The Return of Rachel Stone

by Amy Cross

  Diana shook her head.

  “You can't do it all,” Margaret continued. “Don't take this the wrong way, Diana, but you're already looking frazzled. Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “I told you! I can't take the risk! I'll get drugs that keep me awake!”

  “And then eventually you'll collapse, and you'll end up in a worse state than ever. I'm just trying to help you, but first you need to let go of Rachel for just a few seconds.” She reached out, waiting to take the baby in her arms. “Can I at least hold her? It's been so long since you let me do that.”

  Diana hesitated, before finally letting Margaret take the girl. Still, she kept her eyes fixed on her daughter, as if she was worried that something terrible was going to happen at any moment. And after a few more seconds, she began trembling with fear.

  ***

  “Your wife,” Margaret said a short time later, standing in the doorway with Rachel sleeping in her arms, “is going to lose her mind very soon. You realize that, don't you?”

  “My wife is absolutely fine,” Herbert replied, not even bothering to look up from his papers as he worked at the desk. “Your concern is noted and appreciated, but I think I can handle Diana without any outside interference.”

  “I'm worried about her.”

  “Well, don't be.”

  “I just -”

  Before she could finish, Margaret heard a faint gurgle coming from Rachel, and she look down just in time to see the little girl's eyes opening.

  “Why did you bring her in here?” Herbert asked, sounding a little annoyed. “Diana and I have an agreement. She keeps the child away from my work spaces.”

  “I thought you might like to see that I was able to prize the poor girl out of Diana's grasp for a few seconds. Your wife is getting hysterical, Herbert, and at this rate she's going to end up requiring serious psychiatric help.” She paused, watching him for a moment with a growing sense of suspicion. “Not that you'd want that, obviously.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Because she's been on the verge of problems for a while now.”

  “I don't need you to tell me that.”

  “Another little push and -”

  “Is there a point you're trying to make here?” he snapped, finally looking over at her. “Diana and I have an agreement. Rachel is never to be brought into my office while I'm working. I've explained over and over that I find the child to be a distraction.”

  “You don't seem very worried.”

  Sighing, he set his glasses down. “And what should I be worried about?”

  She carried the girl over and stopped in front of his desk.

  “I bet you never thought you'd see me holding a baby girl like this,” she said after a moment. “I don't suppose you saw me as a very maternal figure. Or perhaps you did. Perhaps while we were growing up, you looked at my womanly hips and thought that I could squeeze a few children out after all. Is that what you thought, Herbert? Those times when we went swimming in the river, without any bathing costumes, were you secretly -”

  “What do you want, Margaret?”

  She smiled. “I'm a woman. I want lots of different things. Not like you chaps, who tend to focus on one thing at a time. How terribly boring that must be. But look at us, Herbert. What a funny sight we'd make for any peepers who looked through the window right now. You at your desk, me standing here holding this delightful little child. It almost makes one wonder whether Diana is...”

  Her voice trailed off for a moment, but her smile remained.

  “Oh, I shouldn't say such wicked things, should I?” she added finally. “I shall go straight to damnation, I'm sure.” She watched Herbert for a moment, as if she was studying him and hoping for a particular reaction. When that reaction failed to materialize, she began to scowl just a little, although she continued to watch him for fully half a minute more before finally letting the smile return to her lips. “Then again,” she continued, “I suppose we're all going to damnation, aren't we? Each of us in our own little ways.”

  “You're boring me, Margaret.”

  “And you're up to something, Herbert.” She turned and carried Rachel back toward the open door, although she couldn't help glancing back at her brother. “I'll figure it out, you know. I always do. I'll figure it out and then either I'll stop you, or I'll help you. That much, I promise.”

  Once she was out in the corridor, she stopped and looked down at Rachel's face. The child's eyes were slightly open, although she looked sleepy.

  “Your mother and father are strange ones,” she whispered, before leaning down and kissing the girl's forehead. “I'm afraid you've got some rather complicated blood flowing through your veins. Don't worry, though. Auntie Margaret won't let you go too far wrong. Auntie Margaret's going to keep you nice and safe from your crazy parents.”

  Chapter Nine

  Today

  “The girl has this look in her eyes,” Margaret said, her voice filled with tension as she stared out through the tearoom's window and watched the town square for a moment. “When you're talking to her, somehow you can tell that she's not just listening to you. You can tell that she's thinking. Analyzing. It's the most unsettling thing in the world, it's almost as if...”

  Her voice trailed off as she tried to find the perfect word. Finally she turned first to Bradley and then to Jo.

  “It's like she's plotting something,” she added after a moment.

  “You don't trust her?” Jo asked.

  Margaret paused, before suddenly grabbing her gloves from the table.

  “I shouldn't have come. This is a mistake and -”

  “It's okay, Margaret,” Bradley said, reaching over and placing a hand on her arm. “Miss Mason is here to help. I told you, I've checked her credentials and she's our best hope when it comes to figuring out the truth.” He waited for a reply, but Margaret still seemed poised to bolt from the table and run to the door. “Please,” he continued, “just give this a chance. You can't keep living in doubt and fear.”

