Chester Bentley and The Ghost of Asher Worth - Classic Edition: The Chester Bentley Mysteries - Classic Edition, #1

By MJ Colewood

Meet schoolboy Chester Bentley, the world's most famous treasure hunter!

 

All heroes begin as ordinary children and that's how it was with Chester Bentley. Unsurprisingly, he made the pages of the national and international newspapers, and so began his journey into notoriety as everyone started to follow his many adventures and marvel at his incredible discoveries.

 

The Ghost of Asher Worth

 

It is 1588 and the Spanish Armada has been sighted on the horizon. Drake, England's buccaneering admiral, leads the English navy out to engage the approaching enemy, but his mission is compromised by a mysterious object.

 

Almost four hundred years later and school boy Chester Bentley finds himself contacted by a ghost that haunts his house, day and night. But what do the mysterious signs and numbers mean, and where do they ultimately lead?

 

Can Bentley decipher the clues that lead to one of the most remarkable treasures that England has been unaware of, until now? And is he brave enough to face up to the unrelenting ghost and discover its real reason for contacting him?

 

Get The Ghost of Asher Worth and follow Bentley in this remarkable mystery today!

 

About The Chester Bentley Mysteries:

 

Chester Bentley is a boy with an almost magical gift for finding famous treasure... with a little help from his friends that is. And with each national treasure that Bentley uncovers, he soon becomes famous, attracting the attention of a mysterious collector who turns against him. But why? And what is it he knows about Bentley's hidden childhood?

 

So will Bentley fulfill his destiny and the adventure of a lifetime by locating some of the greatest lost treasures from England's dramatic past? Or will he go on to fail when he learns the truth behind the strange dreams that haunt him and why his opponent is obsessed with stopping him?

 

The Chester Bentley Mysteries is a page-turning series for curious adventurers age 11+ (and their grown-ups); The Da Vinci Code for kids.

 

If you are fascinated by clues and riddles and determined not to give up until you solve a baffling mystery, then you're ready to join Chester Bentley, and begin his epic tales of history, mystery and adventure.

 

Readers who enjoyed the following series and books would also enjoy Chester Bentley:

 

Artemis Fowl

Alex Rider

Nancy Drew

Percy Jackson

Treasure Hunters

The Virginia Mysteries

The Famous Five

The Secret Seven

The Hardy Boys

Michael Morpurgo

Holes by Louis Sachar

Hunter Street TV series

• Language: English
• Publisher: MJ Colewood
• Release date: Apr 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201839604

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The greatest mysteries often begin at home — you only have to look more closely to find them. In the case of Chester Bentley, his first great mystery, like most great mysteries started with a scream…

Sic Parvis Magna

‘Thus great things from small things (come)’

THE SCREAM

PLYMOUTH, 1980

- I -

Lucy Hartley stood at the bottom of the staircase gripped by a magnetic urge to venture upstairs all on her own and defy her parents’ strictest instructions.

Now, wait just there, Lucy, said her mother as she went to fetch something. You know you can’t go upstairs to bed without me.

Lucy wasn’t listening to her, though, instead she was listening out for something else, something that had been calling her these past few weeks.

The sound of laughter drifted from the television in the lounge, as if mocking her mother’s over protectiveness. Lucy strained her neck as she looked up at the domed Victorian skylight that hung above the ornate staircase which curled up to the landing above. She breathed in deeply, and began her courageous ascent.

The cleaning lady had already left as a result of it and her parents had started sleeping in another room. They had even been arguing over selling the house because of it, but her father had insisted that it was all foolishness.

Lucy now reached the top of the stairs, while her mother was still busy downstairs, but Lucy had forgotten about her. Her hand left the banister and her legs tingled with excitement as she headed straight to her parents’ old bedroom door. Then she heard it, ever so faintly, Lucy, come. Don’t be afraid.

She twisted the brass doorknob, pushed the heavy door back on its creaking hinges and stepped into the room.

