скачать книгу бесплатно
The three men glanced up towards the ceiling.
She did not appear to notice. ‘Their fear and anger and confusion permeates the walls of this place!’ she cried passionately. ‘Can’t you feel it? No one stays here. No one can bear it. Those women were dragged from their homes, accused, tortured, terrified and killed on the say-so of one man.’
‘That surely is what makes the story of the witchfinder so fascinating,’ Mark put in slowly. ‘The villain is the man who ostensibly was on the side of the right, and the victims are the women who might have possibly been real witches worshipping the Devil, causing all kinds of mischief.’
‘They weren’t!’ She turned on him, her face suddenly hard. ‘They were at worst silly old ladies, not knowing what was happening to them. And the ones who did know were guilty of no more than using herbal medicine and the harmless spells that were part of the recipes in those days.’
Mark nodded. ‘You would make an excellent contributor to our programme. Why don’t you let us film you so that you can put your point of view …’
‘No!’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Have you understood nothing I’ve said? You have to stop the programme. You have to go away and forget all about it.’
‘You still haven’t told me why.’ Mark found the memory of the scream coming back suddenly as he leaned against the counter, watching her. ‘If the old ladies were innocent, why should telling their story stir up trouble? Surely they would welcome vindication? And Hopkins himself was a sadistic and violent man by our standards but from what I have read he was sincere in what he believed.’
‘He was paid by the head, Mark,’ Colin put in softly. ‘However sincere, the chap had a good incentive to root out anyone even remotely qualifying for his detection methods.’
‘He was not interested in mercy or justice,’ the young woman put in. ‘And he does not sleep soundly. Neither do his victims. Please, please go away.’
‘We are going.’ Joe gave her a reassuring smile and folded his arms. ‘Today. Don’t you worry, love. We’ll be out of your hair by teatime and away, and all your energies can calm down again.’
‘And you will destroy your film?’ She narrowed her eyes.
‘We’ll think about everything you’ve said, very carefully,’ Mark put in reassuringly. ‘I promise.’
She stood for a moment looking at each man in turn, then she turned and ducked out of the doorway. As she hurried away from the shop they heard someone in the street greet her gaily, ‘Hi, Lyndsey!’ and saw her raise her hand in return.
‘Lyndsey,’ Mark repeated. ‘Remember that. Wow! I wish we’d got that little spiel on tape.’
Joe grinned. ‘We did. But whether you can use it is another matter.’
‘Good man.’ Mark stared thoughtfully after their visitor, then he wandered across and pushed the door shut behind her. ‘You know, I’m inclined to agree with her.’
‘You mean we should stop?’ Colin and Joe stared at him.
Mark shrugged. ‘No, not stop. But I think we are stirring things up. I’m even having nightmares about it. Let’s get that shot upstairs and then we can pack up. Presumably once we’ve gone the atmosphere she was talking about – the vibes – will all calm down again!’
15 (#ulink_7878642a-9967-5111-af21-964b591d25f6)
Monday evening
‘No!’ Piers was white with anger. ‘I will not see it. I will not talk about it. And I will not – ever – go there. If you go ahead with this, as far as I’m concerned we’re finished. For good!’
Emma was leaning on the rail, staring down across the rooftops towards the distant trees of the garden square. A misty pearlescent light was deepening into darkness around them. She said nothing.
‘Emma?’ Piers’s voice softened. ‘Please, darling. Think. I love you. I don’t want to – I can’t – live without you.’
Wordlessly she turned towards him and he saw that she was crying. He put his arms around her and gently kissed her on the top of her head. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ Her face was buried in his shirt-front, but he felt her nod and he tightened his arms. ‘I tell you what. Why don’t we arrange a holiday in the autumn? Go somewhere really exciting. Your choice.’
Still silent, she released herself from his grasp. She bent to pick up a cat. ‘Have you fed them?’ She sniffed into the dark, silky fur.
‘Of course I have. Did Peggy not want to come in?’
