Wychwood--Hallowdene

by George Mann

  Elspeth had a near-overwhelming urge to turn the car around, put her foot down and get as far away from the place as possible, but she stayed resolutely on course, all the time conscious of just how upset Daisy had sounded on the phone. The woman’s heaving cries had been raw and primal, and Elspeth had known instantly that something was very, very wrong.

  Now, as she drew near, with Daisy’s cottage caught in the beam of her headlamps, she was filled with trepidation. What was she going to find?

  She wished she could have brought Peter, too, but it would have seemed like a betrayal of trust. Daisy had been clear that this wasn’t a police matter – that it ran deeper, was more personal than that. Perhaps she should have brought him anyway and told him to stay in the car. Well, it was too late now.

  She pulled the car to a stop, cranking the handbrake. A light was on inside the house, the first she’d seen since entering the village.

  Hesitant, she climbed out, locking the car doors behind her. The night air was cool against her skin. She glanced around, sensing a presence, but the street was deserted. She went to the door and rapped with the knocker, keen to get inside as quickly as possible.

  She couldn’t understand why she felt so spooked, but something about the atmosphere of the place just didn’t seem right. It was probably the aftershock of what had happened to Steve Marley there just a few hours ago, she decided; the events turning what was once a pretty and idyllic village into something dark and suspect.

  The door opened almost immediately, and Daisy fell into her arms, wrapping Elspeth in a tight embrace. She gave a racking sob, and Elspeth hugged her on the doorstep for a moment, before gently pushing her back inside.

  “I’m here, Daisy. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” She hoped this was true, that she could offer the woman more than empty platitudes.

  Daisy stood in the hall in her striped pyjamas, but it was clear she hadn’t been anywhere near her bed. Her feet were criss-crossed with a web of vicious cuts and scrapes; the hems of her trousers sodden with mud. Her lip was bloodied, and she was sporting a shining bruise on her left cheekbone that looked as though it was threatening to turn into a black eye. Elspeth’s first thought was that she’d been attacked. “Who did this to you, Daisy?”

  “I did. At least, I think I did,” said Daisy.

  “I’m not sure I quite understand,” said Elspeth. “You’d better start from the beginning. First, though, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Daisy nodded, her bottom lip trembling. Elspeth led her through to the kitchen, sat her down on a chair and rummaged around cupboards until she found what she was after: TCP, a clean cloth, a bowl for hot water. She set about cleaning up Daisy’s wounds. For her part, Daisy seemed to go along with it all in a kind of daze, barely responding to Elspeth’s ministrations.

  This wasn’t the Daisy she’d come to know. She was meek and scared and uneasy. What had happened to her to reduce her to this? Elspeth decided not to press too hard, not until she’d finished tending to her wounds. Daisy barely spoke a word, except to mumble a brief ‘thank you’.

  When she’d finished, Elspeth put the kettle on and made them both a mug of tea, and then suggested they move through to the lounge. The first thing she noticed was the electric hum of the stereo amp, still switched on, despite the fact that the record had finished playing. The second was the small bloodstain on the floorboards in the centre of the room.

  “What happened here?” she said, switching off the amp and sitting down beside Daisy on the sofa. “Did someone get in? Did they hurt you?”

  “No. I mean, not in the way you think,” said Daisy. She sounded hesitant, nervous. “The thing is, I don’t really know how to explain it. I think I must be going mad.” She sobbed again, and then caught herself, fighting back the tears. “It’s Agnes,” she said. “She’s in my head.”

  Elspeth swallowed. That wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting. “Go on,” she prompted, gently. “Tell me.”

  Daisy studied her face. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she said. “I’ve been having these blackouts, you see, and hearing this whispering voice…”

  “A whispering voice?” Elspeth thought of what Carl had said about the supposed victims of Agnes’s curse in the 1640s. They’d heard the witch’s whispered voice soon after she’d been interred.

