The Beasts of Clawstone Castle

  Smoke was coming out of the chimney of one of the huts, but still nobody seemed to be about.

  And then they heard a sound that stopped them dead in their tracks. A low mooing, followed by silence. Then the same sound, repeated.

  There was no holding Rollo back now; the others did not even try. He broke cover and raced across the turf towards the noise they had heard, and they went with him.

  They came to a high wooden fence, topped by an electric wire. Running round the fence, they reached a gate through which they could see into the paddock.

  And in the paddock was a herd of cattle.

  The three children stood absolutely still. Oddly, it was Madlyn, not Rollo, who had to blink back tears. Rollo’s disappointment was so great that he could only stare in silence, holding on to the wooden bars of the gate.

  For while it was true that the field was full of cattle – cows and bulls and calves – these were not the Wild White Cattle of Clawstone that they had come so far to seek. The pelts of these beasts did not take the light; their hides were dull and lifeless. There was hay in the paddock, and troughs of water, but the animals were not feeding. They lay listlessly, like dark hummocks, on the trampled grass.

  And they were brown. Every single animal was a dark and uniform brown.

  The children stood there, completely winded. They had come all this way for nothing. Ned was the first to pull himself together.

  ‘Well, that’s it then,’ he said. ‘We’d better get out before we’re caught.’

  But Rollo did not move. He was staring at the beasts and breathing hard.

  No,’ he said. ‘Wait.’ And then: ‘Look – look at that calf over by the trough.’

  ‘What about it ?’ said Madlyn.

  ‘Look at the way it’s butting its head. And over there – the old cow up against the fence. Look at her horn.’

  The others looked, but at first they did not understand.

  ‘Look at her horn,’ repeated Rollo.

  ‘It’s crumpled,’ said Madlyn under her breath.

  Then the great bull, who had been lying down, half hidden by the other beasts, got suddenly to his feet and now they all saw what Rollo saw. For, brown or not, this was the great king bull of Clawstone.

  The ghosts had caught up now, and above them they heard Sunita’s voice.

  ‘What have they done?’ she breathed in horror.

  It was now that they remembered the nozzle of the spray-gun in the gravel pit. The cows must have been to the pit, then, and sprayed... but why? So that they could be stolen and carried off to another part of the country? Stolen from the vets who were going to bury them, so that they could be sold perhaps for slaughter in some place where people did not care whether the animals were infected or not?

  Why should anyone disguise the cows unless they were doing something illegal, and meant them harm?

  But Madlyn had had enough.

  ‘We’re going to go back now and tell Uncle George and the police about this. And quickly.’

  They turned and ran back, dropping down on to the sands again, trudging through piles of seaweed, skirting the rock pools. The wind was freshening, blowing from the north. They crossed the bay with the jetty safely; they were nearly there. It was only a short run across the beach to the causeway.

  ‘Stop!’

  The voice was deep, foreign. Barring the way was a man wearing baggy trousers and an embroidered tunic. His face was sunburned, he had a large curving moustache and he carried a pitchfork. For a moment the children thought they might be able to run for it – but now a second man, with an even larger moustache and even baggier trousers, appeared from behind a bush, armed with a heavy stick. They did not look like the kind of people from whom it would be easy to escape.

  ‘You come with us,’ said the first man. ‘Now. Quick. The boss, he waits.’

  And the children were led away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was easy to see that the building they were taken to had been a hotel – and not an ordinary hotel: a hotel for people who had been very rich indeed.

  As the children were led along a corridor their feet sank into deep-pile carpets; there were chandeliers instead of ordinary lamps; hot air came up through vents in the walls, and the fireplaces were made of marble. It was extraordinary, finding all this luxury while outside lay the bleak island with its wind-flattened grass.

  And floating invisibly above the children were the ghosts. The men with baggy trousers did not seem to be allowed in the hotel. They had pushed the children inside and it was a large, muscular woman in a maid’s uniform who led them up the wide staircase and knocked on a door with a brass plate on it saying ‘Dr Maurice Manners M.B.B.S. M.R.C.G.P.’

  A voice said, ‘Come in,’ and they were pushed forward into the study of the man who owned the island.

  Dr Manners sat behind an enormous desk on which was a bust of the great naturalist Charles Darwin. Although it was early in the morning, he was formally dressed in a pale grey suit with a mauve silk shirt and matching tie. He had fair wavy hair lightly touched with silver at the temples, and his hands, with their long fingers and beautifully manicured nails, were folded over a neat sheaf of papers on his desk. The sweet smell of toilet water, which he had mixed for him specially, hung over the room.

  When he saw the children he smiled – a warm, friendly smile.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘You’re very early. You’ve come to thank me, I imagine, but there was no need. I don’t require praise. What I do, I do for the satisfaction of a job well done.’

  All three children gaped at him. Madlyn was the first to find her voice.

  ‘You stole our cows – the Clawstone cattle. You needn’t think we didn’t recognize them just because they were dyed.’

  Dr Manners’s smile grew even more charming.

