Come to Castlemoor (23 page)

“Where's my lemonade?” Bella inquired in haughty tones.

“Couldn't find any,” he replied.

“I see you found the beer all right,” she retorted icily.

“That I did, sure did,” he said, grinning. “Want to make somethin' of it?”

Bella looked properly affronted, but she couldn't prevent the corners of her lips from turning up in a slight smile. Alan looked so big and comical with his lopsided smile and fallen hair and tight, shiny suit. Bella permitted him to put an arm about her waist, sighing in resignation. Alan leaned his heavy body against her, and Bella brushed the hair off his forehead, only to have it fall down again. He shook his head impatiently like a puppy who despised petting. He must have consumed a large amount of beer in a remarkably short time to have become so inebriated so quickly, I told myself, remembering my own experiences with alcohol a few nights before. I frowned at the memory, certain it would haunt me for years.

Maud passed us, looking outrageous in high-buttoned boots, shapeless black dress, and an ancient black straw hat with tattered red velvet roses dripping over the wide brim. She was arm in arm with the brawny blacksmith, who looked even brawnier in his Sunday best. She raised a hand in greeting, clucked when she saw her nephew's condition, and patted the blacksmith's arm possessively, disappearing into the crowd. Alan staggered a little, leaning against Bella. She raised her eyes heavenward, as though seeking solace, although the smile still lingered on her lips.

I wondered why Edward hadn't returned. I searched the crowd, thinking I might see him. I saw Buck Crabbe, his arm crooked around the neck of a plump brunette in blue who leaned against his chest. The girl was smiling, but Crabbe looked as surly as ever. People moved between us, pushing closer now that the fire was about to be lighted. I saw two or three men, who must have been surveyors, scattered among the crowd at various points. I did not see Edward, nor did I see Burton Rodd, who had left his station beside the wooden bins. I could feel someone watching me, an acute sensation, but no one was openly staring now. I felt nervous and apprehensive, as though something were wrong, as though something were about to happen. I felt alone, isolated in the crowd, and I wished Edward would return.

Ten men bearing torches moved out of the crowd and circled the pile of wood. They moved forward in unison, pushing the crowd back, widening the area about the wood, until there was twenty yards all around the pile. The crowd backed away, cursing, shoving, fighting to maintain their positions. There were loud cries, laughter, and finally silence as the men moved toward the towering pile, still in unison, and touched their torches to the wood. Small yellow-blue flames licked the wood like gentle tongues. Smoke filled the air. People coughed. The flames darkened, turning orange, and began to devour the wood at the bottom of the pile. A hush fell over the crowd. We could hear the wood crackling, popping, and suddenly the flames shot up, exploding in fury, sheathing the whole pile in wildly dancing fire that illuminated the night. Sparks shot up, to touch the sky like glittering Roman candles, sprinkling down over the area the men had cleared. The heat was intense, even where I stood, and everyone backed away even more. The furious flames spit at the night for ten minutes. Charred bits of wood fell to the ground. Finally the blaze controlled itself, burning steadily now, the fury gone.

A constantly flickering yellow glow illuminated the whole large clearing. I could see the trunks of the trees that ringed the area. Wild shadows flitted over the crowd like intangible demons, black and orange, moving, shifting, creating a strange atmosphere. Faces were upturned to watch the blaze. I saw Buck Crabbe, alone now, the brunette in blue swallowed by the crowd. He was looking around, searching for someone, paying no attention to the fire. I thought I saw Burton Rodd, but I couldn't be certain. People moved about, standing on tiptoe, blocking my line of vision. Where was Edward? I wondered. I couldn't rid myself of the feeling of apprehension. I could still feel the eyes on me. The sensation was so strong that it was almost like a physical contact. I turned around quickly, hoping to catch whoever was staring at me, but I saw only upturned faces with shadows flitting over them, mouths open in awe, eyes reflecting the orange blaze. I stood close beside Bella and Alan. He seemed to be sober now. Both of them were absorbed by the spectacle.

More than ever, I felt alone. I told myself I was being ridiculous, but I couldn't shake the feeling of danger. It mounted steadily. I folded my arms about my waist. I could hardly stand still.

