by Nita Round
Around her throat, a thick band of rust red glared in the poor light, and from her shoulders congealed blue-green slime oozed over her gown. A rope, thick and befouled with who knew what, hung about her neck in sinuous loops.
“Get behind me,” Maggie ordered. “She has come for me. You don’t need to be hurt as well.”
“Magwood,” said the figure and as the winds raced round her delicate form picked up, and yet at the heart of those winds, where the ghost stood, remained calm and still. She stared at Maggie. “Do you?” The words echoed through the room.
“Emily,” Emma tried. “Emily look at me.” For a moment the shade turned. Her black eyes, dark and distant, looked at Emma, considered her presence, and then ignored her. “That worked well,” Emma said.
“Hide,” Maggie tried again, “escape if you can. Once she has me then she will not harm you.”
“No,” Emma said. “I am Emma Tapper,” she yelled, “and I will not run from family.”
“Emma?” The figure stopped moving, the winds dropped.
“Do you not recognise me Emily? Your own kin.”
“Emma...” she whispered so the word raced across the room as though borne on a chill breeze.
“Please Emma,” Maggie cried, “don’t do this, get away, now before it is too late.”
Emma grabbed Maggie’s hand. “It’s already too late.”
Emily looked at the two of them, holding hands. Rage washed out in waves of ice. “No,” she hissed. “Never again.” A pale, green-tinged hand reached out. “Never again.” The rope around her neck snaked along Emily’s arm and shot from her open hand. Maggie tried to move, but the rope whipped around her neck and tightened too fast. She fell to her knees with a strangled cry, and with a loud thwack, the rope tightened until her voice cut off. She was helpless to do anything about it.
“Maggie!” Emma cried out, the sound of her voice echoed around the tower.
Maggie stared at Emma, eyes bulging. The rope sawed at her neck and tightened. Her fingers clawed at the ever-tightening noose until she grew so desperate her fingers dug into the flesh of her own skin.
Emma fell to her knees and tried to help, but the rope was too tight, and Emily’s strength too great. “Be strong, Maggie,” she whispered. “Hold on for me.” Then she rose to her feet, and pulled back her shoulders. “Emily Tapper,” Emma said.
Her voice wavered.
“Stop!” she shouted at the top of her voice. “Emily Tapper, stop this right now!”
Eyes almost black and rimmed with red turned in her direction. It was a start.
“Listen to me. I am Emma Tapper, daughter of Emma Tapper, your sister.” Emily didn’t move. It was as though she paused to listen. It was not enough to keep her attention and she turned her dark and doleful awareness back to Maggie.
“Well, worked a treat,” she mumbled. She needed to try something else.
“Mother!” Emma roared with all the defiance of an enraged teenager. “Stop it!”
Emily stopped and turned toward Emma. The rope around Maggie’s neck stopped tightening. “My child?” she whispered. “My Emma? My sweet, sweet Emma? Where are you my baby?”
“Mother. I am all grown now.”
“Grown?”
“Yes. I was saved.”
“Oh, praise the heavens.”
“My father saved me.”
“Charles! Dirty evil conniving bastard.”
“Yes, mother,” Emma said. “But you’re killing my Magwood—and she is mine. Not yours.”
“Yours?”
“Mine.”
“Mine.”
“No, mine.” Emma repeated. She knelt down before Maggie, and smiled. “Magwood, I forgive you for all you have done. I forgive you. Will you forgive me and be mine?”
“No.” The word lengthened until it echoed through the tower, “You must not.”
The rope around Maggie’s neck loosened and she took several deep gulps of precious air.
“Speak, Maggie,” Emma instructed. “Say something to stop this.”
“Like what?” Maggie croaked through her damaged throat.
“Imagine you’re Charles and I’m Emily. What would you say to put it right?”
Maggie looked perplexed, but only for a moment. “Generations of Magwoods and Durrants have pondered on this and what they might have said to Emily in the place of Charles.”
“Then be clever and think of the right answer,” Emma said.
Maggie smiled. “Marry me,” she croaked. “I did you wrong and now I would put it right. Be my wife and take your place in Magwood Hall as the Lady Magwood.”
The rope, looped around her neck, vanished. Emily stepped closer and her eyes softened. “Do you?” her disembodied voice echoed around the turret. “Do you love?”
“Yes,” Maggie stared into the eyes of the ghost and answered. “I do, and now I understand.”
The ghost of Emily Tapper nodded and turned to Emma. “I accept your will my daughter.” Then she vanished. The air warmed, the ice crystals vanished, and normality—if such a thing could exist in Magwood Hall—resumed.
“Has she gone?” rasped Maggie, her throat raw. “Are we safe now?”
“Yes.”
Maggie cocked her head to one side and listened for the sounds of the ghost. It was quiet, apart from the ticking of the clock and the plink plink of melted ice as it dropped from the lock to the floor. For the first time in a quite a long while, there were no strange sounds to ignore. She could not hear the cry of a baby, nor could she feel an unnatural chill from the stairs. It was all very ordinary and mundane. Finally. “Yes,” Maggie agreed. “I think you might be right.”
