House of Echoes (32 page)

‘No.’ She bit her lip. ‘No, please.’ Only another few steps and she would be through the door down the hall and into the kitchen, then out of the house. She took another step, her eyes straining into the corners of the room, then at a sound behind her she whirled round.

The door of the study had slipped off its latch and swung open as with a violent crash the French windows, not properly shut last time they had been used, flew open onto the garden. Wind and rain lashed through the room as the doors were hurled back against the wall. Running back she stared round in despair. Sleet was pouring into the room, soaking the carpet. She raced to the window and wrestled the doors shut, then switching on the desk light she locked them and pulled the curtains closed, out of breath with the effort. The papers from her desk were scattered across the room. She surveyed them miserably – the manuscript of the book, notes, letters, some of her mother’s things – all strewn across the carpet, some of them near the window, soaking wet. She left them. Running back to the door she stopped dead.

The figure was standing in the doorway to the great hall, huge and clear as he had been in the bathroom. There was no armour now. He was dressed in black and purple, his dark blue cloak swinging from his shoulders as he raised a hand towards her.

Her reaction was reflexive. She turned and wrenching open the nearest door, that of the cellar, she dived through it, taking the steps three at a time into the darkness. Sobbing she fled across the first cellar out of the diagonal light thrown down the steps from the hall and into the total darkness of the second. Crawling behind the empty wine bins she pressed herself against the cold damp bricks and held her breath.

The cellar steps creaked. Moaning, she crouched smaller, hiding
her head in her knees, her arms clutched round her. She could feel him near her, his presence like an electric charge in the darkness.

Katherine. Come to me

‘No.’ She had stopped breathing. She could smell the roses – their scent filled the air round her.

He was close to her now, having no difficulty finding her in the darkness, seeing not a strange woman hiding amongst the wine bins of a twentieth-century cellar but the love of his life, lifeless on a bier – lifeless until he could breathe life into her with his love and tear the child from her, the child that had stolen her life.

Katherine

He put out his hand to touch her hair, scattering around her the rose petals they had used to pack her coffin. She was moving. She was alive, the wraith he had seen flitting through the house, the woman who was so like his dead Katherine that he had grown confused. One more time. Make love to her one more time and waken her with the sheer force of his passion.

With a groan he gathered her against his chest, pressing his cold lips against hers.

Katherine!

She could feel the strength of his arms around her, the enveloping, stifling softness of the velvet wrapped around her, pinioning her arms, sapping the last of her resistance.

Katherine!

His breath on her cheek was icy, his fingers as they began to open her dressing gown felt like those of a frost-rimed statue in the centre of a winter fountain.

‘No.’ Joss’s pitiful whisper was no more now than an exhalation of breath. Katherine was there; Katherine was inside her head. Her stomach knotted with fear and lust, she was looking out of Katherine’s eyes.

‘Edward! My lord!’

His hands were on her breast now, his kisses raining on her throat, her breasts, her belly. ‘
Sweet child, you are alive
.’

She couldn’t move. Paralysed at first with fear, she could feel tremors of excitement coursing up her legs and into the muscles of her belly. Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. Her dressing gown had fallen completely open and now there was nothing between them: the soft velvet and the brocade and the
silk had all gone. All she could feel was the hard urgency of his flesh.

Looking down into Katherine’s eyes, Edward of England smiled. Gentleness was forgotten. This was his sweetheart, his woman, the mother of his child, the love promised and paid for in a pact with darkness.

Holding her wrists tightly in his massive fists he kissed her again, enjoying her feeble struggles, knowing the fear in those brilliant blue eyes would turn soon to a lust and passion to match his own.

Katherine!

With a shout of triumph he entered her warm flesh and sank his face, sobbing, into the dark silken halo of her hair.

‘J
oss?’ Luke walked into the kitchen and stared round. The room was silent. Kit and Kat were curled up on the rocking chair near the range, a mass of black and white and orange fur. He sighed. She must have gone to bed. He had left Lyn and the children at Janet’s, and from there he had phoned Simon, then he had climbed once more into the car and driven back through the lashing sleet.

