The Digger's Rest (30 page)

She even thanked the fact that it wasn’t
above Mr. Ransom to drop Lord Neville’s name more than once to get
the staff to move things along. Then he sat down and let Lady
Madeline go into the trauma area with the girl, contenting himself
to sit there and wait while his own frayed nerves went into action
calculating the losses of the broken items, the embarrassment of
the situation, not to mention the talk it would create around the
village with people coming in just to ask for a first-hand account
of the details.

After every conceivable test had been done
and a thorough examination had been conducted, the doctors could do
nothing but conclude that Sandrine had suffered from an attack of
latent epilepsy brought on by the flash of light she told them she
saw in the glass ball. As a matter of fact, that was all she could
remember from the entire incident.

Four hours later she walked out of the
hospital of her own accord, supported only by the antique dealer on
one side and Lady Madeline on the other; the only physical remnants
of the attack being assorted cuts, bruises and scrapes, all handily
dealt with by the nursing staff that attended her. When she got out
of the car at the inn she was beyond exhausted, depending almost
completely on Mr. Ransom’s arm for support.

The news of the incident having already
reached him through the most humanly rapid means, local gossip, Jed
was waiting for them at the entry podium when they walked through
the door. He rushed to her the minute he saw them, a mixture of
relief and worry readily apparent in his eyes, and took Sandrine’s
arm from the antique dealer leading her to the back of the inn
toward the cottage.

Before Mr. Ransom left, Lady Madeline
assured him that she would take full financial responsibility for
all of the breakage caused by the unfortunate incident, thanking
him profusely for all his help to which he bowed responding, “That
won’t be necessary, Lady Cotswold. I’m a gentleman of the old
school and only did my duty to help a lady in distress. There’s no
need for any financial arrangements, that’s what insurances are for
and I have plenty,” he said and smiled, backing away as was proper
before turning to go out the door, but on the inside
thinking,
God, I can’t wait to get to a gin
bottle.

Jed was just returning as Lady Madeline was
going into the pub to look for Mitch. “I’ve taken her to her room,
your Ladyship, and made her comfortable. I’ll take up some soup
with toast and tea as soon as it’s ready. Dr. Bramson is waiting
for you inside,” he said quietly and backed away towards the
kitchen door.

Mitch stood up and went over to her the
minute he saw her in the doorway, looking exhausted. He took her
arm, leading her to an empty booth. “Lady Madeline! What the hell
happened?”

“
The doctors say she had an epileptic
fit,” Lady Madeline said, putting her elbows on the table and
rubbing her head, “…but I must tell you, my boy, it was the most
horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

A respectable time later, Malcolm came over
offering to get them drinks. Lady Madeline looked up, her eyes
weary from the strain. “I’ll have a double scotch, then another one
shortly after, thank you,” she said. A moment later he was back
with her scotches, two of them, and a beer for Mitch. Lady Madeline
downed the first scotch in one gulp.

Simon saw them as he came through the door
and joined them. “Is there anything I can do to help, Lady
Madeline?”

“
No, my dear boy, I don’t expect so,”
she said with a deep sigh. “The doctors just said to try and keep
her away from any bright or flashing lights until she can get back
to her regular physician, maybe let her rest in her room with the
curtains drawn for a few days. But thank you for
asking.”

Simon sat down close to Mitch with his Coke
and was about to apologize to him for getting so drunk the night
before, but before he could get a word out Mitch sensed what was
coming, put his arm around Simon’s shoulders and gave him a good
squeeze accompanied by a smile and a wink. Simon just blushed and
nodded.

Lady Madeline downed her second scotch and
looked at Mitch. “Would you be a darling, Mitch and have some
dinner sent up for me, I am really feeling all out,” she said and
got up to go, then paused. “And the bottle, too, if you don’t
mind,” she said and headed off back to the cottage.

From there he and Simon went to the bar where
Malcolm and Deck were doing the bartending duties. “Is everything
going to be alright?” Malcolm asked, setting down a fresh beer in
front of Mitch.

