The secret of the castle. a long story of the supernatural by Charles Roberts

 

“Edward!  Do you really think that there’ll be a war?  Chamberlin said that he had an agreement from Mr Hitler which would keep the peace.”

“I don’t trust that man Hitler one bit.  He says one thing and does another.  Mark my words Anthony, we’ll be at war again before the end of this decade.”

“It will seem strange won’t it?”

“What will?”

“Going into the nineteen forties.”

“We’ve another two years yet Claude.”

“But it doesn’t seem two minutes since the last war.  Surely to god you don’t actually think that the Germans will start again, do you?”

“That’s what our lords and masters think.”

“And Mr Churchill, Edward.  And Mr Churchill.”

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the castle.  Over the next few weeks, you will be taught how to use a radio, the use of Morse code.  How to construct explosive devices and where to place them to do the most damage.  You will learn how to use a variety of weapons.  You will also learn the area you will be working in, and of course your past lives.  Because from today you are not the people you were yesterday.  You will have to forget everything about your past and start to learn your new past.

A lot of people have worked very hard to create a new history for each and every one of you.  You will have to learn how to parachute from an aeroplane and land, hopefully, without injuring yourselves.  From today you will only use your new French names, that way, when you are dropped into France, if you are asked any questions then you will be ready with the answer.”

Jim was stuck on five across in the crossword from the local free paper, it was a slack day and he was bored, a watery place, five letters middle letter r, what could be a watery place with the middle letter r?  God, I hate these days.  I’d rather be walking up and down the High Street giving out parking tickets, at least you’re doing something instead of waiting for something to happen.

“Excuse me Sir!” a Constable said, putting his head round the door.

“Yes!  What is it?”

“We’ve just had a strange telephone call from a lady in Marsh Lane.”

“Strange!  What do you mean strange?”

“She said that an old man was standing across the road from her house.”

“So!  What’s he doing?”

“She said that he was just looking at her house.  Said that he’s been there for about an hour.”

“Just looking across the road at her house?”

“So she says Sir.”

“What does she want us to do about it?  Does she want us to arrest him as a peeping Tom?”

“She said that it’s very un-nerving.”

“I suppose it is.  Having someone standing looking at your house.  Is there something about the house that would warrant someone looking at it?  You know some strange feature, a rare flower in the front garden or something like that?”

“Down Marsh Lane Sir!  As far as I know they’re just normal cottages, all white washed with black wooden windows?  Some have roses round the door, but other than that they are normal old houses.”

“Old!  How old?”

“I don’t know Sir!  Might be about a hundred years, may be more.”

“Isn’t it on the outskirts of town?”

“That’s right Sir, it’s the last turning right on the High Street.”

“Or first turning left!”

“If you like!”

“Has she seen him before?”

“She says that she has.  She told me that he’d been coming about the same time every day for about two weeks now.  At first, she thought nothing of it, just an old man who might have lived in that lane at one time, but she said that now he was standing opposite her house and she was nervous.”

“How is he dressed?”

“She didn’t say.  Why?  Is it important?”

“Well, if he has a long raincoat on then he could be a flasher, or…….”

“She says that he has white hair and stoops when he walks.”

“And that would stop him from opening his coat to reveal everything would it?”

“No Sir!”

“Go down there and bring him in for questioning, if he’s still there.  If he’s gone then ask the lady to give us a ring when she sees him again.”

“Sir!”  The door slammed shut as the Constable left.

“Bloody hell!” Jim said out-loud.  “A watery place five letters with the middle letter  r.  You are a dunce Inspector Ryan.  Marsh!  Of course.  He wrote the answer in, then threw his pen across the room, “bloody stupid crosswords,” screwed the paper up and tossed it towards the bin which stood in the right corner of the room, just behind the door.  He missed!

Jim pushed his chair back and stood, he walked round his desk to the door, stopping to pick up the paper which he dropped into the bin.  He then went out of his office and walked down the short corridor to the rest room where he made himself a mug of tea.  Returning to his office he put the mug down on the desk, then retrieved the paper from the bin, walked back to his desk and sat before running his hands over the paper in an attempt to smooth the creases out of it, failing miserably.

Jim was looking round for his pen when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” he called still looking for his pen.

The door opened and the Constable entered, he bent and picked up Jim’s pen, then dropped it on the desk in front of him.

“What did you find out,” Jim said looking at the pen rolling across his desk.

“The lady said that this chap has been walking up and down the street for about two weeks now.  He looks at the houses and points, always talking to himself.”

“No law against talking to yourself.”

