The Chrysalid Conspiracy by A.J. Reynolds Page A

through before they ran back.
    Her poor old mum believed they went out for a nice gentle jog, but with Nigel it was all deadly serious, he even spoke to her like an Army recruit, punctuating her efforts with a ‘Come on move it!’ or ‘No pain, no gain!’ She had to admit that, despite her rapid progress, some days she should be a little more selective about the things she wished for!
    Nigel, she knew, would be spending the day with his beloved Harley Davidson. He was devoted to it and spent hours cleaning and polishing it. Every little nut and bolt got his attention and Amelia, although she knew nothing about motorbikes, recognised it as a work of art. People certainly gave him envious looks as he rode through the village, especially when he had a pretty girl on the back.
    About half a mile further on she reached the point where the river swung sharply to the right. Miller’s lane ended here and access to the water meadows was via the old iron bridge, a Victorian relic, which in its heyday would have supported a horse and cart. Millers Way branched off to the right following a dry stone wall alongside the river.
    A signpost informed travellers that this was the way to ‘Tetherington Hall only’. The unmade road climbed a steep hill and disappeared into thick woods. Amelia had never seen the Hall but had been told it was somewhere over the brow of the hill. The water meadows was an area of grassland where the river had broken its banks, spreading out to form a large area of shallow ponds and waterways, with wide areas of higher ground thick with forest. The size of several football pitches it was ideal for wildlife and as a very popular place in the spring and summer months, and in the winter the birds sat around posing for the army of twitchers to take their photos.
    Several warning signs instructed the wary to stick to the paths and use the well-maintained footbridges provided. It rather took the edge off the ‘natural beauty’ aspects, but the local council was proud of its record of not having lost anybody for a number of years.
    Squeezed in the corner between the iron bridge and Millers Way was a ‘kissing’ gate. There were a few steps down to a narrow footpath between the river and the dry stone wall boundary to the Tetherington estate. Miller’s Path ran two or three hundred yards to the weir and an abandoned mill. Although the mill was strictly Tetherington Hall property it was a beautiful spot and Amelia and Nigel went there and climbed over the wall for their workout. Nobody ever bothered them so they never bothered anyone else.
    Amelia crossed the bridge and turning left she followed an overgrown path up the slope through the trees. A pair of large dogs broke through the cover, barking loudly and running straight for her. She had time to notice they were of indeterminate parentage while she frantically tried to recall the names Rayn had told her. She froze and called out to them.
    “Jude! Gypsy! Down!” The dogs slowed and with their tails wagging approached her, vying with each other for some affection and she was grateful she was dealing with cold noses and wet tongues instead of sharp teeth and claws.
    Rayn appeared through the bushes. “Sorry,” she called. “Jude, Gypsy, shut up and get home.” The dogs obeyed immediately. “Sorry,” she said again. “I meant to tie them up before you came. They don’t bite, but they might slobber you to death.” They both laughed.
    Amelia followed Rayn up the path through the trees till they came to a clearing. Standing absolutely still the sight that greeted her was unbelievable. She felt as if she’d wandered into the past.
    In front of them, at the edge of an space was an incredible gypsy caravan. Painted in a deep red, there were green and black floral patterns and what seemed to be a lot of gold leaf work winding in and around the design. There were shiny brass and chrome accessories and ornamentation, with black functional fittings and fixtures.