A
“Captain Scarlet” story for Christmas
by Marion Woods
“SIG,
Lieutenant.” Captain Blue’s cap mic snapped back to the peak of his colour coded cap.
“Sounds
bad,” His companion commented. He glanced
across to the passenger seat of the SSC and raised one dark eyebrow in query.
“Yeah.
“What
about another airport?” Scarlet suggested.
“Well,
we could go to
“Do
you mean to say The Colonel’s giving us Christmas off?” Scarlet asked in
hopeful disbelief.
“Seems so, Captain.” Blue hadn’t thought of it that way
– in fact he hadn’t even consciously realised it was Christmas Eve. “Any
thoughts on where we might spend the time until then – every where’s likely to
be closed or booked up?” Blue’s morale sank a little lower. He had hoped to spend Christmas in
Captain
Scarlet glanced across at his friend.
They had been on the go for almost 18 hours solid. It didn’t matter to him so much, he needed
very little sleep these days, but Blue got miserable when he was tired. Scarlet made a quick calculation: it was
almost 2pm and already dark with heavy rain clouds and showers. If they were at leisure to do as they
pleased, he knew where he wanted to be.
He flicked the indicator and took the next motorway junction.
“I
know just the place. Good food,
comfortable beds, pleasant company and no charge.”
“Sounds
ideal; what’s the name of this paradise?”
“Home.”
“Won’t
your parents mind if we both turn up
for Christmas unexpectedly?” There was a small spark of hope in Blue’s tone.
“Not
really. You see, they’ve known me for a long time and they expect the
unexpected.”
Blue
sat back with a contented sigh pulling his cap over his tired eyes. “Home,
James, and don’t spare the horses.”
The
SSC turned through the gates into the tree-lined drive and picked up the row of
parked cars in its powerful headlights.
“Oh-oh,
I think they have company,” Blue commented sitting upright and pushing his cap
back from his eyes. He felt better after his short sleep.
Scarlet
wove through the stationary cars and drove round to the rear of the house. He clambered out and keyed a number in the
security pad whilst Blue slid across to the driver’s seat. The garage door swung
open and Blue drove the SSC in and turned off the
lights.
As
the garage door closed, they stood and looked back at the house, which was
ablaze with light; even the trees nearest the house had lights woven through
their stark branches.
Scarlet
was surprised and a little put out; his parents were not given to extravagant
entertaining as a rule and now couldn’t have been a worse time for them to
start. Still, what mattered was how to
get indoors and have something to eat and drink.
“We’ll
go in through the kitchen and up the back stairs, that way no-one will see
us. We’ll go down once the guests have
left,” Scarlet explained, as he started towards the house. He looked at Blue who was still standing
staring at the building.
“Paul,
there’s a gorilla in your kitchen,” he said matter of factly.
“What?
Damnation! This is all your fault, Adam.”
“Mine?
How’s that?” Blue protested with justifiable
confusion.
“I
made the mistake of telling my Mother about the parties your parents give at
Christmas time. She thought it was a
great idea and decided to do the same.”
Blue
looked bemused. “A fancy dress ball? I wonder what
your Dad’s gone as.”
“Lords
knows.” Scarlet frowned and glanced at his friend thoughtfully. He scratched
his head and looked back towards the kitchen window. The gorilla had disappeared and a pirate was
now visible opening the fridge door. “Fancy dress – that could be our
salvation. We’d be okay because after
all we are in uniform.”
Blue
caught on quickly. “You mean pretend it’s a costume? Brilliant – as long as Cloudbase doesn’t call through.”
“Oh,
they won’t. One of us can slip away and do the radio check when it’s time. Come on Adam, what do you
say? We could both do with a little R
& R and what’s better than a party? ” Scarlet asked encouragingly, sensing
that Blue would rather have gone back to sleep.
He’ll perk up after he has
something to eat, Scarlet thought enthusiastically.
“Well,
okay, but don’t blame me if we get court-martialled when the Colonel finds
out.”
Scarlet sighed
and gave his friend an exasperated smile – trust Adam to see the bleak side of
any suggestion! He sprinted for the
front door, with Blue strolling after him. He rang the doorbell and waited impatiently
until the door was opened by an Elizabethan Lady in a red wig of tight curls
and a tiara.
“Forgive
us, Your Majesty, we are two weary travellers seeking succour. May we enter and partake of your wassail?” He
swept off his cap in an elaborate bow.
“Where
on Earth did you spring from?” Mrs Metcalfe asked, sweeping her son into her
arms with obvious joy. She held him away
from her and examined his face with maternal concern, brushing the short,
black, fringe back from his eyes and smiling tenderly.
“We’re
a surprise – Adam’s here too. We came in
costume, as you can see,” he hinted.
“And how splendid you both look!
Come on in Adam, it’s so nice to see you again. You look frozen.” She extended the free hand
that wasn’t clutching her son’s arm towards his friend, with a warm smile.
“Thank
you Ma’am,” Adam replied as Paul led the way into the open hallway which was
decorated with boughs of holly and mistletoe.
Coloured paper lanterns lit the stairwell and a huge, real Christmas
tree dominated the scene, glowing with fairy lights, tinsel and shiny glass
decorations. Through into the living rooms, they could glimpse the log fires in
the open fireplaces.
People
had been watching their entrance and voices called out in welcome as they
recognised their hosts’ only son. Paul grinned and waved back at friends and
acquaintances. He was already feeling
better just from being at home. He
turned and grinned at the silent man by his side and then looked down at his
mother and gave her a spontaneous hug, just for the sheer delight of it all.
“Are
you two hungry?” she asked, adjusting the wig he had dislodged and not really
doubting the answer. Paul was always
hungry these days and Adam looked grey with fatigue.
“Ravenous,”
her son confirmed, rubbing his stomach.
“There’s
food laid out in the dining room, go and help yourselves. I’ll try to find your father in all this crush.”
