House of Echoes (36 page)

‘You and she were married?’ It was Luke who asked.

He nodded. ‘I could never persuade her at the beginning. We lived in sin for years.’ He grinned. ‘You are shocked?’

Joss shook her head. ‘Of course not.’

‘I think the people of Belheddon would have been. No matter. This is Paris. We lived
une vie bohème
. She liked that. It was part of the escape. We married in the end just before she died.’ He hesitated. ‘I can take you to see her grave if you wish? Tomorrow, perhaps? She is buried in a village outside Paris. Our real home, where I still go to paint in the summer. She loved it there. It was there that she died.’

‘I’d like that.’ Joss smiled. ‘You’ve been very kind.’

He bent to hug her. ‘I wish she could have known you, Jocelyn. It would have given her so much pleasure. A pleasure she denied herself to save you.’ He sighed. ‘I hope the fact that you have
gone to Belheddon has not made that sacrifice a vain one. It seems the fate of your family is very strong. The tie to the house is like a binding chain.’

Luke frowned. ‘It is a beautiful house.’

‘I think that is its tragedy. Katrine died for it. And so many others.’

They both stared at him. ‘You know something you haven’t told us?’

He shook his head. ‘I know so little. Your mother would not talk about it once she came to Paris. The curse of the house goes back a long way. Yet it can be broken. She was so sure of that.’ He put his hands on Joss’s shoulders. ‘You are like the daughter I never had.
Ma fille
. I like that. I want to help you. If you wish, perhaps you should go as she did to the Sacré Coeur. Buy a crucifix. Have the blessing of a priest. Believe. Believe that God and Our Lady will protect you. They protected her. She said it was the prayers of Rome which reached out across the years as the prayers of her English church could not. She wanted Our Lady’s blessing on Katrine.’

‘Codswallop!’ Luke’s muttered imprecation was clearly heard by both of them. Paul frowned at him. ‘You are not a believer. Nor am I. But for those who believe, the prayers work. Perhaps Katrine believes.’

‘Katherine has been dead for five hundred years,’ Joss said sharply.

‘Your mother told me that she was a sorcière; a witch. She cannot rest without prayers.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Luke rammed his hands into his pockets.

‘Is it not worth a try? Especially if one day you have children. Then perhaps you will understand why it is important – why they have to be protected.’

‘We have children!’ Joss interrupted. ‘We have two little boys.’

Paul stared at her. ‘
Mon Dieu
– forgive me. I had not realised.’ He sat down abruptly. ‘That is why you are here, of course. Where are they?’

‘In England. With their grandparents.’

‘Not at Belheddon?’

‘No.’

‘That is good.’ He sighed. ‘Forgive me. I am tired. Tomorrow we will go out together. I will borrow a car. I will show you
Laura’s grave. Take her things. Go through them carefully. There are more at the house that you should have.’

The interior of the cathedral of the Sacré Coeur was very dark. Luke looked through the door and gave a shudder. ‘Not my scene, Joss. You go on in. I’ll wait here.’ He sat down on the steps, staring out across the panoramic view of Paris that was laid out in front of him. She glanced down at him and shrugged then she stepped inside the huge domed church. The shop was packed with devotional aids – pictures, crosses and crucifixes, rosaries, statues. They lined the walls, crowded the counter, hung from the ceiling. Staring round she wished she had asked Paul what kind of cross her mother had bought. It was silly. Silly to come here; superstitious, as he had said. And yet something in his words had struck a chord. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps it needed the trappings and the blessings of the Church of Rome to reach out to England’s pre-Reformation past.

She chose a small silver crucifix and the least kitsch most graceful little carved statue of the Virgin and carefully counted out her francs. Then she went in search of a priest. His blessing was perfunctory and in French, not Latin which bothered her. She wanted to call him back, but already he had turned to others and so clutching her purchases she wandered deeper into the church. For two francs she bought a candle and lit it from its neighbour, then she knelt before the blazing ranks of flame and gazed up at the statue of the Virgin and Child, strangely certain that this was the same spot where her mother had prayed.

