The Girl of the Gate
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“I am not a witch,” said Lettie Hempstock. “And I don’t believe in witches.” She was sitting on her bed, looking out through the open window at the rain-swept garden and wondering if she could persuade herself that it wasn’t raining after all; but there were no clouds to be seen anywhere above the rooftops.
The sky had been as black as ink when they arrived last night from London—that’s what Mrs. Quent called their house, which is where Mr. Hempstock works for his father (who has died), though he lives with them too now because of some trouble about money…
It must have rained very hard while they slept, then stopped just before dawn so that everything looked fresh and clean this morning. But even without any cloud cover, you couldn’t see much more than the tops of trees against an overcast sky: only here and there a patch of pale blue between the dark branches. And today would probably be like yesterday again, except colder.
Lettie didn’t know why people believed in witches anyway. They’d never done anything bad enough ever since she knew about them. Witches weren’t real, or else they did such small things nobody noticed until one day everybody suddenly remembered how wicked witches are supposed to be and started talking about them everywhere.
That happened once already during her lifetime—the first time she heard someone mention witches being evil. Her mother told her that story years ago, back when Lettice Hempstock still lived with her parents and sisters in London.
Before that, everyone used to say witches were good and sometimes kinder than anyone else. Nowadays it seemed that most grownups thought witches were nasty old women who made spells and potions and stole babies away by magic.
Even the ones who hadn’t forgotten what witches really were usually agreed that they oughtn’t to exist anymore. There was something wrong somewhere. If witches were still around, surely somebody should notice?
But maybe they’re hiding, whispered a little voice inside Lettie’s head. Maybe we’ve got rid of them all, but they haven’t gone far yet. Or maybe they aren’t actually witches at all. Perhaps they can do nothing themselves, but they make other people into witches instead. Like those men in white coats who come and take children away from their mothers. Who knows?
She sighed. It sounded silly, even to her own ears. But it wouldn’t hurt anybody if she kept thinking about it for a bit longer, would it? Just in case…?
There might be something in it. People do strange things nowadays. A lot of them seem mad. Some of them talk nonsense. Others behave oddly. Sometimes they act funny. Then there are others whose minds work differently altogether—they think different thoughts, feel different emotions and speak in ways that sound alien.
What does that mean, exactly? Is it possible for human beings to change quite so radically that they become completely unlike us?
It doesn’t matter, she decided. Let’s forget about witches. For now. Instead, let’s try to remember what I’m going to tell Mrs. Quent later.
What she wanted to say was simple enough. Why shouldn’t she go walking in the woods near the village every day, as long as she stayed close to home? After all, she always came back safely, and she felt safe enough. Besides, there was plenty of daylight left, and besides, she needed exercise.
As soon as she finished telling Mrs. Quent that, she added, I’ll ask my brother if he wants me to walk him up to school tomorrow. He goes to St. Mary’s.
That was true too. Ben went to the same boarding school as her older sister Alice, although they both hated it. Their father had sent them there himself, many years earlier. At least, Lettie assumed it was their father who’d sent them.
Nobody mentioned the name of the place, nor did anybody call it anything but “St. Mary’s.” All the teachers wore uniforms, and none of them talked about what they did outside school hours. Neither boy had ever spoken of having friends among his classmates either.
When asked, Lettie and Ben simply replied that they spent their free time reading books or playing chess, neither of which was strictly true. In fact, they played games together almost exclusively, and they read whatever interested them.
Sooner or later, however, they’d run out of ideas, and then they’d start arguing about whether it was better to play cricket indoors or outdoors or to watch TV or listen to records, or spend their spare time learning French verbs or doing sums. Those sorts of arguments often ended in tears.
Ben Hempstock was seventeen now, and Lettie was fifteen. Both boys’ hair was thick and brown, and they shared the same hazel eyes and broad shoulders. They also had similar noses, chins, lips, and teeth, which meant that they resembled each other rather closely.
The only difference between them was that Ben was taller and heavier; otherwise, they looked like twins. Which is probably why they were called the Twins, said Lettie. She wasn’t sure where the nickname originated, though. Probably some teacher at St. Mary’s.