‘No. She was tired. It was a long drive.’ Kissing Max’s ear, she set him down on the ground again. ‘I think I’ll have a bath.’
‘OK. Why don’t I bring you a hot drink in bed later?’
She gave him a faint smile. ‘That would be nice. Thanks.’
It was dark when he went inside and closed the French doors behind him. He wandered into the kitchen, wondering what would cheer her up. Tea. Cocoa. Soup. A stiff whisky. ‘Em?’ he called. The sound of bath water running away had finished ages before. ‘Em? What would you like to drink?’
The bedroom was in darkness. ‘Emma? Are you awake?’ He turned on the lamp in the corner. Emma was lying across the bed, her face buried in the pillow. She was wearing grey silk pyjamas. ‘Em?’ he whispered. He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Are you asleep?’
There was no answer.
‘Would you like me to bring you something?’ He waited for several seconds, then with a sigh he turned off the light and crept out of the room.
On the bed Emma stirred. Hugging the pillow she turned over, her dark hair fanned out across the sheets and, in her sleep, she began once more to cry.
She was late into the office and within seconds of sitting down at her desk, she stood up again. Her hands were shaking and she had the worst headache she could remember.
Emma!
The voice was in her head again.
Emma! Buy it! You’ve got to, Emma. You have to come back, Emma!
She had awoken late, drenched in perspiration, her bedclothes tied in knots, but her dreams, if she had had any, were gone beyond recall. Piers had already left, after presumably sleeping on the sofa.
‘You OK, Emma?’ A colleague passing her desk stopped, concerned. ‘You look as though you tied one on last night with a vengeance!’ He laughed.
She glared at him and turned back to her desk, rifling through a drawer for some paracetamol. Then she picked up the phone. ‘Mr Fortingale? It’s Emma Dickson. Are you better?’ She only remembered just in time to ask. ‘I wondered if you had heard back from the Simpsons yet about my offer?’ Grasping the receiver with both hands, she stared unseeing at the computer monitor on her desk as she listened to the muffled voice the other end. She nodded slowly. ‘Good. Thank you. No, I told you, I don’t need a survey. I am instructing my solicitors this morning and as I said, I have nothing to sell. It’s a cash transaction and as the house is empty, hopefully it can all go through very fast indeed.’ She stood for a long time, listening to the whine on the phone after he had hung up, then gently she tipped the receiver back onto its base.
David Spencer looked up from the report he was studying as Emma appeared in the doorway of his office. She had tapped on the open door then hovered, staring in without seeming to see him.
‘Emma?’ He rose to his feet. ‘Is there a problem?’
She frowned, visibly trying to pull herself together and came in, closing the door behind her. ‘I’m giving in my notice, David.’ She stood in front of his desk, not meeting his eye. ‘I’m leaving London.’
‘You are joking!’ David ran his hand through thin, greying hair so that the carefully arranged strands rose in disarray around his head. ‘You can’t – what’s happened? For God’s sake, sit down. You don’t mean it.’
She obeyed him, pulling up a chair, and leaned forward, elbows on his desk, her head in her hands. ‘I do mean it, David. I’m sorry. I’ll work out my notice, of course.’
‘But why?’ He resumed his own seat opposite her. His voice was suddenly gentle. ‘Are you ill?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Mad, perhaps.’ She gave a small, helpless laugh. ‘I’m buying a house in the country and I’m going to work there. I need a break from the City.’
You have to come back, Emma!
The words echoed in her mind for a moment. What was she saying? What was she doing? She was throwing away her career, her relationship, her home, her life. She looked up at David and he noted her pale face and red-rimmed eyes.
‘Is this something to do with Piers? Have you two split up?’
‘No.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, yes, I suppose we have. We will. He thinks I’m mad.’
‘You are. Look,’ he stood up again, ‘don’t say any more, Emma. Go home. You don’t look at all well, if I may say so. Think about this. Take a few days off. Don’t do anything you might regret. Please.’ He leaned forward across the desk and put his hands over hers. ‘You’re good at your job, Emma. Don’t throw it away.’
