The Devil's Serenade (12 page)

“She’s playing the devil’s serenade.”

I raced up to my bedroom and grabbed the suitcase, trying my damnedest to ignore the whispering echoes all around me and that music. That bloody song that sent terror shooting through every cell of my body and made me want to scream until I had no voice left. I forced myself to be governed by one thought alone—to get out of this house once and for all. Alive.

Chapter
Eleven

I stayed in the same hotel as before, booking myself in for an initial two weeks. The first thing I did was see an estate agent and put the house on the market, carefully avoiding the need to go back there myself.

The hardest part was breaking the news to Shona.

“I’m so sorry it means you’ll probably lose your rehearsal room, but I expect it’ll take an age to sell the place anyway. Hopefully you’ll be able to find somewhere else in the meantime.”

We were sitting in Shona’s cramped study at the former vicarage. Ancient books struggled to maintain their precarious foothold in bookcases designed for half the number of volumes they were expected to accommodate. Her desk was strewn with papers, and the windowsill groaned under the weight of potted plants.

Shona patted my hand. “The important thing is that you’re all right. Where will you go, when the house is sold?”

I shrugged my shoulders. Truth to tell, I hadn’t a clue. “I might go back to Chester.” But as I said it I knew I never would. Nothing would make me want to go back to living in the same city as Neil.

“You could stay in this town,” Shona said. “You’d be very welcome.”

“Would I?”

“Of course you would. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Because of people in the town who remember my aunt. And all those crazy rumors.” I thought of poor, dead Mrs. Lloyd. Shona must have read my mind.

“I spoke to Kathleen a couple of days ago. She remembered Nathaniel Hargest from when she was a girl. She also remembered your aunt and how shocked her mother was when she moved in with the old man. Most of what she knew came from her mother and grandmother. It’s all superstition and innuendo, Maddie. Don’t pay any attention to it.”

“You didn’t see her face, Shona.” I shuddered. “She looked as if she’d died staring at a vision of hell itself.” Shona said nothing. Before I could stop myself, I said, “I saw him.” I told her about the impossible wind and the figure I’d seen. When I told her how the man I now knew to be Hargest had vanished, her expression changed. She looked concerned in a way I felt certain I wasn’t going to like.

“Have you thought about seeing a doctor?”

That put me on the defensive. “Why would I? I’m not ill.”

“But sometimes our minds can play tricks on us and—”

“I’m
not
sick, Shona. I thought you at least might believe me. I saw this inexplicable wind buffet that tree; its branches bent in ways they shouldn’t be capable of. For heaven’s sake, it blew me over. And I saw Nathaniel Hargest, as clearly as I saw Veronica, and Thelma as well. I don’t have an explanation for it, but I know what I saw and it’s frightening the life out of me.”

Shona stared at me for a few moments, then licked her lips. “I’m sorry you had such a terrible fright, seeing Kathleen like that. It’s never easy, finding a body. It’s happened to me. But she died of a heart attack. The expression you saw was probably pain, shock even. It was all quite sudden and, even though she was eighty-eight, it was unexpected. Still she
did
have a long life.”

Shona’s words were delivered in a matter-of-fact tone. Well, why shouldn’t they be? After all, as she’d told me, they weren’t exactly best friends. But her attitude seemed almost callous. Dismissive. Not like the Shona I had grown to like.

I left soon after.

Charlie phoned and proved impossible to resist. “Look, why don’t I do the jobs anyway? At the moment, the lack of sockets will be one more thing a potential buyer would have to put right. And, while I’m at it, why don’t I put in the extra radiators on the top floors? Your buyers won’t die of frostbite when they’re being shown around.”

What he said made sense. “Okay, go ahead. I’ll meet you at the house and give you a spare set of keys so you can let yourself in and out.”

“So you won’t be there?”

“No, I’ve decided to stay elsewhere until it’s sold.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

I could tell he was waiting for an explanation, but I wasn’t prepared to share with Charlie what I’d told Shona, especially not after her latest reaction.

Charlie and I arrived at the house at the same time and I was grateful for that. At least I didn’t have to go in there alone and I’d forgotten to pack so many personal things I wanted to keep with me.

“Moving back in?” Charlie nodded to the suitcase in my hand.

“Oh no, I’m collecting some more of my things.” I tried to appear nonchalant, but my heart was beating far too fast. I told myself nothing would happen while Charlie was there. I unlocked the door and handed him the spare keys.

I dropped the suitcase at the sight that met my eyes. “What the…?”