  Margaret hesitated, before slowly setting her gloves back down.

  “What does Rachel do all day?” Jo asked. “If she doesn't ever leave the house, how does she spend her time?”

  “She listens.”

  “To what?”

  “To conversations.” Margaret took a deep breath. “I can't tell you how many times over the past few weeks I've been talking to Herbert and Diana, or trying to talk to them, and then suddenly I'll hear a creak on a floorboard outside, or a faint bumping sound, and I'll turn and see the girl in a doorway. She creeps about the house so quietly, you never know when she's close. One time I walked into the library and suddenly she was right there in front of me, looking through the family archive. She just smiled at me, as if she took pleasure from the fact that I was so startled, and then she left. Sometimes she's like a...”

  Again, her voice trailed off.

  “Like a ghost?” Bradley suggested.

  “I don't know if she's a ghost,” Margaret replied, “but I'll tell you one thing for sure. She's haunting that house with her presence.”

  “Does she talk about where she's been?” Jo asked.

  “Not really. A few comments here and there. She says she was living on the streets for a long time, which I find difficult to believe. She's not exactly down to skin and bone, although her clothes were rather tattered when she arrived. Herbert and Diana immediately ordered hundreds and hundreds of pounds worth of new things for her, they bought them online and had them delivered to the door. The funny thing is, the girl seems to prefer her old clothes, the ones she came in. She only takes them off to wash them.”

  “And her parents don't have anything to say about that?” Jo replied.

  “They're just glad to have her back. They think she's perfect, they treat her as if she's the most fragile thing in the world. Any time I dare voice any kind of concern or suspicion, I'm shot down and sent to my room like a child. I want to leave, but I can't, not while the family i
s in so much trouble. I could never forgive myself if something happened.”

  “What do you think might happen?” Jo asked.

  “I...”

  Margaret paused, and now there were tears in her eyes.

  “Tell her, Margaret,” Bradley said, reaching over and touching her arm again. “It's alright. Nothing you say will leave this table.”

  “If she's not Rachel,” Margaret continued, “then who is she, and why is she preying on my brother and his wife? What if she's just waiting for me to be driven away, so that she can do something awful to them?”

  “Tell her about Sunday night,” Bradley added.

  “I don't know if I can.”

  “She has to know.”

  Margaret paused, before taking another deep breath. “On Sunday night, I went to bed early. I've been taking sleeping tablets lately, to help with my anxiety. They sort of work, but not entirely. And then on Sunday, around one in the morning, I woke up all of a sudden and found that Rachel, or this girl who says she's Rachel, was in my room.”

  “What was she doing?” Jo asked.

  “Just watching me. She was standing at the foot of my bed, in the dark, staring right at me. I've never been so startled in all my life, but she didn't say anything. To be honest, at first I thought I was dreaming, but finally I mustered the courage to ask what she wanted. She said she just liked watching me sleep, and that she wanted to get to know the family better. She said she'd been in to watch my brother and Diana as well, but that they hadn't woken up. Then she asked if I'd prefer her not to watch me, and I told her I didn't like it at all. So she said she wouldn't do it again, and she left. But not before making a comment about my sleeping pills, and about how they didn't seem to be doing me much good.”

  “And has anything like that happened since?” Jo asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. I keep my door locked now.”

  “You must see that this is an untenable situation,” Bradley said, turning to Jo. “Margaret is a dear friend, going back many years, and I can't just sit by and watch as this girl tears the Stone family apart. Why would the real Rachel come back, only to torture them all like this? It doesn't make any sense. I think she must be some kind of charlatan or scammer, she's probably just out for money.”

  “It sounds like there's more going on here,” Jo pointed out, before spotting movement outside. Glancing out the window, she saw Nick Cotterall hurrying across the town square, speaking to someone on his phone. He seemed busy, but she figured she could compare notes with him later. “If this girl was just trying to ingratiate herself, I don't think she'd be acting in a way that disturbs you. I mean, it doesn't sound like she's being very subtle. Instead, it's almost as if she's trying to provoke the family.” She watched as Nick disappeared into the pub, and then she turned to Margaret again. “It almost sounds as if she's killing time while she waits for something. Does she not even try to leave the house?”

  “Oh, she leaves the house,” Margaret replied. “Herbert and Diana suggested she shouldn't, but they're scared to go against her wishes too much.”

  “I thought she hadn't been seen outside?” Jo asked.

  “That's because she only goes out at night,” Margaret continued. “She never says where she's going, but she slips out after dark and sometimes she doesn't come back until two or three in the morning. I always ask her what she's up to, but she just smiles at me and says it's nothing.” She paused again, and this time a visible shudder passed through her chest. “That smile of hers makes me sick. It works on my husband and his poor wife, but it doesn't work on me. I know she's up to something.”

  “I need to come to the house,” Jo told her. “I need to meet Rachel.”

  “Impossible,” Margaret said, shaking her head.

  “I need to speak to her, and to Herbert and Diana too.”