“No Sir.  But then this morning he stopped in front of her house, she said that she didn’t notice him at first, but when she did, he was just standing.”

“What was he doing?”

“Just looking at her house.  She said that she thought that he was crying too.”

“Crying!”

“Yes Sir!”

“Obviously he wasn’t there when you arrived.”

“No!  She said that he walked up the lane just after she’d called us.  She did say that she hadn’t seen him around the town, and, after speaking to her neighbours, no one else has seen him in town before either.”

“This is a small town so anyone different would stand out, wouldn’t they?”

“They would Sir!”

“I don’t suppose you have been on to the Hotel?”

“To see if they have an oldish man staying there?  I called in on my way back here Sir.”

“And!”

“No Sir!  Apart from tourists who are staying for the one or two nights.”

“To look round the castle!”

“Yes Sir.  I was going to ring round the guest houses next.”

“What is this man like, Constable?”

“What do you mean Sir?”

“Your lady down Marsh Lane said that he had white hair and walked stooped over.  How was he dressed?  Was he smart or scruffy?  Did he wear a tie?  Suit or slacks and jacket?  Was he wearing a raincoat or an overcoat…?”

“An overcoat at this time of year Sir?”

“He could be feeling the cold Constable; it hasn’t been very warm these last few days.  Was he wearing shoes or trainers, or anything else for that matter?”

“Do you want me to go back and ask Mrs Worthington Sir?”

“Mrs Worthington?”

“The lady in Marsh Lane, the one who rang us.”

“That’s her name is it?  We really need to know more about our man Constable, was he wearing glasses?  Did he use a stick to aid his walking?  Did he look to be fit and healthy or did he shuffle along.  Come on man, you know the sort of questions to ask.  We need to know as much as we can about this chap.”

“To know what we are dealing with, sort of.  Right Sir!  I’ll go back and ask Mrs Worthington.”

“Leave it for now Constable, ring round the guest houses to see if anyone has been staying with them for the last two or three weeks.  Of course, he might have already left town for good.”

“What do you mean Sir?”

“Well, if he was born, or brought up in Marsh Lane, he might just be taking a trip down memory lane so-to-speak.  Walking up and down the lane looking at the houses and remembering that Mrs So-and-so lived there.  Mr What’s-his-name lived in that house; you get the picture?”

“Yes Sir!  Reminiscing!  Recalling his youth before he topples of his perch sort of thing?”

“Now you’re thinking Constable.”

“But if he is causing concern to a resident….”

“Then we have to do our job Constable, and either have a quiet word with him on the street, or ask him to come here so that we can talk to him in private.”

“I’ll ring the guest houses Sir.”

“How many are there?”

“About five or six!”

“As many as that!  All right Constable.  See what you can come up with.”

The following morning Jim was sat in his office reading the previous days’ paper when there was a knock on the door, he looked up as the constable entered.

“What have you got for me?” He asked.

“It’s about our man on Marsh Lane Sir.  I called all the guest houses in town; they've not seen or heard of anyone resembling him.”

“Mm!  Has the lady who reported it been in touch again?”

“I was just coming to that Sir.  She has.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?  Get yourself down there and, either ask him to come down here, or question him there.”

“Right Sir!  Don’t you want to question him?”

“If he doesn’t want to answer you down there, then bring him back here.”

“Right Sir.”

As the constable closed the door behind him Jim opened the top drawer on the left of his desk, removed a newspaper and laid it out in front of him.  He turned to the crossword, and then picked his pen up.  He looked through the clues absentmindedly, not really taking any notice.  He went to the rest room and made himself a mug of tea.  Jim was just settling down to check his crossword answers when there was a knock on his door.

“Come in!” he called.

The constable put his head round the door.

“Have you got a minute Sir?” he asked.

“That was quick lad!  Yes, I’ve a minute or two to spare, what’s the problem?”

The constable opened the door fully.

“If you’d like to go in Sir and tell the Inspector what you told me in the car.”

An old man, bent with age and worry entered.  He wore brown shoes, dark brown trousers and jacket, but had a white polo necked sweater on under the jacket.

“This is Inspector Ryan.  Sir this is Mr Armitage.  He is the gentleman who was looking at the houses on Marsh lane.”

“Take a seat Mr Armitage,” Ryan said pointing to a chair on the far side of his desk.  Armitage walked across the room and sat in the chair indicated.  His white hair didn’t look to have had a comb through it in days, the eye brows thick, bushy and the same colour as his hair.  His eyes were grey and piercing, he had a long-hooked nose and small mouth.  It was obvious that he hadn’t shaved for a few days either.

