Secrets of the Dead

  ‘As long as you don’t cause trouble now, I promise. We’ll talk as much as you want.’

  Philip gave a curt nod before marching briskly away in the direction of the gatehouse.

  Greg came up to John. ‘Goodness gracious. What on earth did he want?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing, Greg. I think he’d got himself upset over something.’

  ‘I’ve got the telephone number of his social worker; perhaps I should call them?’

  ‘No need for that, Greg. He’s calmed down now.’

  ‘OK,’ Greg said doubtfully as he watched the figure in the dressing gown striding away.

  Samantha joined them. ‘What’s been taken?’

  ‘Oh, there’s been no break-in.’ Greg smiled. ‘False alarm. There’s a glitch with the new electronic locking system. The doors popped open by themselves last night. In fact, they did so at precisely eleven twenty-two, according to the computer.’

  Samantha shook her head, clearly annoyed. ‘Greg, the new electronic locks are supposed to be state of the art. They’re designed to keep everything secure in there, and you’re saying the computer unlocked the doors for no reason?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Rather embarrassing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ll say.’

  John was puzzled. ‘Samantha, you said the door was open, not just unlocked?’

  ‘It was open. Wide open.’

  Greg shrugged. ‘When the lock mechanism disengages there’s nothing to keep the door shut, no bolts or anything like that. It was breezy last night as well.’

  ‘You’re saying the wind blew the door open?’

  ‘It must have.’

  Shaking her head, she went inside.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Greg said. ‘I’ll call out the technical people. They’ll soon have the doors fixed.’

  ‘Are you sure that someone hasn’t tampered with the locks?’ John asked. ‘Isn’t it worth checking the CCTV recordings at the time the doors opened?’

  ‘Ah, even though the cameras have been installed, we’re still waiting for the wiring to be finished. We won’t have video surveillance for a few days yet.’ Greg put a brave face on things and clapped his hands together. ‘At least we can carry on with our work as usual.’

  Today’s a day of surprises, John told himself when he returned home and saw what was taking place on the back lawn. First we find that the castle doors are opening by themselves, now this. He stood there on the patio and watched the scene in front of him. The early evening sun blazed down. Ben Darrington sat on a lawn chair, his leg, in its cast, resting on a plastic crate. Standing a dozen paces or so away were Oliver and Vicki. The three skimmed a frisbee to each other. They were laughing, calling out jokey comments, and generally having a wonderful time.

  Ingrid stepped out of the house to join him on the patio. ‘They’ve been like this for over an hour,’ she said. ‘It’s uncanny … It’s like they’ve known each other forever.’

  ‘They are blood relations. Perhaps there’s already an instinctive bond.’

  He watched Ben try to catch the Frisbee from where he sat in the chair, all but falling from his seat. Oliver and Vicki laughed when he play-acted falling with exaggerated waves of his arms. They rushed forward to grab a hold and help him back into the chair.

  Ingrid smiled. ‘I can’t stop watching them. I mean, I literally can’t take my eyes off them as they’re playing. Our family has just grown from four to five. Isn’t that a sort of miracle?’

  ‘It should feel strange,’ he told her, ‘but this feels perfectly natural.’ A surge of emotion filled him. ‘It’s good though, isn’t it?’

  ‘It makes me happy to see them. Oliver enjoys being with Ben. I think there’s already some hero worship going on.’

  ‘Vicki’s getting on well with him, too. I thought she might have been a bit stand-offish.’

  Ingrid smiled. ‘I’ve noticed something unusual, though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘For the first time in months, Vicki seems at ease with herself … almost content.’

  ‘You mean, she hasn’t had one of her prickly moods when she contradicts everything you say?’

  ‘In a nutshell, yes. I haven’t seen her so relaxed since … well, I don’t know when.’

  Ben noticed John. ‘Hello. Had a good day at work?’

  ‘It’s been alright. I’ve got plenty done.’