She saw it at once. It was real. She felt relief, this time she would discover what it wanted. She smiled and entered the room, moving closer to it as she closed the door behind her. The thing rose from the armchair to welcome her and was about to speak when the door flung open and standing there in the doorway was Lucy’s mother. She appeared angry at finding Lucy in the forbidden room and then her expression changed wildly when she looked past her daughter and saw it for herself. The shock hit her in the chest, briefly knocking the wind from her lungs and then the scream came.

Lucy outstretched her hand toward the presence that had called her there, not wanting to leave. It spoke to her and her mother screamed again, grabbing her daughter and pulled her from the room, but not before Lucy had heard what it wanted to tell her. As her mother turned to run, something clawed at her hair. She left she was being attacked but Lucy knew it wanted them to stay. In her panic, Lucy’s mother leapt down the entire first flight of stairs, then down the second, clutching her daughter with superhuman strength. Lucy tried to look behind her, but the moment had gone and the spell had been broken.

Mother and daughter fell at the bottom of the stairs, but landed miraculously intact. Then, with one last effort, Lucy’s mother sprang to her feet, breathing like a fleeing animal, and rushed forward, just as her husband opened the lounge door. All three of them screamed. Lucy’s mother flew into her husband’s arms, possessed by hysteria, We’re going! That’s it! Not another night! Pack your things, we’re staying with my mother.

When Lucy’s father heard about the incident and above all what they had heard the thing say, the decision was made and they all left the house that very day. A month later, the house was sold and the Hartley family began life far removed from Plymouth, on the edge of wildest Dartmoor.

Despite the fresh start, though, Lucy Hartley could never forget what she had seen and heard. The words turned over and over in her imagination. What did it mean? she would often herself, but never discovered why. When that bedroom door had opened, she had witnessed something that very few have ever experienced. Had her mother not stopped her, she would have learned the truth, the truth that wanted out but had once more been kept in.

The truth would now have to wait for the next family to come and that family would bring with them an extraordinary boy, who would be brave enough and bright enough to discover the tragic and equally incredible story that lay behind the ghost of Asher Worth.

PART ONE

- BELLUM -

CHESTER BENTLEY

Plymouth, 1981

- II -

black star of david.png

Chester Bentley was above average height for a boy of eleven and above average build. He was terrified of heights but fierce in the face of adversary, so in many respects he was probably just your average boy. That was for except in two particular areas. The first was exams where his scores were well below average but that was because he was taking the wrong kind of exams. Had he been examined on ghosts and mysterious goings on, then he would have passed with flying colours. You see, Chester Bentley, or Bentley as his friends called him, possessed a unique set of skills that he had yet to discover and perfect. In the cold sweat of an exam he easily came undone, but if faced with a baffling mystery, spooky experience or set on the trail of hidden treasure, Bentley was in a league of his own. This then, among many other things, is the extraordinary story of how Bentley found his true calling in life.

Bentley lay fast asleep in bed, dreaming of his favourite vanilla ice-cream, when suddenly the ice-cream licked him back and wouldn’t stop. He raised his hands to fight it off. Then he noticed the faint whiff of rotten fish, which soon became unbearable as it lathered his entire face.

Chester?

Someone called his name.

Chester! the voice shouted.

He sat bolt upright. His eyes focused on Sherlock, his Jack Russell, who was licking his face keenly, waking him up.

Oh, no! he thought. I’ve overslept.

Come on, Chester! We’re going to be late… again! now he recognised the voice, it was his mother, calling impatiently.

Bentley grumbled, stirred and stumbled out of bed toward his armchair where his crumpled clothes lay from the day before. He tried to make up for lost time. As he buttoned his shirt with one hand, he fastened his belt with another while forcing a foot into a shoe. Then he flew down the staircase and out of the door, completely bypassing his parents in the hall as he whooshed past them. Bentley combed his hand through his dark hair to brush it, noting with resignation the ever-present antenna of hair that stuck up at the back. He tried to flatten it, but it bounced back up in protest.

Bentley pulled at the car door, but it was locked. He looked inside - it was empty. What on earth?! he turned back towards the house. His father stood in the entrance, his hands behind his back. His mother had hers folded in front.

Isn’t it school today? he asked, suspecting what his parents were about to say.

