Raven's Gate

preferred shoplifting and loitering on motorway bridges, smoking. That’s what I heard.”
    “I never smoked,” Matt growled.
    “Modern children have no real education,” Jayne Deverill remarked. She was serving some sort of stew out of a pot. The meat was thick and fatty, and came in a rich, blood-coloured gravy. Road kill in a primeval swamp. “You see them in the street in their shapeless clothes, listening to what they call music but what you or I would call a horrible noise. They have no respect, no intelligence, no taste. And they think the world belongs to them!”
    “They’ll soon find out…” Claire Deverill muttered.
    There was a knock at the door and Noah appeared, dressed in what might have passed for a suit except that it was about fifty years old, faded and shapeless. He wore a shirt buttoned to the neck, but no tie. He looked to Matt like an out-of-work funeral director.
    “The car’s ready,” he announced.
    “We’re still eating, Noah.” Jayne Deverill scowled. “Wait for us outside.”
    “It’s raining.” Noah sniffed the food hopefully.
    “Then wait in the car. We’ll be out soon.”
    Matt waited until Noah had gone. “Are you going out?” he asked.
    “We might be.”
    “Where?”
    “When I was young, a child never asked questions of his elders,” Claire Deverill said.
    “Was that before or after the First World War?” Matt asked.
    “Pardon?”
    “Forget it…”
    Matt fell silent and finished his meal. Jayne Deverill stood up and went over to the kettle. “I’m making you a cup of herbal tea,” she explained. “I want you to drink it all, Matthew. It has a restorative quality and it seems to me that you’ve been rather on edge since the death of that poor detective.”
    “Are you going to arrange for him to phone me tomorrow?”
    “Oh no. Mr Mallory won’t be coming back.” She poured steaming water into a squat black teapot, stirred it and then poured out a cup for Matthew. “Now you get that down you. It’ll help you relax.”
    “It’ll help you relax.”
    Maybe it was the way she spoke the words. Or maybe it was the fact that Mrs Deverill had never made tea like this before, but suddenly Matt was determined not to touch the liquid he was being offered. He cupped it in his hands and sniffed. It was green and smelled bitter.
    “What’s in it?” he asked.
    “Leaves.”
    “What sort of leaves?”
    “Dandelion. Full of Vitamin A.”
    “Not for me, thanks,” Matt said. He tried to sound casual. “I’ve never been that crazy about dandelions.”
    “Nonetheless, you will try it. You’re not leaving the table until you do.”
    Claire Deverill was watching him too carefully. Matt was certain now: if he drank the tea, the next thing he knew it would be the morning of the next day.
    “All right.” Matt lifted the cup. “If you insist.”
    “I do.”
    The question was – how to get rid of it?
    Finally, it was Asmodeus who helped him out. The cat must have crept into the kitchen while they were eating. It jumped up on to the sideboard and caught a jug of milk with its tail, causing it to topple and break. Both sisters turned round, their attention momentarily diverted. Instantly Matt reached down and up-ended his cup under the table. When the two women turned back again, he was cradling the cup in his hand as if nothing had happened. He just hoped they wouldn’t notice the steam rising out of the damp carpet.
    He pretended to drink until the cup was empty, then set it down on the table. Something stirred in Jayne Deverill’s eyes and he knew she was pleased. Now to see if his theory was right. He yawned and stretched his arms.
    “Tired, Matthew?” She spoke the words too quickly.
    “Yes.”
    “No need to help with the dishes tonight then. Why don’t you go up to bed?”
    “Yes. I’ll do that.”
    He stood up and went to the stairs, making his movements deliberately slow and heavy. He didn’t turn on the light in his room. Instead he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, wondering what would happen next.
    He didn’t have long to wait. The door opened and light spilled into the room.
    “Is he asleep?” It was Claire Deverill’s voice.
    “Of course. He’ll sleep twelve hours and wake up with a chainsaw of a headache. Are you ready?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then let’s go.”
    Matt heard the women leave. He listened to their footsteps on the stairs. The front door opened and closed. The engine of the Land Rover started and the headlights