4:45 pm

Malcolm, having consumed his third mug of tea since his return from the dungeon, rose from the kitchen table and made his way to the front door. Darkness was already falling and he wanted to move his motorcycle from behind the hedge to the back of the house. He considered it the safest thing to do. It would also offer a little bit of shelter from the weather, since the skies were blackening and a serious threat of some heavy overnight rain looked very much on the cards.
The garden at the front of the cottage was quite small, with just a token triangular lawn edged by the road on one side, the river on the second, and the gravel driveway on the third. The driveway itself snaked its way up from the gate, passed in front of the cottage, then swung around the far corner and disappeared out of sight. Before crossing the lawn to his motorcycle Malcolm decided to follow the drive around the side of the cottage to see what was around the corner. Here the drive ended. It did widen out a little bit, leaving space for perhaps two small vehicles, but Malcolm thought it more likely designed to cater for one large Mercedes. But all the same he could see the advantage of parking the car here. It was a very secluded spot hidden from the road by the cottage and by tall trees along the riverbank. Seeing that there were no garage nor shed available he concluded that this was definitely the best place to move his motorcycle to keep it out of sight.
Wandering back to where his motorcycle stood propped up against the hedge Malcolm could see directly down the country lane looking back in the general direction of Muddleton Morton. The lay-by where he had originally intended to stay for the night was just a little way up the road and not as far as he had first thought. He reflected on his good fortune of stopping exactly where he did and then deciding to turn back. It had all worked out right in the end. What with finding all that money in the dungeon as well, the cottage seemed to be a good omen. He liked it here and he was already revising his plans to visit Katie Brown. His original thoughts were to give it at least a week, maybe longer, before setting off for Lancashire. But now, with all that money in his possession he had come to the conclusion that he could quite easily ask Katie to come and live with him here at Cuckoo Cottage, and almost straightaway. He had thought of marriage but considered it a bit too premature to propose at this stage. However he felt sure that she would accept his offer of moving in with him. After all it was in a beautiful part of the English countryside, had a well fitted dungeon to amuse her, and with all that money in the cash box, it could keep them both in relative comfort for a very long time indeed.
Malcolm realised that he was letting his thoughts drift again and he looked to the heavens. The grey overcast skies seemed to have brought darkness on early, and there was only a little daylight around. As he reached the motorcycle he noticed a car approaching with just its sidelights on. He cursed. This was damn inconvenient and bad timing, and was probably the only car to have passed the cottage all day. Not wanting to be seen he ducked down and waited for the vehicle to pass.
Crouching low Malcolm first heard the screeching of tyres. This was followed by an impact to the hedge. The force of the crash was not great, but enough to send the motorcycle tumbling over. The hedge bulged and the motorcycle fell onto Malcolm's legs. He yelled out an involuntary scream as the shock of the crash hit him.
Malcolm stood up and felt his legs. He was a little shaken but the damage done to his person was minimal. Just a little bruising along the shins. He inspected the motorcycle. Again he could see nothing serious. All he could find was a broken rear-view mirror. The handlebar and mirror had sunk into the lawn and were covered in grass and mud. The glass had cracked and pieces of the mirror fell to the ground as he raised up the motorcycle to its wheels. But that was about the total extent of the damage.
"Are you all right?" asked a female voice from over the other side of the hedge.
Malcolm stood upright and brushed the mud from his backside. "Err.. Yes!… I'm okay… I'll survive!" he assured the worried looking girl.
The girl was standing with the car door open and looking over the hedge at Malcolm. She was tall, young and quite good looking, with long black hair and aged somewhere around nineteen or twenty.
"My brakes failed just as I was coming to this corner. I pulled the handbrake on to stop, but I still managed to hit the hedge. I'm sorry if I've done any damage," apologised the girl and trying to explain the cause of the accident.
Malcolm realised that it was too late to get out of the situation. He had been seen and that was that. He wanted to complain about the broken mirror but refrained from doing so. It was better to leave the incident alone. What was more important was what to do with this girl? At that point in time he was uncertain as to exactly what must be done. But at the back of his mind a nagging doubt told him that it was impossible to let her go now that she had seen him.
