Page 24

‘It’s okay,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m afraid I dropped it into the bottomless well.’

The old lady grinned, then gave a rather witch-like cackle.

‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I hope no misfortune befalls you. You know that well’s bottomless, don’t you?’

‘So I keep getting told,’ Kelly said. ‘Is it really?’

‘So they say. And what’s more, they say there might be something living in there, down deep in the dark. And anything that falls in there, it’s never coming back out.’

‘Even a bamboo pole?’ Kelly said. ‘I mean, what’s going to eat a bamboo pole?’

‘I suppose if something’s hungry enough, it’ll eat anything,’ the old lady said. Then she added again, ‘Do you want to borrow another pole? I’ve got plenty.’

‘It’s all right,’ Kelly said. ‘I’ll leave it for now. But I do apologise, and I’ll definitely pick you up another one before I leave.’

‘Oh, my dear, it’s no problem at all. But I suggest you stay away from that well, or perhaps throw a couple of pounds in it just to make sure it hasn’t got its back up about you.’

‘Okay,’ Kelly said, thanking the old lady for her advice.

She headed back to the well where, because she didn’t have any coins, she rolled up a five-pound note and pushed it through the grate, only to watch it float forlornly on the surface of the water like an expensive leaf.

There was still no sign of the bamboo pole, so she decided to leave the Bottomless Well quite alone for now, until perhaps she could acquire a significantly longer pole that didn’t belong to someone else.

Next, she headed to Lovers’ Gate, where she felt certain that, with a little bit of poking around, she might at least be able to dispel this particular myth. Ambrose, of course, claimed that the gate was over a hundred years old, which just didn’t seem realistic at all.

And true enough, as she poked around in the weeds beside the gate, Kelly came across a tiny piece of metal bolted to the bottom of it, which quite clearly gave a manufacturer’s name and address, along with a date of installation.

And while the gate was old, it only dated to 1995, which was about a hundred years too late to have been the original Lovers’ Gate.

Kelly, feeling justified at last, went to open the gate and have a look into the field beyond, where she could see a footpath leading away alongside the hedgerow. However, as she put her hand on the wood, a funny sensation came over her.

She looked again at the gate, running her hands over the smooth, in-places lichen-covered and sun-baked frame, and realised, to her surprise that the uppermost piece wasn’t made from the same kind of wood as the rest of the gate. It was, in fact, seemingly a much older piece.

She looked closely at the end where the frame had been fitted together. The top section really was much older than the rest, as though it had been removed from a previous gate and refitted into the new one.

She still wasn’t convinced that it could be old enough to date back to the nineteenth century, but there was no doubt about the clear worn sections that dipped on both sides, giving the impression that an awful lot of hands had been placed there over the years.

Figuring it was probably just a lucky spot where local people rested their hands as they passed through, in much the same way people sometimes touched famous statues that supposedly cured ailments, Kelly reached out and placed her hand upon the wood. As her fingers came to rest, however, a sudden freezing sensation raced up them.

With a cry, she jerked her hand away. The gate gave a creak, which she hoped was just the wind, and the wheat and grass on either side shook with a sudden aggressiveness, as though the fields themselves had become angry.

Surely it was just a localised breeze, but it was dramatic enough to have given Kelly quite a fright, and no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it had been nothing—just a trick of the wind or her own imagination—she was unable to drum up the nerve to touch the gate again.

Instead, she backed away a little and took a couple of photographs, which she hoped she would eventually find the courage to look at again.

Having failed twice to comprehensively dispel the myths of both the Bottomless Well and Lovers’ Gate, Kelly was determined to make it third time lucky with the Lost Mayor’s Cave.

She walked through the village until she was pretty sure she was in the right place and then turned up the track heading into the woods. Without Ambrose to guide her, however, she quickly found herself completely lost, and might have phoned the Howling Gail Inn to ask for help had she been able to get a connection.

However, aware of the smug smile that her helplessness would probably bring to Martin’s face, she decided to persevere.

After a few more minutes, without warning she arrived at the fence behind which the cave stood from a completely unexpected direction.

She remembered Ambrose’s warning. However, after standing uncertainly by the fence for a couple of minutes, torn by indecision, she figured it couldn’t hurt to just have a little look inside the entrance.

She was pretty sure that the cave wouldn’t extend inside in that far, and she had brought the torch Ambrose had let her keep to check in any case. No doubt she would discover that it wasn’t the entrance to a vast network of caves but, in actual fact, only a few feet deep. Therefore, it would be impossible for a man and a flock of sheep to disappear inside and never be seen again.

It really couldn’t hurt just to have a little look.