Her heart in her mouth, she decided to make a run for it. Taking a deep breath she stepped out from the protection of the tree.
Something white flashed out of the blackness.
Belinda screamed as Jacob’s muscular hand clawed at her arm. She caught a glimpse of his face, his eyes wild with madness, his lips curled in hatred.
Jacob lost his grip on her wet flesh and she fell free, slumping heavily against the tree.
Her hand touched a wooden garden stake. Automatically she grasped it. She stepped quickly away from the tree just as Jacob lunged at her. Swinging the stake over her head she brought it down with a crunch of Jacob’s shoulder.
He gave a cry of pain and staggered back.
Belinda raised the stake to attack again, but this time Jacob reached up and grasped the weapon as it descended towards him.
His strong grip wrenched it from Belinda’s hands. Jagged splinters tore into her flesh.
He threw the stake aside and now, triumphant, powerful, his murderous fingers aimed at her throat, Jacob lunged forward.
Terrified, Belinda backed away from him.
Suddenly she felt the earth give way beneath her and with a scream she slid down a slope, plunging through sludge and water, to land on the remains of a path below.
She struggled to her feet as Jacob slid down beside her. Her feet were held fast in the mud and each step was a super-human effort to escape.
Jacob clawed at her and his filth encrusted hand closed over her wrist. He began to haul her towards him, to sink his fingers into her throat, when there was a sound as though the earth was opening to disgorge its dead.
The sinister groan seemed to come from the bowels of the planet and there was a sharp crack as if a rock cliff-face had been rent asunder.
Belinda looked up to see a giant fissure disfigure the bulging retaining wall high above them as it split in two. A cascade of mud, stone and water exploded towards them.
With a shriek Jacob disappeared beneath it, his slimy fingers tearing desperately at Belinda’s arm as he vanished under the tons of waterlogged soil and rock freed by the deluge.
The force of the cascading water and earth propelled Belinda backwards and she fell heavily against the solid trunk of a tree.
The roar of the collapsing wall lessened and faded; in the comparative silence of the rain Belinda saw Jacob’s fingers emerge from the mud tomb, tremble, and then relax in death as they were covered by the embracing earth, the earth that he had nourished all his life.
Belinda looked wildly around her for escape. Through the barrier of rain she could see the top floor of the cottage and to her astonishment, she saw a light appear in her aunt’s bedroom.
As she watched, a shadowy form took malignant shape at the window.
Shivering now not from cold but from shock, she fought the nausea that surged through her and stepped away from Jacob’s saturated tomb.
The cloying mud bonded to her feet, drawing her down to join Jacob in death as, trance-like, she moved towards the cottage. Her eyes never left the illuminated window. She dreaded any confrontation with the spectre before her, but Belinda had no strength to fight against the force that drew her closer and closer to the cottage.
The front door swung open at her touch. As though in a dream, she felt herself drawn further into the darkened rooms. Water dripped from her hair and clothes as the rampaging storm grew quieter and the stillness of the ancient building grew more ominous and more terrible than any noise that nature could dispense.
The faint light from the bedroom softly illuminated the staircase. It seemed to beckon to Belinda, urging her, coaxing her towards the bottom step. From the blackness of the hall each step grew more brightly lit as Belinda slowly ascended.
The door to the bedroom came into her field of vision and sounds of chaos reached her ears. And muttering. Strange guttural sounds, barely human.
Belinda paused at the doorway.
A black shape was bent over the dressing table, the contents of which were scattered across the bed.
In the mirror, Belinda saw the intruder’s face as, grumbling, he stood erect. At the same time her reflection was revealed in the mirror and the man spun around to face her. His infuriated muttering ceased.
There was a silence filled with terror.
‘So at last you had the sense to come in out of the rain.’
Mr Munro’s voice was dry and harsh and mocking.
Belinda’s eyes grew wide with shock and involuntarily she glanced at the picture of her aunt above the bed, the secret hiding place.
