Poison Heart (10 page)

‘They’re called Morton, Jane and Paul Morton.’

A definite shadow crossed her face. ‘Are they close relatives?’

I felt a familiar flush starting at my neck and spreading to my cheeks. ‘Noo … just a second cousin, once removed, on my mother’s side. They lost touch ages ago.’

The shrewd eyes bored into mine. ‘But you’re sure they live here, in Lower Croxton?’

I squirmed because she didn’t seem keen to give us any information. ‘My mum has an old Christmas card,’ I squeaked, ‘and this is the last known address.’

The farmer’s wife folded her meaty arms and shook her head with regret. ‘Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Jane and Paul did live here, but they perished in a house fire years ago.’

I covered my face with both hands. ‘How awful!’

She made a tutting noise. ‘Everyone in the village was shocked – such a terrible thing to happen. It was on Christmas Eve. I shall never forget … no one here could.’

‘Is the house …? I mean, is it still standing?’

‘It was razed to the ground,’ she answered bluntly.

Luke’s voice was suitably subdued. ‘Were there any survivors? Anyone who escaped the fire?’

The woman moved away from our table and busied herself behind the counter. ‘No. Now I must get on. Just leave two pounds in the jar by the door, and good day to you both.’

I was shocked at her sudden departure and called after her, ‘But what about …?’

Luke leaned over and clamped one hand across my mouth. I shook it off angrily. ‘She hasn’t told us about their daughter. She must have known her.’

Luke refused to speak until we were outside. We both sat in silence while I watched him finish his sandwich, take a final slurp of tea, count out some change and put his jacket back on. I angrily trailed after him with my head down, trying to escape the wind.

‘Sorry about that,’ he apologized. ‘I didn’t want her to hear us.’

‘But why would she lie? We read all about Grace Morton in the article. It’s impossible she wouldn’t have known her … it’s such a small village.’

‘We can’t bully her into telling us,’ Luke answered resignedly.

‘Let’s ask someone else,’ I announced, and before Luke could stop me I waved my hand at a man working on one of the cottages. He noticed me but carried on sanding a window frame and didn’t react as I approached.

‘We’re looking for some information on the Morton family who used to live here. I wonder if you knew them.’

His answer was curt to the point of rudeness. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Maybe someone else? Someone from the cottage might remember them.’

‘I’m certain they wouldn’t,’ he grunted.

Luke pulled me by my hood in the direction of his car. ‘There’s one thing I’ve learned doing my job.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You can tell as much from someone’s silence as you can from their words.’

I was glad to be back in the car but annoyed that our journey seemed to have been for nothing and now Luke was talking in riddles. ‘You mean, it’s important … the fact that no one wants to talk to us? How?’

‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll be glad to get out of here. This place really is starting to give me the creeps.’

He put his foot on the accelerator and the tyres locked and spun on the gravel. With a screech he finally took off.

‘I know what you mean,’ I muttered, more to myself than to Luke.

I took one final, defeated look out of the window and my hand flew to my mouth in horror. A cyclist was approaching from the left and there was no time to shout a warning. There was a sickening thud as she rode straight into the car.

Luke’s face was ashen as he threw open the car door and leaped out. I followed closely behind and tried to stop an elderly lady from standing up, terrified she’d broken something. We were both amazed when she bounced to her feet and dusted herself down amid a flurry of underskirts, thick tights, a long tweed skirt and mac. She probably only weighed seven stone and was lost inside the various layers.

‘It was my fault entirely,’ she insisted. ‘I suffer from cataracts, and you can see the unfortunate result.’

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Luke whispered. I pretended not to notice that he had leaned against a tree to steady himself.

‘I’m fine, my shopping broke the fall.’

Her many clothes would probably have protected her anyway, but she’d landed on several canvas bags that looked decidedly squashed.

‘We’ll pay for anything that’s damaged,’ I told her.

‘Of course,’ Luke echoed. ‘It’s the least we can do.’

‘No, it’ll be fine, really.’ She sighed stoically. ‘I’ve nothing breakable, just a slab of cheese, some leeks, potatoes and a few rashers of bacon …’

Now that he was certain the old lady was unhurt, Luke gazed longingly at his warm car, but I pinched him on the arm to let him know we couldn’t abandon her like this.

