When Shadows Fall (53 page)

“Ahoy there. Bad night. Have you broken down?”

Mulligan shook his head. “I need directions, friend. Bowen Hall. Am I headed the right way?”

The man blew dubiously through his lips. “You are,” he said, “but that’s only an old ruin. What would you be wanting up there?”

“Is it much farther on?” Mulligan demanded.

“About a half-mile or so. There’s two big pillars at the entrance.”

“I’ll recognise it. Obliged.” Mulligan didn’t wait for further pleasantries but took to the road again, accelerating until the wheels bounced on the ruts opened up by the rain. After what he guessed to be a half-mile, he eased off the throttle again and pulled off his goggles. The single beam from the motorcycle lit the bend ahead.

There.

Just a few yards on he saw the entrance to Bowen Hall, the two stone pillars that he had often passed whilst on operations, almost obscured now by wild briars and brambles.

He’d found them.

The motorcycle’s engine would be too much of a giveaway, so he stashed it into some cover and then made his way through the entrance, up a steep gradient between groaning trees, onto a flat ridge where he could hear the rush of a stream nearby. With no moon he watched his way carefully, pulling his coat tight to keep the revolver dry. Each fresh howl of the wind was followed by an even more eerie lull, the plash of the swollen stream, the startled hoots of a barn owl. He kept walking. The trees cleared.

Bowen Hall was worthy of some gothic novel, a wicked, imposing structure that was half-house and half-castle, battle-scarred and aged, and virtually swallowed into the woodland surrounding it. A flash of lightning revealed the remains of arches and mullions and a rather horrific-looking gargoyle perched aside a balustrade. A monolith of darkness. The domain of ghosts upon a wind-blasted hillside.

Mulligan spat to clear his throat and swore in frustration.

Then he caught a flicker of light, a mere glimpse only, through one of the shattered windows. Moving closer, he edged between the trees and saw a fire burning in one of the ground rooms.

Ah, the lovers are keeping warm.

Lightning flashed again. The thunder seemed to shake the very sky.

He took out his pistol.

“Confound this blasted country,” James cursed. “Slow down!”

The wind and rain drove against the windshield so much so that the driver had difficulty keeping his vehicle straight. “If they’re up in those woods, sir, they’ve had it,” he warned James. “See that lightning, sir. This night is cursed.”

“I said slow down, you imbecile. We’ll miss the entrance.”

The driver obeyed. The constables in the back shifted nervously, peering out at the blackening sky, the countryside lit up every few seconds by another fiery streak and a rumble of thunder.

“Sir!” The driver braked suddenly. “I see someone ahead. Who’s that?” He blessed himself in superstitious dread.

James opened his door and looked out, blinking against the rain. He saw an old man plodding wearily along, leading a donkey and cart. “You there,” he summoned him. “Bowen Hall. Where is it?”

The other gazed up at him and touched his dripping cap. “
Ach
, you’re not far out at all, sir. Another mile or so up the road, on the right.”

“Good.”

James was about to direct his driver on when the old man added, “Don’t worry, sir, you’ll not be too far behind him.”

James turned back. “What did you say?”

“Why, sir, I’m only after giving directions to the same spot a few minutes ago to another fellow. A friend of yours, sir? He’ll have found it by now.”

James punched his palm in elation. “Aha! We’ve got them.” He snapped his fingers. “Bowen Hall, go. Hurry!”

They drove on for a few more minutes, and when they found the entrance James closed up his coat and checked his pistol. Then he paused and glanced round at his men.

“Now look, I want you all to wait here. I’m going up there alone.”

The driver stared at him. “But what do you mean, sir?”

“Damn it, I mean exactly what I said, that’s what I mean.” James opened the door. “I’ll see to this business myself.”

“On your own?”

“On my own.” James didn’t elaborate that it was personal. He’d already crossed professional boundaries in making it so, yet he didn’t want his men to follow him. “I’ll be fine. Just keep the engine running. This won’t take long.”

