James had walked into the sitting room. He was wearing the dark-blue suit she’d seen him in that morning, when he’d left for London. He’d undone the first few buttons of his shirt and removed his tie and he appeared to be carrying one of their old picnic blankets under his arm. What on earth was he up to?
She moved closer and caught a glimpse of a long slim leg dangling off the end of the sofa. Had Lexi fallen asleep watching TV? Why didn’t James pick her up and carry her upstairs to bed?
It was only as James began to tenderly drape the blanket over the sleeping figure, that Alicia realised the leg was encased in blue jeans and ballet flats - an outfit Lexi would not have been seen dead in.
Natalie? Why was she still here?
Alicia shifted position and was able to watch James lean across Natalie’s sleeping body, gently smoothing away a hank of white-blonde hair before kissing her forehead.
Which was when the security light flickered back on.
Instinctively Alicia stepped into the flower bed and flattened herself against the wall, her heart racing, as James appeared in the window and peered through the glass. If the sitting room light had not been on, causing the room to be reflected back at him, he might have seen her. Instead, he gave a cursory glance towards the portico before dragging the heavy curtains closed.
Alicia’s legs were trembling so much they would no longer hold her upright. She slid down the wall, the palms of her hands scraping against the rough brick, until she was sat in the damp earth of the flowerbed, with the dead stalks of the summer bedding plants digging into her thighs.
The security light popped out, followed by the light from the sitting room, leaving her in the dark.
And feeling completely alone.
42
When Natalie woke it was daylight.
It took a moment to remember she was at Alicia’s house, and when she sat up, feeling cold and stiff, she realised she’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Someone had covered her up with a tartan beach rug. It still had a light sprinkling of sand. Natalie pushed it aside, letting it fall onto the floor.
The house was silent. The thick velvet drapes had been pulled across the window and only the tiniest chink of light gleamed through. Her bag was on the floor beside her and she took out her phone to check for any messages. There were none. So nice to feel wanted. She slung the bag over her shoulder and went in search of Alicia.
Alicia was in the study. Although she was working at her desk, the computer monitor and keyboard had been relegated to the floor and she was hunched over an old laptop, typing up her notes. Classical music emanated from an old-fashioned gramophone, tucked away in the corner. It was a beautiful room, with a high Georgian ceiling and a huge window which overlooked the garden.
There was an audible ‘click’, as the heavy oak door swung shut behind her, but Alicia didn’t glance up.
“Hi,” said Natalie, feeling awkward but with no idea why. “How did it go at the police station?”
“Fine,” said Alicia. A definite pause. “Thank you.”
Natalie lowered herself into a small squashy sofa. It almost swallowed her whole. “You were gone for ages. I must have fallen asleep.”
“You did.” Alicia’s fingers rattled across the keyboard.
“When did you get home?”
“Around midnight.”
“Blimey.” The police must have been very interested in what Alicia had to say.
“Mmm,” said Alicia, but did not elaborate.
It occurred to Natalie that she was not the only one wearing the same clothes from the day before. “Are you OK? What are you doing?”
Alicia swung around in her chair. Her wide hazel eyes had smudges of purple circles beneath them and her face was even paler than usual - her freckles were barely visible. And there was something else, too. Alicia had lost her bounce.
“I’m fine,” she said. And this time her voice had a distinct edge. “I’m transcribing some of the castle’s accounts for the History Society.”
“Can’t you scan them?”
“We’ve already done that but, as the records are almost illegible, it helps to have a transcription.”
“Couldn’t you pay someone to do it for you?”
“This way I know it’s accurate.”
She was definitely riled about something. Natalie searched for a less inflammatory topic.
“What happened to your computer?”
“I tipped a mug of coffee over it. I’m lucky I have the use of this laptop but it’s not set up to use the Internet - we have no firewalls or security, that kind of thing. I thought I’d go into town later and use the Internet at the library.”
“Don’t be daft, come back to my place and use my computer. I don’t mind. Bring the kids. We can have lunch at one of the cafés.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Alicia! Of course you wouldn’t be - ”
“It’s no problem,” Alicia said, speaking over her. “I’ll be able do some research at the County Archives at the same time.”
Was Alicia mad at her? She was always so polite it was sometimes hard to tell. Why didn’t she come straight out with whatever was on her mind? Surely she knew by now that Natalie didn’t do subtle.
“I guess I’d better leave you to get on with it.” Natalie hauled herself off the sofa. It was so deliciously comfortable it would be hard not to fall sleep again. She had intended to tell Alicia about what had happened to her father, but perhaps now was not the time.
“Would you like breakfast?” Alicia said, as Natalie reached the door. “You’ll have to cook it yourself though.”
Her stomach heaved at the thought of an elaborate cooked breakfast. “God, no! I only have coffee first thing. Maybe a Danish later, if I’m hungry.”
She half expected a lecture on the merits of healthy eating but Alicia didn’t reply. It was as almost as though she’d gone already.
