by Ben Cheetham
His words set Adam’s heart racing. “Are we in some sort of danger?”
“Let’s just say I think someone’s playing a game with you.”
“Who? Rozen?”
“Whoever or whatever that ‘someone’ is, their intentions are certainly not benign.”
“Why would anyone want to hurt me and my family?”
“You and I are writers. We’re always searching for complex motivations, but the world is not complicated.” Doug divided the air into two with his hand. “Good and evil. There are things whose sole purpose in this world is to cause suffering. Many people subscribe to the theory that all those ‘things’ are manifestations of the same one ‘thing’.”
Adam gave a low laugh of understanding. “You’re talking about the Devil. Are you seriously suggesting the Devil is out to get me?”
Doug smiled at his scepticism. “Do you know what Fenton means? It’s a variant of the Cornish word venton, which translates to spring or fountain. Fenton House is built on a natural spring.”
“That makes sense. Like I said, there’s running water beneath the house.”
“Natural springs are powerful conductors of energy. They’re notorious for high concentrations of paranormal activity. Why do you think Walter Lewarne built a house on that particular spot? Walter developed a keen interest in spiritualism after his parents died in a boating accident in 1908. He befriended many of the leading mediums of his day. They would hold séances at his house in Kensington. Then came the build up to the First World War. Rumblings of political discontent on the continent. Walter moved to Treworder. From here he ran his arms manufacturing business, amassing a vast fortune as war loomed on the horizon. Walter also had a taste for the risqué, which he was able to indulge in the privacy afforded by Fenton House.”
“You mean the naked masquerade balls. Rozen told me about them. She said they caused a big scandal.”
“Back then that type of behaviour was enough to get you ostracised by society, especially in a rural community like this. In an attempt to repair his reputation, Walter ploughed thousands of pounds into local good causes – schools, hospitals and the like. Then war broke out and his financial fortunes took a severe turn for the worse.”
“Surely with a war on he should have made more money than ever.”
“You’d have thought so, but at the end of 1914 Walter effectively committed career suicide by ceasing all arms production in his factories. He never publicly explained his decision, but the prevailing theory was that he’d had an attack of conscience. What you’ve told me seems to confirm that theory.” Doug rose to pluck a Bible from a bookshelf. He flipped through it and read aloud, “A voice was heard in Ramah. Lamentation, weeping and great mourning. Rachel weeping for her children, refusing to be comforted because they are no more.”
“They are no more,” echoed Adam. “The inscription in The Lewarne Room.”
“It’s a quote from the Gospel of Matthew about the Massacre of the Innocents, when Herod attempted to kill Jesus by putting to death every child in Bethlehem under two-years-old. The phrase was also used to describe the fate of young German soldiers killed during the battle of Ypres in 1914. Twenty-odd thousand student soldiers are said to have been buried in a mass grave after the battle. The huge casualties opened the public’s eyes to the reality of modern warfare. The effect on Walter was obviously profound. Despite mounting debts and being portrayed as an appeaser and a traitor by the press, he refused to resume arms production. In the end, it was all for nothing. The government commandeered his factories. That must have been a crushing blow because Walter was rarely seen in public again.”
Doug turned to the bookshelf and withdrew three black and white photos from a pile of papers. “I found these in The British Library.” He arranged the photos side-by-side on the coffee-table. Together they formed what appeared to be a triptych painting of the Last Supper. The long haired, bearded and serene figure of Jesus sat at the centre of a rectangular table covered with a white cloth set with a plate, a goblet and a loaf of bread. His twelve disciples were arrayed around the table to either side of him. Their sad faces were haloed by pale light – all except for one. At Jesus’s left hand was a man clutching a bulging purse. The man was slim with short grey hair and vaguely familiar aquiline, high-cheek-boned features. It dawned on Adam where he’d seen the face before – the man was an older looking Walter Lewarne. Walter was drawing back from Jesus with an expression that suggested he’d seen or heard something deeply disturbing.
“Walter commissioned that painting in 1917,” said Doug. “Is it hanging in the house?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Maybe it’s in the room where Walter’s photo was taken.”
“Note that Walter is sitting at Jesus’s left-hand side. That’s where Judas usually sits clutching the bag of coins he received in payment for betraying his master.”
“So Walter agreed with what the press were saying about him.”
“It’s not that simple. Judas’s betrayal wasn’t against one man or even one nation, it was against the whole of humanity. But in a strange way the newspapers may have been right about Walter being an appeaser. You mentioned hearing a bell ringing on several occasions. Well in Buddhism and Shamanism bells are used to summon the spirits of the dead to ritual meals. Food is laid out to honour the dead, but it can also be an act of contrition.”
“You think Walter was pleading for the forgiveness of dead soldiers?”
Doug nodded. “I also think it’s possible that his summons was answered by something else. Something seeking to exploit his emotional distress.”
“By ‘something’ you mean the Devil.” The scepticism was back in Adam’s voice.
“Call it what you will. It all amounts to the same thing.”
“OK, assuming for a moment that you’re right and Walter accidentally summoned the Devil or some sort of demon or whatever. Then what? Did this thing force him to hang himself?”
