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  And that, thought Sergeant Miller, after Mrs Jolly left, amounts to what I would call suspicious circumstances.

  CHAPTER 30

  * * *

  Nesta in Casselton

  The map was quite clear; what is more it even gave bus routes. Nesta found the right bus stop and watched out of the window for Portland Drive, the stop nearest Hedley Crescent. It was only when she got off the bus that she realized that finding James Martin was not going to be absolutely simple. She did not know the house number.

  Hedley Crescent was a curved street of terrace houses, each with its own long front garden. Nesta walked the length of it, wondering which one was the Martin house. It was not snowing in Casselton but it was a very cold afternoon and so cloudy that it would soon be dusk.

  A boy of about seven or eight passed her on a scooter. She thought about stopping him but he just whizzed past, almost sending her off-balance. A man was unloading shopping from his car outside Number 12. Nesta wanted to ask him if he knew the Martins, but she didn’t know what to say. As she passed the gate of Number 22, she noticed that the front door was open. She heard a woman calling out, ‘Jamie, can you not take this dog for a walk? She’s standing here with her legs crossed.’

  The dog was in fact standing on the doorstep straining at the lead the woman was holding on to.

  A boy of ten or eleven came stomping down the stairs inside the house shouting irritably, ‘Dad should take her. She’s Dad’s dog.’

  Woman, boy and dog were all on the threshold now.

  ‘Your dad won’t be in for another hour. And Calypso is supposed to be your dog anyway.’

  Jamie took the dog’s lead with a ‘humph’ and started out down the path.

  ‘C’mon, Calypso, we know whose dog you are. But there’s no use arguing.’

  Nesta waited till the boy had gone a few yards down the street before she caught up with him.

  ‘Do you know James Martin?’ she said as she drew alongside.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ said Jamie, eyeing her suspiciously.

  ‘I do,’ said Nesta in the same challenging voice.

  Jamie looked up at her, a slim stranger in a red hooded coat, taller and older than himself.

  ‘I don’t know you,’ he said doggedly.

  ‘I never said you did,’ said Nesta. ‘But do you know James Martin? He’ll be about your age and he lives in this street.’

  ‘That all you know about him?’ said Jamie. The dog began to sniff at Nesta’s coat.

  ‘Jamie is short for James, isn’t it?’ said Nesta, suddenly guessing that the boy was in fact James Martin his very self.

  Jamie pulled on Calypso’s lead so that she came closer to him.

  ‘Mind the dog,’ said Jamie. ‘She’s trained to look after me. She doesn’t bark much, but she has a strong pair of jaws when it comes to biting.’

  ‘I’m not going to beat you up and take all you money,’ said Nesta with a grin. ‘I just want to ask you about your letter in the Courier.’

  Jamie relaxed. After all, he might have to get used to being famous.

  ‘If you want my autograph, I hope you’ve brought your own pen. I haven’t got one with me.’

  ‘No, silly,’ said Nesta. ‘I am not an autograph hunter. I am a distant relative of your friend, Thomas Derwent. I know you only knew him for a short time, but you were quite friendly, weren’t you?’

  ‘Kindred spirits,’ said Jamie, proudly showing off a phrase he’d just learnt. ‘But you can’t be any sort of relative of his. He is special. I know he is. He comes from Outer Space. You must have heard the stories about him. You don’t come from Outer Space. I know you’re not from around here, but you are definitely not an alien.’

  They had come to the end of the Crescent. Calypso did her business on the grass verge and James got out a little old seaside spade and scooped the dirt up into the plastic carrier bag he carried for the purpose. Nesta did not answer him till that performance was over.

  ‘I like dogs,’ she said. ‘We only have a cat. Her name is Charlie – short for Charlotte. My dad thinks dogs are too much bother.’

  ‘They are,’ said Jamie ruefully. ‘You’re always having to take them for walks and scoop up after them. But Calypso’s not bad really. She sometimes helps me with my homework.’

  Nesta looked surprised and Jamie laughed.

