Read The Rattler (Rattler Trilogy Book 1) Online
Authors: P. A. Fielding
The Rattler (Rattler Trilogy Book 1)
T
H
E
R
A
T
T
L
E
R
P. A. FIELDING
BOOK 1 IN THE RATTLER
SERIES
TR3 2014
The Rattler copyright © 2013 P. A. Fielding
All Rights Reserved.
This story is a work of fiction. Any names,
locations, or references to historical events are used fictitiously.
For Uncle Brian
It’s now or never.
Prologue:
The origins of a painting
3:
‘
Manor Murderer
’ strikes again!
5:
A long winding road leads to home
6:
It’s old and creepy, nothing like a new house
10:
Curiosity always gets the better of us
16:
You don’t mess with the other side
19:
Two in the bed, one in the wardrobe
20:
Cinema plus meal equals date night
21:
The rise of the hypochondriac
22:
Stay calm girls, the lads are here
25:
Questions for the other side
28:
A night to certainly forget
30:
The lasting effects of childhood memories
34:
Bad people always get bitten one day
41:
I just want to get out of this place
48:
The morning after a spooky night
: The origins of a painting
1
March
13
th
1896, Winchester, Hampshire; a single horse-driven carriage
approached a hugely impressive 17
th
century Manor House. “Whoa,
whoa, there!” the driver shouted, pulling back on the reins. The horse stopped.
Ellwood, a smartly dressed butler, approached the carriage as the door opened,
and out stepped Charles, a greying-blonde-haired, bearded, man. “Thank you. If
you would like to get my bags,” he said, as he walked with a swagger towards
the house.
Ellwood
nodded, and proceeded to collect a small, leather handcase from inside.
Meanwhile, the driver removed a wooden trunk from the rear of the carriage, and
placed it on the floor. Ellwood smiled at him. “Would you mind bringing that
indoors?” he asked, pleasantly. The driver wasn’t happy, and reluctantly tipped
his cap.
2
Charles
entered the parlour, which was packed with luxurious late 18
th
and
early
19
th
century furnishings. The
family had benefitted from the local mills, and the Industrial Revolution had
made them rich.
“Uncle
Charles!” yelled four year old
Violet, as she
ran
excitedly to greet him. The parents,
Frederick and Annie, both immaculately
dressed,
awaited
the arrival of Charles. William, a one
year old, sat on an armchair, holding a Georgian silver teether
rattler
encased in mother-of-pearl. He was well dressed, wearing white trousers, a
white shirt, and a bright red jacket.
Charles,
the brother of Annie, had been the family’s artist for the past ten years. He
was very successful and
spent his time
travelling around Europe – when he wasn’t in London, painting portraits of
politicians and aristocrats.
Charles
had
set up his painting equipment, his mixed
linseed oils and bottles of colours were all around him on the floor. He had
started to pencil a portrait of young William on canvas when two gamekeepers
entered, accompanied by the sounds of piercing screams. The two men, Ainsworth
and Horsley, dragged in
an old lady and a man.
Hagatha had long, dirty, fingernails, matted black and white hair, deep black
eyes, and a high-bridged nose. Charder was gaunt looking and dressed like a
tramp. The travellers’ hands had been
tied with
rope; their limbs were
covered in blood, and
their clothes torn.
The
keepers dropped five rabbits, six pheasants, and two ducks onto the floor in
front of them. Frederick looked at the four of them. “Annie, take the children
to the Library. Charles, may I suggest tea?”
Their
guest felt uncomfortable at this interruption. He hated having to stop the
strokes of his right hand. “As you wish,” he replied, as he followed Annie and
the children out of the room. Frederick turned towards the gamekeepers. “What
is the reason for this intrusion?”
Ainsworth
stepped forward. “Sir, they’ve been hunting and stole these,” he answered,
pointing at the dead wildlife.
“Very
well, do what we always do with poachers,” Frederick replied; he pointed
through the window
towards the woodland. “Rope
them up.”
Suddenly,
the two travellers started to wrestle free from the clutches of the gamekeepers,
but to no avail. Hagatha got within two feet of Frederick. During the struggle,
Charles’s oils crashed to the floor. Hagatha’s bleeding forearm scraped across
the top of one red bottle, and a small drop of blood mixed with the contents.
“You
harm us, and your family will be doomed. With the power of the sun!” she
screamed, as she was dragged backwards by one of the gamekeepers.
Frederick
was a kind man to his family and employees, but people crossed him at their
peril. What followed was exactly what Frederick had ordered as the couple were
taken away
and hanged on a pair of Oak trees.
