House of Echoes (38 page)

James nodded. He put down the basket. ‘So sad,’ he murmured. ‘So sad.’ He frowned. ‘What was that?’

‘What?’ David’s nerves were raw. He spun round, listening.

‘I thought I heard something. A voice.’

‘A woman laughing?’ Swallowing, David faced the staircase.

‘No.’ James looked confused. ‘I’m not sure. Probably the water pipes or something.’

‘Let’s get out of here.’ David moved swiftly towards the stairs. ‘Come on. I don’t like cellars.’

‘Nor I.’ With a rueful smile James followed him. ‘I must confess I see your point about this house. The atmosphere leaves a lot to be desired when it’s empty like this. But we mustn’t be foolish. Our rational minds tell us there is nothing to fear.’

Emerging on the landing they stood for a moment both looking towards the great hall. Reaching behind him David turned off the
cellar light and pulled the door closed. Locking it carefully he withdrew the keys and went with them into the study. ‘Tell me, James, how does your rational mind cope with a belief in God if it rejects all other aspects of the supernatural?’ he called over his shoulder. He was about to throw the keys down on the desk once more when his eye was caught by something lying on the manuscript of Joss’s book. A dried flower. He was sure it hadn’t been there before. Frowning he dropped the keys and picked it up. A rose; an old dried rose, its petals, once white, now the colour and texture of soft chamois leather. He stared at it thoughtfully, aware that the small hairs on the back of his forearms were stirring uncomfortably.

Roses. He dropped it and turned towards the door.

‘James?’

There was no reply.

He took a deep breath. It couldn’t happen again. Forcing himself to move slowly and calmly he went through into the great hall and stopped dead. James was standing by the table staring down at it in disbelief, Edgar’s briefcase open before him.

David went to stand beside the other man and looked down in silence. ‘They’re empty,’ James said after a moment. He nodded towards the vessels. ‘All of them. The rest of it’s here: the cross, the candlesticks. It was under the chest here. Someone must have hidden it all.’

David shook his head. ‘There’s no one else in the house, James.’

‘There must be.’ The rector sounded desperate. ‘There has to be some logical explanation. Children perhaps; children from the village. I remember Joss saying she thought there were children hiding in the house.’

‘There are.’ David was aware how bleak his voice sounded. ‘But not children from the village.’

James looked at him in silence for a moment, then slowly he closed the lid of the case. Neither of them had noticed the faint outline on the flags where the salt water had dried in a perfect circle.

‘What do you suppose has happened to the contents?’ David asked soberly.

‘Very desirable in some quarters. They use them for Satanic rites; witchcraft; that sort of thing.’ James’s previous hearty tone had gone. It had been replaced with weary disillusion.

‘So we were too late.’

James nodded. ‘It looks like it.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘The Grants are all away, you said?’

David nodded.

‘Then there’s no danger to the family in the immediate future.’ James stared round the room thoughtfully. ‘I can’t feel anything, you know. Nothing at all. I wish I could, then I’d be more use in knowing how to deal with it.’

David shook his head. ‘Just be thankful you can’t feel anything! I don’t think it can be very nice to be psychic. Not very nice at all.’

He did not mention the rose. Waiting for James to pick up the case he walked back to the wall to switch off the lights. There was someone up there in the gallery, watching, he was sure of it. He could even feel the suppressed triumph.

He did not look up. Walking back into the room he hustled James out in front of him. The laughter he thought he could hear behind him was not that of a child. It was a woman.

In the churchyard Mary lay on her back in the long grass, staring up at the sky. One by one the stars had disappeared as the clouds rolled in from the sea and the sky was totally black now. She closed her eyes, pleased the pain had gone away at last. Slowly her legs were growing numb.

Her shoe was still caught on the wrought iron kerb around the old grave where she had tripped. In the dark she couldn’t see the blood from her trapped foot seeping inexorably into the grass.

Somewhere in the distance she heard a door slam. ‘Here! I’m here!’ she called, but her voice was barely more than a whisper and no one heard.

She should have known the evil was in the church now; she should have been able to feel it, realise that something had awakened it, but she was getting old. Too old. Too weak. She must warn Jocelyn. Slowly her eyes closed again and her head fell back onto the soft pillow of dead grass. Another short rest and she would try and move again, but suddenly she was so very tired.

‘Georgie? Sam?’ Her whisper was very faint. ‘Help me, boys. I need you.’

