House of Echoes (27 page)

‘I’m terrified the story won’t be any good when it’s finished.’

‘It will. After all they’ve seen a chunk of it, and they know what’s going to happen. It will be fine.’

‘Do you think so?’ She hugged her arms around herself.

‘I know so.’ He stood up and wrapping himself in the towel, put his arm round her and she found herself enveloped in a warm steamy hug that smelled of soap and Radox. ‘Forget the ghosts, love. They don’t exist. Not in real life. Wonderful for novelists and historians and old biddies in the village, and even retired vicars looking for jobs as exorcists, but not for real. No way. OK?’

She gave a tight smile. ‘OK.’

‘So, let me get dressed and we’ll go down and drink to Belheddon enterprises, and confusion to the ghosts of yesteryear. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’

Tom’s first scream brought Joss to her knees on the bed as she was dragged violently out of her dreams. She was out of bed in a
flash. Behind her Lyn appeared in the doorway dragging on her dressing gown.

Tom was standing in the middle of the floor. Joss reached him first and picked him up.

The child clung to her sobbing. ‘Tom Tom fall. Tom Tom fall on the floor.’ He buried his head in her neck, nestling into her curtain of hair.

Lyn let down the side of the cot. ‘For goodness sake, Joss. Look. You didn’t fasten the side properly. The poor child could have been badly hurt.’ Crossly she began to remake the tangled bed.

‘Of course I fastened the side properly. I always check.’ Joss glared at her over Tom’s head.

Lyn sniffed. ‘If you say so.’ She smoothed the sheets efficiently down and turned back the blankets. ‘Come on Tom Tom, let’s see if you need changing before I put you down.’ She reached for him and Joss felt the child relinquish his tight grip on her neck and transfer it to Lyn’s. She clutched at him. ‘Tom Tom, stay with Mummy,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll do it. You go to bed, Lyn.’

Lyn stared at her. ‘Why? I’m offering.’

‘I know you’re offering and I’m grateful, but I want to do it myself.’

Lyn relaxed her hold on Tom and stood back. ‘OK, please yourself. Shall I check on Ned?’

Joss shook her head. ‘No. I’ll go to him when I’ve done this. He’ll be ready for his night feed soon. Go to bed, Lyn.’

She sat the little boy down on his changing mat and began to unbutton his pyjamas. He was still sniffling miserably as she laid him back and eased off his trousers, conscious that Lyn was hovering in the doorway. Half hidden by the plastic toddler’s nappy a huge black bruise was developing on Tom’s leg. Undoing the plastic tabs she took off the nappy and gasped. The bruise covered his whole hip.

Lyn had seen it too. ‘Dear God, how did he do that?’ She came and peered at the little boy.

Joss stared at it, horrified. ‘Tom Tom, sweetheart! Oh you poor little lamb!’ She ran her fingers gently over the bruise. ‘How did you do it? Let Mummy see. I’ll put some arnica cream on it. He must have done it falling out of the cot.’ She rolled up the wet nappy and putting it into the bucket under the table she reached for the talcum powder and a dry nappy from the packet.

‘He didn’t fall.’ Lyn suddenly bent closer. ‘Look. Those bruises on his leg. The marks of fingers.’ She stood back suddenly and stared at Joss. ‘You must have done it. You!’

Joss, having smoothed on some soothing cream was easing the little boy’s hips onto the fresh pad folding it over, sealing the sticky strips. She looked up at Lyn furiously. ‘How could you say such a thing!’

‘Luke. Look.’ Lyn swung round to Luke who was standing by the wall watching. ‘For Christ’s sake, Luke, say something. She’s hurt him. Her own child.’

‘Lyn!’ Joss repeated angrily. ‘Luke, don’t listen to her!’

‘You know that’s not possible, Lyn,’ Luke said quietly. ‘You’re being silly. Joss would never hurt Tom. Never.’

‘No, I wouldn’t! How dare you!’ Joss took a deep breath. ‘Go to bed, Lyn,’ she repeated. ‘You’re obviously tired. Let me get on with settling Tom down.’ She was keeping her temper with difficulty. ‘I would never hurt him in a million years, and you know it. The poor little boy has had a horrid fall out of his cot, and he’s bruised, but that’s all. He’s fine now, aren’t you, Tom Tom?’ She pulled on his pyjama bottoms and buttoned them back to the tops. Then she sat him up. ‘OK, soldier, let’s pop you back to bed.’

