The Beasts of Clawstone Castle

The American was still holding the Hoggart in his hands. It looked more than ever like part of a Pekinese that had fallen on hard times. Now he rose to his feet.

‘Sir George, I know what this must mean to you. You must prize it above everything in your collection. But if you would sell it to me – I can’t tell you what it would mean.’

Sir George was about to open his mouth and say that Mr Hoggart was welcome to the thing, it had no value for him But before he could do so, Madlyn had stepped heavily on his foot.

‘How much would you give for it?’ she asked.

‘Would you take two?’ asked the American. ‘Two million, of course.’

‘Pounds or dollars?’ said Madlyn.

‘Dollars. But, say, if that’s not enough, how about two and a half ? The money doesn’t matter to me – I manufacture non-stick pans and you’d be amazed how many people need those. I could go up to three but I might have to call Clara—’

Sir George swallowed.

‘Two and a half is enough,’ he said, and found his hand pumped up and down by the blissful Mr Hoggart.

‘Thank you, sir. Thank you. You’ve made me a very happy man. Oh, wait till I call Clara. We’ll keep it under glass in the hall where everyone can see it.’

Sir George did not say so, but he too was a very happy man. The money, carefully invested, would see to the upkeep of the cattle for years and years and years.

Knowing that the ghosts could rest now and that Aunt Emily did not need to make lavender bags or bake scones was a great relief. Even so, it was difficult not to be sad when the time came to go home.

For Rollo the thought of returning to London was made easier because of something his parents had told him on the telephone.

His skink had become a father. There were five baby skinks; not eggs but proper skinks the size of little fingernails. There’d been a letter from the zoo.

‘So I suppose I’m a sort of skink grandfather,’ said Rollo.

‘We’ll be back at Christmas,’ said Madlyn, standing close to Ned as they waited for the taxi to take them to the station.

‘And at Easter,’ said Rollo.

But they were back even sooner than that because they were invited to a funeral.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Funerals are often sad, but this one was not sad at all. It’s true everybody cried, but the tears were happy ones and the loud sniffs that echoed through the little church at Blackscar sounded musical and right.

After all, it was not a funeral so much as a reunion.

Three months had passed since the Clawstone Cattle had walked to safety over the water and Dr Manners and Dr Fangster had been taken away by the police. But the banshees had been right when they said they had remembered something important about The Feet. Many years ago they had gone up to wail at the funeral of a wealthy grocer from Edinburgh who wanted to be buried near his mother’s old home by the sea, and after the ceremony the verger had shown them the tomb of Hamish MacAllister, the Chieftain of the Blackscar MacAllisters.

Even then there was nothing left of the brave chief’s name carved in the stone except the ISH part of Hamish, but the verger was interested in history and he had told them that when MacAllister had been taken for burial, no one could find his feet.

‘It was after one of those messy border battles where they fought with cutlasses and broadswords and axes. One can’t blame anyone,’ said the verger. ‘It must have been so difficult sorting everything out.’

And when the banshees had met The Feet in the gravel pit something had tugged at their memories.

Even so, it took a long time to organize a proper funeral. The little church was seldom used now; they had to get special permission and the ceremony they planned was an unusual one – but nothing, in the end, could have been more moving and more beautiful.

The ghosts and the children sat in the front pew with The Feet resting between Madlyn and Sunita. No one had been silly and tried to decorate them with ribbons or polish their toenails. The Feet were what they had always been: strong and manly – and themselves.

Behind them sat Aunt Emily and Uncle George with Mr and Mrs Hamilton, the children’s parents, who had come up from London, and next to them sat Mrs Grove with her brother, the warden, who was quite well again. It had taken the hospital a while to find that his stomach cramps were not due to appendicitis but to something he had eaten, and when Manners’s crooks were exposed it was found that the lunch box he took to work had been tampered with. Major Hardbottock, the man who had made the ghosts famous, was there too – and one person they scarcely knew and had not at all expected to see: Lady Trembellow.

The rest of the church was given up to visitors and most of these were ghosts. The ghosts from the Thursday Gatherings had made their way to Blackscar: Fifi Fenwick, and the Admiral, and kind Mrs Lee-Perry, who had passed on now and become a phantom too, so that travelling was much easier ... and Hal, Mr Smith’s friend from the motorway who had first noticed the cattle going north.