The Moors: Some secrets are better left buried (2 page)

The Moors
Some secrets are better left buried

CHAPTER ONE
The Station Call
Friday 11
th
February, 1972

Sometimes when landing upon a new place, a person can get a good sense of what to expect almost immediately. Amanda had never been to the West Country before. Her first impressions of Devon were surprising, but not at all complimentary. Something about the manner of the roadside café where an elderly waitress glared at her whilst pouring coffee for a truck driver reeked of outback America. Amanda felt uncomfortable from the moment she stepped onto the rickety old platform, but then again, she seldom felt comfortable anywhere outside of the city. Her mind was quick, some might say manic, and when the surroundings didn’t match her inner intensity, it often caused her to become restless.

Amanda’s piercing green eyes hinted at a beauty often buried beneath expensive suits and a moody yet focused expression, which she displayed as she juggled multiple sugar sachets above a polystyrene cup whilst speaking quietly into a payphone.

‘It was okay. The train pulled in early if you can believe—’

An unexpected tear in the sachet sprayed white grains of sugar everywhere.

‘Shit!’ she cursed, attracting unwanted attention.

‘What’s wr—g?’ asked a male voice on the other end of the line, the phone crackling as he did so.

‘What?’ asked Amanda, frowning as she pressed her ear hard against the earpiece.

‘What’s wrong?’ the man repeated, this time clearly, as Amanda fussed over the mess she’d made.

‘Sorry. The line’s pretty bad. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,’ she said, quickly realising Tony would decipher her lie.

She tried to coax the sugar into a napkin, but to no avail. Disapproving looks from the locals were met with a defiant glare of her own.

City mouse was in no mood to play.

‘I wish I could believe it,’ said Tony.

‘Fine! Everything. Everything’s wrong!’ she snapped. ‘Tony, I…’

‘Hey! It’s okay. We’ll b- -kay,’ he insisted.

She imagined the expression on his face; the prominent wrinkle that appeared in the middle of his forehead whenever he spoke delicately and the look of sincerity that was ever present in his deep brown trustworthy eyes. These were the traits that first endeared him to Amanda. She was not the type of person to hand out her trust freely. She didn’t often make friends as, when it came down to it, she saw friendship as an inconvenience that sapped her time and energy – two invaluable assets that were better spent on pursuing her career. She was even more selective when it came to potential lovers.

Tony was her senior editor and because of this, they spent countless hours together. Had that not been the case, their friendship would have been unlikely to grow. However, the passion they shared for their profession provided them with a common ground on which their bond could flourish. With Tony, she never had to apologise for her unpredictable schedule. Unlike most men who were intimidated by her ambition, he was very much an advocate of it. What’s more, he fully respected her boundaries and never repeated questions that she seemed reluctant to answer.

These were the many factors necessary for Amanda to consider falling in love, but love was hard and just recently Tony had asked for her hand in marriage. When she questioned his reasons, he told her straight. He longed for a future where they would live together, share a bank account, plan their movements around one another and begin a family, linking them for the rest of their lives. It was all too much for Amanda to comprehend. Sure, she could see the validity in why he might view such things as progress in their relationship, but she was reluctant to bring a child into a world as vile as the one that surrounded them.

This was a difference in opinion that was sure to prove a major problem. There was simply no denying it.

Amanda rested her head against the payphone, looking more regretful than consoled.

‘You’ll be back in three days,’ Tony reminded her. ‘We can talk then.’

The fact he had been so lovely, caring only about her feelings and forfeiting that of his own, only served to make her feel worse.

She wished she had not left on such bad terms.

‘I guess,’ she said, resigned to the fact she had no other option.

‘And that’s
three
days. You’ll be back here on Sunday, as agreed. Okay?’ said Tony.

‘Yeah,’ she agreed, softly.

‘Because I know what you’re like when you get your teeth into something and if you try to go back on your word, I’ll come down there and pull you out myself!’ he continued, in a mini-rant that was heavily based on past experience.

Amanda smiled, her spirit lifted.

‘Yes, boss! Message received,’ she replied, playfully.

‘I do l--- you,’ he said, the interference cheating Amanda of the word she most needed to hear.

‘You too,’ she replied, before placing the phone back onto the receiver.

She took a moment to collect her thoughts and then picked up her suitcase.