Their stiff bodies were left hanging for two full days until they were
eventually cut down by fellow travellers. These men, in the complete darkness
of night, held back their emotions as they carried the bodies to their waiting
family.
3
Five
days later, the painting of William had been completed, and sat prominently on
the landing. Charles said his goodbyes and travelled back to Kensington.
However, all was not well in the Mather household; four servants had been
struck down with a bad case of boils, and had left the house. Then, there was
an eerie feeling about the place, and people felt that something wasn’t quite
right. The strange atmosphere had begun the moment the picture of William had
been
hung on the wall. It was a marvellous
painting and there was no denying that Charles had, indeed, got talent, but
there was something about it that made the tiny hairs on the back of the neck
stand up.
Frederick
was taking his usual morning walk through the grounds, which included a huge
lake, when Winston, his gardener, ran quickly towards him. It was clear from
his facial expression that all was not well. He stopped, gasping for breath, in
front of Frederick.
“Sir,
come quick, there’s been an accident!”
“What
do you mean?” Frederick replied, anxiously.
Winston
pointed towards the lake. The two men ran to the edge, past a white wooden
boathouse and some ducks. “There! You see him?” shouted Winston; and there it
was,
a body, floating, head-down in the water. Frederick
gawped at Ainsworth’s stiff body.
“Hurry,
let’s get him out! Get the boat.”
The
two men ran to the boathouse. As Winston opened one of the double doors, a
large, black crow zoomed directly at him before flying off. The building housed
a small rowing boat and other sailing equipment as well as gardening gear; it
was very dark inside and the only light came
from
the opened door, which led onto the lake. The wooden roof beams creaked
eerily; the noise came from a darkened area to the
right of the boat. A strong, gaseous smell hit the pair as they entered.
“Winston,
open the door,” ordered Frederick, as he looked around the gloomy interior. Winston
opened the door and the light flooded in. Winston saw Horsley’s body as it
dangled and gently swayed
from side to side, and
took a deep breath. He covered his mouth using his right hand and started
coughing uncontrollably. Frederick approached the hysterical man.
“What
is it?”
Winston
simply pointed at the body. Horsley’s clothes were ripped and torn, there were
scratch marks on his face, and his eyes had been gouged out. “The work of the
crow, no doubt,” said Winston. Frederick approached the hanging man. “Help me
cut him down.” He held the body as Winston picked up a pair of garden shears
and cut the rope. The body slumped to the floor. The men examined the body. “Do
you think Ainsworth did this,” said Winston, “or those bloody travellers, seeking
revenge?”
This
wasn’t the first time the family had had conflicts with travellers. They mostly
stole and poached, and hoped
not to get caught
before they moved on. Frederick scratched his head several times. He was
puzzled. “I can’t comprehend it; we need to get the other body before anyone
else sees it,” ordered
Frederick.
4
Between
them, the men pulled the boat out from the boathouse, launched it, got in, and
Winston took the oars. They slowly approached Ainsworth’s sodden body. With
speed and urgency they attached a rope to the corpse and Winston began rowing
back to the bank where, a few minutes later, they pulled the carcass out of the
water. The body was slashed from head to toe. It looked as if a sharp blade had
cut through the clothing and sliced into the soft flesh. The neck was red raw
as if the body had been hanged prior to being thrown into the lake. Frederick
bent down and inspected the body. “We should send for the law.”
Schtum
1
A
horse-driven police carriage waited
outside the
house, and the driver seemed engrossed as he read a newspaper. Inside the
parlour were Frederick, Winston, and two detectives, Lockhart and Dryden.
Ellwood entered. He carried
a silver tray,
complete with tea and biscuits, which he placed on a small round table for the
men. “Thank you,” said Frederick, as the butler poured the tea. Lockhart had a
youthful look, and black greasy hair; Dryden was older, bald, and overweight.
They were both neatly dressed in sober, dark, three-piece suits, complete with
pocket watches on gold chains. “Did the men have any enemies, sir?” asked
Lockhart as he drank
his tea. “Not as far as I
know, apart from the travellers. They’d had a dispute with them several days
before,” responded Frederick.
Frederick
was a cool man under pressure; none of his body language indicated he had
anything to hide. He wasn’t going to let Winston talk freely as he’d probably
disclose the fact that the travellers had been hanged. Dryden took over the
questioning.
“That’s
interesting,” he continued, “what was the problem?”
“They
forced the travellers off my land,” was Frederick’s sharp-toned response.
