Seeing Queenie raise her eyebrows he explained, ‘There was a smashed wine bottle in the room.’
‘Was she drunk?’
‘The pathologist couldn’t find any alcohol in her blood. And judging from the blood stains she was standing in front of the mirror when she did it.’
‘Interesting,’ muttered Queenie. ‘So she watched herself in the mirror while she cut her own throat.’
Paul looked shocked. ‘I wouldn’t call it interesting. She had cut in so deeply that her head was almost severed.’
‘That’s impossible,’ said Queenie quickly. ‘Nobody could do that to themselves.’
‘I know, it seems incredible but there was no sign of an intruder and nothing to suggest foul play. No forced entry, no other fingerprints except those of Emma and her mother,’ he stated.
‘What about the wine? Were there two glasses or just one?’
‘No glasses at all.’
Queenie sipped her tea and stared out the window and across the graveyard. The last faint rays of sunlight cast strange shadows across the worn and leaning headstones, here and there a few sprays of bright flowers lit up the gloom.
‘And your daughters,’ she said slowly. ‘What sort of game were they playing with this doll?’
There was a rattle of china and she looked around at him surprise, his hands were shaking and a faint film of sweat covered his forehead.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, and tried to mop up the spilled tea with a handkerchief.
‘Don’t bother with that now,’ she said. ‘I want to know why your daughters’ behaviour has upset you so much.’
Paul gazed at the stained and wet piece of cloth in his hand and slowly shook his head. ‘That awful doll was lying on the lawn and they were dancing around it holding hands, it was so strange...’ his voice trailed off and Queenie looked at him in irritation.
‘And?’
‘They were chanting, Mrs Beresford, chanting in Latin!
‘Are you sure?’ A look of unease spread over her face and she turned back to the window hoping that Paul hadn’t noticed.
‘Yes. That’s one thing that I am certain of and Abigail doesn’t know any Latin, she has a smattering of French, that’s all.’
‘Abigail...my father’s joy,’ she muttered.
‘Sorry?’
‘The meaning of your daughter’s name. How old is she?’
‘She’s nine, Lily is seven and Eva is just six.’
‘So....father’s joy, pure and life. That’s a good combination for three vicar’s daughters!’
‘Is that what their names mean? I didn’t realise.’
‘Names are very important, Paul.’ She smiled at him brightly. ‘Now, I’m sure this is nothing to be worried about but I will come and have a look at the doll...if we can locate it. If we do find it perhaps it would be best if I keep it here?’ she suggested, keeping her face blank.
‘So you’ll help?’ he asked, a look of relief spreading over his face.
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Beresford.’
She leant forward and began feeling about for her discarded shoes beneath the chair. ‘I think we had better start by finding this doll.’
He waited patiently as she slowly laced her brown brogues; her face, slightly pink from her exertions tilted slightly towards him. ‘Unless you would like another cup of tea first, as you managed to spill most of the last one over my carpet.’
Paul glanced at the damp patch on the floor. ‘Sorry,’ he said guiltily. ‘But I can offer you some tea at the Vicarage and perhaps a slice of cake. My wife was baking when I left.’
‘Cake? What sort of cake, chocolate perhaps?’
‘I’m not sure, but Victoria is an excellent cook.’
‘Well, in that case I accept... any cake is good cake,’ she said and stood, briskly straightening her skirt. ‘Shall we go?’
Fordington, Queenie’s home for many years, still retained its old village atmosphere even though it had long since been swallowed up by Dorchester, the county town of Dorset. Its village green remained the centre of the area with the parish church holding pride of place atop the hill.
The vicarage, an imposing red brick building lay just beyond St Georges’ and was partly hidden by the huge shrubs and trees that enclosed the gardens. A gravel drive led up to a white door but Paul ignored the front entrance and led the way around to the back of the house.
‘So witches have to use the back door?’
Paul looked startled at her comment and quickly replied, ‘We always use this door.’
She smiled to herself and followed the grave young man along the path to where a warm light was spilling out from the kitchen window illuminating a small herb garden by the door; an early frost was already sparkling on the few abandoned toys scattered on the lawn. It looked welcoming enough but Queenie frowned as the ominous familiar prickling began in her fingers.