W
hen Mat arrived in Oxford unannounced, hugging his parents and the children before giving her a brotherly kiss on the cheek Lyn was as surprised and pleased as they were.

‘You might have let us know, Matthew!’ Elizabeth Grant feigned annoyance. ‘It’s typical. You just arrive, assuming there will be room for you!’

‘Of course there’s room.’ His put his arms around his mother again and squeezed her hard. ‘There’s oceans of room! I only knew yesterday that I could wangle five days in the south before starting on the new project so I thought I’d grab the chance and I did. I didn’t think I’d need to book.’

‘I’m afraid the boys and I are filling up the house a bit.’ Lyn felt suddenly shy as she smiled at the handsome, cheerful, carefree face.

‘Nonsense.’ Elizabeth and Mat spoke at the same moment and then both dissolved into laughter.

‘There’s room for all of you,’ Elizabeth went on firmly. ‘I was only teasing!’

It wasn’t until the evening that Lyn found herself alone in the sitting room with Mat after the children had been put to bed. He poured her a sherry and sat down opposite her, his long legs loosely crossed at the ankle as he sipped at his own. He gave her an amiable grin. ‘So, how are Joss and Luke really?’

‘Fine.’ She looked at him fiercely for a minute. ‘You never answered my letters.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ He seemed embarrassed. ‘I meant to. It’s just – you know how things are.’

‘No. Supposing you tell me.’

He looked distressed. Standing up he put his glass down carefully and moved across the room to stand at the French doors
looking down towards the bottom of the garden where the River Cherwell ran between banks of lush willow. ‘I live in Scotland, Lyn. I have a life up there.’

‘I see.’ She could not hide the bleakness in her voice. ‘How stupid of me to think you’d have time to write a few lines on a postcard!’

He swung round. ‘Please try and understand. You’re a very attractive woman – ’

‘No.’ She stood up slopping her sherry onto her skirt as she slammed the delicate cut glass down onto the coffee table. ‘Please don’t make it worse.’ Her face was scarlet. ‘I have to go and check on the boys if you’ll excuse me. Then I’ll help your mother with the supper.’

By the morning she had made up her mind.

‘But Lyn, why don’t you stay a bit longer, my dear! You know how much we love having the children.’ Elizabeth removed Tom’s bib and helped him down from his breakfast chair. ‘There, sweetheart, take a chocky out of Granny’s tin and then go and play while Aunty Lyn and I have a talk.’

Lyn gave a tight smile. ‘It’s very nice of you, Mrs Grant, but honestly, I’d rather have them in their own home. Their routine is getting badly unsettled by the break and it’s time we got back. Tom was due to start playgroup for an hour or two this week.’ With dismay she watched Tom helping himself to a fistful of chocolate toffees.

‘But this is so sudden and Luke was so insistent we look after you all, my dear. And it’s been such fun.’ Elizabeth got up and went to the sink. ‘You know, I don’t think you ought to go back without checking with them, I really don’t.’ Squeezing a flannel out under the hot tap she went in pursuit of her grandson before he managed to spread the mess on his fingers to her gingham table cloth.

Lyn hid a scowl. ‘It has been fun here,’ she said as sincerely as she could. ‘But I think Luke and Joss would want him to go to the playgroup. There is such a waiting list. We were very lucky to get him in.’

Elizabeth looked up. Then she shrugged unhappily. ‘I hope it’s nothing to do with Matthew coming.’ She glanced at Lyn shrewdly and noted the sudden defensive look in her eyes. She sighed. Wretched boy! Another heart broken. She shook her
head, too tactful to say any more. ‘Well, you’re in charge of the little ones, I suppose. Perhaps you’re right,’ she added after a minute. She looked down at the revolting cloth in her hand and gave a rueful laugh. ‘Yes, perhaps you are right. Short visits, and often – that’s always supposed to be the best, isn’t it? But do try and ring Luke and Joss, my dear. They left the hotel number. Just check it’s all right to go back, won’t you?’

When Lyn turned the Mini under the arch into the courtyard a light rain was falling from a leaden sky. She glanced at the open garages; obviously Jimbo was around somewhere, but to her relief she couldn’t see him. She was not comfortable in his company. Each time she had seen him when Luke was not around he had leered at her suggestively, and the awful thing was she did find him and his strange eyes extremely attractive, and that made her think about Mat again with a sharp pang of regret.