‘Tin man gone?’ Tom refused to lie down. He stood in the bed, holding onto the bars, staring past her into the corner of the nursery.

Joss bit her lip. She could feel a small worm of panic beginning in her stomach. ‘No tin man, Tom. That’s your bad dream. He’s gone. Silly tin man. He didn’t want to frighten you. He’s gone away now.’ She saw Luke and Lyn exchange glances over her head. ‘Come on. Let’s tuck you up.’

The night feed was the only one she was still giving Ned from the breast. It had seemed to make sense to wean him slowly onto the bottle so Lyn could take over more of the feeds herself, but this last one, in the quiet depths of the night she had been reluctant to relinquish, even though it added to her exhaustion. As she sat with the baby cradled in her arms she knew she would hang on to this precious moment each night as long as she could, when Ned was hers and hers alone.

It had been a long time before she could persuade Luke and
Lyn to go to bed and leave her to settle Tom. When at last they had gone she had sat down beside his cot and read him a story and soon, very soon, his eyes had closed. Kissing him she had self consciously made the sign of the cross over him before tucking in his blankets and tiptoeing out of the room.

As she sat, with the baby cradled in her arms she found her thoughts going back to Lyn. It was as though her sister didn’t trust her. Or was it just that she was jealous, without babies of her own? She frowned, picturing the bruises on Tom. It was not the first time the little boy had fallen and been bruised, and she was sure that Lyn must have seen those bruises too. Bruises from falls. They must be. After all, he was growing more adventurous now, banging his head on the corner of the kitchen table, nearly tipping over his high chair. Bruises were normal in a toddler. But what about nightmares? His nightmares about the tin man.

She sighed. They were not nightmares. She had seen him, sensed him, too, in the corner of the room, Tom’s room, her own bedroom and the great hall, watching from the shadows, no more than a shadow himself, yet always there, waiting. Waiting for what? Even the kittens had sensed him, she was sure of it. Neither of them liked the great hall, avoiding it where possible, or if intent on finding her in the study scampering through with huge eyes and flattened ears. She shivered, her arms tightening round the baby and Ned stopped sucking. He gave a resentful whimper and opened his eyes to look up into her face. She smiled at him and dropped a kiss on the dark hair. ‘Sorry, little one.’

Her thoughts went back to David’s letter. After she had picked the envelope up off the breakfast table she had put it on her desk in the study unopened. David’s letters were no longer seized and torn open with eager anticipation. Now she dreaded them, although she didn’t have the will-power to ask him to stop writing. She had sat down at the desk and drawn her mug of coffee to her, cupping her hands around it, staring sightlessly out of the window. In front of her the pile of manuscript was very little higher than it had been a month before. Her long sessions in the study were more and more unproductive. Sitting at the desk, her ears straining for sounds from the depths of the house – a whimper from Ned, a cry from Tom – she could not concentrate on the story unfolding before her. And always there was the fear that she would hear the others – the lost boys.

Reaching for the computer switch she had watched the screen as her program came up, sipping at the steaming coffee. Then her eye had fallen again on the envelope. With a sigh she reached for it and slipped her finger under the flap.

No photocopies this time, just several pages of David’s closely typed script. She pictured his old battered portable – sometimes to be seen on the staff room table, more often lying tossed and abandoned in the back of his car, the case covered in torn travel labels. He typed with two fingers, often crossed as he explained to anyone who came face to face with his efforts – but there was no sign here of the rows of xs which so often littered his work. Where he had hit wrong keys he had left the results uncorrected.

Joss put the letter down and rubbed her eyes wearily. The white rose. It seemed almost corny, but did King Edward present white roses to his girl-friends? Is that where they came from? Or did Margaret de Vere use them in her magic spells to conjure the love of a king for the daughter of a minor noble who lived at the easternmost edges of his kingdom. She shuddered. Leaning forward she pulled open a small drawer. She had put one of the roses in there, at the beginning, before they had begun to fill her with such dread.

