Bill knocked again and, when the door opened, a curly-haired man wearing tiny round glasses stared at them. He was probably about the same age as Bill, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Whereas Bill always looked completely present and alert, this man looked a little glazed and vague, but his smile was a welcoming one.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’
‘Ernest? It’s Bill. From Lorford.’
Ernest frowned. ‘Bill . . . Wilson!’
‘That’s right.’
‘Always loved that name. A good rhyming sound. Bill Wilson!’
Orla smiled.
‘And these are my friends – Luke and Orla.’
They both came forward and shook hands.
‘Good to meet you,’ Ernest said.
‘Orla owns the castle now,’ Bill went on.
‘Does she, indeed?’ Ernest’s small eyes lit up behind his glasses.
‘Actually, it’s that we’ve come to talk to you about.’
Ernest nodded, his smile still in place, but didn’t make a move to invite them in.
‘Can we – er – come in?’ Bill tried.
‘Oh, yes. Of course. Forgive me. Where are my manners? Come in. Come in!’ He opened the door wider and they all entered a dark, narrow hallway lined with books, only there weren’t shelves or bookcases – only the books themselves, stacked in teetering, tottering piles. Orla glanced at Luke, whose eyes betrayed his amusement.
As they walked down the hall, Orla noticed a door open into a room on the left which, like the hallway, was full of books. These, though, looked a little more organised, sitting on shelves. There was also a single wooden chair and a telescope. That was all.
‘This way,’ Ernest said, leading them into what, in a normal home, might be a sitting room but was yet another room full of books. ‘There’s a sofa in here somewhere,’ he told them, obviously aware of what the room must look like to visitors.
Bill came forward and moved a heap of newspapers and notebooks. There were so many notebooks, all of differing sizes, and Orla couldn’t help noticing that the ones that had been left open were full of neat, tiny writing in blue ink. Luke and Orla helped, carefully taking an armful of the books away, placing them on the floor.
‘Ah – there it is!’ Ernest said with a winning smile once the sofa was revealed. ‘I can’t remember the last time I saw it. Do please sit. Can I get you anything? What is it young people drink these days? I’m sure I could find a teabag of some description.’
‘Oh, no – really,’ Luke quickly interceded.
‘No need to go to any trouble,’ Orla agreed, secretly dreading what Ernest Cranbrook’s kitchen looked like and not wishing to consume anything that might come out of it.
‘We were just hoping for a bit of information,’ Bill began as he sat down on the sagging sofa. ‘Orla – would you like to tell him what you’ve discovered?’
‘Yes,’ she said, sitting next to Bill as Luke examined a couple of old prints on the mantelpiece. ‘We’ve uncovered a rather unusual carving in the basement of the castle. What used to be the dungeon. It was covered up. Luke’s just found it. It’s carved at the bottom of an arch and looks pretty old.’
‘And what does it depict?’ Ernest asked.
‘Well, I think it might be the Wild Man,’ Bill said.
‘I had a feeling you were going to say that,’ Ernest told him, nodding to himself as he moved across the room towards a precarious tower of books. ‘Now, then – where is it? I know it’s here somewhere.’
Orla glanced at Luke again and they exchanged a bemused look. Did this man really know where all his books were? It seemed unlikely and yet there was a decided purpose about him and, sure enough, he pulled a book out with a triumphant cry. ‘The Wild Man of the Sea! A Tale of the Suffolk Coast.’ He handed the old hardback with the ripped cover to Bill, who flipped through it before handing it to Orla. It was a grubby-looking tome with pages that were yellowing and mottled, but there were some very good illustrations inside of green men, hairy beasts and something that bore a striking resemblance to her very own Wild Man.
‘Could we show you our Wild Man?’ Orla asked him.
‘At the castle?’ Ernest said.
‘Yes.’
‘We could take you there now,’ Luke said, on his feet in an instant. ‘That is, if you’re not doing anything.’
Ernest smiled. ‘My dear man,’ he said, taking his round glasses off and polishing them with a hanky pulled from his pocket, ‘I haven’t been doing anything for the last seven years.’
Chapter 17
While Orla’s first experience of taking a trip in Luke’s van had been absolutely terrifying, Ernest Cranbrook’s was one of great joy.
‘Well, I say! This is exciting,’ he said from the back seat, where he sat next to Bill. ‘I haven’t been to the castle for years. Not since I was a boy and we’d sneak into the garden at night. Remember, Bill?’
Bill gave a funny little cough.
‘What’s that, Bill?’ Luke asked, glancing in the rear-view mirror.
‘Just boy stuff,’ Bill said elusively.
‘We used to go scrumping, didn’t we, Billy?’ Ernest said with a chuckle. ‘Apples, pears, cherries – you name it!’
‘There was an orchard?’ Orla asked.
‘Long gone,’ Bill said.
‘What a shame.’
‘Indeed,’ Bill said.
‘Used to fill our bellies in there,’ Ernest confessed just as they reached Lorford.
Luke was still chuckling to himself as they drove through the market square, pulling into the castle’s driveway a moment later.
One Ear was thrilled to see the new arrival and made sure every pocket of Ernest’s waistcoat was sniffed and prodded in case there were hidden biscuits. Then it was down to business. Down to the basement.
‘What a treat this is,’ Ernest kept saying. ‘A real treat!’ His pink cheeks glowed with anticipation as they descended the spiral stairs in a slow single file. One Ear, eager not to miss out, followed at a sedate pace.
‘Well, here it is,’ Luke announced as they reached their destination.
For a few moments, all was quiet as Ernest bent double to