The Devil's Serenade (7 page)

I went back to the
Book of Shadows
and flipped through more pages of spells, folklore of the willow and potions. On the last page, I read an entry different than all the others. It was undated:

Now he tells me I must share his bed. He has ordered me to dismiss all the other servants. We are to manage with whoever the temp agency sends us and I am to do the rest. Mr. Hargest doesn’t want any more prying eyes and wagging tongues, although how he will prevent them I haven’t a clue. It doesn’t matter to him that I am so much younger than he is and the sight of his ancient body revolts me. I will have to lie there in the dark and bear it. May the Lord and his Lady protect me.

I flipped to the next page and the next after that, but those that weren’t ripped out were all blank. Like the diary. I wondered when she had written that sad, resigned entry, but had no way of knowing, unless I could find anything else that might give me a hint. I left the
Book of Shadows
on top of the desk and pulled the drawers out fully. I peered underneath, hoping I might find a secret drawer, or something wedged. Nothing.

For the rest of the afternoon, I went through Aunt Charlotte’s wardrobe, reaching into pockets, folding her coats, dresses, skirts, and tops and placing them gently in the box. I would take them to the nearest charity shop the following day.

I emptied every drawer of the chest under the bowl of lavender, but all I found were neatly folded underclothes and woolens. I even stripped the bed of its heavy, embroidered coverlet and lifted the mattress. Nothing.

Eventually, I had to admit defeat. But only after I had taken down every picture and examined the frame for any hidden document. No, whatever my aunt knew about Nathaniel Hargest, or this house, she had taken with her to her grave. I hesitated before returning the
Book of Shadows
to the drawer, but at least I would know where it was should I need it. There was something spooky about such a thing and I was reluctant to have it in close proximity to me, however paranoid that might sound.

* * * * *

“I can’t go up there, Mrs. Chambers.” Pete Evans shook his head with such vigor his baseball cap wobbled.

“Whyever not, Pete?” Charlie’s brother had been perfectly happy to come straight over when I asked him to do some more decorating for me. Now, as soon as I mentioned the second floor, his face paled.

“I’d rather you not ask me about that. I can’t. I’m really sorry, but no. I’ll willingly do down here for you.” He looked around at the walls of the kitchen where we were standing. “I’ll do the next floor, but I’m not going up any further than that.”

“Do you have a problem with heights or something?”

“No. No. Nothing like that. I’m the first one up a ladder any day of the week. I just…I’d rather not talk about it. Is there anything else I can do for you today?” He inched his way to the door.

“No, not that I can think of at the moment.” I was still trying to work out what his problem was. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind? I don’t understand what is so wrong with that floor.”

Pete hesitated. “Look, I’m sure if you asked someone from outside the town, they’d probably come and do the job in a flash. Don’t ask anyone from around here though. Not if you don’t want another rejection.”

So it was all down to local gossip. A coil of annoyance spiraled up my body. Temptation to make some sarcastic remark almost overwhelmed me, but what good would it have done? Pete’s mind was made up and closed. End of subject. I would have to find someone else or leave it in its current, shabby state when I had hoped to brighten it up for the theater group.

After he’d gone, I decided to ring the only person I knew who might be sympathetic. Shona.

She laughed when I told her Pete’s reaction. “Oh, I can tell you what that was about. The local tabbies have the story that Mr. Hargest and your aunt’s satanic rituals took place either at the tree or in one of the rooms on that floor. The top floor was allegedly used for sacrifices. Not human ones. Chickens mainly. Although there were some rumors during Mr. Hargest’s time, but that was just people’s weird imaginations again. Someone goes missing and straightaway it has to be down to the most unpopular person in town. He was never charged with anything, and nether was she.”

“
What?
Seriously? They really believe this stuff?”

“Oh yes. Very superstitious lot around here.”

“Have you told the Am Dram Group that they’ll be rehearsing up there?”

“I’ve mentioned it. One or two hesitated a bit, but I think they believe they’ve got safety in numbers, and a couple of them are relatively new to the area anyway and won’t have any truck with such stuff.”

