The Ghost Garden Page 3

  “Well?” Leo called to her. “Is there a doorway round there?”

  She’d forgotten she was meant to be looking for one.

  At her feet, the ground dropped away sharply. The soil was thin and stony. The soles of her boots slipped over it, showering grit onto the brambles that tangled round the bottom of the mound. Even if there was a door down there, Fran didn’t fancy her chances of finding it.

  A strange sensation came over Fran then. Like a hand tugging at her sleeve, urging her not to leave. Something stirred beneath her feet. A tremble. A vibration. There was a smell too – of dirt and leather – so strong suddenly she could almost taste it.

  Below her, as if buffeted by a wind she couldn’t feel, the brambles swayed apart. She caught sight of a hole in the side of the mound, as small and narrow as a pantry window. Its edges were framed by slabs of stone, which gave it the look of an entrance, a way in or a way out.

  This, Fran realised, was the spirit door.

  Chapter 6

  Fran slid down the mound in a flurry of earth. Brambles tore at her clothes and hair as she went, yet she managed to reach the bottom in one piece. The entrance looked even smaller down here. The framing stones were patchy with moss. There was no actual door to open. Even crawling on her belly, Fran didn’t think she’d get inside. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  “Fran?” Leo called. His voice sounded distant. “What are you doing?”

  As she crouched there, hesitating, she caught another waft of leather and felt a tug on her sleeve. The tugging grew insistent, as if someone was demanding that Fran look inside.

  “Give me a minute!” she called to Leo.

  Fran shook back her hair. She didn’t feel scared, exactly – more as if every nerve, every muscle was pulled tight. On her hands and knees, she eased her head inside the entrance, remembering to keep her mouth firmly shut in case of spiders. As she edged forwards, it quickly grew too dark to see. The air smelled damp, like compost. Fran’s shoulders then hips brushed against the sides of what seemed to be a tunnel. Painful little stones ground into her elbows. If she lifted her head a fraction too much it hit the roof. A rush of fear filled her. The last thing Fran wanted was to get stuck in this place.

  Mercifully, up ahead the darkness thinned. Cracks in the roof let in what remained of the daylight as thin as a pencil, but it was enough to see the tunnel open up all around her. Fran took a deep breath, feeling slightly calmer. Her eyes grew used to the murky light and she saw marks on the wall – scratches, symbols. The ground beneath her started tilting gently downhill, which made crawling easier. She shuffled on.

  The skeleton, when she saw it, almost didn’t look real. It lay across the passage, just a few feet ahead. Fran froze. The bones lay on the ground, level with her face. She didn’t dare move closer, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She’d never seen a dead body before, let alone one this old. The legs were straight, with the arm nearest to Fran flung across the rib cage. Something glinted inside the skeleton’s torso – a sword blade or a dagger. There were other objects lying nearby – another sword, a spear, a shield. And a skull, with its jaw open from its last blood-chilling scream.

  Panic took hold of Fran. Her mind spun with thoughts of broken bones and china babies. This place was another sign, she was sure of it. It terrified her to think what this old skeleton might be warning her of, because it certainly wouldn’t be something good. Fran’s heart was beating so fast she felt light-headed. She needed to get out. Even in this part, the tunnel was too tight to turn around in, so she shuffled backwards as fast as she could.

  *

  Outside again, Fran gulped the cool evening air. Once her head felt clearer, she brushed the worst of the mud from her knees and hurried back to Leo. He was hunched forward in the bath chair, looking very fed up.

  “I thought you’d abandoned me too,” he remarked.

  “Sorry,” Fran said. She stood in front of him, rubbing her arms. She felt cold and exhausted. “Leo, there is an entrance round the other side, like you said there would be.”

  His face brightened. “There is? A proper spirit door? Oh I say! Take me round there, will you?”

  “I’d rather not, actually,” Fran replied.

  “But I’d really like to see it,” Leo pressed. “Please, it won’t take us long. We’ve come all this way out here. It’s not fair that you’ve seen it and I haven’t.”