Pulling Luke’s keys from her pocket she climbed out of the car. Unstrapping Tom she lifted him out, then she turned to Ned. ‘Come on, baby. Let’s have you. It’ll soon be time for your lunch and I’ll bet the house is freezing cold. We’ll have to put the fire on in your bedroom before you can go upstairs.’ His harness was awkward to undo. Swearing to herself, she pulled at the small square buckles and at last managed to extricate him from the back seat. Standing upright, the child in her arms, she turned round to lift out the cat basket – Kit and Kat were anxiously squeaking for their release after their long journey – then she looked round for Tom.

‘Tom! Tom, where are you?’ He had vanished. ‘Tom?’ She turned round crossly, flicking the rain out of her eyes. ‘Come on, you’re getting wet.’ The little brat had obviously made a bee line for the open carriage house door. Damn. The last thing she wanted to do was have a long conversation with Jimbo. ‘Tom, come here quickly. I want to get lunch.’

She could hear him giggling. ‘Tom! Where are you hiding, you horror?’ His footsteps rang out behind her, running over the cobbles. She spun round, Ned in her arms. ‘Tom!’

‘You’re back then.’ Jimbo had appeared in the doorway to the garage, a spanner in his hand. He was dressed as always in filthy oily overalls, his unkempt hair knotted back on his neck with an elastic band. He ran his eye up and down her as though she were
wearing a skimpy bikini instead of an old pair of jeans and a bright blue anorak. She could feel herself growing hot in spite of the icy rain trickling down her neck.

‘As you see. Is Tom in there?’

‘Tom?’ He stared round his feet as though the child might be hiding behind his legs. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Can you look, please? In the garage. I want to get him inside. The rain is getting worse.’ She was trying to shelter Ned with the flap of her anorak.

Jimbo ducked out of sight. There was a transistor radio playing softly somewhere inside, Lyn realised suddenly. To her surprise this time it appeared to be playing some sort of classical music. She took a step closer. ‘Is he there?’

‘No, he’s not here. I didn’t think he was. I’d have seen him. The little monkey gave you the slip did he?’

‘He did.’ Lyn tightened her lips.

‘Tell you what. You take the baby inside and I’ll look for him.’ Jimbo stopped in his tracks, a frown slowly spreading across his face. ‘Does Joss know you’ve brought them back?’

‘I’m going to ring them tonight. I tried their hotel last night but they were out.’ She hesitated. ‘I can’t think where Tom’s got to.’

‘I don’t think you ought to have brought them back, you know.’ Jimbo rubbed the back of his neck with an oily hand. ‘They shouldn’t be in the house.’

‘Oh for goodness sake, not you as well!’ Lyn spun round and began walking quickly towards the back door. She was not about to tell him that it was Joss herself who had hurt the children and imagined all the stories about the house. If anyone was going to explain anything to him, it would have to be Luke. ‘Please, Jimbo, find him quickly. He’s going to get so wet out here in the rain.’

Still looking round for him she juggled the baby over her shoulder and fished in her pocket for the keys. The back door swung open onto a house that was surprisingly warm. She paused thoughtfully, then she went on into the kitchen. Sure enough the range, although nearly out, had been stoked in the last twenty-four hours. She had done it enough times herself to know exactly how long it would have lasted. There were two glasses on the kitchen table, and Luke’s whisky bottle, nearly empty, together with a wooden toy car.

Setting Ned down in the chair she propped him up against the
cushions and began to pull off his waterproof jacket and trousers. His small bouncy chair was where they had left it behind the rocking horse in the corner. Strapping him in near the range she gave him a gentle shove to make it swing, then she turned back to the door.

‘Jimbo, who’s been in here? Was it you?’

For a moment she couldn’t see him, then she caught sight of a movement in the bushes in the far corner of the yard. ‘Is he there? Oh, thank God!’

Jimbo had appeared carrying the small boy. Tom was crying.

‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Grabbing him from Jimbo Lyn turned towards the kitchen. With a slight hesitation Jimbo followed her and stood in the doorway watching as she tried to console the boy.

‘You shouldn’t have brought him back.’

‘Why not?’ She turned on him furiously. ‘Look, you’ve frightened him.’

‘It wasn’t me frightened him.’ Jimbo set his mouth in a tight line.

‘What did then?’

