The Moon Spun Round (24 page)

‘You haven’t met Brian, have you? This is our new vet. And Sally is our new neighbour.’

‘Hello, Sally. Not that lovely old cottage in Wicker Lane?’

‘Yes, that’s me. Moved in at the end of October. You sound like a useful person to know. I have a cat, so I might need to call on your services some time. Do you do small animals as well as horses?’

‘Anything with fur or feathers, plus the occasional goldfish. My surgery’s in Mill Lane, but I’m always happy to come out if there’s an emergency.’

‘I’ll certainly call on you if I have any problems. Fortunately at the moment she seems very well. Thanks to Abbie.’

‘I think a lot of animals hereabouts can be thankful to this neighbour of yours. There, you see, Abbie, another endorsement of your talents. I really wish you would reconsider. It would be a wonderful opportunity for both of us.’

‘No, I’m sorry. As I’ve already explained, it’s simply out of the question.’

‘Well, we’ve a few weeks before they start filming.’ He got in his vehicle and wound the window down. ‘You know where to contact me if you change your mind. Right, I’ll be off. Nice meeting you, Sally. Hope you’ll enjoy life in Hallowfield. Bye, Abbie.’ His car pulled away, the dogs barking and tumbling in its wake.

‘What was all that about? Or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘Oh, some documentary film the TV company is planning about developments in the treatment of horses. The idea is to show the country veterinary practice maintaining its traditional relationship with the horse and owner, and the trainers of course from the Newmarket stables, but taking advantage of all the new technological developments. They plan to include the Equine Research Centre and how their facilities work in with the local vet services.’

‘Sounds interesting. But where do you come into it?’

‘Well, Brian, being such a great advocate of complementary medicine, has managed to talk them into including alternative healing treatments to ensure that a balanced, holistic approach is presented. In fact, the director’s very keen on the idea.’

‘That sounds fantastic. So what does he want you to do?’

‘Oh, they’re talking about some interviews and filming us doing joint consultations. Sort of explaining how my work supports that of the qualified medics and how we can complement each other’s approach.’

‘Wow. And you said no?’

‘Of course I said no. You know how things stand with George.’

‘Yes, but even so—?’

‘Can you imagine what his friends in the Rotary Club would say if they saw his wife on TV expounding crystal healing and the laying on of hands?’

‘Does it matter what his friends think? Besides, you’d have a qualified, respected professional standing up on national television and supporting what you do. It would give your work the status it deserves. Surely he wouldn’t expect you to turn down a chance like this?’

‘Yes, that’s just what he would expect. There’s really no point in talking about it any further.’

‘But what if you—’

‘Sally, I said no. Now please, drop it.’ Abbie snatched up a broom and stomped off into the stable block.

Sally was still feeling uncomfortable the following morning and had decided to go over and make peace when Abbie tapped on her door. Sally’s face lit up when she saw who it was.

‘You know you don’t have to knock. Oh, please come in.’

‘Peace offering.’ Abbie held up a cloth-covered plate. ‘The remains of our Christmas cake. Thought we could finish it off over coffee.’

‘Brilliant suggestion. The kettle’s just boiled, actually. Tea plates are in the top cupboard.’ Sally took an extra mug from the draining board.

‘Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I know it’s a sore point between George and me, but that’s no excuse for snapping at you.’

‘My fault. I’d no business sticking my oar in where it’s not wanted.’ Sally brings the drinks over to the table. ‘Promise I won’t say another word—even if I do think you’re wrong.’

‘Look, I—’

‘All right, all right…Only joking. Is that all that’s left of the cake? But it was massive. Where did the rest of it go?’

‘Not too hard to figure that one out. They brought me a month’s worth of dirty washing, trashed the house, monopolized the phone and the bathroom, and now, when the food’s all gone, they’ve cleared off to stay with friends. That’s kids for you. Anyway, how was your sister’s visit?’

‘OK, I suppose. Though I hadn’t realized how much we’d grown apart. At least we didn’t argue, which can only be an improvement. We used to row all the time.’