If it were, said his mother, you’d at least be wearing your uniform!

Bentley glanced down at the jeans and t-shirt under his school blazer. So, why—

School is not for another week, explained his father despairingly. "We’re moving house today. Come on, you’re eleven now, it’s high time you took responsibility and remembered things, son, instead of expecting us to tell you what you have to do all the time."

Bentley walked back into the bare building and began moving his stuff downstairs. He then remembered the bizarre goings on and why they had decided to move house, but he wasn’t sure if the house they were moving into would be any better. He had already noticed something strange about it, when they looked round, but his parents didn’t want to hear any dissention.

BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

Plymouth, 1981

- III -

black star of david.png

A brief drive later and the car was turning in through a set of modest black gates and up the long, private drive of a grand row of mid-Victorian semi-detached houses. Bentley peered out at his new home. To the right was a communal, yet private walled garden for the fortunate residents to stroll in. Then he noticed someone behind the bushes staring at him and up at the house as the car pulled up.

The moment the man realised Bentley had spotted him, he darted out of sight. It made an uneasy impression on Bentley. Why was someone so interested in his house? he wondered, and then the thought vanished.

The car parked up and Bentley walked in through the heavy white doors that opened into a black and white tiled entrance. A set of delicate internal doors then led into the elegant hallway.

You remember where your room is, do you? asked his father.

Yes, out the back, up the spiral staircase.

Right you are. You can start by taking up all your things. Then help us with the rest of the house.

Bentley poked his head into the front room, which was made from two rooms connected by a large archway with a fireplace at either end. His mother was already sizing it up for her chandeliers. Mother’s little obsession, he thought. How he feared standing under her chandeliers. He turned back to the hall and looked up at the delicate lead-framed skylight

The box in his hands was feeling heavy, so he hurried on through the dining-room, glancing at the neat garden outside the French windows as he went. The kitchen led into the boot room and the rear entrance. Bentley crossed the flagstones and left the elegant house behind him and instead entered a rustic cottage with dark slate walls.

At the end of the room, and sprouting out of the stone floor, was an ornate metal staircase that spiralled vertically like a corkscrew. Its coiled structure rattled gently as he followed it up through the ceiling. When he reached the small landing, he turned left into his bedroom, which felt miles away from his parents’ room.

Now on his own, he noticed the silence and solitude for the first time and, for some inexplicable reason, it felt eerie. He recognised the feeling and instinctively knew something was awry. If he screamed out in the night, no one would hear him. The bedroom was isolated.

They had moved to get away from such strange goings on in their last house, his mother had felt it too and insisted they move. Had they made the right decision? He wasn’t so sure. In their previous house they had gone about their day with no interference, but here, in this large old house, Bentley believed they would not find peace. Sometimes it was better the devil you know, or in Bentley’s case it was better the spirit he had met.

For a second, he felt a tinge of fear creeping up on him and wished he had chosen a room closer to the front of the house, nearer his parents. However, he had been the one insisting on having the room with its own private washroom. Now, though, he stared unimpressed at the sunken bath, seeming more like a sarcophagus. Who lived here before? Cleopatra? he mumbled. Yet there could be no admitting he was wrong in front of his parents. He would lose face. After all, he would soon be a teenager.

He put the box down and quickly returned to get more of his belongings, telling himself to stop being a baby.

CANDLES IN THE WIND

Plymouth, 1981

- IV -

black star of david.png

Big day tomorrow, said his mother as she carefully placed the candles in her pair of chandeliers in the front room. Start of your first and last year at Forcastle College.

They had done well to get the house in order in just under a week, and that had been down to his mother’s planning and his father’s military execution.

Your most important year thus far, added his father, who was relaxing on the heavy leather sofa in his hounds-tooth jacket, flicking through the papers. Final exams at the end if you’re going to enter Plymouth College. It’s now or never, my lad.

And he’s going to take part in the Twin Tors, said his mother. Right, that’s the last one, she announced triumphantly. I’ll let you do the honours, Chester - you’re getting good at it.

