The Eyes of Beelzebub

By Harriet Wilson

Nathan Gladwick sets off on an incredible journey to seek his fame and fortune, accompanied by Rose, and five children, who all become embroiled in his dangerous adventure. His arch enemy, Dr Kazzan pursues him relentlessly, using all his evil powers to discover what Nathans father had found so terrifying. The glory that Nathan seeks is life changing and very different from what he expected. Will he succeed in the battle between good evil where his father failed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467009799

Harriet Wilson

Harriet Wilson was the spiritual inspiration for this book and all future books about Nathan Gladwick's adventures in his journeys to save the world.

Book preview

The Eyes Of

Beelzebub

Harriet Wilson

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AuthorHouse™

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© 2011 by Harriet Wilson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 11/02/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4670-0978-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-0979-9 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Part Two

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

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Prologue

‘That’s it, Ooooh!’ muttered Samuel Cribbs, supporting the small of his back with his hand as he raised his aching body, dropping the heavy spade into the wheelbarrow. ‘Thank goodness we be finished, Shiner! We’ve had enough for today.’

The Jack Russell looked up at his master through his one good eye that shone out through a smudge of black fur. ‘Woof’, he replied, taking a few steps back.

The gravedigger pulled up the collar of his ragged overcoat to shield him from the cold March wind that blew through the churchyard. He stood for a moment, watching the evening mist as it rolled between the gravestones. The frost had already started to form, draping the cemetery in a white shroud. Icy fingers were beginning to hang from the tombstones, dripping tears down the ornate sculptures, which disappeared into cracks in the hard, frozen earth.

Cribbs sniffed the air, his lip curling back in disgust. ‘On nights like this, Shiner, you can smell the decay.’

The dog lifted his nose in the air, imitating his master.

‘Listen, you can hear the whispers.’ Shiner’s ears pricked up. ‘They be lost souls,’ said Cribbs in a low voice. Shiner answered with a low gruff. ‘You can feel their presence as they move among us.’ Shiner let out another muffled bark. Then the two of them stood in silence as the mist swirled about them in a wet clove. Shiner pricked up his ears at the sound of the latch on the churchyard gate being lifted. The hackles on his back rose as he let out a low menacing growl. His lips curled back revealing thin white teeth as the sound of the gate creaking open echoed around the cemetery.

‘Who’s there?’ shouted Cribbs, frightened himself now by the ghostly apparition of two dark figures gliding towards him. ‘I’m doomed,’ he cried. ‘They’ve come for me! The spirits have come for me!’ Shiner sprang forward, growling through gritted teeth.’Samuel Cribbs?’ a voice boomed. Cribs was unable to answer as he looked up at the two mortals standing before him. One was dressed in a long black leather coat, carrying an ornate cane, the other in a black robe. ‘Stand up sir!’

Cribbs got to his feet at this command, relieved and feeling rather foolish, but still shaking. He had fallen victim to the ghost stories he was so fond of telling anyone that would listen. The tall man before him placed the head of his cane under Cribbs chin, lifting his face up to look at him. Samuel tried to turn away from the cold eyes, which were almost as frightening as the ghost he had imagined.

‘Did you have the good fortune to bury a Mr Gladwick? Mr Charles Gladwick.’

Cribbs coughed to clear his dry throat and choked as he answered. ‘Yes sir.’

‘Show me the grave,’ said the menacing voice of the man before him as he moved his cane down to poke him in the chest.

Without a word, Samuel Cribbs led the two gentlemen through the narrow pathway over to the far side of the cemetery. He hesitated as he looked back at his two visitors.

‘Here it be sir, right by the chapel wall.’

Darkness had now descended on the churchyard.

‘Have you a light?’ barked the tall visitor.

Cribbs, still nervous, felt into his coat pocket and drew out a well-worn candle. Digging deeper, he produced a box of matches. He lit the candle, which flickered hesitantly for a moment before burning properly and casting a yellow light over the gravestone.

Samuel, still on his knees, looked from the stone up to the men standing over him. Their silhouettes looked even more menacing in the flickering light.

The man holding the cane leaned closer to the gravestone, speaking almost in a whisper.

‘Are the secrets of the desert buried with you, Charles Gladwick?’

Samuel had never seen such a stony face. The candle fell from his shaking hand. It shone for a moment and then burnt out. The two men turned silently and disappeared into the darkness.

‘Where are you, Shiner?’ whispered Samuel. He heard his dog growl. ‘Don’t worry boy, they be gone.’ He could feel the beads of sweat still running down his face. ‘I told you there be spirits here, Shiner.’ He touched the headstone. ‘Evil spirits. It’s time we be going home. Shiner let out another low bark in agreement as he followed his master home.