She poked around amongst the pencils and stamps and sticks of sealing wax, but there was no sign of it now. Not even the crumbs of brittle petal in the bottom. The drawer, when she pulled it right out and held it up to her nose smelled of camphor and dust, nothing more. She took a deep breath, sliding the drawer back into place, and picked up the letter again.

Slowly Joss refolded the sheets of paper and reinserted them into the envelope which she stuck into one of the pigeon holes of the desk. Then she had sat for a long time staring out of the window, lost in thought.

T
he barometer in the dining room was falling steadily.

As the winds increased the following day, rattling the windows and howling around the chimneys, the family congregated in the kitchen. By four o’clock Luke had sent Jimbo home and he too was sitting at the kitchen table, a dismantled carburettor spread out before him on a newspaper. He glanced up at Joss, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. ‘Was that a letter from David yesterday morning?’

Joss was cutting up pieces of fruit for Tom’s tea. She glanced up at him, knife raised. ‘It was. He sends you both his regards.’

‘And has he found out any more history about the house?’ He held the housing from one of the twin carbs of the SS up to his mouth and breathing on it heavily he rubbed the gleaming aluminium with a duster.

‘A bit. Apparently King Edward IV visited here on several occasions. David thinks he fancied one of the daughters of the house.’ She scooped pieces of chopped apple and banana onto a saucer and put it in front of Tom. There was no way they could see that she was holding her breath, straining her ears towards the hall, wondering if someone was there, listening, someone who might resent her light, almost flippant tone.

Lyn was studying a recipe book with a frown, pencil in hand as she noted down ingredients on her shopping list. ‘Of course, it would be a king,’ she observed quietly. ‘No lesser mortal would dare to chat up a Belheddonist.’

Luke raised an eyebrow. He caught Joss’s eye and grinned. ‘Not bad. A Belheddonist. I like that.’

Joss laughed uncomfortably. ‘Is that what we are too?’

‘Lotus eaters, one and all.’ He began stacking the pieces of metal back into an old cardboard box. Standing up he walked over to the sink to wash his hands under the tap. ‘So, shall I put on the kettle?’

Joss nodded. ‘Then I’d better get back to work. I don’t seem to be making much progress at the moment.’ Her deadline was not very far off and twice now she had had letters from Robert Cassie asking her if she thought she would complete the book on time. They had only added to her guilt.

It wasn’t until Joss had retreated to her study, cup of tea in hand, and Lyn had set Tom drawing pictures at the table with a box full of crayons that Lyn sat down opposite Luke. ‘What really happened yesterday?’

‘Yesterday?’

‘You know what I mean, Luke. The lake.’

‘I fell in.’

‘Fell?’

‘Yes, fell.’ He looked up and met her gaze. ‘Leave it, Lyn. I’ve told you before. This is between Joss and me.’

‘Is it? And is it between you and her when she hurts the children? You don’t think those bruises on Tom came from the fall, do you? There were finger marks, for God’s sake. And Ned. How many accidents has he had now? Little ones, admittedly. A knock here and there, a blanket over the face. What about the things we don’t know about? What is it going to take for you to pay attention, Luke?’ She stood up and paced up and down the floor a couple of times. ‘Can’t you see what’s under your nose? Joss can’t cope. She’s depressed. It’s all getting too much for her. I think she’s hurting them. She’s doing it. It’s a plea for help, Luke, but who knows how far it will go? You have to do something.’

‘Lyn, you don’t know what you’re saying!’ Angrily Luke thumped the table with his fist. ‘You’re her sister, for God’s sake – ’

‘No. No, Luke, I’m not her sister. Not any more. That’s been made perfectly clear. But I still love her like a sister.’ She pushed her hair out of her eyes angrily. ‘And I can see what’s happening. This house, the family, even these bloody ghosts she thinks are here – everything is combining to make her depressed. She’s not writing, you know. I’ve looked at that manuscript on her mother’s precious desk. She had got to page 147 three or four weeks ago and she’s written nothing since. She just sits there, brooding.’

‘Lyn, it may have escaped your notice but she’s trying to do a lot of the housework as well as feed Ned and write a book. And why is she doing housework? Because you feel you’re being asked to do too much! She’s tired, Lyn.’

‘Yes, she’s tired. I’m tired. We’re all tired. But we don’t go around hurting the children.’