“
We’re still going to be on for
tomorrow if the weather is fair, aren’t we?” Deck asked from over
Malcolm’s shoulder.

“
Yeah, we’re still on. Lady Madeline
may beg off, but we’re still going. At the very least we can tape
off the area and start setting up the grids, eh, Simon?” he said,
giving Simon a nudge with his elbow.

“
Yes, sir, with bells on,” Simon said
smiling, finally finding the courage after all this time to nudge
him back.

Both Farthings nodded their agreement then
headed off in opposite directions to attend to the other
patrons.

It wasn’t long after that the pub began to
fill up with its usual array of locals in for their evening
cocktails. Soon the bar area was elbow to elbow. Mitch stood around
watching Malcolm and Deck rushing back and forth with full glasses
in one direction and empty ones in the other; thinking about the
next day’s work.

Feeling insecure because he couldn’t put his
back against the wall, Simon stayed very close to Mitch, literally
almost under his wing. “I’ve prepared an email to send to Dr.
Edgeworth this afternoon to advise him of our progress. I didn’t
want to send it until I spoke to you. I scanned the sketches you
gave me and downloaded some of the pictures we took the other day,
too…and I thought he might like to hear from you,” Simon said,
feeling like he just couldn’t get close enough to Mitch. “Would it
be alright if I sent it before I go to bed tonight?”

“
Yeah that would be great,” then he
paused, “…just do me a favor and add one thing from me in a PS,”
Mitch said bowing his head and letting his hair fall over his face.
“Tell him that I miss him.”

“
Yes, sir,” Simon said, wanting to tell
him he knew exactly how he felt. And they both went back to their
recent favorite pastime, watching the locals.

Mitch looked around the room and saw quite a
few familiar faces. The group of giggling girls from the other
night was back, but standing at the end of the bar against the far
wall by the dart board this time. The black-haired woman was back,
but this time in the company of a much younger man who kept his
hand on her back making it clear to everyone that he had a present
possessory interest there.

There was a new face too, a young man about
Simon’s age with longish blonde hair, good-looking to the point of
almost being pretty, standing at the bar in front of Malcolm,
smiling with an empty glass in his hand. Mitch noticed that Malcolm
completely ignored the young man, which was very unusual, then
briskly turned away going to the other end of the bar.

The young man followed, holding out the empty
glass to him and smiling. Malcolm ignored him again and went out on
the floor to a table. Deck swung by then, took the glass from the
young man and filled it, neither looking at him nor smiling which
was very unlike him.

Simon was watching the footballers with
the shaved heads pushing each other and laughing when he was
overcome by a strange feeling; the kind that one gets of being
followed down a dark street, but when they look behind them, finds
no one there. He looked behind him. The old man was sitting in his
usual corner with his beer in his hand, looking out of the front
window. Simon felt his knees go weak and moved even closer to
Mitch.
“Come thee to me tonight, Holly. We
must begin,”
Simon heard whispered in his ear. He was
just about to childishly ask Mitch if he could sleep in his room
that night when he heard the voice again.
“Fear thee not, Holly, for I am thy ally and thou art
mine.”

Suddenly the feeling inside him changed; no
longer fear but…anticipation. Without thinking, he asked Mitch if
he minded if he went to bed early so he could be fresh and ready
for an early start in the morning. “Sure, go ahead. After last
night, I don’t expect to be up too late myself,” Mitch said, giving
him another good squeeze around the shoulders and tousling his
hair.

When he looked back up to the bar, Malcolm
was serving guests again and Deck was out on the floor. He noticed
the same young blonde man standing in front of Malcolm again with
an empty glass in his hand. Again Malcolm ignored him and went to
the other side of the bar. The young man followed him and held out
his glass again. This time Mitch could hear them. “Please,” the
young man said to Malcolm, smiling.

“
Stop following me,” Malcolm snapped
back, teeth clenched, then called out, “Deck!” and stomped away. A
hurt look came into the young man’s eyes.