“The thing is, my Aunt Charlotte was such a kind, gentle person. She was very free and easy about my comings and goings and great fun to be with. If I’m honest, far more than my own mother, who always seemed to be wrapped up in her work, my father and their safaris to really notice what I was doing.” I realized I was revealing far more about myself than I ever did. And to someone I hardly knew. Over the phone! “Anyway, suffice it to say that the Aunt Charlotte I knew was hardly the type to indulge in devil worship.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Shona? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Sorry. Look, you didn’t see your aunt for many years, Maddie. People change, you know. Maybe she got involved with an occult group of some kind. A cult perhaps.”

I thought for a moment. “Well, anything’s possible, I suppose.” Into my mind flashed image after image of Aunt Charlotte laughing, smiling, running her fingers through her ash blonde hair which may, or may not, have owed something to a hairdresser’s coloring skills. I pictured her embroidering tablecloths, or reading. Nevil Shute was her favorite author. Then there was her music. That old gramophone upstairs and her piano. She would play a little Chopin, or more modern tunes. She could read music, but could also play by ear and thought nothing of attempting some song that was riding high in the charts at the time. I remembered singing “Ebony and Ivory”
with her and
Dexys Midnight Runners’ “Come on Eileen”. Song after song. She only had to hear it a couple of times before she could play it. Sometimes we’d sing some of the songs from her youth. But she always came back to her favorite—“Serenade in Blue”
—
and when she did, a wistful look used to come into her eyes
.
Now, of course, I knew why. Freddie. An image of the dusty record on the turntable shot into my mind and a shiver coursed through my veins. I had no idea why I should repeatedly have such a reaction to a song I had learned had held such romantic significance for my aunt.

“I can’t see it, Shona. I cannot equate Aunt Charlotte with some madwoman slicing the heads off chickens and prancing around nude in the garden. It doesn’t make sense.”

Shona sighed. “I’m sure you’re right and it’s all a lot of nonsense. Anyway, we’ll look forward to our first rehearsal next Monday.”

I rang off soon after. I wandered out into the hall and looked upward, to the landing at the top of the staircase. I heard a noise and caught my breath. A child’s laughter. The sound of running feet.

Terrified, I gripped the banister and crept up the stairs. The farther I climbed, the louder the laughter. I reached the first floor and heard it again. It came from above.

I felt as if I’d slipped into a dream. My feet moved automatically, one step after the other, following the sound, up to the second floor.

As soon as my foot touched the top step, the laughter stopped. My heart thumped, but I had to go on. I had to see where that sound had come from.

All the doors were closed. The landing felt quite warm; the new radiator was doing a great job. Gone was the fusty, unaired smell.

I turned the handle of the first door I came to. It opened. Inside struck cold. This was the largest room, the one that would be perfect for rehearsals. There was no furniture except a free-standing tall cupboard at the far end. I knew from my earlier investigations this was empty, apart from a handful of dead woodlice on the bottom. I’d have to clean those out too.

The walls were drab, with faded wallpaper coming unstuck in places. The bare windows were tall, wide. I peered out. They afforded a perfect view for anyone looking up from the riverside walk. At night, with the lights on, onlookers would be able to see anyone standing by the window, as I now was. Did they look up and see Aunt Charlotte doing something a little odd? Did someone’s warped imagination turn it into a sinister act, embellish it and sully her reputation for evermore? I would probably never know.

I drifted so far into my own thoughts, I almost forgot what had brought me up there in the first place.

A child’s laugh rang out. Whoever it was had joined me in the same room. I spun around. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a young girl in a yellow dress, short white ankle socks, and plaited blonde hair, running out of the door. I dashed out into the corridor. No one there. I looked down the stairs. No one. I hurried along, opening doors. All empty.

A childish giggle sounded from the first room. I raced back, in time to see the doors of the cupboard swing slowly shut. Without thinking, I dashed over and wrenched them open.

The cupboard was empty.

I let out a cry, charged down the stairs and into the living room, aiming straight for the brandy bottle, but I trembled so much I could barely pour and kept spilling it onto the table. I must calm down. I emptied my glass in one gulp and refilled it, coughing as the harsh liquid burned my throat.

That child. The child that couldn’t be there. But she
was,
wasn’t she? Impossible as it may seem. I recognized her. I knew the little girl with the blonde plaits and the yellow cotton dress. I knew her because I had created her. Veronica. The youngest of my imaginary siblings. And she was here, in this house.

