Brambletye Chapters Three and Four (standard:drama, 2107 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Oct 30 2026	Views/Reads: 0/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Author Tim Carmichael heads south in search of background material for his new novel, only to find himself embroiled in a drama amidst centuries-old ruins.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Fella, if you'll just hold her there,” the bulky one bellowed, and the
four broke into a trot. 

“No – no–” the blonde, Georgina, apparently, shook her head furiously,
leaning back and putting all her weight into a renewed effort to 
escape. The girl wasn't heavy, but she was strong, and more than that, 
she was desperate, forcing me to make a snap decision. To hand her over 
or assist her escape, no doubt leaving me in all kinds of trouble. I 
assisted – 

“Get in the car – quickly,” I said, releasing my grip on her wrist and
pushing her forward, hoping she didn't bolt because, in her current 
state, I reckoned she'd have no chance. 

“Why,” she asked, “are you suddenly helping me?” 

“Just get in.” The answer to her question was simple: I didn't know.
Instinct, maybe? 

“Get in the front – it's more comfortable than the boot.” “Oy! What the
fuck are you doin' fella?” 

I had no idea, but the girl, Georgina, obliged and practically threw
herself into the front passenger seat as, with the pursuing party less 
than ten metres away from the car, I went to accelerate away. 

“You can't get out that way.” “What?” 

“It's a dead end further down the lane.” She looked at me as if I ought
to have known, and in point of fact, I did. I'd found that out 
yesterday. 

I cursed, backed the car into a recess just as heavy fists pounded on
the roof and body panels, and shot back out the way I'd come. Now what? 


“Where are you headed?” the girl asked, more calmly now that she was out
of immediate danger. 

I raked a hand through my dark, curly hair. Not an easy question to
answer when you've just driven off with a – I glanced at her – girl 
probably just out of her teens and dressed in nothing but a soaking 
robe. An attractive girl, at that. “Well, Georgina, that's your name, 
right?” 

She nodded. 

“I'm heading to the South Coast, but there's a police station three
miles along the route; perhaps it's best if I take you there.” She 
shook her head, long blonde hair matted to her face. “No, they'd take 
me back.” 

“Then, if that's the case,” I snapped, turning out onto the main road,
it seems I've helped a woman abscond who's been legally detained.” “No, 
you don't understand. It's not like that,” she said, and it struck me 
how smooth and cultured her voice was. “Just drop me off somewhere 
along the route, and I'll be fine.” 

“Not likely, young lady. I'm implicated now,” I said, which was probably
stating a fact. I pulled into a lay-by. The desire to learn what 
exactly I'd got myself into was growing now, but first, the girl needed 
some dry clothes. Besides, the inside of the car was beginning to reek 
of damp. Swinging the car around and ignoring her questioning gaze, I 
returned to the village. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, fine brows raised in alarm as I pulled
up outside a clothes shop in the village I'd noticed during a previous 
look around. “Never mind that. Don't move,” I told her, not at all sure 
she'd remain in situ. But when I came back a few minutes later, she was 
still there, nonetheless greeting me with a speculative look. 

“Here's a dress,” I said, tossing a package across to her along with a
towel. “Put it on; it'll match your eyes.” 

Those eyes gave me a long, lingering look. “Thanks, I suppose. What
makes you think it'll fit?” 

I sighed, triggering the ignition. “You seem about my wife's height and
size, so call it an informed guess.” 

“Next question ...” She placed the dress and towel across her lap.
“Where do I put it on?” 

Good question, though I didn't voice as much, but an idea was already
forming. It was past eleven now, time enough for the village's licenced 
premises to be open. I also happened to know that the toilets at the 
inn I'd been using were by the back door, and the rear entrance to the 
courtyard should be open. Guiding her in through those doors shouldn't 
be a problem. 

“You're not taking me ...” 

“No,” I cut her off. “You're going to change into that dress, and then
we'll be having a little chat about what's happening here.” 

“Fine,” she said, looking out the passenger window, “but I have to be
getting away from here.” 