It was still intact.
Mr Munro caught the glance and with a satisfied smile he stepped over to the wall and lifted the picture gently onto the bed.
‘Thank you, my dear.’
He tore the backing from the frame and his gnarled fingers closed about the prize he sought, the garden plan of Capability Brown.
He tossed the photograph onto the floor and stamped a resentful foot on the image of aunt Jane. The glass shattered and embedded shimmering razor sharp fragments into the smooth features of the faded debutante.
‘Stubborn old bitch,’ he muttered through twisted lips, ‘even to the end she held onto the plans. She’d still be alive today if she had done as I wished.’
Belinda drew her breath in sharply, still mesmerised by the presence of the old man.
Mr Munro raised his eyes to Belinda. ‘Oh yes,’ he said softly, ‘she knew I wanted the plans and the property, and when she wouldn’t give me what I wanted, I simply arranged to take it.’
With surprising swiftness he crossed the room and grasped Belinda’s wrist. His strength astonished her as he dragged her from the room to the top of the stairs. Mr Munro angrily pushed the garden map close to Belinda’s face.
‘She found me here one day.’ He spat the words out in a frenzy of hate. ‘I came looking for the map. She was in the garden. It was easy to enter without her knowing and I searched the house.’ A sour smile curved his thin mouth. ‘I came from the bedroom just as she reached the top of the stairs. The stupid woman realised what I was searching for and threatened to call the police and charge me with trespass.’
He strengthened his grip on Belinda and drew her to the edge of the top stair.
‘Look down, my dear,’ he breathed softly into Belinda’s ear, his voice filled with vindictive excitement.
‘It’s quite a long way, particularly when you are getting on in years. And a fall like that would have to prove fatal.’
‘You murdered her!’
Munro shrugged. ‘It was so easy. Just a gentle push and a kick to dispense with her reliable walking stick.’
He sniggered and raised his foot, miming the action of the kick.
The carpet beneath his other foot suddenly moved under him. Belinda looked down at the step.
The carpet, which had been firmly fixed, was now loose and stretched.
Mr Munro’s eyes widened in alarm as he lost his balance, the carpet seemingly fluid beneath him.
He tottered back, his grip on Belinda loosening. The garden map fell from his fingers and he clutched at the air to regain it. The momentum forced him further back and with a frozen look of fear and bewilderment on his suddenly child-like face, the old man fell heavily down the stairs.
The banister shattered beneath his weight and a ragged shaft of wood tore into his face as he plummeted down into the darkness below.
With a thud he hit the floor and lay, a lifeless mockery, in the position in which Belinda discovered her aunt’s corpse.
Belinda clutched at the remaining banister to prevent herself from falling. At her feet lay the ancient garden plan. With shivering fingers she reached for it. As she stood erect she was suddenly aware that the rain had stopped and the silence around her was almost tangible. Then there was another sound emerging from the stillness. A sound filled with horror and loathing.
It was the sound of her own scream.
***
Sixteen
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The late evening summer sun beat down on the brown backs of the workmen as they toiled in the near completed garden. Belinda stood on the terrace and sipped her cup of tea. In her hand a sheaf of accounts fluttered in the warm breeze and she gave a soft sigh of pleasure. At long last the garden was almost realised. In a few weeks most of the plants would have been positioned and Jon Marshall, the landscape gardener Belinda had chosen, would have finished his re-creation. From then on it would be maintenance work and the glory that Capability Brown had envisaged all those years ago would exist again for all to see.
Hazel Whitby stood beside Belinda. The ice in her gin and tonic chinked softly as she lowered her glass.
‘It’s going to be wonderful, isn’t it?’ asked Belinda, her voice trembling with pride.
She recalled the chaos and confusion of uncontrolled jungle that greeted her when she arrived that winter’s day in answer to aunt Jane’s letter.