“You’ve had a break in.” Charlie strode through the devastated hall into the kitchen. I stared at the upended table and dead leaves strewn all over the floor. It looked like a tornado had whirled through here, leaving devastation and ruin behind it.

“Oh my God!” Charlie’s exclamation set me racing after him.

I stopped at the entrance. The cellar door was open. Tree roots, clinging together to form one giant mass, seemed to have forced their way through and now trailed across the floor. I looked down and screamed, “Charlie. Your foot!”

He pulled back, shaking off the root that had curled around it. His face was as white as mine must have been.

“What the hell can I do?” My voice cracked. “What
is
this?”

Charlie shook his head. “Pray,” he said. “And get out of here. Never look back. Okay? Just get out of here.”

But there was something I must take with me. My personal documents. I had a concertina file in the living room containing my birth certificate and every other valuable document I possessed.

I left Charlie staring down at the roots in the kitchen. As I tore across the hall, another barrier lifted partially in my brain. An image. A memory of Aunt Charlotte chanting. On the second floor. In the room that was now littered with broken furniture. She had stood at the window, holding my hand. I didn’t understand her words, but when she had finished, she had squeezed my hand.

“It’s going to be all right, Maddie. You’re under their protection now. They’ll keep you safe from harm.”

I grabbed the concertina file and struggled to remember more, but nothing came.

I heard a yell. A man’s cry of pain. Charlie.

I ran back to the kitchen. And disbelief.

The roots had disappeared. The cellar door was closed. I turned back to the hall. In those few seconds, the leaves had gone, the vases were back on their tables. Everything once again as it should be. I stared, incredulous at the neat and tidy hall. This was madness. I
couldn’t
have imagined it all. And where was Charlie?

I called his name. I shouted up the stairs. I went back to the kitchen, picturing him lying at the foot of the cellar steps, injured and in pain, or unconscious and bleeding to death. Or worse. Maybe I was already too late. I couldn’t leave him there. I would have to open the cellar door.

The smell of damp earth and rotting vegetation hit me the moment I cracked the door an inch.

No roots met me. I took a couple of nervous steps. “Charlie?”

My voice echoed around the bare walls. I listened. Not a sound. Switching the lights on revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to indicate the sight that had greeted us when we first arrived.

I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t do that to Charlie. In that split second I realized he had come to mean more to me than merely an electrician I’d employed.

“Charlie?” I reached the bottom of the stairs and took a deep breath, I grabbed the flashlight and turned toward the corner where the roots grew. I shone the light at the clump of roots. They seemed even more luxuriant and appeared to have edged a little farther along the floor, but only an inch or two, if that. So what the hell had we seen in the kitchen?

I peered all round, shone the flashlight as best I could into dark places even the improved lighting couldn’t penetrate. I couldn’t bring myself to touch the roots, but they definitely did seem thicker and more serpentine.

Unless Charlie had gone upstairs, he must have left already. Maybe he saw something that scared him so much he fled.

But I would have heard him. Or the door opening at least.

Upstairs in the kitchen, I checked the back door. Locked and bolted. I went out the front. His van was still parked next to my car. He wasn’t in the driver’s seat. I looked around. No sign. I called his name. No response. He must still be in the house.

Reluctantly, I turned back and started up the stairs.

The giggling started almost immediately. I heard a hissing, “Hush!” It sounded like an older female. The childish laughter stopped. I swallowed. I would have given anything to be able to turn around and race back down the stairs, but Charlie must be up here. Maybe injured and in pain. If something happened to him, it would be all my fault. If he were found dead and he had been alive when I ran away, I would have that on my conscience for the rest of my life. No, I had to face this fear.

I gripped the stair rail with clammy hands and pushed on. As I reached the first landing, I thought I heard footsteps running along the corridor above. I told myself it was my imagination. My feet were lumps of concrete. They didn’t want to move and I didn’t want to move them, but I had to. Up another flight.

Whispering. Two children whispering to each other. I couldn’t make out the words. In a way I was glad. Maybe I really didn’t want to hear what they were saying. Plotting.

I made it to the next floor and clung on to the banister, too scared to let go. Terrified to look around and see what had been running along the corridor or who had been giggling. I forced my head to turn and look to the right. The rehearsal room door stood ajar.

I crept toward it and listened. Nothing. I pushed it open with one finger and stepped over the threshold.