"Hang on and I'll come round," he told her.
Going out onto the road Malcolm found the bonnet of a small French car sunk into the hedge at precisely the point where he too had come to a grinding halt the night before. The engine was still running and from the glow in the hedge it looked like the sidelights were still working.
"Can you back it out of the hedge?" Malcolm asked.
"Oh, it'll drive all right, it just won't stop unless I use the handbrake," explained the girl.
"Well you can't leave it here," said Malcolm. "This is a dangerous bend and you're blocking the lane."
"Is it possible to put it in your drive for bit so that I can have a look and see what's happened?" she queried.
Malcolm rubbed his chin. He was now in deep trouble whatever he did. He was meant to be lying low and undercover and now this girl had seen him. His photograph was more than likely in all the national newspapers, or more probably a photofit picture of himself since he could not recall the last time he had had his picture taken. His dilemma was, if he allowed her to get away and she recognised him later, then that would spell the end. He concluded that it was now impossible to let the girl go. Somehow he had to restrain her and keep her here. But how? He had nothing on him that would do the trick. He decided to play along with her for a little while and hopefully lure her into the cottage. At least moving into the driveway got her one step closer.
"Yes, okay. I'll open the gate right up," Malcolm told her. "See if you can back away from the hedge and pull into the drive using the engine to save pushing."
Malcolm waited with one hand on the gate for the car to enter the gravel drive. It come to a halt with a tug of the handbrake. He shut the gate and walked up to the car.
Stooping down to speak through the driver's window he said: "Open up the bonnet and I'll have a look."
The girl was fumbling in a bag on the back seat whilst he spoke. She turned to face him holding a flashlight.
"Will this help?" she asked.
"Yes thanks," he said accepting the torch from her through a half open window.
Malcolm raised up the bonnet and shone the beam around the engine compartment. Darkness was falling rapidly now and he was grateful for the extra light. He found the brake's hydraulic reservoir and unscrewed the cap. Shining the light inside he could see that the cylinder was empty of fluid.
The girl joined him by his side. Together they peered into the empty chamber.
"You've got no brake fluid!" said Malcolm stating the obvious.
The girl seemed to take the announcement as a minor irritant.
"Have you got any?" she asked.
Malcolm smiled. She obviously knew very little about cars. He knelt down and shone the torch beneath the engine compartment and examined the front wheels of the car. He could see the problem now, a brake pipe had burst and fluid was leaking from the flexible hose connected to the wheel.
"You've got a leak," he told her.
The girl knelt down and looked under the car to where the torch was shining. She could see what little remained of the fluid dripping slowly from the pipe.
"Oh dear!… It's not going to get very far then is it?" she stated flatly as if resigned to her fate.
"Not like that you're not," confirmed Malcolm and indicating the drip with the beam of the torch.
"I've got to get it fixed. Where's the nearest garage?" she asked.
Malcolm had not got a clue. But the fact that she was asking suggested that she too was a stranger to these parts. He stood up and the girl did the same.
"You're not from around here then?" he asked brushing gravel from his knees.
"No, I was looking for digs for the night. I was told that there was a farmhouse out here about three miles from the village that did bed and breakfast. I was trying to find the place when I hit the hedge," she explained.
Malcolm smiled inwardly at the girl's answer. The statement was music to his ears. She was not from around here. She was alone and looking for somewhere to stay. Well he already had plans to correct all that, and she need have no worries as regards accommodation for the night. She just did not know about it yet.
There were further plans for her future also brewing up in Malcolm's devious mind. As he reflected upon her sleeping arrangements for the night, visions of that anonymous girl strapped to the X-frame came back to haunt him. Somehow he could not help but notice the great similarity between this girl and the one in his vision. It was an uncanny coincidence. It was just such a pity that he no longer had any drawing equipment or materials with him otherwise he would do something about it.
Malcolm turned his mind back to reality and the great opportunity presented to him by the girl's misfortune.
Trying to sound as if he had a little bit of local knowledge he informed her: "I'm afraid you're out of luck on both counts. The nearest garage that does repairs is over in Muddlebridge. That's about ten miles back down the road. And I can't see anybody coming out until morning anyway. Even if they were open after Christmas they always shut at five o'clock on the dot… And you won't get much joy at the farm either. They're away for the New Year and won't be back until Monday… I know that for a fact."