A second later Deck was back behind the bar,
taking the glass from the young man and filling it. “Don’t they
have a pub in your village, Alec?” Deck said, handing him his fresh
beer, seeming to go out of his way to be patient, but by then it
was clear that his patience was wearing thin. The young man turned
away with his head hanging down and took a seat over in the corner
by himself. Deck came over to Mitch and took his glass, “Another,
Dr. Bramson?” he smiled.

“
One more, or maybe two more,” Mitch
said smiling back, “…who knows . . . maybe three more.” When Deck
returned with the fresh beer, Mitch couldn’t help but ask, “So what
was that all about?” and he pointed with his head to the young man
sitting by himself in the corner.

“
Oh that. It’s nothing, really. Just
a…” and he paused to think of the right words, “…gay boy from the
next village. He fancies our Malcolm and keeps coming in here to
see him and make eyes at him,” Deck said, rolling his eyes. “It
drives Malcolm near to barking. I don’t understand why he just
doesn’t go to London to be with his own kind. A small village is no
place for…It’s like he’s just asking for trouble,” he said taking
on a more sympathetic tone, shaking his head and
shrugging.

“
Oh, I see,” was all Mitch could think
of to say.

The next thing he knew a scruffy-looking man
about half Mitch’s size with a long goatee and old tattoos up and
down his arms was standing next to him, waving to Malcolm and
singing loudly in Mitch’s ear, “Tis really a pity, she’s only one
tittie to feed the baby on. The poor little bugger will never play
rugger or ever grow up strong…”

Mitch laughed out loud, practically spitting
his beer across the bar. That was enough for one day. He was going
to bed.

***

Simon sat on the edge of his bed waiting,
again not sure for what. He reached into his shirt to feel
for…what? And it was there. He held it in his hand and he knew. He
got up and went to the window, opening it. The rain had stopped by
then, replaced by a thick fog rolling over the land, so dense in
fact, he could feel the thickness of it in his throat and lungs as
he breathed.

A moment later he was out the window,
standing in the shadows in front of the inn, staring across the
road at the medieval church, its lights through the colored stained
glass giving off an eerie glow against the rising mist of the fog.
The next thing he knew he was standing across the road from the old
man’s cottage as he had done that morning, but didn’t
remember.
“
Come,
lad,”
he heard in his ear, and he walked across the
road. The door was open, waiting for him, dim light coming through
the doorway, bidding him to come in.

He walked through the door to find the old
man sitting at the largest piece of furniture in the house, a large
old oak table, worn down on its edges from an untold number of
years of use, riddled with cracks on its surface. Once Simon was
in, the old man pointed two fingers at the door. It closed.

The old man pointed his fingers at Simon and
brought them down to the side of the table. Simon followed. Then
the old man pointed his two fingers over towards a chair on the
other side of the room and the chair moved, skidding slowly across
the floor until it was close behind Simon. The old man then pointed
his fingers at the seat of the chair. Simon sat.

As they sat in silence the old man
brought up an old wooden box, hinged with wrought-iron like his
front door, and set it on the table, opening it. Slowly he took
something out and set it on the table. It looked like a dried black
root. The old man motioned with his fingers and the root rose in
the air in front of Simon’s face.
“Take
it,”
the voice without words said to him, and Simon
did.
“Smell it,”
the voice
said and Simon did.

Suddenly he was no longer in the
cottage with the old man. He was out in the forest at the base of a
tree, digging on his hands and knees in the light of the full moon.
He felt the root in his hand and heard the voice say to him,
“Pull,”
and he did.

The root came out in his hand,
wriggling as if it were alive.
“Hold it
tight…”
the voice said,
“
…
and bring it
back.”
Simon opened his eyes and he was back in the
room with the old man.
“Do you see?”
the voice asked him. Simon looked curiously across the table
into the old man’s black eyes.
“Do you
see?
” it said again. Simon nodded.
“This heals,
the voice
said.