Brambletye Chapter Two (standard:drama, 1329 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Feb 17 2026	Views/Reads: 0/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
In searching for background material for his new novel, Tim Carmichael stumbles across the ruins of a sixteenth-century mansion, a girl in a white robe, and a whole lot of trouble.

CHAPTER TWO 

I ate a traditional English breakfast in the hotel before heading out of
the village, bound for the South Coast, after I'd paid a quick visit to 
Brambletye, of course, to quell that unease taking root in my stomach. 
Driving into the winding lane, I parked up in the same recess as 
yesterday, and would you believe, in much the same conditions. Except 
there was no sign of the girl or her pursuer. That should have been 
enough to satisfy my curiosity, or concerns might be more appropriate. 
But no, my desire to seek an explanation for the mystery won my 
internal battle for dominance. Rashly, perhaps, I went to the car boot, 
pulled a pair of Wellingtons from my holdall, and, casting off my 
trainers, dug my feet into them. 

Shrugging on my coat, I stood momentarily, staring at the looming ruins,
their greyness blending with the mist that seemed to swirl around them 
perpetually. Resting my gloved hands on the railings, and albeit 
unwisely ignoring the fact that they obviously guarded private 
property, 

I hurdled them and began my exploration of the private area. The ground
grew soggy as I advanced towards the three monoliths, the neatly kept 
grass incongruous with the encroaching woodland and weather. Reaching 
the structure, I pondered how they must have appeared centuries ago as 
parts of a whole, grand home, unravaged by time and environment. Then, 
for an instant, I pictured Joanne's reaction to me standing in a field 
in the middle of nowhere, gazing up at ruins. I shrugged the thought 
off as quickly as it came, though. She wouldn't much care as long as 
the money flowed in. 

It didn't take long, however, for my thoughts to prod me back to my
purpose for diverting here: the events I'd witnessed just twenty-four 
hours before. 

Where had the two figures disappeared? 

To my left, a track ran alongside woodland, and I wondered what might
lie beyond it that might explain what I'd seen. I veered towards it, 
not having considered how I might explain my trespassing should I 
encounter the landowner. 

Which was what happened, of sorts. 

Not the landowner as such, but his gamekeeper and not-so-friendly canine
sidekick. The latter, a Doberman by its appearance, hurtled towards me, 
teeth bared, until the gamekeeper's authoritative shout of ‘heel' 
brought the animal's rush to an abrupt halt. 

With the brute eyeing me menacingly, the man, tall and slim, if slightly
stooped, with the obligatory cloth cap and rifle slung over his 
shoulder, approached me as if he were trying to mimic the dog. 

“What be you doing here on private land?” he more or less barked out,
alarmingly, and unnecessarily cocking the rifle at me. 

“What am I doing here,” I corrected him, not at all sure that was wise. 

“Tryin' to be funny?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing to slits, his
finger inching towards the trigger on his shotgun. 

“No, no,” I rushed out, shaking my head. “Look ...” I explained to the
man what I'd seen transpire the previous day, expressing my concern as 
calmly as I could to a character with a shotgun at the ready. 

“So I just wondered where they ...” 

“So you're not one of them, then,” the gamekeeper interrupted, shifting
his weapon to a less threatening position, and then, “I reckon not. You 
ain't dressed right for one thing. Don't give you no right to come 
trespassing, though. Guvnor don't appreciate no one nosing around.” 

“No, I know,” I said with a sigh. “I apologise.” 

“Aye, well, let that be a lesson to yer. If not shot, yer could've been
bitten,” he said, glancing at his dog, who seemed all too keen to 


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