The Guinea Thief - Chapter 9 - Spook Lane Part 2

Fred was mid-way through a tale of the mad monk who haunts the field and lane where the old monastery used to stand on Hayling when a young boy tugged on Robert’s sleeve.
“Please Sir. Tom says to tell you that the Antigone’s heading west.”
“Good, thank you lad. Here’s a penny for that. Now get yourself home, it’s late.”
The boy took the penny gratefully and scampered out of the door.
“Let’s get going.”
Robert lead the men out of the back of the pub and into the stable block behind it. Rough straw acrid with the smell of manure and urine covered the floor. Using his boots, not his hands, Robert swept aside the straw in the far corner of the stable revealing an iron ring in one of the flagstones.
“Fred give me a hand.”
Together they heaved the flagstone out of place and revealed a set of wooden steps leading down into the darkness below.
“It’s fifteen steps to the bottom, then just follow the passage, it twists and turns a bit but just keep going. The floor isn’t too even, so be careful you don’t trip. We’ve got no lantern tonight, the less light we show the better. Fred you go first. Jack plunged into the dark fetid tunnel, the air was damp and smelt of the sea. The floor was mud, Jack’s boots squelched in the passage slipping and sliding in the puddles. There was crack behind him. George swore.
“What was that?”
“Could have been his head, but probably a bit of seaweed, maybe some crabs. Just keep moving, we’re almost there.”
Jack was wondering if the tunnel ever flooded, when he stubbed his foot on a stone step.
“Sorry Jack, I should have warned you we was at the end. Ten steps up and we’ll come out in the water mill. ” said Fred.
At the top of the steps Jack waited while Fred pushed open the trapdoor to reveal a large cellar stacked with barrels, tea chests and sack upon sack of flour and sugar.
“It’s not a bad stash old Tom’s got, is it now?”
“This is all Tom’s?”
“Aye he’s the millers nephew! Between the two of them they make a pretty good living.”
Georges and Robert joined them in the cellar.
“There’s a door over there, it opens out onto the wheel race. A path runs along the race and then we’re at the back of the mill and a few yards from Pook Lane. There’s plenty of bushes and cover so no-one should see us from the water.” said Robert
Moments later they were out in the fresh air, Jack breathed in deeply. But it smelt just as much of mud and the beach as the tunnel had. His eyes adjusted now to complete darkness, up ahead he could make out a dark shape like a huge impenetrable wall with blurred edges. As he got nearer he realised this was not a man made wall, but a thorny thicket, natural but equally well designed to keep people out. Fred led the way into the thicket, pushing aside a hazel panel interwoven with ivy which blocked the entrance.
“The ivy makes it look more real. So even in daylight it’s not obvious there’s a way through.”
There was a path of sorts.
“Fred.” Jack whispered.
“Yes?”
“Them ghosts earlier.” Jack paused as a thorny branch caught in his sleeve. “Was it true then? Are there ghosts here?”
“Don’t you worry about no ghosts. I’ve never seen one yet. It’s just an old story and I tell it to keep the good folk of Langstone out of our way. ” said Fred.
“Good. Only this place gives me the willies. I wish you hadn’t told those stories tonight. I keep expecting a headless horseman to come crashing down on us any minute.”
“Listen lad, just remember this. If you do see one, don’t scream too loud, or we’ll have the excise all over us!”
Ahead the thicket opened up into a narrow lane. Trees grew thick along either side their branches interlocked and forming a dense roof. Even though the leaves had fallen Jack could imagine that in daylight there would be little light breaking through the gloom. The men trudged along the lane, their mud caked boots crunching through great piles of leaves that were strewn across the lane. Jack wished they could have a lantern. Even if there were no ghosts it deserved it’s nickname, Spook Lane.
“Jack, look, see over there’s the Castle.”
Jack looked in the direction Fred was pointing. Jagged against the dark sky was the silouhette of ramparts and a tower. The ramparts seemed to fall away into nothing.
“The men are waiting for us in the church just beyond the castle. There should be a bite to eat if you’re hungry.”
“Really?” Jack cheered up.
“Aye the lad’s think it’s a great laugh to go down into the crypt and have supper among the skelingtons.”
“What skeletons?”
“In the church, it’s full of old tombstones inside. Less chance of having your tomb robbed if it was in the crypt. There’s an old priests hole that connects to a passage which leads all the way down to the shore. Robert says they used to escape from King Henry’s men when they was taking away all the church valuables. But I think it’s been there longer than that. Always good to have somewhere to hide when you live so close to the shore. It’s a bit exposed here. Ripe for the plucking. Some say there’s a still a stash of gold hidden down on the beach. But it’s never been found.”
As Jack passed under the shadow of the castle he could not help but look up and search the ramparts for signs of ghostly soldiers. An owl hooted and Jack jumped out of his skin.
Fred laughed. “That’s Matthew you idiot. It’s our signal.”
Fred answered with two hoots of his own. Jack felt very stupid. Behind the castle stood the church, surrounded by moss covered gravestones and a large celtic cross. The tombstones lurched drunkenly in their graves; the cross rose up defiantly, it’s edges nibbled by the biting salt wind. Fred pushed open the solid wooden door. A single candle lit up the nave, but Jack could not see anyone there.
Fred led them to the chapel on the right hand side . “The crypt’s down here.”
Jack went down the old stone steps, their edges were as worn as the stones outside. They had been rubbed smooth with years of use. Down in the crypt torches lit up the confined space. Coffins lined the stone shelves, their brass nameplates tinged green with age. Some of the coffins were split open to reveal the bones inside, and one shelf was piled high with skulls with no box to hide behind. At the far end of the crypt was a stone tomb. Sitting on top of it was Luke and John. They were playing dice, a bottle of rum by their side.
“Evening Jack. About time you showed up. It’s cold down here and Luke’s running out of money. I’ve got a wife to keep you know. Fancy your luck?”
Jack laughed and joined his cousins on the tombstone. It was a strange place to play, but it seemed to make the presence of the dead men around them a little less threatening.