From far away, the strains of “Serenade in Blue” invaded my mind. I told myself I was imagining it. If only that were true.

Chapter
Six

I awoke to the doorbell ringing. My stiffened limbs objected to my feeble efforts to stretch them, and my attempt to raise my throbbing head off the cushion was thwarted by a thundering, clamorous roar of pain. I sank back down again. Thor had acquired an extra set of hammers and had decided to test them out on my brain. Through the murky mush of my mind, memories of last night drifted back. I’d drunk far too much brandy and fallen asleep—or unconscious—on the settee.

The doorbell rang again, sending fresh agonies surging through my head. I tried to sit up. Failed. No way could I get to the door in this state, besides I could taste bile in my mouth. My first destination had to be the downstairs bathroom.

I just made it.

The doorbell fell silent. Whoever it was had given up.

I struggled into the kitchen, the world swimming before my eyes. I clung on to anything within reach—the wall, the fitted units—and inched my way to the sink. I grabbed a glass from the draining board, filled it with cold water from the faucet and gulped it down. I splashed clear, cold water over my face, soaking my hair in the process. My head still banged but at least I felt a little more conscious. I rummaged in a drawer, found a box of Panadol and downed two with three more glasses of water.

Black coffee. With sugar. Lots of it. I sat, nursing my steaming mug, my eyes closed. Too ill to be scared. Self-inflicted wounds, not worthy of sympathy, not even my own.

An hour later, the coffee and pills had done their job and I was feeling well enough to think about what I’d heard and seen. Or rather, what I
thought
I’d heard and seen. Because I couldn’t really have seen her, could I? My mind must be playing tricks on me.

For the next day or two, I didn’t venture beyond the first floor, but when the following Monday arrived, I had no choice. I’d promised Shona I would heat their room up. The cast was due to arrive for a seven thirty start that same evening. Contrary to my earlier resolve, I hadn’t baked a cake. Maybe Wednesday, in time for their next rehearsal.

The brand new convector heaters stood in the hall. My stomach lurched at the thought of going into that room again, but the sun was shining on a beautiful autumnal day. Outside, blue sky, white clouds. Everything normal. Nothing out of place. If I kept telling myself that, I’d be fine. Just fine.

I picked up one of the heaters. It weighed little, but the awkward shape meant I could only carry one at a time. I took a deep breath and climbed up to the second floor. This time I heard no childish laughter or running footsteps, only my own.

I set the heater down at one end of the room, plugged it in and switched it on. Almost immediately an acrid stench of burning hit my nose. The smell of a new heater, but unpleasant. I really should have tried them out earlier. Too late. I would have to apologize and spray a bit of air freshener around.

I placed the second heater at the opposite side of the room and the burning aromas met in the middle. Maybe the smell would wear off by the time they turned up. I could live in hope.

At seven fifteen, they began to arrive. A friendly bunch trying hard to pretend they weren’t curious about the house they had heard so much about, and its new owner. One by one, I showed them upstairs. Now there were other people here, I no longer felt afraid. The more chatter and laughter I heard, the more my earlier fears melted away.

Shona rang the doorbell at seven thirty. She looked flushed. “I’m not late, am I? I hate being late, but I got a phone call at the last minute. I bet they’re all here, aren’t they?”

I took her coat. “If you were expecting fourteen, they are. I’ll show you up.”

“Oh no, Maddie, there’s no need, I’ll follow the noise!”

An hour later, I took them tea and biscuits. The rehearsal seemed to be going well and the group seemed to have made themselves at home.

“I realize I didn’t tell you where the bathroom is on this floor,” I said, handing them drinks.

“Oh, no need,” said a woman who looked around thirty, with bright red hair. She had introduced herself as Cynthia. “The young girl showed me.”

I stared. My mouth dropped open. My hand trembled and I spilled coffee. A few faces peered at me, concerned.

Shona touched my arm “Are you all right, Maddie? You’re awfully pale.”

I ignored her. “What did this girl look like? Little, with blonde plaits? Yellow dress?”

Cynthia shook her head, sending her ringlet-like curls bouncing. “No. She was around twelve or thirteen, I think. Short light brown hair, in a bob—rather like yours actually.”

