The Secret of Crickley Hall

Initially, Gabe had been almost overwhelmed by his new surroundings and the friendly welcome of his colleagues: he soon warmed to them both and began to lose much of his abrasiveness.

He attended college one day a week and quickly achieved higher-level exams in engineering, after which he applied for and gained membership of the Institute of Structural Engineering. Through this he attained more qualifications, eventually becoming a chartered member, attending interviews and writing papers on various aspects of his profession, such as the latest technology, improved processes and new materials. And as he climbed the ladder of success he met and quickly married Eve Lockley. Their family started with Loren only six months into the marriage.

Gabe glanced around the rough-bricked chamber as he straightened up, taking in the long black cobwebs that hung between the wooden beams, the coal heaped in one corner and a log pile close by. The boiler abruptly stopped its surge and the distant sound of running water came to his ears.

It came from the cavernous cellar next door at whose centre was a circular well, around ten feet in diameter, the shaft driven down to the subterranean river that coursed beneath the house itself. The lip of the old stone wall round it stood no more than a foot and a half high. When, earlier, he had brought his family down to see the well for themselves—his promised 'surprise'—he had repeated to Cally that she was not to come down here alone. Continuing to look around, he flexed his shoulders, then rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, twisting his head as he did so, loosening muscles made stiff by the long drive from the city. Old lumps of metal, broken chairs and discarded machinery parts lay about in the gloom as if the basement room was the repository for anything busted or no longer useable. In a far corner he could just make out an old blade-sharpener with a stone wheel and foot pedal. The air was not only dank, but it was chilled too, much of the coldness creeping in from the well cellar. When showing Gabe over the property months before, Grainger, the estate manager, had said that the underground river—imaginatively called the Low River—ran from the nearby moors down to the sea at Hollow Bay, paralleling and eventually joining with the upper Bay River near the estuary. No wonder the whole house felt so chilled, he thought.

He double-tapped the side of the dormant gen with the flat of his hand.

'Later,' he promised, wiping dust from his fingers on his jeans as he made his way through the sundry litter to the doorless opening that led into the main cellar.

Gabe loved machinery of any kind. He loved tinkering with anything from car engines to broken clocks. Years before, until Eve had made him give it up for his family's sake, he had enjoyed stripping down the old motorbike he had owned, putting it back together perfectly each time. It was something he did for fun rather than repair. Back at their London home, in the spare room he used as a office, there were shelves full of venerable mechanical tin toys —marching soldiers, brightly coloured train engines, tiny vintage motorcars and trucks—and clocks bought mainly from junk shops as well as car boot sales, all of which he'd taken apart, then reassembled. Most of them, broken before, were now in working order. He even enjoyed the smell of heavy machinery—the grease, the oil, the aroma of metal itself. He enjoyed the sound of engines at high and low throttle, the purr of a machine idling, the clunk of turning cogs or clicks of ratchets. In the past he had liked nothing better than on a Saturday morning dragging his children, as young as they were, along to South Kensington's Science Museum to see the giant steam-train engines housed there, climbing up into the cabs with them to explain every wheel and lever it took to get the great machines moving. To his credit, because of his enthusiasm, only Loren had been bored by the fourth visit. Cally, held in her father's arms, was much too young to be impressed, but Cam went rigid with excitement and awe every time he saw the great iron mammoths.

Gabe quickly sidelined the memory: today had to be an 'up' day, a keep-busy day, for Eve's sake as well as his own. It was the first time they'd left their real home, with all its associations since—

He cursed himself, forcing the lachrymose thoughts away. Eve needed his full support, particularly now that the anniversary of Cam's disappearance was so close. She was afraid the police would be unable to contact them with any news of their missing son, any clues to his whereabouts—and, hopefully, word that he was still alive, that his abductors were merciful and merely keeping their little boy for themselves—but Gabe had assured her that the police had their new temporary address and phone and cell numbers. He and Eve could be back in the city within a few hours if necessary. But when she had argued that Cam might just turn up on the doorstep on his own to find the house empty, Gabe had been at a loss for comforting words because a small part of him—a small hopelessly desperate part of him—held out for the same thing.

Before passing through the opening into the main basement area, he paused to examine an unusual contraption standing in the shadows left of the doorway, his thoughts at least distracted for a moment. He peered closer, squinting in the shadowy gloom.

The object had two solid-looking wooden rollers, one on top of the other, the smallest of gaps between, and on one side there was an iron wheel with a handle, presumably for turning them. Gabe smiled in quiet awe as he recognized the device for what it was: it was an old-fashioned mangle, used for wringing out water from freshly laundered clothes, the wet material passed through the tight rollers so that the water was squeezed from them. He'd seen one in a book once, but never in the flesh as it were. In the olden days it seemed every home had to have one standing out in the yard or garden. The modern tumble-dryer had taken its place.

Delighted, he touched the rusty cog wheel, then gripped the iron handle, but when he tried to turn it the wooden wheels refused to budge. He shone his light closer, examining the rusted parts, and for a while he was lost to all else. Scrape away the surface rust, clean up the metal, a liberal oiling of the cogs, followed by a smearing of industrial grease, and the mangle would be fine again. Useless, of course, in this day and age—he couldn't see Eve coming down to wring out their clothes with it—but an interesting part of household history.

He stood away from the old mangle, shaking his head in amused wonder, then turned to leave the boiler room. As he did so, the tip of his boot hit something hard and sent it scudding a couple of feet across the dusty floor with a sharp grating noise. He stooped to pick it up and discovered it was a two-foot length of hard metal, two inches or so wide with a round hole at its centre and bevelled edges. It looked like some integral part of a machine, but Gabe had no idea what. He hefted it in his free hand, feeling its weight. Maybe it came from some old gardening machinery, he considered, or maybe—

The small cry came from somewhere next door, barely audible over the noise of the rushing underground river at the bottom of the well. Quickly he stepped through the doorway into the main cellar and heard the faint voice again. Most parents are attuned to the sound of their own child's cry and Gabe was no exception. Cally was calling to him and there was something urgent in her voice.

'Daddy! Daddy! Mummy says come—' there was a short break while she remembered the last words—'right away!'

Gabe tossed the metal bar aside and hurried towards the narrow staircase that led from the cellar.

4: PERCY JUDD

She was waiting for him at the head of the stairs, a hand holding open the cellar door, her small tousled head poking through, obviously heeding his warning never to go down on her own. Gabe climbed the stairs rapidly, poor light overhead and his flashlight lighting the way, and Cally took a step backwards, frightened by the grimness of his expression.

'What's wrong, Cally?' he asked even before he reached the top step.

'Man,' she told him, pointing towards the kitchen.

Gabe strode past her, touching her head lightly as he went. 'It's okay, Skip,' he reassured her gently and she trotted after him, unable to keep up with his determined stride.

The old man stood on the threshold of the kitchen's outer door to the small piece of garden at the side of the house, rainwater dripping off his hooded stormcoat and muddy Wellington boots onto the rough-bristled welcome mat. Gabe came to a halt just inside the hall doorway, surprised and wondering what the fuss had been about, why he had been called so urgently.

Eve, whose back was to Gabe, quickly half-turned at his approach and said, 'Oh, Gabe, this is Mr… Mr Judd, isn't it?' She returned her attention to the stranger for affirmation.

'Judd, missus,' said the man, 'but call me Percy. First name's Percy.'

He spoke with a soft West Country burr that Gabe warmed to immediately.

''Fraid I couldn't stop it, mister, doggie ran right past me.' It came out as roit pas' me.