The Gorgon's Gaze

  Connie bounded up the steps from the beach to Shaker Row, waving to Mew the seagull as the bird circled overhead, and pushed open the gate of Number Five.

  She stopped. Two strangers were sitting on the front step waiting for someone to come home.

  “Hello, Connie,” said the elderly man. He had hardly any hair—only a monk-like fringe around a sunburned pate. He was sitting on a large trunk covered in stickers from countries all around the world.

  “Er, hello,” she replied.

  “You probably don’t remember us,” he continued. “You were only little when we last saw you.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes, about four I think. I’m your great-uncle, Hugh Lionheart. This is my sister, Godiva.”

  Connie had a vague memory of her father mentioning these relatives from time to time when another exotic postcard from them landed on the mat. He had said they were spending their retirement on cruises, barely setting foot on dry land. So what had washed them up on her doorstep?

  Great-Aunt Godiva was staring at Connie with a far less friendly expression than her brother’s. An imposing woman, she had hair the silvery color of beech bark and appeared to have a personality as prickly as the nut. It was only as Connie approached that she realized that Godiva also had mismatched eyes—in her case, two different greens.

  “You see, Hugh, it is as Gordon and Beryl feared,” Great-Aunt Godiva said to her brother. “Evelyn’s clearly not been taking a bit of notice of their messages. Letting her run wild like this! What on Earth are you wearing?” Godiva looked back at Connie, regarding the brown leather flying-suit with pursed lips.

  “What kind of fashion is that supposed to be?”

  Connie was lost for words; she could not explain that it was the suit she wore for riding dragons.

  The brutal roar of a motorbike prevented her from having to dream up an answer. All three of them looked to the road where a massive bike, gleaming with chrome accessories, pulled up abruptly at the gate, peppering the fence with gravel. The rider revved once before turning it off. His passenger dismounted, took off her helmet, and swung her long brown hair free. The driver parked the bike and then swept her into an embrace. Connie watched helplessly as her aunt, not realizing she had a reception committee awaiting her, kissed the dark-haired biker in a lingering farewell and turned to enter the garden. Just as Connie had done a few moments before, she halted on the path to take in her audience. She said something briefly over her shoulder, and the motorcyclist followed her in.

  “Hello, Hugh, Godiva,” Evelyn Lionheart said, kissing her uncle on the cheek. She made no move toward her aunt. “It’s been a long time. Satisfied your wanderlust yet?”

  “Not quite, my dear,” said Hugh, patting her arm affectionately.

  “Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you—there was a hold-up on the Chartmouth road—I thought you’d have got caught in it, too?”

  “We came by train,” said Hugh. “Our ship docked in Plymouth this morning.”

  Godiva Lionheart glared at her niece. She evidently considered not being here to greet them, coupled with the behavior they had just witnessed, a personal insult. She shot a poisonous look at the man standing with his helmet tucked under his arm. Evelyn misinterpreted the look (willfully, Connie thought, from the gleam in her eye) and turned to introduce her friend.

  “Oh, and this is Mack Clamworthy.”

  So this was Col’s father! As Mr. Clamworthy moved into the porchlight Connie could see his firm jaw and mischievous brown eyes. He had the looks of a movie star just past his prime and moved with the confidence of someone who knew the power of his physical presence. She recognized that swagger. Col acted like that when he was feeling particularly pleased with himself.

  She had heard a lot about Mack—two very different versions from Col’s grandmother and Col himself—but she had not thought she would first meet him as the man kissing her aunt.

  Uncle Hugh held out a hand but his sister batted it away.

  “For heaven’s sake, Hugh,” she snapped at him. “Remember why we’re here!”

  Mack responded to the snub by turning to Connie.

  “Hi, Connie. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s great to meet you at last.” He seized her hand and pumped it up and down in his firm grip. “All that stuff you got up to with Col—very cool!”

  “What ‘stuff’ is that exactly?” barked Godiva.

  “Surely you heard about it, even on your cruise?” Evelyn intervened, stepping between Mack and her aunt. “Connie’s quite a celebrity around here for preventing a tanker wrecking on New Year’s.”

  “Is she indeed?” Godiva did not sound impressed.

  “Well, how did you do it, lass?” asked Hugh. He, at least, was brimming over with interest.

  “My friends helped me,” said Connie, glancing at Godiva’s expression: she looked as if she had just swallowed a pine cone.

  “And they saved lots of people as well,” added Evelyn. “But shall we go in? We could talk more comfortably inside.” She got out a key and opened the front door.

  “I’ll leave you to it then, Evie?” Mack asked flatly, picking up the message from Godiva that he might not be a welcome spectator to the family scene that was brewing. “See you same time tomorrow?”

  He turned on his heel and strode back to his bike, his black leather outfit gleaming like the skin of a shark in the lamplight. Silently, the Lionhearts watched him go. The eruption of the engine echoed off the houses of Shaker Row, disturbing the peace of the respectable neighborhood. Mack’s parting wheelie as he sped off seemed to be the final insult.

  “She’s not even twelve yet, and you’re letting her loose on her own at this time of night!” exclaimed Godiva.