Anyway, that was what they were known as. Not just by the staff, but by everyone else too: the villagers, the shopkeepers, the postman… Everybody except Mrs. Quent, who liked them very much indeed. And perhaps not even her.
Lettie wondered how Mrs. Quent managed to keep track of them without knowing everything about their lives. How could she possibly know what they ate for breakfast, or who their best friend was, or whether they preferred classical music or rock ‘n roll?
Yet somehow she always seemed to have an answer whenever Lettie asked questions, and more often than not it turned out that Mrs. Quent herself had been involved in setting up that particular situation. This was especially true of Ben and Alice.
“I suppose you want to know,” said Mrs. Quent. “Well, I don’t mind telling you. You see, when your mother first started teaching here, she didn’t really understand what she was letting herself in for. Well, she understood perfectly well, but…”
Mrs. Quent paused. Her face grew stern, and she stared straight ahead with a look on it that suggested that this story should never be repeated.
“…but she thought that because the school was located in such beautiful surroundings, its pupils would naturally turn out to be good, hardworking young people. That’s what happens sometimes, isn’t it?”
The two girls nodded eagerly.
“But instead of being grateful, most of those children behaved badly. Or worse still, they became lazy and indifferent. Your mother tried to make them study harder, but they ignored her. Eventually, she gave up trying to teach them properly and concentrated mainly on making them learn to take care of themselves.
To cook, clean, sew, mend clothes, grow food from seeds and plants, and generally help around the house. Of course, we weren’t rich—we couldn’t afford servants! But fortunately, your mother knew how to do things for herself. It made life easier for us all. And it taught the children valuable skills. Skills that might come in useful one day, if they ever got married!”
She smiled fondly down at her granddaughter. “And so it happened that the three of you were born into our family. We’ve raised you ourselves, and done the best job possible. Now, are you ready to get changed? Because we’re going shopping today.”
***
THEY WERE IN THE SHOPPING CAR PARK. A large white van had pulled up next to the car containing the Twins. Two men climbed out of it and walked toward the entrance of the supermarket. One of these was Mr. Wilkins, the headmaster, while the other was Dr. Jones, the school doctor. He opened the back door of the van and took out a small black bag. Then he handed it to the headmaster.
Mr. Wilkins reached inside the bag and produced several items. These included a pair of scissors, tweezers, pliers, wire cutters, and a set of keys. After examining them carefully, the headmaster put the tools away again and closed the bag. Finally, he picked up the yellow plastic box that contained the crossbow bolt.
He held it aloft above his head, and shouted triumphantly: “We have found him!”
Dr. Jones grinned broadly. “Excellent work, Headmaster!”
Mr. Wilkins nodded gravely. “Yes, excellent indeed. Very impressive. So let me ask you something. Do you think it’s likely that the boy has any weapons hidden nearby?”
The doctor pursed his lips thoughtfully. “No, I’m afraid not. There aren’t many hiding places near here. In fact, there’s nowhere within walking distance that doesn’t belong to someone else. If anyone did hide anything, then it must have been somewhere close to home. Somewhere safe, where no one will find it easily.”
“So why don’t we go back now, and start searching for clues as to which house belongs to the boy’s parents?” suggested the headmaster.
“Good idea,” agreed Dr. Jones. “You can drive the van over to the nearest estate agent’s office, and check through the newspapers for advertisements for new houses. The sooner we locate the boy’s residence, the better.
Don’t forget to bring along some pencils and paper, so that you can write down the details of each property you visit. Oh, and also remember to buy a map of the area. Let’s hope the local council hasn’t decided to change the name of every street yet again!”
They both laughed heartily at that last remark and began climbing into the van. As soon as they’d settled themselves comfortably, the driver reversed the vehicle out of the parking space and drove off towards the town center.
It wasn’t long before they arrived at the estate agent’s offices, and parked outside. They stepped out of the van and strolled across to a row of wooden doors. Each of these was marked by an illuminated sign displaying the name of the company concerned.
On closer inspection, however, the letters on the signs looked faded and worn, and the paintwork was peeling slightly. Clearly, the business hadn’t been doing very well recently.
Mr. Wilkins knocked loudly on the glass frontage of the first agency. This consisted of four panes of toughened safety glass, separated by narrow strips of wood. When this proved ineffective, he pushed open the door itself and entered. Inside, everything appeared neat and tidy. However, the atmosphere was rather gloomy, with only a few bare light bulbs illuminating the interior.