Hazel hesitated before replying. Her eyes were straying from barebacked workman to barebacked workman.
‘Hmm … wonderful. That’s certainly the word for it.’
Belinda smiled at her companion.
‘Hazel. I’m talking about the garden. Not what you’re fantasising about.’
One of the workmen, a young Spaniard, paused to wipe his brow. He gave the two women a brazen smile and Belinda sensed Hazel’s instinctive response.
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Hazel responded dreamily. She glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better be off. I want to catch the last viewing of old Munro’s possessions before the start of the auction tomorrow. There are some particularly fine pieces I’ve got my eye on.’ She guzzled the last of her gin. ‘Imagine the old fool being so much in debt.’
Belinda nodded. ‘That’s why he was desperate to get the plans for Capability Brown’s garden. If he reconstructed it he could have made a fortune and saved his manor house. It was his own garden that ran him into enormous debt. He kept spending money, adding to it year after year until he had used up all his savings. It became an obsession but had no real value as a garden. Only as a curiosity piece.’
‘Didn’t you say he had a nephew?’
Belinda shuddered as she recalled the repulsive Jack. ‘It turned out that he wasn’t really a relation at all. Just the son of a housekeeper that once worked for Mr Munro. The old man must have felt sorry for him and let him live with him.’
‘Seems unlikely that Munro would have ever felt sorry for anyone but himself. So this person didn’t inherit anything at all?’
‘No one would have,’ replied Belinda. ‘After all that talk about the importance of having a will, it seems Mr Munro didn’t take the time to write his own. Or at least, a will has never been found. Hence the auction of all his possessions.’
Hazel placed her empty glass on the stone balustrade and looked at Belinda in silence for a moment.
‘I’m going to ask you something,’ she said finally, ‘and I want you to be honest with me.’
Belinda turned to her with a quizzical expression.
Hazel hesitated a further moment. ‘You thought I might have been the murderer, didn’t you?’
Belinda felt her cheeks colouring and was about to deny the accusation fiercely. Hazel waved her attempts aside.
‘No, honestly. You did, didn’t you?’
Belinda sighed. ‘Not exactly. I knew that there was some mystery about the cottage and then when I found the Capability Brown design for the garden, I began to put two and two together and sensed its great value. You had been keen to get into the cottage and I assumed that perhaps you knew of the existence of the plan and wanted it.’
Hazel smiled. ‘Oddly enough I didn’t know about the plan, just that there was – “something” – and I sensed that others suspected that as well. I wanted to get in on the ground floor, so to speak, that is if there was any money to be made from it. It was your aunt who first aroused my suspicions when she kept on and on about locating an old map. She had obviously heard tales of Capability Brown designing a garden in the area and, knowing the history of her own cottage, wanted to confirm that it was her garden that he’d planned. Hopefully she could corroborate that by finding an old map that outlined the garden in detail.’
‘What she didn’t know is that the original was walled up in her own bedroom all the time,’ said Belinda ruefully.
‘Whatever I may be,’ chuckled Hazel, ‘and God knows I’ve been called all sorts of things, I am not a murderer.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
Mark Sallinger entered through the garden gate and paused as he took in the newly established garden. Hazel gave Belinda a knowing look and a sly wink.
‘Think over what I said. This garden and, if I can get the best pieces at the auction tomorrow, a house full of period furniture could make an excellent combination and attract the tourist riffraff. You have the garden and house and I’ll have the furniture.’
Belinda smiled. ‘I’ll let you know.’
Hazel smiled her acknowledgement and nodded a carnal welcome to Mark as she passed dangerously close to him. In the garden the Spanish workman flexed his muscles impressively as Hazel approached full of pertinent questions about stamens and carpels.
Sheepishly, Mark stood next to Belinda. Thrusting his hands deep in his pockets and leaning against the stone balustrade, he looked questioningly at her.
‘Are you still angry with me?’
