Authors: Emma Carroll
Frost Hollow Hall had locked front gates and people patrolling the grounds. Will Potter might know the place, but if my hazy memory of Sunday served me right, it wasn’t the most welcoming house in the world.
Not that I’d let that put me off. Kit was counting on me now, and it was such a stirring thought my spirits truly began to lift. I marched on, a person with a purpose. Though the snow was only a few inches deep, it made the whole world look different, like a spell had been cast over Frostcombe village, turning the cow byres and cottages into things of magic.
Then I saw Will Potter.
He was hanging a side of beef outside his pa’s shop. Two daft girls stood watching him, simpering and giggling as he played the idiot. When he saw me, he waved and called my name. The girls pulled faces and elbowed each other. I felt my cheeks grow hot. Putting my head down, I kept walking, all the while an idea growing in my head.
*
At school, I couldn’t focus on anything much. Nor could the pupils. The snow made them restless, which got the class teacher Miss Fletcher so rattled she was near to blowing her top. To cap it all, the stove wouldn’t stay lit, so by lunchtime it was too cold to even write properly. Poor Miss Fletcher had had enough. The class cheered when she told them they were being sent home. It was my place to stay behind and tidy the slates and put reading books back on the shelves. Though clearly today I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
‘Go home, Tilly. Your mind’s elsewhere too,’ said Miss Fletcher, as she put on her coat. ‘But I’ll expect you bright and early tomorrow.’
‘Yes, miss!’
I rushed for the door. With three good hours of daylight left, I’d no intention of going home. I headed straight for the butcher’s shop.
*
Will was there, sweeping the floor. He looked at me coolly, taking in the snow on my skirts and the plaits coming loose at my shoulders. I fixed him with what I hoped was a meaningful stare.
‘I’ve been thinking about that dare of yours. You know, the one what wasn’t really a dare at all and I nearly . . .’
He held up his hand. ‘If you’ve come to give me another earful, then buzz off. I’m busy.’
I was taken aback. I’d pictured him still all sorry for himself, dying for a chance to be friends again. It irked me that he wasn’t.
‘That’s not why I’m here,’ I said, trying to hold my temper.
‘Oh? Well, you’re not here to be civil, clearly. You didn’t even say hello this morning.’
It wouldn’t do to fly at him now. ‘I want to go back to Frost Hollow Hall.’
‘You’re mad.’
Will turned his back and started sweeping again. I stayed put in the doorway. Eventually, he seemed to realise I wasn’t going away. ‘So what’s it got to do with me?’
‘You said there were places at the Hall even more daring to go to than the lake.’
‘So?’
My heart beat quick. ‘Now
I’ve
got a dare for
you
.’
‘Really?’
‘We have to go to Kit Barrington’s grave.’
He looked horrified.
‘Well? Will you come?’
He shook his head. ‘Not a chance!’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why. The Barringtons are important customers. We can’t afford to lose them. My pa’d kill me if he knew what we’d been up to. I reckon we got off lightly last time.’
‘You call what happened
getting off lightly
?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Of course,’ I said, flicking a plait over my shoulder, ‘you might just be scared.’
‘No, I’m not!’
‘Prove it.’
Will leaned on his broom and sighed. ‘Kit’s grave, Tilly?
Really
?’
The way he said it made my heart go even faster. ‘It’s one of them places you was talking about, in’t it?’
‘You wouldn’t want to get caught there,’ he said.
‘And d’you know how to get to it?’
‘I’ve an idea, yes.’
‘So will you show me?’
He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Heck, you really know how to pick a dare!’
‘You started it, remember,’ I said.
‘Does this mean we’re friends, then?’
It didn’t sound quite so bad now he’d said it. I nodded. ‘All right.’
He put down his broom and disappeared off to speak with his pa. He returned with his hat and coat.
‘I told him we was going for a nice cosy stroll,’ he said, grinning.
‘Is that so?’
He could think what he liked, just so long as he got us to Kit’s grave.
‘I’ve only got an hour, so let’s get cracking,’ Will said. ‘But I still think you’re mad.’
8
Flights of Angels
At the gates of Frost Hollow Hall, I took a long breath. ‘Straight there and straight back. Got it?’