  “Let’s just run through some basics,” said Elspeth. She was no expert in these matters, but she had to rule out the idea that Daisy was simply having some kind of breakdown. “Tell me your name.”

  Daisy rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d say I was mad.”

  “I don’t think you’re mad,” said Elspeth. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay, and I shouldn’t be calling an ambulance.”

  “All right,” said Daisy. “I’m Daisy Heddle. And you’re Elspeth Reeves.”

  “And who’s the prime minister?” She’d heard people asking questions like this on TV. She hoped she was doing the right thing.

  “A complete tosspot as usual,” said Daisy. “Can we stop with the silly questions now?”

  “Yes, we can stop,” said Elspeth. “Now, you’d better start at the beginning.”

  Daisy told her about Lucy Abbott, about the dizziness and the visions, the blackouts and her consequent unexplained appearances in the woods. She detailed how she’d found herself in the ruins of Agnes’s house, at the site of the witch’s hanging, and in the copse where Agnes had carried out her ritual. She explained, too, about Cuthbert Abbott and what she’d seen of his role in all that had occurred. Finally, she told Elspeth of Agnes’s terrible, knowing look, of the animosity in her eyes, the burning desire she still harboured for vengeance.

  “I know it sounds incredible,” she said. “And you probably think I’m making it all up like some silly little girl, or trying to cover my tracks with an unbelievable story. But I had to tell someone. I’m so scared, Ellie. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, and I don’t know what to do. If it’s real, then Agnes’s spirit – it means to wreak havoc on us all. If it’s not real… then I really am going mad.”

  Elspeth sat there for a long while, sipping her tea, taking it all in. What was there to say? She didn’t know what to make of Daisy’s story, but it did explain a lot – her secrecy and inability to give an account of her movements, the wound on her palm, her unusual tiredness. And who was she to judge? She’d seen things that others would never believe – a man controlling a woman through the manipulation of her reflection, people who had died by their own hands at that same man’s behest. And she’d sensed something here, too, something sinister and untoward. She couldn’t ignore that.

  Could it really be that the stories were true; that Agnes’s unquiet spirit was the force behind everything that had been happening in Hallowdene? Had Jenny Wren and her team disturbed something dark and primal when they’d moved that old stone up on the hill?

  She thought, too, about what she and Peter had discovered that night about Daisy’s ancestral relationship to the Levetts. Could Agnes be working through the vessel of her descendant? Did that mean Daisy had, perhaps unknowingly, been involved in some of the recent deaths? She decided not to give voice to that particular concern. Not yet.

  “I believe you,” she said, after a while. “I don’t think you’re mad.”

  “You don’t?” Daisy’s relief was evident, and the tears came again in racking sobs. Elspeth comforted her as best she could.

  “I saw things during the Carrion King case that I can’t readily explain, and it was enough to shake my entire view of the world. There are things out there that defy easy explanation. Perhaps this is one of them. I don’t know what’s happening to you, but I do know that you need to get help.”

  “What sort of help?” Daisy looked worried.

  “I don’t know, but perhaps you need to start with a doctor, just to be sure these blackouts aren’t causing any lasting harm. And you need to tell the police the truth, too, about your recent whereabouts.”
>
  Daisy almost recoiled. “I thought you said you believed me. You know what will happen if I go to the doctor or the police. They’ll assume I’m mad, and lock me up, and feed me with pills.”

  “We can talk to Peter,” said Elspeth. “He was there, with me, and he saw what happened during the Carrion King case. He’ll understand.”

  Daisy looked sceptical. “I don’t know…”

  “How about you sleep on it,” said Elspeth, “and we can talk again in the morning, just like we’d planned?”

  “All right,” said Daisy.

  “I can sleep on the sofa again if you like?”

  “No, no. It’s all right. It’s probably best if I’m alone for a while. It’ll give me a chance to think things over.” She touched Elspeth’s arm. “I can’t tell you what it means to have someone to talk to about this.”