I touched my hair. My heart thumped. The entire cast had stopped talking, all eyes fixed on my exchange with Cynthia. Shona frowned.

I licked my dry lips. “Can you describe what she was wearing?”

Cynthia raised her eyes, as if searching heaven for the answer. “I didn’t really take too much notice, I’m afraid. I assumed she was your daughter or someone. I
think
she had a blue dress on, with a full skirt.”

Her words came to me through a fog. I had to find out the rest. “Was it 1970s style? Did she have clunky platform sandals?” I knew what her answer would be.

“Yes that’s it. I didn’t like to say old-fashioned. Some people can get quite offended if you…” Her voice tailed away as she took in my expression.

Shona put her arm around me. “Who is she, Maddie? Do you have a guest staying here?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your rehearsal.”

I half ran out of the room and charged down the stairs. Shona found me in the living room, shaking and unscrewing the top of the brandy bottle. She gently removed it from my hand.

“That isn’t going to solve anything. You know that. Why don’t you tell me what happened? Who was the girl who showed Cynthia the bathroom?”

Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. How could I explain something I didn’t even understand myself?

“That girl. She doesn’t exist. Except in my mind.”

Shona blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Cynthia
saw
her.”

“And that’s what
I
don’t understand.” I swiped at the tears with the back of my hand. “You know lots of kids invent imaginary friends? Well, years ago, when I came here as a child, I had an imaginary brother and three sisters. Last week, I was sure I caught sight of the youngest of them. Veronica. Now Cynthia has seen another imaginary sister of mine. Sonia.” Even as I spoke the words I realized how ridiculous they sounded.

Shona sat abruptly, as if someone had shoved her. She looked down at her hands in her lap. Right now I could tell she hadn’t a clue what to say. Neither did I. I inwardly prayed she wouldn’t tell the others, who must already have decided that Charlotte Grant’s niece was every bit as flaky as they thought
she
had been.

“Shona. I don’t know what to do. I must sound crazy. But Cynthia described her exactly as I created her. And there’s no one else in this house apart from the fifteen of you, and me. So, if she isn’t who I say she is, who else can it be?”

Shona shook her head and looked up at me, her eyes troubled. “At this moment, I haven’t a clue. I could say intruders, but a burglar hardly dresses in platform sandals and directs you to the bathroom.”

“I chased after the child I saw, but she disappeared. I dare say we could hunt high and low, all over the house for this latest one, and we’d never find her. Because she doesn’t exist.”

Shona stood. She looked awkward. “I’m so sorry, I must get back to the rehearsal. They’ll wonder where I’ve got to. Shall I come and see you tomorrow? We can have a chat about this and try to get to the bottom of it.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be here tomorrow.”

Shona’s eyes widened. “Well if you’re going to drive anywhere, don’t touch that stuff.” She nodded toward the brandy.

“No, I wouldn’t. I don’t believe in drinking and driving.”

“Good. I’m so sorry I can’t invite you to stay at my house, or I would.”

She didn’t elaborate. Probably didn’t have enough space, I thought. I realized I didn’t know much about Shona’s personal life or any job she might have. She must have far more information about me than I did about her. “I’ll be fine, honestly,” I said. “I think I will get out of this house tonight though. I’ll go down to the Premier Inn down the road. Maybe things will seem a bit clearer in the morning. I’ll go and pack a bag and be ready to leave when you finish your rehearsal. Would you do me a favor and stay with me until I’m ready to go?”

Shona hugged me. “Of course. And don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll solve this little puzzle. There’s bound to be a rational explanation.”

“I wish I knew what it was.”

When I snapped the light on in the kitchen, I saw the coffee mugs ready to be washed. Someone had brought the tray down. At least I wouldn’t have to go back up there tonight. As long as one of the cast thought to switch the heaters off.

As I washed and dried the crockery, I kept going over and over it all in my mind. If Cynthia had seen Sonia, maybe I really
had
seen Veronica. But as to why—and, more significantly, how—we could have seen two figments of my imagination, I had no idea.

I emptied the bowl and the water gurgled down the drain and through the pipes. For some reason, the thought of the tree roots in my cellar came into my mind. That again was something that simply shouldn’t exist. Not like that, at any rate.