  ‘It’s like this, you see. If I don’t get me homework done before Dad comes home I say I couldn’t do it because I had to take Calypso for a walk. Then Dad says, “Let’s have a look at it.” And if it’s sums, and it usually is, he can’t help doing them, just to show how clever he is.’

  Nesta laughed and said, ‘My dad’s the same – except I don’t even need an excuse. He likes the English questions – that’s because he works in a bank and spends all his day working with numbers. English makes a change for him, he says.’

  Now that they were more friendly, Jamie said, ‘Well how come you think you might be related to Thomas Derwent?’

  ‘Distantly related,’ said Nesta, wondering how much to tell the boy. ‘He and I might be from the same place originally. What did he tell you?’

  ‘No more than I said in the letter to the paper,’ said Jamie. ‘He was fun and we had a laugh, but he didn’t talk English. He talked sort of special, in a way of his own. But if you’re related to him, you should be able to do it too. Tell me your name.’

  Nesta realized at once that she could not tell this boy her real name. It might have been on the news even this far north.

  ‘I’m called Amy,’ she said.

  ‘But what is your proper name?’ said Jamie. ‘Your Ormingat name?’

  This time he used the newspaper version of Ormingat but without any attempt to reproduce the voice that Thomas had used.

  ‘Neshayla,’ said Nesta in her normal voice, for she had no other! To tell the secret name that her mother had given her seemed harmless here.

  ‘Yah!’ said Jamie in disgust. ‘And my name’s Collywolly.’

  Nesta did not know what to think.

  ‘But my name really is Neshayla. I have been told that. It was entwined with me. Entwined – that’s what they called it.’

  Calypso was sitting on the pavement by Jamie’s right foot. She stood up and gave herself a brief shake, then pulled at the lead.

  ‘You’re right, Calypso,’ said Jamie. ‘Better company at home.’

  ‘I really, really am Neshayla,’ said Nesta.

  ‘You haven’t a clue, have you?’ said Jamie over his shoulder as he walked away. ‘If you were Thomas Derwent’s cousin or whatever, you’d know how to speak in the voice. You’ve read the papers and you’re just plain nosy.’

  Nesta then remembered the voice her mother had used, a voice she could not hope to imitate. So it was true: Thomas Derwent really did come from Ormingat. And the voice her mother had used was the voice of that distant world. There was no more to be found out here. That was obvious. The boy was heading towards his own house.

  ‘See you sometime,’ called Nesta as she walked off in the opposite direction.

  ‘Not if I see you first,’ said Jamie, kicking a stray chipping into the roadway as he walked away. The dog said nothing, but tugged harder on the lead and began to sniff at the ground.

  Nesta was alarmed to notice that, although it was still not three o’clock, it was already getting darker. She hurried back to the bus stop and had ten minutes to wait for the bus to Casselton Central Station. It was shivery cold.

  In the station she was dismayed to find that the next train was not until half past four. That would mean arriving in Belthorp well after dark.

  At four o’clock, as she went to the platform for the Belthorp train, she bucked herself up with the thought that in ten hours’ time she would be able to phone home and give herself up. Because Mom and Dad would be there, of course. There was no way they would leave without her. That was a belief she must cling to. If she could persevere that little bit longer, a few more hours, the
y could all live happily ever after.

  I am doing what is best for them. I am doing what is best for all of us.

  In the meantime, she was determined to see Belthorp and somehow to meet Mrs Dalrymple who had known Thomas for five years. What was this ‘starlight’ she had spoken about? Did it come from Ormingat? Was it something Thomas had left behind?

  CHAPTER 31

  * * *

  Further Enquiries

  From the front window of the house in Linden Drive, Alison was looking out into near darkness. Smears of snow lingered in corners of the garden from last night’s fall. Orange streetlamps made the empty road look bleak and lonely.

  Where are you now, Nesta? What are you doing this dreary afternoon?

  Alison was just about to close the curtains and shut out the cheerless scene when suddenly a police car came round the corner into their street. She watched it draw up outside the front gate and then hurried to the door.