  “Connie was with very responsible friends. She was with Dr. Brock. I think you remember him, don’t you, Aunt?”

  “That madman! Still up to his old tricks, is he? Well, if that’s your idea of responsible…”

  Connie sat hugging her knees in the dark hallway listening to the raised voices in the kitchen. She had been sent out and they had been going on like this for more than half an hour. She had learned quite a lot, like the fact that her parents, who worked in the Philippines, had been leaving Evelyn strict instructions to limit the time Connie spent with Society members, advice her aunt had chosen not to pass on or respect. Doubting they could influence Evelyn from afar, her parents had appealed to whom they called “the sensible Lionhearts”—Godiva and Hugh—begging them to break off their world cruise and make a surprise inspection of the goings-on at Shaker Row. Godiva clearly considered their reception a confirmation of her worst fears.

  “Connie’s doing very well here. Ask her teacher—ask anyone,” Evelyn said firmly, ignoring her aunt’s slur against Dr. Brock.

  “But look at her clothes, Evelyn. You can’t claim that’s normal for a girl of her age.” Godiva was struck by a new suspicion. “You haven’t let her ride on the back of that man’s bike? You’re not turning her into one of those Hell’s Angels, are you?”

  Evelyn snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “And you—out with your biker boyfriend—not knowing what Connie might be getting up to!”

  “Connie does not ‘get up’ to anything, Aunt. You’ve only just met her—and I know a good deal more about her than you do!”

  “Don’t you yell at me, Evelyn Lionheart. What would Robin, God rest his soul, say if he could hear his daughter use words like that to me!”

  “What do you expect, Aunt? I didn’t see you offering to take her last year when I was given her. Now you waltz in here, treating us both like criminals! You have some nerve!”

  “It’s not nerve—I have every right. Her parents have asked me to take appropriate action to ensure you are not corrupting their daughter with all that Society nonsense.”

  “It’s true, Evelyn,” chipped in Uncle Hugh, his voice placid in contrast to the shrill tones of the women. “I can’t blame them for wanting to make sure that…you
know…nothing happens to their daughter. I’ve never heard anything good of people who get messed up in that society of yours—quite the contrary.”

  “Have you told Connie what happened?” asked Godiva. “Did you explain how half of my generation got wiped out in one fell swoop while on a mission for the Society? About my sister’s husband?”

  “Yes, Connie knows about the dangers.” Evelyn’s voice was now subdued. “If you hadn’t turned your back on all that, Aunt, I’d be able to explain to you why she can’t avoid them. But you made your choice, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did—and never regretted it for a moment.”

  “Never?”

  “No. That’s all water under the bridge. And soon Connie will be able to say the same. Call her in. I’ve got something to tell her.”

  There was a pause; then Evelyn came around the door and beckoned to Connie.

  “I expect you heard all that,” she whispered, putting a hand on Connie’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay. I’ll stick up for you.”

  Godiva was standing with her back to the kitchen sideboard, studiously ignoring the twinkling collection of feathers, shells, and old glass bottles Connie and Evelyn had collected on their walks together on the moor and beach. Among the common finds were some rarer objects: a silver tail hair from a unicorn, a black feather from Storm-Bird, fragments of a dragon egg, and jet mined by a rock dwarf.

  “Connie, your parents have decided that it’s time to stop this nonsense,” Godiva announced.

  “I don’t understand.” Connie looked up at Evelyn. Her aunt was white-faced, her lips pressed in a thin line.

  “We’re taking you with us.”

  “No!” Connie burst out. What about her plans? Her training? Her friends?

  “We’re opening up the old house in Chartmouth.”

  “Your parents, Connie, are very worried about you,” said Hugh gently, reaching out to take her hand.

  “Quite right, too,” added Godiva. “That’s what I would expect of your father. He has decided enough is enough.”

  “But I don’t want to go away. I want to stay here,” Connie protested, her mind struggling to catch up with this disastrous development.

  “It’s not that they’re ungrateful, Evelyn,” said Godiva, ignoring her great-niece’s objections, “but Connie’s parents admitted to me that they had made a mistake placing her with you.”

  “You must see, Evelyn, that a young girl like Connie is a heavy burden for a single woman in your circumstances,” continued Hugh reasonably.

  “Hescombe’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Connie appealed to her great-uncle, believing him to be the most sympathetic. “Please don’t do this!” She could feel Evelyn’s hands gripping her shoulders, shaking with fury.

  “We’re not thinking of taking you away completely—only as far as Chartmouth. We’ve got a very nice house there—far too big for two old codgers like us,” said Hugh.

  Godiva raised her eyebrows on being called an “old codger.”

  “And we’ll be taking charge of her education, of course,” declared Godiva.

  “You—teach her?” exploded Evelyn.

  “Home-schooling—that’s the answer. I wish someone had beaten the nonsense out of me when I was Connie’s age—not let it build to a crisis. Catch them young, that’s what I say.”

  “Beat it out of her! What on Earth do you mean, Godiva?”

  “Old-fashioned discipline, that’s what the girl needs. It was my saving—and it’ll be hers, too.”