He watched her go back to her desk through the glass wall of his office. She picked up her bag and her briefcase, stood for a moment staring down at her desk, then left without a word to either of her colleagues, both of whom looked up and spoke to her as she passed. He frowned. There was something very wrong. He stood for several seconds staring down at his phone, then he picked up the receiver and dialled Piers’s direct line.
16 (#ulink_6173f3a1-f339-5cfc-aa34-ddccfdf3236b)
Tuesday afternoon
‘Emma?’ Piers pushed open the front door and pocketing his keys walked through the small white-painted hall into the living room. ‘Are you back?’
The French doors were open and he headed towards them, spotting her at once. She was lying on the swing seat, eyes closed, Max curled in the crook of her arm.
‘Hi, old thing. What are you doing home?’ He sat down on the edge of a chair near her, incongruous in his city suit and smart black shoes, noting that she too was still dressed in her office clothes.
‘I wasn’t feeling too good.’ She opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘What are you doing here yourself?’
‘I had a whole lot of reports to check and I kept thinking of this roof garden and a glass of white wine and how awful it was to be stuck in a glass palace in this heat and I thought, I’m going to play hooky!’ He smiled and climbed to his feet with a groan. ‘I’m going to have a shower and change into something more comfortable. Is there anything I can get you?’
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes again and he watched her for a moment, frowning.
When he came out again some time later she was asleep. Good as his word, he settled down to study the reports, glancing every now and then in her direction as the sun moved round towards the west and the shadow under the canopy where she lay deepened. It was still very hot. He finished a stack of papers, returned them to his briefcase and withdrew another pile. Somewhere below in the busy street he heard the wailing note of a police siren. It sounded for several seconds very close, then rapidly it faded into the distance as the car sped away towards the Cromwell Road.
In her dream Emma stood in the doorway of the cottage, looking round. She was dressed in a black cloak but under it her gown was silk, embroidered with flowers. ‘Liza?’ Her voice was her own, but the words came out strangely, with a soft country burr and unaccustomed words. ‘Liza, where be ye? I’ve brought ye some butter and some posset.’
She moved forward into the kitchen she knew so well. This small dower house on her father’s estate had been given to Liza in her old age as a reward for her care of this wayward young woman and her brother after their mother’s death. The fire was lit and a pot of water was hanging over it. She glanced in. It had nearly boiled dry. No herbs. No vegetables. Taking a thick cloth to pad her hands she lifted it off the hook and setting it down at the edge of the hearth she looked round for Liza’s cats. There were two, adored and spoiled, which the old woman had reared from kittens over twenty years before while she still lived up at the hall. If she was not careful they would steal the butter before Liza had set eyes on it. There was no sign of them.
The table behind her was strewn with flower heads. Two small boxes of dried herbs stood nearby, both open, both spilled. A knife lay on the floor, the small pestle and mortar beside it. Sarah frowned, a frightened chill suddenly settling over her, cold as the mist that drifted in the lane outside and shrouded the church. ‘Liza? Where are you?’ The whisper was scarcely audible. She moved to the foot of the stairs and stared up, her foot on the bottom step. For a moment she couldn’t force herself to move, then as she put her foot forward the door opened behind her.
‘I’m here, my duck.’ Liza was standing there, wrapped in a warm woollen cloak against the mist. She stepped into the room and glanced round, smiling as she saw the gifts lying on the table. ‘That’s kind. I’ll enjoy that.’
‘Where were you, Liza?’ Sarah frowned, still uncomfortable. ‘The water was nearly boiled dry and everything is spilled.’
Liza shook her head. ‘I ran outside. There was somebody in the lane.’ She shrugged. ‘Somebody I didn’t want to see.’