  Fran gritted her teeth – she knew he wasn’t going to give up.

  “Look, I went inside,” she confessed. “Properly inside … and I saw a skeleton.”

  Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “How on earth did you manage that?”

  “I crawled in,” Fran explained. “There was a passage that got bigger, and a bit of light coming in from a crack in the roof. And the skeleton was there, in front of me, surrounded by weapons.”

  “By weapons,” Leo repeated.

  He doesn’t believe me, Fran thought sadly. Then she realised, from the twisting of Leo’s hands, that he was trying to contain his excitement.

  “An ancient burial chamber with treasure inside, right here on Grandmother’s land!” Leo gasped. “And to think we only set out to prove the house’s name. What an incredible discovery!”

  Fran folded her arms. Now it was her turn to be stubborn.

  “Why won’t you go back inside?” Leo demanded.

  “Because I …” Fran trailed off. She wasn’t sure how to tell him about the strange things she kept finding in the gardens. It was going to take some explaining, but she knew she ought to try.

  Fran swallowed hard.

  “Just before your leg broke, I found a bone in the potato patch,” she said. “I cracked it by mistake with my garden fork. Then, a week or so after that, amongst the onions, I came across a tiny china doll. And then, just hours later, my mother told me she was having a baby.”

  Leo looked confused. “What has this got to do with the burial chamber?”

  “Strange stuff keeps happening,” Fran insisted. “It’s like the garden is trying to tell me things, and then today, when we were about to give up, we found that map … If we go poking around in that tomb any more, then I’m afraid—”

  The expression on Leo’s face made her stop. He was staring at a spot beyond her. Fran hesitated, wondering if she’d sounded a bit daft in the head. But as she turned to see what had caught Leo’s attention, her breath stopped.

  A man.

  Two men.

  A whole group of them appeared around the side of the burial mound.

  Fran blinked. No, it was the dusk playing tricks on her eyes, she told herself. They weren’t men, they were trees. Except trees didn’t move, and these were coming towards them.

  There had to be twenty or thirty at least, marching two abreast. All were wearing grubby tunics, cloaks and boots laced to the knee. Just like the costumes people wore at the village fair, Fran thought. But this wasn’t a game. These men looked like warriors going into battle. They carried weapons – proper mud-splattered shields and swords. Some wore helmets that covered the tops of their faces. Every single one of them looked frighteningly fierce.

  Fran’s stomach heaved in terror. She stepped back. The men kept coming. They were only a few feet away now, marching right towards Fran and Leo. Yet the strangest thing was the men weren’t making any noise. No clanking of metal, no thudding boots on grass. No chants or songs to encourage nervous feet. If Fran had shut her eyes, she might not even have noticed them but for the sudden drop in temperature and the strong smell of leather and earth. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, which drummed in her ears.

  Fran was sure she was going to die of fear right there. And if that didn’t kill her, then one of the warriors would do the job with his sword. Or trample her and Leo to the ground.

  Fran braced herself. As she squeezed her eyes tight shut, a strange sensation hit her. Like a hiccup caught in her chest. As fast as it came, it went again. What followed was a rush of pain: tiny jabs that stung a
nd needled.

  When Fran dared open her eyes, the men had gone. In the distance, across the field, she saw the last of the soldiers disappearing like mist between the trees. The only sign they’d ever been there was the flattened path they’d tramped over the grass.

  “Did that really just happen?” Leo asked. He put his head in his hands and gripped fistfuls of hair.

  “I … I … I think so,” Fran replied. “Who were they?”

  Leo let go of his hair. It stuck up oddly all over his head.

  “Soldiers,” Leo said. “Anglo-Saxon I’d guess, judging by their weapons.”

  “But they can’t be real!” Fran cried.

  “Of course they’re not,” Leo replied. “Haven’t you ever heard stories about ghost armies?”

  “You think that’s what we’ve just seen, then? Ghosts?”

  “Probably,” Leo said. “I read that they appear as a warning – that a war or some other national emergency is about to happen.”