Visible through the window a young woman was emptying the dishwasher and placing the clean crockery into the cabinets, she turned as the door opened.
Queenie sniffed appreciatively as the smell of baking wafted out to meet them.
‘Paul, where have you...’ she stopped, seeing Queenie in the doorway and smiled uncertainly. ‘You must be...’
‘The witch,’ said Queenie smoothly.
‘The lady Gladys recommended,’ she continued.
‘That’s right.’ Queenie stepped into the room and surveyed the spotless kitchen.
‘Victoria, this is Mrs Beresford.’
‘Queenie please. Being called Mrs Beresford makes me feel old.’
Victoria smiled as she looked at the elderly woman; Queenie was not what she had been expecting. She presented quite an unusual sight wrapped up in her favourite purple fleece with an orange scarf obscuring half her face against the damp evening air, her pink hair wilder than ever.
‘Paul said you have been baking.’
‘Yes,’ she replied in surprise, looking at her husband. ‘Why? What does that have to do with the doll?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Queenie cheerily. ‘I am partial to cake, that’s all. Where are the children?’ she continued.
‘They are watching television in the lounge.’
‘Any sign of the doll?’
Victoria shook her head looking frustrated. ‘I’ve looked everywhere, I thought I knew all their hiding places but it’s vanished.’
Paul patted his wife’s shoulder. ‘It’s okay, we’ll find it,’ he said reassuringly.
‘I hope so, I’m beginning to have nightmares about the revolting thing and I want it out of the house.’ She looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I know it’s silly, after all it’s just an ugly doll and nothing to worry about,’ her voice faltered and she mechanically wiped a crumb from the polished pine table.
‘Of course,’ said Queenie briskly, then looked at the closed door that led into the hall; the sound of music could be heard coming from the television in another room close by. ‘But I would like to meet the children now.’ Seeing the sudden look of alarm on Victoria’s face she added calmly, ‘It will be fine.’ She grasped the door handle and flung the door wide then started in surprise.
The long hall beyond the kitchen was dark. Through the half open door of the living room a narrow shaft of light picked out the three girls waiting at the bottom of the staircase. Shoulder to shoulder they gravely faced Queenie framed in the kitchen doorway. Their innocent faces framed by soft brown curls were grim and hostile as they glared at the old woman. The loud music from the television contrasted sharply with the unnerving stillness of the trio. Holding tightly to each other’s hands they waited for Queenie to speak. She pursed her lips and thoughtfully moved to one side, motioning for them to enter the room.
‘Girls, we thought you were watching the TV,’ said Paul in surprise. ‘Come in and meet our neighbour, Mrs Beresford.’
They silently filed in, turning to stare at the old woman as they passed.
‘Hello,’ said Abigail.
‘Hello,’ Queenie replied, examining the young girl’s face. ‘Your father has been telling me all about you.’
The youngest, Eva, glanced quickly at her older sister before turning back to Queenie. ‘Why? Are we in trouble?’
‘Well no,’ she began slowly, ‘but your father has lost something. It was entrusted to him by a friend and now it’s gone. And he was wondering if you knew what had happened to it.’
‘What’s entrusted?’
‘It means ‘to put something into someone’s care or protection’,’ put in Paul.
Queenie pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down; she placed her hands on the table and stared thoughtfully at the wrinkled skin before turning her pale eyes on the girls. ‘If you know where the doll is, you should tell us. It belongs to Mrs Cochrane and she would like it back.’
‘It doesn’t belong to her!’ broke in Abigail quickly. ‘It belongs to...’
‘What?’ asked her father in astonishment. ‘Who does it belong to?’
‘Quiet Paul,’ said Queenie, holding up a hand. ‘Abigail. Look at me! Whose doll is it?’
The young girl took a step back and looked appealingly at her mother. ‘Mummy?’
‘It’s alright Abigail; just tell us where the doll is.’
‘Where is it?’ Queenie asked sternly, ignoring the tears that had begun to trickle down the child’s face.
