14

The very next night I woke with a start. The moon shining through the window was so bright it made everything glow a soft, hazy grey. Mam always used to say a full moon made her restless. But that wasn’t what had woken me. Outside, a bucket clanked. I propped myself up on my elbows to listen. The geese were making a low keening noise that meant they were nervous. Something was in our back yard.

My first thought was, ‘FOX!’

And it was my fault, I realised in horror, because I’d forgotten to shut the birds up in the barn.

Jumping out of bed, I raced for the stairs. But as my foot missed the first step, I lurched forward, elbows, shoulders, feet bumping the wall on the way down. I landed hard on the flagstones, the wind knocked out of me.

This was a stupid idea.

Yet how frustrating it was to always need another person’s help. Like now, as I got to my feet, calling upstairs to Da. Through the ceiling I heard his bed creak as he coughed and rolled over. But he didn’t wake.

I tried Peg instead. ‘Come down! I need you!’

As I pulled on my boots, no one stirred, though something outside clattered to the ground. The geese shrieked. If I stood any chance of saving my flock, I’d have to handle this myself. Finding the back door, I opened it.

This wasn’t a fox – I knew straight away. There was no fetid stink, no half-dead birds still flapping. Not even a squabble or hiss. Though my heart thumped hard as anything.

The moon made our yard seem almost daylight bright. Or maybe it was the comet, still streaking across the heavens that filled me with a now familiar dread. Gingerly, I felt my way across the cobbles. Then, to my left, I heard a rustle in the hedge. It sounded absurdly loud, and bigger than any fox. It was, I decided, a person.

I knew I should go inside and shake Da awake. Except there wasn’t time. In five big strides, I’d reached the hedge. I kicked it hard. ‘Come out, whoever you are! And hand over my geese!’

The rustling stopped. Then came a mighty crash, a rushing sound. Someone leapt from the hedge, out into the lane beyond, and was gone.

Who the heck it was, I’d no idea. But they were big, I was sure of it – easily Da’s size, and all the heavier, no doubt, for having my geese tucked under their arms or slung over their shoulder in a sack.

It was insane to think I should go after them: I’d no idea who I’d be following or what might happen if I did catch them up. Yet the instinct to get my birds back was too strong. Standing here not knowing felt even worse. I had to do something.

Once I’d found our gate, I lifted the latch. I tried to ignore the fear that crawled up my limbs. So long as I kept straight ahead, away from the ditches, I’d be all right.

Slowly, purposefully, my feet shuffled forward.

There was no Peg to guide me. No Mercy. No Da. I was alone. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to do something completely by myself. In amongst the fear was a little thrill of excitement that focused my mind. Whoever had taken my geese, I’d do my best to track them down. The fact that it was the middle of the night might make things harder. But at least there’d be no villagers awake to see me try.

Out in Crockers Lane, I turned left towards the village. Only then did I smell it. Just a waft, then it was gone.

It wasn’t sharp like fox. It smelt of wet, musty dog. Of woods and the way fallen leaves smell after rain. Whoever’s scent it was had been there in our hedge. It was very unnerving.

The lane itself was shadowy and dark. I walked as fast as I dared, feeling with my feet and concentrating hard. I stumbled often. Finally, as the lane swung left towards the village green, I smelt it again: wet fur, wet leaves, rain. And I felt a fresh surge of fear. This scent, I realised, was more animal than human. I began to wonder if I was following a person at all.

Up ahead lay the village green, its large open space made pale by the moonlight. The strange smell grew fainter. Instead, I caught the salty sweetness of fresh grass. I walked on a few more yards. Now I couldn’t smell anything. Or hear anything. The person – or thing – had vanished. All I felt was the night pressing in on me.

I told myself to be brave. I’d made it this far. Now wasn’t the time to give up. I thought of Mam and how she kept going when times got tough. If I listened hard enough I could still hear her voice inside my head, and it urged me on.

Now I had to decide where to go next. Luckily the church clock had just chimed the quarter hour, so I knew the church was to my right. Which meant the main street with its post office and Mercy’s mam’s bakery was over to the left. It was in this direction that I decided to head.

I’d gone only a few yards when I caught another waft of that strange, leafy smell. It grew stronger as I walked. Soon I’d passed the post office, which loomed shadow-like in the darkness. And then as my feet hit cobbles, I knew I’d reached the sharp left turning onto Mill Lane. The smell was at its strongest here. My heart began to pound. At last I was closing in on this thing I’d followed. I only prayed my geese were also nearby.