‘You gonna clean that up?’ asked the waitress, the positioning of her chubby arms making her look like a short, dumpy teapot.

‘No. You are,’ stated Amanda, before striding across the floor donning a superior posture.

‘Oooooooh…’ goaded the truck driver, causing the waitress to snatch his mug away.

‘Hey! I’m not done,’ he grumbled.

‘Yes you are,’ the waitress scorned.

*
 

Amanda grimaced at the stench of stale urine in the ladies’ toilets. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have accepted such standards but as far as she could see these were the only facilities for miles around. Besides, her ride was soon to arrive, giving her little time to be fussy.

She placed her suitcase on the floor and squinted to see her reflection in the grimy mirror. She attempted to run some cold water from the tap but the banging pipes only offered spurts of brown liquid. She turned the tap off immediately and recoiled, pulling on a fresh top and placing a black hairband over her soft shoulder-length hair with precision. It was amazing how those two simple items combined with her fake but brilliant smile to make her appear so much younger than her thirty-one years. The face that now looked back was not Amanda Connors but Amanda Green – the innocent yet inquisitive alter-ego she’d created for the job. The character was well rehearsed and gave her the greatest chance of extracting the most information whilst remaining unobtrusive. As she stepped out of the dingy bathroom, she was ready to implement the first phase of her plan.

*
 

Within the classic frame of a black BMW, Amanda stole subtle glances of Walter – a tall, skinny man with a calm and quiet manner. His white hair thinned at the top of his head and his temples pulsed as he took great pleasure in sucking on a sweet.

‘Nervous?’ he asked, taking her quite by surprise.

The quiet ones were always the most observant, but she was able to pass off her obvious tension by assuming the role of her wide-eyed, desperately naive pseudonym.

‘Oh! No. I was just admiring the view. It’s beautiful around here,’ she gushed. ‘Much greener than the city.’

She watched Walter out the corner of her eye as he drove. Each movement was meticulous and assured. Every word he spoke had purpose.

‘You know what? Maybe I am a little nervous!’ she said as she squeezed her palms, curious to discover how he would respond to small talk.

‘Don’t be. You’ll settle,’ he assured her.

He was polite, but already his short answers suggested he didn’t particularly enjoy questions, which prompted her to ask more.

‘On the phone, Christian said you used to be a butler?’ she asked.

‘Yes. It was some time ago but it’s rather ingrained into me, I’m afraid. Even now, I find certain habits difficult to drop!’ he said, shifting in his seat and smiling as though he had been tickled.

‘And now you’re a carer?’

‘In a way. I live in the home with my wife,’ he replied.

‘Your wife?’ queried Amanda.

He nodded.

‘Yes dear. Christian is our son-in-law.’

Amanda fell silent for a moment.

So there are two families that run the home.

‘Wouldn’t you rather retire somewhere other than a care home?’ she asked, quite abruptly.

To this question, Walter became somewhat guarded, as he had been before humour momentarily breached his defences. She noticed him grip the steering wheel as he chose his words carefully.

‘
It’s a long story,’ came his eventual response, before he pulled a small white paper bag out of his pocket, waving it in front of her.

‘Would you like a sweet?’ he asked as part of a clear diversion tactic.

Amanda glanced inside the bag to see a huddle of claret aniseed balls.

‘No. Thank you,’ she replied.

Walter shrugged before popping one into his mouth, providing him with yet another perfect excuse not to talk.

Very cunning!
She thought.

In the silence, Amanda paid more attention to her surroundings. From Tiverton Parkway rail station, they had travelled through small link roads and endless winding country lanes. Only a couple of incredibly small towns showed any signs of normality before a road sign welcomed them to Exmoor.

Amanda suddenly became aware that they were completely alone and even the roads disappeared into nothing more than a dirt track that led them to two very tall, impossibly heavy-looking iron gates. They were the kind clearly meant to stop intruders, but as Amanda looked around, she wondered who on earth might be passing by.

Walter stepped out of the car and flicked through a number of keys before unlocking a thick metal chain, which was wrapped around the gates like a snake squeezing the life from its prey. As he walked back to the car, she wondered if the gates were in fact more for keeping people in than out.