“This thing – let’s call it the Entity for simplicity’s sake – doesn’t force anyone to do anything. That’s not its way. It finds a person’s weakness – it could be something they lust after or suffer guilt, fear or grief over – and it uses that weakness to attack and seduce them. Faith Gooden wasn’t thrown off the cliffs, she was merely led to their edge. Do you understand what I’m saying? The Entity is waiting for you to invite it in.”
Adam smiled, although a cold sensation was prickling through him. “And how would I do that?”
“Isn’t that obvious? By remaining at Fenton House.”
Adam’s smile vanished. “What if I say you’re talking a load of bollocks?”
“Then I’d say that the Entity is halfway to achieving its goal.”
“Which is?”
“The Entity’s purpose is simple – it wants you and your family to die because it has never lived.”
“And if we leave Fenton House will this thing leave us alone?”
“I wish I could say yes, but the Entity isn’t attached to a particular place.”
“Then there’s really no point in leaving.”
“Actually there’s a lot of point to it,” disagreed Doug. “Just because the Entity can follow you doesn’t mean it will. If you make this decision together as a family, it may give up its attack. The Entity is fickle. That’s its weakness.”
Adam pressed his fingers to his temples as if to hold his head steady. “Explain something to me. If Fenton House really is evil, how did Rozen live there all those years and walk away none the worse for it?”
“I never said Fenton House is evil. I said the spring makes it a focal point for paranormal activity. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Some people live in such locations because they believe it will bring good fortune. It comes down to what you believe. Can a house be evil? Or does that evil only exist because we brought it there? As for Rozen... As far as anyone around here knows, she hasn’t had a close relationship with anyone since her mother’s death. She has no liv
ing relatives. For the past twenty-nine-years she’s been utterly alone, and sometime soon she’ll die alone. I don’t call that walking away none the worse for it. Let me ask you something, Adam. What did you think about Rozen when you found out why she was giving up Fenton House?”
“I thought she was eccentric. Possibly mad.”
“And you chose to exploit her madness. I’d say that’s as good a reason as any to leave Fenton House.”
Adam felt a bite of anger. Not at Rozen, but at himself. This time he knew Doug was right. They were silent for another while. Doug lit a third cigarette. Adam looked out of the window, his eyebrows knitted together as if he was wrestling with a difficult choice. The fog was pressing against the glass. He felt like he was staring into the inside of his own head. As if he’d reached a decision, he stood up suddenly and said, “Thank you, Doug.”
“I hope I’ve been of some help,” said Doug, rising to shake Adam’s hand.
He showed Adam to the front door. The wind had dropped to a dead calm, amplifying the mournful blare of the foghorn. Fog as thick as porridge concealed everything beyond the reach of a hand.
“One more thing,” said Doug. “This’ll make me sound like an old hippy, but whatever decision you make do it with love. Love is the most powerful defence you have, be it against psychological or supernatural attack.”
Adam smiled again, this time without scepticism, then he groped through the fog to his car.
Chapter 26
The fog parted reluctantly in front of the bumper as Adam edged down into the valley. He pulled over at Boscarne Cottage, got out and knocked on its door. A minute passed. He wondered whether Rozen was in. The faint light seeping out of the windows suggested she was. Another thought occurred to him. What if for some reason she couldn’t answer the door? What if she’d fallen ill? As he peered through a window, the door opened.
“Good morning, Adam,” said Rozen.
She was attired as ever in her turquoise dress. Her ruby red smile was also in attendance. But Adam was struck by how grey and frail she looked. The spark had deserted her eyes. She was slightly stooped as if in pain.
“Are you OK, Rozen?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Adam. A tad under the weather. Please do come in.” With arthritic slowness, Rozen led him to the cosy living room. The fat pug glanced at him despondently from the hearth rug.
“Edgar’s looking a bit under the weather too,” observed Adam.
“He’s very sensitive to how I’m feeling. I’m making breakfast if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, but I can’t stay long.” Adam’s voice softened apologetically. “I just came to say that we’re leaving Treworder.”
Rozen’s smile faltered for a second. A disappointed frown added to her wrinkles. “I assume from your tone that you’re leaving for good.” When Adam nodded, she continued, “May I ask why?”
For her own sake as much as for his, Adam wasn’t sure it would be wise to tell her the truth – whatever that might be. “We realised we made a mistake coming here. I’m sorry for all the bother we’ve put you to.”
Rozen wafted away his apology. “Let’s be honest, Adam, I didn’t do this out of the kindness of my heart. I did it for Mother.”
A cold finger of unease touched Adam at the mention of Winifred. “I have to get back. We’re leaving today. I’ll drop the keys off with Mr Mabyn.”
“You looked in the mirrors, didn’t you?” Rozen said as Adam turned away. “What did you see?”
“I saw my face.”
“But that wasn’t all, was it? You saw Mother, didn’t you?”
There was such a painfully hopeful note in Rozen’s voice that Adam couldn’t bring himself to say no. She’d never known the love of anyone but her mother. She had nothing to hold on to but her belief that Winifred was waiting for her beyond the grave. Hoping that he was atoning somewhat for taking advantage of that vulnerability, he said, “Yes.”
