White Crow (11 page)
Does a crime have to have a victim for it to be a crime? Rebecca thinks.
‘So what else have you got in there?’
‘Look at this,’ Ferelith says. ‘I could only find the left one.’
It’s a leather boot, a ladies leather boot. Obviously once something quite fine for a rich lady, though now rotten and spoiled.
‘Take it,’ Ferelith says, handing the boot to Rebecca, who takes it gingerly and pretends to inspect it.
‘Amazing,’ she says, though her voice is flat.
‘Okay then. Let’s see if you’re more impressed by this.’
Ferelith rummages deep in the trunk, her back to Rebecca, and then she suddenly turns round and waves a skull in her face. A human skull.
Rebecca shrieks. She recoils from the skull, rocking back on her heels. ‘Are you trying to scare me?’
‘Only a little bit,’ Ferelith says, laughing. ‘Isn’t it cool? It’s the only one I’ve found and I guess it must be three hundred years old or so. That’s the age of the graves that were going in at the time. I found it on a freezing morning, and smuggled it home. There were some people walking dogs along the beach and they’d have sniffed it out if I’d been five minutes later. Isn’t it cool?’
Rebecca’s thinking.
‘Do you want to touch it? Go on, touch it.’
Ferelith holds it out again, urging Rebecca to do as she says.
‘No, I don’t want to.’
‘It’s okay if you’re scared.’
‘I’m not scared,’ Rebecca says. And she isn’t. She’s realised what she finds uncomfortable. ‘It’s just that it’s all about death, isn’t it? About death. You know?’
Ferelith nods.
‘I know. But that’s all I’m asking. Are you scared of death? Are you scared of dying?’
‘No,’ Rebecca says. ‘I’m not. No.’
But she’s lying, and they both know it.
1798, 10m, 6d.
I was genius today.
I acted exactly as the doctor had advised me, and though
I pride myself, I hold that I played the part required as an actor on any stage in London or Paris.
- Martha.
- Yes, Sir, what is’t?
- Martha, I am sore worried.
- Why so, Sir?
Bless her that she is a good and careful servant, and attends to me with great diligence.
- You will recall that I entertained the newly come doctor but three days past.
- Indeed so, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. Was the beef not good?
- The beef was excellent, thank you, Martha. No, it is the doctor who concerns me. You retired, as the hour grew late, but the doctor stayed awhile longer and yet we did speak.
- Sir?
My voice I made to grow quiet at this.
- Indeed. And what the doctor spoke of has vexed me ever since… I believe he plans some great mischief at the Hall. I believe he intends to practice some unholy rite, a summoning, a conjuration. A thing of magic.
Martha stared at me, lost in confusion.
I hit upon another approach which I then ventured.
- Tell me. Do you believe in Heaven?
- Oh, yes, Sir, she cried.
- Good. And do you, therefore, believe in Hell?
At this she began to shake.
- Indeed, Sir.
She crossed herself.
- And for which place, Martha, are you headed? Do you know?
She shook her head.
I do ot.
- But Martha. That is precisely what the doctor intends to discover, for any person so wishing to know. Would you not like to know such a thing?
She shook her head.
- Indeed not, Sir.
- Quite right. It is an evil undertaking and will lead only to pain and suffering, and blasphemy. That is so, and you are goodly and wise to see it. But you see, Martha, I fear greatly that others, other people, will not have your good sense.
- Indeed, Sir?
- Indeed, I said. Now, it is Sunday afternoon, and your leisure hours are at hand. Enjoy yourself, and think no more on what I have said. It is an evil business and not one to be concerned upon.
- Very good, Sir.
She left, and I watched her go down Long Lane, and I knew full well that the doctor was right.
She would go straight to The Angel, the local tavern, and I knew just what she would talk about once she came there.
The doctor is wise in the ways of the world.
This is How I Disappear
We sat in the Lover’s Seat and fried.
The sun was beating down just as it had been for days and days.
‘So what’s with your boyfriend then?’ I asked Rebecca. She seemed needled.
‘He’s not my boyfriend any more.’
I nodded.
She stared out to sea. Then she turned back to me.
‘So what’s with your mother then?’ she asked.