She absorbed the landscape. Visually, the place was utterly stunning. Freshly cut grass and healthy green trees separated a number of clearly defined gardens and a seating area. Endless flowers offered sharp injections of colour that really brightened up the place and a quaint pond sat beside the dirt track on which they drove. At the top of the hill, which was much longer than Amanda first thought, an old three storey building appeared from behind the trees, emerging as if by magic and standing in proud isolation, watching over the land like a lighthouse in the middle of the sea. The building was majestic, dauntingly so.

The car park, which offered an impressive number of spaces, had only one other vehicle in it. Due to Amanda’s lack of automotive knowledge she could only surmise it as a shiny jeep. Amanda sensed it was expensive, but the fact it reminded her of a hearse limited the vehicle’s charm. Walter parked and without saying a word headed for the back of the car to retrieve Amanda’s suitcase. He was right. Being a butler had become part of his DNA.

Amanda could normally gauge people within two minutes of meeting them. It was one of her party tricks and a useful ability to have in her line of work, but Walter was interesting; harder to read than most. He appeared to be a traditional gentleman who kept the majority of his thoughts to himself. He possessed loyalty and kindness yet held an element of mystery, which Amanda found a rare and admirable combination. She looked towards the house with purpose, noticing something in an upstairs window. It was the pale old face of a woman who soon stepped out of view.

Amanda’s concentration was broken as Walter slammed the boot shut and stepped towards her, bag-in-hand.

‘Ready?’ he asked, possessing the slightest hint of a smile.

She was.

She had been for years, and if there was anything amiss within the home, she intended to bring the whole place down, brick-by-brick.

CHAPTER TWO
The Help
Friday 11
th
February, 1972

As a fan of classic literature, Amanda couldn’t help but find comparisons between her entry into the home to Jonathan Harker’s first visit to Count Dracula’s castle. Everything that unfolded around her could have been interpreted as creepy – from the backward people in the roadside café and the ghostly face in the window to the way the key clunked heavily in the lock. The door squeaked somewhat eerily as Walter pushed it open. Even Walter, the man she had so warmed to, suddenly bared a remarkable resemblance to the Count himself, with his tall, thin frame, pale skin and crooked smile now appearing rather sinister since being placed in a gothic surrounding.

This was the most problematic part of being an investigatory journalist. By Amanda’s very nature, she was led by curiosity and intrigue, meaning there was always a danger she would manifest fictitious realities. This had happened once before when she harmed the reputation of a businessman who turned out to be innocent, believing he had made his money through unlawful means by using a dry-cleaning business to launder money. In fairness, the man in question had a very public and unsavoury background as a gangster, so the fact the propaganda and slander caused by Amanda’s articles put his business under was seen by many as a good dose of karma, though not by Amanda herself. She wanted to catch wrongdoers and expose them more than anything, but as a woman of integrity, she wished to do things the right way. Also, had it not been for the full support of Tony, she would have almost certainly lost her job and she shuddered to think what life would be like without journalism.

People in her profession walked a very thin tightrope indeed. Without having the guts to pursue leads in the first place, justice would seldom be given the opportunity to prevail, but if they pushed things just a little too far, their reputations and careers were likely to be left in tatters. It never stopped Amanda snooping, though. In many ways, she was fearless. There were times when she hoped her instincts were wrong though, and her visit to Exmoor was such an occasion. She would much prefer to waste a few days’ work over a prank call than discover the children were the subject of abuse. To uncover such stories was an exhausting process for everybody involved and she already felt as though she was running on empty. When she had awoken that morning, she had a deep sickly feeling in her belly. It could have been caused by a number of reasons: the distress she felt over her recent fallout with Tony, the fact she was about to tackle a potentially significant story or simply because her body was willing her to slow down.

As Amanda stepped through the front door, something within her changed. Like a boxer stepping into the ring, absorbing the crowd and breathing in the atmosphere, her nose twitched as she sized up her surroundings. One of the things she most loved about her job was that it afforded her the luxury of forgetting everything else. Quite simply, the real world ceased to exist until her work was done and now that she had reached the location, she had no intention of leaving the building until she knew exactly what went on between the four tall and sturdy walls that encompassed her. She needed to remain level headed but suspicious. That was the only way to uncover truth without bias.

The corridor was long and led to a grand staircase. An opening to her right invited her into a large, plush drawing room. Mid-way down the corridor another hallway shot off to the left. Abstract paintings hung from the walls and expensive looking ornaments filled the shelves. Only one thing was abundantly clear – this home could not have been created without a significant injection of money.