Part One

The Journey

Chapter One

Cleopatra

Nathan swept into the study, the light from the only lamp left working catching the bright colours of his waistcoat under his black frock coat, which had seen better days, his long hair blowing in the breeze from the open terrace doors. Wild eyes, fixed in a staring gaze, completed the image of a tortured figure. He looked down at the old Egyptian carpet, laid in the centre of the room, before crossing to close the doors and draw the curtains. He paused, looking out at the devastation caused by the fire. The wonderful boys’ school he had inherited from his father, in ruins. A laboratory experiment gone wrong. The true cause had never come to light. Although he had been a hero in all the papers for rescuing the boys, he had lost everything because he had forgotten to renew the insurance. As he looked upon the full moon, Nathan gave vent to his frustration, letting out a mighty roar like some wild beast that had just made a kill, waking Cleopatra the cat.

Cleopatra observed him from the sofa where she was lying, her green eyes sparkling in the dimly lit study. He has finally gone mad, she thought.

Nathan sat down at his father’s huge desk, spreading his hands over the brown inlaid leather top. His eyes rested on the shiny gold pocket watch, lying in front of him. He cradled it in his hand, wondering what his father would have thought of his new idea. Clearing his throat, he resumed his authoritative stance. He began talking aloud as if making a speech, using the cat as his audience.

‘Today I have begun a new business venture, to raise funds for the rebuilding of Gladwick Hall.’

The cat raised her eyes.

‘I have sent two letters, both to The Times, requesting that they be placed in their advertisement column today. The first is to proclaim that Professor Nathan Isobar Gladwick of Gladwick Hall, Bridmead, England, is organising an educational trip, for children between the ages of nine and thirteen, to Egypt. The party will be leaving England on the first of April 1926 from Southampton Docks on the luxury steamship Egyptian Princess. Nathan paused for a moment to look down at the glossy magazine picture of the ship, sent to him by Pyramid Travel. ‘What a fine vessel,’ he murmured to himself, failing to read the small print beneath the photograph which read ‘Egyptian Princess, built by Harland and Wolff 1879.’ The professor folded the picture of the majestic steamship neatly and placed it in the inside pocket of his frock coat, before continuing. ‘The first twelve parents to send the sum of eighty guineas will guarantee their children a ticket for this amazing journey of a lifetime to the land of the pharaohs. This expedition will not only enhance the children’s knowledge of this ancient civilisation but will also enable them to visit some of the archaeological sites and meet some of the most famous archaeologists of the century. This is a truly exciting and character building opportunity. The children who embark on this quest for knowledge will be chaperoned at all times.’ The second is a simple advertisement for a housekeeper.’

Nathan sat back in his deeply studded leather chair, reflecting how this new enterprise would allow him to carry on teaching the history of the pharaohs, his great passion. It is possible, he thought, that Nathan Isobar Gladwick could even make some small archaeological discovery. Nathan could see the headlines in The Times newspaper, ‘Teacher discovers lost tomb.’ What an adventure!

On hearing the word ‘Egypt’, the cat had stirred, pricking up her ears. Perhaps Nathan was not completely mad; he might actually be able to help her to find her way home. She had almost given up hope of ever returning to her native land, as time was running out. Now she could feel a curious exhilaration growing within her at the prospect of achieving her dream.

Charles Gladwick had died, never explaining to his son how or where he had acquired Cleopatra. When Nathan had returned to Gladwick Hall, Cleopatra was already resident there. He wondered what he was going to do with her whilst he was on his expedition. Maybe he could find someone in the village to look after her, or would it be kinder to get it over with quickly and make a visit to the vet. She had become a poor specimen since the fire; her fur had been badly singed and she had lost part of her tail. Anyway, the cat made him feel uncomfortable, always watching him as if blaming him for what had happened; her injuries a constant reminder of that fateful day. Yes, he thought, it will have to be the vet.

Cleopatra, reading Nathan’s thoughts, could feel the anger rage inside her. She lifted herself up, her burnt fur standing on end, arching her back and raising what was left of her injured tail. She let out a screeching sound that scared the life out of Nathan as she sprang from the sofa, flying through the air to land on the desk, sliding across the top and embedding her claws into the inlaid leather to stop herself from flying over the edge. Nathan fell backwards, landing on the floor and looking up into her eyes. The cat’s lips curled back.

‘You are going nowhere without me!’

The words were spat from her mouth, leaving Nathan in a state of weak-kneed shock. Was he hallucinating? Was this animal really speaking to him? He heard himself replying, ‘It never even crossed my mind. The journey would not be the same without you.’ Still looking into Cleopatra’s eyes, he noticed the change in her expression; the cat now seemed to be smiling. Nathan rolled over, burying his face in the carpet. I must get some rest, he thought, things always look better in the morning.