“Do you still want to leave?”
Maggie cleared her throat. It was hard to form words. “I’m exhausted. I want to go to bed and sleep.”
“Did you mean what you said?”
“About?”
“What you said to Emily. Did you mean any of it?”
Maggie nodded and held out her hand. “All of it. Every word.”
“Do you still want to leave? It is safe here now.”
Again, Maggie nodded. “Yes. I said I wanted to leave it all, and I do.”
“You are prepared to turn your back on everything and everyone?”
“I promised I would to keep you safe, to live a normal life. I will do what I can for everyone here, of course. I will not leave them at the mercy of my brother, not without some protections. Other than looking after the people, I think it’s time to leave this behind and think of our future.”
“If you are sure this is what you want, we’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-three
IT WAS STRANGE to move from a large, rambling house with lots of open space into a small flat with no outdoor space at all. Emma’s flat had a tiny balcony, but it was so small it didn’t count for much. Miles and miles of tarmac and concrete spread out in all directions, and what little of nature existed was bare and forlorn. Autumn came early and it brought so many storms the winds stripped the leaves from what few trees remained. Grasses, stomped by thousands of feet now looked more like squares of mud. Gone too, were the sounds of the birds at dawn, replaced by car engines, beeping horns and the not too distant rattle of the subway.
Security too, was something she had not considered with much interest, and three weeks after moving to the city, Emma still needed to remind her to bolt doors and check identity tags before opening the door to anyone. At Castlecombe, she would have opened any door without a second thought, and doors she left unlocked all day anyway. Thoughts of the open spaces, the mountains and the fields often intruded on her thoughts, but she had promised to turn her back on Castlecoombe and she would continue to do so.
PHIL JACKSON STEPPED out of the pub a good few minutes before his wife Judy. It was a vile night, the wind was up and although the rain had not yet started he could smell it on the air. The rain would come, and Castlecoombe would be battered like everywhere else
. He looked up as Judy joined him. “Would you be taking a look at that!” she said.
Phil looked along the valley, to the hall perched over it. “Good grief,” he agreed as flash after flash of lightning lit the castle walls with stark brightness. Lights from within the house flashed on and off. Then they all came on, every single one, from the forty-six bulb chandelier in the formal dining room, to every light upstairs and downstairs. Phil knew something was amiss. “Maggie needs our help.”
“Lord Magwood is not here. She ran off with the Tapper girl.”
“Maybe she came back.”
His wife shrugged. “We should let them be. It’s not for us to intrude in the ways of Lords and their affairs.”
“This is Maggie we’re talking about. The one who gives us jobs we can do and rent we can afford. Lord Magwood always did us a goodness.”
“I know. I worry. You know I do. The Durrants have always been a weird lot.”
“I am worried though.”
Judy’s eyes turned from the strange effects up at the hall and to her husband. “I’ll go get help in the pub and ask them all to come give me a hand. If Maggie needs help we ought to be the ones who give it. Like you said, she has been good to us.”
Phil raced to his Land Rover and given the rather temperamental engine usually needed a few attempts to get started, he was surprised when he turned the key and the engine roared to life on the first attempt. Others, men of the town, raced out of the pub and jumped into the back of the vehicle. Some even sat on the hard top. There was no need for words, they could see there was trouble. Maggie needed them.
As they drove up the hill, a whole convoy of villagers drove or walked up the hill behind them. No one rushed into the house; helping was one thing. A headlong hurry into the madness inside was something very different.
They stopped, as one, when the lightning struck. They stared as a woman in a long white robe, glowing green and blue, danced above the tower, swinging in some weird dance with the lightning rod atop the roof. Some reached for their mobile phones and called emergency services. When the log pile at the back of the courtyard burst into flames, the men raced all the way there and used whatever they could to douse the fire.
“Don’t go inside,” Phil’s wife urged, and most heeded her words. A few didn’t. Of all the villagers, three people went inside the house, Phil Jackson was one of them. Of the three, none would ever say a word about what they found inside.
Chapter Twenty-four
EVEN THOUGH EMMA wasn’t by her side when the doorbell rang, Maggie remembered to look through the peephole to see who was there. When she realised who they were she was tempted to ignore them, and hope they went away. She decided to open the door instead, the police, she knew, wouldn’t stop bothering her until they got to say what they came to say.
“Detective Tallins and Detective Peters, what a joyful surprise to see you here,” she said as she unlocked and opened the heavy front door.
“Miss Durrant. So good we could find you.”
She looked at her watch. “I think you’ll still find the dawn chorus abed at this hour, so I cannot see why you would be surprised to find me home.”
“We set off early.”
“Yes. I can tell, and you are a very long way from home.”
“Can we come inside?” Tallins asked.
Maggie stood in the way. “Why? What is it I’ve done now?”
“Nothing,” Tallins soothed, “but this would be better inside.”
“Why?”
“It would be more comfortable.”