The girl's shoulders noticeably sagged at the news.
"God! What am I going to do?… Is there a phone I can use?" she asked.
The phone question threw Malcolm. He wanted the girl to ask if there was accommodation here at the cottage. That way he would not appear to be forcing the issue.
"Sorry no phone," he told her and shaking his head. "This is just a holiday cottage and I'm just here for a few days to look after the place and tidy up a bit. I don't live here permanently. I'm just the Caretaker."
Malcolm could see the irony of his remark. From being a real life Caretaker of a massive Amusement Park complex, he had come down to the level of minding a little cottage, miles from nowhere, and for an owner that was very much dead.
"What am I going to do then? I really should find somewhere to stay the night," she said sorrowfully.
Malcolm smiled. That was much better. She was asking the right sort of questions now. He rubbed his chin once more and tried to look a little thoughtful before answering.
"I suppose you could stop here for the night. There's a spare room. And I can take you on my motorcycle to the phone in the village in the morning, or even on to Muddlebridge if the need be," he told her.
The girl appeared to brighten up at the news.
"Is that possible? It would be awfully kind of you if I could put me up for the night. I'll pay you and pay for the running about as well," she said.
"Okay! No problem. You can stay here tonight, and we'll sort out your little car problem tomorrow. And as for money, let's sort that out when everything's hopefully been put right and you're on your way again," he replied.
"Why thank you very much. That's very kind of you. I hope I'm not putting you out am I?" she said.
"No, not at all," Malcolm assured her.
The girl held out her hand.
"Well thanks. I'm Jenny by the way. Jennifer Stansfield, and what's your name?" she said.
Malcolm thought for moment. Should he give her his proper name? He concluded that it did not matter very much whether she knew his name or not. She was not going anywhere to tell anyone.
"Malcolm, just Malcolm," he told her eventually.
"Can I take my things into the house then Malcolm? I've got a travel bag and some valuable things in the back that I wouldn't like to get stolen," she asked.
Malcolm was thinking of other more practical things. Already he had considered the position of the car to be too risky. It could be seen quite easily from the lane and needed to be moved.
"I think if it was moved it would be a lot safer," he told Jenny. "Do you think you could drive it around to the side of the cottage? It would be out of sight there."
"Okay Malcolm, I'll have a go!" she replied. "I just hope the handbrake still works."
Malcolm closed down the bonnet and Jenny returned to the driver's seat. She started the engine.
"Carry on, I want to push my motorcycle around the side to join you. I was about to do that when you bumped into me," said Malcolm heading for his motorcycle propped up against the hedge.
Jenny managed to manoeuvre the stricken car safely into position as instructed. At least it drove and stopped using the handbrake. Malcolm arrived to prop the motorcycle up on its stand between the car and the cottage.
"Can I help you carry your things into the house?" he asked as Jenny was gathering up her travel bag from off the back seat.
"Please if you don't mind? I've got my equipment in the boot and I'd feel much happier if I had it all with me in the house. I've already lost some items today when they fell in the river, and I don't want to lose anymore," she explained.
Malcolm waited for Jenny to unlock the boot. As the lid opened his jaw dropped with surprise. Young Jennifer Stansfield was an artist. There was an easel in here plus a great big flat folding wooden box that held all the paints and equipment. There were also piles of drawing paper and a couple of unused canvases stretched out on wooden frames.
They started to unload.
"I see that you do a bit of painting then?" remarked Malcolm.
He had already decided not to tell her that he too was an aspiring artist. He would save that as a surprise for later.
Jenny nodded.
"I'm taking an art course at college. Our class were given various assignments during the holiday break. We were all given a few choices and asked to make case studies from a list of famous paintings. I opted for one called 'Muddleford Mill', which was painted not far from here. And that's where I've been today doing some research. I've made a few sketches from the very spot where the artist sat, and I planned to go back tomorrow to finish them off. But I guess that'll have to wait until the car's fixed now," she sighed.
Malcolm could not believe his good fortune. He was more concerned with the contents of the boot than the girls misfortunes. With this little lot he could produce some wonderful paintings. Already he was finalising his plans for the future, and most of those required some serious co-operation from a certain Miss Jennifer Stansfield.