‘I can believe that. You’re nothing like each other, are you? Hard to believe you’re sisters.’

‘I think she takes after our mother. I was more Daddy’s girl. Or, at least I tried to be. Mum was a bit of a dreamer.’

‘So, what did Morgain think about your romantic country cottage and rustic village friends?’

‘Oh, she thought the cottage was sweet, but a pity the road’s so muddy and there are no proper shops. She thought you and your family were wonderful, but what a shame you were forced to mess about in that smelly stable yard. With a big house like that, surely you could afford to get a man in to clean up after the horses?’

Abbie rocked with laugher and passed the plate to Sally. ‘We might as well polish this off.’

‘Thanks. God, I’ve eaten so much over this last week. Still, a few more calories won’t make much difference. Actually, Morgain did say something about this place.’

‘What was that?’

‘She said something about it having a funny atmosphere. Nothing bad or uncomfortable. But she said that it felt crowded, as if she were never alone. Well, she wasn’t, was she? Alone I mean, because I was with her. What I mean is…Have you noticed anything odd about it?’

‘Can’t say I have. But then I’ve never been alone here either. What about you? Ever felt anything strange?’

‘I’ve always been comfortable here. And it’s always felt familiar—perhaps that in itself is strange. I don’t know. I thought you were into that sort of thing. You don’t think it could be haunted, do you?’

‘No idea. Yes, I’m interested in that sort of thing, but it’s not exactly in my line of expertise. What about Claire? Have you tried talking to her?’

‘Of course. She’s a medium, isn’t she? I’ve only actually met her twice. I did
talk to her at the Solstice party, but just briefly. Do you think she’d come around and have a feel, or whatever it is she does?’

‘Why not give her a ring? I’m sure she’d be interested. So would I, for that matter.’

‘OK then, I’ll ask her. And if she agrees to come, I’ll let you know and you can join us. Have you got her phone number?’

‘Great. Only, on second thoughts, it might be better to call in on her at Fran’s shop rather than phoning her at home. Ayden’s a bit touchy about that sort of thing.’

A
LTHOUGH
S
ALLY WAS ALERT
to the sound of an approaching car, it was Cat who first signalled Claire’s arrival. She woke from her customary after-lunch nap, stretched, and ambled over to the door, where she sat washing her face.

‘I think that’s her now,’ said Sally.

Abbie paused in mid-sentence, strained to hear, then shook her head and carried on talking. A minute later there was a knock on the door. Claire stood on the step in her long, black coat, hands comfortably tucked in the pockets, a long scarf draped around her neck.

‘I thought I’d walk. Ayden doesn’t really like me using his car, doesn’t trust women drivers. Besides, it’s not too far and it’s good to get some fresh air.’ Her cheeks were glowing from the cold wind, and her fine hair was tossed out of order.

‘Come in, you must be frozen. I’ll make us some tea.’

‘Hello, Abbie.’

‘Hi.’

‘Here, let me take your coat,’ said Sally. ‘Have a seat by the Aga and thaw out.’ As Claire sat down, Cat jumped up onto her lap, circled into a ball and went straight back to sleep. ‘Do push her off. She’ll treat you like a piece of furniture if you let her.’

‘That’s OK. We’re old friends.’

‘So, how was Christmas?’ asked Abbie.

‘Oh, you know.’

‘No I don’t. But you sound less than enthusiastic.’

‘Well, it’s always a lot of work, isn’t it? Then suddenly it’s all over. I’ll be glad when we can all get back to normal.’

‘Ayden back at work?’

‘Oh yes, busy time for him. Sold a lot of computers this month. Now there’s all the installations and set-up queries. He’ll be working late, so it was easy for me to get away.’

Sally noticed a shadow flicker across Abbie’s face. They chatted about everything and nothing while they drank their tea. Occasionally Claire would look around the room, studying the ceiling and the corners, or turn her head slightly to the left and downwards, as if listening.

‘Hope you don’t mind me being here?’ said Abbie. ‘I’ll understand if you say you can’t work with people looking on. Only I’m dying of curiosity.’