“Who
is he?” Paul asked.
“I
beg your pardon, young man! Oh, you mean his costume!” Mrs Metcalfe teased.
“Well, he’s supposed to be
“Mawlbra?” Adam asked, following Paul through
the crowded room.
“John
Churchill, 1st Duke of
Blue
shook his fair head, playing dumb. “But the name Churchill sure does.”
“There’s
hope for you yet then,” Paul
responded with a teasing grin as he concentrated on getting two plates whilst responding
to the greetings coming his way from all directions now.
They
piled their plates with the food and ate in silence until they had taken the
edge off their appetites. Then Paul
turned his attention to liquid refreshment and went to get some drinks. He returned with two glasses of beer and
handed one to his friend.
Adam
sipped the brown liquid warily and pulled a sour face. “It’s warm.”
“Of
course, best bitter should be.”
Paul drank
deep.
“It’s
the nectar of the Gods, this is. Drink it down, Adam! My Dad always promised me
it would put hair on my chest.”
“Hmmm,”
Adam said doubtfully.
Paul relented. He knew Adam would be too polite not to drink
the beer and that he almost certainly didn’t like it. “I’m sure there will be a
lager beer somewhere – probably frozen on a stick in the fridge.”
“Fridge?”
“Ice
box,” Paul sighed.
“Would
you mind very much if….” Adam indicated the glass of beer.
“Give
it here. You’ll never educate your
palette if you don’t persevere, you know.”
“When
I drink I want it to be pleasurable not a test of endurance.” Adam laughed and
wandered away towards the kitchen.
Paul
downed his pint and started on Adam’s. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice close
to his elbow.
“Paulie?
It is you – I haven’t seen you for ages.”
“Good
Lord, Josie Symonds! It must be…well,
too long anyway. How are you?” Paul
extended a hand towards a small, plump, dark-haired woman, dressed as a Jane
Austen heroine in a regency-style gown and long gloves. She pulled him down
towards her and kissed his cheek.
“I’m
well and you look wonderful – you’ve hardly changed, Paul. That red jacket suits you – you have the
complexion for it.”
“Thanks,
you look smashing too,” he complimented her, although the dress did little for her
rounded figure except emphasise her breasts – but hey, he wasn’t complaining!
“Your
mother didn’t say you were coming tonight.”
“She
didn’t know - it was a surprise.”
“What
a wonderful idea – she misses you very much, you know. You should come home more
often. Where are you now? Still in The
States?”
“Oh,
all over – you know how it is.” He saw Adam hovering uncertainly, a bottle of
lager covered with condensation in one hand. “Adam, come and meet an old friend
of mine, Miss Josie Symonds. The Symondses have the farm across the valley. Josie, this is
my good friend– Adam Svenson.”
“Please
to meet you, M’am.” Adam shook her hand.
“An American? Oh how nice. And you’re in
matching costumes – you clever old thing, Paulie! I
must say, Mr Svenson, you are better off with the
blue – the red wouldn’t suit you at
all.” She came to Adam’s side and smiled
up at him.
“Nor
would it M’am,” Adam smirked. “Paulie
was sure right there.”
Captain
Scarlet glared at him, but bit his lip.
“Oh,
that’s an old nickname from when we were children – Josie and Paulie – do you use it too?” She asked a little
suspiciously.
“No,
he doesn’t and he’d better not start!” was the sharp reply as Blue laughed.
Josie
seemed a little happier. “Heather Fellowes is over there – she used to be Heather
Topliss? She’s
in the middle of a messy divorce – Mike left her for a cocktail waitress he met
in a so-called nightclub in The City.
She could do with cheering up. I’ll go
and fetch her, shall I Paul? Now, don’t either of
you two go away!” Josie gave an arch glance at Blue and bustled away.
“Paulie?” Blue sniggered.
“Careful
or I’ll tell them what Karen calls you!”
“You
don’t know,” Blue protested mildly.
“Oh,
don’t I?’ Scarlet tormented him with a
wicked grin.
“Okay,
okay – no need to play dirty,” Blue said with mock dismay and swigged at the
lager.
“Any good?”
“Sure. German, but better than
that stuff.” He pointed at the beer glasses.
Josie
returned with a tall, fair-haired woman, dressed as a 1920’s flapper in a
fringed dress, with long strings of beads around her neck.
“Hello,
Heather. Good to see you.”
“I
didn’t believe Jo when she said it was you, Paul. Nice to see you and your
friend. And what a clever idea for a costume.”
She gave Adam a cursory glance.
“Don’t
they look so cute in these dinky
little jackets?” Josie prompted, running her hand down Adam’s uniform tunic.
Paul
grinned at him, almost fit to burst with laughter. Adam grimaced back over
Josie’s head.
“They
do indeed. Where did you get them
from? I mean you have the boots and everything.”
Heather slipped her arm through Paul’s.
“Eh,
Adam got them – in the States.”
“Yeah, in
“Do
the shoulder pads light up?” Josie asked standing on tiptoe to prod at an epaulette.
“I
bloody well hope not,” Scarlet muttered, adding more clearly, “Or it will mean
we’re plugged into the fairy lights!”
The
women giggled and Blue rolled his eyes.
Just
then there was a commotion as General Metcalfe pushed through the crowd. “Hello boys!” he bellowed, as he bore down on them,
smiling. “I see you are already getting into the party mood!” he nodded at the
young women hanging on their arms.
“Now,
Sir Charles, you behave,” Josie threatened playfully, with a shake of a finger
in his direction.
“Hello
Dad,” Paul said cheerfully. He was long resigned to being addressed as ‘boy’
forever. “Where’s your wig? Mum said you’ve been very negligent about wearing
it.”