She became aware suddenly that Tom had put down his crayons and was staring at her and Luke solemnly, eyes huge, thumb in mouth. ‘Oh, Tom, darling.’ She ran to him and picked him up, swinging him onto her hip. ‘Aunty Lyn is going to look after you, sweetheart, I promise.’

‘Lyn.’ Luke controlled his temper with difficulty. ‘Please, don’t ever say things like that again. It’s not true. Joss would never, never hurt the children.’

‘No?’ She glared at him. ‘Why don’t we ask Tom?’

‘No!’ He stood up, sending the chair shooting backwards across the floor. ‘No, Lyn that’s enough. Have some common sense, please!’

Angrier than he had been for a long time, he slammed out of the kitchen and into the hall, aware of Tom’s gaze, thoughtful somehow beyond his years, fixed unwaveringly on his back.

In the great hall he stopped in the middle of the floor and took a deep breath. He was letting Lyn get to him and it was crazy. He could see what she was up to – undermining Joss, trying to win him and the children away from her, planting seeds of doubt. Damn it, she almost had him believing it was Joss who had pushed him into the lake.

Around him the room seemed suddenly very silent. Ramming his hands down into the pockets of his cords he shivered, staring down at the empty hearth. A mound of cold ash lay between the fire dogs, a scattering of small twigs around it. The room was very cold. He could feel the chill striking up from the flag stones into his bones. He was conscious suddenly of the sound of the wind in the great chimney. It was moaning gently and every now and then as a stronger gust shook the house the sound changed and took on a strange resemblance to laughter – children’s laughter.

‘Joss!’ He turned abruptly and strode towards the study.

She was standing staring out of the French windows at the dark garden. The computer, he noticed, was not even switched on.

‘Joss, what are you doing?’ He saw her guilty jump and the way she reached for the curtains, pulling them quickly across to shut out the darkness almost as though she didn’t want him to see what it was she had been watching. He also saw the surreptitious gesture she made to wipe away the tears on her cheeks.

‘Joss, what is it? Why are you crying?’

She shrugged, still not looking at him.

‘Joss, come here.’ He drew her into his arms and held her against him. ‘Tell me.’

Wordlessly she shrugged again. How could she tell him her fears? They sounded crazy. They were crazy! The images which haunted her dreams and her waking hours were no more than that – images which derived from some archetypal nightmare world where Luke was being threatened on every side and Ned and Tom were in danger of their lives and other people, people she didn’t know, were running, fearful, through the house.

‘Is it the book? Are you having trouble with the book?’ He was talking softly, his mouth pressed against her hair. ‘Joss, you mustn’t let things get out of proportion, love. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters so much that you let it make you ill.’

His arms round her were strong. Within their embrace she felt completely safe, and yet John Bennet had been strong; her own real father had presumably been strong and what had happened to them? With a violent shudder she pushed Luke away. ‘Take no notice of me. I’m being silly. It’s lack of sleep, that’s all.’

‘Joss, you know Lyn has offered – ’

‘Oh, I know she has offered.’ The emotion in Joss’s response astonished her as much as Luke. ‘I don’t want her taking over Ned’s life. I don’t want her doing every single thing for him. I don’t want him to think she is his mother. I want him myself, Luke. I want to look after him! She’s stealing him from me.’

‘Of course she isn’t, Joss – ’

‘No? Take a look at things.’ She tore herself out of his grip and went to stand in front of the computer. The screen was a reproachful blank.

‘You take a look at things, Joss.’ Luke kept his voice deliberately even. ‘You and I are employing Lyn to be the children’s nanny. We are giving her board and lodging and a small wage to do a job. That was supposed to help both of you. She needed a job and I suspect a home away from Alice and Joe for a bit to give her some independence, and you wanted space to write a book and get on with doing up Belheddon and researching its history. After Tom was born you felt the restrictions of looking after a small child very badly if you remember. Having Lyn here wasn’t a plot to deprive you of the boys, Joss. It was to help you. If it’s not working, we’ll tell her to go.’

Sitting down at her desk, Joss put her head in her hands. Wearily she rubbed her temples. ‘Oh, Luke. I’m sorry. I’ve been feeling as though my life has been running away with me. As if it is living me instead of me living it!’

He laughed. ‘Silly old Joss. If ever there was a lady in charge of her own destiny, it’s you.’

