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Mike grinned. ‘That seems strange, given that he was a puritan.’
‘Quite.’ She threw the lettuce into a bowl in the sink and ran cold water onto it.
‘Do you ever teach about him in school?’ He took another sip from his sherry and tried to stop himself from wincing as the sticky sweetness hit his tongue.
‘I do, actually. I organise a project with Year Fives. I send them off round the place with paper and a pencil and get them to look for a few clues. Then I give them a lesson in more detail. Tell them about the evils of witchcraft. You know the sort of thing. Were you thinking of covering it when you come up to the school?’
‘Good Lord, no.’ Mike shook his head. ‘No, to tell you the truth I was a bit disturbed by something I heard today.’
‘That man who spoke to you in church?’ Judith turned off the tap and stared at him. ‘I knew it. I could see you were worried. He didn’t look like the usual type who gets into that sort of thing, not New Agey or grungey particularly.’
Mike frowned. ‘No, indeed.’
‘What did he say?’
‘You know I can’t tell you that, Judith.’ He smiled to soften the words. ‘But it made me think. Wonder. If there are any genuine –’ he hesitated, trying to think of a word to describe what he had been told – ‘residues of the past.’
‘Ghosts?’ Judith looked astonished. ‘You don’t believe in ghosts?’
He frowned. ‘Of course I do, Judith.’ He paused. ‘And so, as a member of the church, should you. You may not be trained to deal with such matters, but you cannot deny their existence.’
He saw a quick flare of colour in her cheeks and bit his lip. He had not meant his words to sound so like a rebuke. ‘I agree many so-called ghosts are imagination or whatever, but we cannot deny that such unhappy beings exist.’ He put down his glass. ‘Would you like me to take this through?’ Reaching for the plate of meat he gave her a moment to compose herself.
‘I do believe in it,’ she said softly. ‘And in witchcraft. I just didn’t know if you did.’
He swung round. ‘I couldn’t be a priest of the church unless I believed in such things, Judith.’
‘Right.’ She tore the lettuce in half. ‘Well, that’s why I teach them about the Witchfinder General. His methods might have been cruel, but the women he persecuted deserved it. They were evil. I teach all about it to deter the little thugs who are toying with the idea of becoming witches today.’
Mike was standing by the door, plate in hand. He studied her face thoughtfully, trying to hide the shock he had felt at her words. ‘Are you saying that there are still witches round here?’
She nodded. ‘You’d be surprised how many people there are round here who actually claim to be the descendants of witches. They are proud of it! Oh yes, Mike. There are witches. And ghosts. And ghosts of witches.’ She threw the wilting leaves into a wire basket and shook it violently, spattering water around the room. ‘I am only amazed it’s taken this long for them to start crawling out of the slime and heading your way.’
12 (#ulink_511bb953-3b75-58a4-b644-b283b84a22b8)
Monday
‘Turn right at the signpost. There!’ Emma pointed through the windscreen ahead of them. She took a deep breath. ‘Supposing I hate it this time when I see it?’
Peggy changed gear and slowed the car. She glanced across at her daughter with a smile. ‘You haven’t signed anything, Em. You can still withdraw your offer.’
Emma leaned forward as they drove up the lane, squinting in the hot sunlight. It was almost midday and this time it had taken them nearly three hours to negotiate the traffic-clogged roads out of London. Dan had been left behind to mind the shop, the obliging neighbour, after all, unable to help.
Emma found she was holding her breath. ‘It’s up here on the left. Just round this bend. There.’
Peggy pulled the car off the road and both women climbed stiffly out and stood staring at the cottage. There was a long silence.
‘Well?’ Emma turned to Peggy at last.
‘It’s very sweet. I don’t know if I remember there being so many roses. That’s made it chocolate-boxy.’ Peggy took a deep breath. ‘And the air is heaven! Have you got the keys?’
Emma reached back through the car window. The keys, which they had picked up on the way past the estate agent, were lying on the glove shelf. Will Fortingale had succumbed to his cold and apparently was spending the day in bed, but his assistant had seemed very happy to let them have them for as long as they wanted them. Grasping them tightly, Emma leaned for a moment on the roof of the car. Her heart was thumping uncomfortably.