  Elspeth smiled. “It’ll be okay. We’ll work it out.” She stood. “Now you’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “All right. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  She left the house, trudging out to the car, feeling utterly drained. It was nearly 4 am. She sat behind the wheel, and dialled Peter.

  “Ellie?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “What happened? Is she okay?”

  “No. Not really. I think we’re going to have to talk later. And you’re going to need to be open-minded.”

  “You can come over now, if you want. I’m up.”

  “No, I’m too tired. Heighton is closer. I’ll run home, grab some sleep and a shower, and give you a call when I’m up. Okay?”

  “If you’re sure…” He sighed. “Look, I’m just pleased you’re okay.”

  “See you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Her phone buzzed on the floor beside her bed, rattling as it vibrated across the floorboards. It had to be Elspeth, calling to arrange to meet. Surely it wasn’t morning already?

  Daisy rolled over, moistening her lips. They were still swollen, and her head felt as if it were full of cotton wool. She opened her eyes. Sunlight was filtering in through the gap between the curtains.

  She reached out for her phone. She had the feeling it had been buzzing for some time. She glanced at the name on the screen. Lucy. She rejected the call, sinking back into the pillow. What the hell was Lucy doing, calling at five in the morning? She’d only been in bed for an hour. The sun would be up soon, and she’d have to emerge and face up to it all – Elspeth, the police… maybe a doctor too.

  She felt better for sharing the burden with Elspeth, but the idea of talking to that detective about it… just the thought of it caused her chest to tighten and her stomach to clench. Still, she knew Elspeth was right. Whether they believed her or not, she couldn’t carry on as she was. She needed help, and where else was there to start looking for it?

  The phone started buzzing again. Lucy wasn’t going to give up. With some reluctance, Daisy accepted the call and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Oh, God, Daisy. Why weren’t you picking up?”

  “It’s been a hell of a night, Lucy. I’m sorry, but it’s 5 am and—”

  “You’ve got to help me,” said Lucy, cutting her off. “Please!”

  Daisy sat up in bed.

  “What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just… I’m scared, Daisy. I think I might have been followed.”

  “Followed? What do you mean?”

  “Look, I was going to tell you, I’ve been out with this girl from Heighton. I wasn’t cheating, and I just got home, and there was this spooky voice and I don’t—” She suddenly stopped dead.

  Spooky voice. Daisy felt the hairs stiffen on the back of her neck.

  “Lucy? Lucy?”

  Nothing.

  “Lucy?”

  “Without grace or remorse.”

  The voice whispered down the telephone line.

  Daisy threw her phone across the room, screaming in fear. It thudded against the wall and dropped to the floor. She lurched out of bed, tearing her pyjamas off and throwing on a pair of leggings and a sweater, and then, shoving her feet into some trainers, set out for the manor at a run.

  * * *

  The sun was just beginning to poke inquisitively over the horizon when she made it to the top of the incline, casting long shadows across the grounds of Hallowdene Manor. The birds had risen with the light, and chirped merrily, and Daisy couldn’t shake the impression they were laughing at her. Overhead, crows were wheeling.

  Her lungs were burning, every muscle in her body screaming after the run up from the village. Nevertheless, she felt alert – more than she had in days.

  She approached the door to the manor house. It was hanging open. What was she going to do? Knock? It was still early, and the house appeared to be asleep. She couldn’t hear any sounds from within. She wished now that she’d held onto her phone – but after she’d heard Agnes’s voice…

  The thought of Agnes hardened her resolve. Lucy was in danger. She had to do something.

  Tentatively, she pushed the door open. It swung wide, creaking on ancient hinges. She stepped over the threshold, her trainers making no sound on the old floorboards. It was gloomy inside, the only sounds coming from the ticking of an old grandfather clock, further down the hall. The air was still.

  Daisy hadn’t yet got her breath back, and her ragged gulps kept time with the ticking of the clock.