“Well Mr Armitage!  What can we do for you?”  Ryan asked.  Armitage simply sat looking down at the floor, tears running down his face and dripping from his chin and end of his nose.  “What can you tell me constable?” Jim asked standing and moving round the desk to comfort the old man.

“All he would say, Sir, is, ‘I killed ‘em!  I killed ‘em all!’  When I asked what he meant, he just repeated it Sir.  ‘I killed ‘em!  I killed ‘em all!’”

“Mr Armitage!  My name is Jim Ryan.  Can you hear me Sir?” he said, putting his hand on the old man’s shoulder and kneeling down next to him.  The constable brought another chair for Jim to sit in.

“I can hear you!” the old man said not looking up.

“What did you mean when you told the constable here that you’d killed them?  Who did you kill Sir?”

“All the people who lived in that row of cottages, that’s who!” he murmured looking at Jim, the tears still rolling down his face.

Jim sat back in the chair and looked at the constable who was leaning against the door frame, he shrugged his shoulders.

“Do I need to get the tape recorder out Mr Armitage?  Could I have your full name please?”

“Edward Armitage.  You can record this if you want, but it’s not going to bring those people back is it?” he wiped his sleeve across his face.

“May I call you Edward?” Jim asked carefully.  “Call me Jim.”

Armitage looked at Jim without blinking.  “Call me what you want!”

“All right Edward.  Can you tell me all about it?  You say that you killed all the people in that row of cottages, yet a Mrs Worthington called us from number.  What number does she live at constable?”

“Number two, she lives at number two,” the constable said slowly.

“So, Edward a lady who you say you murdered is alive and well and…….”

“I didn’t murder anyone,” the old man said, “I said that I killed ‘em, I killed all of ‘em.”

“Yes Edward!  I know that, but how could you mur… kill someone and they call us to tell us about……”

“I didn’t kill ‘em now.  I killed ‘em then!”

“When are we talking about Edward?  Can you tell me the whole story?”

“I worked up at the castle during the war.”

“What did you do up there Sir?”

“We trained people to drop into occupied territory.”

“Spies you mean?”

“No…...!  Yes…...!  Sort of!  We trained ‘em how to use a radio, to use explosives and weapons.  What to look for and report back.  Help the resistance do their job into bringing chaos to the occupying forces.”

“Okay!” he motioned to the constable who approached him, “get onto the castle and find out anything you can about this will you?” he whispered.

“And find out if the gentleman is telling the truth Sir?” he whispered back.  Jim nodded his head.  The constable left the room closing the door behind him.

“Now then Sir, would you like to tell me all about this event.  Start from the beginning and take your time.  Would you like a drink?  Tea!  Coffee!”

“Nothing thank you.” He was quiet for a while; Jim was just about to speak.  “We moved into the castle in January nineteen thirty-eight.  We were secretly gearing up for war, we didn’t know when it was going to happen, but the feeling at the time was that it would happen in the not-too-distant future.  The government of the time was against it, but it was decided to go ahead and start anyway.  We sent a number of people over to France, Belgium and Holland ready for any war when it started.  They were sleepers, if you like; they would come to life if hostilities broke out in those countries.  They knew how to use explosives and where to place them to do the maximum amount of damage.  They knew what to look out for and recruit locals to form a resistance group in their area.  It took about a year to train these people in everything they needed.  Of course, they were taught how to evade the enemy and escape to Switzerland or Spain if they were compromised…...  Not many made it back, the ones who did were sent back to another location, that’s if they wanted.  You couldn’t force someone to risk their lives by dropping into an occupied country.

When war broke out in September of nineteen thirty-nine, we upped the number of people we sent over, we could still send them by boat in those days and they would take the train or bus to their destination area, once there they would contact the local resistance, but as the Nazi’s pushed south and our forces reached Dunkirk for the evacuation.  Well, it made getting people over there a damn sight more difficult.  We could land them on the beaches at night, but they would have difficulty crossing France to their allocated area, the resistance helped, but the numbers being caught started to increase.  So, we trained them in the art of parachuting, and dropped them into occupied territory.  We would choose a night when the Air Force were flying over and our aircraft flew along with them, so as not to raise suspicions.”

“Are you ready for a drink yet Edward?” Jim asked.  Edward ignored him and blew his nose before continuing.