8:00 pm

Malcolm and Jenny sat either side of a coal fire in the sitting room of the cottage. There were two cups of tea on the low table between them. They had eaten and Jenny had changed into wearing a pair of jeans and a floppy roll neck pullover. Likewise Malcolm had abandoned his black motorcycle leathers for a shirt and casual trousers.
Jenny had chatted on a bit about herself whilst jointly helping to prepare a meal, and afterwards they had talked some more around the kitchen table. As Malcolm had rightly assumed, she was not from these parts but from East Anglia, and that was also where she went to a local art college. He had also learned her age. She was twenty years old with her twenty-first due in July when she was planning a great big celebration. In return Malcolm had conceded that he was only seventeen and that his eighteenth birthday would not be until August. But that was about the total extent of the knowledge imparted concerning himself. As far as he was aware, the only two things Jenny knew about him were his age and occupation. To put it plainly and simply, he was a seventeen year old Caretaker, and that was about the lot. If anything other than these subjects did crop up in conversation and was personal to Malcolm he had quickly changed the subject to the weather or something less demanding such as the garden outside.
Jenny put down the cup of tea she was sipping and broke the long silence of the last ten minutes.
"Malcolm, would you mind awfully if I made a few sketches of you?" she asked.
Malcolm threw another lump of coal on the fire then took up the poker before considering his answer. With a thrust he stabbed the poker into the fire. Flames suddenly shot up from the re-kindled coals. Strangely he was just thinking the same thing of her. The only difference being that his plans made no difference whether she minded or not.
 "Where?… Here?… In the sitting room?… In this chair?… By the fire?…" Malcolm asked and firing off a lot of rapid questions.
"Sure!… Why not!… It'll be a nice subject... A teenager sat by a roaring fire in an old country cottage… It might prove useful to hand in as one of my studies," she told him, then added thoughtfully: "Perhaps I'll call it 'The Caretaker at Cuckoo Cottage'. It sounds like a nice alliterative title and rolls off the tongue."
Malcolm thought for a moment or two. The title of the proposed drawing did have a certain ring to it, and he liked it. He decided that he could see no reasons for objecting. And anyway, he was interested to find out exactly the extents to the girl's talents. One never knows, she might prove to be a very good artist just like himself. He decided to let her have a go so that he could find out.
"How do you want me then?" he asked reclining back in the chair and taking up a thoughtful pose.
 
10:15 pm.

Jenny put down her pad and pencil and looked at her watch. She was seated in the same armchair by a coal fire that showed signs of going out.
"God! Is that the time," she remarked. She had been busily sketching away for nearly two hours now.
"Let's see it then," said Malcolm from the armchair opposite.
Jenny passed the pad across the coffee table to Malcolm. This was the first time he had seen what she had been doing. He frowned then quickly tried not to show his disappointment. The drawing was average at best. All right, it portrayed a good likeness of himself reclining in a chair by an open fire. But there was no life to it. Somehow it lacked that certain sparkle that separated genuine artists like himself from the rest. This warranted a 'C' grade at the most. He could not give it any higher marks than that. However he decided to grin and bear it, and display an ignorance of not knowing just what was good and bad in art.
Malcolm looked up to see Jenny waiting for an answer.
"Well? What do you think?" she asked.
"Mmmm… Very good!… I like it!…" he lied.
"It could do with a bit more work on the fine details, but I think I've got a good likeness there, don't you?" questioned Jenny.
"I guess so, and I think it's just fine the way it is. It doesn't need anything else adding to it. Perhaps just add the title 'The Caretaker at Cuckoo Cottage' at the bottom, then leave it at that," answered Malcolm and handing the sketch pad back to Jenny.
He considered that he had posed long enough and wanted to call a halt to the session. He gave a tired yawn hoping it would signal time for bed.
Jenny looked at the picture.
"Perhaps you're right," she said. "Sometimes too much detail detracts from the true character of a portrait."
Malcolm looked to his watch. Jenny was busy adding the title to the bottom of the sketch as suggested.
"Do you mind if we call it a day?" he said with a yawn. "I got up very early this morning to travel over here, and I could do with a good night's kip."
Jenny finished adding the title and folded up the drawing pad.
"Yeh!… Me too I guess," she replied and rose from the chair.
Malcolm stood up too.
"I'll let you use the bathroom first," he told her as they made for the door.
"You sure? I might be some time. I was hoping to grab a shower before I got to bed. Is that okay?" she queried.
"No problem. The shower's electric. You pull a cord by the side to switch it on. You can't miss it," Malcolm informed her.
At the top of the stairs they parted company. Malcolm entering into the large main bedroom and Jenny into the smaller room opposite. For a moment they stood in the doorways and faced each other.
"Good night then Malcolm. And thanks for everything. I don't know what I'd have done without you. I was so lucky to breakdown just where I did. I just wish there was some way I could repay you," said Jenny across the small landing.
"Good night Jenny," said Malcolm closing his door.
Dulled by the thickness of the door he heard Jenny have the final say: "Good night then Malcolm. Sweet dreams."
Malcolm took several deep breaths and prepared himself mentally for what was to come. Opening up Mr. Mortimer's small case he took out a bottle of chloroform and a gauze rag and moved across to the mirror.
"And sweet dreams to you too my dear Jennifer," he said softly to himself as he settled down and waited.
 