‘Me, too. I’ve been longing to get inside this place. If you hadn’t invited me, Sally, I would have found some excuse to call in.’

‘So, what do we do, Claire?’

‘Perhaps if I can look around. Is it all right to go through the rooms? I’ll need to concentrate so I don’t need a guided tour, but you can both come with me.’

‘Fine. Where do you want to start?’

‘Right here would do. Come on, Cat, time to get off.’

They made a strange procession through the cottage. Claire led the way, walking slowly and studying each room, not its contents but the spaces between, as if reading the air itself. Sometimes she would run her fingertips across a wall or a wooden beam. Cat walked with her, almost touching her legs yet seemingly careful not to trip her up. Abbie and Sally followed behind, not speaking as instructed, yet exchanging querying glances when Claire stood still and turned her head to one side to listen to whatever it was she alone could hear. Eventually they came to rest in Sally’s bedroom. Claire stood by the window and pulled back the muslin curtains.

‘You can see the horses from here. That’s your Lottie, isn’t it, Abbie, over by the hedgerow?’

‘I often watch them from here,’ said Sally. ‘Sometimes Abbie takes her students over the jumps.’

‘Been spying on the neighbours, have you?’ Abbie placed a hand on Sally’s shoulder. They looked at each other, both a little tense, then at Claire. ‘So, what do you think? Does Sally have a ghost?’

‘No, you’re not haunted, Sally. At least not in the conventional sense. There’s no Mad Martha, if that’s what you were worried about. But there
is
a powerful atmosphere—more than that, power
in
the atmosphere. It’s as if the building itself has soaked up the essence of everyone who has lived here. I can sense
the women, so many of them, down the centuries. You’re in good company. You’ve stood by this window and looked at the moon, haven’t you? Well, you weren’t the first to do that.’

Claire moved downstairs again to the sitting room, still looking and listening. ‘There should be a spinning wheel, you know, just there.’ She pointed to one side of the hearth. ‘And bunches of herbs hung up to dry, like in Naomi’s kitchen. Long winter evenings spent alone. They never married, you know, at least I don’t think any of them did. But this is a happy house, even though it’s seen sad times, too. And long periods when it’s been empty. Sometimes the women left…’ her voice faltered a little, ‘or were forced to leave.’

Although the room felt warm from the central heating, the fireplace was grey with the ashes of a spent fire and Claire shivered in the gloom of the late afternoon. ‘Sometimes they left without saying. And sometimes there was fear…’ She ran her hand along the mantelshelf, her fingers trembling. In that pale light it seemed that all of the colour had drained from her face. Earlier she had looked relaxed, brighter somehow, but now tension was forming in the shadows around her eyes. She had turned to look at Abbie and Sally, was staring directly at them, and yet it was as if her gaze were focused somewhere else entirely.

‘There are women in long dresses. Two of them, standing here, close to the fire. They’re holding each other’s hands. They’re afraid—holding—holding on to each other.’ Claire clasped her arms across her stomach. ‘Knocking at the door—heavy blows—pounding. It won’t stop.
They
won’t stop. Men outside with flaming torches, one, then another, pounding at the door. They won’t leave until they’ve done their work. They carry the Word of God. One man—I can’t see his face—he’s speaking. “They must be taken up,” he says. “Taken up.” I don’t know what that means. But the words…’ Claire shook her head. She reached out for Abbie and Sally.

Abbie grasped her hand. ‘Who are they? The women?’

‘I don’t know, but…I feel sick.’

‘I think we’d better stop this.’ Sally moved towards her, but Claire held up her hand.

‘No, there’s more. Another place. A big man with a hard face. He has a white streak through his hair. He’s sitting at a desk and holding a pen. Candlelight, the flames sputtering. He’s writing in a big book, using a quill pen. Strange writing, I can barely make out the letters. I think it’s a list of names. I can see
Sarah
. And
Abigail
.
Mistress Abigail Marchant
. Oh, damn, I think I’m going to throw up.’