Rather than leading the way back up the steps to the front room, Arkwright walked back towards the waterwheel. At first I thought he was going to squeeze past it but then I noticed a narrow door to the left, which he unlocked. We strode out into the garden, I saw that the mist had lifted but still lingered in the distance, beyond the trees. We made a complete inner circuit of the moat; from time to time Arkwright halted to point things out.
‘That’s Monastery Marsh,’ he said, jabbing his finger towards the south-west. ‘And beyond it is Monks’ Hill. Never try to cross that marsh alone – or at least not until you know your way around or have studied a map. Beyond the marsh, more directly to the west, is a high earthen bank that holds back the tide from the bay.’ I looked around, taking in everything he said. ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘I want you to meet somebody else . . .’
That said, he put two fingers in his mouth and let out a long, piercing whistle. He repeated it, and almost immediately, from the direction of the marsh, I heard something running towards us. Two large wolfhounds bounded into view, both leaping the moat with ease. I was used to farm dogs but these animals had a savage air about them and seemed to be heading directly towards me. They had more wolf in them than dog, and had I been alone, I’m sure they’d have pulled me to the ground in seconds. One was a dirty looking grey with streaks of black; its companion was as black as coal but for a dash of grey at the tip of its tail. Their jaws gaped wide, teeth ready to bite.
But at Arkwright’s command, ‘Down!’ they halted immediately, sat back upon their haunches and gazed up at their master, tongues lolling from their open mouths.
‘The black one’s the bitch,’ Arkwright said. ‘Her name is Claw. Don’t turn your back on her – she’s dangerous. And this is Tooth,’ he added, pointing to the grey. ‘Better temperament, but they’re both working dogs, not pets. They obey me because I feed ‘em well and they know not to cross me. The only affection they get is from each other. They’re a pair all right. Inseparable.’
‘I lived on a farm. We had working dogs,’ I told him.
‘Did you now? Well, you’ll have an inkling of what I mean. No room for sentiment with a working dog. Treat them fairly, feed them well, but they have to earn their keep in return. I’m afraid there’s little in common between farm dogs and these two though. At night they’re usually kept chained up close to the house and trained to bark if anything approaches. During the day they hunt rabbits and hares out on the edge of marsh and keep watch for anything that might threaten the house.
‘But when I go out on a job, they come with me. Once they get a scent they never let it go. They hunt down whatever I set ‘em on. And if it proves necessary, on my command they kill too. As I said, they work hard and feed well. When I kill a witch, they get something extra in their diet. I cut out her heart and throw it to them. That, as your master will already have told you, stops her from coming back to this world in another body and also from using her dead one to scratch her way to the surface. That’s why I don’t keep dead witches. It saves time and space.’
There was a ruthless edge to Arkwright – he certainly wasn’t a man to cross. As we turned to walk back to the house, the dogs following at our heels, I happened to glance up and saw something that surprised me. Two separate columns of smoke were curling upwards from the roof of the mill. One must be from the stove in the kitchen. But where was the second fire? I wondered if it was coming from the locked room I’d been warned about. Was there something or someone up there Arkwright didn’t want me to see? Then I remembered about the unquiet dead that he allowed the run of his house. I knew he was a man who was quick to anger and I was pretty sure that he wouldn’t want me prying, but I was feeling very curious.
‘Mr Arkwright,’ I began politely, ‘could I ask you a question?’
‘That’s why you’re here, Master Ward . . .’
‘It’s about what you put in the note you left me. Why do you allow the dead to walk in your house?’
Again an angry expression flickered across his face. ‘The dead here are family. My family, Master Ward. And it’s not something I wish to discuss with you or anyone else, so you’ll have to contain your curiosity. When you get back to Mr Gregory, ask him. He knows something about it, and no doubt he’ll tell you. But I don’t want to hear another word on the matter. Do you understand? It’s something I just don’t talk about.’
I nodded and followed him back to the house. I might be there to ask questions, but getting them answered was another matter!
CHAPTER 7
Frog-kicks
p.
p.
As soon as it was dark we had a light supper and then Arkwright helped me to carry the mattress and sheets back up to my room. The sheets were fine but the mattress still felt damp, though I knew better than to complain.
I was tired and settled down in my bare little room, hoping to get a good night’s sleep, but within the hour I was awoken by the same disturbing noises I’d heard the night before – the deep rumble of the waterwheel and that terrible scream that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. But this time, as the sound finally faded away, I heard two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs from the kitchen.
I was sure that Arkwright was still in bed, so I knew it had to be the ghosts that haunted the mill. The sounds reached the landing and passed my bedroom door. I heard the door of the next room open and then close, and something sat down on the large double bed – the one with the saturated sheets. The springs creaked as if something were turning over, trying to get comfortable, and then there was utter silence.
For a long while the peace continued and I was just starting to relax and drift off to sleep when a voice spoke from the other side of my bedroom wall.
‘I can’t get myself comfy,’ complained a man’s voice. ‘Oh, I wish I could sleep in a dry bed just once more!’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Abe. So sorry. I don’t mean to cause you such discomfort. It’s the water from the millstream. The water I drowned in. Can’t ever get away from it, no matter how hard I try. My broken bones ache but the wet plagues me most of all. Why don’t you go and leave me be? Nothing good can ever come of our staying together like this.’
‘Leave you? How can I ever leave you, my love? What’s a bit of discomfort when we’ve got each other?’