‘I don’t know,’ she sniffed. ‘I don’t know anything about the doll.’
‘Then why did you say it belonged to somebody else?’
‘I made it up.’ Abigail said sullenly, not looking at the old woman. She placed a protective arm around Eva who had begun to cry.
‘Why? Why would you say something like that?’
‘We didn’t take it, Mummy,’ she sniffed.
‘Girls!’ said their father angrily. ‘Stop crying and tell the truth!’
Victoria frowned at her husband. ‘That’s enough. You’re upsetting them.’ She looked from Paul to Queenie appealingly. ‘Perhaps they don’t know where it is after all.’
‘No, we don’t,’ they said, avoiding Queenie’s gaze.
She tugged at her lower lip, narrowly examining them while they fidgeted under her scrutiny. Her fingers gently tapped on the table until she suddenly declared, ‘It doesn’t matter. Now girls, I am sure there is something that you should be doing.’
‘Yes, it’s getting late,’ put in Victoria quickly, ‘and it’s time you were in bed.’
They looked visibly relieved and started heading for the door. Abigail, the last one to file past Queenie, gave her a surly look before scuttling out of the room.
Unperturbed, Queenie strolled to the door and watched the three little girls run quickly up the stairs; overhead a door banged and everything went quiet.
‘Interesting,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, I have wasted your time,’ apologised Paul. ‘I will have to search the house again tomorrow and see if I can find the blasted thing.’
‘No need,’ said Queenie briskly. ‘I’ll find it.’
‘How?’ asked Victoria. ‘I have spent hours looking and I couldn’t find it, so how could you?’
‘Ah... but my dear, you’re not a witch.’ She looked at Paul who had slumped despondently against the door. ‘Now, didn’t you promise me a cup of tea?’
‘Of course, I’m sorry. That’s the least I can do after dragging you out in the cold.’
He took three mugs from the cupboard and handed them to his wife.
‘We will wait for the girls to fall asleep and then I will begin the search for the doll.’
‘And how do you intend to do that?’ he asked looking troubled.
‘You asked me here to help and that’s what I am going to do, the methods needn’t worry you. And if you would be more comfortable leaving the house while I work, that’s okay with me.’
‘No, no’ he replied hurriedly. ‘I want that thing out of my house so I will do anything I can to help. Victoria,’ he said turning to his wife, ‘you can leave if like.’
‘No way,’ she answered, looking annoyed. ‘You’ll need me here just in case the children wake.’
‘Very good,’ replied Queenie. ‘Make some tea and we will wait for the girls to fall asleep.’
There was a sudden loud bump and the sound of voices from the room above their heads. Victoria hurried to the door. ‘Girls! Put the lights out and settle down. I will be up in five minutes and you had better be in bed!’ She sighed irritably and turned back to her visitor. ‘I’m sorry but I’m not sure that they will settle down that quickly.’ She walked over to the kettle and turned it on. ‘But a cup of tea will give us will give us a few minutes breathing space I suppose,’ she said wearily.
‘You look tired,’ Queenie said, noticing the dark circles beneath the young woman’s eyes.
‘I haven’t been sleeping well. Sugar?’
‘Three, with milk.’
A large mug of tea was placed in front of her.
Victoria gave one to her husband then sat down cradling a mug in her hands.
‘I have been having such bad dreams over the last few nights and I never have nightmares. It’s so weird, I don’t usually dream at all,’ she said, stirring her tea then looked up guiltily, ‘I’m sorry... you said something about cake.’
‘If you have any,’ replied Queenie. ‘I’m very partial to cake.’
Paul, looking at the elderly woman felt a sudden pang of pity as the mental image of Queenie’s kitchen popped into his head.
‘Perhaps you would like to stay for supper?’ he asked.
‘That is kind, Vicar,’ she answered, ‘but I don’t want to be a bother.’
‘It’s no bother at all, Mrs Beresford,’ said Victoria. ‘You are welcome to share our evening meal. It’s only a simple snack, a chopped kale salad with a lemon tahini dressing.’