  ‘Maybe I could tag along at some point and see what you’re doing?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Ollie.’ Ben skimmed the Frisbee back. ‘Over to you. Watch out, I’ve put a bomb on board!’

  Oliver caught the Frisbee, pretended it exploded, then hurled himself back on to the grass, laughing at the top of his voice.

  Ingrid whispered, so only John would hear, ‘Your new son is here to stay, isn’t he? He’s already part of our family.’ With that, she returned to the house.

  Ingrid didn’t seem unhappy with her observation. In fact, she was relaxed, too, in the way mothers are when all their children are safely at home. John watched the three at play (getting his head around the fact that there were now three was becoming easier); a moment later, he stepped into the kitchen where Ingrid busily prised apart frozen beefburgers.

  ‘Would you light the barbecue, John?’ she asked. ‘I want to make a start on cooking these, because Oliver has asked Fletcher over.’

  ‘I mustn’t forget the most important job of all first.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘This.’ He put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Mmm, that’s nice. Thank you.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘There are bottles of water in the fridge. I’ll have one of those, thanks.’

  ‘Where did we put the lighter fluid?’

  ‘It’s on the table next to the barbecue.’

  ‘Take one last look at my eyebrows, Ingrid. I always end up incinerating them when I light the charcoal.’

  ‘I’ve put the extra-long matches on the table, too. Use those. But even so …’ She beckoned him closer. ‘Bend down.’ She kissed his eyebrows. ‘There. Magical protection. They won’t get burnt off now.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’ Chuckling, he headed back outside.

  The frisbee match was in full swing. For the next couple of minutes he found himself part of the game. Everything merged so pleasantly and seamlessly – the warm evening sunshine, the smell of grass, the birdsong, the encircling rampart of greenery that was the forest, his children’s laughter. This is the perfect thing to come home to, he told himself with a powerful sense of satisfaction.

  At last, excusing himself from the Frisbee game, he headed to a flat area where the barbecue and garden table stood, and he glanced up at the sound of a voice.

  Samantha Oldfield stood at the garden gate. ‘I don’t know whether to shout “cooee” or not,’ she said. ‘My mother used to holler it to attract people’s attention. I always thought it so uncouth.’

  ‘Hello, Samantha.’

  ‘I come bearing news. May I enter the Tolworth domain?’

  ‘Of course. You have an open invitation to come over anytime you wish.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You say you come bearing news?’

  ‘Yes, Greg has organized a staff outing for our families on Saturday.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘He’s hiring a bus to take us all to Hele Bay. There’s a nice beach there and a couple of lovely pubs.’ She approached John, while taking a keen interest in Ben at the same time. ‘That’s your long-lost son?’ she whispered.

  He nodded. ‘Ben seems to be settling in well.’

  ‘I’ll say. They look like they’ve known each other forever.’

  ‘Those were Ingrid’s words exactly.’

  ‘Golly, John. He looks just like you. Same hair. Same shaped face. From this angle it could be you.’

  ‘Although a much younger me.’

  Her eyes twinkled in that
flirty way again. ‘You don’t look old enough to have a grown-up son.’

  ‘Bizarrely, I’m pleased that he broke his leg, otherwise I might never have met him.’

  ‘Ah, coincidences can have such profound consequences.’ Samantha watched Oliver scramble up a tree to retrieve the frisbee. ‘I met my husband when I bumped into an old friend who I hadn’t seen in years, who then suggested we go to a tapas bar together to catch up. I’d never been in a tapas bar before in my life. It was there I met Tom. He was playing in a flamenco band. Ten months later we were married.’

  ‘You’re a believer in coincidences, then?’

  ‘They happen all the time, don’t they? Though I prefer the word “synchronicity”, which is the scientific name for coincidence. Synchronicity involves a series of apparently unconnected events that come together with significant consequences.’

  ‘Such as thinking about an old friend at random, then suddenly getting an email from that friend moments later?’

  ‘Synchronicity would be more sophisticated than that. For example, you’ve been worrying over some problem. You then think, apparently by chance, about an old friend you’ve lost touch with, who then emails out of the blue, and what they say in the email, apparently at random, helps you solve your problem.’