 10:30 pm.

Jenny took her time before entering the bathroom. But when she did Malcolm was ready and waiting for her on the other side of the two-way mirror. She entered wearing a pink flannelette night gown. It was fastened around the waist by a belt made from the same material and tied loosely in a single knot at the front. She was carrying her own towel and a toilet bag.
Malcolm watched as Jenny first hung the towel on a rail next to the shower, then laid down the toilet bag at the side of the sink. She then undid the string of the bag and rummaged inside. Out came a shower gel and a small bottle of shampoo. He watched her place them on a shelf in the shower then inspect the pull-switch on the ceiling. She gave the cord a little tug then leaned inside the shower and turned on the taps. Suddenly water burst forth from the shower-head and she tested the temperature with a hand.
Jenny seemed to take ages alternating between testing the temperature of the water and making minor adjustments to the taps. Eventually she seemed to have got it right and she began to untie the belt from around her waist.
Malcolm prepared the gauze rag. He had not got a clue as to how much to use. He just kept pouring until everything felt soggy and the fumes clearly detectable even if held at arms length.
Jenny had her back to Malcolm as she removed the night gown. Casually she let it fall to the floor and stepped naked into the shower. There was a curtain that needed to be pulled across the entrance to prevent the water splashing on the bathroom floor. Jenny turned around and drew the curtain, and in that fleeting instance Malcolm caught a glimpse of a thick bushy growth of black pubic hair. He smiled and licked his lips. This was exactly what he was looking for. In that brief moment Jenny had shown herself to be the perfect subject for what he had in mind.
Moving very carefully, Malcolm raised the latch to the mirror and pushed it open into the room. Slowly he stepped into the bathroom. The hiss of hot water and gurgle of the pipes drowned out any noise coming from the room and Malcolm moved to stand the other side of the curtain. He took a deep breath and composed himself for a moment or two, then plunged through the curtain on an unsuspecting Jenny on the other side.
For a brief second Jenny screamed as the curtain flew open and an arm grabbed her around the throat. About a second was all the time she had in which to utter anything before a chloroform soaked rag gagged her nose and mouth. She tried to kick and struggle free but the grip was too firm. Slowly the effects of the fumes began to throw a veil of mist upon her senses. She was starting to descend down a long and spiralling tunnel. Gradually the tunnel narrowed and the speed of the fall quicken. She was soon racing at breakneck speed into a never ending pit. She felt her arms give up the fight and drop to her sides, and her knees gave way from under her. And that was the last thing she remembered before a calm and peaceful slumber surrounded her. Suddenly she was free to float and dream about anything she wanted.
Malcolm dragged the limp and lifeless body out of the shower and laid her down on the floor whilst he unbolted the bathroom door. Her body was dripping wet and her hair was all bedraggled and partially soaked with bubbles from the shampoo.
He wondered just how long she would remain unconscious. The last time he had done something like this to a girl he had used industrial glue and had known exactly how long she would stay under. Unfortunately he knew nothing about chloroform, so he was working in the dark in that respects. However, having re-read Mr. Mortimer's script whilst waiting for Jenny to turn up in the bathroom, he guessed that half an hour was about the length of time he had to play with. He reckoned that to be ample. He did not require anything like that length of time, ten minutes was about all he was looking for.
Following Mr. Mortimer's script, Malcolm dragged Jenny down the wooden stairs to the hall below, then through to the sitting room where he laid her down on the flagstone floor. Quickly he moved to the welsh-dresser and pulled it forward to reveal the secret entrance. Taking hold of the naked and unconscious girl beneath the armpits he dragged her through the opening and down the long flight of stairs. The steps were steep and made of concrete, and the girl's heels thumped hard on every step during the descent. At the bottom he put her down again and opened up the steel door to the dungeon. Taking a grip of the wrists this time he continued his journey through the doorway into the dungeon and then around to the right to end up in front of the small prison cell. Here he laid the wet body down once more and headed across the room to the cupboard over on the other side of the entrance.
Malcolm sifted through all the various forms of restraining devices stacked haphazardly on the shelves until he came across the item he was looking for. Basically he was still following Mr. Mortimer's script. He was looking for a shackling device very similar to those commonly used by the police to restrain prisoners. It consisted of handcuffs on a short chain, with the same arrangement for the ankles, and another chain linking the other two chains together. Wearing these the prisoner would be able to hobble slowly, walking with hands together at the front and kept low by the chain in the middle.
Jenny had not moved a muscle. She remained lying on her back with arms resting above her head just as he had left her. She appeared to be still sleeping soundly. Malcolm moved her arms back down to her stomach then locked the handcuffs about her wrists. He then untwisted and straightened out the connecting chain and secured the other two bracelets about her ankles. When finished he stood up and breathed a sigh of relief. At least now if she woke up she could not get away very easily.
 With less urgency about him now, Malcolm unlocked the cell door, dragged Jenny inside, then placed her down on the mattress resting on the floor.
Closing the cell door and turning the key in the lock, Malcolm peered through the bars. Jenny was now his prisoner. There was no hope of escape for her now. He took one long last lingering look at the unconscious, naked, shackled and dripping wet body lying on the mattress inside, then deposited the key back on the hook. He decided that she could stay like that until morning.
"Pleasant dreams my sweet little Miss Jennifer Stansfield... Sleep well for we've both got a busy day tomorrow and I want you looking at your best!" he whispered through the bars before turning and walking away.
 
