She was finally dead. My bitch of a grandmother had finally shuffled off the mortal coil. Everyone knew she was a witch, and she held it over the heads of her family like a dagger. She always acted like she knew everything as well. What was worse, she wouldn’t tell me how to do it.
“You have no warm blood in your heart,” she’d tell me. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You’ll never make a witch.” I hated her more every time she told me this.
And she was so precious about her things. A very select few were allowed to look at her notebooks – not me of course – but none of her grandchildren were allowed into her pantry or among her jars and boxes. At least, Annette and Daisy managed to have glimpses, once they were older, but I had always been shut out.
I hadn’t expected her to have a proper funeral, and I hadn’t expected so many to turn out. There must have been over a hundred in the hall afterwards, most of them bringing their sad pyrex casserole dishes filled with something vegan. I don’t see why my mother couldn’t get it catered, but she always was a cheap cow.
I wasn’t going to stick around and simper over someone I was glad to see gone. Annette and Daisy were red eyed and sniffling, but I didn’t care. I was going to do something I had always wanted to do, and no-one was going to stop me now.
I left as soon as they started passing round the instant coffee and headed straight to my grandmother’s house. It hadn’t been touched, of course, and my cousins had been too respectful to do anything before the funeral. They had been left all the magical stuff, of course. I just had the money. It stung that grandmother had done that because she thought it was all I cared about. If she hadn’t been cremated I would have danced on her grave.
I had been in and out of the old house all my life and I knew its ways. I slipped around the back of the house, got the spare key from under the plant pot and let myself in. All of my life I had been fascinated by a jar on the high shelf. Once, when I was around thirteen, I thought I had heard it calling to me and tried to reach it. The old bag had stopped me then, but she couldn’t stop me now.
I stood on a chair, took the jar down, set it on the scrubbed table and paused. I could hear Daisy and Annette shouting to me as feet pounded up the path to the house. They weren’t going to stop me now. The lid was stiff at first, but then it turned easily. I could hear the singing as the lid loosened and then finally, it was open.
I could hear Daisy calling down the hall, screaming at me to stay back, but I didn’t care. Now I could see inside the tiny perfect world, marvel at the minute and delicate fronds. Except now they were not so tiny. The fronds whirled, whipping around like vegetable tentacles, sprouting and stretching, growing faster than I could watch. The jar shattered as I fell back, too small to contain the writhing plants which were sprawling over the kitchen, feeling their way along to the surfaces and grabbing at me. The fronds were strong, far stronger than a plant should be and I couldn’t break free. They tightened around my throat and as I gasped for air, a cold green tendril slid down my throat. I could hear Daisy screaming as everything went black.
[caption id="attachment_554" align="aligncenter" width="750"] Photo by Nineteen on Unsplash
“It was a stupid idea to hold a séance.” Jan said.
“You didn’t have a better idea.” Izzy said.
“Just keep the circle together.” Rhys frowned as he concentrated. “Auntie Vivienne, are you there?”
I watched from the corner. Did they have any idea how tough it was for a spirit to communicate? A lot of my ideas about ghosts had undergone a change since I died, and I was ready to admit defeat. But my nieces and nephew had always been dear to me.
“I don’t know what you are expecting.” Jan said. “She left a fortune to us as it was. It seems a little greedy to go looking for more.”
I had always had a soft spot for Jan. She was always so determined to do the right thing. I never understood why she tolerated an old reprobate like me, but she had always been very sweet, especially when I was dying.”
“I just get a feeling that she wanted us to have something else.” Izzy said. “And we’ve all had those phone calls asking about Auntie Viv’s legacy.”
Izzy always had her wits about her. She would make sure no-one took advantage of Jan, and she wouldn’t let Jan’s scruples get in the way, either.
“Will you all shut up!” Rhys snapped.
And Rhys, youngest and brightest. He always had a very clear view of his end goal and ignored distractions. His engineering firm could do with an injection of cash. I focused and pushed.
Rhys visibly jumped. “What was that?”
“It came from the cupboard.” Jan said. “It could be a mouse.”
“We have to look.” Izzy nervously pulled her hands away from her brother and sister and went to the built-in cupboard in the corner. She swallowed and then opened the door. “The back of the cupboard has fallen off.” She opened the door wider. “Hang on, there’s something… Pass me my phone.”
Jan passed Izzy the phone, the torch already switched on, and peered over her shoulder. “Rhys, you need to see this. It’s a false back.”
Rhys squeezed past his sisters. “Auntie Viv kept this a hiding place – for these?” He picked up the rolls of film. “I don’t even know where we could get them developed.” He said.
Somewhere discreet, I hoped. There was the roll with the pictures of the upright, no-nonsense cabinet minister, who revelled in her role as a respectable wife and mother, being outrageously chastised by a lady. Then there were the pictures of the accounts of a church leader who ought to have known better than to siphon off so much from the building fund. And there were some very sweet pictures of them when they were kids, and Auntie Viv could always be relied on for sweeties and fun fairs, mixed in with the senior judge with his shady mistress. Good memories, blackmail material and insurance. It was up to them now. I could rest.
“I don’t like Ed, that new boyfriend of yours,” my fellow lodger said.
I looked at Steph warily. “We’ve only been on a few dates,” I said. “We’re not serious.”
“He gives me the creeps,” Steph said. “He only turns up after dark.”