  He squirted inflammable liquid on to the charcoal. ‘Do you think there’s some kind of synchronicity going on with the mummies and my family? After all, you said that they – we – resembled one another in stature, age, gender …’ He shrugged, not taking what Samantha was saying particularly seriously. He didn’t believe in the so-called powers of newspaper astrologers, clairvoyants or fortune-tellers, so he wasn’t going to leap on the yes-I-believe-in-synchronicity train anytime soon. ‘Do you think I should treat the coincidental resemblance between the mummy family and my family as important?’

  ‘There are striking similarities.’

  He lit the inflammable fluid. Fortunately, his eyebrows escaped being scorched. ‘But what are you getting at, Samantha? Are you saying that ghosts, or saints, or gods are trying to send me a message of some sorts, because they made five people who died in Egypt thousands of years ago resemble … loosely resemble, at that … five people who are alive in this part of Devon today?’

  ‘Loosely resemble, you say?’ She gripped his elbow. ‘Remember the mummy of the boy who died when he was a teenager? The one we call Bones?’

  ‘You already told me the name.’

  ‘You never asked why we called him Bones.’

  He shrugged. ‘OK … why?’

  ‘His thigh bone had been broken in three places. Remember that number: three. There are tell-tale signs that the break occurred just a short time before death, because the fractured sections of thigh had begun to knit together again. Which part of Ben’s leg is broken, and in how many places?’

  ‘Ben’s thigh bone is broken. It’s broken in three places.’

  At that moment, Ben recalled the head produced by the 3D printer: a perfect reproduction of the head of the mummified girl the restoration team called Amber. The face of the plastic model was uncannily similar to Vicki. A cloud passed over the sun. A sudden coldness spread over John’s skin. The cold went deep into him. It went into his bones. It went into his heart. The DNA results from the mummified corpses would arrive soon. What if … no … he didn’t want to ask himself, ‘What if?’ This similarity between the dead and the living had begun to prey on his mind.

  Samantha, meanwhile, said her goodbyes and left the garden. John placed the mesh grill on the barbecue. He found himself glancing at Ben; he had three breaks in his thigh bone, just like the mummy they called Bones. His gaze wandered to Vicki. She resembled the 3D model of Amber. Now he found himself staring at Oliver. In his mind’s eye, he couldn’t help but overlay the image of the mummified boy’s face over the face of his living son, trying to identify similarities.

  John inwardly recoiled from the gruesome image that his imagination created – a merging of an ancient face, frozen in death, and the pink, smiling face that belonged to his son.

  Philip Kemmis sat on a bench near the gatehouse where he lived. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt and black jeans. John Tolworth had decided that he’d keep his promise to talk to his childhood friend, so, after the barbecue, which had been cheerful and light-hearted, John had told Ingrid that he intended to call on Philip. She knew that they’d been friends long ago. Even so, she’d warned, ‘If he begins acting strangely, or becomes aggressive, leave – don’t try having a conversation with him.’

  John murmured to himself, ‘I’m here now, as I promised. Let’s get this over with.’

  For the sake of their old friendship John would give Philip the courtesy of spending some time with him. The man was clearly mentally disturbed. However, if his behaviour remained at least relatively normal then John would listen to what Philip had to say, even if it was the product of some peculiar fantasy.

  John walked along the path through the trees.

  The moment Philip saw John approach he stood up. He wore black leather gloves – one would be on the living hand, the other on the artificial hand. Philip spoke crisply in those upper-class accents that John remembered so well from three decades ago. ‘I had a distinct feeling you’d come over this evening.’ He appeared in control, showing no signs of the agitation or even downright terror of earlier in the day when he’d stormed up to the castle, wanting to burn the mummies.

  ‘Hello, Philip. How are you?’