A gold plaque screwed onto the wall read:

The Prince Care Home
Est. 1960
 

Amanda took mental pictures of everything around her: the cleanliness of the halls, the exceptionally high ceilings and the large rooms.

‘I’m not quite sure where everybody is,’ stated Walter. ‘Let me find Margaret. She’ll show you around. Please… make yourself at home.’

Amanda watched him carry her suitcase down the hall and as he made his way up the stairs she stepped rather inquisitively into the drawing room. Two large windows allowed the light to pour inside. Amanda’s intention was to nose around for objects of interest, but instead, she froze. She could hear irregular breathing – it was slight but sure – and beneath one of the large, heavy curtains that draped down the side of the living room window stood two small feet. Amanda looked around. She was utterly alone. Nobody was in sight and there was no other sound… except for that which came from behind the curtain. Slowly and cautiously, she approached. The breathing became heavier and more infrequent as she inched forward and reached out her hand. She envisaged pulling back the curtain to reveal some kind of freakish being; a monster that would be more at home in a nineteenth century travelling fair than stood in a children’s care home. She willed her imagination to calm down when a frightened whisper came from behind her.

‘There’s somebody else in the room,’ said the voice.

Amanda’s head whipped around to see a young girl staring directly at her, though her eyes were white pigment.

*
 

Amanda’s screams travelled through the halls like some kind of evil spirit warning its inhabitants of a bygone misery.
Margaret – a jolly old tubby woman born and bred in the West Country – was changing bed sheets when they finally reached her. In many ways, Margaret was the life and soul of the home; a fixer of sorts, and her reaction was one of habit as she rolled her eyes and headed towards the door.

‘Hang on. I’m coming!’ she yelled in her strong yet soothing accent.

By the time she reached the lounge, Georgina Smith – the blind nine-year-old who had given Amanda such a fright – was the one screaming. Still behind the curtain was twelve-year-old Reuben Thomas – a wavy haired boy who spoke with a stutter. He covered his ears and rocked nervously back and forth, wishing the noises away.

‘No. It’s okay! I’m sorry,’ insisted Amanda, who was trying her best to calm the girl down.

Margaret entered the room and placed a tender hand on Georgina’s shoulder, gently squeezing her in just the right way before affectionately running her fingers through the girl’s hair.

‘Georgie, my love. What’s all the fuss about?’ she soothed. ‘It’s alright.’

Finally, the screams disappeared and the sound of Margaret’s voice brought Reuben out from behind the curtain. He ran behind Margaret and used her as a protective shield as he stole curious glimpses of the stranger.

Amanda recognised Margaret. The woman had once taken care of her in a care home called Saint Matthews. At the time, she was going through something of a rebellious stage, only wearing black clothes and eye shadow as she worked through a host of internal issues. She desperately hoped Margaret wouldn’t connect the stroppy, black-haired teenager to the woman she had become.

‘I’m so sorry,’ apologised Amanda.

‘No-no. It’s alright,’ Margaret assured her. ‘You shouldn’t have been left alone. I didn’t hear you come in, that’s all. Kids, this is Amanda. She’s come to help us look after you. That’ll be nice, won’t it?’

Margaret’s voice was full of encouragement, but the children seemed uncertain.

‘Amanda, this is Reuben and Georgina.’

Amanda painted on her best smile.

‘Both wonderful names!’ she gushed.

Without warning, Margaret turned her head and yelled out into the corridor.

‘Christian? Christian!’ she shouted.

‘What?’ asked a pre-occupied voice from an unknown crevice of the house.

‘Don’t yell. Get in here! I didn’t raise you to be lazy!’

Christian’s mother
. Amanda noted.

‘Ha! He hates it when I say that, doesn’t he?’ Margaret said to the children, who chuckled in delight.

Indeed, her personality was so infectious that even Amanda’s lips broke into a crescent of a smile.

Christian emerged in the middle of a complaint as he wiped what looked like oil from his forearm.

‘I’m not the one who was…’

Upon seeing Amanda, his posture became immdediately more authoritative
.

‘Hi!’ was the greeting he eventually pushed out.

‘Hello,’ she replied, accompanied with the kind of smile that very few men would be able to resist.

‘This is Amanda,’ chimed Margaret.