“Damned
thing,” the General commented, shaking Adam’s hand. “It’s here.” He produced it
from under a copious bell-shaped sleeve. “God knows how they managed – its
boiling my brains under this.” He plonked it back on his head and grinned,
“What d’you think, young
ladies, quite the dashing soldier, ain’t I? I can still provide some decent competition
for these two whippersnappers.”
Blue
gave Scarlet an astonished look – he’d never seen The General behave like this
before. But Scarlet had realised long ago that his Father’s jovial, good host,
persona was not something anyone who had met the business-like General Metcalfe
would expect!
“Adam’s
not familiar with Marlborough, Dad, but I’d say you were a pretty good
imitation,” he laughed.
“I
should have taken a leaf out of your book, boys, and gone for a nice modern
costume – but your Mother wanted something grand.”
“Well,
these can get a bit hot too,” Paul admitted.
Every Spectrum Officer had learned to dread an assignment in the
Tropics.
“Nonsense,
you should try one of these wigs and see what suffering really is!” The General
had heard Paul’s complaints before. “I hope you are well fed and watered, young
Adam? Good. Mrs Metcalfe is about to start the dancing
and you youngsters are just what’s needed. Paul, bring Mrs Fellowes along and
Adam, you take our Josie.”
Unable
to avoid being shepherded into the large living room – emptied of furniture for
the occasion, the two Spectrum Officers found themselves joining a long line of
excited dancers and standing side by side.
Adam whispered, “Here’s another fine mess
you’ve gotten me into! I don’t know any country dances.”
Mrs
Metcalfe, walking the line of dancers, heard him and said, “Someone’s going to
call out the moves, Adam, surely you can manage that – I thought Americans were
always holding barn dances.”
“Yes
M’am - but I
don’t go to them,” he added under his breath as she moved on.
“Charles!
Charles, where are you?” Mrs Metcalfe rounded up her husband and they took
their place at the top of the set. Everyone shuffled down and the gorilla
standing next to Paul stood on his foot.
“Sorry
Paul,” a muffled voice said.
“Neville? Good grief I never realised it was
you under all that fuzz. How are you?” Paul pumped the gorilla’s hand.
“Fine
– just too hot,” came the reply.
“Tell
me about it,” Paul agreed, “And now we’re expected to trip the light fantastic! Mum’ll be lucky if
nobody melts.” He
grinned, and then
shuffled apologetically under his Mother’s reproving gaze.
The
music started and the dance began, rather chaotically at first, but once
everyone got the hang of it, Paul found that he was beginning to enjoy himself.
He thought the two pints of beer might have had something to do with it, mind
you, even though his retrometabolism prevented him
from getting too drunk.
He
glanced at Adam, swinging Josie Symonds round so much that she was having trouble
keeping up. Even Adam – that determined
non-dancer - was grinning happily.
After
about twenty minutes of energetic dancing, everyone had had enough and Mrs
Metcalfe led the way back towards the refreshments. Adam slipped away from the attentive Josie
and cornered Paul at the foot of the stairs.
“Look
at the time. We’d better report to base.
Where did your Mother say she put the caps?”
“In
the Library – second door on the left.”
“You
want me to do it, I take it.”
“Cheers,
Adam, I must just … it’s all that dancing,” Paul stammered, waving a hand in
the vague direction of the bathroom.
“All
that beer, more likely,” his friend retorted good naturedly, strolling towards
the library.
The
Library was a small room, fitted out with wall to ceiling bookshelves and
packed with books. There was a small
desk in the centre and a comfortable armchair in front of the arched
window. Captain Blue closed the door
purposefully and collected his cap from the desk. The epaulettes flashed almost as soon as he
put the cap on, and he had to apologise to the Colonel for being over ten
minutes late with their duty report.
“We
were dancing the dashing white sergeant,
Sir,” he explained.
“Together?”
Blue cringed at the Colonel’s dry response.
“No
Sir, that is, we were both dancing it with someone else. Mrs Metcalfe insisted
we join in, Sir,” Blue added plaintively. “We could hardly refuse.”
“I
think I understood that, Captain. It
might have been a good idea for one of you to have notified Lieutenant Green of
your whereabouts before you joined the Metcalfe’s houseguests.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I
take it you are both alright?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Very
well, in the light of the … festivities and in deference to Mrs Metcalfe’s
wishes, you are excused from further reports until fifteen hundred hours
tomorrow. Merry Christmas, Captain.”
“Yes
Sir, thank you Colonel, same to you! – Sir.”
Paul
found him still in the library some time later. “I came looking for you –
Josie’s pining away.”
Adam
gave a slight smile. “I was researching Mawlbra. There’s a book here called Marl-boro. Is that the same guy?”
“Stop
trying to be cute with me Svenson, you know it is,”
Paul grinned.
“Works
with most Brits,” Adam shrugged, he
had been using it successfully on Josie all evening.
“Not
this one.”
Paul
sat on the desk and watched his friend put the books he had examined back on
the shelves. Then Blue came and sat on the other side of the desk and stared
thoughtfully at the deeply recessed arched window.
“I
was wondering about this house. Josie
told me it was over 800 years old. Can that be possible?”
“Well,
bits of it are; but generations of Metcalfes spent
good money dragging it through to the twentieth century,” Paul explained. “I think this bit is the oldest part still
left.”
“I
wouldn’t have changed it,” Adam said decisively.
Paul was
surprised. “Oh no? I suppose you’d have preferred
dodgy wiring and a temperamental heating system - not to mention draughty
windows.” He laughed. Adam was seeing
the place through a haze of romantic notions.
“My
mother’s grandparents always made a fuss because their house goes back over 300
years. My paternal grandfather always used to annoy them by insisting the
Vikings got to
“You
sound awe-struck.”
“That’s because I
am,” Adam admitted.
“Talk
to my Mum. She can bore for
“You
don’t deserve to live here – you philistine!” Adam laughed.
“That’s
what my mum says….”
