The Serpent in the Glass (The Tale of Thomas Farrell) (7 page)

Then, without warning, the mass seemed to unravel outwards into the light of the moon and Thomas realized what it was. It looked at first like a huge snake, but then Thomas saw a leg, and then three other legs, each with a huge claw on the end; above them a pair of long, black leathery wings sat upon a scaly back. It was a giant serpent, just like the one he’d seen in the book from school, just like the one in the Glass — and it was in the Westhrop’s back garden!

As if in response to Thomas’s horror the serpent lifted its large head and flicked out its tongue, tasting its onlooker’s fear. It paused as if to determine Thomas’s whereabouts and then lifted its body up on its hind legs as far as it would go so that the snouted head rose up level with Thomas. The moon struck the creature’s face as it turned toward him, and Thomas stood frozen to the spot, not daring to move. Its eyes were just like those of the serpent in the Glass; jet-black vertical slits in pools of brilliant green — and they were looking directly through the hole at Thomas…

Thomas awoke with a start. His hand throbbed. He tried to clench it and discovered he couldn’t: he still held the Glass. He pulled his hand out from under the covers, half expecting the globe to be on fire. It wasn’t. In fact, it felt cool. He looked about. No moonlight spilled into the room. It was utterly dark. Thomas reached for the light and let out a sigh of relief when its glow filled the loft, dim though it was. Had it been a dream? It seemed so real. But he was in bed. Yes, he was in bed so it must have been a dream. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but take a peek through the hole in the roof lining before he went back to sleep. It was too dark to see anything outside of course. It always was.

Putting the Glass carefully down next to his bag of marbles by the bed, Thomas switched off the light and got back under the covers. But he couldn’t sleep for some time. The image of the serpent kept on coming back into his head, clear and vivid. Eventually, after what seemed like many hours, Thomas drifted back to sleep. There were no more dreams that night.

— CHAPTER FIVE —

Stanwell Clear

Jonathan Westhrop had bought his wife a new coat, quite an expensive one by the look of it. She liked it a lot. Thomas could tell. There was an excitement in her eyes every time she cast her eyes over it. Although the early September weather was still quite warm, Mrs Westhrop had brought the unseasonal coat with her. It lay neatly between Jessica and Thomas on the back seat of the car, and they were under strict instructions not to touch it. Every now and again Mrs Westhrop glanced back at the coat and smiled.

Mr Westhrop whistled a slightly off-key classical piece of music as he drove. He only ever whistled when he was happy about something. ‘Well, this’ll be your last trip in this old car. I’m having a new one delivered next weekend.’

A new car? Mr Westhrop had owned the green Morris Minor since before Thomas could remember. Mr Westhrop had been buying a few things of late. Several more gnomes had appeared in the garden one afternoon (each with a garish lick of paint, of course), and a few extra pot plants on the same day. Then there was the new computer. Mr Westhrop had finally upgraded to one with a flat screen. And last week he’d purchased a new, even larger, aquarium along with several brightly coloured exotic fish to fill it. The fruits of this spending spree, however, hadn’t touched Thomas or Jessica. Nothing was bought for, and no money was given to, them.

Thomas wasn’t at all sure that the Westhrops should be so happy on the day they were saying goodbye to their only daughter — if not him — until Christmas. But perhaps he had no right to judge; after all, he felt happy in his own way too. He could taste freedom for the first time in his life; he was finally being released from Jags’ collar and all the doggy (and human!) duties that entailed. No, he wouldn’t miss number six, Birch Tree Close.

Less than an hour later the four of them stood in the concourse of King’s Cross Station. Jessica and Thomas, with two suitcases and two bags on the floor between them, cast their eyes eagerly about the several hundred people who stood around them staring up at the large, orange text flickering across the departures and arrivals board high above. Arrangements had been made for someone from Darkledun Manor to meet them here at ten o’clock. They didn’t have to wait long. About ten minutes after their arrival Thomas saw a thin man in a long, black, unbuttoned coat weaving his way through the crowd toward them. In his gloved hand he held a large pocket watch attached to his black waistcoat by a long silver chain. On seeing them he stuffed the watch into a pocket, smiled and took the last few steps with his hand held out.

‘Mr Westhrop?’ he said when he finally got near enough for Mr Westhrop to shake his extended hand. He had an accent Thomas couldn’t place, but it sounded like he came from somewhere where they did a lot of farming.

‘Yes. Mr Clear, I assume?’ Mr Westhrop shook the other’s hand.