Will turned up the collar of his coat. I could tell he was nervous too, and making a bad job of hiding it. He looked over his shoulder once or twice and then peered through the gates.
‘We’re going that way, are we?’ I nodded at the wide drive leading away from us into a thicket of trees.
‘Yep. But we’ll need to be quick.’
‘What we waiting for then? We in’t here to admire the view.’
‘All right, all right,’ he tutted, and pulled down his cap.
The gates were shut. I reckoned I was small enough to squeeze through the bars, but Will had found another badger hole in the hedge, so we clambered through there, and went quickly round the first bend of the drive. I was hoping for a view of the house, but all I could see was snow. I kept walking straight ahead. Will yanked me back by my shawl.
‘Not that way! You’ll leave footprints! Now stick close,’ he said, crossly.
We turned a sharp left off the drive and slowed our pace, though my heartbeat seemed to quicken. The way was too narrow to walk side by side, so Will took the lead and I fell in behind. Wild gorse and bracken grew over the path and branches bent low across us. It looked like no one had walked this way in years. The snow was deeper here. It came up to the tops of my boots and soaked my skirts. I hitched them up, best I could.
Will stopped suddenly. I ploughed right into the back of him.
‘Can you climb that?’ He pointed to a waist-high stone wall.
‘’Course.’
He vaulted over it with a quick flick of his heels. I pulled my skirts between my knees and tucked the hem in my waistband at the front. I ignored his offer of a hand up and scrambled over. On landing, I looked around me. What I saw made me shudder. We stood in a dismal, dank little graveyard. I didn’t fancy going much further in.
It struck me just how quiet it was here, the eerie kind where even a breath sounds deafening. Before us, the ground swarmed with little metal headstones, poking up through the snow like teeth. Each one was red with rust, and between them were great tussocks of dead grass. The place looked uncared for, forgotten about. They might’ve been pets’ graves, though I’d not have buried a dog in such a spot if you’d paid me.
What a poxy place!
Kit Barrington wasn’t buried here. Any fool could see that straight away. We’d come all this way for a big fat nothing. And now my plan looked stupid too: I’d wanted to see Kit’s grave, to know how his family remembered him. Stupid me for thinking Will might help. And even stupider him for reckoning he knew all the flipping answers. It was about time Will Potter got a piece of my mind.
One little grave stood out from the rest. It had been tended, and recently too. The brambles had been cleared, the ice scraped off and a fresh snowdrop lay beneath the headstone. I crouched down to read the name on it:
Ada
Taken Too Soon
No date. No surname. Just four simple words. But it stirred me strangely and my eyes filled with tears. She was dead in the ground, this Ada. Yet someone still cared enough to come out here in the cold and tend her sorry little grave. It seemed so very sad. But then if I was dead I supposed my pa might do such a thing for me, and the thought made me well up even more.
It was colder than ever now and it had started snowing again. I wiped my face and stood up, looking for a way out of this godforsaken place. I realised then that I’d lost Will.
I called out. ‘Where are you?’
The noise sent rooks bursting from the tree tops, their hateful racket setting me right on edge.
‘Will? Where the flip are you?’
‘Over here, slow coach!’ He was standing by the far wall. I hurried over to him.
‘What are we doing
here
?’ I snapped.
He rolled his eyes like I was a total lummox. ‘This is where they bury the servants.’
‘But I want to see Kit Barrington’s grave! And you said you knew where it was!’
‘This place is a shortcut, that’s all. Not scared, are you?’
This was mighty rich, coming from him.
‘Fat chance!’ I said. ‘But you better know where we’re going, I’m warning you!’
Will led me through a gap in a holly hedge and this time onto a clearer path, wide enough for us to walk together. A blackbird hopped from bush to bush up ahead, singing sweetly in the chill air.
‘The Hall’s half a mile behind us. You won’t see it from here,’ he said as I turned to look. ‘Come on, we’re nearly there.’
The path curved to the right and into a clearing flanked by yew trees. Leading off from the centre were more little walkways, each one ending with a stone urn or a pillar or marble cross, all covered in snow. People lay buried here too, it seemed. Only this place was grand, with its clipped hedges and fancy carvings. The quiet was different too; not bleak and queer, but painfully sad in a way that made my throat ache.