  “I'm afraid that's out of the question,” Margaret replied, before reaching into her bag with a trembling hand and taking out her cellphone. She tapped at the screen for a moment before turning it so that Jo could see a slightly blurred photo. “Right now, the best I can offer you is this picture. I managed to take it while Rachel wasn't looking.”

  Peering at the screen, Jo saw the side profile of a girl with long dark hair and an intense, quizzical gaze. The girl was standing in front of a bookcase, looking to the left, but she seemed unaware that her photo was taken. Or, as Jo began to feel the more she looked at the photo, perhaps the girl did know, and she was simply posing.

  “Can you send me a copy of this?” she asked finally.

  “What good will it do?”

  “Maybe I can run a few checks on her,” she continued. “But if you really want my help, then there's only so much I can do while I'm forced to stay at the edges.” She stared at the screen for a moment longer, and now she was feeling more and more certain that the girl definitely knew she was being photographed, that every part of this mystery had been carefully calculated to raise questions. “At some point, somehow, I'm going to have to come to the house and meet Rachel Stone for myself.”

  Chapter Ten

  15 years ago

  “How are things up at the house, then?” the barman asked as he set a pint of beer in front of Margaret. “You're the only one of the Stones we ever see here in town.”

  “Well, then aren't you lucky?” she replied with a faint smile, before raising the glass to her lips.

  “Marrying poor Bradley any time soon?”

  “I'm sorry?” She watched as the barman headed over to the far end of the counter.

  “He was in here earlier,” he explained, “and he seemed over the moon about something. I don't know, maybe I'm reading too much into the whole thing, but I thought maybe...” His voice trailed off, as if he'd suddenly realized he was crossing a line. “Never mind. I shouldn't be nosy.”

  “I don't have a clue why Bradley's in such a good mood,” she told him, “but I'm sure it's got nothing to do with me.”

  “You know he's got a thing for you, though. Don't you?”

  “Maybe a childish crush.”

  “It's more than that. Everyone's seen the way he looks at you. That man would do anything you asked.”

  “And what kind of woman wants a man like that?” she asked, rolling her eyes before hesitating for a moment. “I'm being too harsh, aren't I? Bradley's a good man. Too good for me. In another life...”

  Her voice trailed off, and for a moment she tried to imagine a world in which she lived happily with Bradley. She pictured herself in the kitchen of his little cottage, perhaps with children playing at her feet, and then in her mind's eye she saw Bradley stepping up behind her and kissing her on the cheek. For a fraction of a second, the image seemed almost tempting, but then somehow she heard Herbert's voice breaking into her thoughts, calling her name. In an instant, she knew she could never break free of her older brother.

  “Remember when we all used to play as kids?” the barman asked. “You and Herb usually ran off by yourselves. Poor Bradley'd go off trying to find you, but he'd never have much luck.”

  “Probably for the best,” she muttered under her breath, and now she could feel Herbert's muddy hands on her body.

  “The point is, he's been pining after you ever since and -”

  “I don't need to hear this,” she replied, holding a hand up as if to silence him. “I didn't come in here for a lecture about my private life. I came in for one drink, before I have to go back up to that wretched house and sit around with my half-dead relatives.” Checking her watch, she saw that it was almost 11pm. “Damn it, you're going to close soon, aren't you? I really will have to go up to the house.”

  “That much fun, is it?”

  “Oh, and more. Much, much more.” She rolled her eyes again, before taking a big sip of beer and then wiping her lips. “It's a curse to be born into the Stone family. Or to be adopted into it, in my case. I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.” Pausing, she thought back to the sight of Rachel earlier in the day, snuggling in her co
t. “Someone really should save that poor girl from her parents before it's too late.”

  ***

  “Rachel!”

  Gasping for air, Diana sat up suddenly in bed and looked across the darkened room, but she immediately saw that Rachel was still in her cot, still sleeping next to the window. Flustered, Diana nevertheless climbed out of bed and went to take a closer look, and her heart was still pounding as she reached down and gently stroked the side of her daughter's face.

  “It was just a nightmare,” she whispered, as if she was trying to persuade herself that there was no need to be scared. “I wish the rest of it had just been a nightmare too. I wish I'd woken up safe and sound in bed after seeing your pram being wheeled away. I wish I knew nothing of the danger that lurks in every shadow.”

  Rachel stirred slightly, but she didn't wake. Diana continued to stroke the girl's cheek for a moment, before turning and heading back toward the empty bed. After a moment, however, she stopped and then changed course, shuffling toward the bathroom and pushing the door open. As she switched the light on, she glanced back toward the cot. She could barely bring herself to look away at all.

  “Mummy'll be back in two seconds,” she said with a smile. “Don't you worry your pretty little head about anything.”

  Once she was in the bathroom, she went to the toilet and then got a glass of water from the sink. Staring at her own reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but notice that the bags under her eyes seemed a little darker these days, and that her hair was flatter than usual. Leaning closer, she tilted her head slightly and examined the crow's feet that had developed around her eyes, and then she sighed as she stepped back and took a moment to plump up her hair with her hands. The final result wasn't exactly what she'd wanted, but she figured she could have another try in the morning.