At Belheddon, in the ice cold darkness of the locked church, a new spray of white rose buds lay on the stone step before the memorial plaque to Katherine de Vere.

‘E
dgar?’ David pushed open the door into the passage.

‘Edgar?’

He could hear someone laughing. It sounded like a woman. ‘Edgar? Where are you?’ He stood in the doorway looking round the great hall. The cross and candles on the table had been knocked over. A pool of blue wax had spread across the dark oak and spilled onto the stone floor. ‘Edgar?’ His voice sharpened. ‘Edgar, where are you? Are you all right?’ He stepped into the room, his mouth dry with fear and stared round. ‘Edgar?’ His voice rose. The room was very silent – too silent. It was as if someone was listening to him. He took a huge gulp of breath, feeling his shoulders rise and holding them there, somewhere around his ears. ‘Edgar!’ This time it wasn’t so loud. Slowly he turned on his heel, staring into the dark corners of the room, looking at the chairs, the chests, his eyes going almost involuntarily to the dark shadows behind the curtains where someone – anyone – could hide.

There was no one there. He stepped closer to the hearth and his eye was caught suddenly by something lying amongst the ash. He stooped and picked it up. It was one of the small silver-lidded pots from Edgar’s briefcase.

Spinning round he strode towards the stairs and stood at the bottom looking up. ‘Edgar? Are you there?’

He put his hand on the newel post, clutching it tightly. ‘Edgar!’

The silence was unnerving. He glanced round, searching for a light switch. The well of the staircase was dark and he could see nothing beyond the bend where it turned out of sight. ‘Edgar?’ Taking a deep breath he put his foot on the bottom step.

The sound of laughter came from behind him this time. He spun round and ran back into the great hall. ‘Who’s there? Who is it? Edgar, where are you? Answer me, for God’s sake!’

It was a melodious laugh, attractive, husky, the laugh of a woman who once had known herself to be beautiful. He swallowed, clenching his fists inside his pockets as he stared round, fighting his panic. ‘What have you done with him?’ he shouted suddenly. ‘What have you done with him, you bitch?’

Silence. Intense; pregnant; listening.

He whirled round. In two steps he was back in the hallway at the foot of the stairs. He threw open the study door and then the dining room. There was no one in either room. Then his eye was caught by the cellar door. He frowned. The key was in the lock and the door was an inch or two open. ‘Edgar!’ Pushing the door open he groped for the light switch.

Edgar was lying crumpled at the bottom of the steps. ‘Oh Christ!’ David ran down two at a time. The old man was alive. He could hear his forced noisy breathing, see the livid colour of his face. ‘Edgar? What happened? Listen old chap, I’m going for help.’

He scrambled back up the stairs and ran through towards the kitchen. It took only seconds to dial 999, then he threw open the door and ran out into the yard. ‘Jimbo?’ Please God let him still be here. ‘Jimbo? Quickly!’

Jimbo appeared at the door of the coach house, wiping oil off his hands onto a filthy old towel. ‘Problem?’

‘Quickly. There’s been an accident. I’ve dialled 999. Come and help!’

He didn’t wait to see if Jimbo was following. Turning back inside the house he ran into the kitchen.

Jimbo was right behind him. ‘Did you ring the doctor? He’s much closer than an ambulance.’

‘Can you do it? I don’t know his number. Then come and help. In the cellar.’

Grabbing a couple of coats from the rack as he passed he ran back through the house and down the stairs. ‘Edgar? Edgar, can you hear me?’ He didn’t like to touch the man’s head which lay at an awkward angle. Resisting the urge to put something comfortable under it, he spread the two coats over him and gently touched his hand. ‘There’s an ambulance on its way, and the doctor. Hang on in there. It’s going to be all right.’ He saw a flicker beneath the old man’s eyelids. He was trying to speak.