Natalie walked out of the house, feeling distinctly unappreciated. James’s car was parked outside the study window, so he must have arrived back sometime after she’d fallen asleep. Had he told Alicia about his brother’s death? Was that why she was behaving so oddly?
That was one weird family.
It was tempting to call out a taxi to pick her up - but there was something she wanted to check out first. So she headed into St Daniel’s churchyard, safe in the knowledge she was not likely to meet anyone else at this time of the morning. The woods beyond were also deserted and, as she climbed the hill towards the castle, the sun finally limped above the horizon.
Hurst Castle was engulfed in a haze of mist and deathly quiet. Even the birds weren’t singing. It was such a difference to the hive of activity of the night before. The tent had been taken away; the previously immaculate lawn churned to mud around where it had been pitched, with a distinct path worn to the well. The police barrier tape still remained, flapping lethargically, and stretched from the castle wall, right into the shrubbery, across to the ruined chapel and back to the castle. Although no police appeared to be on duty, Natalie could see a solitary patrol car parked on the drive.
She walked slowly between the yew trees, hardly taking her eyes from the castle. She had a good view of the library window, where Clare Vyne sometimes worked on the estate accounts, but right now there was no sign of her, or of her assistant, Kenzie.
Natalie took her phone out of her bag and stuck it firmly into the pocket of her jeans. She then slung her bag over her head and across her body, taking care to tuck it behind her out of the way.
It was now or never.
With one final glance towards the patrol car, she sprinted across the grass to the well, ducking beneath the barrier tape without breaking her stride. A metal frame had been constructed over the top, and there was a length of thick white rope still clipped to it and hanging into the hole.
Natalie dropped to her knees at the well’s edge, feeling the damp mud seep through her jeans, and peered into t
he darkness. Sure enough, there were the metal rungs which Will had described - and that Alicia had climbed down the previous evening. Rungs which had to lead somewhere, or else what was the point?
She sat down, swinging her legs over the edge, and tentatively used her foot to feel for the first rung. This was the worst bit. She would be unable to see what she was doing, while anyone looking out of a window, or walking around from the front of the castle would see her.
Finding a foothold, she twisted onto her side and lowered herself over the edge, forcing her fingers into the mud to stop herself sliding too quickly. Once she’d ducked below ground level, she felt less exposed and took the time to stop and take stock. She switched her phone onto the light setting and used it to check the surrounding wall.
The interior of the well had been constructed from the same pale slabs of stone as the ruined medieval chapel. Here, near the surface, they were completely dry - from what she could see beneath the thick, glossy foliage that grew between the tiniest gaps.
She climbed down another metre or so, and checked around again. The plants were fewer and the circle of daylight above her head significantly smaller. In the confined space every sound, including her own breathing, echoed back threefold. It was growing colder too; she could see the condensation from her breath forming into little clouds in the air.
The further she went, the more the wall deteriorated. Many stones were split or missing completely; entire tree roots had broken through, like skeletal fingers to grab at her clothes as she passed. And more than one of the rungs felt distinctly loose.
Had this been such a good idea?
The further she went, the more her confidence diminished. She had been so convinced of her theory, of what she would find down here, that it was disheartening to discover it wasn’t true. But how else could Geraint’s body have got here?
Now she’d almost reached the bottom. She paused again, half-heartedly swinging her light around, careful to shine it both above and below her head, and then directly beneath her, where the skeleton had been found. The ground was smooth, with no fallen rocks, loose soil, or rubbish, almost as though it had been neatly swept clean; presumably the work of the police, in search of evidence.
Feeling increasingly desperate, Natalie leant into the centre of the well, shining the dim light of the phone once more around the brickwork. It had to be here - it had to be. Geraint’s body hadn’t ended up here by magic.
Then she saw it. A small hole in the wall, about three feet high and two feet wide, and not created by accident. The surrounding stones had been constructed in a deliberate arch to support the weight of the ground above. A passage! Where it led she had no idea, but this must have been how Geraint’s body ended up here. He had not fallen from the garden above, he had been crawling inside the tunnel, missed his way in the dark and fallen to his death. Or worse, he had lain undiscovered for hours, in agony from his injury, until he had died.
She tried not to think about that.
How could she get to the other side? The tunnel was directly opposite the rungs she stood on, but with a gap of about five feet. The answer lay in the rope that dangled directly down the centre of the well, but as she reached towards it she heard a voice.
She switched off the light of her mobile, pressing herself as close to the wall as she could. Shadows flickered across the brickwork. Something was moving on the surface. Had the police returned? She kept her head down, hardly daring to breathe in case it echoed up the shaft. After a few moments, everything went quiet. She risked a glance up, but could only see a neat circle of grey sky.
This time she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the rope and pushed herself away from the wall.
Everything happened very quickly. She had been slightly higher than the tunnel, which meant that while her feet shot neatly through the entrance, her upper torso hit brick. While it didn’t hurt, the vibration against the wall showered her in grit and dirt. Then gravity took over and she began to slip back, her feet scrabbling to get a foothold, the ancient brickwork crumbling every time she made contact.