With a sigh he reached for the whisky bottle out of the cupboard and poured himself a small measure which he drank straight down neat. Putting down the glass he walked through into the great hall. Behind him Kit and Kat, scampering down the hall after him stopped in the doorway. Their game forgotten in an instant they turned and fled, their fur on end, their tails bushed. The light was on and Luke stared round. There was ash all over the floor where the wind had blown back down the chimney.

‘Joss?’ He strode across towards the door and looked out into the hall at the foot of the stairs where the lights were on as well. The door into the study was closed. Pushing it open he stared in. The room was a mess with paper all over the floor and the desk, the carpet soaked. He walked across to the window and pulling back the curtain stared out through the glass. The door had obviously been opened. Was Joss out there? But the key was in the lock on the inside. Turning he surveyed the mess again for a minute, then he ran out of the room and raced upstairs, two at a time. ‘Joss? Where are you?’

On the rug in Tom’s bedroom he could see slight traces of blood. Was she hurt? His stomach turning over with fear he stared round, but there was no other sign of Joss; nor in either of the boys’ bedrooms. He did a quick search through Lyn’s and then on up to the attic. She was nowhere to be seen.

Cursing himself for leaving her alone he walked back downstairs
and into the study once more. It was only then that he spotted the teddy bear, lying on the floor behind the door. She must have dropped it. He knew they hadn’t taken it with them – it had been a matter of extreme distress to Tom when he found Ted had been left at home.

‘Joss?’ He felt the stirrings of unease again. ‘Joss, where are you?’

He walked out again to the foot of the stairs. It was very cold there. He shivered, glancing round again. In the great hall, in the shadow of the minstrel’s gallery it was very dark. He could hear the wind in the chimney. For some reason the house felt strangely sinister. No wonder Joss was afraid. He sighed. Turning he looked back upstairs.

If she wasn’t in the house that left the gardens and – his mind shied away from the idea – the lake. It was as he was turning to walk away that his eye caught the cellar door. Surely earlier that day it had been closed and locked? They were so careful about locking it.

The door was slightly open, the cold draught playing round his ankles in the hall undoubtedly coming up from the cellar stairs. ‘Joss?’ There was a tight knot of fear in his stomach as he pushed the door wide. ‘Joss, are you down there?’ He leaned in and clicked on the electric light, peering down the staircase. It was very cold; he could see the dull gleam of condensation on the bottles nearest to him. Reluctantly he put his foot on the first step. ‘Joss?’ It was too silent.

He stopped, about to turn back, then on second thoughts he went on down. She was not in the first cellar. He ducked through the arch into the second one, remembering the fear he had felt the first time he had set foot down here. He could hear something now. It sounded like someone laughing. He swung round. ‘Joss?’

The laughter stopped suddenly, as though cut off by a knife.

‘Joss? Where are you?’ It hadn’t been her voice, he was sure of that. It sounded more like children. ‘Joss?’

The silence was tangible. He could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck stirring. ‘Who’s there? Come out. I know you’re here somewhere!’

He stepped further into the cellar, firmly trying to push the thought of Joss’s little dead brother out of his mind. ‘Joss! Is that you?’

It was shadowy in here. The single bulb, suspended from the
vaulted ceiling did little to illuminate the end of the wine racks and the bins on the far wall.

Slowly he moved towards them and his gaze was suddenly caught by a dark shadow on the floor in the corner. ‘Joss? Joss, oh my God!’

She was there, wedged between two of the bins and she was still wearing her dressing gown. It had pulled open and he could see her white breasts, her bare legs, her slipper half off, encrusted with dried blood.

‘Joss!’

She did not move.