‘We’ll see you home,’ I suggested, ‘make sure you’re not a bit … wobbly.’

The old lady gestured at Luke and clucked mischievously, ‘Your friend looks in a worse condition than me.’

She didn’t stop me from supporting her arm though, as we walked. Reluctantly Luke locked the car and followed us. Little more than a hundred metres on she stopped outside a thatched cottage with a wooden sign announcing ‘Snuff-in-the-Wind’, and rifled in her bag for a key.

‘Now, will you stay for a cup of tea?’

Luke politely declined. ‘Sorry, but we’ve got a long drive ahead. We need to get back.’

I apologized again to the old lady as a hand attached itself to my hood and pulled me away for the second time that day. We’d probably taken no more than ten steps when a voice called after us, ‘So you don’t want to know about the Morton family?’

We stopped. ‘Who told you that?’ I asked with surprise.

She smiled knowingly. ‘News travels fast around here.’

The inside of the cottage was like stepping back in time – low ceiling beams stained dark chocolate, ancient furniture
and an uneven tiled floor covered by a large rug. A black cat lay curled into a ball, warming itself in front of a crackling cast-iron stove. The old lady was nowhere in sight, but there was the sound of water being run in the adjoining room.

Luke’s eyes narrowed, trying to adjust to the dim light. He scowled. ‘She looks really sinister … thin face, big nose, luring us in here. She’ll be boiling a pot to cook us in, you wait and see.’

‘Shh … she’s coming back.’

‘And I’m not drinking nettle tea laced with frogspawn.’

The old lady emerged from a narrow corridor carrying two cups that rattled in their saucers. I jumped up and took them off her.

‘Tea always tastes better in a china cup. Don’t you agree, dear?’

Luke grimaced as he took a cup from me.

‘So … let me see what I can tell you about Jane and Paul Morton.’

I nodded. ‘If you would … anything you can remember.’

The old lady rubbed her hands together in front of the stove and adjusted her position in a worn armchair which had been patched with squares of different-coloured fabric. She looked as though she enjoyed having an audience and moistened her lips to speak. ‘They kept themselves to themselves, that’s for sure. I think they moved here to do just that … shun the world. They were deeply religious people but … a bit too fire and brimstone for me. Not
much joy, I’m afraid. They were more concerned with finding sin everywhere.’

I tried not to appear too eager. ‘How long before the fire did they move here?’

‘I think … no, I’m certain … it was four years. We don’t have many new families and it sticks in the mind.’

I cleared my throat nervously. ‘Were you … I mean … did you see the fire that night?’

She nodded gravely. ‘It was stormy, and the flames were twenty feet high … the wind fanned them wildly … bits of debris, soot and ash were flying around as the whole village tried to stop it from spreading … It was then we saw her …’

‘Who?’ I demanded, but the old lady seemed far away, as if she’d forgotten we were there. It was another minute before she spoke again.

‘Walking out of the house through the flames … strolling almost, as if she didn’t need to hurry.’

‘Who walked out of the house?’ I repeated.

‘Grace did,’ she breathed. ‘Grace Morton gazed around with those unnerving green eyes of hers. It sent a shiver down my spine.’

‘Was Grace their daughter?’ Luke asked.

‘Yes. She was only seven, but she had a way about her that made you think she was years older.’

The handle of the white china cup was so small that I had to pinch my thumb and forefinger together to pick it up. I wondered how Luke was coping and realized that he
had his big hands wrapped around the cup itself, ignoring the handle entirely.

‘So Grace survived that night?’ I commented. ‘It’s just that the lady in the farm shop said no one did.’

The old lady sniffed. ‘People don’t like to talk. That night is something we’ve tried to forget around here, and you should do the same.’

I was unsure what she meant. ‘We should forget about Grace? Why?’

There was a noncommittal grunt and she raised her bony shoulders. ‘Maybe it’s not my place to say, but I think you should leave the past where it is. Grace always made us all a little … uncomfortable. Her stare could turn a person to stone.’

Luke gave a sceptical cough. ‘She was just a child.’

The old lady folded her arms and her tone became more defensive. ‘She didn’t speak like a child, and certainly the other children in the village were wary of her. I think that suited her parents – they didn’t believe in school anyway and taught her at home.’

We all lapsed into silence except for a contented purring from the cat, but I was worried that we were wasting time. ‘And you don’t know how Grace escaped the fire?’