The lanky man gave a short bow. ‘That do be me, sir. Stanwell Clear at your services!’

Stanwell wasn’t quite what Thomas had been expecting, and from the look on their faces the Westhrops felt the same. Thomas had imagined someone like Mr Bartholomew, educated and in a neat suit. Instead, Stanwell Clear’s manner was one of little education and his black suit looked as if it’d been upon its owner for some weeks. It was obvious from Mrs Westhrop’s expression that she disapproved, though she still smiled as pleasantly as she could. Jessica had no such affectation. Her eyes were as near to bulging as they could get. Thomas wanted to tell her to stop staring, but couldn’t find a way to get her attention without Mr Clear noticing.

Stanwell Clear’s thin face was nevertheless kind, if somewhat grizzled. It didn’t look as if he shaved any more often than he ironed. Wisps of grey and black hair shot out from under the black fedora hat he wore. He stuck his hand in a pocket of his jacket, and then in another, and another, until he found what he was looking for: a somewhat battered cream-coloured envelope, which he handed enthusiastically to Mr Westhrop.

Mr Westhrop opened the envelope and, after glancing briefly at the letter inside, nodded his head in approval.

‘Darkledun Manor be a fine school, sir. I’m sure your children are very grateful that you’ve decided to put ’em in it, so to speak.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Mr Westhrop said. ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child, eh?’

Thomas swallowed hard, remembering his nightmare and the great fangs in the serpent’s mouth. Why had Mr Westhrop chosen that phrase? Thomas remembered he’d used it before, when telling him off.

‘It’s just a saying,’ Mr Westhrop explained, as Mr Clear stared blankly at him.

Stanwell tilted his head. ‘Oh I see, yes, a sayin’. I must remember that one, yes.’

Mr Westhrop handed the letter back to Mr Clear. ‘Well, I suppose we should go. We don’t want Thomas — or Jessica — to miss their train.’

Mr Clear stuffed the letter back into one of his many pockets. ‘No we don’t sir, we’s a ways to go and time and trains wait for no man.’

‘Er — yes,’ said Mr Westhrop, looking at Mr Clear with some concern. ‘So,’ he said, turning to Thomas and Jessica, ‘we’ll see you two at Christmas. Remember to behave yourselves!’

‘Yes, goodbye dear,’ Mrs Westhrop said to Jessica, giving her a big hug, and quite unexpectedly becoming tearful. By the look on Jessica’s face she was as surprised as Thomas.

‘Tell Thomas “goodbye” too,’ Mrs Westhrop whimpered.

Jessica smiled and looked at Thomas.

Mr Westhrop looked around uncomfortably. ‘Now dear, pull yourself together, we may be losing Jessica for a while, but we’ll be gaining a paying lodger. And don’t forget there’s that new gazebo we’re going to buy tomorrow, remember? Think how that will look in your wonderful garden.’

Mrs Westhrop seemed to suddenly brighten up. ‘Yes, I’d forgotten about that.’

‘We’re having a lodger?’ Jessica asked.

‘Oh yes, didn’t I tell you?’ Mr Westhrop said. ‘He’ll be staying in your room — well, you won’t have need of it for a while. It’s only short term, but it’ll help with the finances.’

Jessica didn’t reply, but she looked shocked.

Mr Clear pulled out his watch again and looked at it with some concern. ‘Yes, well we do be best goin’ now or we’ll miss that train.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Westhrop,’ Thomas said. ‘Mr Westhrop.’

Jessica’s parents smiled with some effort as Thomas and Jessica turned and followed after Stanwell Clear, who’d kindly grabbed both their suitcases leaving them just a bag each to carry. As they walked away Thomas’s ears picked up the final snatches of the Westhrop’s conversation — something about which colour gazebo would best suit the garden.

Stanwell Clear led the children to a platform where a large blue-green train awaited them. He didn’t speak until he’d put their suitcases on the luggage shelves above the seats. ‘You’ll be enjoyin’ the ol’ Manor, that you will. We should be in Edinburgh in less than five hours, and at Darkledun Manor by tea time I reckon. If there’s no leaves, that is. They can stop trains, or so I’ve ’eard.’

The compartment was large enough to seat perhaps eight to ten people, but they were the only ones in it, so they had plenty of room to stretch out their legs.

Mr Clear sat down and swung one leg over the other. ‘Now, don’t you be mindin’ if you need to catch up on some snoozin’.’