The crowd murmured with anticipation as the dancers appeared, stepping into the cleared area about the fire as though by magic. All were in costume, the boys in tight black trousers and white shirts with full, gathered sleeves, the girls in white dresses with low-cut bodices and flaring skirts with hems several inches above the ankles. Boys and girls alike wore garlands of flowers over their brows. The boys carried flutes, the girls tamborines. They began to play a strange, soft tune that reminded me of woodlands and glades, and they danced to the music, moving slowly, gracefully around the fire, doing something that looked like a minuet. Bella expressed her disappointment to Alan and said she'd just as soon go home. He told her to just wait and she'd see something the can-can couldn't compare with. She stiffled a yawn. He ignored her, leaning forward to peer at the dancers.

I could hardly see why Queen Victoria should have concerned herself about such festivals. The dance was innocuous, quite tame. Or was it? The flutes began to play shriller, faster. The tamborines jangled and thumped. The dancers moved faster around the flames, making little jump steps, the boys leaping in front of the girls. As the music grew louder, the dance became more frantic. Boys leaped high into the air like frenzied acrobats. Girls swayed wildly, skirts flying above knees. The flames crackled, a part of the music, burning bright orange and blue. Shadows of the dancers writhed on the ground beyond them, weird, obscene. The crowd was spellbound, fascinated. Bella stood with her lips parted, her eyes filled with amazement. Alan looked tense.

I closed my eyes. The shrill, discordant music split the air and shattered like broken glass. The crackling fire roared, popped, a great live thing mocking all decency. My eardrums began to ring. My head ached. The feeling of danger mounted, mounted, until I wanted to scream. Where was Edward? Why hadn't he returned? Who was watching me? What was this evil that drew closer and closer? My hands were clenched, nails digging into palms. Against my closed lids I saw the obscene shadows, black on purple, and they seemed to taunt me.

Someone tugged on my arm from behind. I froze. The fingers closed on my elbow and tugged again. I turned.

Bertie Rawlins moved his lips without speaking. His face was even more thin and pale than I had remembered. The smudges under his blue eyes were darker, the hollows under his cheekbones deeper. The eyes were full of fear, and the thin white lips moved jerkily. He drew me away from Bella and Alan. We were completely surrounded by people who were absorbed in the spectacle that grew wilder and wilder, and we might have been alone in a dark forest of tall, immobile bodies that only smelled human. I could barely see Bertie's face. He was trembling.

“They got Jamie,” he whispered. “It was
him
they found.”

“What do you mean, Bertie?”

“I seen you yesterday at the fact'ry. You didn't see me. I knew I had to tell you—they call me loony, loony-bird, but I gotta tell you.…” He looked around frantically at the bodies pressing close to us. “Not here,” he whispered hoarsely. “They're watchin'. They know I know.…”

“Bertie, try to make sense.”

“The other 'un. Yeah, him they're savin' for the moon dance.”

“Moon dance? Bertie—”

“It was
him
they found. The other 'un they're—”

His lips continued to move, but no sound came from them. The eyes implored me to believe him. His hands fluttered, jerked. He was like someone addicted to opium who had been deprived of it for a week. I thought he was going to faint. He staggered a little, leaning forward, and kept looking over his shoulder.

“Meet me by the river,” he stammered. “In the woods, over there. I gotta tell you—you gotta believe—they're watchin' now. Please come. The woods, by the river. They won't see us there.”

He disappeared into the crowd. I was alone, surrounded by the bodies like tree trunks. The music was screeching. The flames cast a yellow glow that only intensified the darkness, shadowing faces, making black patterns in the air. I smelled sulfur and beer and perspiring bodies. My head was spinning. I no longer even knew where Alan and Bella stood. He was mad, mad, of course he was mad, and I couldn't follow him. It was insane even to contemplate it, but his face, his eyes, his voice, had all pleaded with me. I had to go. I had to listen to him. He was mad, but I had to let him talk. I couldn't let him huddle alone in the woods, babbling to himself, crazed with fear.

I would go tell Bella and Alan where I was going, and then I would go down to the river, through the woods. No, no, if I tried to explain it to them, I would waste too much time. They were both engrossed in the dances. The dances would last for at least another thirty minutes. I would be back before then. They wouldn't miss me. I hesitated only an instant, then began to push my way through the crowd.

