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‘Yes. The parish of Pickleton and the parish of Briar Speckles meet right along this hedgerow. But back in the eighteenth century there was a little falling out between our two parishes. Our priest and their priest did not get along. In fact, there were occasions when muskets were fired into the sky and a few sickles were shaken in anger. But two lovers, a daughter of their lord and the son of ours, were in love, and they used to come to this gate to meet of a darkened night. Both, however, were loyal to their parish, so neither would ever cross the gate.’

He patted the top of the gate where there was a worn patch. It looked like where generations of farmers had pushed or pulled the gate open.

‘Here is where their hands would meet,’ Ambrose said. ‘That was all they could do, was hold each other’s hands. Because of their loyalty to their parishes, their love could never be consummated, except on that fateful night in 1888 when they decided to elope together.’

‘Really?’ Kelly said. ‘Where did they go?’

‘Ah, that is the question,’ Ambrose said. ‘For here they came that dark and fateful night when a storm was raging and the lightning cracked so hard it split the gatepost from top to bottom over there.’ He pointed at a tall gatepost that looked as though it had been hewn out of a single piece of granite.

From top to bottom, however, was a jagged crack about a finger’s width across.

And what was more, the colour of the rock at the top, where she could see it through the lichen in the glow cast by the streetlight, appeared slightly darker, as though it had been charred at some point in the distant past.

‘The question is,’ Ambrose said, ‘did those two lovers elope as they planned? Or did they succumb to that bolt of lightning? Because the very next day was the first reported sighting of two ghostly hands, without bodies, clasping each other right here on this worn patch of gate.’

Kelly was unsure how a gate that appeared to be made out of wood could have lasted for over a hundred and fifty years, but she let Ambrose have his moment.

‘More than ten people have seen those hands,’ Ambrose said. ‘One of them being myself.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Ambrose said. ‘I was walking home from the pub one night, and I’d swear blind on my one eye that I saw those hands, pale in the moonlight, clasping each other over this gate. And what was more, if I squinted a little, I felt sure I could see the outline of a man on one side and a woman on the other. They were holding hands, and their heads were bowed, their foreheads touching. No doubt that even in death they’re still in love.’

‘That’s fascinating,’ Kelly said unable to hide the skepticism in her voice. ‘What a wonderful story.’

‘‘Tis indeed. But we have more to come,’ Ambrose said. ‘Next, let me take you to the Mayor’s Cave.’

6

A Tale of a Shepherd in the Dark

Ambrose led Kelly back across the village and then down a narrow street lined with cottages until they emerged at the bottom of another forested valley leading off to the north.

It was nearly dark now, but Kelly could make out something that appeared to be cutting across the middle of the valley like a bridge. Had there been traffic noise, she might have thought it to be a road. However, it was dark and silent, like an unused railway bridge, except that it appeared to be made out of stone.

‘What’s that?’ she asked.

Ambrose paused at the bottom of a narrow farm lane leading between two fields.

‘Oh, that?’ he said. ‘That’s the old aqueduct.’

‘Aqueduct?’

‘Yes. Back from when Briar Speckles was part of the old mining region. That aqueduct is part of the old Brentwell Canal, except it’s mostly dry these days. You can walk across it because there’s a towpath. I’d recommend it if you like a bit of history, although unless it’s been raining, what’s left of the water up there can be a bit smelly, particularly on a warm day. Maybe if we have time, I can take you up there tomorrow or the day after.’

‘That would be lovely,’ Kelly said. ‘I bet the views are fantastic.’

‘Oh, they are. Particularly on Halloween night, when the village’s all lit up and the ghosts come out to play.’

‘I can’t wait,’ Kelly said. ‘Oh, is this the way to the cave?’

‘Yes,’ Ambrose said. ‘Although you’re not going to see too much tonight, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t dare go inside at the best of times, but it’s too dark now to really see anything.’

They started walking up the path, and as soon as they were out of the circle of light cast by the streetlight on the corner, Ambrose produced a couple of torches and handed one to Kelly.

A few minutes later, they found themselves on the edge of the forest, where towering oaks and sycamores leaned over the road. With every gust of wind, a flurry of leaves cascaded down around them. Kelly zipped up the top of her coat to keep the wind out, but felt a particular chill around her ear where Esmeralda had cut off a lock of her hair.

After a couple of minutes walking among the trees, they came to a fence and a gate with a padlock keeping it shut. Here, the hillside rose steeply, and in her torchlight Kelly could make out the way the hill had partially collapsed to reveal a rocky cliff face.