He didn’t wait for an answer but turned to the entrance and walked beyond. Within seconds he had vanished into the rain.

The shadows twitched. Something moved.

Tara tried to scream.

Hands came out of the darkness.

“No!”

The hands were upon her, hands on her body, on her mouth and throat. She couldn’t breathe.

“Shh!” he warned. “Tara.”

She opened her eyes fully.

The silvery light of her dream was gone. The room was dark. Rain pounded on the flagstones outside.

“Where am I? Was I asleep?

“Ssh,” Adam said again. He was staring into the blackness beyond the door, at the windows around them.

“Adam, what is it?” She rose up, quickly becoming awake.

“Stay down.” He rose onto his knees. His hands reached across the ground for a length of splintered wood. “There’s somebody in the house.”

Mulligan counted the cartridges in his Webley revolver. More than enough. He crept to the western side of the building, his footsteps quieted by rolling thunder. The light was coming from the eastern side where a small fire burned, and so he climbed through one of the windows into another room, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust.

As he went to cross the floor, glass shards cracked and shattered under his hobnail boots. He cursed and stepped away, inadvertently banging his knee against a wooden chair.

Damn it.

He waited, his pulse rising, wondering if the noise had reached the two people beyond. Nothing stirred, however. After a minute he crept on, more carefully this time, the pistol poised in his hand. The outer hall was in darkness, but farther on a faint light came from the drawing room.

He was wrong.

Somebody was coming.

He dropped quickly to one knee and took aim.

Adam thought he had perhaps misheard the noise. The wind was gusting through the open gaps in the house, shaking whatever fixtures remained, and he decided his ears had been deceived. Why would anyone be out here? On a night like this?

He moved out to the hallway and stared into the impenetrable gloom. His ribs ached and he leaned on the plank of wood for support. There was surely no sense in searching the entire house. They were safe here. They were safe as long as—

What’s that?

Something moved far beyond, deep in the shadows down the hallway. Adam couldn’t react fast enough. He saw the flash. He heard the crack of gunfire in his ears. Even as he was thrown backwards, he realised his dreadful error.

The bullet struck him in the upper chest. He landed heavily on his back, and immediately he felt a vicious, dead weight pinning him down, choking off his air. He gasped and spluttered, hands scrabbling at the ground for grip.

“Tara,” he croaked ineffectually, then louder, “Tara, run. Run!”

There were painful scores that had to be settled this night. James carried on up the sloping avenue until he found a monstrous shell of a building at the top, walls half-swallowed in ivy, its roof mostly missing and upper heights scorched black. There was firelight in a ground window at the far end.
And there you are.
They must have thought they’d be safe here. That no one would find them.

He took out his revolver.

Whatever about Tara, and her now criminal actions, young Bowen was not going to escape him again. James advanced by the cracked verges, checking each gaping window he passed, seeing only darkness.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out.

They’ve seen me!

He pulled back and pressed himself against the wall. Bowen was armed, of course. Tara would have seen to that.

The bastard’s trying to kill me.

He listened, moved on a few feet, listened again. He found himself at the main entrance, its doors missing. The glow from the fire had lifted the shadows a little, and now he heard footsteps, heavy footsteps, the sound of someone moving along the hall.

A dark figure loomed into view.

In the light he was a silhouette, shoulders hunched, the shape of the pistol unmistakeable in his hand.

James reacted instantaneously. He fired off two shots in quick succession, both of them taking the target high up. The man crashed against a wall and slid to the floor.

“Easy does it,” James warned, stepping inside onto shards of crushed glass. “Lie down.”

Even under the impact, however, his target had managed to hold onto his gun. Now he turned it defiantly towards James.

James stopped again, took careful aim, and loosed a third shot.

The bullet struck the man above the right eye, tearing open his temple and carrying on through bone and brain tissue, spraying the lot in a grisly mess over the plasterwork. The man rolled limply onto his side, half his skull gone. His body twitched once in a death spasm and didn’t move again.