11:00 pm

Malcolm had one more thing to do before he retired to bed. He had noticed a radio in the car belonging to the girl. Locating the car keys in her bedroom he went outside into what was now driving rain. Sitting in the driver's seat to keep dry he turned on the radio and listened to the eleven o'clock news. He was expecting the worst.

The bongs of Big Ben chimed and the newscaster announced:

'Ferry disaster… Over one thousand people feared dead as two ships collide in the English Channel… '

After that the next half hour of the program was dedicated to the disaster. Apparently at four o'clock that very evening a cross-channel ferry carrying two-thousand passengers had collided with another passenger ship, this time with over three-thousand people aboard and returning from a winter cruise of the Norwegian fjords. The news bulletin started by describing the chaotic scene in the English Channel and of the many rescue boats snatching passengers from the freezing waters. A panel of experts then came on outlining the possible causes of the crash. The bulletin then went on to talk about the tragic loss of life, then finally had someone being interviewed who took great pleasure in slating the ferry operators for putting profits before safety.
Malcolm listened all the way through the half hour program and heard nothing of himself, or Littlesea, or even the safe return of the four missing girls.
There was one interesting piece of news however that came right at the end of the bulletin. Sir Reginald Mortimer QC, one of the country's most senior judges had been found dead outside a London brothel. It was revealed that a post-mortem had established the cause of death to be a massive heart attack and that no suspicious circumstances were involved contrary to earlier reports. Though the question why he was found where he was still remained a mystery. The local prostitute population remained adamant that they had never seen the man before on their patch.
Suddenly Malcolm felt a whole lot happier and things were looking good. He finalised his plans on the strength of what he had heard. He would head off to Lancashire as soon as possible, maybe the day after next, but certainly not tomorrow, he already had plans afoot that would keep himself occupied for most of the day.
He was going to do the things he loved best. He was going to do a spot of painting, and Jennifer Stansfield was going to be his subject.

End of Chapter Eleven