It was difficult. People were packed solid about the clearing, rooted to the spot, refusing to move an inch in the fear they might miss part of the dance. I shoved against husky men in bulky jackets, murmuring apologies as I went. The crowd seemed to close in on me. I pushed and pleaded, my hair tumbling over my face. All the time, I felt the eyes watching me, but I could see no one following. A great slab of wood broke in two, sending a shower of sparks blazing up. The crowd stirred, pressing forward to watch the sparks drift down about the dancers. I was pushed back, caught in the movement. I was knocked against one of the surveyors, a red-haired brute with dark eyes who caught my shoulders to keep me from falling. I was on the verge of hysteria now. I pushed through the crowd, apologies forgotten, and when I finally reached the edge of the clearing, I was panting, my heart beating rapidly.

It was curiously calm here, the crowd behind me, the woods in front. I saw a wall of backs, and beyond, over the heads, far away, the flames that licked up against the black sky. The yellow glow hung over the crowd, but here there were only shadows. I could smell the rich, mossy smell of the woods, rotten leaves, damp soil, sappy bark. The music was distant, dim, drowned out by the crisp rustle of leaves and the hoot of an owl somewhere in the woods. I could hear a faint gurgling that I knew must be the river. I caught my breath. I pushed the golden waves away from my face and adjusted the bodice of my dress.

I hesitated again before going into the woods.

Bertie was harmless. Everyone said that. He would do me no harm, but I suddenly wished I had never left Bella's side. If only Edward were here. He would understand. He would see why I had to indulge that poor frightened man with the living nightmares. He would go with me, and I would feel much better with him beside me; but he had vanished into the crowd. No doubt he was filling his notebooks with songs, collecting gems that would sparkle in the pages of his book, but I still wished he were here. I wished my throat weren't dry, my forehead hot, my pulse leaping. I felt dangerously exposed here on this strip of clearing, out of the crowd, not yet in the shelter of the woods. I felt the eyes on me, still and I turned and moved quickly between the trunks of the trees.

It was very dark, and surprisingly cold. A chilly wind blew over the water, rippling through the brush, rustling the leaves. I walked very carefully, my heels sinking into the damp soil. The trees grew close together, tangled brush between them, leaving little room for passing through. I shuddered as silky strands of a cobweb brushed against my face. I walked into the trunk of a tree. I uttered a word I seldom heard and had never before used myself. My skirt caught on a thorn, the material ripping. I stood very still, knowing it was useless to try to go any farther until my eyes grew accustomed to the dark. There was rustling black darkness all around me, and little by little it lightened. Trees and brush began to take on shape and form, grew solid and visible. The blackness melted into a misty gray, and I could see the few beams of moonlight that managed to penetrate the heavy canopy of leaf and bough. I saw that I was standing in the middle of a thicket, my skirt firmly fastened to a thorny branch. I began to separate the material from the thorns, trying to tear as little as possible. Birds called out to one another, shrill in the silence, and invisible animals scurried through the brush.

I could hear the river, and far away, through the trees, I could see the wavering veils of mist that hung suspended over its surface, the breeze causing them to swirl and stir like ghosts. I caught myself just in time. No nonsense, I warned firmly, no flights of fancy. Mist is mist. Bertie is waiting. There are no ghosts. I backed out of the thicket, holding my skirts up to keep them free from the thorns. I saw a kind of footpath that wound through the trees toward the river. I followed it, moving as slowly as before, stepping over roots, avoiding overhanging branches. A beam of moonlight slanted down through the trees ahead, gilding a cobweb with silver. Drops of moisture hung from the silken strands like glistening gems. The darkness was blue-black and gray, with shades of dark green. I kept my eyes on the mist that floated over the river. The heel of one of my shoes sank down in the soil. My foot slipped free, and I was almost thrown off balance. I retrieved the shoe and bent down to put it back on.

I froze.

It was here, all around me, that evil I had felt before. The wind had died down. The leaves no longer rusted. The birds had stopped calling. The air was still, filled with a heavy silence that caused the hair on the back of my neck to bristle. A few seconds ago I had been calm, confident, yet now I felt myself on the verge of panic. That feeling had returned: the eyes that watched, the evil that lurked. It was as though the woods had become a living thing that held its breath, waiting. I slipped the shoe on my foot. I backed against the trunk of a tree. I could feel the bark rough against my skin. The air was permeated with evil. There was a muffled thud, a snapping sound.