‘You’d best ask him, hadn’t you.’ He sniffed loudly. ‘And no, it wasn’t me sitting in here drinking when I should have been working, so there’s no need to think it. Mr Tregarron was up here with the Reverend Gower. There was an accident. The reverend’s dead. He had a heart attack, I heard.’

Lyn stared at him in horror. ‘When was this?’

‘Night before last.’

‘And where’s Mr Tregarron now?’

‘Back to London. He wouldn’t have liked you bringing the boys back.’

‘No, I bet he wouldn’t.’ Lyn scowled. ‘OK, Jimbo, thanks. I’d better get these two fed and let them have a rest. They’ve had a tiring journey.’ For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to go.

He hesitated just too long on the threshold and then with a shrug he turned away. No need to tell her yet about poor Mary. She’d been dead for hours when they found her, and no one knew even now what she’d been doing in the church in the dark. She’d left the door open when she left, and fallen amongst the old graves under the yews.

‘You call me if you need me,’ he shouted over his shoulder as
he ran down the steps. ‘But if I were you, I’d spend the night with Mrs Goodyear. Don’t let the boys stay here.’

Lyn stared after him for a moment then she turned to Tom, scolding, as she pulled off his jacket. He had spotted the car on the table and stood on tiptoe to reach up and get it. ‘That’s Georgie’s toy,’ he said conversationally as she straightened his jumper and reached it over for him before she turned towards the kitchen range. ‘Tom play with Georgie’s car.’

‘We must ring your parents later, Luke.’ Joss was sitting with him at the huge scrubbed table in the farmhouse which had been her mother’s last home. They had eaten a wonderful meal, cooked by Paul, washed down with a rough, thick country wine and they were both feeling sleepy and more rested than they had for a long time.

‘I am glad that I persuaded you to leave your hotel and come here to stay.’ He was spooning thick coffee grounds into the cafetière. ‘You both look better already.’ He gave his slow, charming smile. ‘Of course, you may ring whoever you like. I wish you had the children with you.’ He shook his head. ‘How Laura would have loved to know that she had grandchildren. Now, while you drink your coffee I shall bring for you Laura’s things.’ He hesitated. ‘I do not want you to be sad, Jocelyn. Are you sure you want these things?’

She was peeling an apple with a small fruit knife. ‘I would love to have them, Paul.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘It sounds strange when I already have so much that was my mother’s at Belheddon, but none of it seems personal; it consists of all the stuff she didn’t want; the things she was prepared to abandon. Apart from a work basket and the things in her desk there is nothing that was close to her.’

He frowned. ‘What is a work basket?’

‘Sewing.’

‘Ah, I see.’ He let out a guffaw of laughter. ‘She hated sewing. Not even a button. I did all the buttons! I’m surprised she didn’t put it in the garbage!’

‘So.’ Joss shrugged her shoulders and raised her hands in an unconscious imitation of his wonderful Gallic gestures. ‘What did she love?’

‘She loved books. She read and read. She loved poetry. She
loved art. That was of course how we met. But there were things she hated. Strange things.’ He shook his head. ‘She hated flowers – especially roses – ’

‘Roses?’ Joss tensed.

‘Roses.’ He did not notice the sharpening of her tone. ‘She detested roses. She said the
greniers
– the attics – at Belheddon always smelled of roses. I could not understand why she disliked them so much. Roses are beautiful things; their smell is –’ he searched visibly for a word and found it with a kiss of his finger tips, ‘
incroyable
.’

Joss glanced at Luke. ‘I can understand. The roses at Belheddon are not like other people’s roses.’ She gave a small sad smile. ‘Poor Mother.’

The men left her with the suitcase full of letters and books and the leather box full of more of Laura’s jewellery, planning to walk across the fields and down to the river. Settling down alone on the hearth rug in front of a gentle, sweet smelling fire of apple logs Joss sat for a long time gazing into the flames, hugging her legs, her chin resting on her knees. She felt closer to her mother here than she had at any time at Belheddon. It was a nice feeling; warm, protective. Safe.

It was almost with reluctance that at last she reached into the box and began to sort through the papers. There were loads of letters – all from strangers – none of special interest though all showed how much her mother was loved – and several demonstrated how she was missed by friends back in England. None however came from the village of Belheddon, she noticed, remembering how Mary Sutton had complained how Laura had never written; no one mentioned the life she had abandoned in East Anglia.