Kiss the Hare's Foot Read online

  Exhausted from stress and the monotony of the journey, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. The hum of the engine and constant vibration encouraged her to doze intermittently until eventually the vehicle slowed and turned sharply. Its motion began to vibrate violently as the surface connecting with the tyres changed again from that of smooth tarmac to yet another un-made rough track. Then the car slowed to a halt and the engine died. Whatever their destination, it seemed they had at last arrived.

  2

  Instructed to “get out” by her captor, Mel once again scrambled stiffly out of the car as the cloth hood was snatched away as unceremoniously as it had been fitted. Instantly she was shivering again and for some reason Mel found incomprehensible, the three of them stood together in a line by the side of the car and waited. Hood stood close to Mel’s shoulder but this time without using restraint. Despite her desire to attempt to run, she had neither the strength nor expectation that such an attempt had any chance of success, so stood submissively with her captors in the gusting cold wind. They waited in silence as though pausing to take in the panoramic view that lay below them.

  Gentle undulating countryside stretched in every direction as far as the horizon. A patchwork of grass fields and cultivated farmland, structured by lines of distant alder and lime trees showing the golden colours of autumn gave no comfort on this damp and bleak day. The only inhabitants of this rural landscape appeared to be a few scattered groups of sheep grazing on segments of the mostly square fields.

  Ahead of them and nestled low in a dip at the foot of the raised mound on which they stood was the only human commitment to this isolated location. She stared at the derelict remains of what might at one time have been an impressive country house. It had the appearance of a bye-gone abbey, with an unusual juxtaposition of Norman and Gothic architecture. Part of the building was made of flint material and later alterations had included the use of softly hued red bricks, set in grey mortar. Boarded up windows now masked the Gothic features of this rambling building, which at its conception, might have been as commodious and imposing as wealth would allow. Now, it stood a pathetic desolate ruin, long past the point in time when practicable renovation would appear worthwhile. Three blocks of chimneys now gave nesting places and perches to resident birds, but one of the central chimney pots emitted a small wisp of smoke, instantly swept away in the sharp cold wind.

  The grand stone aperture of the doorway no longer welcomed visitors, but supported a wall of wooden boarding, upon which was painted in large white handwritten letters, ‘Keep Out. Unsafe Building.’ The property, which had in earlier times proudly boasted sixteen arched windows overlooking the fresh open landscape, was now barricaded with timber, shielding its eyes from the light. Its retched fabric seemed now to withdraw into itself in readiness for the inevitable coming of winter with gloom and pessimism, the purpose of its existence no longer a welcome refuge for caring folk.

  Mel stared in disbelief. Surely this awful place was not really their intended destination?

  To the right of the great house and some quarter of a mile further along the rough track, stood the only other visible building, a small, similarly neglected church. Significant by its round tower, it had what remained of a conical cap. Its fabric appeared to be almost entirely of flint, with stone dressings to salient angles of the walls and buttresses.

  The fierce wind raged at Mel’s flimsy and inappropriate attire until every muscle screamed for the blood supply that had now withdrawn to her innermost organs in an act of self-preservation. The biting cold was unforgiving and she ached from tension. With her fingers now white and stiff and arms wrapped around her chest tightly, she could no longer stand fully upright but stooped like a withering old woman.

  Minutes seemed to pass and still they stood there. Then, at last, her cowering form sparked a humanitarian gesture in one of her captors. From the boot of the limousine, Starchy the driver reached in and withdrew a large light brown garment and threw it at her. He said nothing as she caught and held onto the man-sized coat. Fumbling, with fingers that would no longer co-operate, Mel struggled into its soft camel fur and wrapped it tightly around her middle like a blanket. The sleeves covered her frozen fingers and its thick velvety fabric hung well down below her knees. For a fleeting moment, she felt uninhibited gratitude, but as she looked up to see his face, he was already walking away back to the car. Seated once more behind the wheel, the limousine again fired into life and he drove gently away along the gravel track and out of sight. Her captor, Hood, remained standing beside her, seemingly impervious to the cold wind.

