Property of a Lady

by Sarah Rayne

  Evie told our reporter that she can’t remember how she came to be in the churchyard. ‘It’s a fusty old place,’ she said. ‘I’m not going there again.’

  St Paul’s Church, thought Michael, leaning back from the screen and turning his head from side to side to ease the tension that had built up in his neck and shoulders. She was found in the churchyard near an old grave. So was another girl thirty years before that. He hesitated about searching for the earlier story, but it was more important to locate St Paul’s Church and get out there as soon as possible.

  He went out to request a printout of the article and, while he waited for it, asked the helpful receptionist if there was a local phone book he could consult.

  There was one church dedicated to St Paul in the phone book. It was listed as St Paul the Apostle, and it was on the edge of Marston Lacy. Michael got back into the car, turned it round, and headed back.

  This was so wild a shot, a bow drawn at such an unlikely venture, that he did not think he could phone Inspector Brent yet. It might take up police time and resources better used elsewhere, and it might raise Nell’s hopes only to dash them. But was it so wild a shot? Two girls, both found in the same churchyard? Yes, but one was over sixty years ago, said his mind.

  It was just after two o’clock. If he could find St Paul’s he would search it himself. How difficult could it be to find a church in a tiny place like this?

  Marston Lacy did not quite lie in a valley, but it was certainly in a slight dip in the countryside, and the road wound sharply downwards. Michael saw the church spire as he drove down this road – it jutted up into the slate-coloured sky like a skeletal finger, iron-coloured and stark. Good. He turned off the main road and, keeping his eye on the spire, reached it within ten minutes. It was a rather gloomy place, grey stone with lichen speckling the roof, and there was a hopeless air about it, as if it had long since stopped expecting people to attend any of its services. As Michael parked on the narrow grass verge, a thin rain began to fall. He turned up his coat collar, remembered to put the phone in his pocket, and went through the old lychgate. The cemetery was on one side, and narrow, poorly-tended paths wound between the graves. His footsteps crunched on wet gravel, and the trees dipped their boughs, their leaves dark and dripping with moisture. This would be a terrible place for a child, and if Beth had been out here all night . . .

  As he walked around the graves, the patter of the rain sounded like mocking voices, and the pitted stone faces of angels peered at him from elaborate tombstones. Several times Michael had the eerie impression that the blank, blind eyes were watching him. Ahead of him were much older graves, some marked by ancient Saxon crosses that thrust starkly upwards into the misty afternoon. Several of the stone crosses were leaning to one side, presumably from ground subsidence, but it gave a nightmare sense of distortion to the place. But the newspaper article about that other little girl had referred to an old grave in the disused part of the cemetery, and Michael went towards these older headstones. A flash of colour against one sent his heart leaping with hope, but when he got nearer it was a torn paper bag, probably blown here from the road.

  Four graves were set on a little rise of ground near the edge of the churchyard. They were shaded by one of the ancient cedars, and two of them had large, elaborate headstones. One, more badly affected by ground slip than the others, leaned drunkenly sideways, and as Michael got closer he saw a patch of scarlet and a black lace-up shoe lying by this grave. She’s here! he thought. Oh God, but is she still alive . . . ?

  He supposed, afterwards, that he ran the rest of the way across the overgrown grass, but he only remembered kneeling at Beth’s side, reaching for her hands, seeing that her eyes were closed, and her hair damp from the rain. With a shaking hand he felt for a pulse. Was it there? Yes! It was like a fluttering bird under her wrist and at her neck, but it was there. He was about to lift her up, then thought she might be injured and to move her might make matters worse, so he dragged off his coat to throw it over her. Only then did he reach for the mobile phone. One call to Inspector Brent would bring out everything that was needed – ambulance, police. And Nell.

  Nell had just about managed not to break down during the long agonizing wait for news, and she managed not to do so when Lisa’s phone rang and she came running up to Beth’s room, where Nell was sitting, hugging Beth’s beloved furry animals.

  ‘She’s all right – Nell, she’s safe and well – a bit confused, but absolutely all right!’

  There were tears running down Lisa’s face – Nell would always remember that, and she would always remember being deeply grateful to Lisa for spilling the emotion she herself seemed unable to.

  Her mind could not take in all the details – something about Beth being found in an old churchyard, and about Michael Flint having discovered some sort of clue. She would find out about that later, though.

  When she tried to put together a few things to take to the hospital, her hands were shaking so badly she could not do it, and it was Lisa who folded pyjamas and slippers for Beth, and fetched sponge and toothbrush from the bathroom.

