Close to Death

He wasn’t in the garden. They went past the Brownes’ house and called out for him, but he didn’t seem to have wandered into the grounds of Riverview Lodge either. By now, both of them were getting nervous. Ellery had never been out so late and for so long on his own. May walked round the entire close, calling out his name. Then she knocked on the door of Woodlands. If Ellery had strayed back into the grounds of Riverview Lodge, he would have had to pass through the next-door garden and there was always a chance that Roderick Browne might have seen him. A light came on in the hall, visible on the other side of the window, and the dentist appeared a few moments later, wearing a red striped apron. He had just done the washing-up and was taking a cup of camomile tea up to Felicity.

‘I’m so sorry to trouble you, Mr Browne. Ellery seems to have gone missing and we were wondering if you’d seen him.’

‘No. I’m afraid not. How long has he been gone?’

‘We don’t really know. He came home with us, then went out while we were watching TV.’

‘Well, I haven’t seen anything, but I’ll keep an eye out for him. I’m sure he’ll turn up . . .’

May already had a knotted feeling in her stomach. Ellery had never done this before. It was true that he treated the entire close as his personal domain, but he was still a nervous creature and never strayed for very long.

‘Maybe you should ask at the Lodge,’ Roderick suggested.

‘Yes. I’ll do that.’

May didn’t want to go anywhere near the Kenworthys’ home, not on her own, not even with Phyllis beside her. She hated the idea of prostrating herself before them, asking for their help. Not that they’d listen anyway. ‘I’m going to ask my husband to deal with it.’ The words were drumming themselves over and over in her ears.

Phyllis knew what her companion was thinking. ‘Maybe Mr Pennington has seen Ellery,’ she suggested.

They went back towards Well House and it was as they approached the front door that they heard it: the unmistakable sound of an animal in pain . . . a faint whimpering. Could it be Ellery? It didn’t sound like him. And the cries were coming from somewhere further away, perhaps behind the house.

May was really panicking now. Forgetting the bell, she rapped on the door so hard that she would feel the pain in her knuckles for days to come. The whimpering had stopped. Had she imagined it? She hoped so. There were plenty of foxes in Richmond, semi-domesticated, prowling the streets in search of open dustbins. It must have been one of them.

The door opened. Andrew Pennington peered out at them. He had been reading Anthony Trollope in bed when he heard the knocking on the door.

‘Please, Mr Pennington. Can you help us? We’ve been looking for Ellery. He’s disappeared. And just now we thought we heard something in your garden.’ The words poured out. May’s chest was rising and falling. She had been wearing her glasses when she was watching television. They were still hanging around her neck and rose and fell as if they too were trying to join in the search.

Andrew stepped outside and listened. ‘I can’t hear anything,’ he said.

All three of them fell silent and for a brief moment it seemed to be true. Perhaps they had imagined it after all. But then it came again from behind the house, or from somewhere nearby. It was a sound that carried with it all the pain in the world and May knew for certain that it was not a fox.

‘He’s in your garden,’ Phyllis said.

‘I don’t think so.’ Pennington cocked his head, trying to work out where the sound was coming from. ‘The sound’s coming from over there,’ he said. And then, with a sense of dread, ‘In the well.’

He was pointing towards the medieval well that stood between the house and the archway. It was one of the unique features of Riverview Close. His home was named after it. On the day that he and Iris moved in, they had both tossed a coin in for good luck.

‘Wait a minute. I’ll get some light,’ he said.

It was dark by now. Andrew’s night vision had deteriorated in recent years and he always kept a torch close to the front door. He went in and retrieved it, then led the two women round the side of the house. As they approached the well, the whimpering began again, more forlorn, more desperate.

Andrew directed the beam of the torch into the circular opening.

Ellery was about five metres down, curled up at the bottom, straining with his neck as if searching for salvation. He struggled to get to his feet, but it was clear he could no longer stand. Andrew heard May let out a moan beside him. Phyllis called out the dog’s name.

‘Don’t worry!’ Andrew found himself saying. ‘We’ll get him out of there. We’ll get help.’

But what sort of help were they going to find at ten o’clock at night and how long would it take to get there? It wasn’t important enough to trouble the police. The RSPCA, perhaps? Did they even have an office anywhere near Richmond?

‘Can you do anything? Can you get him out?’ Phyllis asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.