  Miserably, she remained standing obediently beside her captor. Once more she considered making a run for it, but what was the point? The man beside her was strong and fit. She wouldn’t get very far and there was certainly nowhere to hide.

  After what seemed like ages, but was probably only a few minutes, a man appeared from behind the left hand side of the derelict building. Wearing a sheepskin coat, his hands thrust deeply into its pockets, he stopped by the corner of the building and called, “Get round here.” He beckoned to them with a nod of his head. The origin of his northern accent was lost on Mel’s poor knowledge of dialects.

  Pushed ahead by Hood, they walked round to where the man stood waiting and as they neared, he turned and led the way to the rear of the big house.

  As they rounded the rear corner, a collection of derelict outhouses surrounded a rectangular courtyard. Most of the relics consisted of no more than low stone walls, their decline into disrepair having commenced decades ago. Two slightly better preserved structures represented the farthest corner of the courtyard. Corbels and some of the curving stone ribs were all that remained of the steeply pitched roof, which at one time had spanned the building. Adjoining to the far end of the building, three broken piers were now the remnants of what appeared to have been cloisters.

  Checking over his shoulder to establish that they were still behind him, the man paused and Mel saw beyond him a small open door leading into the rear of the building. From his pocket, he withdrew a torch and ducking his head slightly, led them into the dark interior. Mel followed in the oversized camel coat and theatre scrubs and lastly came the large frame of Hood in his black leather jacket, stooping almost double to enter the small doorway.

  The smell hit them as they stepped into the derelict structure. The stench of wet rot immediately filled Mel’s nostrils and clung to the back of her throat. She fought against nausea and clasped a hand over her mouth. Clouds of dust danced in the shaft of light from the open door and she crouched to avoid the shrouds of cobwebs which draped every appendage of the passageway. She heard Hood cough behind her with discomfort in the unsavoury atmosphere.

  A distant hum of a motor could be heard from somewhere within the building, which Mel later realised to be that of a generator. Electric light, filtering out from an open doorway ahead of them and to their left, lit the way. Following its source, they entered a large hall, some forty feet in length. Where once chandeliers had graced the elaborately decorated ceiling, a single flex light fitting now hung, offering limited illumination. A huge stone fireplace took centre-place along its long wall. Soot and dirt covering the grate lay thick and undisturbed. The room, which might have been used in the past as some sort of banqueting room or other hall for entertaining was now empty, so that the reverberation of their footsteps on the flagstone floor brought discord to the silent remains of this vast room.

  Leaving the hall by a doorway in the corner of its farthest wall, they continued on, in darkness now, with only the torchlight again to illuminate the way along a short corridor which turned first to the right and then left. Underfoot, they disturbed a covering of loose debris and dirt as they walked. Passing a doorway on their left, which was either wide open or without a door, Mel shuddered at its dense black cavity. A room of unknown proportions, airless thick dust seemed to reach out like a menacing shroud from i
ts cavernous depths. They passed into a wide foyer where a grand staircase on the left wound its way in darkness upwards to the floor above. To the right, Mel recognised the tall gothic-shaped doorway as being the one at the front of the house which was boarded up on the outside. She felt slightly comforted by the fact that, so far, she had kept her bearings within this large and rambling place. Entering another corridor on the far side of the foyer, darkness again exacerbated the pungent smell of rot. The man ahead strode quickly, turning to his left and descending a flight of narrow stairs, which was lit only by a torch suspended from a piece of cord on a hook attached to the wall. She found it difficult to keep up with him in the darkness, trying to avoid touching the walls with her hands as she descended the uneven steps, but always she could feel the presence of the big man close behind.