2
It
was now late afternoon and Victoria, the cook, had started to prepare the
evening meal in the kitchen. Victoria, an overweight lady, had worked for the family
since the age of 14. She had been on her own since the kitchen maids had left
because of their boils, and she felt the strain.
Shiny
brass and copper pots and pans hung around two walls, with cupboards below, and
there was a large butcher’s block in the centre of the room. There was a black
Range cooker along one wall, and two Butler sinks in front of the window. She
walked into the pantry for the vegetables and immediately coughed at the
strange smell of rotting vegetables.
“What
is that stench?”
The
atmosphere was suddenly
spine-tingling; the
hairs on her neck stood up. As she returned to the kitchen, all of the cupboard
doors had been opened as if someone had been looking for something. Her heart
started to beat faster and faster as she looked fearfully around. She quickly
noticed that every single brass pot and pan from the
walls had been
stacked neatly on the floor.
Victoria rubbed her hands as a cold breeze shot across the room. “Hello?
Ellwood?” she panicked, and dropped
the
vegetables onto floor. There was silence.
She
slowly closed the cupboards, and put
the pots
and pans back
in their rightful places; the
atmosphere gradually returned to normal and she started to relax. She firmly
believed it was a prank by Thomas, the stable boy. “Thomas! I do wish you would
stop playing tricks. One of these days Mr Mather is going to catch you in the
act,” she muttered. Her mind soon returned to preparing dinner for the family –
and again the temperature dropped. “What is happening today? Why is it so cold?”
she grumbled as she cut up the vegetables
and
put on the meat
to boil. They were having stew
and dumplings.
All
was well until a dark mist flashed in front of her eyes. When she looked up,
she saw Hagatha opposite her. Victoria screamed; the knife slipped and cut her
left hand. Then, the six servant bells on the wall unexpectedly rang
frantically; she panicked and rushed, terrified, out of the room.
Victoria,
in her haste, bumped into Ellwood in the main hallway. “Victoria! You shouldn’t
be running,” he said in a raised voice. It was only then that he saw the blood
as it dripped from her hand. “What have you been doing?” he asked, kindly. He
took two white handkerchiefs from his pocket and wrapped them around the wound.
Victoria hugged him, tearfully.
“I
saw her, I saw her,” she stuttered.
“Who
did you see? You’re not making sense. I need you to calm down. Now, tell me.
What happened?”
“She’s
here.”
“Who?
Who are you talking about?”
“That traveller woman!
In the
kitchen.”
Ellwood
led her to a small table and chair. “Don’t be silly, wait here and I will have
a look.” Victoria nervously watched him walk towards the kitchen. She tightened
the makeshift bandage over her bloodied hand.
3
He
entered the kitchen. The place was freezing. “It’s certainly cold in here,” he
said. The kitchen was, as he expected, empty; the only sound to be heard
was the pan as it boiled away merrily on the Range.
When
Ellwood returned to the hallway, after he had checked the kitchen and the
pantry and moved the pan off the heat, he found Frederick talking to Victoria,
who was still shaken by what she had seen and heard.
“What
did you see, Ellwood?” asked Frederick.
“Nothing,
sir,” he replied.
Frederick
addressed Victoria. “You have had quite a shock, and your hand needs attention.
Ellwood will take you to town to see the doctor,” he said, caringly. Ellwood
nodded his agreement, but was reluctant to leave the family alone under the
strange circumstances. “There is no need to worry, Ellwood. We will be fine. Just
call at Winston’s and tell
him he is required.”
4
Victoria,
wrapped in a woollen blanket, sat in a black carriage, anxiously fidgeting as
she waited for Ellwood to hitch up the horse. Her wound was still bleeding and
she felt faint. She jumped, nervously, as Ellwood appeared at the carriage
window. “All ready now,” he said, and climbed aboard. The cook’s nerves had
taken a serious battering that night; she struggled to take in what had
happened. No matter how hard she tried, she just
couldn’t
get the image of Hagatha out of her mind.
Ellwood
slowly trotted the horse down the long and dark lane towards the front gates to
where Winston lived alone in a tiny cottage, thankful that
the full moon provided some
light.
Ellwood pulled up the horse, and jumped down from the carriage.
“I
won’t keep you long, Victoria.”
“Please
don’t linger,” she replied timidly; she wanted to be out of
the gates and away – and not return.
The
glow from the fire
shone faintly
through the small, square, mullioned windows. He knocked
loudly on the brown, wooden door. “Hurry up, Winston,” he said, knocking again,
even louder. The uneasy
butler glanced back
towards the impatient Victoria, opened the cottage door and walked slowly in.