The
majority of the guests left quite early in the evening, and by eleven o’clock Mrs Metcalfe
was free and only too pleased to tell Adam the story of the house. She sat him
down in front of the log fire in the ‘great hall’ and settled down to her task
with obvious pride.
“It
used to be an Abbey – part of the lands belonging to Winchester Cathedral, but
it was sold off during the dissolution and that’s when the
“The Metcalfes bought it in the 1630’s. They had been out of favour under the Tudors
– they were notable Yorkists after all, but they made
steady progress under the Stuarts and eventually had enough money to buy a
decent estate. They even had estates in
“Paul
never mentioned that.”
“He’s
never been one to talk about his own family history - except for who got killed
where,” She said wryly.
“What
exactly is a Yorkist?” he asked, sipping the mulled
wine she had pressed on him and finding it very pleasant.
“The Wars of the Roses, dear - York and Lancaster? You only really need to know that
the Tudors were Lancastrians – the Metcalfe family originated in the
Adam
nodded vigorously – hoping to stem the flood of superfluous detail. Mrs Metcalfe always assumed that he knew no
history –
“Yes,
I suppose it has. Did you know it was
reputed to be haunted?”
“Really?” Adam looked delighted; surely any
house this old and worth its salt would be haunted.
“Yes,
there’s a very sad story attached to it.
It was in the Regency period – the Napoleonic wars, yes? - Well, the
master of the estate - Francis Metcalfe - married a young woman on Christmas
Day in the chapel in the village. They
all came here to celebrate and the house must have been decorated much as we
have it tonight – apart from the Christmas tree, of course, that came later
with
“Do you think it’s true?” Adam asked, wide
eyed.
Mrs
Metcalfe laughed gently. “I don’t know dear, there are similar stories told
about other families – one of them being the Lovells.
The Metcalfes were partisans of Lord Lovell – back in
the Yorkist days – and Francis Lovell disappeared
after an unsuccessful rebellion against the Tudors then later, when the house
at Minster Lovell was being renovated, they found a skeleton in a secret room
and supposed it was the unfortunate Viscount.
Perhaps the Metcalfes took a version of that
story for themselves in memory of their once noble benefactor.”
“Have you seen
the ghost, Mrs Metcalfe?”
“No, I haven’t,
Adam dear. One of Charles’s maiden aunts
told me she saw her as a girl – up near the attic rooms. But Laetitia was
always a bit – fey.”
“Well,
I think its fascinating, M’am. Thank you for taking the
time to tell me all this.”
“You
really are most welcome; get Paul to show the attic tomorrow if you’re
interested. I doubt you’ll find much
more up there now, except Paul’s old teddy bears and his train set - that might
keep you two boys interested for a while. I suspect The General still has a
crafty go with the trains from time to time.”
“Did
you know that your house is haunted?” Adam asked Paul, surprised to see him
sitting between Josie and Heather, and grinning like the Cheshire Cat when he finally found him again in the library.
“Oh, that old story.
Has Mum been stringing you along with our Lady Nancibel?”
“Was
that her name?”
“I
have no idea! That’s what Dad called her
when he told me the story as a kid.”
“Has
any of you seen the ghost?” Adam asked.
“No,
but I believe in ghosts. Don’t you Adam?” Josie cooed. “And the story is so
romantic I would love for it to be true.”
“Romantic? That some poor, silly, girl suffocated in a
box trunk? Very
romantic.” Paul scoffed and drank his beer.
“I
agree with Paul,” Heather said. “It’s tragic not romantic.”
“Oh, big surprise!
You always agreed with Paul – whatever he said. If he said it was
raining in a heat wave, you agreed with him!”
“I
did not!”
“Ladies,
we were all getting along so nicely.
Please, don’t spoil it,” Adam said, trying to calm things down.
“Seeing as we’re having such a traditional
evening - we could always play hide
and seek, like Lady Nancibel. Or even sardines?”
Heather suggested. “Before my taxi comes.”
“You
want to get Paul alone, I suppose,” Josie said waspishly.
Paul
glanced at the two women and raised his eyebrows at his friend, rolling his
eyes heavenwards. Adam thought he was
rather enjoying himself.
“Now
cut that out Josie! Wouldn’t you like to
play?” Paul asked.
“Of
course, I’ll play – if Adam will come
looking for me,” Josie replied silkily, smiling invitingly at the American.
Adam
gave a startled smile. “Me? Well, okay, I guess so. But if I have to be the searcher, remember I
don’t know the house very well and don’t go off anywhere too obscure.”
“Okay,
you go to the drawing room, count to one hundred, whilst we all hide and no
peeking!” Heather ordered and the three of them hurried away leaving Adam to
amble to the drawing room and flop onto the sofa with his head in his hands.
“Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.” Adam looked up from his hands to
see the General and Mrs Metcalfe watching him with polite incomprehension. He
blushed.
“The
others have gone to hide – we’re playing hide and seek - like Lady Nancibel,” he stammered, feeling a complete dork
“Mary,
have you been telling that old story again?” The General asked with a laugh.
“It’s all rot, Adam. Now I bet Paul’s challenged you to find him, heh? If I was you, I’d try his bedroom first – he was
looking tired when I saw him last.”
“There’s
Heather and Josie as well, Sir,” Adam said.
“Heather’s
taxi arrived a few minutes ago and she’s already left,” Mrs Metcalfe smiled.
“Heaven knows where Josie is…” she glanced at her husband, “No – he wouldn’t?”
The
General laughed. “Well, Captain, you’re a braver man than me if you want to
risk looking in Paul’s bedroom!”
Annoyed,
Adam shook his head. “I guess it’s just my turn to be the mug tonight!”
“Come
along dear, we’re going up now as well.
You look even more tired than Paul.”
Blue
followed them upstairs and Mrs Metcalfe kissed his cheek when they reached the
guest room door. “Goodnight, Adam. Sleep well and Merry Christmas! It’s well after midnight now.”