  “You do know how ridiculous that sounds, don’t you?” she muttered, and yet, when she’d seen the skeleton inside the mound, hadn’t she feared something similar herself?

  Fran felt tired and bewildered. Too many strange things had happened here at Longbarrow over the past few weeks. She didn’t want to think about what the men – the soldiers – might mean, and what would happen next. She wanted to believe that they’d dreamt it all. Fallen asleep. For there to be a simple explanation.

  “Put that map away and let’s go home,” Fran decided.

  Leo nodded. “Good idea.”

  Chapter 7

  That weekend, Fran’s father bought a newspaper for the first time ever. She hovered at his shoulder to read it, learning that peace talks in Europe had failed before they’d even started. Germany had declared war on Russia and was threatening to invade Belgium.

  Leo was right, Fran thought miserably, there was going to be some sort of conflict in Europe. He was also right about the soldiers they’d seen at the burial mound. The ghost army had been a warning.

  As she lay in bed that night, Fran overheard her father talking about signing up to fight if Britain got drawn in to the war. Fran felt the air leave her chest all at once. She caught herself agreeing with Jessie Walker: it would be terrifying if a person you loved went to war. She hoped with all her might it wouldn’t come to that.

  In an attempt to take her mind off war, she thought of tomorrow instead. Every August Bank Holiday Monday Mrs Walker held a garden party for the locals. It was a noisy, busy affair that left the lawn horribly pock-marked by ladies’ heeled shoes and would take Fran’s father ages to restore. Normally, Fran had mixed feelings about the party. This year she was glad of the distraction.

  *

  The day of Mrs Walker’s garden party dawned breezy and cool. All morning, Fran helped Millie by cutting sandwiches and dusting icing sugar over her perfect scones. When that was done, Fran picked sweet peas from the garden and put a bunch on each of the tables set outside for the guests.

  By mid-afternoon, the lawn of Longbarrow House was so busy with flapping tablecloths and fluttering summer dresses it was as if a whole swarm of butterflies had descended on the grass. Fran was with her parents, sitting cross-legged on a blanket under the trees. Her father, in his best pinstriped suit, seemed relaxed, almost handsome. Her mother had let out her skirt seams and was very obviously pregnant. The pair of them looked radiant. If there was a war, Fran thought with a pang, she’d remember this afternoon.

  “Fetch us another scone, love.” Her mother held out her plate to Fran.

  Glad of an errand, Fran weaved between the crowds to where the food was laid out on trestle tables. Evan and Jessie Walker were there, helping themselves to cucumber sandwiches. They looked as quaint as dolls – Jessie in a dress of white lace, Evan in a sailor suit – yet were both attacking the food like wild animals. Fran hoped she could get her mother’s scone and slip away before the twins saw her, but she had no such luck.

  “Hewwwoooo, Frannie!” Jessie boomed.

  A mouthful of Jessie’s half-chewed sandwich fell onto the grass. Evan started giggling. Within seconds the pair of them were in fits.

  “Jessie, Evan,” Fran said, and dipped her head in their direction.

  “Come and play cricket with us, Frannie,” Evan begged. “You can play, can’t you?”

  “I don’t expect she can,” Jessie answered for her. “Frannie’s too busy being Leo’s nursemaid to play games with us.”

  That set them off into more hoots of laughter.

  “My name is Frances,” Fran told them, very coolly. “Or Fran, if I like you. If.”

  Jessie and Evan stopped laughing.

  “Gosh,” Jessie whispered. “Terribly sorry.”

  “We didn’t mean anything unpleasant,” Evan muttered.

  “And,” Fran added, getting into her stride, “looking after Leo has been pretty decent, actually. If my new brother or sister turns out anything like him, I’ll be happy.”

  “That’s because Leo likes you,” Jessie said sulkily.

  “If you spent less time annoying him and more time being nice, he’d like you too, I’m sure of it,” Fran replied.

  The twins stared at her as if she’d spoken Greek.

