The Castle of the Demon by Reginald Hill

Author:Reginald Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2019-02-16T16:00:00+00:00

6

Emily spent the afternoon sitting on the foreshore watching a couple of fishermen. She was perched on the ruins of an old tree-trunk and for a while she toyed with the imagining that it might have been uprooted from the great forest which legend had it was buried fathoms deep out from Beckfoot. But even broad daylight did not make this reminder of her own brush with Solway mythology in the forms of green men any less disturbing. In any case, daylight was not so broad now. High up the sky was a solid fell of dark grey cloud and much lower a ragged streamer of black was being blown diagonally across the Firth. Criffel had long disappeared and the fishermen leaned into the wind as they tried in vain to get a decent length of cast.

It was a good atmosphere for brooding on things that moved and had their being outside the normal schemes of nature. But Emily’s thoughts for the most part were concerned with the wide range of personal problems which troubled her and which sunshine and fair weather could not have changed. Perhaps they might have kept the self-pity at bay.

Suppose, she asked herself, suppose I had to go now to one person whom I could trust and call friend without reservation, just one person in the world, where would I go?

Cal, who had been lying at her feet watching her unblinkingly through his good eye, yawned modestly. Emily laughed and this did her some good.

‘I accept your offer,’ she said. ‘Perhaps if I kiss you, you’ll turn into a one-eyed prince.’

Cal rose and lumbered away towards the water.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘Who wants a one-eyed prince, anyway?’

‘Who indeed?’ said a familiar voice behind her. She started in surprise and turned quickly. The round jolly face of Mr. Plowman peered down at her. He carried a trenching tool over his shoulder and slung round the handle so that it hung down his back was a small haversack.

‘Did I startle you? I am sorry,’ he said, his smile turning to a look of concern. ‘Your nerves have been troubled enough.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Emily.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. But I heard about last night. It was a terrible thing, terrible. Who would want to do a thing like that? I asked Mr. Inwit.’

‘Where is Mr. Inwit today?’ she asked.

‘Resting,’ said Plowman solemnly. ‘He overdid it yesterday. I rather left him to do it all himself, you remember. He strained his shoulder, I think. So I told him to take a rest, begin the work of tabulating our findings.’

‘And what have you found?’

‘Sadly very little. My fault again I fear. I’m too haphazard. Dig a trench here, sink a shaft there. It’s hit-and-miss stuff, I’m afraid. And we seem to be missing. Today I thought might be the day. But no. And when I saw the weather closing in, I thought, enough’s enough. Going back empty-handed is one thing. Going back wet-footed is quite another. How long are you staying, Mrs.

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