“Goodnight
Mrs Metcalfe, Sir. A
Merry Christmas to you too.” He pushed open the door and rested
momentarily on it as it shut behind him. I’ll be glad to get out of these boots and
this tunic. he thought, unzipping the tunic and
reaching out to try to find a light switch.
There
was a blaze of light from across the room as Josie, snuggled down in the
blankets, switched on the bedside light.
Adam
cursed. “I am so sorry, Josie… eh, Miss
Symonds, that is. Mrs Metcalfe said this was my room. Please forgive me,”
he stammered, starting to turn to leave.
“It
is and I do.” She smiled invitingly, patting the bed beside her. “Won’t you
join me, Adam?”
Momentarily
speechless, he shook his head. “I mean… its very kind of you and much appreciated, of course, but … but well… I am
… I am – engaged… to a girl… in The States.
I am sorry if I led you to believe otherwise…” He turned and fled back
downstairs, leaving Josie to pound the pillows with frustration.
Mrs
Metcalfe was first down in the morning and had the surprise of her life to find
Captain Blue curled up on the sofa with a coat over him. It wasn’t a very long sofa and he looked most
uncomfortable. She puzzled over it and guessed what must have happened.
Poor
Josie, she must be getting desperate – not that Adam isn’t a
good catch – almost as good a catch as my Paul!
She
brought Blue some coffee and woke him gently.
“Here you are dear; drink it down, whilst it’s hot. You’re looking very uncomfortable in that
uniform – how many days have you had it on now?
Do you have a change of clothes with you – or shall I dig out some of
Paul’s? You’re much of a size… I think.
Then you can give me the uniform and I’ll put it through the machine for you.”
Bleary
eyed, he drank the coffee and tried to wake up.
“Mrs Metcalfe, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to
Paul. I mean… Miss Symonds… there was
nothing… I...”
“She’s
a silly girl, Adam – well, woman really, at her age – but she always means well
and we are all fond of her. You
obviously took her fancy more than you realised.”
“I
swear, Mrs Metcalfe, nothing happened.”
“I
believe you, Adam. Poor Josie, I wonder
if she’ll want breakfast? You go and shower and I’ll sort out some
clothes and drop Josie the hint that the coast is clear, shall I?”
He
nodded gratefully and stretched his aching body. She followed him upstairs and ushered him
into one of the bathrooms. Then she went
and woke Josie and suggested a quick get away might save everyone’s face –
especially if Paul wasn’t to find out!
Josie
cried a little and pleaded that she had drunk too much last night and that Mr Svenson had been a complete gentleman and she owed him an
apology.
“Which I will pass on to him on your behalf. Now, he’s in the shower, so off
you go and drive home before anyone realises.”
Leaving
Josie to gather the shreds of her dignity together Mary Metcalfe went next door
to Paul’s room. He wasn’t there and his bed had been made. No, correction - it had not been slept in.
She frowned and collected a pair of jeans and a rugby shirt for Adam’s
use. There were some new underpants -
still in their packet from last Christmas -
so she took him those as well.
She
knocked firmly on the bathroom door – which was locked - Adam was taking no
chances – and called, “The clothes are outside the door. Adam, have you seen Paul?”
“No!”
came the muffled reply. “He’s not in here!”
Shaking
her head, Mrs Metcalfe went and escorted Josie out to the garage. “Happy
Christmas, dear, and don’t worry – Adam won’t say a word and neither will I.”
Josie
hugged her and drove away at breakneck speed down the drive.
Adam
came down a short time later and joined Mrs Metcalfe at the dining table. Paul’s shirt was a little tight across his
chest and the jeans a little loose on the waist, and she noted, short in the
leg, but he looked presentable.
“Josie
has gone home, full of abject apologies and the explanation that she was drunk
– which you can take two ways, I guess.” She smiled at him.
“I
prefer to take it as an apology and forget the whole thing,” he answered. “Did you find Paul?”
“No,
and I don’t think his bed’s been slept in either.”
“Perhaps
he did go to hide like Lady Nancibel after all, and
fell asleep somewhere waiting for me to find him,” Adam suggested, demolishing
a slice of hot buttered, toast.
The
General came in. “Good morning all – Merry Christmas! Where’s Paul- not still asleep?”
Mary
explained and the General laughed heartily. “He’s going to make you suffer for
this, Adam. Let’s breakfast and we’ll
all go and find him.”
They
searched through the house, without finding a sign of Paul. Adam suggested
searching the garages next.
By
lunchtime the General was getting cross.
“Go and start the dinner, Mary, or we’ll never get anything to eat
today.”
Unwillingly
she did as he suggested, although she couldn’t feel quite at ease. She told herself it was silly, that she was
imagining things. As she went through the hallway something made her glance
upwards. Standing at the top of the
stairs, on the gloomy landing was a figure.
At first she thought it was her son, but on second glance it was a woman
– a woman in a long pale, high-waisted dress.
“Josie?”
But it couldn’t be - she had seen Josie drive away and her car had not
returned. A shiver ran through her and she turned and went back to the door,
shouting for her husband.
The
men came across at a run.
“Have
you found him?” her husband asked.
“There’s
someone in the house – a woman. Upstairs, I saw her on the landing. It wasn’t Josie,” she added.
“I
thought she went home last night,” Charles Metcalfe said, “perhaps Paul went
with her?”
“No,
Josie went this morning and Paul was not with her.”
Adam
left them at the foot of the stairs and went up to the landing. He had no
desire to hear the rest of their conversation.
There was nothing to see but there was an unusually cold draught coming
from along the hallway. He walked along; switching on the light which fused
immediately as he did so. He heard Mrs
Metcalfe’s gasp of surprise.