  “Lucy?” she said, her voice sounding small and uncertain. “Are you there?”

  She’d only been in the house a couple of times, when Hugh and Petra had gone away and Lucy had invited her over. Those were the times she’d seen Lucy at her best, unencumbered by the weight of the divisive relationship she was forced to endure with her stepmother.

  “Lucy?”

  She ventured a little further down the hall, feeling like a trespasser. What would she do if Lucy wasn’t there? She supposed she could wake the household, see if Lucy had returned to her room?

  Ahead, the hallway opened out, beyond the mouth of the small entrance passageway. She rounded it slowly, taking in the vast feature staircase, sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass window to pool, like mottled butterflies, on the silent corpse spread out on the floorboards at the foot of the stairs.

  A kitchen knife jutted from Lucy’s back, right between the shoulder blades. She was lying face down in a pool of glossy blood, her hair loose and matted with the stuff. Her head was turned to one side, and her eyes were frozen open in rigid panic. Her mobile phone lay a few feet from her outstretched hand, screen down on the floorboards.

  Daisy screamed, unable to contain the abject horror. She ran to Lucy’s side, lifting the girl’s head in her hands, searching for any sign that it wasn’t too late, that she hadn’t somehow allowed this awful travesty to occur. She could hear the accusation in Lucy’s words now, running through her mind: “why weren’t you picking up?” If she’d answered her phone sooner, if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own stupid mess, none of this might have happened.

  She wailed, rocking back and forth on her knees, the lifeless head of her lover resting on her lap, the girl’s blood all over her hands, her clothes.

  Running footsteps sounded from the stairwell and she looked round to see Hugh Walsey, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. He was standing on the bottom step, gaping at the appalling scene, his mouth hanging open in horror.

  “What have you done?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What have you done to my Lucy?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Peter’s first thought was for Elspeth, and the near miss that she’d had. If she’d stayed at Daisy’s any longer than she had, things might have worked out very differently indeed.

  He knew she was going to be gutted – she’d really believed that Daisy was innocent, that whatever the young woman had been keeping from them all had to be unrelated to the murders. Christ, she’d spent on
e night getting drunk with her and slept on her sofa. He kicked himself for being so stupid. How could he have let her get so close to a killer? And what was he going to say to her now?

  There was no doubt in his mind what had happened here. The scene had been like something from Carrie – Daisy standing in the hallway, drenched in Lucy’s blood. It was all over her hands, her clothes – her face, even, where she’d tried to wipe away her tears.

  She was claiming innocence, of course, saying that she’d received a call from a panicked Lucy after Elspeth had left, and had rushed up to the manor to find her like that. The call history on her phone certainly seemed to confirm there’d been a call, as well as corroborating her assertion that the two of them had been lovers.

  Despite the apparent evidence, Hugh and Petra Walsey were strenuously denying the idea that their daughter might have been involved in such an affair. They maintained that their daughter was as heterosexual as they come and could never have been involved with this ‘mixed-up young woman’, who’d clearly dreamed up a whole fantasy about their daughter, and had murdered her when that fantasy had somehow been shattered. They knew Daisy only as a casual friend of Lucy’s and the waitress from Richmond’s – insisting that if Daisy had made advances towards Lucy, they would have been spurned.

  Peter didn’t know what to think – it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that what had occurred here had been the result of a fight between lovers, and he only had Daisy’s word on the content of the call that had taken place between them. It was still a possibility that Daisy had been involved in the other murders, too. He hadn’t yet been able to rule her out.

  He gave a weary sigh, trying to shake life back into his tired body. He’d only just got back to sleep when the call had come through to attend the scene. He’d been at the manor within twenty minutes, driving like a maniac through the near-empty streets. The first response unit had beaten him to it and secured the scene, but he’d only been minutes behind them, running in to find Daisy trembling in the corner, a pair of handcuffs clamped around her wrists.