A woman sat behind the reception desk. She wore glasses, and her hair was tied up neatly under a severe bun. Her face bore the telltale signs of years spent working in an office environment.
“Can I help you?” asked the lady.
Mr. Wilkins shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, madam; we haven’t come to sell or rent properties. Our purpose is far more urgent than that. You see, we need information about a young man who lives around here.
His name is David Smith, but everyone calls him ‘the boy’. Unfortunately, we don’t know exactly where he comes from. All we do know is that he lived alone until yesterday evening when he moved into a house just outside town. That’s all we really want to know right now.
But if we could find out where he came from originally, then we might be able to trace his relatives, and discover what became of his mother and father.”
Mrs. Green frowned. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to give your request serious consideration. What makes you believe that our records contain any useful information? Have you already checked elsewhere?”
Mr. Wilkins explained how he had visited two other agencies earlier that morning. Both times, their staff members claimed that none of their files contained any relevant data. Mrs. Green listened patiently, nodding occasionally. At length, she said: “All right. We’ll take another look through the documents. Perhaps we missed something.”
She walked briskly away from the counter and disappeared down one of the side corridors. Mr. Wilkins followed her and waited while the woman rifled through various folders. Eventually, she returned to the main desk, holding a piece of folded paper in her hand.
“Here we are,” announced Mrs. Green. “This is the address book for the past year. It contains the names of everyone who rented or sold a house during that period. Now, please note – this list does NOT include people like solicitors, surveyors, architects, and suchlike.
Nor does it cover those individuals whose addresses were changed without notice. And obviously, it includes nobody who still resides in the same place today. So keep that firmly in mind, won’t you?”
“Of course,” replied Mr. Wilkins politely. He took the sheet of paper from her hands and turned to study its contents. A moment later, he sighed deeply.
“There isn’t much here,” he admitted unhappily. “Just thirty-seven entries. Of these, three appear to be duplicated. One person appears twice, once under both surnames. Another has apparently used several different spellings of his surname throughout the year.
Only seven of them seem to have been living at the same location within the district. Two of these are listed as being married couples. Three others live together in a single home. Five of the residents are men, and five are women. Fourteen of the occupants are aged between twenty and forty. Six of them are younger than eighteen, including the boy himself.”
Dr. White nodded slowly. “That seems quite satisfactory. Do you think there’s anything else we can learn from this document?”
The elderly woman smiled wryly. “Actually, yes. There’s one thing that may prove enlightening. Look at the entry for number fourteen. The name is Peter Davenport. That means that the occupant must also be called Peter. If so, perhaps we should pay this particular property a visit.
After all, it would make sense to assume that the owner will know most things about the tenant. Let me check my notes again…”
She rummaged among some papers on her desk, before finally producing a small notebook. Opening it carefully, she began reading aloud: “‘Peter Davenport, age nineteen. Single male. Born in…’ Yes! Here we go!”
She read on, pausing periodically to consult her own handwritten notes. Finally, she closed the book and looked directly at Dr. White.
“According to my calculations, Peter arrived in the area last month. As you say, he’s probably new to the community. However, according to local gossip, he’s not entirely unknown. Apparently, he works as an assistant manager at a large supermarket chain.
Which suggests that he’s got no family ties with anyone in the vicinity. In fact, none whatsoever. No wife, children, parents, grandparents, cousins, uncles, nephews, nieces, brothers, sisters, or friends. Nothing. Not even a distant cousin whom he met only once at a funeral. Does that sound correct?”
“It certainly does,” agreed Dr. White. “In fact, it sounds almost impossible. Is there any way of verifying this claim?”
Mrs. Green shrugged. “Not unless someone happens to remember meeting this individual somewhere. Or maybe hears from somebody who did meet him. But that doesn’t happen very often. People tend to forget each other after they’ve parted company.”
“So you’re saying that we shouldn’t waste time visiting this residence?” asked Dr. White.
Mrs. Green shook her head. “No. You’d better do just that. Otherwise, you might miss out on valuable clues. Besides, we don’t want to leave anything important unturned. This could turn into a major case sooner rather than later.