He
felt his way to the guest room and found his torch. With the aid of that, he went along the hall
and tried each bedroom door, checking for signs of life. He hoped the General was fixing the lights,
but then he heard footsteps and saw both the Metcalfes
coming along with torches of their own.
However annoying that was, he couldn’t order them about in their own
home, so he waited for them and they moved forwards together to where the door
that led to the attic rooms stood ajar.
Without
saying anything, Adam climbed the narrow stairs, hearing the General’s heavy
tread behind him and assuming that Mrs Metcalfe was coming along too.
The
stairs opened out onto a small landing with four doors leading off.
“These
would have been the servants’ rooms,” the General whispered. Adam nodded; his great-grandparents home had
back stairs for the household servants.
He
tried each door in turn. The first room
was full of boxes, suitcases, old tennis rackets and the like. There was what looked like an inch of
undisturbed dust on the floor.
The
second room had the train set – carefully laid out on a table and obviously
still in use. It was an excellent train
set and Adam made a quick mental note to ask Paul – when he found him – if they
could have a try of it.
The third was
full of dismantled bedsteads, rickety tables and wonky bookcases.
The
last room was smaller and empty apart from a table.
Adam
felt the urge to inspect it further and walked in, there was a thick layer of
dust as there had been in every room except the train-set room, but here he saw
a clear set of footprints. Ochre would be
proud of me, he thought as he examined them. They were the unmistakable imprints of Spectrum
boots. He followed them by the light of
the torch until they stopped at the wall.
There was no sign of footprints leaving the room.
“General,
Mrs Metcalfe, is there another room beyond this one?” he asked.
“No. This is where the chimney comes through,” she
replied.
Blue
poked around, feeling the wall and running his finger along the picture rail
and then, when he crouched down to do the same to the skirting board, his
fingers encountered a cold metallic lever and he
pushed it. It was stiff and hard but
suddenly part of the wall swung back with a shower of dust and he fell over in
surprise.
“Great
Scott – whatever is that?” General Metcalfe said walking into the room.
“A
secret room of some kind,” Adam said, brushing himself down. “Perhaps Paul knew
of it from his childhood?”
“I
doubt it: the train set was in the playroom then,” Mrs Metcalfe said. “He never
came up here – that I know of,” she added honestly enough.
One
glance from Blue was enough for the General to go and stand beside his
wife. Then he went into the room.
It
was small, with sloping walls and ceiling.
A sullen light shone in through the grimy window set into the roof. There were few signs of habitation, beyond a
pile of disgusting blankets against one wall and a wooden table in the
centre. Blue caught his breath for
seated at the table was the skeleton of a woman, dressed, not in bridal finery,
but in torn and dirty rags.
There
was no sign of Paul. He looked at the floor once more. The footsteps had come in but not out – he had
to have gone somewhere.
There
was a set of prints beneath the window and then half a print by the far
wall. Adam started searching again,
pressing the wall with his fingers. As
he stepped on a floorboard there was a creak, a panel slid open and the body of
Captain Scarlet fell forward on top of him.
Mrs
Metcalfe screamed. “He’s dead – oh, Charles, he’s dead!”
Her
husband gathered her to him, stopping her hectic dash towards her child, as
Adam felt for a pulse.
There
was nothing and the body was cold.
“Adam,”
the General’s voice pleaded, “how is he?”
“I
think he’s okay – I’ll try artificial respiration.” Blue shrugged. What else could he say? The General had become aware of his son’s
unique ability to cheat death, but his mother knew nothing and Paul was adamant
that he did not want her to.
“I’ll
call an ambulance!” she cried and made to rush downstairs.
“General,
please, if you contact anyone make it Cloudbase – he cannot go to a hospital,” Blue pleaded. With a nod the General followed his wife.
Left
alone, Adam nursed Paul in his arms. “What the hell were you doing? You’ve
scared us all witless and it looks as if something got to you too.”
He
laid the body down and knelt beside his friend to brush the dust from his
face. Paul’s nails were broken and
bloody – suggesting a frantic attempt to escape the slow death he must have
realised was his fate. Adam felt like
weeping. It was one thing to die in the
line of duty – quickly and – he could only hope – painlessly enough, but a slow
inexorable death by suffocation was another matter. Especially in the one place
Paul had always felt safe and secure – his beloved home.
Feeling
inadequate to do anything useful, he went and examined the second room, careful
not to step beyond the wall panel. The
space was no more than a cubby hole, receding back into the eaves of the roof,
without proper ventilation or light. If
Paul was trapped in there he would have suffocated – eventually. Adam deduced he must have gone up to the
attic last night – probably inspired by the tales of Lady Nancibel
and looking to make a fool out of his gullible
friend. What had led him to the false room and the secret panel, only he
would be able to tell.
The
problem was that Adam had no way of knowing how long Paul had been ‘dead’ for,
nor if the length of time he’d been dead affected his recovery time. Doctor Fawn might know, but his cap mic was down in the guest room and he couldn’t bring
himself to leave his friend like this.
He
reached out gently to place a finger against the cold neck and felt - just for
a moment - the flutter of a pulse.
“Thank
God!” he breathed as relief flooded through him. He wondered what to do
next. There was nothing here he could
use to make Paul more comfortable and he dare not move him yet. It was far too cold for him to strip off the rugby shirt to wrap his friend in. Besides, Paul would not thank him for
needless histrionics.
There
were footsteps on the stairs and Adam was relieved to see General Metcalfe
appear with blankets and a pillow and behind him Mrs Metcalfe with a jug of
water and a flask of – Adam suspected – hot tea, the British panacea for all
ills.
“Will
these help?” Charles Metcalfe asked, staring fearfully at his son’s still body.
Adam
nodded and took the blankets to cover his friend. “He’ll need a drink when… he comes round,” he
said, casting a wary glance at Mrs Metcalfe.