Mill Lane ran very steeply down towards the river. It was lined with flint cottages that clung to the hillside like fungi on a tree. I had to steady myself against them just to keep on my feet. All the while I listened out for the squawk of geese but instead, to my shock, I heard voices. They were raised and anxious, and coming from lower down the street. As I got closer, I saw pockets of light – the swinging, flickering type that shines from lanterns – and shrank back into the shadows.

‘How the devil did it get out?’ The speaker was Mr Walton.

I tried to breathe normally. But the thudding in my chest seemed so loud now, I was sure any moment he’d hear it.

‘Sir, we kept the gates shut,’ said a man. He sounded familiar too, perhaps one of those servants we’d grappled with at Eden Court. ‘We have to be mighty careful, otherwise it puts the horses at risk.’

Horses? Risk?

I recalled then what they’d said yesterday about a second stuffed dog, the one they’d taken to the stable yard. But how could something dead be a threat to the horses?

‘And you fed it, as we arranged?’ Mr Walton asked.

Now I was more confused.

‘The whole pig, sir,’ the servant said. ‘Every last scrap. That village boy’s bringing them every day now.’

‘Then I really don’t see how …’

A new voice cut in. ‘Oh do be quiet.’ The speaker was a woman. ‘This … situation … is about the hunt, not the hunger,’ she said. ‘You must understand the nature of what we are dealing with here.’

‘With due respect, I think …’

‘Clearly you don’t think, Mr Walton,’ she said. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t be here having this conversation now.’

There was no comeback. No reply. I didn’t even know there was a woman at Eden Court, for this one didn’t sound like a housemaid. Whoever she was, she’d put Mr Walton firmly in his place and I couldn’t help but be impressed.

‘Well, I do believe it’s passed this way,’ said Mr Walton eventually. ‘Look.’

He seemed to be prodding something squelchy and soft.

‘Is it dead?’ asked the servant.

‘Very,’ said the woman. ‘There are more carcasses over here. See how their innards have been eaten. A fox would’ve merely bitten off their heads.’

It began to dawn on me what they were referring to. I swallowed queasily.

‘Thank heavens it’s only a goose. We really must be more careful in future,’ she said.

Only a goose? If it was one of mine, then that bird had a name, a character. And with growing horror, I wondered what the heck it was that had come into our yard and taken every single bird.

‘Fortune favours us for the moment,’ Mr Walton replied. ‘The villagers are starting to think the Appleby girl is to blame. She has a penchant for other people’s animals.’

Peg.

In shock, I clapped a hand over my mouth. They were talking about my sister. This was getting stranger and more twisted by the second.

‘Appleby? She’s the lightning girl, is she not?’ the woman asked.

‘She is.’

They were wrong. Peg wasn’t the one hit by lightning; that was me. And Mam.

‘Then that’s not fortune, you fool!’ the woman spat. ‘That’s a considerable inconvenience. The last thing we want is more attention drawn to her. Or to us.’

By now I was so muddled, my head felt ready to burst. Yet flinching, I remembered Mr Walton at Mam’s grave. How he’d recognised us by our surname that day outside the shop. And how he’d lied about the brass button.

My sense about him had been right. He was up to something. And it seemed he had a peculiar interest in us. The question was why.

Footsteps came up the hill towards me. The voices sounded suddenly very near. I shrank even further into the shadows and held my breath.

Three, maybe four people passed by so close I smelt the leather of their boots. There was another odour too – sharp and chemical like the varnish Da used. When they’d gone a safe distance, I breathed again.

Then.

Someone came back towards me. A light was thrust in my face. I recoiled.

‘Don’t you ever give up?’ Mr Walton hissed in my ear. There was no ‘Miss Appleby’ this time, no cool charm.

‘I’m … I’m …’ Lifting my chin, I found the words. ‘I’m looking for my geese. And there aren’t any laws that say I can’t.’

‘Forget your wretched geese. What of our conversation did you hear just now?’

‘Nothing,’ I lied.

‘Did you see anything?’

‘No! Of course not!’ I was amazed he’d even ask.

Further up the street, the woman called to him.

‘Oh do keep up, Mr Walton! Or are you hoping to deprive me of all my sleep tonight?’

He went to go, then turned back again.

‘A word of warning,’ he said. ‘If this gets out I’ll know it was you, and you’ll be sorry.’

I smelled something else, then. It was fear, coming off him like fumes.