“We were dropping them by parachute and flying them in, the RAF pilots landing in fields at night without much lighting to help them.  They were so brave, those pilots, not knowing if there would be any enemy waiting on the ground for them, or night fighters trying to stop them, and they flew in all weathers, rain, hail, sleet or snow.  All at the dead of night.  So brave!  So brave!”  He looked down at the floor and was silent.  The constable entered as quietly as he could and placed a mug of tea in front of Jim as well as handing him a sheet of paper, and then he left closing the door silently behind him.  Jim looked down at the paper and read what was written.

An Edward Armitage worked at the castle during the war.  He started there in January nineteen thirty-eight and left in April nineteen forty-five when the unit was closed.  He was responsible for allocating the agents their areas and contacting the local resistance units.  The final paragraph said that the cottages in Marsh Lane had been requisitioned to house the agents whilst they trained, a lorry picking them up every morning and taking them back in the evening.  The agents were taken to the north of Scotland for their explosives training, to stop the local people hearing and asking awkward questions.  You could have heard a pin drop in that room, the only sound was the ticking of the clock which hung above the door.

“In September nineteen forty-two,” he suddenly started again, “we started to notice that we had an increase of agents who were disappearing for some reason.  We looked at all the possibilities as to why this was happening and the only conclusion we could come to, was that there was a mole in the system somewhere.”

“A what?”

“A mole!  A spy!  A traitor.  Someone who was in the know and feeding the information to the enemy.  What we didn’t know was where this mole was.  Was he here, working right next to the rest of us?  Or across in France.  If it was someone on the continent then they would have had to know the code words for all the radios and who was operating them.  It had to be an agent; we just couldn’t imagine it being someone here.  One of our friends, someone you worked alongside day in day out.” He blew his nose again.  “Do you think that I could have that drink now?” he asked.

Jim stood and went to the door and opened it, “do you think you could get Edward a drink constable.  What would you like?”

“Tea please!  Milk and two sugars.”

“Get that?”

“Got it Sir.  Do you want another?”

“Another?  I haven’t had one.”

“I brought it in when I brought you that paper.”

“Oh!” he said turning and seeing the full mug still on the desk.

“It’ll be cold by now.  I’ll get you a fresh one.”

“Thanks,” Jim said closing the door and going back to the chair at the side of the old man.  Nothing was said until the constable had brought the drinks in and placed them on the desk in front of the two men.

“In late forty-three we were told to send more and more across to France, well there were only so many we could send.  In forty-one we’d compressed the training down to six months, that was on orders from the top.  They said that they needed more operatives in France.  We were turning them out as quickly as we could recruit them, but as I said, you can’t force someone into giving up their life.  Then an entire group was wiped out, well almost an entire group, a few managed to escape capture.  We knew that we had an informer, a traitor over there, and it could only have been a member of the resistance.  A trap was set and they fell right into it.  We managed to bring him back to this country and questioned him at length.  I am afraid that we resorted to using the same tactics as the Gestapo used, we threatened to eliminate his family and spread the word that he was a traitor, then send him back for the underground to deal with.  He sang like a lark.  He told us who his German contacts were, how and where he made contact.  He also informed us of another traitor and where he could be found, another member of the resistance.  We contacted the local group and advised them not to eliminate him but feed him false information.  He became very useful and caused the Germans quite a few headaches until they realised what was happening.  That they would be sent off chasing red herring’s whist the resistance blew the railway or bridge in a totally different area.  The Gestapo tortured him, but he couldn’t tell them anything, for the simple reason he didn’t know……  I belie…...  I believe that they tortured him to death.”  He looked down at his feet, again the tears flowed down his face as he reached out and picked his mug of tea up from the desk.

He took a sip of his drink.  “Early in forty-four we were told to send everyone we had.  There had been talk, behind closed doors you understand, of an invasion of France sometime that year and they wanted the resistance to cause as much mayhem and confusion as they possibly could, not only to draw the enemies forces away from the coast, but to make them think that any invasion would be as far away as possible from the planned place.  At that time all the cottages in Marsh Lane were full……  We could send twelve operatives over…...  There was one young lady who lived in number two, Anna Marie…...  I…… we knew that we shouldn’t, but there was something about her which drew us together.  We became lovers, if you like.  She was French, she and her brother fled from Rouen in France in nineteen thirty-nine, her husband had been in the French air force, but was shot down and killed in the first months of the war.  George, Anna Marie’s brother, was one of the first to volunteer for the service and return to France and fight for his country’s freedom.