When all seemed lost, she saw another rusted iron rung directly above the arch and snatched at it. The rope slithered from her hands, dropping back into place, and she was left hanging, half in and half out of the tunnel.
Which was when she heard someone call from above, like the voice of God, “Hey! Who’s down there?”
There was a flicker of light as a torch was shone down the well.
She had to get out - and there was only one place to go.
As the powerful beam scooped the interior of the well, she swung herself into the hole, landing painfully. Had they seen her? Did they know about the tunnel? A team of forensic officers had been down here, as well as volunteers from the local potholing club. A large hole in the wall wasn’t going to be hard to miss.
The light went out, leaving her in the dark. She waited to be certain, and then peered back into the well. Whether they knew she was there or not, they weren’t taking any chances. The rope had gone. The choice had been made for her.
Natalie switched her own light back on and began to crawl along the tunnel. It was filthy. Soil, crumbled brick, dead insects and some other hard, crumbly stuff which was possibly rodent droppings. But - thinking positively - if the rats could get in here, she could get out the same way.
After about five minutes of crawling the tunnel grew bigger. It was still incredibly narrow - only wide enough for her shoulders - but she could now stand, although she had to keep her back bent so as not to hit her head. It was in remarkable condition considering; only the occasional tree root had pushed through the gaps in the brick.
Instead of moving steadily upwards, as she had expected, the tunnel remained on the same level, eventually opening out. Was it an underground room?
She held up her feeble light, revealing a chamber of some kind, far bigger than she had expected - almost a cavern, but certainly man-made. It had the same vaulted ceiling as the castle library but the walls were more roughly-hewn. An attempt had been made to plaster over and then decorate it, but most of the paint appeared to have flaked away. There were alcoves set at regular intervals, three for each wall, ornamented with a statue. The ground, from what she could see of it, appeared solid enough but was crowded with junk - broken furniture, warped paintings (the canvases black with age) and piles and piles of books. Was it a store room? In a cellar? Was she actually beneath the castle?
The air was damp and cold. The walls were dark with condensation but also appeared to have a tide mark about three feet from the ground. The chamber must have flooded at some time in the past, before the well had been blocked off. Perhaps more than once, which would explain why the junk was strewn around rather than stacked neatly.
As she moved through the chamber towards the centre, she could see there were three stone tables, large plinths, each with another statue reclining upon it. She held the light high above her head to get another perspective. Again the shadows moved and reformed, and with a shock she realised where she was and what she was looking at.
A plinth? She was an idiot! It was a tomb. The tomb of a knight and his lady, lying side by side, their hands placed together on their chests as though in prayer. The name Humfreye Vyne had been carved deeply into the side but the remainder of the inscription was in Latin. Beyond was another tomb, another knight. His name was William. He lay on his own, holding a shield with the Vyne crest upon it. Beside him, a third knight - his shield at his feet, his stone hands gripping a stone sword. She’d stumbled into the Vyne family crypt. Abandoned, used as a store room, and then sealed and forgotten for over three hundred and fifty years.
As well as the tombs, in each alcove was a shadowy figure - the statue of an angel or perhaps, as there were twelve, an apostle? Their heads were bent in prayer, every fold of their robes lovingly recreated. The detail was incredible. Natalie slowly turned, eager not to miss a thing. Then something caught her eye.
The glimpse of a movement, al
most out of sight. She swung the light back, cursing her imagination, which was causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up and for her breath come in short quick gasps. It was a rat, it must be a rat - although she sincerely hoped it wasn’t. Little sharp teeth and little sharp claws, sinking into her flesh - it terrified her even to think about it.
Of course, the alternative was far worse.
Hardly able to believe what she was seeing, the statue nearest the well passage seemed to shift, unfolding before her eyes. Straightening up and raising its head, ready to meet her gaze.
Natalie screamed and dropped her phone.
The light went out, leaving her in the dark.
But not alone.
43
It was late morning before Alicia looked up from her computer. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms high above her head, feeling some small bones in her spine crack with protest. Tchaikovsky had finished unnoticed; the needle of the gramophone was circling the label with a whispery scratch. She replaced the arm on the cradle before switching it off, and was struck by the utter silence. Usually the house was a riot of noise at the weekend; Lexi’s goth rock unsuccessfully mashing with James’s hip-hop, not to mention Will’s cartoons blaring from the TV. Where was everyone? Surely they couldn’t still be in bed?
Ensuring her work was safely backed up onto the memory stick, she powered down the laptop and went to investigate. The memory stick she tucked into the pocket of her jeans, pushing it right down so it would not fall out. She couldn’t cope with another day like yesterday.
James was the kitchen. Even in jeans and t-shirt he looked immaculate, like an advert for breakfast cereal. Goodness knew what she looked like. She certainly needed a shower if that sour scent of BO was emanating from her. He was sat at the table with today’s newspaper and associated supplements spread out before him, and a cafetière of coffee brewing. A cafetière for one.
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