I changed the subject.
‘How about an ice-cream?’ I said.
‘You’re always asking me questions. I want to ask you one. What’s with your mother?’
I got cross. I shouted and told her to mind her own business.
I stomped about a bit, and it got even hotter. I stared down over the cliff edge at the hard beach and the blue water, and after a while I stopped being angry.
‘I’d love an ice-cream,’ Rebecca said then. ‘But I don’t have any money.’
I fished around in my pockets and found nothing useful.
‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘I know where we can get some.’
‘What does that mean?’ she said,
I didn’t answer, but put out my hands to pull her up.
‘Come on,’ I said, and lead the way, twisting down a little track to rejoin the main footpath.
I took a branch of that and we were walking down the lane that leads to the Hall. It’s a very pretty lane with cottages dotted here and there like you see on cheap boxes of toffee.
And there was one cottage I was interested in especially.
At Rose Cottage there’s usually a table outside in the summer where they sell things from their garden.
It was there, with some jars of jam and bundles of runner beans.
I stood by the table, and Rebecca joined me.
‘Vegetables?’ she said, but that wasn’t what I was interested in. On the table next to the stuff was an old coffee jar with a slot in the lid to put the money.
An honesty box.
I looked through the front windows of the cottage. No one was visible.
‘Check the lane for me,’ I told Rebecca.
‘What?’ she said.
‘Just check the lane. Is it clear?’
‘Yes, but…’
Before she’d finished I swiped the tin and stuck it under my T-shirt.
She stood looking stupid by the table.
‘Come on,’ I hissed.
‘You…’ she said. It was kind of funny. ‘You can’t do that.’
But I was halfway down the lane and she was still at the table. I picked up speed and Rebecca began to follow me at last.
As she did, some little old dear came out of the cottage.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked Rebecca, who was left stranded.
She must have mumbled something to the old girl and then she walked away, trying to catch up with me, but I was out of sight and running then, and I didn’t stop till I was outside the shop, clutching just enough money for two big ice creams.
1798, 10m, 22d.
It has started.
More than one of my parishioners has whispered to me that they have heard this and this, or such and such, and I have simply shaken my head and explained that just because Dr Barrieux is French does not mean he is the Devil! Or that he consorts with the same.
Nevertheless, today, Dr Barrieux sent a sealed note to me by way of a village boy, and the message was a short one.
- We have a beginning.
So, someone is prepared to try their luck in the Candle Room, and we shall soon see what we shall see.
J
ohn Case blusters round the house like a storm with nowhere to go.
ohn Case blusters round the house like a storm with nowhere to go.
‘I know it’s hard here,’ he says. ‘It’s hard for both of us. But do you really have to go and make it worse?’
Rebecca sits at the kitchen table, arms folded, staring into space while she gets the lecture.
‘This is just the sort of place where you put a foot wrong and they have you.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ Rebecca says again.
‘Becky, you were seen. The tin was gone and you were seen by Mrs Trentham.’
Something stops Rebecca from putting the blame on Ferelith.
‘Do you have any idea what it felt like to get this message from the station that “the new girl in the village” had stolen someone’s honesty box? My own daughter! Can’t you think? I won’t even tell you the things they were saying.’
He slams his fist on the table and Rebecca jumps.
She turns on him.
‘And do you have any idea what it’s like being your daughter right now? Don’t tell me you have a clue because you don’t.’
The air is torn by their pain as they fight, pain made all the worse by the love between them, a love lying wounded in the corner of the room.
Eventually her father runs out of steam, and all he can think is one final thing.
‘It was that girl, wasn’t it? Ferelith?’
‘Dad . . .’
‘I know it was. I know you wouldn’t do something like this.’
‘How do you know anything I’d do? When did you last talk to me? When did you last ask how I am? You have no idea what’s going on in my head, or what I would or wouldn’t do.’
And with that, she gets up, grabs her phone and storms her way out of the front door.
She texts.
You about?
And she gets one straight back.
Yeah. You fancy breaking the law?
Dead of Night
The great thing about trespassing is that it’s free. And anything in life that makes you feel good is worth doing, so if it’s free too, it only makes it better.
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