Read Online The Blighted Cliffs by Edwin Thomas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edwin Thomas
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beach every
night, but that don't mean 'e don't know to keep 'is nose out o'
whoever's business it is.'
'And
whose business is it?'
'Couldn't
say.' Once again Ducker was proving entirely useless. 'But 'e's
probably not livin' in a broken boat shoved in a cave.'
I
growled, for although what Ducker said rang true, it did not give me
much comfort, and his manner bordered on insult. It irked me too that
he had managed to unsettle my good mood, forced though it had been.
When he quickened his stride, I did not bother to keep pace.
It
was not just Ducker bringing on gloom, though: the black clouds I had
noticed earlier now covered the sky, advancing the afternoon and
placing us in deep shadow. The pitch of the wind rose, blowing shrill
into our faces, and I was forced to clutch my hat under my coat. A
drop of rain stung my hand, then two more on my cheek, and I guessed
the full onslaught was about to break.
'Best
head away from the cliff,' bawled Ducker, who had paused for me to
catch up. 'Nasty gusts hereabouts.'
I
hardly needed convincing. Although the result might be fascinating, I
had no desire to prove Crawley's hypothesis as to how far the wind
might carry a man off the cliff-top. And the path was already barely
visible; in a few minutes, with darkness rushing in, it would be lost
completely.
'Over
there.' I pointed to where a narrow, wooded valley sank away to our
right. 'It should provide some shelter.'
No
sooner had I spoken than a peal of thunder rolled across the sky. I
saw doubt on Ducker's face, but I held to my decision: if lightning
was to strike, it seemed better to offer a choice of targets and take
our chances. Though from what Ducker had seen of my luck, I realized,
that might seem a poor idea.
The
quickening tempo of the rain, and the way the wind whipped it against
my skin, decided me, and without further consultation I started
running across the field. My shoes grew heavy from the mud that
clumped onto them, and my shirt was soon clasped tight to my skin,
but I carried on, bent on reaching the sanctuary of the woods.
A
quick glance over my shoulder sent me sliding down on one knee, but I
recovered my balance even as a gust of wind tried to toss me in yet
another direction. Now I could see the edge of the trees, hear the
wind hissing through their branches only a few yards on.
I
reached the valley's rim. The trees dropped away before me, and I was
about to plunge into whatever shelter they might offer when I saw an
orange light glowing on my left. The water running off my sodden hair
had half blinded me, and I needed a moment to clear my eyes; even
then I could hardly be sure, peering through my fingers into the
whirl of rain and cloud, but it seemed that at the head of the
shallow valley, hidden until now by the slope, stood a house. I could
see only the vaguest outline of the building itself, but light shone
from its windows like a beacon.
'There,'
I shouted, though I had no idea if Ducker had heard me; then I was
stumbling across the hillside, making as straight as I could for that
inviting light. My feet slid constantly away from me, and though the
slope provided some protection against the wind, the rain beat down
heavier than ever.
As
I neared the house, I began to see its size: with its two storeys,
crenellated rooftop and miniature turrets, it seemed more the home of
a squire than a farmer. Its gardens too were fashionable rather than
practical, I noticed, gouging my way across the lawns. There was no
obvious entrance in the facade ahead of me, but a gravel path around
the side brought me out to the front, where a large portico, like
some Grecian temple, announced the door.
"This’ll
do,' acknowledged Ducker as we came under the roof.
'We
can wait 'ere till it clears.'
'Certainly
not,' I retorted. 'A fine pair of ruffians we'd make, loitering on
these good people's doorstep.'
I
heard a muttered reply, something about a pair of ruffians loitering
in the parlour instead, but I was
night, but that don't mean 'e don't know to keep 'is nose out o'
whoever's business it is.'
'And
whose business is it?'
'Couldn't
say.' Once again Ducker was proving entirely useless. 'But 'e's
probably not livin' in a broken boat shoved in a cave.'
I
growled, for although what Ducker said rang true, it did not give me
much comfort, and his manner bordered on insult. It irked me too that
he had managed to unsettle my good mood, forced though it had been.
When he quickened his stride, I did not bother to keep pace.
It
was not just Ducker bringing on gloom, though: the black clouds I had
noticed earlier now covered the sky, advancing the afternoon and
placing us in deep shadow. The pitch of the wind rose, blowing shrill
into our faces, and I was forced to clutch my hat under my coat. A
drop of rain stung my hand, then two more on my cheek, and I guessed
the full onslaught was about to break.
'Best
head away from the cliff,' bawled Ducker, who had paused for me to
catch up. 'Nasty gusts hereabouts.'
I
hardly needed convincing. Although the result might be fascinating, I
had no desire to prove Crawley's hypothesis as to how far the wind
might carry a man off the cliff-top. And the path was already barely
visible; in a few minutes, with darkness rushing in, it would be lost
completely.
'Over
there.' I pointed to where a narrow, wooded valley sank away to our
right. 'It should provide some shelter.'
No
sooner had I spoken than a peal of thunder rolled across the sky. I
saw doubt on Ducker's face, but I held to my decision: if lightning
was to strike, it seemed better to offer a choice of targets and take
our chances. Though from what Ducker had seen of my luck, I realized,
that might seem a poor idea.
The
quickening tempo of the rain, and the way the wind whipped it against
my skin, decided me, and without further consultation I started
running across the field. My shoes grew heavy from the mud that
clumped onto them, and my shirt was soon clasped tight to my skin,
but I carried on, bent on reaching the sanctuary of the woods.
A
quick glance over my shoulder sent me sliding down on one knee, but I
recovered my balance even as a gust of wind tried to toss me in yet
another direction. Now I could see the edge of the trees, hear the
wind hissing through their branches only a few yards on.
I
reached the valley's rim. The trees dropped away before me, and I was
about to plunge into whatever shelter they might offer when I saw an
orange light glowing on my left. The water running off my sodden hair
had half blinded me, and I needed a moment to clear my eyes; even
then I could hardly be sure, peering through my fingers into the
whirl of rain and cloud, but it seemed that at the head of the
shallow valley, hidden until now by the slope, stood a house. I could
see only the vaguest outline of the building itself, but light shone
from its windows like a beacon.
'There,'
I shouted, though I had no idea if Ducker had heard me; then I was
stumbling across the hillside, making as straight as I could for that
inviting light. My feet slid constantly away from me, and though the
slope provided some protection against the wind, the rain beat down
heavier than ever.
As
I neared the house, I began to see its size: with its two storeys,
crenellated rooftop and miniature turrets, it seemed more the home of
a squire than a farmer. Its gardens too were fashionable rather than
practical, I noticed, gouging my way across the lawns. There was no
obvious entrance in the facade ahead of me, but a gravel path around
the side brought me out to the front, where a large portico, like
some Grecian temple, announced the door.
"This’ll
do,' acknowledged Ducker as we came under the roof.
'We
can wait 'ere till it clears.'
'Certainly
not,' I retorted. 'A fine pair of ruffians we'd make, loitering on
these good people's doorstep.'
I
heard a muttered reply, something about a pair of ruffians loitering
in the parlour instead, but I was
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