  *

  As Fran picked her way back across the grass, she spotted Leo sitting at the last table on the lawn, wearing a smart linen suit. Mrs Walker was with him, shooing wasps off her jam scone.

  “I hear you made a discovery, my dear,” Mrs Walker called out as Fran drew near.

  “I did?” Fran asked, and shot Leo a worried glance.

  Mrs Walker nodded. “One of Old Rex’s bones, so my grandson tells me.”

  It took a moment for Fran to realise what Mrs Walker was talking about. Old Rex was her last dog. He’d been big and white, covered in black spots, and bred to run alongside carriages before he’d become too fat.

  Mrs Walker looked misty-eyed. “Old Rex always did like burying bones in the potato patch, the dear boy,” she said.

  Fran’s mouth dropped.

  Mrs Walker must be talking about the bone Fran had been so sure was a human one – the one she’d broken and was convinced had caused Leo’s accident.

  “You’re sure it was Old Rex’s?” Fran pressed her.

  “Why yes.” Mrs Walker frowned. “Who else’s would it be?”

  Fran let out a long breath. She felt rather stupid.

  “Well.” Mrs Walker stood up. “I’ll leave you young people to chat.”

  When she’d gone, Fran sank into Mrs Walker’s empty seat. She felt a mix of relief and bafflement. So, the bone had belonged to Mrs Walker’s old dog. But that didn’t explain the little china doll, the map and the ghost army.

  “Do you think the other things were coincidences, then?” Fran asked Leo.

  “Maybe.” Leo shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot these past couple of days.”

  “So finding the Frozen Charlotte wasn’t a prediction?” Fran challenged.

  “Your mother is having a baby,” he replied. “She’d still be having one whether or not you found a china doll.”

  “But the timing of it—”

  “Was probably a coincidence,” Leo cut in. “And the fact that you weren’t looking very hard.”

  Fran scowled at Leo. “I look,” she snapped. “I notice things.”

  “Do you? The really little things?” Leo asked. “I guessed your mother was pregnant the day we arrived here for the summer. She looked different – thick-waisted and tired.”

  “You noticed that?” Fran was taken aback.

  “As for the map,” Leo went on. “I’m sure someone would’ve found it sooner or later.”

  “But we did,” Fran pointed out. “It helped us find what we were looking for. Or do you think the ghost army was a coincidence now too?”

  Leo seemed suddenly less certain.

  “I hope so,” he replied.

  Fran, who’d always wanted a simple explanat
ion for all these strange happenings, hoped so too.

  *

  Early Tuesday morning, Fran was on her way to the kitchens when she saw Leo out on the front steps of the house. The morning paper rested in his lap. He’d got hold of it before Mrs Walker could whisk it away.

  “I’ll drop these tomatoes off for Millie, then we can go for a walk,” Fran suggested to Leo.

  She was in a good mood. How could there be anything odd about Longbarrow House on such a bright, sparkling morning? The gardens looked as beautiful today as they’d ever been. Even the pock-marked lawn still seemed lush and green. At home, Fran’s father hadn’t mentioned joining the army again. Her mother was blossoming. Fran was even beginning to look forward to having a baby brother or sister. After weeks of feeling fearful, she decided it was time to cheer up.

  When Fran saw the headline on the newspaper in Leo’s lap, it was like walking into a wall.

  “It can’t be!” she gasped. “No, no, no, it can’t be!”

  But it was. There in bold letters, right across the front page, it said: “GREAT BRITAIN DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY”.

  Thoughts crowded Fran’s brain. Everyone had treated Leo like an odd eccentric, but he had been right all along. Fran’s father would now join the army. Jessie and Evan would be upset about their father going to war too. Fran shook her head. None of it seemed real when she was standing on the front steps of Longbarrow House, listening to the blackbirds sing.

  Fran gripped the bath-chair handles and tried to push Leo across the lawn. The brake was on, and as she went to release it, Leo put his hand very gently on her arm.

  “Hang on, speedy,” he said. “You’re thinking about the ghost soldiers, aren’t you?”