The old lady’s face darkened. ‘No. It was unearthly the way she glided into the cold night air.’

Luke clenched his fists. ‘So … this small girl managed to walk through twenty-foot flames like it was some kind of … miracle.’

‘I wouldn’t call it that,’ was the sharp reply. ‘I’ve lived long enough to know there’re things in this world that can’t be explained and things I wouldn’t want to confront. Grace is one of them, and I don’t need a smarmy young man telling me otherwise.’

Luke leaned back in his chair, surprised by this attack. The heat from the stove was so great that I was having trouble breathing. ‘And where is she now?’

‘She has an aunt and an uncle who live just outside York. He’s a vicar at St John’s church. They took her in, and that’s the last we heard.’

Luke was growing impatient. His foot tapped on the rug and he seemed to want to twitch all over. I drank the last of my tea and got up to leave, thanking the old lady. As we reached the door she became more animated. ‘Our village might be tiny, but we have a claim to fame.’

‘What’s that?’ I smiled.

‘The witch trial, dear. It took place in the city, naturally, but the accused was from this very village.’

‘Really?’ I felt Luke close by, prodding me in the back and quietly snorting.

‘And the case was all the more chilling because the woman who was hanged was condemned by her own daughter … who was only a child herself at the time.’

I deliberately refused to look at Luke. ‘So … she had her own mother put to death?’

‘Yes, and the rumour was that
she
was really the witch but was far too clever to get caught. Her disguise
was perfect, you see – she inhabited the body of a beautiful child, but evil always comes through in the end.’

It was impossible to think of a suitable reply. ‘Er … OK. Thanks again … for the tea and everything.’

Luke strode on ahead as an arm suddenly reached out and pulled me closer. The skin that touched mine was the colour and texture of parchment and a pair of lips whispered into my ear, ‘You have the gift, but you don’t realize it yet. You must find her flaw.’

I pulled away with fright and caught up with Luke, who finally gave vent to his anger. ‘What’s she doing riding a bike if she can’t see? And she is clearly nuts. You know what she’s getting at, don’t you? Making out that Grace was some sort of reincarnated witch.’

‘I didn’t see that connection,’ I fibbed. ‘Besides, it’s just a story.’

‘They thought anyone was a witch back then. I mean, look at you, Katy – red hair, green eyes, and you have a cat … you’d have been first on the bonfire.’

‘Thanks for that vote of confidence,’ I drawled.

‘And what about the other stuff?’ he complained. ‘A seven-year-old couldn’t walk through flames unharmed.’

‘She kept talking about her eyes,’ I said softly. ‘No one who’d ever met Genevieve would forget those eyes.’

‘So you think it’s her?’

‘I just don’t know.’

‘She said the girl had family outside the city. If Genevieve
used to be Grace, then she wouldn’t end up on the streets if she had relatives to look after her.’

‘Maybe she spooked them as well.

‘Does she have any scars you’ve noticed?’

‘No,’ I answered bitterly. ‘She has gorgeous peachy skin.’

Luke’s mouth set in a determined line that I recognized. ‘I think it’s a false lead … much too far-fetched.’

As we got into the car I bit the inside of my cheek, resolving not to tell him about the old lady’s final words to me.

‘There’s still something odd about all this, Luke. She warned us to stay away from Grace as if she’s frightened or there’s something she’s not telling us.’

‘She’s probably lonely and eccentric and just wanted someone to talk to.’

I felt crushed and couldn’t hide it. ‘You don’t believe it’s Genevieve?’

Luke smiled sadly. ‘No, it’s too fantastical … the suspicious villagers and the fire that didn’t burn her and that strange old woman and her superstitious warnings.’

I reached out one hand to stop him from driving off and impulsively flung open the car door. ‘I’ve left my scarf behind … won’t be a second.’

I ran back to the cottage, my heart thumping, overcome by a compelling urge to question the old lady about her strange advice. I banged on the door, but no one answered and I peered in through the tiny windows, figuring that she
must be hard of hearing. I looked again, rubbed my eyes and looked for a third time, but I wasn’t imagining it – the warm cosy room we’d just left looked cold and bare; no crackling stove or lazy cat warming itself. I banged again and then gave up as Luke tooted his horn. I made sure that my face gave nothing away as I got back into the car.