Castlewick Crag Continuing chapters of our new serial

PART TWO: Beth gets drawn into a mystery as Joe searches for his missing friend – and his dog Monk

which Joe had taken – had been taken down and pictures of Beatrix Potter characters put up in their place. Joe had never really believed she’d carry out her threat to sell the pub. But it was beginning to look as if she had.

But where was Bill?

During his convalescence at his sister’s, Joe had tried calling Bill several times. He’d assumed when he got the number obtainable signal from the house phone that Bill had forgotten to pay the bill. The old man was getting forgetful, which was one of the things that had worried Joe the last time he’d seen him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Looks like things have changed a bit around here in the time I’ve been away.”

“Obviously.” The woman’s striking green eyes were still wary.

He raked his hand through his hair. “Look, I realise it’s a bit late for

What did she expect? Camping fields and ice cream vans? He bit back a sharp retort. “Winters can be very hard around here,” he said. “Talking of which, it’s chilly in here. Bill always had a roaring fire.”

“I tried several times,” Beth said. “But it kept going out.”

Joe looked around the cottage, noticing for the first time that it had been freshly decorated. And that there were none of Bill’s pictures – again, many of them photos Joe had taken – on the walls. Instead, the same twee little Beatrix Potter pictures that were in the pub and a chocolate box view of Windermere above the fireplace.

“There are some really nice hotels in Ambleside,” he said. “Much more suited for a winter holiday than this place.”

Beth looked around the spartan room. “Oh. I don’t know. It would be quite cosy with a few finishing touches.”

Joe stiffened. That was exactly the kind of remark Tara would have made. Perhaps his first assessment of the woman had been right after all.

Without another word, he crossed to the fire place and in no time at all had a fire blazing in the open grate. He also showed her how the central heating worked. Then he brushed off her thanks and left, still bristling about “finishing touches”.

It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. He knew, too, that he was being unreasonable. But it had stung. “A few finishing touches”. That was what Tara said when she’d first come to live in the old farmhouse that had been in Joe’s family for generations and which, on Tara’s insistence, had been completely redecorated and “updated”, stripping the old place of all its character.

That winter, torrential floods hit their part of the Lakes and Tara was terrified when the road outside the farmhouse was washed away. When the floodwater finally receded and the road reopened, she took their son Harry (then four years old) down to Wiltshire to stay with her parents and never returned. Six months later she filed for divorce.

Before driving home, Joe went round to the pub but it was in darkness. He banged on the door but there was no reply and there were no vehicles in the car park.

Whoever was running the place had obviously packed up and gone home.

As he headed back to Castlewick Farm, he had to brake suddenly when a dog appeared in the road in front of him. It looked like Monk, but slipped through the hedge before Joe could get a proper look.

He got out and called the dog, but there was no response. He must have been mistaken. He didn’t know where Bill was but wherever he was, Monk would be there too. The dog never left the old man’s side. Find Bill and he’d find Monk. First thing in the morning, he promised himself, he’d go round to the pub and see if he could get some answers.

Beth woke, after a restless night, to the sound of ewes calling their lambs. The bed was comfortable enough and obviously brand new and the bathroom was adequate. And the central heating was now working, thanks to her unexpected visitor. But last night she’d found the deep silence unsettling. That and the total darkness. She’d looked out of the window as she closed the curtains and had never seen so many stars in the night sky.

She missed her sister Amy and brother-in-law Daniel, but they’d made it clear they had their own lives to live, which was why she’d cleared out to give them space. But had she made a mistake coming here? It was cheap and within her budget which was the main thing.

It was alright for Joe Weston to suggest she’d be more comfortable in one of the hotels in Ambleside. Of course she would.

But there was no way she could afford that.

Now, the absence of neighbours unnerved her. If she’d known how very isolated the cottage was, she probably wouldn’t have come.

She was also feeling a bit let down by the welcome – or lack of it – she’d received. As for the weather…

She decided to call Amy but discovered that her phone didn’t pick up a very good signal within the thick walls of the old cottage. She opened the back door. The cottage garden was long and narrow. It ran parallel to the lane, separated from it by a stone wall and bounded by bushes at the far end. Half way down was a wooden bench and as she sat on it, she could see why it had been placed there.

When she’d arrived it had been raining and almost dark. But, this morning, in one of those abrupt changes of weather that can happen this time of the year, the sky was a vivid blue and the bright November sun lit up the trees that grew on the lower parts of the fells, painting them in vibrant shades of gold, caramel and russet. The garden bench looked down towards a range of mountain peaks in a horseshoe shape, which cradled the end of the valley. The higher peaks, she noticed, were covered with a sprinkling of snow.

It was stunning and her spirits lifted.

She couldn’t wait to have breakfast then start exploring. After she’d spoken to her sister of course.

Amy answered on the first ring. She was, she assured Beth, feeling much better and, once again, apologised.

“We didn’t mean for you to up sticks and leave,” she said. “I feel terrible now.”

“Well, don’t,” Beth assured her. “It’s lovely here and I’m having a great time. The cottage is cosy and everything is even better than I remembered it.”

Everything, she added silently to herself, apart from the less than friendly natives.

As she finished her call, Beth saw a rustling in the bushes at the end of the garden. She stayed very still and watched as a black and white dog emerged. He looked like a stray. His fur was caked with mud and he was limping.

What did he want? She’d never had much to do with dogs but this one looked pretty big and scary.

As she was trying to decide whether or not to approach it a voice behind her said, “It’s OK. He won’t hurt you. It’s Monk. I thought I saw him last night. Mind if I come in? I think he’ll come to me.”