There was nothing unusual. I saw the customary layout of chairs and tables left by the cast after their latest rehearsal. Now Shona had a key, they could come and go as they pleased. Evidently none of them had been bothered by whatever lurked in the shadows here. No,
I
was their only target.

Once I’d left the room, I took a deep breath. My stomach clenched. I would have to go into the junk room.

The door was closed. I hesitated. Maybe I should call out, but I didn’t want to reveal my presence. Besides if Charlie was unconscious, who would answer? That’s what really scared me.

I turned the door handle. A chill hit me in the face, with such a force it almost knocked me over. Inside, the already jumbled and broken furniture looked as if someone had attacked it with a sledgehammer. Shattered chairs, tables, shards of glass from ruined mirrors, littered the floor. Cupboards had been stacked up so that I couldn’t see the back of the room clearly. Charlie could be in amongst this and I wouldn’t know. Not unless I went in properly and worked my way through to the back.

Anxious to avoid tripping, I stepped carefully. Some of the debris could provide a deadly weapon to anyone with murder on their mind. Anyone—or anything.

I threw broken chair arms and legs out of the way and heard a crunch of glass under my feet. I looked down and picked up a small silver frame, carefully wiped it and stared at the image. Nathaniel Hargest glared back at me from the photograph I had seen in the picture of my aunt downstairs in the album.

I took in the thin, cruel lips and cold, hard eyes, the walking stick—topped by a silver lion—that he held in one hand. Could Aunt Charlotte really have surrendered herself to a man like this? It was hard to believe. Yet I had read the evidence written in her own hand. She had said she
had
to share his bed, but I still didn’t have a clue why.

The giggling started again. It was coming from the doorway. I looked up.

This time, she made no attempt to run away. Veronica stared at me, her thumb in her mouth. We gazed at each other. She removed her thumb and began to hum.

“Serenade in Blue”
.

I stared at her. She stopped and her childish voice rang out. “It’s
his
song. In this house, that’s the devil’s serenade.”

Charlotte

Chapter
Twelve

Midsummer Night 1964

Charlotte Grant set down her pen and closed her
Book of Shadows
. She stared out of the window. In the day’s last fading light, she could still make out the shadow of the willow tree. Willow, such a force for good and Charlotte had long been fascinated by the ancient wisdom surrounding it. She’d made a study of it these past few years, since moving to this house. She knew her employer practiced dark arts, but she shut her mind to it—and sometimes her ears.

How many times had she resolved to leave? Too many to count, but where would she go? Not to her sister’s. Marjorie didn’t even know how low she’d sunk after Freddie’s death. When the war ended, Charlotte left home and moved to London, but she couldn’t find work. Eventually, dispirited and still grieving, she stopped trying. Marjorie knew nothing about this time in her life or about the shoplifting when she was penniless. She never knew about the arrest and how a strange man Charlotte had never met had made the charges go away. Nathaniel Hargest. She had been grateful, and both relieved and happy to agree to be his housekeeper. At least she would have a roof over her head.

It wasn’t long before Charlotte began to realize that the gift of a new life her benefactor had given her was never going to be straightforward. She knew that the cries she sometimes heard at night and the strange thumps and crashes overhead as she lay in her bed were not merely evidence of Mr. Hargest’s sexual proclivities. She pulled the blanket over her head when she heard a woman scream on the top floor, locked her door every night, and Mr. Hargest never came near her. She still didn’t know how he had heard of her, or why he had saved her from an almost certain prison sentence.

Charlotte never ventured up to the top floor. Mr. Hargest said it wasn’t necessary for her—or any of the constant stream of maids—to do so. Except those who disappeared of course. She never saw them again, quietly replaced them, and avoided the prying eyes and whispered conversations as she went about her business in the town.

If Charlotte closed her mind to the darkness that pervaded the top floor, she could stay here, fed and clothed. If she left she would be homeless again, with no references and no hope of finding another position before hunger and desperation took over once more. So Charlotte ignored the rumors of missing children, the sounds of chanting wafting into the house on previous Midsummer Nights when she had lain awake, clutching her talisman—a Green Man on a leather necklace that Freddie had given her, which she always wore under her clothes.

When it all got too much for her, she went down to the willow tree, stroked the ancient bark, listened to the whispering of the leaves and imagined the spirits that dwelt within it. Her fingers tingled with the power that flowed from its core, through her veins.

Spirits of willow protect me. Spirits of willow come to me. Spirits of willow let no harm reach me from the darkness and the evil ones…

This Midsummer Night was different. Tonight it was happening. Somehow she had always known it would and that one day Mr. Hargest would take her.

