Page 87 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

The motte reared up, the top black against the pale, clean sky. Axe Brandom had been sitting at the foot of it, and now stood – a lesser man would have waved in relief. His eyes checked the men, the cart, and what he could see of its contents. Giles halted Vipsania and Axe came to her; she sighed and rested her nose against his chest. Over her ears he addressed Giles.

‘’Twas my bitch found him, my lord. I wondered what she was after, scrabbling at a rabbit hole, then I heard him cry out.’

‘Rabbit hole?’ Arthur was a small child, but too big for any rabbit hole.

‘There’s something deeper below,’ Axe said. ‘Reckon it might be the dungeons of the old castle. The lad must have tried to get under the bush to shelter for the night, and the earth gave way, and down he went. The roots’ve probably loosened it enough and it’s fallen in. I could just see him before the light got worse. He’s down a good six feet. Reckon he’s hurt himself. Can’t climb out on his own, so someone’ll have to go down there.’

‘Hence the rope,’ Giles said out loud.

‘And the hole needs to be made bigger.’

‘Is he conscious?’

‘I’ve been talking to him, trying to jolly him along,’ said Axe. ‘He’s scared, o’ course. I can’t make out from him how bad he’s hurt.’

‘Let’s get to work,’ Giles said.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was awkward to get at the place and they had to chop down and then pull the bush out entirely, which caused an alarming-sounding fall of earth and stones inside the hole. Once that was out of the way, it was clear enough to see what had happened. Much activity by rabbits plus the roots of the bushes had loosened the earth, and whatever had formed the ceiling of the space below had collapsed. It didn’t take long to enlarge the hole, and Giles knelt down carefully and peered in. The light was failing, and it was hard to see much, but there was a stone-flagged floor below, and he could see a glimpse of stone walls as well. Definitely some kind of ancient chamber. His archaeological senses shivered at the thought of exploring what had not been entered in hundreds of years.

Arthur was a huddled shape, and a white face turning upwards. ‘Arthur, it’s Uncle Giles,’ he called. ‘We’re going to get you out. Don’t be afraid. I’m coming down to get you.’

The boy only made a whimpering noise. God knew how long he had been down there. He had probably feared he would never be found. It was not surprising that speech had abandoned him.

They tied the end of the rope to the cart’s axle, with two men to take the strain of the descent. He didn’t want to put too much pull on the axle – it was an old cart, and they’d need it to get the boy home.

Afton said, ‘I’ll go down, if you’ll permit me, my lord.’

‘Why you?’

‘I’m smaller than you, my lord, and lighter to pull up. And,’ he added, when Giles was about to argue, ‘I know a bit about first aid.’

Giles locked eyes with him, then his shoulders went down. ‘I suppose that makes sense. Go on, then.’

Afton lowered himself carefully through the hole, hand over hand down the rope. There was an anxious wait with nothing but small noises and a murmuring voice down below. Then he appeared under the hole, face turned up, and called quietly. ‘I think we’ve got a broken leg down here. I’ll need to splint it before we move him. Can you find some stout lengths of wood?’

Giles sent two men to cut some branches, glad they’d brought an axe. ‘How is he otherwise?’ he called down to Afton.

‘Very cold, frightened out of his wits. I’ll have the blankets and the brandy now, please.’

Dusk came on while the quiet endeavours went on around the hole. In the woods a tawny owl called, and was answered from another stand of trees, the sound haunting on the chilly darkling air. Biscuit sighed and eased his weight, and blew at Vipsania, who was standing nose-to-nose with him. Giles threw one of the blankets over the mare’s back. One of the men offered him a cigarette but he refused.

Then Afton called up that he was ready. The problem was how to get the boy up without hurting him. Afton said the best way was for him to hold the child and for them to be pulled up together.

Axe said, ‘We got six men. And horse power.’

So they unhitched Biscuit and Axe fixed the rope to his collar. Afton tied his end round himself, clasped the child tightly against his body. All of them took a place on the rope as if they were about to play tug-of-war, Oscar at Biscuit’s head clicked and led him forward, and slowly but without much difficulty they hauled Afton up. The trickiest bit was at the top. While the pony and three of the men kept the rope taut, the others knelt by the hole and got hold of Arthur to manoeuvre him out. A shrill cry told them it had hurt him, but then Axe was rising to his feet with the blanket-wrapped bundle safe in his arms. They lowered Afton again to collect the first-aid box, and then got him out.

‘How did you manage to see down there?’ Giles asked.

‘It seems darker when you’re outside looking in than when you’re inside looking out,’ Afton said, brushing loose soil from his sleeves. ‘The poor little lad’s very shocked, but I don’t think too badly hurt. Someone should go ahead and prepare them at the house, and have the doctor sent for.’

‘Yes,’ said Giles. He put the stable boy up on Vipsania and sent him off at a trot. Afton got into the cart and held Arthur, and the little procession set off again. The path was only visible as a whitish line between what were now the black stretches of the grass.

Dr Welkes had set the leg and administered a draught, and Arthur was sleeping heavily, with hot-water bottles and extra blankets.

‘One or two scratches and bruises. Luckily children tend to fall easily. It was bad luck about the leg, but it could have been much worse – you say the drop was about six feet?’