  ‘You could say I stole them. But I prefer the word “rescue”.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Madlyn. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s quite simple. Your cows were under sentence of death, were they not? They were due to be killed?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rollo had found his voice. ‘They had Klappert’s Disease.’

  ‘Exactly so. The vets from the ministry found that they had this disease and the vets were perfectly correct. People like that don’t make a mistake.’ He pressed the tips of his fingers together. ‘And the regulations say that animals infected in this way must be destroyed instantly and the carcasses buried. That is the law and the law must be obeyed, must it not?’

  ‘Yes.’ All three children nodded their heads.

  ‘But to kill animals unnecessarily is a sin. To kill at all, except in self-defence, is wicked. At least that is what I believe.’

  ‘It is what we believe too,’ said Ned.

  ‘Good. Good.’ Again he smiled that very charming smile. ‘Not everybody can act on their beliefs, of course. However, I am fortunate in that I can.’ He glanced out of the window at a group of men who were going past. Some wore white coats, some were in overalls – all of them looked purposeful and busy. ‘I have helpers, you see. Marvellous helpers for whom I give thanks every day of my life. I have scientists trained in all the problems of animal health. And not only scientists.’ He leaned across to the children. ‘I wonder if you have ever heard of a country called Mundania?’

  The children shook their heads.

  ‘It is a beautiful place, high in the mountains of central Europe. The people who live there are strong and fearless – but noble too – and when they heard rumours of my mission they came of their own free will to work for me.’

  ‘Are those the people who brought us here?’ asked Ned.

  ‘They are.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand what happened to our cattle,’ said Rollo. ‘I still don’t understand what it is that you do.’

  ‘No, I dare say you don’t. My work is unusual – but I will try to explain. As you know, your cows have Klappert’s Disease, and animals with Klapper
t’s must be killed immediately. But suppose there is an antidote. Suppose there is something that can remove the diseased cells in the blood? Suppose there is a treatment that will cure the animals, wouldn’t you think that they should have it?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  Dr Manners leaned back in his chair. A shaft of light fell on his golden head.

  ‘And there is such a treatment,’ he said softly. ‘We have found it here, and developed it in our laboratories. There is a vaccine but it is very, very expensive – and no government will ever pay out money if it doesn’t have to. We tried to convince them, of course, but they refused to listen – they didn’t believe in our results. Killing the animals was quicker and more economical. So we have had to act outside the law. You see, the vets from the ministry don’t actually kill and bury the animals themselves; they give that work to other people. It’s called outsourcing – you may have heard of it. And sometimes they give that work to me and my assistants. They think we are a slaughtering company but actually, secretly, we are quite the opposite. We are the Manners Save the Animals Mission – SAM for short.’

  He got up and went over to the window.

  ‘So we took the cattle to the gravel pit – they’d been stunned with anaesthetic darts in the field – and officially we buried them so that the trail went cold. But in fact we dyed them so that they would not be recognized, and brought them here. As far as the men from the ministry were concerned, the cattle were dead and buried. It was over. But for your beautiful beasts,’ he said, turning back to the children, ‘for the famous Wild White Cattle of Clawstone, a new life has begun. Because soon now – very soon – perhaps even tonight,’ said Dr Manners, and his high voice rang out across the room, ‘a boat will come. A boat which will carry them to a far country where they can graze in peace till the end of their lives... to a park with shady trees and wonderful flowers and sparkling streams...’

  ‘Where?’ asked Madlyn. ‘Where is there such a park?’

  Dr Manners shook his head. ‘That I cannot tell you. There is always a danger that they would be found and brought back and slaughtered – slaughtered unnecessarily like so many animals in this cruel, harsh world. But I swear that the place they are going to is as close as you can get to paradise on earth.’

  He looked down and his expression, as his eyes fell on Rollo, was very kind. ‘I know how hard it is to let go of creatures that you have grown to love,’ he said. ‘But there is no gift that you can give them that is greater than the gift of freedom.’

  ‘Do you do this to other animals too?’ asked Madlyn. ‘Rescue them and heal them, and let them go?’

  Dr Manners nodded. ‘I have a mission,’ he said. ‘It came to me when I was a little boy and saying my prayers by my mother’s side. I had to work hard to get the money – you won’t believe how hard I worked. I was a surgeon in London and often I did six or seven operations in a single day, trying to help spoilt women who were never satisfied. But as soon as I had saved enough, I came here. I won’t speak of the things I’ve seen – we have chickens here that were on their way to be turned into nuggets because they have fowl pest. But fowl pest can be cured, if you spend the time and the money – and we are curing them. I could tell you many such stories but I won’t distress you. But you must understand we work outside the law.’

  ‘Like Robin Hood,’ said Rollo.

  ‘Yes, like that. But remember that outlaws work in secret. If you breathe a word about what you have seen here on the island, your cattle will be slaughtered and buried even now. You understand that?’

  The children nodded and Dr Manners pressed a button on his desk.

  ‘Show my visitors out,’ he said to the secretary who came. ‘Drive them over the causeway – they’ve had enough walking for one day.’

