left side, one foot guarded her right side — and what they were telling her was absolutely clear.

‘We love you,’ said The Feet, without uttering a single word. ‘We will never leave you. We belong.’

That night Rollo ate his supper and went to bed quietly, and slept. Sometimes you have to grow up quickly — and the day on which the cattle left Clawstone was such a day.