“It’s December,” I said. “The sun sets around 4pm. By the time I get out of work, it’s dark so of course we don’t have dates in daylight.”
“He never suggests you go out in the day at weekends,” Steph said.
“We’ve only had a few dates,” I said. “There hasn’t really been a chance for us to meet at a weekend.” I didn’t want to admit my own feeling of unease was growing.
“And two nights ago your nightmares woke me up even though I’m sleeping like the dead in the other side of the house,” Steph said. “Seriously, he’s creepy.” She looked at me closely. “Has he talked about moving in together?”
“It’s too soon for that,” I said. “Because, like I said, it’s just been a few dates.”
“But he has mentioned it,” Steph said. “I can see it in your face. And have you noticed the extra rats around.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” I asked.
Steph shuddered. “I just think that he’s creepy,” she said.
I looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t think that he’s a serial killer,” I said.
Steph sniffed. “Everyone says that. The bodies will be being dragged out of the basement and a reporter will be interviewing a sweet old lady who will swear that the serial killer was always lovely and polite and she can’t believe it.”
“He’s picking me up tonight,” I said. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure. I’ll see how it goes.”
“Don’t let him guess what you’re thinking,” Steph almost shrieked. “You’ll never make it home.” She checked her watch. “What time is he getting here?”
“He’s coming around 9pm,” I said. “We’re going to a club.”
“You’re going to the club in the dark,” Steph said. “He drinks coffee, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” I said. “Why?”
“I’ll be back in about an hour,” Steph said. “Don’t leave the house until I’ve spoken to you.” She grabbed her coat and bag and raced out of the door.
Steph was back before Ed called. “Look at this,” she said, holding up a glass bottle.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Let me show you,” she said and dived into the tiny kitchen. She returned with two glasses and poured a smidgeon into each glass. She took a drink of one. “Go on, try it.”
I looked at her through narrowed eyes and then drank it down. “It’s just water,” I said.
“But I want to add it to Ed’s coffee,” she said.
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
“Well it didn’t hurt me or you, did it?” Steph said. “So how can their be a catch?”
“Do you think he’s allergic to something?” I asked. “Is it infused with peanuts or something?”
“You would have tasted it if it was,” Steph said smugly. “That’s the door!”
I answered the door and brought Ed through to the living room. “Can we have a quick coffee before we go out?” I asked. “I’m parched and you know how expensive the clubs are.”
“Sure,” Ed said, dropping gracefully on the sofa and spreading his arms along the back. He smiled up at me, his teeth gleaming white and his dark eyes burning into mine. I could feel myself drowning in his gaze, losing all sense of time or place. I jumped like a startled cat when Steph came back with coffee.
“Here’s yours,” she said, handing me my usual coffee with milk and sugar. “And here’s yours, Ed, in a nice cup.” She handed the black coffee over to him.
“I’m glad that I’m appreciated,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps you could come out with us as well, Steph? I’m sure we can all have a good time.”
I took a quick mouthful of coffee to cover my expression. There was no way I was going on any date with him after tonight. “Mmm, nice coffee,” I said to cover my reaction.
“I’ll only come out if we go now,” Steph said. “It’s now or never.”
Ed smiled wickedly. “Then let’s make it now,” he said.
I watched him stand with exquisite grace and drain the cup of coffee. He froze and stared at Steph. “What have you done?”
Steph took a step back. “What do you mean?” she said, her voice shrill and nervous.
Colour was draining from Ed. “Are you okay?” I asked.
He stared at me, shaking his head and clawing at his throat. He staggered towards me, his eyes wild, before collapsing in front of me.
“We need to call someone!” I yelled, pulling my phone from my pocket.
Steph held my arm and shook her head. In front of my horrified eyes, Ed was crumbling. First his mouth and throat collapsed into dust, then inch by inch the rest of him vanished, swirling into a sad stain on the carpet.
I turned to her. “What was in that water?” I whispered.
“I didn’t think anything would happen,” she said. “I thought I was being silly.” She looked at me, her eyes wide. “I thought I was letting stupid books get into my head. There wasn’t anything in the water. It was the water itself. It was Holy Water.”
“Thank you for coming here,” Alfred Gipton said. He watched Inspector Halton get down from the hansom cab and nodded to the cabbie. “You can take the horse around the back, there’s stabling there.” He managed a brisk smile under his immaculate moustache, but tension radiated from him. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Alfred Gipton, owner of the Scholes Aether Mine. It’s good of you to come, sir.”
“Inspector Halton, Scotland Yard. I was in the area, taking a rest cure when Colonel Bramley got in touch,” Inspector Halton said, shaking Gipton’s hand. “It’s a coincidence that I’m in the area, but my superintendant remembered that I had had some experience working with matters to do with aether energy. I’m happy to help out any friend of Colonel Bramley.” He looked down briefly as he remembered his superior’s comment. “Gipton is a toad,” the colonel had said, “but his brother was at Harrow with Charlie – you remember my son Charlie? So I suppose I’ve got to throw him a bone. How’s the rest cure going? Derbyshire driving you mad yet? Anyway, don’t let Gipton get carried away. And if it looks like something criminal, pass it over to the local boys in blue. You’re Scotland Yard, not Derbyshire County Constabulary. The nearest station is in Matlock, somewhere called Bank Road. Shouldn’t be too hard to find in that tiny place. I’ll owe you a favour.” Inspector Halton was not going to share that with the mine owner. He brought his attention back to Gipton.