‘I know who she is, Mother!’ he scoffed.

As a people-watcher, Amanda always found it amusing that no matter how old a person became, their mannerisms and expressions often reverted back to childhood when talking to a parent.

‘If you’re gonna be stroppy you should go to bed earlier,’ teased Margaret, further supporting Amanda’s observation. ‘He’s not too old for a smacked bum, is he?’ Margaret asked the children.

They both giggled as Margaret guided them towards Christian.

‘I need you to keep these two out of trouble while I show Amanda to her room. Think you can manage that?’ she jested.

‘Oh! I don’t know,’ responded Christian, who had finally given up resisting his mother’s banter. ‘They’ll probably get bored. I was just going to get some ice-cream.’

‘I like ice-cream,’ Georgina informed him in a stroppy tone.

‘You do?’ asked Christian as he feigned surprise.

‘Yah! That’s not boring!’ insisted Reuben.

‘Well in that case, I guess you better come with me!’ he enthused.

‘Don’t give them too much or you’ll spoil their appetite,’ said Margaret.

‘No he won’t,’ claimed Georgina, rather feebly.

‘Oh yeah? We’ll see if you’re as optimistic when I ask you to eat your greens later!’

‘What are greens?’ she asked.

‘Vegetables,’ Margaret replied.

Georgina immediately screwed up her face.

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Margaret as she rolled her eyes at  Amanda. ‘But if you don’t promise to eat them, no ice-cream!’

‘Isn’t that blackmail?’ questioned Georgina.

‘Call it what you want!’ said Margaret, unaffected, as she ushered them out of the room.

‘It was nice to meet you,’ called Amanda, her eyes locked on Christian, who smiled before leading the children away through the dining room, which also led out into the kitchen. Amanda noticed Reuben whispering something into Georgina’s ear, which made her stare directly back at Amanda. Something about those plain white eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

‘Come on, my love,’ said Margaret, interrupting Amanda’s thoughts as she coaxed her away.

Amanda keenly observed the layout of the house as Margaret led her through the downstairs hallway.

‘Living room, dining room, kitchen,’ Margaret said, pointing to her right. ‘Christian’s office, Christian’s bedroom, Malcolm’s bedroom,’ she continued, pointing to her left. ‘Malcolm’s the only one of our children who sleeps downstairs. The rest are up on the first floor with us. Underneath the stairs is where we keep the children’s toys and right here is the communal toilet and bathroom. It’s the only one we have, I’m afraid,’ she confirmed as she led Amanda upstairs.

The house was somehow even bigger than it seemed from the outside. The walls were painted in warm colours – rich oranges and reds, with large candle holders lined neatly along each wall.

‘Amanda Green…’ said Margaret aloud. ‘I don’t recognise the name but you seem awfully familiar. Might I know you from somewhere?’

‘I don’t think so,’ dismissed Amanda.

Upon reaching the first floor, Amanda observed that there were four rooms to her left and three to her right, with another hallway branching off to the right at the end of the corridor. Only some of the doors were numbered – 2 and 3 labelled the two middle doors on her left with 4 and 5 marking the adjacent rooms to her right. Amanda noted how different the place felt compared to the ground floor. The décor was the same but it felt darker, colder and much less homely. The ceilings appeared lower in the hallway and the seven doorways in view made the space appear more congested. Without any explanation regarding the layout, Margaret led Amanda straight towards the first room on their left and pushed the door open.

‘This is where you’ll be staying,’ she said, wearing a grin as she stood aside invitingly.

As Amanda entered she saw that her suitcase had been placed at the foot of the large double bed that lay in wait for her. She inadvertently twirled around as she absorbed the room. It appeared freshly decorated with vibrant colours that enriched her mood. She had a generously sized wardrobe and an elegant dresser that sat underneath a large window, offering a picturesque view of the moors. A beautiful blue lake lay in the distance. Suddenly, Amanda slipped into her dumfounded persona a little too easily, bewitched by the efforts they had made for her. As she looked back to Margaret, who keenly observed her reaction, she fought to contain the little girl inside of her who wanted to burst in delight. Instead, she simply nodded in approval.

‘It’s much bigger than I expected,’ was the understated response she allowed to pass her lips.

It was still enough to make Margaret smile proudly.

‘You like it?’ she pressed.