Glancing round Peggy saw her and frowned. She put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. ‘Are you OK, darling?’
Emma nodded. She was biting her lip. ‘I wish Piers had come too.’
‘I don’t think there was a chance in hell of that happening, Em.’ Peggy sighed. ‘You’ve got to resign yourself to that. If you buy this place it could be the end of you and Piers.’ She scanned her daughter’s face. ‘You do realise that, don’t you?’
Emma shook her head. ‘He’ll come round. He always does. He’s just cross because he didn’t think of it himself. And he wanted to consider a place in France. But what’s the point of that? If we haven’t got a place there, we have a reason to go and stay with Derek and Sue. If we had our own place we’d never see them. He wants to stay with them. So, we shouldn’t get a place near them. That all seems very logical to me!’
Peggy shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Well, come on. Lead the way.’
Emma paused as they stood in the hall, listening, half wondering if she would hear the strange voice calling to her again, but the house was silent, expectant, as though it, like her, was waiting to hear her mother’s verdict.
They spent an hour exploring the cottage and its outbuildings, then they walked out into the garden. ‘I have to admit, it is very sweet.’ Peggy stared round. ‘Idyllic in some ways, but I would have seen you going for something a bit more sophisticated. A bit more modern. And the garden is huge. It’s not a very practical idea, darling. You’ve never done any gardening in your life.’
Emma stared at her. ‘Excuse me! What do you call that place on the roof outside the flat?’
‘Apart from the roof garden.’ Peggy snapped a rose off one of the bushes and sniffed it. ‘But that is all in pots!’
Emma shook her head. ‘And in the pots is earth. And in the earth are plants. And I have tended every one of those plants for the four years that garden has existed. I designed it. I bought the plants and the pots and I created it! Piers never lifted a finger except to buy the furniture he sits on to watch me tend the garden!’
‘Sorry!’ Peggy shook her head. ‘I stand rebuked. OK. So, you have a huge part of your soul craving to be a gardener. But you are an investment analyst with a totally absorbing job in London. How much time would you have for this garden?’
‘I could employ a gardener.’ Emma walked out between the beds. The long grass brushed her bare legs and caught at the buckles of her sandals. ‘Or I could give up London and come and run this place commercially.’ She swung round to face her mother. ‘That’s what I want to do. I want to garden. I want to tidy it and rescue it and make it thrive again. I want to run it as a business.’
‘And Piers?’ Peggy scanned her face thoughtfully. ‘How does he fit into this plan?’
‘He could commute?’ Emma paused and suddenly she smiled, her face radiant, full of mischief. ‘It’s got to work out! Somehow I’ll persuade him. Look at it. It’s so beautiful! It was meant to be!’ She stretched her arms above her head and did a little pirouette. ‘We’ll sort something out. I know we will. This is my home, Ma. This is where I want to spend the rest of my life!’
13 (#ulink_57ba4b57-6cbc-5412-a674-683f02be897f)
Monday lunchtime
Lyndsey braked sharply and drew to a halt as she saw the green Peugeot backing out into the lane ahead of her. Her bicycle basket was laden with books and the weight made her wobble slightly as she dismounted. She was close enough to recognise the passenger as the brown-haired woman who had been there on Saturday and she frowned thoughtfully. So, she had brought someone for a second opinion.
‘Penny for them!’
She jumped at the voice. A dusty old blue Volvo had coasted to a halt behind her and she was concentrating so hard on the woman in the car, she had failed to hear it. She turned to the balding man at the wheel. ‘Hi, Alex. Sorry! I didn’t hear you.’
‘Just as well I was driving slowly.’ He chuckled. He was fond of this gamine young woman with her quirky ways and passionate, vivid personality. ‘Are you spying, by any chance?’
She smiled. ‘Of course. That woman was here two days ago.’
‘It’s time someone bought the old place. It’ll fall down if they don’t.’ Alex reached for the handbrake and killing the engine he climbed out. He was a tall man, in his early forties, with the high complexion and bleached eyebrows of the very fair. He had light-blue eyes, their clarity emphasised by a short-sleeved blue polo shirt and cream chinos. He pointed to her load. ‘Stick them in the car. I’ll run them back for you. It’s too hot to bike in this weather, never mind with about a hundred books!’