‘No fool –’ Edgar was gasping for breath, ‘ – like old fool. I
thought I knew enough; thought I was strong enough. She’s too good for me.’ He gave a rasping painful cough and David saw him wince with pain. ‘Don’t stay here. Don’t let them come back. Not yet. I must –’ he took a deep harsh breath, ‘ – must talk to bishop – ’

‘This cellar should be walled up.’ The doctor’s voice above them made David jump. ‘Dear God, how many more people are going to fall down these stairs?’ Bag in hand he ran down lightly and knelt beside Edgar. ‘Well Mr Gower. I thought you had more sense! A man your age running up and down and playing hide and seek in the cellars!’ His hands were running gently over Edgar’s head and neck, then on down his body, checking his arms and legs. ‘The paramedics are not going to believe this, you know.’ He was frowning, but his voice was cheerful as he went on. ‘I suppose you were pushed by the ghost as well?’ He raised an eyebrow as he turned to his bag and opening it drew out his stethoscope. ‘Here, let’s make you a bit more comfortable. You haven’t broken your neck as far as I can see. Tough old codgers, you clergymen!’ He lifted Edgar’s head and gently pulled some of the jacket under it to cushion it then he glanced at David. ‘Do you want to run upstairs and keep a look out for the ambulance? It should be here about now.’

Jimbo was waiting in the kitchen. ‘What’s happened?’

‘You didn’t think to come and look and perhaps help?’ David rounded on him.

‘You shouldn’t have meddled.’ Jimbo backed away from him. ‘I’m not going through there. No way. Is he dead?’

‘No, he’s not dead. What do you mean, we shouldn’t have meddled.’

‘You were trying to exorcise him, weren’t you. You were trying to chase him away from Belheddon. Well you can’t. There’s dozens have tried and they’ve all failed. They’ve died or they’ve gone mad. I told Joss. I told her not to meddle, but she wouldn’t listen. He won’t hurt her. He never hurts women.’

‘It was a woman we were trying to exorcise. A witch.’ David thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. ‘She’s at the root of all this trouble.’

Jimbo stared at him. ‘What do you mean, a witch? It’s Bael; the devil; old Nick. That’s who lives here.’

‘Maybe. But it was a witch who we were after. She’s at the
root of all this trouble.’ David shuddered. ‘Did you hear a siren? That will be the ambulance. I’ll go and see.’

In the silence broken only by the electronic bleeps in the ward Edgar opened his eyes suddenly. He clutched David’s sleeve. ‘You have to go back to the house. Collect all my stuff. Don’t leave it there. You must not leave it there, do you understand?’ Beside him Dot, white with fear, was clutching his other hand.

David stared at him. ‘You want me to go back to Belheddon?’ He glanced involuntarily at the window. It was dark outside now.

‘You have to.’ Edgar was breathing with difficulty, his chest heaving. Beside him a battery of monitors measured every step of his battle for life. Only his extreme agitation had forced the doctors in the intensive care unit to allow David in to stand now, helplessly, at his bedside. ‘Believe me, I wouldn’t ask you to do it if it weren’t important.’ His voice was very weak. ‘Don’t stay. Don’t do anything. Ignore everything else. Just collect the wine and the bread and the other things. They use them, you see. Use them for evil.’

David nodded slowly. ‘I see.’

‘Please. You don’t have to come back here. Keep them in your car. Just as long as I know they’re not in the house.’ He was tiring. His face was draining of colour as his eyes closed.

‘Please.’ Dot took David’s hand and led him away from the bed. ‘You’ll be safe. Take this.’ She fumbled at her neck and produced a small gold cross. ‘Here. Let me put it on you.’ She reached up and fastened the chain round his neck, tucking the cross down out of sight under his shirt, then she smiled. ‘It’ll keep you safe. Ring me from London and tell me you’ve done it. He won’t rest till he knows.’ She turned back to the bed and David saw her lean over to plant a gentle kiss on the old man’s forehead. He opened his eyes and gave a faint smile. ‘She was too strong for me, Dot. My faith wasn’t strong enough.’ David could just hear the agonised whisper. ‘I’ve failed.’