Charlotte turned from the window, smoothed down her long black gown and reached for the cloak given to her by Mr. Hargest. Her heart pounded uncomfortably. Her fingers shook as she struggled with the clasp at the neck. Panic rose from the pit of her stomach. Tonight. It would be tonight. Mr. Hargest had said so. Down by the tree, the coven would meet. Charlotte stared at her reflection as if the terrified, white-faced woman was some stranger she had never seen before. Her brown eyes blinked with rapid-fire speed. Tears threatened to well up, but she mustn’t let that happen. Mr. Hargest would be angry with her, and the Lord and his Lady knew she didn’t want to make him angry.

She pulled the sleeve of her gown down to her wrist, covering the darkening bruises where her employer had gripped her hard. Her neck still ached from when he had shaken her and broken the leather necklace so that her talisman fell to the floor. It had been her own fault. She had dared to say “no” when he first told her what plans he had for her.

“I will have a son and you will be its mother,” he said. “You have been chosen. It is your destiny.”

Charlotte had stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. In the nine years she had been Mr. Hargest’s housekeeper, he had never laid a finger on her, either in anger or lust. He had shouted, sworn, thrown objects to hand when he lost his temper, but never any suggestion of anything improper. Recently things had changed. She had caught him looking at her differently when he didn’t know she was watching. A lasciviousness had crept into his glances. Now he had revealed his true purpose. Tonight, at the Midsummer Feast, he would summon the darkness, aided by the faithful coven.

The door opened. Charlotte caught her breath and whirled round. Nathaniel Hargest stood, framed in the doorway, his unfashionable top hat and black coat sacrificed for a long cloak of black with gold thread picking out strange symbols that looked Egyptian but could have emanated from a far older civilization.

Tonight, Mr. Hargest gave barely a hint of his ninety-five years. He stood ramrod straight, over six feet tall, towering over Charlotte. A tall crown fashioned from bent twigs and painted gold added to his height and Charlotte shuddered when she realized that underneath the enveloping cloak, her employer was stark naked.

The dim light of the single table lamp in her room protected her from seeing what lay underneath that cloak, but the protrusion at the front of it left her in no doubt that he was aroused.

He passed his tongue slowly over his lips as if savoring a particularly delicious taste.

“Come, my dear. It is time to meet the others.”

Charlotte shrank back. Her employer’s expression darkened. He half turned and summoned two women who had been standing out of sight. They were naked. One young, the other middle-aged. They had the look of each other as a mother and daughter would. Neither spoke as they advanced toward Charlotte who couldn’t move her feet. Fear tore at every pore of her body as each woman took one of her arms and propelled her forward. She staggered.

“Come, Charlotte.” There was irritation in that voice. Another moment and he would become angry. The sooner she acquiesced to the inevitable, the sooner it would be over and if she didn’t incur his wrath, she might make it out of there alive.

But he didn’t want her dead, did he? Mr. Hargest had made it perfectly clear what he wanted. What he intended to get—by one means or another.

The two women silently led the quivering Charlotte down the stairs and out into the balmy night. In the distance, the church clock chimed the half hour. Eleven thirty. In half an hour the serious business of the night would begin. Charlotte tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry. A few yards away, a silent group of ten men and women stood, naked, each holding a candle. They had gathered a few yards from that strangely deformed willow tree, as if to mock its goodness with their evil. Leaves rustled in the slight breeze. It knew they were there. It knew the man’s dark design. As Charlotte was thrust into the middle of the circle, the assembled started a low chant that seemed to find an echo in the ground beneath, which trembled under Charlotte’s feet.

Hargest took up his position opposite her. Now her eyes were accustomed to the gloom and the flickering candlelight, Charlotte made out a low black table toward which her two guards pushed her. No one looked directly at her or at Hargest. All stood with heads bowed as if in the presence of some great deity.

Hargest raised his arms, letting the cloak fall away to reveal his naked body. The quavering light illuminated the wrinkled skin and white chest hair. Charlotte looked away. She didn’t want to see what else it illuminated.

The two acolytes removed her cloak and pushed her still closer toward the table. Charlotte fought against their grasp, but her employer had chosen these two well. They were strong. Maybe farm workers. So far, she hadn’t recognized one person among those gathered there.

The women forced her onto the table. Escape was impossible. The coven had moved closer and clustered together on three sides, leaving one side free for their master.