Rozen took a quivering breath. “How did she seem?”
Adam thought about Winfred’s portrait. One word stood out in his mind. “Sad.”
“Yes, that’s Mother. Sad in life. Sad in death. Apparently Father was the exact opposite. He never stopped smiling.” Rozen pointed to her own smile. “That’s where I inherited this from. Mother couldn’t look at me without thinking of Father, which only made her all the more sad. Did she say anything?”
“She told me to leave Fenton House.”
“Ah.” Rozen nodded as if she finally understood. “Then of course you must do so at once. Mother knows best.”
Adam started to head for the door, but Rozen spoke again. “I have one last question, Adam. Well, it’s more of a request actually. May I have a kiss goodbye?”
Doug’s words echoed in Adam’s mind – For the past twenty-nine-years she’s been utterly alone. How could he say no? He bent to give Rozen a quick kiss. She clasped her hands to his face. With a strength her birdlike frame didn’t appear to possess, she held his lips to hers. Her lips were hard and hungry. With a muffled grunt, he prised her hands away and drew back. The kiss had ignited a feverish light in her eyes. He stared at her speechlessly for a second before hurrying from the cottage. A salty trace of the kiss lingered on his lips as he drove away. He wiped his mouth, but the taste stayed with him.
Fenton House loomed through the fog like a shadow made solid. Adam was relieved to see that the police were gone. He hurried inside, calling for Ella. No reply. The silence sketched lines on his forehead. He looked in the sitting room. She wasn’t there. His feet echoed rapidly on the stairs. “Ella,” he shouted again.
She emerged from Henry’s bedroom, pulling the door to behind herself. “Keep your voice down. You’ll wake him up.”
Adam threw his arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m sorry,” he breathed in her ear. “I lost sight of what’s most important. This place blinded me, but I see now that I was wrong.”
Ella pulled back to look in his eyes. “Does that mean we’re leaving?”
He nodded. “We should never have come here in the first place.”
She smiled, stroking her hands down his face. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“And what about Henry? Do you love him?”
It made Adam wince that Ella would even need to ask such a question. “Of course I do.”
“Then we’ll find a way through all this.”
“That’s what Doug said.”
“Who?”
“Doug Blackwood. I went to speak to him about Fenton House. He said love finds a way of getting us through.”
“What else did he have to say?”
“A lot that made no sense and some that made a lot of sense. The gist of it was that we should pack up and leave here as soon as possible.”
“So what are we waiting for? Let’s start–”
Ella broke off as Henry’s bedroom door swung open. Henry’s cheeks were mottled with angry red splotches. He glared at his parents, his fists clenched at his sides as if for a fight. “I heard what you said. I don’t want to leave.”
“I know you like it here, Henry,” Adam said softly. “I do too.”
“Then why do you want to leave?” he demanded to know.
“Because this house... Well, it’s just not safe. We’ve already had one break-in. What’s to stop other people from doing the same?”
“We’re getting new locks.”
“If people want to get in here, they’ll find a way.” Adam summoned up a somewhat strained smile, reaching to rest a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “It’s not all bad. You’ll be able to see your old friends.”
Henry shrugged him off. “I don’t have any friends in London.”
“You don’t have any friends here either,” pointed out Ella. “You don’t even have a school to go to.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going back to London. You can’t make me!”
“Yes we can, Henry. We’re your parents and you’ll do as we say.”
“How dare you speak to us like that,” retorted Ella.
Doug’s parting advice came vividly to Adam’s mind – whatever decision you make, do it with love. “Please let’s not fall out about this.”
His plea fell on deaf ears. Pushing past him, Henry made to run off towards the stairs. Ella caught hold of his wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Let go!” Henry tried to twist free. “You’re hurting me.”
“Then stop struggling.”
Henry lashed out at Ella, his fingers hooked into claws. His nails drew four bloody lines on her cheek. She let go of him with a gasp. He sprinted away and disappeared down the stairs.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, Ella yelled, “Henry, get back here!”
She went after him. Adam was only a few paces behind her. Fingers of fog were curling around the open front door. Ella shouted for Henry from the doorstep. The fog swallowed her voice. She pointed left. “I’ll go that way. You go the other. We’ll meet at the backdoor.”
The fog beaded on Adam’s forehead, trickling into his eyes as he searched the tangle of reeds that fringed the pond. He groped his way past the robin’s unmarked grave to the outhouses. The gloomy, cluttered buildings had an abundance of hiding places. It took a while to search them all. When he eventually arrived at the backdoor, Ella was already there. “We’ll never find him in this,” she said with a frustrated swipe at the fog.
“Have you been down to the back gate?”
“No.”
“Let’s try there.”
Adam took Ella’s hand and they hurried along the garden path. Panic touched him when he saw that the gate was open.
Ella voiced his fear. “Oh god, what if he falls?”
They passed through the arch of hedge. The coastal path seemed to have shrunk to a tightrope in the fog. Waves whooshed against rocks far below, as invisible as the sound they perpetually generated. Ella tightened her grip on Adam’s hand. “I feel dizzy.”