Chapter two

Mice and Swans

Rose Martin walked through the factory gates, her hands covered in a red, raw rash. She had just lost her job at the Bryant and May match factory, in Bow, East London, because she had become allergic to the phosphorous in the matches. She had worked there since leaving school at the age of fourteen—nearly three years. What was she to do now?

Her heart sank as she thought about her life at home with her family. They all lived in a house so small that she had to share a bed with her three sisters. The only peace she enjoyed was when she lay awake at night, watching the images forming on the wall from the street lamp outside. She would imagine they were goblins and princes, wishing they would come to life and whisk her off to some magical kingdom. But her dreams were always interrupted by the sound of one of her sisters snoring or the mice scratching under the floorboards. She had always been certain that she would get away one day to a better life. But now she had lost her job.

She cut through the park and made her way to the walled garden where she often came during her short lunch break. She could imagine she was anyone here, it was so beautiful. It was such a lovely day. The sun was shining through the trees casting a dappled light onto the pond where the ducks were swimming. She laughed as one dipped his head in the water, sticking his tail up in the air. A pair of swans slept peacefully at the side, their long necks curled around and their heads hidden in their pure white feathers.

Rose sat down on a bench, leaning her head back to enjoy the warmth of the sun on her face. A smile brushed her lips as she felt herself being wafted away into her familiar dreams. She was brought back to earth by a sudden rush of wind rustling the trees and lifting the litter from the path, swirling it around her. A dark cloud rolled across the sky, blotting out the sun and casting dark shadows as a strange eeriness descended on the garden. She shivered as she sat up, drawing her coat around her, watching the wind pick up a newspaper from the path and scatter it in all directions. A page landed in her lap along with the dust which blew into her eyes, making them sting. As she pulled the paper off her coat, she noticed that it was from The Times. That seemed strange; not many people around here read The Times. It was the situations vacant page. As she glanced over it, her eyes were drawn to an advertisement for a housekeeper in a place called Bridmead. She had never considered domestic work before but she could clean and polish as well as anyone and she could cook too. She began to feel more confident. As she looked at the address she had an odd feeling. She had always sort of ‘known things’ without being told; her sisters called her a witch. Now she had that feeling about this job.

She suddenly noticed that the cloud had passed. The wind had gone and the park was bathed in sunshine again. ‘It must be an omen!’ she said aloud. In a split second her mind was made up. She jumped up and half walked and half ran home. She couldn’t waste any money on a bus fare. She had a little bit left, and if she borrowed some from her sister, Lizzie, she might just have enough to get to Bridmead.

When she got home she packed a small battered case, which had belonged to her grandmother. There wasn’t much to take, her mother had pawned her new suit only last week and she didn’t have much else. She went to the hiding place behind the bed, where the moneybox was kept, and quickly emptied its contents into her pocket. Pushing the case under the bed, she decided to leave in the early hours of the morning in order to arrive in Bridmead first thing. She had to make sure that she got this job. She would leave a note on the table so they wouldn’t worry.

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The 5.30 train from St Pancras pulled into Bridmead station through the early morning mist, slowly coming to a halt. The time was 7.42. The guard waved his flag and the great engine let off steam like some ancient dragon before continuing on its journey. As the air cleared, there was only one passenger left standing on the platform, carrying a small brown leather valise. Clutching a small piece of paper in her other hand she made her way to the exit.

‘Ticket please,’ said the station master.

‘Could you tell me how to get to Gladwick Hall please?’ she asked as she handed him her ticket.

‘It’s about three miles up lane, on right hand side,’ he replied in a broad country accent. ‘It’s best you go by taxi. You’ll find old Fred Braithwaite sitting out front’.

‘Thank you.’

She made her way out of the station, where she found the old Vauxhall car with TAXI painted on the bumper. The driver was asleep on the back seat.

‘Mr Braithwaite!’ she shouted, knocking on the window. Fred awoke with a start, falling onto the floor. Getting to his knees he looked out of the back door window.

‘Yes?’ he rasped grumpily.

‘Please would you take me to Gladwick Hall?’

He got out of the car and picked up her suitcase, putting it in the boot. Then he made his way to the front of the vehicle without saying a word, leaving the passenger door open.

The new visitor to Bridmead got in and closed the door. After a little trouble getting started the taxi slowly picked up speed and proceeded up the lane to Gladwick Hall.

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Nathan was still sleeping, his heavy breath echoing around the study, in the same position where he had fallen the night before. He was awoken by the loud ringing of the doorbell. ‘Who can this be at this hour?’ he muttered. Slowly getting to his feet, he made his way out of the study into the oak panelled hall. The doorbell rang again. ‘Alright, I’m coming,’ he shouted, straightening his tie and pushing his long hair back, before unlocking