  At the base of the staircase, a solid wooden door secured by a heavy metal bolt, concluded the tour. The man slid across the bolt, pushed it open and stood aside expectantly for Mel to pass through. Ahead were half a dozen more steps descending into a cellar some twenty feet across, which was dimly lit by one solitary light bulb suspended from the centre of the ceiling. Dancing shadows flickered round the walls as the draught from the open door teased the light, making it swing gently to and fro. Too tired to resist, she obediently alighted the steps.

  Startled by the bang of the door slamming shut behind her she let out an involuntary scream. Twisting round in panic, she stared in horror as she heard the metal bolts smacked home, locking her in the underground basement.

  A slight movement behind her added to her terror and turning back towards the room she gasped with fright as a man in a neat dark suit stood facing her a few feet away. She had not seen him as she entered the room and not for the first time that day her heart pounded, gripping at her throat so that she felt she could not breathe. For several seconds they stared at each other.

  3

  Mel saw that the other occupant of the cellar was a man, perhaps in his early forties, who stood with one fist gripped tightly by the other, staring back at her. The weak light, from the single electric bulb suspended by string from the ceiling, showed tiny droplets of perspiration glistening on the forehead of a rounded face that looked pale and strained. His dark brown suit was a snug fit, bought at a time when the waistline was perhaps more accommodating and a subtle expansion of that area was now showing signs of strain on expensive tailored fabric. Medium brown hair was short and brushed forwards, hiding the early signs of a receding hairline. As he studied the new arrival, his anxious expression softened, and soft brown eyes portrayed concern at her plight, which was instantly both comforting and reassuring.

  Mel knew she presented a strange spectacle, huddled as she was in the huge camel coat, below which the light blue material of theatre scrubs and white shoes completed the bizarre combination.

  “Have they kidnapped you too?” he asked slowly. The word ‘too’ ignited a spark of optimism and Mel’s own fear began to dissipate at the realisation that here was another captive sharing her nightmare. She was no longer to suffer this ordeal alone. With a surge of relief, her emotions again rocked from despair to hope and with it tears streamed down her face. She could not speak, or even move, but merely stood and shook. The trauma of the day had taken its toll, exhausting her both physically and emotionally, leaving her too shattered to respond.

  Stepping forwards he gently touched her arm and from his top pocket, offered a neatly folded handkerchief. Sniffing her thanks, she wiped away the salty tears.

  “Tell me what has happened to you,” he asked quietly. ‘I don’t think this is where either of us meant to be today,’ he encouraged, and taking a step backwards, scrutinised the blue scrubs showing beneath the swathes of fawn material of the ‘borrowed’ coat.

  “I’m Clive Roberts” he offered amiably, as Mel struggled to find her voice. “What’s your name and where are you from?”

  “Mel. Melissa Stacey. I work in a hospital in Basingstoke....” She took a deep intake of breath. Once started, the words tumbled out in a rush, not in the right order or even making much sense, but for a few moments she rambled on expelling her fears and frustrations amidst the details of the journey. He stood silently, listening intently to her story and as Mel offered the return of his handkerchief, he shook his head, muttering, “keep it.”

  “You look worn out, perhaps you ought to sit down,” he suggested and turning, led the way across to the centre of the room. “I’m afraid we don’t have many home comforts, but I’ve managed to get the dust off a chair. Here, sit on this one and I’ll clean another.”

  Their sparse and basic amenities consisted of four wooden carver-type chairs, a rectangular straight-legged table on which stood a small angle-poise lamp, its lead connected to an extension socket. The cable to this ran up the wall and through a small hole, presumably leading to the circuit supplying the main part of the house. Mel wondered absently how power could be supplied to this abandoned dwelling, forgetting the earlier sound of a generator.