  Hugh looked uncomfortable. “Not literally beating her, Evelyn. I think my sister just means a strict regime—like good old navy discipline.”

  “She’s a child—not one of your junior sailors, Hugh!” exclaimed Evelyn. “You’re not taking her away from me. You don’t understand. She’s not like other people—she needs special care.”

  “For once, I agree with you, Evelyn,” said Godiva. “It’s time she outgrew her animal problem. You are just encouraging her. Her parents have decided that Connie is to cut all ties with that madcap Society of yours and behave like a normal teenager with normal friends.”

  “But she’s not normal, Godiva! Why can’t you face the truth for once in your life? You’ve run away from your own destiny but Connie can’t.

  She’s extraordinarily gifted! She needs the Society and the Society needs her!”

  “You’re talking nonsense again. You’re ruining what chance she has to live an ordinary life.”

  “What good’s an ordinary life when you’re a…you’re Connie? Godiva, you are nothing but a narrow-minded bigot! You always sided with my father about the Society, no matter how much you knew it hurt me and Sybil. I’m not going to let you do the same to Connie!”

  “What utter rubbish, Evelyn,” Godiva said, her voice now icy. “You forget it’s Gordon’s daughter we’re talking about, not yours, and he has given me permission to take all necessary steps to save Connie from you.” She turned to Connie. “Pack your things. We’re leaving.”

  3

  Rat

  The taxi dropped the Lionhearts outside the gates of a large, square house on the Abbey Close in Chartmouth. Connie gazed up at the four stories to the slate roof outlined against the night sky. The building had the air of a fat, well-fed citizen who had always occupied this privileged spot in the old part of the town and was in no hurry to move.

  “Here you are, Connie. This is Lionheart Lodge,” said Godiva. It was the first time Connie had heard her great-aunt approve of anything. “There’s more to your family than all that Society nonsense. The Lionhearts have a long, respectable history in this town. We were one of the leading mercantile families for centuries. Go in the abbey opposite and you’ll find our family names cover the walls. We even paid for the stained-glass window in the south transept.”

  Connie made a muted expression of interest. Indeed, she would have liked to know more about this if she hadn’t been feeling so depressed about leaving Shaker Row.

  Aunt Godiva took out a key and opened the gates.

  “Did you phone Mrs. Wellborough, Hugh?” she asked.

  “Of course. She said she’d have the place shipshape for us.”

  “I don’t doubt it. I can see that her husband has kept the garden in check as instructed.” Godiva nodded at the immaculate lawn and well-behaved yew hedge. She bent closer and took out a ruler from her voluminous black handbag to measure the border. “Good, good. Nothing over six inches. Perfect.”

  Amazed by this precision, Connie picked up her suitcase and followed Godiva up the path; Hugh wheeled the trunk behind. As her feet crunched on the gravel, Connie shivered. There was something wrong here—something sick. The garden felt as if it was trapped in a straitjacket.

  Godiva paused on the front step, fumbling in the dark to find the right key. Hugh switched on a light, illuminating the door panels. They were decorated with a very familiar symbol.

  “Hey, that’s mine!” Connie exclaimed. What was the sign for the universal doing on this front door?

  “What’s that?” Hugh was now level with her. “You mean those? Lovely aren’t they? They’re part of our family coat of arms—the star compass. Shows that you come from a long line of sailors like me, doesn’t it?” He rolled up his sleeve and displayed a dark blue tattoo in the same shape. “Had that done in Singapore in nineteen fifty-eight. The old man who did it nearly fell off his stool when I showed him what I wanted—asked me all sorts of peculiar questions.” Hugh rubbed his forearm thoughtfully. “In fact, of all my tattoos, it’s the one most people are interested in.”

  “Do you know what it means?” Connie couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  “Of course. It means north, south, east, and west—surely you know the points of the compass at your age? Never Eat Shredded Wheat—that should help you remember.”

  He didn’t know it was the Society’s symbol for the universal companion—or was he very good at pretending? Connie wondered.

  Godiva ope
ned the door and led the way into the hall, turning on more lights. Connie was immediately struck by the staircase: it had black wrought-iron banisters and white marble steps. The lobby floor was stone; the only furniture an alabaster vase with dried flowers standing on a metal table in front of a large mirror.

  Connie carried the sense of sickness she had felt in the garden with her across the threshold. There was something very wrong with Lionheart Lodge—something missing.

  “We start your lessons the day after tomorrow, Connie—” announced Godiva.

  “But it’s summer!”

  Aunt Godiva raised an eyebrow and continued, “So I suggest you spend tomorrow getting to know your new home.”

  It wasn’t home, thought Connie sourly. She felt as if she had just been uprooted and re-potted in the wrong soil.

  “Your bedroom is next to mine on the second floor. I’ll show it to you now so you can spruce yourself up before supper. You’ll want to change.”

  Connie looked down at her jeans. “I will?”

  “Of course. We’ll have no trousers in the dining room in this household. I suppose you possess a dress or skirt?”

  “Um…”

  Godiva gave an irritated tut. “You can borrow one of mine if you can’t find anything suitable. You are to act like a lady from now on, Connie; not a tomboy.”

  “I’m not a tomboy.”