  ‘What is it?’ she said anxiously as Sergeant Miller stood before her. ‘Have you heard anything?’

  ‘Not really, Mrs Gwynn. But we need to talk to you,’ said the policeman. ‘Can we come in?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Alison.

  Matthew was hurrying down the stairs, momentarily hopeful. But it was clear from everyone’s expression that nothing good had happened.

  ‘What we need to know,’ said Sergeant Miller as they sat down in the front room, ‘is why you were busy in the garden quite late on Thursday afternoon. I mean, it is an odd time of year and time of day to be out doing the garden. I am sure you have an explanation.’

  Matthew looked puzzled.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said. ‘Of course we weren’t out doing the garden on Thursday afternoon, or any time at all on Thursday.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ said the policeman. ‘But you were doing something out there, and, to be honest with you, I’d be easier in my mind if I knew what it was.’

  ‘We really don’t understand you, Sergeant Miller,’ said Alison. ‘What would we be doing that could be of any interest to you? You are searching for our daughter. We checked the garden thoroughly on Wednesday night and again on Thursday morning. We thought she might have made herself a hiding place behind the trees, though it didn’t seem very likely.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the sergeant, ‘that’s what I mean. Like you, we have to explore every possible avenue, however unlikely it might appear to be. Think back now – were you in the garden at all on Thursday evening? Your neighbour thought she saw you out there. I don’t think she was being malicious or anything. She’s just an elderly woman living alone and I suppose she gets nervous.’

  Then Alison realized what he was talking about and what Mrs Jolly had seen them doing: consulting the communicator by lifting the frog and calling down to the ship! Oh dear, explaining that would surely be impossible. She was struck dumb. There just wasn’t an explanation that would divert attention from the one area that needed protection. She tried hard to summon up the power that had helped her deal with Amanda’s bullying and Nesta’s shock; but the power was weakened, almost gone. As the sergeant looked into her eyes, he saw nothing there but fear and misery. The only spell was silence, and it was Matthew who broke it.

  ‘I remember,’ he said, giving Alison a rueful glance. ‘I remember now. We were quarrelling about whether or not to call you in to look for Nesta. I thought it was too soon. My wife was all for calling you there and then. She began to cry and ran out into the back garden. I followed her and talked her into being calm and coming back into the house.’

  ‘What about the blue light?’ said the sergeant. That was a startling question.

  ‘A tad scary,’ said Matthew, taking a deep breath. ‘I suppose it would frighten Mrs Jolly too. There was a single flash of lightning and then the heavens opened and it began to pour.’

  ‘So you ran back into the house?’

  ‘Yes, we did. And even so, we both got drenched.’

  It was an explanation. Sergeant Miller was not sure that he was entirely satisfied with it. Why were they not more annoyed with their neighbour for talking about them? Indignation would have been natural.

  ‘We’re used to Mrs Jolly, you know,’ said Matthew as if reading the sergeant’s mind. ‘She tends to imagine things. She’s quite harmless.’

  Alison offered the sergeant and his constable a cup of tea, which they accepted and sat comfortably drinking as they talked about the neighbourhood, the weather and the hope that Nesta would soon be safe.

  ‘No news is good news after all,’ said the sergeant, and for once he really meant it. For reasons he could not pinpoint it suddenly seemed to him that there would be no dead body at the end of this case. For reasons she could easily pinpoint, Alison shared his optimism. Some relic of the power of Ormingat was stirring in her and secretly informing her that all was not lost.

  ‘She’ll be home tomorrow,’ she said with confidence. ‘I feel sure she will.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Mrs Gwynn,’ said the sergeant as he put his cup and saucer back on the tray and got up to leave. ‘We’ll be off now. As soon as anything happens we’ll be in touch.’

  As they were getting into the car, Mrs Jolly came furtively along the road, approaching the vehicle from the offside, furthest away from the Gwynns’ gate.

  ‘What is it, Mrs Jolly?’ said the constable as he wound down the window.