  ‘As you can see, old chap, I’m not raving like an inmate of Bedlam. How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘If you’re in the mood for a walk, John, I’d like to show you something that you’ll find interesting.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Don’t be concerned that I might pounce on you, clawing at your throat. Ha!’ His eyes were glittery, and he spoke quickly.

  John would use the word ‘hyper’ to describe the man. He appeared elated; his movements were so fast that it was almost like watching film of a man on fast-forward. Even so, he did appear to be … to put it bluntly: sane. ‘OK,’ John told him. ‘We’ll take a walk.’

  ‘There’s a good hour before sunset; that gives us plenty of time.’

  ‘What should I call you?’

  The man laughed. ‘What did you call me when we were boys?’

  ‘Philip.’

  ‘Then what do you want to call me now? The Mad Hatter? Crazy Man? I’ve been a good fellow, John, I remembered to take my medication after that minor kerfuffle this morning up at the castle. Apologies for that. Forgiven?’

  ‘Of course – but you inherited your father’s title, didn’t you? You’re a lord.’

  ‘Call me Lord Kemmis, if you wish; it’s a mouthful, though.’

  ‘OK, Philip.’

  ‘And good to meet again after all these years.’ He held out his left hand: the living hand.

  John shook it. ‘Good to meet you again, Philip. When I applied for the job at the castle I realized that it had new owners, so I never expected to find you living in its grounds.’

  ‘I hate it here. But I could never leave.’ He didn’t elaborate. ‘You’re here with your new family, and you’re working in my old home. Life plays curious tricks, doesn’t it?’ Instead of waiting for a reply, he nodded at the steep path that they climbed. ‘Goodness, do you remember how we used to cycle down here? Like we were riding on rockets! Ha! It’s a wonder we didn’t break our necks.’

  John tried to stop himself, yet he glanced at the glove concealing the artificial hand.

  Philip noticed what John was looking at. ‘No, I didn’t lose the hand in a cycling accident. Ho! And there’s the tree where we had the rope swing. We played for hours on that, didn’t we? Ah, just up there to your right, John; it’s a steep climb, I’m afraid. It’ll be worth it when I show you the astonishing discovery I made this afternoon, though.’

  They continued uphill to where the meadow gave way to a vast expanse
of moorland. Even though the sun hung low in the sky, the temperature was still formidable. John felt a bead of perspiration run down his face. Philip, on the other hand, strode tirelessly uphill.

  Philip showed no sign of being out of breath when he began speaking. ‘My parents planned for me to complete my education at public school. After that, I’d either go to university or join the army, depending on my proclivity. Of course, the accident put paid to that. It wasn’t so much the severing of old Mr Hand here.’ He held up his arm as he walked. ‘Nerves suffered more than flesh. My parents sent me to an establishment in Denmark where the children of the upper echelons of society go if they are misfiring mentally. While I was there, my father sold the castle and its grounds to an investment company. You might remember our family were broke – on the verge of bankruptcy, in fact. One of the terms of the sale of the castle was that my family could continue to live in the gatehouse rent free in perpetuity. After my parents died, I had the place to myself. I also have enough cash in the bank to live in a modicum of comfort, providing I don’t eat more than two meals a day. Ah, look, you have a good view of the sea now.’

  John shielded his eyes against the sun. He made out a strip of blue between land and sky that was the Bristol Channel. He asked, ‘Don’t you have any family?’

  ‘You mean married with kiddiewinks?’ He shook his head. ‘When I approach, ladies flee. Women are good at seeing this above my head.’ He reached up into the air above him. ‘The black cloud that hangs above me wherever I go.’ Philip noticed John’s expression. ‘A metaphorical cloud. An aura of despondency. Nay, an air of doom haunts me.’ Philip still spoke in an oddly cheerful way. The medication, perhaps?

  ‘What is it that you want me to see?’ John asked.

  ‘Almost there.’ Philip marched towards the hilltop. ‘Saw your website, John. You use computer software to restore damaged archaeological finds.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. What I’ve been hired to do is piece together the shreds of papyrus that were found in the Gold Tomb.’