“I believe I saw something in the papers,” Gipton said. “Something about a murder in the East End of London, like Jack the Ripper. There’s nothing like that here. But while it’s quieter than London, Matlock and Matlock Bath are quite the thing. There are visitors all year around. There are always people coming and going.”
“It’s a very pleasant town,” Inspector Halton said politely, thinking that Matlock and Matlock Bath together seemed smaller than Mile End, and would fit neatly into any small corner of Bethnal Green or Hackney.
“I’m sure it seems quiet compared to the East End of London,” Gipton said. “But you should have seen it two years ago, during Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations. The whole of Matlock Bath was lit up and shining – and it was powered by aether stones from this very mine!” Gipton hesitated. “Were aether stones involved in those murders in the papers? I’ve heard all sorts of rumours.”
“I’m not really at liberty to say, sir,” Inspector Halton said, diplomatically. “So, tell me what’s going on here.”
“It’s extortion, that’s what it is!” Gipton snapped. “Pure extortion. You need to find the fellow at once!” He led the inspector into a low, grey stone building, through a passage and into a spacious and airy office with a bright fire that was welcome after the chill of the early spring air.
“What fellow?” the inspector asked as he was ushered in.
Gipton looked over to the corner of the office. “Scholes, you explain. I get caught up in it.”
Inspector Halton followed Gipton’s gaze. The tall, broad young man in the corner was in his early twenties, with dim blond hair and, unlike the older, darker Gipton, was clean shaven. “I don’t think that we’ve been introduced.”
“I’m Francis Scholes,” he said. “I know that all the detectives in books like to have things set out. Why don’t I get Mrs Stanton to fetch tea and you can sit back and listen. It’s an odd tale.”
Gipton snorted as Scholes leant out of the door and shouted for tea. “That lad’s wandering in his wits. He’s got a steady job here, guaranteed, but instead he sends off for night classes in literature and poetry. There’s no money in words.”
Inspector Halton looked at Scholes’ broad back. He looked more like a farmer or a miner than a poet. “Some people seem to make a living out of it.”
Scholes wandered back in. “That’s true,” he said. “But not with poetry.” He smiled, his bright blue eyes glinting a little in the aether lights. “My hobby is poetry, but my employment is business. I hope I give satisfaction.”
Gipton waved an irritated hand. “Aye, you do, but that’s not the point. Now if you were studying bookkeeping or something practical, well, I wouldn’t have to send the books in to Matlock to get them sorted out. You could do it.”
“This is an aether mine, isn’t it?” Inspector Halton interrupted what seemed to be a well-worn grievance. “It’s just I don’t see any evidence of mining. There’s no noise or men around.” He lowered himself stiffly into a chair and watched as a motherly woman bustled in with a tray.
Gipton groaned and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m ruined!”
“The inspector may be able to help,” Scholes said. He watched Mrs Stanton pour tea and waited until she left. “As far as I know, this is unheard of.”
“Ouch!” The inspector rubbed his hand and looked down as a red, circular welt appeared. Something silver and gleaming scuttled down the leg of the chair and into the carpet. “What was that?”
“We call them ‘biters’, and there aren’t that many around at the moment,” Scholes said. “At one point we were overrun with the creatures.”
“It was a menace!” Gipton snapped. “The mine was crawling with the damned things. You couldn’t move for them. They stole the miners’ snap…”
“Snap?” Inspector Halton asked.
“Packed food, like lunches,” Scholes explained. “And not just that. They got into the wiring, they swarmed around the pumps – they were everywhere!”
“Eat the cheeses out of the vats, and licked the soup from the cooks’ own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats…” Inspector Halton quoted. He looked at the blank expressions of the two men. “It’s from a poem, The Pied Piper of Hamelin. I learn poetry by heart to train my memory. It reminded me. It’s about a plague of rats.”
“I’m not familiar with it,” Scholes said as he concentrated on adding sugar to his tea.
“I don’t know about ladles, but they swarmed through Mrs Stanton’s tea urn and we couldn’t have tea at all unless we brought it in flasks,” Mr Gipton said. “And we had to drink it quick when it was poured.”
“They appeared when we broke through into another cavern,” Scholes explained. “It was a very promising source of aether stones. I suspect that they were beetles trapped there for centuries and they became accustomed to the aether energy and fed on it.”
“This part of Derbyshire is riddled with caves,” Gipton said, holding his tea close. “There are passages and tunnels all over. The Romans came here for lead. There are workings everywhere as well as the natural caves, and lots of odd nooks and crannies. But this is the first known source of aether crystals.”
“It’s a surprise that it took so long to find the aether stones,” Scholes said. “But Mr Gipton has been mining them here for the last six years. There was no trouble until we broke through to the new seam.”
“The fat was in the fire then.” Gipton said. He took a long drink of his tea. “It’s bad enough with the miners having to do short shifts on account of the effects of the stones. Once the biters turned up, they couldn’t do any shift at all! Nothing seemed to work.”
“We tried the usual baits for beetles,” Scholes said. “But we got no results. Then we got an anonymous letter.”
Inspector Halton leaned forward. “What sort of letter?”
“I’ll get it for you,” Scholes said and stood and strode over to the mahogany filing cabinet. “It should be here somewhere.”
