Outside the village of Raven’s Edge is the famous Gateway to the Dead – an ornate stone arch leading to an empty field where a battle once raged and the dead were buried where they fell. No one remembers the ruined mansion behind it, half-hidden by the trees. The only occupants are two elderly ladies forgotten by all – except, apparently, a ghostly soldier. But Lady Peony Weston’s is no fool. If a spirit’s knocking on her door after dark, it’s a sure sign a human wants possession of her house – and she’s not letting go without a fight. DS Harriet March investigates.
Read On
MURDER AT RAVEN’S GATE
Chapter One
March
Friday
The carved stone arch brooded in the heart of the King’s Forest, abandoned but never forgotten. For centuries it had been a place of reverence and respect, a refuge and a sanctuary, a home. Now, however…
‘This is “the Gateway to the Dead”?’ The man glared at the crumbling ruin in front of him. ‘Now you’re just making stuff up.’
Detective Sergeant Harriet March sighed. The entire history of Raven’s Edge was made up but it didn’t stop people flocking here for their Magik Meg T-shirts and Raven Queen mugs. Some mornings she wished it would, because then there wouldn’t be such a queue at The Crooked Broomstick, and she could buy her breakfast in peace.
‘Is it safe?’ The man tilted his head. ‘It looks as though the forest is holding it up.’
Or the gateway was holding the encroaching forest back, Harriet thought. But then she’d grown up in Raven’s Edge and, well, sometimes it was best not to think about the forest, in case one day it started thinking about you.
Her stomach rumbled and she glanced at her watch. If the ghosts that haunted this part of the forest were going to make an appearance, they’d better hurry up. She’d booked a table at Pizza at Cosimo’s for nine, and would not be pleased if it was given to somebody else.
‘The Gateway to the Dead was originally part of Buckley Abbey,’ the tour guide was saying. His name was Oscar, he was knowledgeable and enthusiastic, but he couldn’t have been more than eighteen. ‘The rest of the abbey was demolished following the Dissolution of the Monasteries in the sixteenth century. The land the abbey stood on was bought by the wealthy Weston family, who still own the nearby Blackheath Hall. They kept what was left of the abbey as a romantic ruin.’
The tour group’s attention obediently turned to the shadowy woodland on the other side of the clearing.
Was Blackheath Hall still there? Harriet wondered. Hidden behind the trees like Sleeping Beauty’s palace? Or had it been swallowed by the forest like the abbey, leaving barely an outline of rubble to show where it’d been?
‘Why’s it called the Gateway to the Dead?’ the same man asked.
‘A battle took place in this clearing during the Civil War,’ Oscar said. ‘The dead from both sides were buried where they fell. Hence, “Gateway to the Dead”.’
The man’s partner, who’d been about to walk through the gateway, immediately took a step back. And then another to be certain. ‘The bodies are still out there?’
‘No, there was a big archaeological dig just over forty years ago. Any skeletons they found were re-buried in the village churchyard.’
Oscar moved back to allow the tour group to peer through the arch and into the wide clearing where so many men had died, but no one was brave enough to step through into the darkness beyond. The gateway and the tree-lined road leading into the clearing were illuminated until late in the evening for the tourists. Everything beyond that relied on natural light.
And in Raven’s Edge, natural light was not always forthcoming.
Everyone immediately began taking photos.
Harriet, tired of waiting, sidled up to Oscar. ‘Will your next ghost be a soldier?’ The ghost of Magik Meg had jumped out at her by the village pond (complete with pond weed and rattling chains), and she did not want a repeat performance.
‘Harriet,’ her date sighed. ‘Remember our talk about spoilers?’
‘I’m not great with surprises,’ she grumbled.
‘That is the point of a ghost tour.’
Oscar seemed to be debating taking sides, but one glance at Harriet’s expression and he must have thought better of it.
He indicated his Parliamentarian soldier’s costume: a buff-coloured jacket, with a metal breastplate on top, worn over matching trousers and boots, topped with a metal ‘pot’ helmet. ‘I’m playing the part of Major Lord John Weston,’ he said, ‘and, to end the evening, I’ve arranged a sword fight with my mate Stuart, who’s playing the Marquess of Blackheath. “Brother against brother”, you know? That’s what the English Civil War was all about. Their ghosts still haunt this clearing.’
