Colin Forbes - The Savage Gorge

'Indeed it does,' intervened Paula. 'You have five daughters and one son.'

'Yes.' Bullerton sighed. 'The two eldest, Nancy and

Petra, walked out on me. Wished to travel, I gather. Nancy went to Canada. Had just one postcard from her. Toronto. Petra pushed off to Australia. Again only one postcard – Sydney. But I still have Margot and Sable -'

As though on cue the door burst open and a wild girl burst into the room. Fair-haired, she wore baggy jeans, a short jumper which exposed a generous dis play of bare stomach, and Reeboks on her feet. She dropped a briefcase by a couch and hurtled over to Tweed. He held out a hand and she slapped it in a friendly gesture with her own.

'This is Margot,' Bullerton said in a resigned tone.

'I like you,' Margot said to Tweed, dragging a chair close. 'I'm so fed up with the young idiots. Just dumped a boy friend. Only one part of my anatomy he was interested in. Tried to drag me behind a bush up on Black Gorse Moor. I gave him my knee. Left him crouched over and moaning. I prefer more mature men.'

The door opened and Mrs Shipton appeared again. She seemed in a better mood now as she addressed her employer.

'Sir, that important call you expected has come through. You could take it in the library. The line is bad. I think he's using a mobile.'

Bullerton stood up, excusing himself to his guests. He wore jodhpurs tucked into gleaming boots and riding kit. The garb seemed quite normal in this part of the world. As he was leaving, a very attractive slim girl appeared. She was fashionably dressed in an expensive two-piece blue suit. Her fair hair was neatly coiffured and Paula estimated her to be in her early twenties.

'This is Sable,' Bullerton called over his shoulder before he left the drawing room.

'Oh, God!' Margot said in a loud voice.

She began running two fingers up the sleeve of Tweed's arm. Her smile was inviting when Sable spoke. She had a cultured voice and a very pleasant manner as she spoke to Margot.

'I'm not sure Mr Tweed likes you doing that during his first visit.'

'Drop dead,' Margot snapped. 'Just because you manipulated Pater into sending you to Heathfield you think you're the cat's whiskers,' she went on nastily. 'I went to a good school but it wasn't Heathfield

…'

'Calm down, Margot,' Sable said quietly, still standing.

'You shove off,' screamed Margot. 'You weren't invited to this party!'

She jumped up, advanced on Sable, her right fist clenched ready to punch her sister in the stomach. Sable, taller, stood very still, shot out her long arms, her hands on Margot's shoulders. She gave Margot a violent shove. Margot staggered backwards, ended up sprawled in an armchair.

Sable fingered a diamond brooch attached to the top of her jacket. Margot leaned forward, screaming as she felt under the left leg of her jeans. She pulled out a knife from a holster attached to her lower leg.

'See that!' she screamed. 'Pater's birthday present to his pet, Sable.'

Margot leapt to her feet. She rushed at Sable, knife raised to slash her. Sable remained quite still. Then as Margot reached her one long arm shot out, the hand grasped Margot's knife hand by the wrist, twisted. Margot yelled in pain and dropped the knife. At that moment during the struggle Lord Bullerton returned.

'Couldn't hear a word… bloody hell. Margot, are you mad?'

'We had a disagreement,' Margot replied sullenly, sitting on the armchair, nursing her twisted wrist.

Tweed leaned forward, studied the knife. One side had a keen blade, the other a regular serrated edge. Not the weapon which had been used to carve up the faces of the two women in London.

A good-looking young man in his early twenties entered the room. Wearing a neat grey suit, his fea tures were striking and his eyes almond-shaped, which gave him an air of authority.

'This is Lance, my son… and this is Margot again,' he said in a voice rumbling with fury.

'Again. Always Margot again,' Margot yelled in fury.

Bullerton raised one huge hand, slapped her so hard across the face Paula thought he would take her head off. Then he administered the same harsh blow to the other side of her face. She burst into tears and ran from the room.

I’ll get rid of this,' said Lance.

He picked up the knife by the handle, walked across to a door a distance beyond the bar, opened it and Paula saw it led to a marble-tiled toilet. He came out with a large towel wrapped round the knife.

'Plenty of deep fissures on the moor,' he explained. 'It will be safe down there. I never knew Margot went in for knives.'

I’ll give her hell later,' Bullerton growled.

'May I suggest you don't?' requested Lance. I’ll arrange for Mrs Shipton to prepare a nice tea for her. Muffins, which Margot loves, plenty of butter, Dundee cake and a large pot of tea. I'll take it up to her myself.'

'All right. If you think that's best. You'd make a good candidate to carry on the title when I'm gone.'

'He really doesn't want that,' Sable's cultured tones broke in. 'He's told you that enough times.'

'No, he doesn't,' Bullerton agreed after Lance had left. 'I think now you'd make a better job of it. You're competent, controlled, don't mind responsibility – which Lance does. And you're popular with the people who count.'

'Let me make one thing clear,' Sable said firmly. Tm not asking for it or assuming anything. You do change your mind quite often.'

'True enough,' he agreed. 'But I've been thinking about the whole business.'

'Time we left,' Tweed suggested. 'It has been inter esting. I think you've got the gem of a house. A real Georgian.'

I’ll come out on the terrace with you. Sable, join us, please.' As he walked out with Tweed, Mrs Shipton appeared with another double Scotch on a tray. Bullerton, standing on the terrace, drank half, licked his thick lips and swallowed the rest, dumping the glass back on the tray, which Mrs Shipton took back into the house.

'His third,' Sable whispered to Paula. 'Watch out. And could I come to see you at the Nag's Head?'

'You'd be most welcome. Best to phone me first. Here's my number. ..'

She gave the number to Sable, expecting her to record it in a notebook. Instead, Sable merely glanced at it.

'Got it,' she said and disappeared into the hall.

Paula walked towards the wall of the terrace Bullerton and Tweed were heading for. She studied the large man's walk. Perfectly steady. She joined them as Tweed posed the question.

'Why is it called Gunners Gorge?'

'Ah, sir. There's some history. In the sixteen hun dreds the son of the great Cromwell was fighting with the Parliamentarians. At least, one of his generals was. Royalists were waiting near Worcester for their cavalry to come from here to smash the Parliamentarians. With me?'

'I know a little about the final battle at Worcester.'

'Well' – Bullerton's huge face was becoming red – 'spies had reported to the general that the Royalist cavalry had set a trap in the town here to destroy his cavalry. Arriving early, the ambushers took up posi tion in the entrances to the caves near the top of the gorge. Cromwell's cavalry outwitted them.'

Bullerton was talking more rapidly, as though enjoying relating the outcome.

'That means,' Tweed speculated, 'they were looking down on the road which passes the Nag's Head.'

'Which was the road the Royalist cavalry would ride along,' said Bullerton, gleefully. 'And they did, sir!'

'What happened?'

'The Cromwellian cavalry rode straight up the stepped alleys. This gave them a commanding posi tion overlooking the caves. Their muskets laid down a murderous barrage of fire, firing point blank into the caves.'

He rubbed his large hands together as though seeing it all with sadistic enjoyment.

'The Royalist ambushers – and their horses – were massacred on that famous day. Dead Royalists – and their horses – fell into the falls and the gorge which was running – streaming – with blood. What a sight it must have been!'