“We sold the aether stones all over the Empire,” Gipton said. “Our last shipment had to be cleared by the Foreign Office as we sent it to Siam. It’s best quality stones, and our miners bring out the crystals in bigger pieces than almost anywhere else.” He looked around. “You see that brass plate? That’s from the Siamese foundry.”
Inspector Halton looked around. A huge circular plate the size of a cart’s wheel hung, gleaming in the harsh lights. It was beautifully cast with circles of ornate patterns and figures. “That’s what they sent us. I insist on it, you know, as part of the contract. Scholes Aether Mine Limited gets something from the equipment made with our aether stones, first off the press.”
“You must have a lot of scientific breakthroughs here,” Inspector Halton said. “Aether crystals and aether energy are the latest thing.”
“We don’t get the aether machines,” Gipton said. “And we don’t bother tinkering around with what they can do. But we get what they make. Look at that clock, now. The best timekeeping, aether powered, Swiss made and perfect.” He shook his head. “You can see the scratches on the casing where the biters climbed all over it. It’s a crying shame. I was thinking of asking a craftsman from Chesterfield to refinish it, but that costs money. And money is short!”
Inspector Halton let his eyes wander around the office. It was a large room, expensively carpeted with Persian rugs and with doors in all walls leading to passages and storerooms. Oak filing cabinets ranged around as a frame for the two massive desks in the centre. There were even a few aspidistras in the corners. It looked like a top solicitor’s office. The inspector looked closer. These were the products of the latest discoveries. The desks had mahogany tops, but the frames were the intricate brass latticework being produced by the new aether powered foundries in Benares in India. The leatherbound blotters were stamped with details and designs that showed they came from the best craftsmen in Lucca, Italy. Scientific instruments from Germany, Switzerland and the United States hung, mounted on dark, gleaming wood and resplendent in bright brass bezels. “It’s quite a cosmopolitan selection,” the inspector remarked.
“All exports were cleared by the Foreign Office,” Gipton said quickly. “And the lights and the fire are British made, and top quality with it.”
The inspector looked closer at the polished brass lights. They shed the harsh aether light, as expected, and the gleaming fire threw out plenty of warmth without a stick of wood or lump of coal, as expected from the best in Birmingham. “And you have some supplies here,” Inspector Halton said, nodding at a pile of metal sheets stacked in a corner.
Gipton frowned. “I’m still not sure about them,” he said. “They turned up without a covering letter. Scholes wanted to send them back, but I said that you never know when something like that will be useful, and aluminium is expensive stuff.”
“Aluminium?” Inspector Halton asked. “Isn’t that used to shield aether energy?”
Gipton shrugged. “It may, I don’t know. I get a man out once a month, or did. He does all the adjustments and surveying. But we get all sorts, you know. We had some lovely muslins delivered last summer, fresh from a new mill in Manchester, and I sold those for a good price on Chesterfield market.”
“I can’t find the letter,” Scholes interrupted. “It’s missing.”
“What?” Gipton exclaimed, jumping to his feet and rushing over.
Gipton staggered back to his chair. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “The damned thing was typed, even the signature. He called himself John Bluecap.”
“It was obviously a fake name,” Scholes said. He turned to the inspector. “A blue cap is what the miners call a helpful spirit. They used to leave jars of tea and tobacco out for them.”
“Yes, before the biters,” Gipton said. “This so-called John Bluecap offered to clear the biters out for us, at a cost of £100, sterling.” He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his face. “I’m not denying that we are, or were, making a good living here, but £100 is a lot of money.”
“Mr Gipton thought it was worth it,” Scholes said. “At least, he agreed to it.”
“How did we know that he didn’t bring the damned things in?” Gipton asked. “He may be the man responsible!”
Scholes ignored this. “He insisted that he wouldn’t be seen. We needed to leave a gate unlocked and unobserved.”
“I wasn’t having that,” Gipton interrupted. “I told young Mr Scholes to wait and keep a lookout.” He glared at Scholes. “I don’t know why I bothered.”
“I wasn’t sure that it was a good idea,” Scholes said. “And in the end, I didn’t get a clear look at him. It was dark, and the lights were out, as no-one was supposed to be here.”
“But you did get to see him?” Inspector Halton asked.
Scholes shrugged. “It wasn’t easy. He slipped through almost before I realised he was there, and hardly made a noise. He was very slim – half starved looking really, with lightish hair, I think. And he had a strange suit on, checked in mustard and crimson, like the barkers you sometimes get at travelling fairs.”
“His queer long coat from heel to head, Was half of yellow and half of red,” quoted Inspector Halton.
“More of that rat fellow?” Gipton snorted.
“Just a few lines from the poem,” the inspector said mildly. “It’s a description of the pied piper.”
“Well he didn’t make any music.”
“At least, not that I heard,” Scholes said. “I didn’t see him leave. And the next morning, most of the biters were gone.”
“And the man had the damned impudence to demand that £100 was left in the stone holes near the old cow shed.” Gipton said. “I saw what he left behind. Most of the biters were in heaps in the water butts and down the stream. He just caught and drowned them.”
“Our business was done at the river’s brink,” Inspector Halton quoted again. He looked at Scholes. “You’re familiar with Browning, of course, if you study your poetry.”
Scholes looked uncertain for a minute, then Gipton interrupted. “It’s not like they were going to come back,” he said. “So I left a five pound note where he said.”
“Very like the story,” the inspector said. “So far this is a civil matter.”