The kitchen door closed behind me with a sharp click. I caught my breath. It had been wide open. It didn’t normally close by itself. Someone had closed it.

I tugged at the handle. It opened. No one in the hall. I peered up the stairs. No one there either. I raced over into the living room. Empty. I smelled perfume. The distinctive scent of Opium—my imaginary sister Thelma’s favorite scent.

Then it started. Faint, as if coming from far away. Glenn Miller and His Orchestra. My aunt’s distinctive voice, singing along to the record.
“…‘Serenade in Blue’…”

Something stirred inside me. A sharp click in my brain, like the kitchen door closing. I sank to my knees.

“What do you want? Who are you? Why are you doing this?” I sounded like a frightened little girl, my voice no more than a whimper.

A whiff of cigarette smoke prickled my nostrils, as if someone were smoking nearby. I glanced over my shoulder, terrified I would see who was responsible for it. Praying that if I did, it would be one of the cast.

No one there. No one in the room at all, except me and the faintest trail of pungent smoke. In the distance, the song faded into silence.

Tom. He smoked. Thelma and Sonia were always on at him to quit, but he said
that
made him want to smoke more. When Thelma caught me—the Kelly me—sneaking a quick drag, she really laid into him. I remembered that from when I was about ten.

I shook my head. It must be me. Somehow I was doing something to make these imaginary characters real. Had I developed some weird type of brain disease that caused imaginary creations from my childhood to manifest themselves in the real world?

Or was it this house?

My mind raced. There could be only one decision. Put Hargest House on the market. Sell it. Use the money to buy somewhere much newer. Something small and far away from here. There was something about this town too. The jinxed apartment block on the High Street. That mysterious fire that drove the vicar to early retirement. The dog.

And the willow—the tentacle tree—defying nature and growing roots more than fifty yards long, somehow meshing with this house.

I had to ask the question, what had Aunt Charlotte been up to here? Was it only idle gossip from people jealous of her good fortune in inheriting such wealth? Or was there something far more sinister? Were memories locked in the walls of this building? Had my return somehow released them? Questions, always questions. Never answers.

I ran up to my bedroom, took a small suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe and threw in clothes, underwear and toiletries. I grabbed my purse and sat down on the bed.

Above me, the rehearsal was in full swing. I checked my watch. Nine fifteen. Shona said they usually packed in at around nine thirty. Of course, I would have to return here on Wednesday to open up and heat the room. I couldn’t bear to think of it. I could give the keys to Shona. They could let themselves in, have the run of the place. I didn’t care. As long as I didn’t have to be here.

But I couldn’t do that, could I? Shona knew I was scared. For all I knew, she could be too. Maybe the whole cast was. Maybe they’d tell me they didn’t want to come here anymore because of the weird things that were happening. I could shut up the house and hand everything over to an estate agent.

The jumble of thoughts tumbled over one another in my mind. I grabbed my bags and, with a sob, made my way back down to the living room.

Shortly after nine thirty, Shona came in. Through the open door, voices came closer, down the stairs. The rehearsal had finished for the night.

Shona looked more relaxed than an hour ago. “Thank you for letting us use that room, Maddie. It’s perfect for our rehearsals. I do hope you’ll let us carry on. It’s so hard to find affordable rehearsal space around here. We did wonder at one time if we would have to disband, but you came to our rescue. So we’ll see you again on Wednesday. Is that all right with you?”

I wanted to say, “No,” but couldn’t. She was being so kind. They could continue to use the house over the weeks and months it would take to find a buyer. It was even less salable now, with a tree growing in the cellar, and God alone knew what else going on.

“I see you’ve packed a fair bit of luggage.” Shona’s frown returned. “Would you rather we didn’t come back?”

“Oh no, no, that will be fine.” What on earth
was
“fine” about my situation, I hadn’t a clue. “I’ll see you all on Wednesday.”

The frown vanished, replaced with a broad smile. “That’s great. I switched the heaters off up there, and the lights, so you just need to lock up. I’ll come out with you.”

Cynthia and another cast member were enjoying a cigarette outside. I opened the door in time to hear her say, “…flaky, like her aunt.”