“For you or for me?” She did not wait for an answer, but turned her back on them and stormed into the lounge. She settled herself on an armchair, and waited. Emma came out of the bathroom, her hair still wet and dripping across her blouse, and perched on the armrest of Maggie’s chair. “Officers,” she said and nodded at them.
“Miss Blewitt. Miss Durrant,” Detective Peters started, “there has been an incident—”
“Incident? Do you mean an accident? What sort of accident?” Maggie demanded.
He frowned. “At Magwood Hall...” His voice trailed off and his colleague took over. “Miss Durrant there was a fatal incident involving your brother, Charles Durrant.”
“What? How?”
“We are still investigating the circumstances of the—”
“To hell with your investigation, what happened to my brother?” Maggie thundered. She glared at the officers, but her stomach churned and her heart pounded. She took some comfort from Emma’s hand upon her shoulder, but her world spun and she wanted them to go away and take their troubles with them.
“You better start at the beginning,” Emma suggested. “Tell us everything.”
Tallins nodded. “As you may have noticed the last few days much of the country has been battered by storms.”
Maggie and Emma both nodded. Even in the city, it was hard to avoid the power of the weather.
“Castlecoombe was no exception and Tuesday evening—”
“Three days ago?”
Peters nodded and then Tallins continued. “We received several calls from concerned residents,” he paused. “They claimed to see fires, flashing lights, and lightning which went up and down and all around.”
“There were twenty-seven calls to say pretty much the same thing. The castle was flashing so bright the villagers thought the castle itself was causing the lightning.” Peters added.
“The emergency services dispatched two fire engines, ambulances and a squad car.”
“Why the police?”
“In case they were needed,” Talline said.
“What happened next?” Emma asked.
“The emergency services found Charles.”
Maggie sat back in her chair and stroked Emma’s hand.
“As a result, we are treating this as suspicious I’m afraid,” Peters said.
“But you don’t think I did it?”
No one smiled. No one responded. “We would like you to come and identify him, as his next of kin. There are a few things we’d like you to look over.”
Maggie looked from one detective to another. “Charles is dead?”
Detective Peters nodded. “Looks like a vicious and violent break in. The Hall is a mess, well parts are. We will also need you to run an inventory of what you think might have been stolen.”
“Okay,” she mumbled. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Peters answered.
“Okay.” Maggie said, and then she paused. She needed to think. “There’s a full inventory of valuables with the insurance company, anything else is irrelevant.”
“We can provide transport if you like.”
“We will drive up ourselves, officers,” Emma interrupted. “I won’t rely on anyone else to get us home afterward.”
Chapter Twenty-five
COLD, STERILE LIGHT filled the room with a flickering glare so bright it seared Maggie’s eyes. Emma sat at her side and held her hand in support, she was grateful she was here. Next to the doors the detectives stood like a pair of impassive stone guardians, eyes ahead, fixed and unfocused.
A man in a white lab coat opened the door and inclined his head a fraction. “Whenever you’re ready Miss Durrant,” he said, his voice as bland as his face.
Maggie didn’t move at first, but Emma got to her feet and helped Maggie stand. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I am here with you. Take your time.”
“I’m okay,” Maggie said. She was, until she saw him peaceful and sneer free. Now he looked the carefree young man he should have been rather than the bitter brother he had become. “That’s him,” she said in a quiet voice, “Charles, my brother.”
“Thank you,” said detective Tallins.
“How did he die? What happened? You never said.”
He paused, as though thinking whether to say anything. “Asphyxiation,” he replied. “But the details are not available at this time.”
She nodded. “I should make arrangem
ents...”
Emma gripped Maggie’s hand. “We can sort out the details later.”
“And will you be going to Magwood Hall today?” Peters asked.
“No,” Emma answered for Maggie. “We will go to my house now and grieve. Perhaps we will go for a drink at the local.”
“Very well. I’ll arrange transport for the morning, say nine a.m.?” he said.
Emma nodded, but Maggie didn’t seem to care. “Fine,” Emma said, “but right now I think someone needs a good stiff drink.”
EMMA DROVE MAGGIE straight to her house, and on the way Maggie didn’t say a word. She sat still, her back straight and although her eyes focussed forward, Emma wasn’t sure Maggie noticed anything.
“We’re there,” she said as they pulled up outside the house. Maggie didn’t move and it took a lot of coaxing and support to get her out of the vehicle.
“I’m fine,” Maggie insisted, as Emma put her arm about Maggie’s waist. “I can manage.”
“Yes of course you’re fine,” Emma said, but she wasn’t sure it was true. “Come on in and let’s have a cuppa shall we?”
“I was thinking of something stronger,” Maggie said as they went inside the house.
“A cup of tea first, to warm you up. How about you get the fire started while I put the kettle on?”
Maggie nodded. “All right.”
When Emma walked into the lounge she was glad to see the fire lit, and roaring away. She put two cups of tea on the dining table. “Come sit at the table,” she said.
“At the table?”
“Yes. We need something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” Maggie said.
“Come sit with me and drink this tea. Sweet tea. It’ll pick you up.”
Maggie stared into her eyes. “You think so?”