It wasn’t long before they found Mr Clear didn’t mind either; for he was very soon fast asleep and his hat — pressed against the back of his seat — in danger of lifting itself entirely from the front of his stringy grey-black fringe.

The train didn’t stop for quite some time, though it passed through many stations. Jessica had been quick to voice her concerns about a lodger. ‘He’d better not touch my things,’ she’d said soon after they were sure Mr Clear was asleep. Thomas thought it unlikely — Jessica’s ‘things’ were mainly old dolls, teddy bears and a shelf of adventure stories. She never played with the toys anymore, but she liked to keep them all neat and tidy on a small chair in the corner of her room. Perhaps she thought the new lodger might sit on them. As the journey continued, however, the conversation turned to the year ahead at Darkledun Manor. Jessica seemed to be as excited about the new school as Thomas, and for some reason that made Thomas feel very happy.

Eventually they pulled into a station and the train jolted to a halt, which caused Mr Clear to suddenly wake up and readjust his hat, which had miraculously remained balanced between the back of his seat and the back of his head for the entire journey.

‘Ah, here be the First Stop!’ Mr Clear announced, as he stood up and narrowly missed hitting his head on the luggage shelf above. ‘You stay here. The train do be stoppin’ for only a few shakes of a sheep’s tail, and I’ll be back in two. Lock the door behind me. When I come back I’ll be givin’ three short knocks followed by one knock, so you knows who it is.’

‘Erm, couldn’t we just look through the glass?’ Jessica said pointing to the window in the door. ‘And there aren’t any locks anyway.’

Stanwell Clear’s face went from one of confusion to one beaming like the new day’s sun. ‘Of course, wrong place little Miss. Got a bit confused! I’ll be back in two swishes of an ‘orse’s tail.’

Thomas and Jessica looked at each other and then back to Mr Clear as he disappeared out the door.

‘A strange character,’ Jessica said after the door slammed shut. She’d adopted the phrase from her father who always said it after he’d been speaking with Mr Philpot who occupied the house two doors away from the Westhrops’. The man lived alone, but kept three pigs, eleven chickens and a goat in his back garden.

Thomas didn’t respond to Jessica’s comment. He was trying to see where they were, but a rather fat lady had unfortunately positioned herself right in front of the window so that he couldn’t quite see the sign on which the station’s name was written. The train began to make strange noises, as if it were some ancient engine ticking over with cogs, wheels and cranks. Then it hissed like a snake and gave Thomas a start. Concern filled his mind. Where had Stanwell Clear gone? What if he didn’t get back before the train left? Jessica didn’t seem to be worried. She’d found an old broadsheet newspaper that someone had left on one of the seats, and was rooting through its pages.

Thomas glanced out the window. ‘Maybe we should go look for him, sounds like the train’s leaving?’

Jessica looked up from the paper. ‘Trains always sound like they’re leaving, you get yourself all ready to move off and then they go as silent as the grave again. I’ve been on more trains than you. You get used to it, Thomas.’

Jessica was right, she
had
been on more train journeys than Thomas — one more, and Thomas had only tallied up a grand total of three such journeys in his lifetime. And Jessica’s extra trip had only occurred last year when Aunt Dorothy had taken Jessica to visit the closest shopping centre, to train her in the life skills of bargain hunting and advanced window shopping. Aunt Dorothy maintained that every young woman should know about such things, and that young men were interested in other less important matters. So Thomas hadn’t been invited.

The train went quiet and Jessica gave Thomas one of her knowing looks. Thomas ignored her and looked out the window again. The fat lady still blocked the sign. She wore a hat that looked as if it had a net over it. A couple of pale yellow flowers stuck out from one side. Had they been real Thomas would have thought them in great need of watering. Suddenly the train started up again more ferociously than before, and Thomas started looking about again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr Clear. The train shuddered and started to make a low whining noise. Thomas blocked his ears. Such sounds always seemed to bore right into his skull, though it apparently bothered others very little. Jessica had pulled a pen from somewhere and had started a picture crossword. She liked those, and often tried to finish the ones Mr Westhrop left incomplete.

Just as the whining noise stopped and Thomas pulled his hands away from his ears, Mr Clear’s face appeared at the window of the compartment door. He smiled and then moved swiftly in. Behind him followed a boy a little shorter than Thomas, but who looked to be about the same age. He wore a large cream-coloured jumper and dark brown trousers that matched the colour of his hair. A wide grin spread across his large mouth on seeing Thomas and Jessica. Behind him followed a massive suitcase, which he dragged with tired arms.