‘Joss? Dear God, are you all right?’ He was beside her on his knees, feeling for a pulse. Her skin was ice cold and she appeared to be deeply unconscious; the pulse when he found it was faint and irregular, fluttering beneath his finger like some tiny thing which could die at any moment. ‘Joss! Hang on, my love.’ He didn’t dare move her. Pulling off his jacket he laid it over her, then he ran for the cellar steps.

He nearly collided with Simon in the great hall.

‘Sorry. I did ring the back doorbell, but no one heard so I came in.’

‘Simon. Down here. In the cellar. She’s unconscious. Oh God, I shouldn’t have left her! I was so stupid! I just wanted to get the boys away from her – ’

Simon frowned as he followed Luke down the stairs. ‘Did she fall down the stairs, do you think?’

‘I don’t know. If she did, she managed to crawl a long way before she collapsed. Look, she’s through here.’

Simon pushed past him. Like Luke he felt for her pulse, then gently he ran his fingers down her neck and arms, feeling her bones. ‘I don’t think anything’s broken. There is just this massive bruise on her forehead. It looks as though she caught it on the corner of the wine rack here, do you see?’ He continued his examination. ‘I don’t think she’s had a fall, Luke. It looks more as though she was trying to hide here – see how her hand is clasped round the side of this bin?’ He loosened her fingers with some difficulty. ‘Just to be on the safe side I won’t try and move her. I’ll call an ambulance.’ He glanced up. ‘Run up and get some blankets so we can keep her warm until it gets here.’ He reached into his pocket for his mobile phone. ‘Go on, man. Hurry.’

‘Luke?’ Joss opened her eyes slowly. ‘Luke, where am I?’

He was sitting by her bed in the small, darkened room off the main ward. The only light came from a lamp on the table in the corner.

‘You’re in hospital, love.’ He stood up and came to her. ‘How are you feeling?’

She frowned, screwing up her eyes. ‘I’ve got a headache.’

‘I’m not surprised. You’ve got an awful bump on the head. Do you remember how it happened?’

She lay for a minute, staring at the opposite wall, her concentration fixed on a small print which showed a bluebell wood in spring, then at last she shook her head. Her mind was a total blank.

‘I think you fell down the stairs.’ He took her hand and pressed it, drawing up a chair near her with his foot. ‘We found you unconscious. Oh, Joss, I’m so sorry. We shouldn’t have left you alone. I feel dreadful about it.’

‘The boys?’ She gave a deep sigh, her eyes still closed. ‘Are they OK?’

‘They’re fine. Lyn is with them at Janet’s.’

She smiled. ‘Good.’

‘Joss?’ He paused, looking down at her exhausted face. ‘Do you remember anything about what happened this evening?’

For a moment there was no response, then she gave a small groan.

‘Does that mean no?’ He squeezed her hand.

‘That means no.’ It was a whisper.

‘Do you want to go to sleep, Joss?’

There was no reply. When Simon looked in some twenty minutes later Luke was still sitting by the bed, holding her hand. He looked up.

‘She came to for a few minutes, then she fell asleep.’

‘Did you call the nurse?’

Luke shook his head. ‘There wasn’t time.’

‘Was she lucid?’

‘Sleepy. She didn’t seem to remember what had happened.’

Simon nodded. He reached for her hand and took her pulse again. ‘There is bound to be some concussion after a bang like that on the temple. Luke, can I suggest you go home and get some sleep yourself. I doubt she’ll wake again before morning
now, and if she does the hospital will take care of her. Come again tomorrow. Not too early, OK? Provided there’s no real structural damage to that poor old head of hers – and we’re pretty sure there isn’t, the duty psychiatrist will pop in to see her tomorrow morning. We need to find out what she was doing in the cellar – why she fell – if she did. And we have to get to the root of the other problem with the children. It’s far more common than you may realise in women who have given birth reasonably recently – there is a tremendous strain, you know, and if the hormonal system is not quite running as it should it can just tip someone over into doing things they would never in a million years do under normal circumstances. As the boys have you and Lyn to look after them, I’m quite sure that at this stage we can sort this out in the family. So, don’t worry.’ He walked over to the window and looked out across the darkened car park towards the sleeping roofs of the town. ‘I might suggest, Luke, that you find somewhere Lyn could take Tom for a while so that Joss can have a complete rest. Joss has more or less stopped breast feeding now; she’s told me that Ned has begun to sleep through the night, so she might consider letting him go too. I don’t want to separate her from him, of course, unless she agrees, but we’ll have to take the advice of the psychiatrist.’ He turned. ‘Is there somewhere Lyn could go? Grandparents perhaps?’