‘Edgar –’ Dot bent closer to the bed. ‘Edgar, you haven’t failed.’

‘Fraid so.’ The silence in the room as his fingers fell away, cold, beneath hers, was broken by the sudden strident alarm from the monitor by the bed as his heart slowed, faltered and finally stopped.

As David drove slowly through the darkness away from the hospital some time later there were tears on his cheeks. The end had been so undignified, so panic-stricken, doctors and nurses pushing Dot out of the way, the electric paddles in a nurse’s hands, and then the swinging door blocking everything from his view. He had offered to drive her home, but she had shaken her head. ‘Go. Do as he asked. Go back to Belheddon. Rescue the sacrament.’ Reluctantly he had left her to wait for Edgar’s brother, and set off into the dark, consumed with misery and guilt.

And now as he drew closer and closer to Belheddon he was growing more and more scared. He was not sure he would be able to enter the house.

He swung the car into the village and drove slowly down the row of small houses looking for the one where Jimbo lived. It was a pink half-timbered cottage two doors up from the post office. Drawing to a halt he sat still for a moment staring out of the windscreen, hoping that Jimbo would be out. Without the key he could not get into the Hall.

The lights were on in the cottage and he had a feeling that the strong smell of chips on the air came from behind its closed, brightly lit windows.

Mr Cotting opened the door which led straight into the small living room, dominated by a large television. Jimbo lay sprawled on the sofa, his feet over the arm, a can of lager in his hand. His gaze switched from the screen to David with an effort.

David gave him an unhappy grin. ‘It seems that I need the key to the Hall. Mr Gower left some things there.’

Jimbo’s eyes widened. ‘You’re going back there? Tonight?’

David nodded. ‘I don’t suppose I could persuade you to come with me?’

‘No way, mate.’ Jimbo stretched out even further on the sofa and took another swig from his can. ‘Dad, get Mr Tregarron a drink. I reckon he’s going to need one. How is the old boy?’

David lowered himself gingerly onto a chair opposite the television. ‘I’m afraid he died.’

‘Died!’ Jimbo echoed him in disbelief.

David nodded unhappily.

‘Oh my Lor’.’ Jimbo sat up and swung his legs to the floor.

‘Here.’ Fred Cotting handed David a can of lager. ‘Get that inside you. I reckon you need it.’

‘You can’t go back in that house.’ Jimbo’s face was pale beneath his tan. ‘You can’t!’

‘I’ve got to. I promised. Then I’m going on back to London.’

‘Pity young Jim’s sister’s not here,’ Fred Cotting observed slowly. He sat down on the edge of the table. ‘She’d go with you. She’s never been afraid of that place. I tell you what, why don’t you get the vicar to go with you? That’s his job, isn’t it? To chase out evil.’

‘Mr Wood doesn’t believe in that sort of thing, Da,’ Jimbo pointed out uncomfortably. ‘Anyway, I told Mr Tregarron, it can’t be done. Loads of people have tried to get rid of old Nick from the Hall. It’s never worked. Never will.’

David put down his can unopened and stood up. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I want this after all. If you can give me the key …’

Jimbo climbed to his feet – a giant in the small room, and went over to the sideboard. He picked up the key and tossed it to David. ‘Bung it through the letter box on your way back, mate. Good luck.’

David grimaced. ‘Thanks.’

‘If I were you, I’d go and get Mr Wood anyway,’ Fred Cotting put in as he opened the door. He put his hand on David’s arm. ‘You don’t want to go up there on your own. Not now.’

David nodded. He did not need to be reminded.

‘Go on. The Rectory is up there. On the left. Past the street light. You see it?’ He had stepped outside onto the path in his slippers.

David nodded. ‘Thanks. Perhaps I will.’

David watched as Jimbo’s father went inside and closed the door, throwing the small front garden into darkness.

In his hand the back door key of Belheddon Hall felt very heavy. He held it out, looking down at it then he turned away from his car and began to walk swiftly up the road. They were right. It was the rector’s job.