The Beasts of Clawstone Castle

It was now that they remembered the nozzle of the spray-gun in the gravel pit. The cows must have been to the pit, then, and sprayed... but why? So that they could be stolen and carried off to another part of the country? Stolen from the vets who were going to bury them, so that they could be sold perhaps for slaughter in some place where people did not care whether the animals were infected or not?

Why should anyone disguise the cows unless they were doing something illegal, and meant them harm?

But Madlyn had had enough.

‘We’re going to go back now and tell Uncle George and the police about this. And quickly.’

They turned and ran back, dropping down on to the sands again, trudging through piles of seaweed, skirting the rock pools. The wind was freshening, blowing from the north. They crossed the bay with the jetty safely; they were nearly there. It was only a short run across the beach to the causeway.

‘Stop!’

The voice was deep, foreign. Barring the way was a man wearing baggy trousers and an embroidered tunic. His face was sunburned, he had a large curving moustache and he carried a pitchfork. For a moment the children thought they might be able to run for it – but now a second man, with an even larger moustache and even baggier trousers, appeared from behind a bush, armed with a heavy stick. They did not look like the kind of people from whom it would be easy to escape.

‘You come with us,’ said the first man. ‘Now. Quick. The boss, he waits.’

And the children were led away.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was easy to see that the building they were taken to had been a hotel – and not an ordinary hotel: a hotel for people who had been very rich indeed.

As the children were led along a corridor their feet sank into deep-pile carpets; there were chandeliers instead of ordinary lamps; hot air came up through vents in the walls, and the fireplaces were made of marble. It was extraordinary, finding all this luxury while outside lay the bleak island with its wind-flattened grass.

And floating invisibly above the children were the ghosts. The men with baggy trousers did not seem to be allowed in the hotel. They had pushed the children inside and it was a large, muscular woman in a maid’s uniform who led them up the wide staircase and knocked on a door with a brass plate on it saying ‘Dr Maurice Manners M.B.B.S. M.R.C.G.P.’

A voice said, ‘Come in,’ and they were pushed forward into the study of the man who owned the island.

Dr Manners sat behind an enormous desk on which was a bust of the great naturalist Charles Darwin. Although it was early in the morning, he was formally dressed in a pale grey suit with a mauve silk shirt and matching tie. He had fair wavy hair lightly touched with silver at the temples, and his hands, with their long fingers and beautifully manicured nails, were folded over a neat sheaf of papers on his desk. The sweet smell of toilet water, which he had mixed for him specially, hung over the room.

When he saw the children he smiled – a warm, friendly smile.

‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘You’re very early. You’ve come to thank me, I imagine, but there was no need. I don’t require praise. What I do, I do for the satisfaction of a job well done.’

All three children gaped at him. Madlyn was the first to find her voice.

‘You stole our cows – the Clawstone cattle. You needn’t think we didn’t recognize them just because they were dyed.’

Dr Manners’s smile grew even more charming.

‘You could say I stole them. But I prefer the word “rescue”.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Madlyn. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s quite simple. Your cows were under sentence of death, were they not? They were due to be killed?’

‘Yes.’ Rollo had found his voice. ‘They had Klappert’s Disease.’

‘Exactly so. The vets from the ministry found that they had this disease and the vets were perfectly correct. People like that don’t make a mistake.’ He pressed the tips of his fingers together. ‘And the regulations say that animals infected in this way must be destroyed instantly and the carcasses buried. That is the law and the law must be obeyed, must it not?’

‘Yes.’ All three children nodded their heads.

‘But to kill animals unnecessarily is a sin. To kill at all, except in self-defence, is wicked. At least that is what I believe.’

‘It is what we believe too,’ said Ned.

‘Good. Good.’ Again he smiled that very charming smile. ‘Not everybody can act on their beliefs, of course. However, I am fortunate in that I can.’ He glanced out of the window at a group of men who were going past. Some wore white coats, some were in overalls – all of them looked purposeful and busy. ‘I have helpers, you see. Marvellous helpers for whom I give thanks every day of my life. I have scientists trained in all the problems of animal health. And not only scientists.’ He leaned across to the children. ‘I wonder if you have ever heard of a country called Mundania?’

The children shook their heads.