‘Yes.’ Belinda kept her eyes on the workmen. The abrupt reply silenced Mark for a moment. He turned and leaned over the balustrade, not looking at Belinda.
‘You know I had no idea that the old boy was a murderer, don’t you?’
‘Do I?’ Belinda’s attention seemed fixed on the garden.
‘Come on, Belinda, be serious.’ Mark turned to her. ‘Munro only approached me to help him secure the property.’
‘But you knew about the plans for the garden?’ Belinda’s voice was accusing.
‘Of course I did, or rather that Munro knew of some designs that existed and he wanted the property so that he could reconstruct it. He was a garden nut, you know. Always babbling on about some new plant he’d found or read about, and forever trying to grow exotic species that were unsuited to this climate. He was perpetually ripping out dead trees and shrubs that shrivelled up in our winter and then planting others that snuffed it a few weeks later. A real nut! It wasn’t until later that I found out about the Capability Brown connection.’
‘None the less, you struck up a friendship with me, attempted to make love to me, all to get me to sell you the property.’
‘Not entirely.’
Belinda gave him a disbelieving look.
‘No. It’s true.’ Mark became defensive. ‘Certainly there was the business side to our friendship, but there was more to it than that. The problem was you were stuck on your neighbour.’ He nodded his head in the direction of Jacob’s cottage.
Belinda glanced down at the papers in her hand. For a moment tears filled her eyes but she blinked them away.
‘I’d rather not talk about Jacob, if you don’t mind.’
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ replied Mark, knowingly, ‘after all, he used your friendship too in an effort to get this place, and it seems to me that he took the relationship further than –’
‘Shut up,’ Belinda snapped. ‘Have you forgotten he tried to kill me?’
Mark gave a sigh of exasperation.
‘No, I haven’t forgotten.’ He glared at Belinda. ‘But let me remind you that he, just as much as Munro, wanted this garden. Munro was using him initially to help acquire it. He planned to let Jacob do the reconstruction work but when he discovered that your neighbour wanted it for himself, he knew that he must secure the plans first, because without them the property was virtually worthless.’
Belinda put her hands to her face and leant against the stone wall.
‘Oh, it’s all so awful. All that hate and death over something so be
autiful.’
She dropped her hands and looked once more into the garden where fresh green shrubs and young trees were bathed in the gold of the setting sun. For a moment the two stood in silence taking in the beauty before them.
‘Will you be selling?’ Mark asked hesitantly.
Belinda’s mouth twisted into a cynical smile.
‘Why? Do you think I’d sell it to you?’
‘I didn’t mean that.’ It was Mark’s turn to be affronted. ‘I simply meant … are you leaving? Because if you’re not … I’d like to see you, if I may.’
The two faced each other.
‘Mark, too much has happened for us to …’
‘It doesn’t have to be now,’ said Mark urgently, ‘in a few weeks, months. When you feel comfortable.’
Belinda thought for a moment. The sun was getting low on the horizon and the workmen were preparing to pack away their tools for the night.
Mark waited patiently.
‘Mark, I’m not going to sell. This is my home now. When the garden is complete, probably next year, I am going to open it to the public so that others can see what Capability saw when he designed it.’
A smile of relief came over Mark’s face.
‘As to the friendship that you propose … well, let’s wait and see. As I said, there is much to put in the past, and that will take time. In the meantime …’ Belinda smiled, ‘I think a drink at the pub is not a bad way to contemplate the future.’
Mark’s smile brightened.
‘You’re on. My shout.’ He turned to go. Belinda laid a hand on his arm.
‘Before you go, Mark, there is something I’ve got to tell you.’
Mark turned back to her, a cheeky grin on his face.
‘I know, you got a husband and six kids in Australia.’
Belinda smiled weakly at his joke.
‘No, nothing like that.’ She grew serious. ‘Mark, the night that Mr Munro died …’
Mark interrupted her.
‘I thought you wanted to put all that in the past. Why dig it up again?’
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