“Look.” I swung the car around. “We'll come to that and your reason you
want to do it – just hold on.” I parked on a side road adjacent to the 
hotel, assured the path was clear, and led her through the courtyard 
gates and into the rear of the inn with no problem. “There.” I 
indicated the ladies' room. “Get yourself dried and changed. I'll find 
a quiet place in the bar.” I paused and looked into those unreadable 
green eyes. “And please don't do a runner.” 

I wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't do that, but I bought a couple of
drinks, found a quiet corner table, which wasn't difficult at this 
hour, and spent an uncomfortable few minutes waiting. 

I needn't have worried, she emerged and came across a completely
transformed woman, disturbingly in the beautiful bracket. I kept that 
thought hidden, or at least hoped so, and pushed a glass of lemonade 
across the table. “Here.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “What's this?” “What's it look like?” I said
quietly and as calmly as I could. “I had to get something.” 

She frowned, faint lines on her otherwise smooth skin. “I am old enough
for something stronger, you know. I'm older than I look.” “I don't 
think that's a good idea, do you?” Crossing my arms, 

I leaned them on the table, drawing close and whispering, “Right, time
to explain what this is all about.” 

Georgina sipped her lemonade and winced. “It's bitter.” “Get on with
it,” I urged, “and stop complaining.” 

Georgina narrowed her eyes at me and then glanced around the room. It
was quiet, as I said. She sighed. “I'm being held against my will.” 

“I gathered that.” I frowned. “But are you being held illegally?” 

“Yes.” She nodded. “And no.” 

I leaned closer to her, my irritation mounting. “You're not making a lot
of sense.” 

Without batting an eyelid, Georgina matched my stance. “I'm being held
by a legal institution illegally. The organisation exploits its legal 
status to engage in illicit activities. I know it first-hand. You could 
say that I'm illegal collateral.” 

I rubbed my eyes, and for no particular reason other than this girl was
beginning to wind me up. “In what way?” “I can't tell you that.” 

“Why not?” I fumed, then made renewed efforts to tone my voice down.
“I'm trying to help you.” 

“Because I don't fully trust you.” 

Close to blowing my top, I sipped my iced water in the hope of mellowing
out a little. “Look, I've just rescued you from four men who didn't 
seem at all friendly and were trying to take you back ...” I paused, 
because, to where, I hadn't a clue. 

“Yes. Thank you.” She sat back with her arms folded, and I tried another
line. Something was different about this girl. She'd stand out anywhere 
– she oozed class. “Won't you at least give me your name?” 

“I've already told you ... Georgina.” “Georgina who? I pressed. 

“That's all you're getting,” came the flat response. “Anyway, you're
sitting there firing questions at me, yet I've no idea who you are or 
why you've taken an interest in me – so you might just see why I'm 
unwilling to trust you.” 

I sighed. She had a point. “My name's Tim Carmichael.” I saw recognition
flash across her face. “The guy who wrote The Bishop's Knot, or is that 
just coinci—” 

“No, it was me,” I jumped in. “You've read it?” 

“No, I heard my mother on about it — she said you hadn't seemed to have
written another for a while. Look, are you sensing a story here?” 

I grimaced. “I have written another, but it was a flop, and no, I'm not
sensing a story. And who's your mother?” 

She bit her lip. “Nice try. Still nothing doing.” 

I frowned. What was it with this girl? It wasn't that I could simply
drag her back to the institution since I didn't know where it was, and 
something sure seemed off about the guys chasing her. I could, of 
course, take her back to the station and let them deal with it, but 
even the thought of that played on my conscience. Something didn't add 
up. 

“Why so secretive?” I asked. “What are you hiding?” 

Georgina leaned forward and whispered, “Look, if you're thinking of
getting involved in this ... don't ... just don't. Just do as I ask and 
drop me off near the coast since you're going that way.” Thinking of 
getting involved? I'd say I was already involved and needed to make a 
snap decision about what to do with this girl.


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