Behind her a cat appeared in the doorway. It mewed and walked up to her, jumped on the table, asking to be petted. She stroked it absently. ‘Sarie, my dear, if anything happened to me, you’d look out for the cats, wouldn’t you? See they was fed and had a home?’
‘Of course I would.’ Sarah caught her hand. ‘What is it, Liza? What’s wrong? Why are you talking like this?’
Liza shrugged. ‘There’s folk out there mean mischief, Sarie. Hopkins’s men. Someone has been bad-mouthing me to him.’
Sarah let out a little cry of anguish. ‘Oh, no! No, Liza. I’d never let that happen. Never. Besides, they would never come for you. Too many people love you.’
Liza gave a toothless grimace. ‘Well, that’s as maybe.’ She put her head on one side. ‘You remember all I’ve taught you, don’t you, Sarie? Never forget it. Never.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll be all right. I’ll keep out of their way. But,’ she laughed hoarsely, patting the cat again, ‘I worry about these two. They were my babies, just like you.’
‘Don’t, Liza. Don’t talk like that!’ Sarah clung to her hand. ‘No one would hurt you. Or the cats. No one …’
‘No one would hurt the cats! No one!’ Emma woke to find she was shouting the words out loud. Piers was bending over her. ‘Emma! Emma, it’s OK. You’ve been dreaming!’ He was holding her hand.
‘The cats!’ She sat up staring round. ‘Where are the cats?’ Suddenly she was crying.
‘The cats are fine.’ Piers stepped back as she swung her legs to the ground.
‘Where? Where are they?’
‘Inside. Max was cuddled up with you. Then you began to shout and he was frightened. They’re both inside somewhere. Em –?’ He watched as she ran across the terrace. She had kicked off her shoes before she lay down and her feet were bare; her hair was dishevelled.
In the living room she stared round. ‘Max?’ She spotted the cat sitting under the coffee table, his tail swishing from side to side. ‘Oh, Max!’ She dived on him, trying to scoop him up into her arms, but he turned towards her, hissing. Lashing out at her in a panic he scratched her viciously across her wrist and the back of her hand before diving out of reach into the kitchen.
‘Leave him, Em. He’s thoroughly frightened. And so are you.’ Piers’s voice changed suddenly as she threw herself down on the sofa, sobbing. ‘What is it, darling? What’s the matter?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know! It was the dream. I was so worried something awful was going to happen to them.’
Piers sat down beside her and put his arm round her. ‘They are both fine. Just leave him for a moment. You frightened him when you started to shout. Here, I’ll get something to put on that scratch. It’s bleeding everywhere.’
By the time he had dabbed her wrist with antiseptic and put a sticking plaster over the worst of the laceration, Emma was calm again.
‘So, what was the dream about, can you tell me?’
She shrugged. Leaning back against the sofa cushions she closed her eyes. ‘That’s the silly thing. It’s gone.’
Piers paused, watching her. ‘Em? Aren’t you feeling well? I wondered why you had come home.’
She frowned and put her head forward into her hands for a moment. Then she shrugged. ‘My head is spinning. I think I’ll go and take a shower, Piers.’
‘Perhaps I’d better remind you,’ he said quietly, ‘or are you just not planning to tell me? You gave in your notice this morning.’
She looked up slowly. ‘I hadn’t forgotten. How do you know?’
‘David rang me. He was really worried. He thinks you’re ill. That was why I came home.’
‘Well, I’m not ill.’
‘Then perhaps, just perhaps, you’re off your head.’ His voice had become hard.
She stood up, looking curiously vulnerable in her navy suit skirt and silk shirt with her hair dishevelled and her feet bare. ‘Perhaps I am.’
The atmosphere was suddenly electric. They were on the brink of shouting at one another, saying things they didn’t mean, things that could never be unsaid, and as if sensing it, neither spoke. It was Piers who broke the silence at last. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Em.’
‘No.’ She said it so quietly he barely heard her.
‘You can’t really want to give up your career. All you’ve worked for.’
‘No.’
‘You love that job.’