‘I’ve borrowed them from Oliver Dent. He doesn’t mind how many I take as long as I return them.’ Lyndsey lovingly ran a hand over the assorted volumes.
Alex opened the door of the car and she passed him the books. ‘I didn’t know he was a reader,’ he said.
‘He’s got thousands of books. I’ve just got a job cleaning for him once a week. Poor old boy can’t cope up there on his own any more.’
‘Well, I hope you’ve still got time to look after my kids.’ Alex stacked the books safely and slammed the door. A quick glance had shown they all appeared to be about plants and flowers.
‘You know I have.’ She hauled the bike out of the hedge and straddled it. ‘You still want me tonight?’ She babysat for the Wests two or three evenings a week and sometimes looked after the children after school as well.
He nodded. ‘Paula and I are going to supper with someone she’s met on the train.’ He shrugged with a pained look towards the heavens. ‘Networking with knobs on. What did I do to deserve a commuting wife?’
Lyndsey grinned. ‘You know you love being a kept man! If Paula didn’t make all that lovely money in the City you and the kids wouldn’t be able to ponce around in the country having such a good time now, would you!’
‘True.’ He sighed. ‘Not that I’d have chosen redundancy and house husbandry as my preferred career.’ There was a moment’s silence. His face had grown solemn as he thought of the various failed business ideas, the so-hopefully printed cards, the silent phone at home. In seconds his smile returned. ‘Reckon those are rich weekenders, going to buy Liza’s? I wonder if they would employ me to run that place for them? The Simpsons had a decent living from that nursery.’
‘Not from Liza’s they didn’t.’ Lyndsey glanced fondly towards the cottage. ‘That’s why they are selling it. Their money came from their garden centre up in Bradfield. Letting this place to holiday-makers was all they did in the end, and even that was too much hassle. Their son doesn’t want to take it on now they’re retiring and I don’t blame him.’
‘I suppose so.’ Alex sighed. ‘Ah well, I must get on. See you tonight.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve told Sophie and James you’re coming to look after them and I think they’re planning mayhem, so be careful!’
Lyndsey raised a hand as he climbed back into the car. ‘Not to worry,’ she grinned. ‘Mayhem is what I do best.’
14 (#ulink_1e82a57a-a454-5011-b554-09027580c818)
The others were already there when Mark made his way into the shop. He looked round. ‘No sign of the new tenant yet?’
‘Not a peep.’ Colin was eating a toasted teacake, his fingers shiny with butter. ‘So there’s no one to ask. If we’re quick we can get the extra shots we need upstairs and be out of here before they come! All set?’ He stopped chewing and stared up at the ceiling with a frown. ‘You did check, Joe? It sounds as though there is someone walking about up there.’
They all stared upwards. Alice had gone very pale. Clearly audible, they could hear someone walking slowly across the boards above their heads, the footsteps dragging slightly, one then another board squeaking in sequence as they moved.
Joe gave a soundless whistle. He stubbed out his cigarette in the lid he was using as an ashtray on the counter. ‘I just stuck my head in the room. Maybe there was someone up in the attic. Or in the cloakroom. Shall I have another look?’ He did not seem too keen.
Mark glanced at the stairs. He recognised an extreme reluctance of his own to climb them. Last night, again, he had had the experience of waking suddenly, his heart thudding, the echo of a woman’s scream ringing in his ears. It had for a moment paralysed him with terror as he lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing, aware that he was bathed in sweat and aware too that this time he was too afraid to move, even to reach for the switch on the bedside light.
And now this. He saw Colin watching him, waiting for a decision. ‘Are we going up?’ Mark shrugged. ‘I seem to have a touch of the heebie-jeebies this morning. OK. This is silly. Let’s go. We need to see if we can capture a bit of this atmosphere on film.’ He took a deep breath.
Colin nodded. ‘Want me to go first?’ The Welshman raised an eyebrow, baiting him. The footsteps had stopped. They were all aware of the sound of traffic outside again, almost as though, before, it had not been there.
Mark nodded. He gave a wry grin. ‘If you like.’
‘OK.’ Colin hefted the heavy camera up onto his shoulder.