“It’s more than that!” Gipton exclaimed. “We got another letter, this time the damned rascal had the nerve to leave it on my own desk, and no-one seeing it. I was getting the miners set to go back down.”
Scholes looked up from the cabinet drawer. “That letter isn’t here either.”
“This is where he turned nasty,” Gipton said. “He had the cheek to say that if he played fair with me, I should have played fair with him. And that he’d make me pay. That’s a threat, that is!”
Inspector Halton sighed. “What happened next?”
“The mine stopped working,” Scholes said flatly. “Everything went dark.”
“I didn’t think that was possible,” the inspector said, looking between the two men.”
Scholes shrugged. “I know more about Shakespeare than aether energy.”
“And I’m a man of business, not a mucky handed engineer,” Gipton said. He sank back into his chair. “But the miners say that they can only find the aether crystals by the glow. And there is no glow. I’m ruined.”
“Surely it’s not that bad,” Inspector Halton said.
“This is the last month I can pay the bank loans and the wages,” Gipton said. “The few crystals left scattered near the door won’t even bring in enough to cover the hay for the mine ponies. I’m ruined.”
“There are a lot of assets in the office,” Scholes said. “I’m sure you can raise enough for another few months while we work out what to do.” He turned to Inspector Halton. “We’ve tried everything. We’ve put advertisements in all the main papers, local and national. We’ve employed private investigators-”
“And that cost a pretty penny!” Gipton took another mouthful of tea. “I can’t afford another month of this.”
Scholes ignored him. “All we need to do is find this John Bluecap and pay him his £100. But he’s disappeared.”
“I don’t think I have £100 now,” Gipton said. “It’s been months. I’ve the payments on the machinery and the payments on my house in Matlock to make – they all mount up. When I spoke to my brother, in Durban, he reminded me of Colonel Bramley, at Scotland Yard. I thought he would be able to help.”
The inspector leaned back in his chair and looked around. There were indeed goods worth hundreds of pounds in the room. However, buyers were like sharks – they could smell blood in the water. If you had to sell in a hurry, you would be lucky to get half of that value. And as for the missing John Bluecap, there was something extremely fishy about that. “Do you remember anything at all about the letters that may be unusual?” he asked. “For example, what sort of paper and ink was used? Was there a stamp?”
Scholes shook his head. “It was such an odd letter that I really studied it. The paper and ink were just like any other letter. And I’ve been racking my brains ever since, but I’ve thought of nothing.”
Inspector Halton turned to Gipton. “Nothing seems obvious,” he said. “I can make some enquiries…”
Gipton held up his hand. “I’ve made up my mind. When I bought the mine, I put in a clause.”
Scholes shook his head. “Not this again.”
Gipton’s face was set. “And I saw a solicitor this morning. Unless you can pull something out of the bag this afternoon, Inspector Halton, I’m selling the mine back.”
“What do you mean?” the inspector asked.
“Exactly what I say!” Gipton said. “I can’t go on like this. My nerves won’t take it. I’m under doctor’s orders as it is. But all the tonics in the world won’t help, not when I’m ruined and in the workhouse.”
“It needn’t come to that,” Scholes said. “There are other things that can be done here. They take expeditions down the Blue John Mines, up past Hathersage, and they have dinners down there and all sorts. Remember how we lit the town up for the Jubilee? We could make something of it.”
Gipton shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t know about this aether stuff, and neither do you with your literature. I’m not throwing good money after bad. I’m off, and I’ll be taking my money and buying a ticket to Durban. I’d like to see my creditors find me in South Africa.”
“They’re at war over there!” Inspector Halton exclaimed. “They’re besieging Ladysmith, and that’s not so far from Durban.”
“I’ll tell them that I don’t want any,” Gipton said, “And my brother says that they have cricket. It has to be better over there.”
“Ladysmith has been under siege for months.” Scholes said. “You can’t seriously risk it.”
“I’ve provisionally booked a passage from Southampton,” Gipton said. “All I need is the £500 from you.”
“For a guilder I’d my ermine gown sell,” Inspector Halton quoted again from the poem. “What is this £500?”
“It’s not legal,” Scholes said.
“It’s in the contract,” Gipton snapped, “And you haven’t got the money for any solicitor to fight it.” He turned to the inspector. “I bought this farm, fair and square, from Mr Scholes’ poor mother, just after she had been widowed. And she was glad of the money. And I made sure I played fair. I paid a decent price, especially as it needed all the investment to get the mine going, and I put in a clause that young Scholes here would always have a job as long as he wanted.”
Scholes nodded. “My mother was fretting. She thought I should still be able to farm if things went wrong.”
Inspector Halton looked out of the window. He did best in London with the cobbles under his boots, but it didn’t look easy farming country. “How big is this?”
“There’s thirty acres,” Scholes said. “We were doing okay until my father died.”
“It’s a hard life, farming up here,” Gipton said. “Though having a spa town nearby helps out, I suppose. Mrs Scholes followed her husband not long after, poor woman, and I did my duty, didn’t I?”
Inspector Halton was taken aback at the aggression of the last few words and looked over at Scholes. “You built the mine?”
“I looked after young Scholes, as I promised.” Gipton glared at Scholes defiantly. “I paid for school and school books, put clothes on his back and food on the table. It may not have been fancy, but it was good plain stuff, and many would be glad of it.”