Charlotte closed her eyes. Firm hands grasped her ankles and wrists and dragged her legs apart. Someone took hold of the hem of her gown and tore it from her body. The rush of air to her naked flesh made her cry out. She didn’t even think of the shame of lying there, her body exposed to this group of strangers. At that moment, all she cared about was getting out of there alive and unhurt. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, squeezed her eyes tight shut and tried to will herself away from the scene of her certain violation.

The chanting began again—a strange, foreign language that sounded nothing like any she had heard before. As ancient as the symbols on Hargest’s cloak perhaps. Cold hands probed between her legs. The chanting grew more urgent. Behind her the branches of the ancient tree creaked.

At the first stab of her pain, cries of ecstasy issued from the coven. At the age of thirty-seven, Charlotte was no longer a virgin.

Someone was forcing his way into her. Stretching her wide. Tearing her. A loud grunt filled her ears and hot, sour breath made her retch. Charlotte opened her eyes and screamed.

Hargest was on top of her. Barely human. His eyes—flaming red pools of fire. Windows to the gates of hell itself. He grunted again, thrusting himself still further into her unwilling body. Shards of pain tore at her insides. She tossed her head from side to side and struggled against the firm hands holding her down. She tried to kick out, but her captors were too strong for her.

The creature that was part Hargest and part demon opened its mouth. Fangs filled the gaping maw. Its tongue snaked out and licked her cheek, burning it with stinging, hellish saliva.

Another agonizing stab of pain tore through her. “No!”
But Charlotte heard her cry from far away, as soft hands embraced her spirit and guided it toward the tree.

“You will be safe with us. Trust us.”

Healing warmth flooded her consciousness.

“Where am I?”

“You are here with us. Safe within the tree.”

“But the tree is his. This is his land.”

“He has taken the darkness from the tree. We are the light he cannot reach.”

“I don’t understand. I can’t see you. I can’t see anything.”

“Rest now. Rest and sleep…”

* * * * *

Charlotte awoke with a start. For a couple of seconds she forgot about last night. Then the pain struck. Knives of agony scythed through her insides and between her legs. She lay in her bed, clothed in one of her ankle length cotton nightgowns. She struggled to sit up, but fresh torments made her gasp and lie back, panting.

The sun filtered through the drapes. She peered at the clock on the bedside table. Just after eight. Normally she was up by seven. Her brain felt sluggish, shrouded by some awful memory that she was about to recall and when she did, the fear began. But her bladder was full. She would have to get up somehow.

She pushed back the sheet and tried to move her legs. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain coursing through her. She fought against the urge to give up. It wasn’t an option. She had to get to the bathroom. Somehow she got to her feet and the room swayed. She steadied herself by holding on to one of the four bedposts and waited for the worst to subside. Finally, she trusted herself to take a tentative step. Then another and another. Achingly slowly, she made her way out of the bedroom and down the corridor. The house was silent, although by now the cook and her maid would have arrived and be preparing breakfast.

In the bathroom, Charlotte pulled her nightdress over her head and winced at the purple, red, blue, and black bruises that seemed to cover most of her exposed body.

She whimpered with the burning, stinging pain as she relieved herself. Then she ran a bath, sinking gratefully into the hot, soothing water.

Last night’s memories gradually returned, each more unreal that the last. The horror of her violation at the hands of Nathaniel Hargest and whatever…thing…he had summoned up from the depths of hell. Then the spirits that had rescued her, taken her from her body and transported her somehow into the tree itself. But that wasn’t possible. None of this was possible.

When Charlotte returned to her bedroom, she took her suitcase down and began to pack. She had got no further than emptying her wardrobe when the door flew open.

Charlotte gasped. Her employer, dressed once more in his familiar black Edwardian morning suit, strode in. A half-smile changed into a frown in a second.

“Oh no, Charlotte. You will not be leaving this house. You will never leave this house.”

“You can’t force me to stay here. I’m not your prisoner.” Charlotte had no idea how those words dared to issue from her mouth. He would make her pay for that.

Nathaniel Hargest stared at her. “In nine months you will bear my child. A child who is destined for greatness. I say you cannot leave this house and indeed you will not. You will live here until the day you die. You belong here.”

Charlotte stared at him, the impact of his words barely registering. How could he know she was pregnant? It was too soon even for her to know, but somewhere deep inside her mind, she knew he was right. He, or that demon, had planted his seed in her last night. But what sort of child would she bear? Hargest closed the door behind him and she sank onto the bed, for once oblivious to the pain of her injuries. In nine months, would she birth a son…or a monster?