  Left alone, Manners leaned back in his chair and smiled. Then he pressed the buzzer again and his second in command, Dr Fangster, came into the room. He was a small man, as dark as Manners was fair – and formidably clever.

  ‘Any news from the boat?’ asked Manners.

  Fangster nodded. ‘We’ve had a signal. They’re hoping to get here tonight.’

  ‘Good. Good.’

  It looked as though the biggest mission they had yet attempted was on course.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sir George had not been in London for some time and he didn’t realize how much it had changed.

  He used to stay at his club, which was very quiet and full of other old people reading the paper who said ‘shush’ if anyone talked – but it had all been modernized with piped music in the rooms and instead of waiters whom you could ask for the things you wanted, there were vending machines with instructions which Sir George couldn’t read because the print was too small.

  And when he arrived at the Ministry of Animal Health, his troubles really began. He went into the outer office and told one of the secretaries that he wanted to see someone about Klappert’s Disease and the secretary said that before he could even ask to see anyone he had to have proof of identity, preferably a passport or driving licence.

  So Sir George went back to his club and fetched his driving licence and went back to the ministry and then another secretary told him he had to go to the police station and get a certificate to say he hadn’t been involved in any criminal offence. And when he had done that they told him he would have to get his fingerprints taken and have a blood test. And so it went on. By the end of the first afternoon Sir George had got as far as being allowed into the waiting room where one could see the secretary who made the actual appointments with the minister, and she told him that the minister was in a meeting and Sir George should come back tomorrow and try again.

  Up to now Sir George had kept his temper, but now he went purple in the face and raised his stick and there would have been one secretary the less at the ministry, but just at that moment a porter came in and said there was an urgent message for Sir George at his club and would he telephone his sister immediately.

  And when Sir George picked up the telephone he forgot all about the idiots at the ministry and about Klappert’s Disease and his cattle, because what Emily had to tell him was that the children had disappeared. At about the time that Sir George was packing to go back to Clawstone, the eldest of the banshees woke up from her afternoon nap in a very excited state.

  ‘I’ve had such an exciting dream,’ she said, clutching her sister. ‘In fact, it was so exciting I’m not sure that it was a dream. It may have been a vision.’

  The middle banshee, who had been dozing on the other sofa, sat bolt upright. ‘But that’s extraordinary. I’ve had an amazing dream too. It was so vivid I thought it must be telling me something important.’

  And now the youngest sister, who preferred to take her afternoon nap in an armchair, said, ‘You may or may not believe it, but I too have had a most powerful and important dream.’

  The eldest banshee sat up. ‘Was it... by any chance... a dream ...’ she hesitated, ‘a dream about a funeral?’

  ‘Yes, it was! It was!’ cried the other two. ‘That’s exactly what it was! It was a dream about a funeral!’

  ‘And was it in the north ... very far north, this funeral?’

  ‘It was indeed,’ said the middle banshee. ‘It was further north than you can get and still stay in England.’

  The youngest banshee nodded. ‘In fact it wasn’t in England at all,’ she said. ‘When I think about it carefully, I see that it was in Scotland. In a small church by the sea.’

  ‘Such a bleak place,’ said the eldest banshee.

  ‘So windy.’

  ‘But beautiful. Unspoilt. Remote.’

  ‘Yes.’

  For a few minutes the three sisters sat in silence, awed and humbled by their amazing experience. Of course, sisters who live together do often catch each other’s thoughts and even each other’s dreams, but this seemed to be more than that. It was as though they were being given a message from above.

  It was not t
ill they were drinking their second cup of tea from the blue teapot that the eldest banshee dared to ask another question.

  ‘Did this funeral ... did it go well?’

  Her sisters put down their cups.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said the middle sister.

  ‘No, no,’ said the youngest one. ‘It didn’t go well at all. It was a disaster. An absolutely shocking mess. No wonder they were so upset. The undertaker should have been sacked.’

  ‘All in all, it’s a wonder how the poor things managed to go on with their lives at all.’

  ‘Though of course it wasn’t exactly their lives they went on with.’

  There was a long pause. A very long pause indeed. Because by the time they got to their third cup of tea and the mists of sleep had left them, the banshees were realizing that their dream had not come to them out of the blue. It was only partly a dream. It was a dream about something they had once experienced. It was a buried memory which had come up while they slept. When they were young they had been to just such a funeral and seen the disaster that had happened there.

  ‘I knew we’d seen the poor things before,’ said the eldest banshee.

  ‘Me too. As soon as we met them at the gravel pit, I felt as though I knew them.’

  All three sisters nodded their heads.

  ‘But the question is,’ said the oldest banshee, ‘what do we do now? Do we leave well alone? Or do we see what we can do?’

  Her sisters sighed. ‘We’d better see how we feel in the morning,’ they said.

  But they knew really. When a great wrong has been done to someone, it has to be put right. There isn’t really any doubt about that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The last thing the children had wanted was to spend another night in the chapel.

  ‘We must get back quickly,’ said Madlyn. ‘They’ll be so worried about us.