Inspector Halton looked over the two men. Scholes was indeed wearing a decent suit, which was clean and pressed, but it was the same as most small clerks wore in the City. Like the hordes that toiled through the underground, Scholes was wearing a cheap suit that he had hoped would last but that was showing signs of age. Gipton was wearing bespoke tailoring. “I see.”
“And he has regular employment here, at a decent wage,” Gipton continued. “I daresay he could make better money in Manchester or Sheffield, as he’s a bright lad, but at least here he can visit his poor mother’s grave after Chapel on a Sunday.”
In other words, the inspector thought, Gipton had done the bare minimum to keep the good opinion of the town. “But what’s this got to do with the £500?”
“It was the deal,” Gipton said. “I said that that if I was supporting the young lad, there had to be something in return. That’s the thing in contract law. There’s supposed to be a benefit on both sides. If things go wrong, I get to sell the whole thing back to young Mr Scholes at the original price, which was £500. That’s the land, the mine and all assets and liabilities.”
“So all the debts,” Inspector Halton said. He looked at Scholes, but the young man was staring blankly into the fire.
“And all the assets,” Gipton said. “The business had taken out extra loans for better equipment just before the beetles turned up – in fact, it was the new drill that broke through to that cavern. And you can see that the stuff in here is worth a few guineas. And there’s still farming.”
“I was thinking of creating a poet’s retreat,” Scholes said. “They can visit the spa in Matlock Bath and then stay here for writing and inspiration.”
“There’s no money in words,” Gipton snapped again. “But I won’t care. I’ll be in Durban, watching the cricket.”
“If the inspector can find John Bluecap…” Scholes began.
Gipton held up a hand. “Having talked it all through now, I can see how it is. A good businessman knows when to cut his losses. I would be grateful for payment at your earliest convenience.”
“Mr Gipton, please,” Scholes began. “Just give us the afternoon at least, to let Inspector Halton look around.”
“Are you still using Mr Gill on Dale Road as your solicitor?” Gipton was not going to be deflected from his purpose.
“Hunter’s Chambers? Yes, he saw my mother’s will and signed for me when she sold this.” Scholes said quietly. “But Mr Gipton…”
“I’ll be calling on him at noon tomorrow,” Mr Gipton said. “And I’ll either want the address of this Mr Bluecap or a draft for £500.” He jumped to his feet. “These damned beetles everywhere, funny folk calling themselves funny names, aether stones disappearing – I daresay a thousand pounds disappeared out of that cavern, and that’s just the stuff that’s easy to get! Who knows what else was behind those cavern walls? And my investments haven’t been doing so well. The South African mines have almost been brought to a standstill with the Boer War and I’m pretty much a ruined man! I’ve even had tradesmen knocking on my door – my very door! Did you know that the butcher won’t deliver so much as a pound of sausages to my door, not until his account’s been paid? And after I put him in the way of providing the meat for our Christmas dinner.”
“Mr Slack’s bill for the Christmas stuff is still owing,” Scholes murmured in the background.
“My nerves will no longer take it.” Gipton announced. “One thing or another, I’ll see you at Mr Gill’s office at noon tomorrow.” He looked at the inspector. “I’ll take the cab to Matlock and I’ll send it back for you. Perhaps you can find the answer or perhaps you can’t. All this aether nonsense! I can’t take much more at all!”
Inspector Halton sat quietly in the office as he heard Gipton stamping around outside and the clatter of the horse and cab as it trundled down the track towards Matlock. He looked at Scholes still staring at the fire. The gleam of the fire reflected in Scholes’ eyes reminded him of another few lines of the story, ‘and green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled’. He leaned back in the soft leather chair and took a sip of tea. “You played Mr Gipton like a fiddle.”
Scholes was suddenly very still, then he turned. “What do you mean?”
“Anyone can see that he cheated you out of your inheritance. Potential aether mines are changing hands for thousands,” the inspector said as he set his cup down on the nearby desk. “What are the biters?”
“I had nothing to do with those,” Scholes said. “They were there all the time, and they were a nuisance.” The polite smile had vanished. Instead there was a cautious defiance. “I haven’t been studying poetry,” he admitted. “I’ve been studying mining and the new aether engineering.” He leapt to his feet. “Do you know the breakthroughs they are making? Gipton will be sending back the horse and carriage, but in a few years time it could be a carriage that had lost the horses and was pulled along by an aether engine. Or perhaps a low level flyer, just skimming along the track.” He waved his arm around the room. “Have you seen all the breakthroughs around this room? Why aren’t there workshops around here? Why aren’t there forges like Benares, or leatherworkings like Lucca? There are some damned good craftsmen around here, and we can learn to be better. Why not even a better loom for the wool from the hills? Or even better shears?”
“Is that what you would do?”
“I didn’t bring the biters,” Scholes said, “But I did everything else. I even ordered the aluminium. If you run an electrical charge through aluminium, it attracts the beetles and then they get stuck, even after the electricity is removed. I had to drown them to get them off.” He grinned. “Very like the poem. It’s an old fairy story, you know. There’s all sorts of legends about the pied piper destroying the rats and then stealing the children. I thought I’d use the ideas. And it was easy to use the aluminium sheeting to cut down on the energy. It’s impossible to spot without knowing where to look. The crystals are still there.” He looked at the inspector. “What are you going to do?”