  She watched Clive as he tipped a second wooden carver-type chair on its side and brushed dust and debris from its seat with a piece of old cloth using gentle sweeping motions, trying to avoid creating yet more airborne dust. This done, he sat down wearily at the table and began exploring the lamp for its on-off switch, which he clicked several times to no effect. Then, after teasing the bulb connection, was gratified to discover that it was actually functional. The startling bright light instantly dismissed some of the dark shadows surrounding them, leaving only those where projections in the walls from supporting brickwork hid corners of the room from view. With the new light, spiders instantly scuttled away from its glare and the attention of the hostages was immediately drawn to a fuller examination of the cellar. But disappointment followed as they viewed the other meagre provisions bestowed on the room.

  Their attention was first drawn to the more recent additions to the cellar. On the floor and to the far side of the steps leading up to the door, was a pile of uncovered mattresses, three in number, on top of which had been thrown a supply of folded blankets. Next to these items was a square cardboard box. Mel crossed the room to examine its contents and found it contained mugs, plastic plates and a quantity of disposable cutlery. The realisation that these items had been placed there in anticipation of their arrival depressingly revealed that their capture was to be prolonged and once again filled Mel with dread. The filth, the smell, the gritty taste of stale dust, the cold chill of the under-ground cavern, she surely couldn’t be expected to stay there overnight? Stifling the overwhelming urge to cry again, she swallowed hard and tried doggedly to follow the example of her calm fellow-prisoner and continued looking around.

  The basement was a room of irregular shape. It appeared essentially octagonal, but alcoves and fissures in the ageing brickwork allowed the black voids to hide from view their depth or purpose. Even with the door closed, slight movement of the light as it swung gently to and fro betrayed a draught, which exacerbated the dank earthy smell and gave motion to the sinister shadowy shapes.

  Thick grey cobwebs adorned every appendage of the bare walls, some hanging in swathes from the ceiling. The back wall was constructed of stone blocks with a long wooden workbench snuggled up against the left hand corner, on which an old covering of paint was peeling with age. The bench held a collection of neglected brushes and pots, the discoloured bristles matted with cobwebs. Oddments of pieces of wood, the wooden seat and back sticks of a broken chair and several pieces of old window frame lay strewn across the uneven flagstone floor.

  The room held little else of value or use. On the opposite side of the cellar were scrap pieces of wooden boarding, a couple of filthy covers which might at some time have been used as dust sheets and part of a broken desk, visibly covered in woodworm holes. With them, two sagging cardboard boxes appeared to be full of useless junk, not worthy of closer inspection. The cold stone and brick linin
g of the room offered no comfort. Estimating that they must be several feet below the level of the ground, the smell of damp earth hung in the windowless prison and the thick dust seemed to stick to the back of Mel’s throat. The only connection with the outside world were two rusty metal grills, about a foot in height, which faced each other above head-height on the walls on either side of the room. They appeared to be sealed on the outside with no sign of daylight.

  With no obvious means of escape, Mel reluctantly returned to the table, resuming her seat opposite her new companion. Studying the gentleman in front of her, his face now grave and thoughtful, she asked quietly, “And what happened to you? How did you get here?”

  Clive sighed. “My capture was not as dramatic as yours.” Almost reluctantly he recounted his experience. “I was accosted by two rough-looking men as I parked my car. I also work in a hospital - in Oxford. It was about twenty past seven and the consultant’s car park is separate from the main staff area.” Pausing, he silently re-lived his ordeal but continued, saying, “I suppose you could say I came quietly.” He grinned fleetingly as though to make light of his experience but his attempt at jocularity was hollow. “They put me into the back of my own car with a hood over my head and drove a short way. Then I was transferred into the back of a closed van and driven here. I decided it was not a good idea to put up a fight.” He paused again. “Must have taken about two or three hours to get here, I suppose. I can’t be sure, because they took my watch and mobile and things off me.” His calmness both surprised and slightly reassured Mel who wondered how anybody could remain so ‘matter-of-fact’ in such a terrifying situation.

  “I suppose I’ve been locked up here about an hour,” he continued. “Thought they were coming to get me out when I heard the door opening, but instead they brought you. Hardly the Ritz here, is it?” He grinned again, but there was no humour in his eyes.