Bentley picked up the box of matches from the table and waited for his mother to come down from the stepladder. He struck a match and began passing the flame round each of the candles. Once he had finished the first chandelier, he picked up the ladder and carried it through the archway into the other side of the room, where another elaborate chandelier hung.

Wait a minute, Chester, said his mother, you’ve missed a few.

No, I haven’t.

I think you have.

I lit them all.

No, you’ve missed some, confirmed his father, joining the conversation without lifting his head from behind his newspaper.

Really? That’s impossible.

Well, they must have blown out, said his mother.

Bentley returned and relit the offending candles. He waited a moment to make sure a draught didn’t blow them out. No, they are fine, he thought.

He returned to the other side of the room to finish his job.

You still haven’t fixed them, said his father, his gaze still buried in his papers.

Bentley stomped across the room, How on earth… he huffed. Several of the candles had gone out. He quickly returned with the stepladder and relit them. Then he stood back and waited. Slowly, one by one, some of the candles went out. One to the left, one to the right, one above him and one furthest from him. They’re in random order, he thought. It’s impossible for it to be a draught.

Want me to do it for you, Chester? said his mother.

No, no. It’s just—

Come on then, she interrupted. "As they say… the best man for the job is a wo-man, isn’t that right, dear?"

Whatever you say, my pumpkin, replied his father, lifting his gaze briefly to grin at his son.

His mother climbed the two steps, lit the candles, and then returned to reading Country Life on the sofa.

Bentley folded his arms, waiting for the inevitable to happen, but it didn’t.

Now you’ve seen how it’s done, you can do the other one, can’t you? she said nonchalantly.

Bentley looked frustrated and dragged the stepladder back to the other chandelier for the third time.

He lit the candles as he had done before and joined his parents. As he sat down, his father spoke, Seem to be having the same problem with that one as well, he said, without turning his head to look at the far end of the room.

Really, Chester, said his mother with slight annoyance, I know you’re tired from moving all the furniture around, but you could at least make the effort to light a few candles properly.

Bentley walked over to the chandelier and noted the candles. He was amazed. That couldn’t be a coincidence, he thought. Or could it?

But before he could investigate further, his mother had pulled the stepladder out of his hand and was marching up it to fix the problem herself.

There, she said, and may that be the end of it. I have some serious reading to get on with.

Bentley just stayed where he was, looking up, but as before, the candles were behaving.

Tell you what, Chester old boy, you couldn’t fix us up a brew, could you? asked his father.

Bentley sighed in resignation at yet another chore, and then his mother chipped in for good measure.

Now do be sure to read the instructions on how to switch on the kettle.

Thanks, Mother.

Always here to help.

As Bentley disappeared from the room, his mind returned to the candles. There was something he would have to try later, if not, his mind would not rest. But he would have to do it when his parents were out of the house. If they saw what he was up to, they would think him quite mad, as anybody would if they knew what he was thinking.

THE HOE

Plymouth, 1588

- V -

DrakeArms.PNG

The clear July sunshine fell across the gathering of men that amused themselves at sport on the sloping green ridge of Plymouth Hoe. A small group were playing a game of impromptu bowls. Others admired the deer that grazed nearby. A few stared in deliberation at the  battling mythical limestone figures of Gogmagog and Corineous, cut into the hillside. Would their own encounter with the Spanish - some seemed to ponder - see them become the victorious Cornish hero, Corineous, smiting a fatal blow against a giant foe?

The rest of the men, their minds equally concerned with the war close at hand, gazed out across the natural harbour of Plymouth Sound, where a tall forest of masts bobbed restlessly as England’s fleet lay in wait.

Never had so many vessels come together on British shores, and the forbidding sight had brought many of Plymouth’s citizens out to witness it.

Then a ship was sighted. It approached the Sound in full sail, interrupting the game of bowls. The men’s hands instinctively fell upon the hilts of their swords, and a buzz of murmuring began.

"That is the Golden Hinde of Captain Thomas Flemyng, said John Hawkins, Her Majesty’s Admiral of the Fleet. He marched down the green slope, where he found the High Admiral of England. My Lord—"

I am aware of the visitor, answered Lord Howard, stroking his distinguished silver beard, "see he is brought before us… and at