“She
knows about his condition, Captain. I
had to tell her – it wasn’t fair to let her worry, but I have asked my wife not
to discuss it with Paul. “
Captain
Blue looked concerned. “General, I’m not sure that was wise, Sir.”
“Why
wouldn’t he tell me himself?” Mary Metcalfe challenged,
her eyes full of hurt as she looked at the man who was now her son’s closest
friend. “Even if he has this alien virus, why should he keep it from me?”
With
commendable presence of mind, Blue looked at the General for enlightenment, but
said nothing.
“My
wife understands that this virus was brought from Mars by Captain Black, and
its effect on the body can send the individual into suspended animation for
several hours,” the General said carefully. “Paul is no longer contagious and
there may even come a time when he recovers.”
“I
see – well, whilst I am sure that Spectrum knows it can rely on your
discretion, Mrs. Metcalfe, it would not be helpful if too many people learnt of
this. He is our most successful agent in
the fight against this alien threat and we must restrict knowledge of his
condition. His father is one of the few people outside of the senior members of
Spectrum who do know and that is due to his rank and position – not to his
relationship with Captain Scarlet. I
know Paul worried that you might be put in danger if anyone suspected you
knew.”
“I
can appreciate that as senior member of the organisation he must obey the rules,
but I do feel that Spectrum could have been more open with me – if not
Spectrum, then my husband or my son at least! It is not as if I am not used to
keeping secrets,” she said with simple pride. “He’s my son, Adam – I will
always love him whatever happens to him,” she added a single tear gliding down
her face, unheeded.
The
General looked uncomfortable; he did not like lying to his wife and he felt
humbled by her simple all-embracing love for their only child.
So
did Adam. He wished he could have thought
his own parents would have accepted him with such honest emotion, if it had
been him and not Scarlet who had been in the Mysterons’
power. Suitably chastened, he
mumbled an apology, which seemed to mollify his hostess slightly and made
himself a mental note to warn Paul about the General’s fabrications, as soon as
possible.
As
the two men sat silently around the prone body of Paul Metcalfe each wrestling
with their own emotions, Mrs Metcalfe busied herself with pouring them all a
cup of tea.
Perhaps the very normalness of
doing that helps her cope?
Adam wondered, wishing he could find something
that made it easier for him to cope with Scarlet’s all too frequent brushes
with death.
Suddenly
Paul coughed and struggled violently.
Adam
grasped him in his arms. “Paul, wake up… I am here... We are all here, your Mum
and Dad too!” he warned his friend.
The
deep blue eyes opened, showing the memory of the last minutes of terror before
the merciful oblivion of death had taken him.
He grabbed at Adam’s shoulders and tried to speak.
“Water,
give him some water,” he said urgently.
Mrs
Metcalfe knelt beside him and gave her son a glass of cool water. He drank thirstily, his eyes expressing both
his thanks and his bewilderment at seeing her here.
“We found you in the secret wall panel – you
are safe now,” Mrs Metcalfe said, gently relieving Adam of his burden and
wrapping her son in her own embrace.
“Hush, my darling child, we are here and you are safe.”
Paul’s
dark head came to lie against his mother’s shoulder and he breathed deeply
until he could raise his head and look at the three of them.
“Did
you see her?” he croaked.
“Who?” Adam asked.
“Nancy
Bell.”
“He’s
delirious,” the General said.
“Be
quiet Charles. Tell us what happened Paul. I saw her.”
Slowly
with many pauses and mis-recollections he told the
story:
“I got Heather to challenge Adam to hide and seek
after you told him the Nancibel story. I was planning to give him a fright, so we
all went upstairs to hide. Then Heather
saw the taxi arrive and she said she’d have to go – she had left a baby-sitter
with her two kids. Josie said she was
going to hide in a bedroom – I guessed she meant to hide in yours, Adam – the
minx! I went to hide in the darkest part
of the corridor and then I saw Josie going along the hall to the attic
stairs. I thought she might get hurt up
here and I followed her.
I
couldn’t see her very well, but then I heard her calling, ‘I’m in here.’ And I
came through to this room.
The
doorway to the secret room was open and I saw the skeleton at the table. It gave me quite a turn, I can tell you! There were papers on the table and I took
them to the window to read them by the moonlight. What I read there was so
shocking I was quite… distressed. I
turned back to the body and quite suddenly the wall panel opened. I swear I
heard a voice saying, ‘Come in here, this is where you should be.’ I went to see what was in there and the panel
shut behind me.
I
couldn’t get out, it was dark and I couldn’t find the lock. There’s no room to turn in there and I
couldn’t stand up straight because the ceilings are so low. I could hear her
laughing and taunting me; she kept saying, ‘I told you I would have my revenge,
Francis. Now you will suffer as you made
me suffer.’
I
don’t remember much more, except that I tried to get out and tried to shout,
but no-one could hear me. I must have
blacked out until you found me.”
He
glanced nervously at Adam, who nodded. Paul let out a huge sigh –his secret was
still safe.
“What
papers, son?” The General asked.
“I
dropped them - they must still be in there.” Paul pointed with his right hand
and Adam noticed that the nails were now whole and unbloodied.
He
crawled across and shone the torch into the void, seeing yellowed sheets of
paper on the floor. He reached and
picked them up; as he withdrew from the space the wall panel slowly closed.
“What
do they say?” The general asked.
“It’s
very difficult to read.” Adam sat cross legged and tried to make out the scrawl
by the light of his torch.
Paul
answered on behalf of his friend. “It tells the story of the Metcalfe
bride. She wrote it herself whilst she
was imprisoned in this room.”
“What
do you mean, Paul?” his mother asked. “How could she have written anything if
she was the Metcalfe bride who died in the hide and seek game?”