And if it does, then we need every scrap of evidence available to us. Even if it turns out that the suspect is innocent, we’ll still have gathered vital information. And that will stand us in good stead when we come to question him.”
***
A short distance away, Detective Sergeant Jack Shepherd was sitting alone in his car. He had parked outside the entrance to a block of flats and now sat gazing thoughtfully at the building itself. His thoughts were far removed from the investigation currently underway.
Instead, he found himself wondering what lay behind the mysterious disappearance of his father. Why hadn’t he ever heard from him since the day he left? What kind of man had he become over the years? How many secrets was he hiding from his son? Was he involved in criminal activity?
Had he fallen victim to some terrible accident while traveling abroad? Did he suffer from a debilitating illness? Or worse yet, had he committed suicide? All of these scenarios seemed plausible enough. Yet somehow, none of them made complete sense.
They didn’t explain why his father would suddenly vanish without warning. And if he really wanted to disappear forever, couldn’t he have done so by simply walking off into the night? Surely, that wouldn’t require too much effort on his part. It wasn’t like he needed money.
Nor did he need a place to stay. So long as he kept moving forward, eventually, he’d reach a destination where nobody knew him. Then he could start afresh. Perhaps he felt trapped inside his old life. Maybe he saw no future ahead of him. Who knows what went through his mind during those final days?
He stared up at the dark windows high above. For a moment, he wondered whether he ought to knock on the door and ask for permission to enter. But he soon dismissed such notions. First, because he doubted that the occupants would allow him access.
Second, he suspected that their reaction might be violent. Third, he feared that entering the premises might lead to serious complications down the line. Eventually, he decided against making contact. Instead, he turned back toward the vehicle, and started driving home. Whatever happened next, he realized that he would have to deal with it on his own.
***
The following morning, Dr. White returned to work feeling refreshed and energized. The previous evening’s events had been exhilarating, but also exhausting. Mrs. Green had spent most of the night poring over her notes.
She had discovered several interesting facts about Peter Davenport, which suggested that he was indeed a stranger to the area. Moreover, he lived alone and appeared to have no close relatives living nearby.
In addition, he worked as an assistant manager at a large supermarket chain, suggesting that he possessed considerable financial resources. These factors combined to make him seem suspicious. Therefore, she recommended that they visit his house immediately.
If nothing else, they should take photographs of his property. After all, such images could prove useful in court proceedings. That said, they must tread carefully. There remained a possibility that he was completely innocent. To avoid raising false hopes, they would proceed cautiously. At least until they obtained further proof one way or another.
Dr. White walked across the room and picked up his telephone handset. Before placing a call to Mr. Wilson, however, he paused momentarily and glanced around the office. Everything looked exactly how it always did. Nothing unusual stood out in particular.
No new items had been added to the shelves. Not even the usual clutter littered the floor. A quick glance confirmed that everything was in its proper place. Thus reassured, he dialed the number listed on the directory board. Moments later, the phone rang.
“Good morning, Detective Chief Inspector,” replied a familiar voice.
“Hello, sir. I hope you slept well last night.”
Mr. Wilson chuckled softly. “I’m afraid not. My sleep patterns are usually erratic anyway. Last night proved particularly difficult. However, my insomnia has improved somewhat today. Thank goodness!”
There was silence for a few seconds. Then Dr. White spoke again. “How can I help you, sir?”
“Actually, there’s something that needs your attention right away. We’ve received a report of a burglary at a local shop. Apparently, someone broke in and stole a substantial amount of cash. According to our informant, the culprits fled before anyone noticed their presence.
Unfortunately, we don’t know who the thieves were, nor do we possess any evidence linking them to the crime. As such, this is purely a matter of speculation. Nevertheless, I think it best that you pay them a visit. You’ll find the address written below. Please hurry though. The perpetrators may still be present. Good luck!”
Before hanging up, Dr. White asked one more question. “Is anything missing from the store?”
“Nothing significant. Just a small sum of money. Nothing worth worrying about. Besides, I doubt the thieves will return anytime soon. This isn’t the first time they’ve targeted us either. Still, it never hurts to double-check things. Don’t worry; I won’t tell anybody about your involvement. It shouldn’t cause any problems between you and me. Now, please get going! Time is running short!”