  ‘They move that frog, you know,’ she said. ‘It takes the two of them to do it, but I have seen them do it before. They shift it right out on to the lawn. Not on Thursday, mind you, but it was quite dark then and not easy to see. That was something I forgot to tell you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Jolly,’ said Sergeant Miller. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  They drove off, leaving their informant to scuttle back to her own drive.

  When they got to the main road, Sergeant Miller was troubled with second thoughts.

  ‘Maybe we should have checked the frog,’ he said.

  ‘I was wondering about that,’ said the constable.

  ‘And the passports,’ mused the sergeant.

  ‘They could do a runner overnight,’ said the constable. ‘Maybe that’s why they seemed less worried.’

  ‘I’ll ask for a watch on the house tonight, I think,’ said the sergeant. ‘I don’t want to go back there now. If the girl doesn’t turn up tomorrow, we’ll have to take it further. If it really is serious, it won’t be our job then.’

  CHAPTER 32

  * * *

  Belthorp

  The station at Belthorp was hardly a station at all: no W. H. Smith, no Burger King, nothing but railway lines between two platforms and a footbridge over them. It was more of a halt really.

  For the past half hour, Nesta had been able to see nothing from the window but her own reflection. The carriage was brightly lit and about half full of passengers. Nesta had a terrible feeling that everything was becoming much harder than she had ever imagined. She had thought to arrive at Belthorp in daylight, with plenty of time to find Mrs Dalrymple, and even to return to Casselton if necessary and board a late train going south. She had not bargained for slow trains and long delays.

  At Belthorp only half a dozen alighted. Nesta followed them over the footbridge. Those in a hurry were soon out of sight; a mother and her little boy went more slowly, as did a strange-looking man in a long dark overcoat. Nesta made up her mind to stay as close as possible to the woman and child. The man in the dark overcoat was tall but hunched in a furtive way. Round his neck, with one long end dangling down his back, was a white scarf ending in silky tassels. It was the scarf that was most off-putting. It looked so out of place and eccentric.

  All four passengers emerged from the station together. Nesta’s heart sank when the woman and child got straight into a waiting car. The man walked quite slowly to a spot further down the road, then stopped. Out in the darkness of a damp, foggy evening, Nesta stood still and did not know which way to go. The road
to her left, where the man was standing, sloped gently downwards, as if towards a valley. To her right, the same road went more steeply uphill.

  As Nesta looked up the hill, a single-decker country bus trundled into sight. The destination panel said ‘Belthorp’. The bus drew into the bus stop where the man was standing. So that was what he was standing for! Nesta hurried towards the bus, reaching it just after two passengers had alighted.

  ‘After you, my dear,’ said the man in the overcoat, standing back to let her pass. He smiled with a smile that showed too many very even teeth. His face was dark and foreign-looking. Nesta mumbled thanks and jumped on the bus. The man followed.

  Nesta took coppers from her pocket and said, ‘The centre of Belthorp, please.’

  It didn’t sound quite right but she knew no other way to phrase it.

  The driver gave her a curious look, then said, ‘That’ll be the Green, pet. You’ll not be wanting to go to the terminus.’

  He charged her a half fare without query. The man behind her bought a ticket to the Green. Nesta was pleased to see that there were other passengers on the bus. She hoped that some of them would get off at the Green.

  The first stop was at the end of a row of cottages. This was Merrivale where Mrs Dalrymple lived, but Nesta did not know that. Several people descended there, leaving the bus nearly empty.

  ‘The Green,’ said the driver loudly as he drew into the next stop. He looked back to make sure that his young passenger had heard.

  Nesta got up and left the bus. The man followed.

  In the darkness, made worse by the fog, Nesta made out a wide expanse of grass with houses beyond some trees at the far side. Behind her was a row of stone buildings with steps up to their doors. The nearest one had a black horse on a sign over the doorway. The bank.

  Further away, in the direction the bus had gone, was the steeple of a church, signs of a churchyard, and a dark alleyway leading off just before it.