Inspector Halton looked around the room. There was a false feeling of business and clever dealing. Gipton had cheated a widow and a young lad, and now it looked like he was leaving a lot of people out of pocket as he ran away from his debts. He ought to call in at the police station at Bank Street and let them know. He ought to let Gipton know his suspicions. On the other hand, he was having a rest cure and couldn’t be expected to be able to spot everything. Just for once, after a career of following the rules, he wanted to do what was right instead of sticking to what was legal. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pocketbook and his card. On the back, he painstakingly transcribed a number and handed it over. “That’s John Farnley’s number, Lord John Farnley. If you can catch him when he’s in England, tell him that I said to call. He won’t mind giving you advice.”
“John Farnley the aether flyer?” Scholes’ eyes were wide with shock and he sank into a chair, holding the small card like fragile crystal. “He knows all there is about aether crystals and engines. He’s…” Scholes voice trailed off.
“He’s a good man,” Inspector Halton said. “But so must you be. We’re setting the slate clean here. You have the £500?”
Scholes nodded, still staring at the cardboard rectangle. “I’ve been very careful with money,” he said. He forced himself to look at Inspector Halton. “You’re not going to say anything?”
The inspector shook his head. “But I expect you to stick to the straight and narrow now. No cheating the miners, no messing about with tricks with beetles, and pay your bills fair and square.”
Scholes nodded. “I think I’ve proved that your sins have a way of finding you out.” He grinned suddenly. “And I’ll remember the last few lines.”
Inspector Halton laughed and quoted the last few lines of Robert Browning’s poem. “So, Willy, let you and me be wipers of scores out with all men — especially pipers: and, whether they pipe us from rats or from mice, if we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Scholes said, and raised his teacup.
“Why do they still use iron railings, Mr Benson?” Ollie worked his shoulders before getting back to rubbing the paint down.
“Hm?” Mr Benson was checking the cans of paint. “Make sure you get a good surface on those railings. Get all the gloss off before we paint it.”
“But why don’t they put in those Perspex panels?” Ollie said. He tried to find a better angle. “Lots of places have those panels. And they don’t need much upkeep.”
“Never try and talk yourself out of a job, lad.” Mr Benson squinted at the fine print on the tins of paint. “It may only be work experience, but it’s better than nothing at all, and it gets you out in the fresh air. If it was them new panels then you wouldn’t need someone to paint them. No, they have to be cold iron.”
Ollie changed hands, now thankful that Mr Benson had insisted on gloves. “Why iron, Mr Benson. Why not wood, if you need to make jobs and keep people out of the ruins.”
“Iron is special.” Mr Benson said, shaking the tin. “It’s long lasting, if you look after it. You can shape it more or less how you like, and it’s been around for a while so you know what to expect.” He looked down at the young lad. “You’re doing alright there, lad. Yes, iron is special. There’s a lot of superstitions about iron, you know. They say fairies and elves can’t stand it.” He paused. “I suppose I can tell you what I learned as an apprentice, when I was about your age. I don’t know how true it is, but it’s what Mr Harvey, the old gaffer, used to say. You see, this was a fine Abbey, very rich, with lots of monks and servants and despite what they say, a lot of good was done as well as a lot of bad. But when the Abbey was closed down by King Henry, something odd happened.” He paused. “Don’t forget to rub under than ledge there with the glass paper.”
Ollie shifted, changing the paper from one hand to the other again as cramp set in. “You mean, like witchcraft?”
“I don’t know about that, just that strange things happened.” Mr Benson looked between the railings. “All I know is that people still see strange lights inside the Abbey at night, when no-one’s supposed to be there. Sometimes iron railings aren’t there to keep people out. Sometimes they’re there to keep something in.”
I never felt quite comfortable with Elaine. There was something a little off. I recognised her bag as a genuine Chanel and her scarf was Hermes, but her nails were cracked and dirty and there was a dead look in her eyes. It didn’t matter, I needed the job. Times were hard.
“You want all of this cleaning?” I asked. I stared at the battered, graffiti-covered door. “It may well attract graffiti afterwards. I mean, almost straight away. It may be easier to paint over it.”
Elaine shook her head. “I would like the door taken back to the original paint,” she said. Her eyes darted around as she looked for an explanation. “I need to find the original paint for correct restoration.”
That was another thing. When Elaine spoke, she used an accent that I would have put somewhere in the Home Counties, with nothing particularly striking. The way she said the words was as English as Buckingham Palace. The words she used, however, were just that little bit off, like she was translating in her head. Still, these sort of cleaning jobs had dried up recently. “It will take some time,” I said. “I’ll have to go carefully as well. It’s an old building and the wood may not be sound. I may have to use specialist cleaners.” It was a rundown building in a rough part of town. This alley was the back of closed shops, empty sheds and long disused garages. It wasn’t worth the effort, but who was I to argue with the fee she was paying.
“As long as you are thorough,” Elaine said. “And you requested half of the fee in advance.” She handed me a bulky envelope which I hastily stuffed inside my jacket.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll start this afternoon.”
I got back into the van and discreetly checked the envelope. The notes all looked genuine, but it was the same strange jumble. They hadn’t gone to a bank and withdrawn the cash in neat bundles. Instead it was a mishmash of notes of all denominations and conditions. I checked a few with the pen that I had picked up but couldn’t find a fake. My instincts were screaming at me to run, but I had rent and the van payments to consider and no other jobs on the horizon. I carefully stashed the money under the toolbox in the back and went to inspect the door.