After listening to the end of Mr. Wilson’s message, Dr. White dialed the number once more. He listened intently as the receiver clicked loudly against the desktop. Finally, he hung up and placed a fresh sheet of paper on his blotter.
On it, he wrote: “Burglary at C&A Department Store. The report was made by the employee. Suspects unknown. Investigation ongoing.” Then, after glancing at his watch, he left the office without saying goodbye.
As he drove along the road towards town, Dr. White thought about what lay ahead. Would he discover clues? Or would he simply confirm suspicions already held within his mind? Either way, he knew that he couldn’t afford to waste much time. What if the burglars returned while he was gone?
They’d probably be long gone by then, but he didn’t want to risk being caught off guard. Sooner or later, he would need to confront Peter Davenport face to face. And when that day arrived, he wanted to come prepared. That meant having answers ready to hand.
It took less than five minutes to reach the department store. When he parked his car outside, Dr. White quickly got out and locked the doors behind him. Walking briskly through the entrance, he headed straight for the main counter. Once inside, he approached a young female clerk with blonde hair. Her name tag read ‘Jennifer’.
“Hi Jennifer. How are you doing today?”
She smiled brightly, revealing perfect white teeth. “Fine thank you, John. Is there anything I can help you with?”
He nodded politely. “Yes actually. Do you happen to remember seeing two men enter the premises just now?”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she recovered swiftly enough. “Why yes, I believe so. Two gentlemen entered moments ago. One of them was wearing glasses. The other wore a hat.”
Dr. White thanked her kindly and continued walking down the corridor. After passing several large display windows, he reached an elevator. Standing beside it, he pressed the button repeatedly until the door opened. Inside, he stepped into the lift and waited patiently for it to descend.
At last, it stopped directly beneath the ground floor. From there, he proceeded to the front desk. There, he presented himself to the manager.
“Can I help you?” enquired a middle-aged man with grey hair.
“My name is Doctor David White. I work for the police force. I understand that two men recently came here looking for information regarding a recent robbery. May I ask whether you’re aware of their identity?”
The manager frowned. “No, we haven’t seen them yet. Why do you want to know about these people? Are they customers of yours?”
“That’s correct. In fact, I have reason to suspect that both individuals might be involved in the burglary. Can you show me where they went?”
“Of course. Follow me.”
They walked together through a series of corridors. Eventually, they reached a set of glass doors that led onto a balcony overlooking the street. Looking down, Dr. White spotted a pair of black shoes standing motionless near the pavement. A moment later, he saw the same footwear moving slowly across the cobblestones. As he watched, the feet disappeared around the corner of a nearby building.
Moving carefully forward, Dr. White peered cautiously round the edge of the wall. To his surprise, he discovered that the person had vanished completely. Only the footprints remained. Following them closely, he eventually found himself facing another set of glass doors leading back inside the store.
Stepping over the threshold, he followed the footsteps again. But this time, he encountered something unexpected. Instead of heading further inside, the footfalls turned sharply right. Moving closer, he noticed that the trail ended abruptly before reaching a wooden staircase.
Walking up the steps, Dr. White examined each step carefully. Each one appeared to be worn down evenly. However, upon examining the treads, he realized that the soles were unusually thin. Moreover, the wear pattern suggested that the individual who used these stairs regularly preferred to walk barefoot.
Following the path upwards, Dr. White finally emerged onto a landing. Here, he paused briefly to take stock of his surroundings. This part of the building overlooked the central courtyard below. Beyond its walls, he could see rows of tall trees stretching away into the distance.
It wasn’t hard to imagine how peaceful it must look during the daytime. Yet tonight, the scene looked somewhat different. For although the lights still shone brightly from every direction, the air felt strangely empty. Even the birds seemed silent.
Turning his attention back to the stairway, Dr. White climbed steadily higher. Soon, he reached a small platform located halfway up. He stood on top of it for a few seconds, admiring the view. Then, without warning, a figure suddenly materialized at the bottom of the stairs.
Startled, Dr. White jumped backward. His heart skipped a beat as he stared at the intruder. Before he even recognized him, he knew exactly who it was.
The End