“Francis
Metcalfe lived well beyond his means for many years and was deeply in debt so
in order to acquire more money he married the young daughter of a rich
neighbour, one William Bell. He married her purely for the money and thought of
her as beneath him socially. He made
poor
He
wanted to marry again, a lady of wealth and social standing, but whilst
But
She
expected her son to release her and restore her to her rightful place, but
Thomas, who had now inherited the fortune and was looking to make a splendid
marriage feared the scandal might interfere with his plans and he left her here
with her single attendant.
Finally,
the woman who had looked after her died and Thomas did not replace her. People had forgotten about the insane Nancy
Metcalfe and he left his mother up here to starve to death. That was when she
wrote her story down – she must have been close to death by the time she
finished writing it.”
Adam
looked at the shaky handwriting on the last page and shuddered to think of the
woman – knowing she was near death, scrawling her undying hatred of her husband
and son in what looked like her own blood.
“He
must have come and seen her body and had the false wall put in to hide her –
for how could he ever explain away her emaciated body– and why bother if
everyone had forgotten about her?” The General reasoned soberly.
Mrs
Metcalfe completed the story. “Thomas did marry well, to a wealthy and socially
acceptable wife, but she did not willingly consent to the match. Soon after the wedding she eloped with her
lover and fled away to
“Was
that her real name?” Charles Metcalfe asked looking across at the decayed body
of his ancestress.
“She
was Nancy Bell – daughter of the gentleman farmer who owned the land across the
valley. Her only sister married Robert Symonds, who eventually got the farm,”
Paul said. “They are mentioned in the diary.”
“The Symondses?
I knew there was a connection between the families,” the General mused,
with a rueful glance at the skeleton.
“But,
if Josie was… not the woman you saw last night – who was?” Adam asked.
“I
believe it was Nancy Bell – seeking her revenge,” Paul said with a shudder.
“But why you?
You had nothing to do with it,” his friend reasoned.
“Perhaps
I can help with that, Adam,” Mary Metcalfe offered. “In the small drawing room there is a
portrait of Thomas Metcalfe - Francis and
“But
I thought Paul took after your family in looks, Mrs Metcalfe?” Adam said.
“Yes,
but my Grandmother was the daughter of Henry Symonds who farmed across the
valley.”
“So,
you are descended from
Mrs
Metcalfe nodded. “Perhaps the fact that
Josie was here dressed in the costume of the period and then Paul arrived,
looking so like Thomas – stirred something that had slept for centuries.”
“Yes
and perhaps we’re all getting carried away,” Sir Charles said prosaically.
“Well,
next time we see Lady Nancibel, we can always ask her
if we were right,” his son answered with a spark of his old humour.
The
General gave a snort. “I don’t mean to doubt your word, son, but, why are we
all sitting in this cold and filthy attic when there is a perfectly decent fire
downstairs?”
Adam
grinned and unfolded his long legs, knocking the table so that the skeleton
shifted. A small locket fell to the floor
and the General opened it. Inside was a picture of a young woman and her infant
son.
“Nancy and young Thomas in happier days, perhaps?” Adam asked as he examined it over
the General’s shoulder. He looked again
and glanced at Mrs Metcalfe. There was a striking resemblance between the two
women.
The
General snapped the locket closed and put it in his pocket. “Well, I for one am
sorry for what happened to her and I’m ashamed to call those two men ancestors
of mine. I can only say that I cannot
imagine any of the family behaving in such a way now!”
“No
indeed,” Mrs Metcalfe said with a hug of her son and a smile at her husband. “I
count myself very fortunate in both my husband and my child! And if you ever
think of having me put away – remember that revenge is a dish best eaten cold
and think on the near calamity Lady Nancibel caused.”
“My
dear, if I ever think of having you put away, you have my permission to lock me in here – for I really will be
insane.” Charles Metcalfe helped her to her feet and kissed her with a gentle
passion.
Paul
and Adam exchanged embarrassed smiles, and then the American reached down his
hand and hauled his friend to his feet.
“I
am never going to play hide and seek with you again!” he smiled.
“Fair
enough – I can’t say I’m desperate to give it another try. Oh, by the way, Adam, if it wasn’t Josie I
saw last night – but
As
soon as the
On
top of the coffin, Paul Metcalfe placed a small mistletoe bough, in token of
his remorse for the actions of his ancestors.
The
ghost of Lady Nancibel was never seen again.
The End
Authors Note:
There are several traditional stories about brides who
disappeared on their wedding nights to be found years later having died in some
bizarre, tragic accident. One I heard as
a child was called The Mistletoe Bough which concerned the dashing Lord Lovell and
his bride – who died during a game of hide and seek, by suffocating in a
trunk. A rather peculiar entry into a
book of Christmas Carols, I hope you’ll agree, but one which made a lasting
impression on a young girl!
There really was a
Viscount Lovell who disappeared after the Battle of Stoke in 1487 and a body
discovered hundreds of years later in a secret room at the family home of
Minster Lovell in Oxfordshire. There was
a family of the name of Metcalfe living in Wensleydale
in the late 15thCentury who became people of local importance due to the
patronage of Richard, Duke of Gloucester – later Richard III – who’s best
friend was Francis, Viscount Lovell. Whether any of these people can be linked
to our family of Metcalfes is a debateable point, but
I hope no-one is upset by my ‘borrowing’ them for this story.
I acknowledge that I have no rights to the characters in this
story – except Neville the Gorilla and the two young ladies – having borrowed
them from the Captain Scarlet TV series, or from the fiction of my fellow
enthusiasts - and I hope that that has not upset anyone either.
Finally, the usual thanks are due to Chris Bishop – and the
admission that any mistakes within the story are all my
fault!
I hope you enjoyed reading it.
Merry Christmas and a
Happy New Year.
December 2002.
BACK TO “CHRISTMAS FANFIC” PAGEOTHER STORIES FROM MARION WOODS
“FAN FICTION ARCHIVES” PAGE
Any comments? Send an
E-MAIL to the
SPECTRUM HEADQUARTERS site
|