I didn’t believe for a second that Elaine really cared about the original paint, but I took pride in my work and I took pains. If you have the right product, it’s not a hard job, but it took some time as I was washing off the chemicals between scrubbing the layers. I wondered if I would get in trouble with the gangs. It didn’t seem that sort of street, but I could feel an uneasy prickle between my shoulder blades as I worked, as if I was being watched. It didn’t matter. I needed this very generous payment.
The last layer was the worst. It was some strange signs that I had never seen before, not in years of graffiti removal. I squinted at them and took a picture on my phone. It looked like some strange writing, or a collection of symbols that should have been on ancient monuments, not a scruffy doorway in Leeds. I sent it to Kate at the University. She was into odd languages and perhaps could tell me who had tagged this.
It was getting dark as I finished. The usual chemicals hadn’t worked on the last layer but I fell back on the old faithful mixture of washing up liquid and biological laundry detergent. Eventually even that last tag was wiped away and the mushroom coloured door was left clean in glory just as the streetlights came on. It had been easy money, really, and I felt a twinge of conscience at the amount I had overcharged, but I had done a good job and the door gleamed.
My phone vibrated and I pulled it out of my pocket to check the text. I smiled. Kate had got back to me telling me not to wipe off the last layer, under any circumstances. I had to wait until she got there. Well that was too late. I sent back a pic of the immaculate door just as it was opening. I wasn’t expecting that. I hoped that the guy inside wasn’t upset at the change in his doorway.
Elaine appeared at my side, making me jump. “You have done well, especially with that last layer.”
“It was a little tricky,” I said. I fought with myself for a moment, and my conscience lost. “I needed some extra chemicals that I hadn’t accounted for in the quote for the job. I think…” I trailed off.
The man stepping out of the door looked barely human. Grey skin stretched tautly over sharp cheekbones and his eyes were red-rimmed and sunken. Great, I thought, a junkie. The elderly overcoat hung loosely on his tall frame and he swayed a little as staggered down the steps.
“Is that your door, mate?” I asked carefully.
He ignored me and turned to Elaine. “You have done well, my dear. You shall be rewarded.
My phone started ringing. Automatically I pulled it out of my pocket. It could be work. “Excuse me,” I said to Elaine. It was Kate.
“You need to get out of there, now!” Kate yelled frantically. “Just go!”
“I’m just finishing up now,” I said. “I’ll get my money and I’ll be over straight away.”
“Don’t wait for the money!” Kate screamed.
With unexpected, snake-like speed, Elaine pulled the phone out of my hand and ended the call. “You have done a wonderful piece of work,” she said, with a chilling smile.
I looked back at the door. That last layer of graffiti, that last bit of paint. It hadn’t been graffiti. I could feel the realisation flowing through me like ice water. It had been a warning.
“You removed the lock on the door,” the man said, also smiling. “Now you need to find what you have freed.”
I watched as the man’s smile changed, his teeth lengthened and his jaws gaped. I screamed and screamed as he stepped closer. And as his teeth fastened on my neck, everything went black.
I get giddy at this time of year, ridiculously so. I love autumn, the cosy nights drawing in, the weather getting fresher, and the wonderful display of colours as the trees shed their leaves. And, yeah, I’m a sucker for all the spooky stuff that starts spilling out everywhere.
Years ago I took part in the October Frights Blog Hop, run by the amazing AF Stewart, which got me hooked on writing for October. Last year I ran an entire month of stories about Kane, full of opinionated ghosts and bewildered mortals. This, with some new material, translated into An Apprenticeship of Ghosts and I’m currently working on a sequel.
I have a lot of short stories kicking around that are set in what you could consider is outside the ‘real’ world. Some are plain horror stories, others are set in the world of the White Hart, while some are just a little supernatural. I’ve decided to group them all together for a month of spooky stories, I’m throwing in some new pieces as well, and they’ll later be grouped together in a collection that will appear on Amazon probably near Christmas. I hope that you enjoy them, and I apologise in advance for the extra notifications. Fortunately for the sake of people’s inboxes, I won’t be publishing most of them on Substack, just on the two writing blogs.
And speaking of Substack, the routine that I’m trying to develop is to publish a little chat or news article once a week on a Wednesday. It may be one of my Research and the Author articles, or perhaps news of any publishing that’s happening. Except for this October, I have four Wednesdays and a commitment to stories. So on those four Wednesdays, there’ll be a linked set of stories with a focus on supernatural creatures, and those are the only stories that will make it to Substack.
And still speaking of Substack, the instalments of The Guest are lagging a little behind on Substack. To make things easier, I’ll be bringing them all out at once, so the decks are cleared. That also gives me time to set up The Guest for publication on Amazon.
This brings me on to things that will happen in October. Tomorrow, on 1st October 2026, I’ll be closing my Draft2Digital account which leaves all of my published work on Amazon. I’m tentatively looking into alternatives, but it’s low on the list as I try and tidy everything up to make a clear space for me to write fun new stuff which may or may not include werewolves. It is, however, still on the list, and I’m happy to hear any suggestions.
The 31st October 2026 is a little busy for me. That’s the day that I close my Royal Road account and take down The Guest. It’s also the day that I stop posting on my Wordpress account, apart from occasional reminders that I’ve transferred over to Blogger.
This October is a big step for me, and, as usual, I have no idea what will happen next. But I’m more than happy to hear opinions and ideas so please leave a comment and let me know what you think.
Photo by Nineteen on Unsplash