The room was small and cluttered; a log fire was burning in the fireplace and,
directly in front of it, in an armchair, sat Winston. “Winston, did you not
hear me knocking? God it’s warm in here.” The gardener said nothing; he
remained still. Ellwood tentatively approached him and tapped him on his left
shoulder. “Winston, you are required at the Manor House.” The gardener remained
silent. Ellwood crouched down and turned to face the sleeping man. Winston
wasn’t asleep – nor was he alive!
“Bastards!
Who is doing this?” Ellwood
yelled, as his eyes scanned the tiny room. The gardener had been stabbed
several times in the chest, his eyes gouged out, and his neck had red rope
marks. The cottage went icy cold. He hugged his shoulders. “I know you’re here?
I command you to show your selves.” He waited. No response. “You cowards!” he
roared.
Victoria
watched him as he came out of the cottage and walked towards her. “I heard
shouting. Where’s Winston?” she asked nervously. “There’s been an accident, but
don’t worry. I must get you to the doctor.” The butler guided the horse out of
the gate and towards the village. He started to worry about the Mather family
being on their own given the recent murders. He knew that
the travellers were to blame for frightening the
cook, and for the brutal killings of his colleagues. They were taking their
revenge before they moved
on to another part of
the country.
5
Meanwhile,
back at the Manor House all was not well. Annie had put the children to bed,
read them a bedtime story,
and then re-joined
her husband in the parlour. “Has Winston not arrived?” she asked. Frederick
stood in front of the fire. “No, still waiting my dear,” he replied. What
happened next shocked and stunned them. The Manor was plunged into darkness.
Four loud thuds came from the ceiling above. “My God!” exclaimed Frederick,
“the children.”
He
frantically lit some candles, using a taper from the fire, and handed one to
his wife. “Stay here,” he commanded. Annie, ashen-faced and shaking, nodded her
head and sat down on the edge of the plush sofa. Frederick left the room
silently and walked purposefully into the hall, leaving the door slightly ajar.
He held the candle firmly aloft.
An
icy-chill took his breath away. He glanced apprehensively around the hall;
there was nothing there. He froze. To his horror he physically could not move.
It was as if he had been
nailed to the floor.
Two further bangs from the ceiling caused
him to
look up and, to his shock and
disbelief,
he saw
the bodies of the two travellers –
swaying slowly. He rubbed his eyes; he couldn’t take in what he was seeing.
“How can
this be? What
is
happening – am I dreaming?” he desperately asked. Suddenly, Hagatha flew at him
like Concord – with perfect lines, her hands pointing directly at him, like an
arrow. He fell to his knees. The parlour door slammed shut. Annie screamed.
“What’s
happening?” cried
Annie, as she jumped up from
the sofa. Frederick shook his head, staggered to his feet, and ran back to the
door. It was jammed. As he desperately
tried to
pull open the door, he heard
whispers all around
him and, to his horror, he saw menacing shadows as they emerged from the walls
and floated up the stairs – towards the sleeping children.
“The
children, the children,” said one voice.
“Hurry,”
said another, “we must find the children.”
Frederick
dashed towards the stairs, and ran up them two at a time. He reached the first
floor landing, which led to the west wing’s long corridor where the children’s
bedrooms were situated. The ghostly figure of Charder materialised in front of
him, and knocked
the candle out of Frederick’s
trembling hand. A fire quickly started, and blocked the distressed father’s
entry to the children’s rooms. He panicked.
“Bastards!”
he screamed, as the fire quickly took hold. The traveller stood in front of him
and smirked as he blocked the man’s path. Frederick ran as fast
as he could back towards the east wing, darted into a
bedroom and quickly snatched a heavy bed-covering and a poker. With the
bed-cover over his head, and the poker in his right hand, he charged through
the ghostly image towards William’s room.
Without
warning the door flew
open towards him. The
desperate father collided with it at speed and the poker pierced his chest. He
staggered backwards, and the bed-cover fell from his head. He could see that William’s
bed was empty. He turned quickly to Violet’s room opposite, threw open the
door, and saw that her bed, too, was empty. “William! Violet!” he bellowed
fiercely, as he coughed up blood.
6
The
Manor was a blazing inferno when Ellwood and Victoria returned, accompanied by
the detectives, Lockhart and Dryden. The fire was eventually extinguished,
with the help of the estate workers who used water
from the lake. It wasn’t until the next morning that the burned remains of
Annie and Frederick were found. Of the children there was no sign.
The
only item to survive the blaze was Charles’s painting of young William. Somehow
it had fallen behind a large, oak cabinet, which had protected it from the
flames.