Joss put both children to bed while Lyn was making the supper and they were sitting round the table in the kitchen when Janet arrived. Shedding her Barbour in the back porch she came in, her cheeks whipped pink by the wind, her hair wet and tangled. ‘I’ve got something for my godson in the car.’ She accepted the offer of a cup of coffee with alacrity. ‘It’s so gorgeous I had to bring it straight over. Until he’s old enough I thought his brother would adore it too.’

‘Janet, you spoil them. First Kit and Kat, and now – what is it?’

Janet beamed. ‘All right. I can’t wait. I’m no good at building suspense. Come and help me, Luke. It’s in the back of the car.’

They disappeared outside the door, letting in a waft of wet night air.

Joss glanced at Lyn. ‘Have we got enough to offer her supper? Roy is still away at some conference or other so she’s on her own.’

‘Of course we have.’ Lyn nodded vehemently. ‘You know I always make enough for two or three meals.’

‘Great,’ Joss nodded. ‘Lyn – I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a bear.’

Lyn turned to the stove so that Joss couldn’t see her face. ‘That’s OK.’ She was going to add something else when the door reopened and Luke staggered in carrying a wooden rocking horse.

‘Janet!’ Joss’s squeal was one of genuine pleasure. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!’

Hand carved in painted dapple grey, the horse had a rippling black mane and tail and a red leather bridle and saddle, studded with brass headed nails.

‘Tom is going to adore it.’ She stroked the shining mane as Luke set it down on the floor by the dresser.

‘I always thought there should be a rocking horse at Belheddon.’ Janet picked up her mug and warmed her hands on it. ‘I was so sure there must be one hidden away somewhere that I sent your brother, Luke, on a secret mission to all the old attics and outbuildings when he was here for the christening.’

‘He never said.’ Joss stared at her, amused.

Janet shook her head. ‘No sign of a rocking horse, he said. It was originally going to be a christening present, but then I realised how long it was going to take to make. There’s a waiting list with this chap near Sudbury who makes them.’

She chuckled as Kit and Kat, climbing languidly from their basket by the stove crept up to the horse and feigning indifference inspected it from a safe distance before pouncing at the long tail.

‘Another of your wonderful craftsmen.’ Luke put his arm around Janet’s shoulders and gave her a hug. ‘Clever girl. I had no idea old Mat was poking round in the attics. He did that very discreetly.’ He glanced at Joss, but her attention appeared to be fully on the horse. ‘Shall we see if Tom is still awake? If he is he can come down to see it while Janet’s here? As it’s a very special occasion.’

Janet nodded. ‘Oh please. Would you? Just this once? I know it was a silly time to bring it, but I only collected it this afternoon, and I couldn’t wait.’

‘I’ll get him.’ Luke strode towards the door. ‘It’s the sort of surprise he’ll probably remember all his life.’

The kitchen was warm, full of succulent smells from the cooker. Kit and Kat, having examined the new acquisition in great detail were curled up once more, safe in their basket, when there was a click and then a crackle from the baby alarm standing on the
dresser. ‘Joss!’ Luke’s voice was tinny, distant, but sharp with anxiety. ‘Where is he, Joss?’

Joss stared at the dresser. ‘What do you mean, where is he?’ But he couldn’t hear her. Her frantic question shouted into the speaker of a one-way system was lost in the silence of the kitchen.

‘Christ!’ Lyn pushed away the bottle she was opening so violently it fell over and rolled to the edge of the table, splashing wine onto the flags. ‘What’s happened now?’ She looked at Joss for a fraction of a second before she made for the door.

The three women ran for the staircase and found Luke standing in Tom’s bedroom. The bed was neat and appeared unslept in. ‘The baby alarm was switched off. Where is he, Joss? Where did you put Tom?’ His voice was shaking as he caught her arm.

‘What do you mean where did I put him?’ Joss stared down at the little bed in disbelief. ‘He was here. I tucked him in, he had his teddy.’ A cold lump of something like stone seemed to have settled in her stomach as she stared round wildly. ‘He was here. He was fine. I read him a chapter of Dr Seuss – look, here’s the book.’ It was lying face down on his chest of drawers near the night light. She stared down at the new candle in the holder. ‘I lit it. I remember lighting it …’ The electric lamp had been too bright.