‘Oh...sounds delicious,’ said Queenie weakly.
‘It’s very nutritious, we are very keen on giving the children a healthy diet, aren’t we Paul?’
Seeing Queenie’s doubtful expression he laughed. ‘Perhaps you would like some cake first, Mrs Beresford?’
‘Thank you,’ Queenie said, but her face fell as Victoria placed a pale brown slab of cake on the table. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a carrot and walnut cake.’
‘Carrot?’
‘It is very nice,’ assured Paul, cutting her a slice. ‘It’s my favourite.’
She didn’t look convinced and eyed it dubiously. ‘Carrot...whatever next!’ Queenie picked up a fork and tentatively raised a piece to her mouth, her expression quickly changed from one of distrust to delight. ‘Well, this is good!’
‘Thank you,’ said Victoria, looking relieved. Another bump from upstairs made her frown and look towards the door. ‘I should go up.’
‘Let me finish this excellent cake,’ Queenie said, smiling slightly, ‘and I will deal with the children.’
‘I usually have to read them a story before they will settle down,’ replied Victoria.
‘Not tonight,’ said Queenie. She scraped the last piece of moist cake from the plate. ‘That was a beautiful cake Victoria. Now, let’s get these children to sleep.’ She pushed the plate to one side and flexed her fingers, then gently began to trace a circle on the table with her finger tip. ‘Bring peace to Abigail,’ she said softly, ‘Bring quiet to Lily, ease Eva’s dreams. Into a deep sleep you shall go. May angels watch and nightmares cease, and let this spell work for me and make it so.’
‘What are you doing?’ exclaimed Victoria, feeling a strange shiver go up her spine.
‘Shh,’ said Queenie quietly, continuing to trace the circle. ‘Into a deep sleep you shall go.’
A loud bump over their heads made the crockery shake in the cupboards and Victoria, casting a puzzled look at the old woman, jumped to her feet and headed towards the door.
‘Girls?’ she called as she ran quickly up the stairs.
They could still hear her voice as she entered their bedroom; there was silence for a minute and then the sound of feet running back down the stairs.
‘I don’t believe it! They are asleep!’ she said in astonishment. ‘Eva is curled up on the floor with her rabbit, and the other two are crashed out on one of the beds.’ She turned to stare at Queenie who was calmly sipping her tea. Their eyes met and Queenie winked.
‘You did that?’
‘It usually works.’
Victoria slumped back into her chair and stared in amazement at the old woman. ‘Could you teach me how to do it?’
‘Victoria!’ exclaimed Paul. ‘I don’t think that’s something we should be getting into.’
‘Why not? It would be so useful.’
Queenie smiled. ‘Well...it takes practice dear, lots of practice.’ Noticing the troubled look on Paul’s face she added, ‘But I don’t think that a member of the clergy or his wife should be treading this path. So,’ she finished, pushing herself up from the table, ‘now they are safely asleep let’s begin, shall we?’
An ornate brass lamp sat on the desk in the study, casting a small pool of light across the green leather top. Heavy brocade curtains were pulled against the increasing chill of the night, keeping the room warm and cosy. The smell of old books and furniture polish filled the air and Queenie sniffed appreciatively.
‘You locked the doll in here?’ she inquired, tapping the top of the desk.
He nodded and pulled out the top drawer. ‘This one, and as you can see it’s gone.’
Queenie tentatively touched the wood and frowned. It was ice cold under her fingers. ‘How strange,’ she muttered.
‘What?’ asked Paul.
‘I’m not sure. It has left behind a very strange aura.’
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that,’ muttered Victoria, reluctant to enter the room she hovered near the door.
‘No,’ said Queenie slowly, ‘for this amount of energy to emanate from just a doll is very odd.’ She turned to examine the room. ‘And negative energy at that.’
Three of the walls were lined with pine shelving, each one weighed down with books; more books lay on the floor in untidy heaps. Seeing her eyes travel slowly over his collection of books he muttered shamefacedly, ‘I have been meaning to tidy up; I just don’t seem to have the time.’
The Doll Page 2