Will nodded up ahead. ‘Here it is.’
Standing pale against the leaves was a most magnificent sight. An angel stood before us, taller than a man, with wings spread wide and head bowed, clutching flowers to its breast.
I stood still, completely overawed.
‘Go on then. Have a look,’ said Will, nudging me forward.
Hardly knowing where to put my feet, I stumbled forwards. I reached out to touch the angel’s hand; I wondered for a moment if it was real. The stone was smooth and cold against my fingers. Looking down, I saw the name carved into the base at the angel’s feet:
Christopher Edward Barrington
Fell asleep February 6th 1871
Our Beloved Kit
‘Goodnight sweet prince
And flights of angels
sing thee to thy rest’
Before this moment, I might just have convinced myself that I’d had a fright and imagined everything: the boy under the ice, the dreams, the ring. Not now. Kit was dead. The gravestone made it real. And what a fine grave it was.
I knelt down and stared at the stone angel towering above me, tears streaming down my face. Someone had laid a wreath of fresh winter roses at the foot of the statue; Lord and Lady Barrington, most probably. They’d have knelt here too, just as I was doing now. This was Kit’s final resting place.
Only I knew he wasn’t truly at rest.
9
The Day He Died
I didn’t know how long I knelt there; minutes, maybe more. Will’s voice brought me back to myself.
‘This isn’t a dare at all, is it?’ he said, his gaze fixed on me.
‘Don’t,’ I said, getting to my feet.
It felt too much. I squeezed my eyes shut ’til all I saw was swirling patterns. Bit by bit, my mind slowed down. When I opened my eyes again, the snow was still falling. The quiet had changed too; now it was all muffled and thick, like in a room when the drapes are closed.
‘You’d better tell me why we’re here,’ he said. ‘And I want the real reason.’
I fiddled with a thread end of my shawl, unable to think of a single thing to say.
‘Please don’t,’ I said again.
‘You seem so heartbroken, that’s all,’ he said, more gently this time.
I looked at him unsteadily, and felt myself flush. ‘I am, I suppose, though it hardly makes sense to be.’
Will looked past me at the gravestone and breathed in sharp.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘Look at the date Christopher Barrington died,’ he said. ‘Just look. It’s right strange.’
I turned to peer at the inscription.
February 6th 1871
Kit died ten years ago. I knew this already. I wasn’t sure what Will was getting at.
‘What’s strange about that?’ I said.
‘Today’s the eighth of February.’
‘So two days ago on Sunday it was . . .’
‘The same date. The sixth.’
A chill spread through me. ‘That’s . . . some coincidence, in’t it?’ I said, hearing my voice tremble.
‘Kit Barrington died in that lake,’ Will said. ‘You didn’t. But you
was
drowning, Tilly. I tried crawling across the ice to reach you but you’d just . . . well . . . vanished. You was under for ages. I was certain you’d come a cropper. And then, somehow, you just floated up again, right near the edge so I could drag you out.’
I shifted uncomfortably.
‘How the heck
did
you stay alive?’ he said.
‘I . . . um . . .’
‘And you’re right, that date
is
a coincidence, don’t you think?’
His eyes seemed to peer inside me. And before I could stop myself, the words fell from my mouth.
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ I said. ‘It sounds barmy, but promise me you’ll listen.’
‘Go on then. I’m all ears.’
‘I didn’t die in the lake because somebody saved me. And that somebody was Kit Barrington.’
Will gave a little laugh. ‘You’re right. It
is
barmy.’
Now I’d started, I wasn’t going to stop, though thank God he couldn’t see how my legs shook. ‘I swear it was him,’ I said. ‘He took my hand and . . .’
‘How the heck could Kit Barrington save you? He’s been dead ten years!’
‘But he was under the water. I saw him.’
‘
Really?
’
‘It was him! I can prove it!’
‘How?’
‘Last night I found this gold ring with Kit’s name engraved on it.’
‘Where?’
‘In the hem of my dress, the one I was wearing on Sunday.’