From what Harriet remembered of her (admittedly sketchy) history lessons, the Civil War had been about King Charles I getting too big for his boots, but then someone asked Oscar a question, so she moved away, feeling uneasy. Was it in the best taste to recreate a sword fight on top of what had once been a mass grave?
Her date had wandered over to peer through the ancient stone arch like everyone else, his pale blond hair gleaming in the moonlight. As she approached, he reached out his hand and pulled her into his arms. In theory, it was what she’d been hoping for since she’d asked him out on this date, yet it still felt awkward. But they were standing beneath a centuries-old ruin. He must think it romantic, but she’d tensed, waiting for the next ‘ghost’ to jump out.
There was a good reason why she didn’t like surprises. Even now, her police training was refusing to switch off. The last ghost should consider herself lucky she hadn’t ended up pressed against the wall with her arm in a lock, pond weed and all.
Harriet sighed. With hindsight, a ghost tour had been a poor choice for a first date – but she could hardly invite a barista out for coffee.
Assuming Misha was now going to kiss her, she tried to relax. Fortunately, before she closed her eyes like a fool, she noticed he’d been distracted by something happening on the other side of the gateway.
‘That’s… spooky,’ he said.
She followed his gaze. There must be a stream nearby, or perhaps the ground was marshy, because thin columns of mist were moving slowly across the field.
Logic told her this was a natural phenomenon, caused by water vapour cooling in the air, but the mist still resembled ghostly soldiers squaring up to each other.
Was this how the legend had started? From an entirely natural phenomenon?
Oscar launched into his act, brandishing a sword above his head and shouting, ‘For God and Parliament!’ before striding off through the gateway.
For a moment it seemed as though he would vanish into the mist…
And then the mist parted to let him through.
That was… odd.
‘Did you see that?’ Misha said.
‘It’s a special effect. Dry ice or something.’
Because anything else…
His fingers threaded through hers and squeezed reassuringly.
Harriet didn’t squeeze back. If there was any saving to be done, it’d be done by her.
‘What is he doing?’ she muttered, watching Oscar slash his way across the field, occasionally pausing to untangle his sword from a bramble bush or yank it out from the mud.
Misha shook his head. ‘Twenty quid that kid will stab himself in the foot before the night’s over.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘Shouldn’t the other ghost have joined him by now?’
‘Who cares?’ Misha was back to smiling at her, his blue eyes softening.
Sometimes she could be slow on picking up romantic signals, but she caught that one clearly enough. Particularly when his head tilted, he bent towards her, and—
From beyond the arch she heard another loud, ‘For God and—!’ before it was abruptly cut off by a yell. She turned her head in time to see the mist fading into the trees and the forest settling down to a contented silence.
There was no sign of Oscar.
What on earth—
Misha’s kiss hit her ear.
She stepped away from him, distracted. ‘What just happened?’
He gave a rueful smile. ‘I tried to kiss you, but you moved.’
‘Oscar was stood right there,’ she said. ‘I saw him. We all did. There was a shout and now he’s disappeared.’
‘Maybe the forest ate him?’ Then, when she glared at him, he threw up his hands and said, ‘It’s a ghost tour. Things like that are supposed to happen.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Seven years of working as a police officer and the back of her neck had already started to prickle. ‘Something’s not right.’
‘It’ll be fine.’ He reached for her again.
She stepped back smartly. ‘I’ll check it out,’ she said. ‘You lot’ – here she glared at the rest of the tour, who were beginning to edge curiously towards the clearing – ‘stay here.’
Switching on her phone torch, she walked confidently through the gateway. A tendril of ivy slid over her shoulder as she went, tangling into her curls as though coaxing her to return.
She irritably brushed it aside. ‘Stop that.’
The mist had retreated behind the trees, and the forest was perfectly still, but it was hard to shake the feeling something was watching.
Waiting.
Raven's Edge 