Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet Read Online Free PDF Page A

Pimlico.
    Her old key was in her pocket and she toyed with it thoughtfully – it was of no use to her now of course. Ever since the house had been emptied, there had been all manner of padlocks and metal grilles installed. She had nowhere to go and this notion gave her a strange sense of freedom.
    Her stomach rumbled but she ignored it, focusing instead on what she was going to do next – wandering aimlessly around Brackenheath-on-Sea wasn’t going to help. Ahead of her was a pair of rusted iron gates set in an overgrown hedge and from the faded sign she read:

    BRAC E TH SE PARK

    As she followed the weed-cracked path, a strange silence descended and the air seemed to buzz with anticipation. She recognised the feeling, it was the same way she felt when she was about to make an important find – like the stone in the cave. But what on earth was she likely to find here?
    Charlotte walked to the end of the avenue of sycamore trees and the full forlorn landscape of Brackenheath-on-Sea Park unfolded in front of her. To her right was a bare patch of dirt, which Charlotte figured must be the remains of a formal garden. Ahead of her was a smelly, snot-green stretch of water set in undulating brown lawns after which was a rundown pavilion filled with broken glass and wood. It should have been another reason to want to leave but Charlotte kind of liked the place. It looked just like she felt, unloved and forgotten, and she found it comforting.
    Wandering past the boating lake, complete with rubbish and submerged shopping trolleys, she headed over to the half-moon pavilion. It was obviously a brilliant stage in its day and it still had great acoustics.
    â€˜
Saaaar, Reeeeei, Gaaaaaaaaaaaar
,’ Charlotte toned absentmindedly as she perched on the edge of the raised platform of the stage. They were the first sounds that came to mind, the ones she heard in the train station, and a plan formed. She would get a train to London, find her sister and… well, that was as far as she had got, but it was a start.
    Charlotte needed to get her bearings. She could see the turret tops of Rosemary Heights through the trees – that was definitely not the direction she wanted to go. To her left she could hear the river, which flowed past a giant willow, beyond which were open fields with a ramshackle cottage in the distance.
    Turning to see what was behind the pavilion, Charlotte gasped. Set on a small hill, the gnarly old oak was clearly visible through a thin veil of silver birches. It was just a skeleton of a tree at this time of year but there was no mistaking it was the tree from her dreams – and the painting at Rosemary Heights. As she drew closer she could see the naked briar of a wild rose snaking its way around the trunk and the twiggy upper branches swaying in the wind. She found herself swaying along with them.
    â€˜Are you alright, Miss?’A man stood a short distance away with a bemused look on his face.
    â€˜What? Oh! Yes, er… I’m fine.’ Charlotte rubbed her eyes as she realised where she was.
    â€˜You were away with the Fey there,’ he added with a beaming smile now he was sure he had her attention.
    He was a strange-looking individual, older than her parents but younger than Clarissa she guessed but his attire was oddly Victorian. He was already very tall and thin but his grey pinstripe trousers and waistcoat along with the top hat he was wearing made him look even taller. Charlotte had no idea where he had come from but wondered if there was a wedding somewhere nearby.
    â€˜Forgive me, where are my manners, I am Etienne.’ The man tipped his hat and gave her a formal bow before looking at her expectantly.
    â€˜Er, Charlotte,’ replied Charlotte.
    â€˜Wonderful to meet you.’ Etienne shook her hand vigorously. ‘You must be new here; locals take the Evergreen Oak very much for granted, most don’t even know it is here. No appreciation for