‘I’m not going up.’ Alice’s voice was shrill. ‘I don’t think any of us should.’
‘Alice.’ Joe’s tone was half reproach, half mocking. ‘Come on. You’re not scared, surely? Great big girl like you!’
Alice blushed scarlet. ‘No! No, of course not. I think this job sucks.’ Tossing the clipboard down onto the counter, she turned towards the door. ‘You don’t need me, anyway. I’m going for a walk.’
‘Alice!’ Joe shouted.
‘Leave her,’ Mark said quietly. ‘It’s getting to her like it’s getting to me. Come on. Let’s go up.’
Colin was already halfway up the stairs when the shop door opened. They turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway. With short dark hair and intensely bright blue eyes she reminded Mark of nothing so much as a woodland elf as she hovered on the threshold, gazing at them.
‘Can we help you?’ Mark turned away from the stairs with something like relief. If the new tenants were arriving they would have to hurry and the sheer number of people on the premises would perhaps do something to help dispel the atmosphere.
Her eyes were enormous. He found himself unable to look away as she took a cautious step inside, leaving the door open behind her. ‘What are you doing?’
Behind him Colin retraced his steps and put the heavy camera down on the counter. Mark smiled and stepped forward, holding out his hand. ‘Mark Edmunds. We have Mr Barker’s permission to be here. I’m sorry. We meant to be finished before you arrived.’
She looked anxious suddenly. ‘You were expecting me?’
‘Well, we were expecting someone.’ Mark dropped his hand as she had ignored it. ‘I gather you want to start stocking the shop as soon as possible? If we could have perhaps just an hour more, we could then get out of your hair.’ He gave her his most charming smile. It was not returned.
‘I am not here to stock the shop.’ There was a slight frown between her eyes. ‘I came because you are here to make trouble for us. For all of us who live here.’
Mark glanced at Colin, who raised an eyebrow and gave a mock scowl. ‘I can assure you, Miss …?’ He paused for her to fill in the name. She ignored the invitation and stood silently, her eyes fixed on his face, obviously waiting for him to continue. He went on, slightly flustered. ‘We have no intention of causing anyone any trouble. And we are here, as I said, with the full permission of Stan Barker.’
‘Stan told me you are here to film the ghosts.’ For the first time her eyes left his face and she glanced past him at the stairs. Mark resisted the urge to turn and follow her gaze.
‘We are making a documentary. One of a series about haunted houses,’ he said guardedly.
‘You have to stop it.’ Her voice was stronger suddenly. She rammed her hands down into the pockets of her trousers – tight-fitting jeans, cut off raggedly below the knee which emphasised the slimness of her figure. ‘You have to!’
‘May I ask why?’ he asked gently. ‘You said we were here to make trouble. I assure you that is not the case. Programmes like this are usually immensely popular –’
‘And stir things up.’
He realised with a jolt that the emotion which was fuelling the brightness of her eyes was anger. ‘It will make no difference to you. You and your friends –’ she glanced witheringly at Joe and Colin – ‘will finish your filming and disappear back to London and never come back here again, and leave us to deal with what you have left behind.’
‘I am sorry you should feel like that.’ Mark kept his voice even. ‘But as I said, the worst you will probably find will happen is an influx of sightseers. I find the locals usually like that. It’s good for the economy.’
‘I’m not talking about sightseers!’ She licked her lips nervously, an infinitesimal darting movement which reminded him of a small reptile. Her tone was dismissive.
‘Then what?’
She held his gaze for a moment, then for the first time she seemed to hesitate. ‘You are stirring things up,’ she repeated.
‘What things?’ Colin put in.
‘The energies …’ She bit her lip. ‘Your interest, the filming, talking about him. It is feeding the energies. I can feel it. The whole town is changing. The atmosphere. The feel of the place. It’s centred here. In this shop.’
‘Why?’ Joe had surreptitiously switched on his mike. The tape was turning.
‘This shop – the site – it has always been a centre. So much happened here.’
‘What happened here?’ Joe asked.
‘He brought the women here. Some of them. It was the house where Mary Phillips lived.’
‘One of the witchfinder’s accomplices?’ Mark nodded.