Luke nodded. ‘Both sets would have them like a shot. But Joss – ’

‘Joss may need a complete rest, Luke. I’d like her to get away from that house for a bit. From what you’ve told me, it is the root of her problems. She’s had a tremendous emotional shock, you know, inheriting that place and all the history that goes with it – and with the birth so soon after you moved, she hasn’t really had time to adjust. I think a couple of weeks in the sun might do the trick. Any chance you could arrange that?’

Luke looked gloomy. ‘Money’s a bit tight. I could probably manage something.’

‘Well.’ Simon folded his stethoscope. ‘Just give it some thought. We can all discuss it tomorrow when we see how she is.’

The psychiatrist, bearded, grey haired, and gentle, sat on her bed, sharing her grapes as he talked. He pulled no punches. ‘A touch of what we call puerperal psychosis, I think.’ His calm voice was
strangely comforting in spite of the intimidating words. ‘From what your husband and your GP say and from your own story, I’d say that’s the problem. It can make you imagine all kinds of very frightening things.’ He glanced at her from under bushy eyebrows. ‘Very frightening.’ He paused. ‘You are sure you can’t remember what happened to make you go down into the cellar?’

Joss shook her head. There was a wall in her mind – a wall of impenetrable blackness – a wall behind which she did not want to look.

He waited, watching her thoughtfully, the silence drawing out between them.

‘No.’ She shook her head again, as she spoke at last. ‘No, I can’t remember.’

He nodded. ‘Well, as I said, I’ve spoken to your GP and your husband and they both feel very strongly that what you need is a bit of time away from everything.’ He thought for a minute. ‘I’m going to give you some tablets and I’m going to let you go away for a few days with your husband.’ He paused and then went on carefully, ‘I think your doctor mentioned to you the possibility of leaving the children behind. How do you feel about that?’

Joss shook her head. ‘Not happy. Of course, not happy, but Lyn would look after them, I suppose. I …’ she hesitated. ‘I do want to rest. To sleep.’ To feel safe. She didn’t say it out loud, but the fear was there, lurking; the fear in the house. She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back onto the pillow.

He was watching her closely. He couldn’t decide whether she was suppressing the memory of what had happened to her consciously or not. Or was it just that she didn’t want to tell him. On the whole he thought it was a genuine amnesia, induced by shock. The interesting thing would be to find out exactly what had caused it.

He stood up, tweaking the bedcover straight behind him. ‘So, enjoy your break. And I shall need to see you as soon as you get back. Just to see how you are.’

‘Paris?’ Luke stared at her in astonishment.

He had expected protests at the thought of leaving Tom and Ned, refusal to leave the house, not this sudden almost feverish desire to cross the Channel.

‘We needn’t go for very long. The doctors are right. It’s just
what I need.’ She had been reluctant to leave Ned and Tom with Lyn, but the suggestion that Lyn take the boys to Oxford to stay with the Grants had mollified her. She knew how much Tom adored his Granny Liz and their big house could easily absorb three visitors and two small cats, where the small terraced house in London where the Davieses lived would have bulged uncomfortably however much Alice and Joe would have loved to have them.

‘I suppose we could afford it with the wine money.’ Luke smiled. ‘The only real problem is time. We’ve promised the Lagonda by the end of next month and there’s a little Austin Seven coming in next month too but if I can persuade Jimbo to keep things ticking over while we were away I reckon we could do it. Yes. Why not? It would be fun.’