Quite a few agents were being caught……, not long after they arrived in their areas…….  We contacted the resistance to find out if it was one of their number……, the only other scenario was that it was one of us……, someone who lived……. and worked…… up there…..., in the castle.  Everyone came under suspicion……, everyone…..., including me…..., especially me because I was the one who sent them……, arranged their transport……, arranged with the resistance to meet them…… and where…...  I was one of only four people in the organisation who knew where all the agents were operating…….  There was…... Claude Southron……, Trevor Caruthers……, Anthony Wynn Stanley and myself.

It was decided to send the twelve operatives which were ready…... Trained.  We knew…..., they knew that they were going into a highly dangerous area at a very dangerous time.  Oh, they didn’t know about our invasion or the date, we didn’t know when the date was.  I organised the twelve’s transportation and where they were going to land.  Three were going in together; they were flown in by a Halifax aeroplane.  Four were being flown in by our Lysanders’.  The final five were going to parachute into their areas; they were being taken by another Halifax.  All four of us knew about this.  All four of us knew where these agents would be deployed.  If anything went wrong, if the agents were met by the Germans then everyone knew that the traitor had to be one of the four of us.  The night before they went Anna Marie and I spent the night together…..., in number two Marsh Lane.  I didn’t want her to go……  I didn’t want to lose her…...  You see I’d never felt like that about any woman before…… in my life!

That day they were picked up, in mid-afternoon, by a bus and driven off to the airfield…...  That was the last I ever saw of her…...  Her face framed by the bus window as it drove away.  We heard what happened to each and every one of them over the next ten days.

The Halifax carrying the three landed, as soon as its wheels touched the ground it was bathed in light and the German’s opened fire with machine guns.  Anyone who wasn’t killed by the bullets died when the aeroplane burst into flames.  The same fate was met by the four Lysanders.  One pilot did manage to get back into the air and make it home, the agent dead and the pilot badly injured.  Of the five going in by parachute…….  They were dead before they hit the ground, the Germans shooting them as they drifted slowly down.  The only thing which made it through was a drop of arms and explosives for the resistance fighters, but that was sent by another department so we knew nothing of it.  Shortly afterwards Wynn Stanley disappeared, no, that’s not correct.  He was transferred, or so we were told.  A large black coloured car arrived one day and two dark suited men got out and then escorted him back to the car and it drove away.  We never got to hear what happened to him, shot or hung I should think.

We sent many agents, with great success after the incident.  After the invasion our department was scaled down and we eventually closed in nineteen forty-five.  Well, we didn’t really close, someone else took over and the operation was moved somewhere more…... shall we say, more secure.  My life seemed empty after she had gone, oh I knew that it was only a matter of time, I mean that was why she was there, to go back to her country and help in the fight against the Germans, but part of my life ended when she went…... an even bigger part ended when we learned of their fate.  That is my story Jim,” he uttered sadly, the tears starting to flow again.  “That is why I was looking at the cottages on Marsh Lane.  Remembering that fateful day when she went away for good.”

“Where are you staying Edward,” Jim asked fighting back the tears, “I’ll get the constable to drop you off.”

“Thank you.  That’s most kind, but I’m going home now, I think that it is time I went back to my home.”  He said standing.  Edward looked down at Jim and nodded, then turned and walked out of the door.

Jim was just about to pick his, now cold, mug of tea up when the constable came into the office.

“Has he gone?”

“Just!  Why?  What’s wrong?”

“I’ve just got off the phone with someone in the ministry of defence, some historian.”

“And!”

“They told me that the curator up at the castle had rung them about this chap, so they had looked him up.  Our friend, Edward Armitage worked up at the castle as the despatcher.  Three days after the war ended, he was found in his room in the castle.  He’d hung himself from the ceiling light fitting.”

“What!”

“They found a note on his desk.  In it he admitted to being the traitor.  He said that he’d asked the Germans not to hurt a girl called Anna Marie when she landed.”

“They ignored his request, because she was shot as she parachuted in.”

“She wasn’t!  It seems that the only person in the castle, in the world, who knew where those five were going to be dropped, was Edward, when she came back in forty-six to find Edward…...”

“So, he wasn’t the traitor?”

“No Sir!  The traitor was this Wynn Stanley chap.”

“So, when she came back to find Edward, she was told all about him.”

“Yes!”

“You mean to say that I, we have been talking to a ghost?  I don’t believe you lad, now go out there and find him.”

“With respect Sir……”

“I hate it when you use that expression.”

“Edward Armitage would be a hundred and four this year.”

“You are having me on!”

“I can take you to him if you want Sir.”  Jim looked up at the constable, “he’s in the church yard with Anna Marie buried next to him.”