Joe was in the lane, looking over the garden wall at her. She nodded and he opened the small wicket gate and came in to the garden. As he did so he called out “Monk? Here, boy.”

The dog came up to Joe, slowly wagging his tail. Joe knelt down and ran his hands gently over him. The dog winced as Joe touched his shoulder.

“He’s hurt. And I’m pretty sure I know who did it.” His face was grim. “I’ve just been to see the couple in the pub. They didn’t know anything about Bill, only that they’re looking after the place while Nesta’s on a six month cruise with her sister. The guy said a dog had been hanging around and that he’d ‘persuaded’ him to go with a well aimed kick.”

“Let’s get him inside.” Beth said and her heart went out to the poor dog as he limped towards the back door which Joe held open for him.

They followed as the dog went through the tiny kitchen then in to the sitting room, where he flopped down, with a heavy sigh, in front of the fire.

“This is your friend’s dog?” Beth asked. Joe nodded. “His name’s Monk. He is – or rather was – one of the best SARDA dogs in the country.”

“What’s a SARDA dog?”

“Search and Rescue Dogs. Monk and Bill, who trained him, were a top team. They’re both retired now but I don’t understand. Bill never goes anywhere

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without him. He’s been living rough, too, by the look of him. His ribs are sticking out like knives. Come on, boy. I’d best take you home.”

But Monk looked up at them, then towards the fire that Beth had managed to get going that morning and with another loud sigh promptly put his head on his paws, as if to say that he was going nowhere.

“Looks like he’s staying here,” Beth said with a smile.

“Do you mind?” Joe said. “Bill kept the dog food in a cupboard in the kitchen. I don’t suppose there’s any left?”

Beth shook her head. “I had a good look round last night to see if there was anything that could give us a clue about your friend. But it’s just the usual stuff you see in any holiday cottage. There’s no trace of him, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll go and get some dog food,” Joe said. “And be straight back. The poor old chap looks half starved.”

“I can do him some scrambled eggs,” Beth said. “Will that be OK for him? I don’t know much about dogs.”

“Compared with what he probably has been eating, I should think scrambled eggs will be just fine.”

And it was. The eggs hardly touched the plate. Monk wolfed them up and, with a contented sigh, went back to sleep.

“Do you think he needs a vet?” Beth asked, concerned.

“I think what he needs at the moment more than anything is a good long sleep. Let’s see what he’s like when he wakes. Are you sure you’re OK having him?”

Beth nodded. “He’ll be company. Besides, this is his home rather than mine.”

His warm smile lit up his face and made him look years younger.

“I’ll be back with the dog food,” he said. “Don’t give him anything else till I get back. He needs to eat little and often for now.”

Monk opened his eyes and let out a long contented sigh. The fire hissed and crackled in the grate, its warmth soothing the sore shoulder where he’d been kicked.

At one time, he would have been quick enough to get out of the way. But not yesterday. The force of the man’s boot against his shoulder had knocked the breath out of his body and left him stunned.

It was good to be home. And yet, it wasn’t home. It didn’t smell right. He looked up and saw that the woman who’d given him food had gone out and left the back door open. He got slowly to his feet,

www.myweekly.co.uk eased his stiffened joints and gave himself a swift shake.

He felt better for the food and the sleep but now, he must be off. He slipped out of the open door, sniffed the wind and set off.

The woman called after him but he ignored her. He had to keep looking. The scent was strong this morning.

I’m sorry, Amy, but I’ve got to go,” Beth said quickly. “I must get the dog back. Monk! Wait!”

“A dog?” Amy squeaked in surprise. “You’ve got a dog?”

“I’ll explain later,” Beth said and ended the call. She had no time to grab a coat or anything. All she could think of was catching up with Monk and bringing him back. Joe would be furious with her for she turned round and found herself looking down on the roof of the pub. She began to regret that she hadn’t thought to put a coat on because the sun had yet to reach this part of the fell side.

She froze as she heard an angry voice behind her.

“What the devil do you think you are doing?”

It was Joe. And he looked every bit as angry as he’d done the night before when they’d first met. “Monk…” She managed to say, although the exertion of the climb was beginning to tell and her breath came in short gasps. “He escaped. Just ran out. And I followed him.”

“Without bothering to put on a coat or suitable footwear,” he glanced down with disdain at her thin soled slip on shoes. “Do you realise how many accidents are caused by people like you going up in the mountains unsuitably clothed? You put not only yourself at risk, but your rescuers, too. It was lucky I heard the dog barking and guessed where the two of you were.”

“I didn’t have time to grab a coat or anything,” Jess managed to say. “He took off so quickly and I was desperate to keep up with him. I went out into the garden to make a call and didn’t shut the door properly. I’m so sorry.”

As she spoke, the dog barked again. He was on the path, a little way ahead.

“Please, Joe. We’ve got to follow him. I think he’s trying to tell us something. Perhaps he’ll lead us to Bill.”

“You’re going nowhere, dressed like that,” Joe retorted.

Beth opened her mouth to protest but before she could do so Monk reappeared. This time he ran towards them.

“He’s got something in his mouth,”

Beth said.

Joe called the dog to him and took what he had brought them.

“It’s Bill’s hat,” he said, his face pale and worried. “His wife knitted it for him and he never wore anything else.”

Beth looked at the red woollen hat – and saw the dark blotch that stained one side of it.

“Is that...?” She didn’t finish the question.

But Joe nodded. “Yes. It’s blood,” he said grimly.

BY PAULA WILLIAMS

NEXT WEEK: The search for Bill continues and there’s a startling turn of events at the local pub...