  ‘It’s only routine checks they’re doing,’ Lisa said. ‘She’s fine – the inspector was very clear about that. They might keep her overnight, just to be sure.’

  Lisa drove them to the hospital, which was small enough to warrant the term cottage, and it was the sight of Beth obediently lying in the narrow bed in the children’s ward that finally broke through Nell’s defences. Tears streamed down her face, and she wanted to snatch Beth out of bed and never let her go.

  ‘Sweetheart, you had me so worried. What happened?’

  ‘I ‘spect you thought you’d lost me,’ said Beth, uncertainly.

  ‘No, I’ll never lose you, never ever. Wherever you are, I’ll always find you.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise absolutely.’ Beth seemed content with this. She submitted to her mother’s hug for a moment longer, then wriggled free and lay back on the pillows.

  ‘What happened?’ said Nell, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her hands.

  Beth seemed reassured by this practical approach. She sat up. ‘I’m not ezzackerly sure,’ she said. ‘I went to school, only I think I sort of fell asleep because it was – um – like the nightmare.’ Her pupils contracted, and a shiver went through her small body. ‘I didn’t know you could fall asleep and not know,’ she said.

  ‘It hardly ever happens. It can’t happen again,’ said Nell at once. ‘And you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I don’t remember it much,’ said Beth. ‘Except it was the nightmare sort of starting while I was awake. Nightmares aren’t supposed to do that, are they?’ She looked at Nell for reassurance.

  ‘They don’t, and they won’t again,’ said Nell.

  ‘Oh, you’ve brought the animal people,’ said Beth. ‘Can I have them in bed with me? Thanks.’ She wrapped her arms round the furry creatures Nell had asked Lisa to pack, then, not looking at Nell, said, ‘He was there, that was the really bad thing.’

  ‘The – man from the nightmare?’ Nell said this cautiously. She had no idea if she should let Beth talk or if it would be better to let her think it really had been a form of nightmare.

  ‘Um, yes. I didn’t look at his face, but I know there weren’t any eyes in it – just black holes.’ The shudder came again. ‘And he sings as he walks along.’

  ‘Sings?’

  ‘The rhyme about the hand and the dead man – I told you about that.’

  Nell thought: oh God, the Hand of Glory. That’s what she means. Alice’s rhyme.

  ‘Open lock to the dead man’s knock . . .

  Fly bolt, and bar, and band.

  Sleep all who sleep – wake all who wake.

  But be as the dead for the dead man’s sake . . .’

  In as down-to-earth a voice as she could manage, she said, ‘Some people do sing to themselves. It does sound a bit odd though, doesn’t it? And I think
that’s a local rhyme – a bit like a nursery rhyme.’

  ‘It was pretty spooky, actually. But what was really odd is that I sort of had to go after the music to find out about it. I know I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers and stuff,’ said Beth earnestly, ‘but I couldn’t help it, honestly, Mum. It sort of pulled me along, an’ it’s not even as if it was nice music,’ she said, indignantly.

  ‘Some music can do that,’ said Nell carefully. ‘It’s pretty rare, though.’

  ‘I thought,’ said Beth, ‘that if I ever met him properly, that man from the nightmare, it’d be really frightening. But it wasn’t. He’s very sad, and you can’t be frightened of a sad person,’ said Beth, suddenly sounding much older than her seven years. She paused, frowning. ‘But there was something else, Mum, an’ that’s why I wasn’t absolutely all-time frightened.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Beth was studiedly picking at a thread in the sheet, no longer looking at Nell. In a low voice, she said, ‘It wasn’t me he wanted.’

  ‘Well – well, that’s good,’ said Nell.

  ‘Yes. I don’t ‘spect he’ll come to see me again, do you?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ said Nell. ‘Beth, why did you say you weren’t the one he wanted? That man?’

  ‘I don’t know, not ezzackerly,’ said Beth, frowning. ‘Might he have told me?’

  ‘He might. Yes, that’s very likely. Perhaps you look a bit like somebody else and he got mixed up.’

  ‘He really wanted Elvira,’ said Beth, and Nell looked at her sharply.

  ‘Who’s Elvira? Darling, who’s Elvira?’ Because if there was another girl somewhere, a girl called Elvira who might be in danger . . .

  Beth hunched her shoulders. ‘Don’t know,’ she said. ‘There’s no one at school called that. It’s a silly name, I think. Oh, did I tell you I’m having fruit trifle for supper? The nurse said it was today’s pudding. And scrambled eggs first. They won’t be as nice as the ones you make, of course,’ she said, confidingly. ‘But I’m ’strordinarily hungry.’

  Nell smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours. That had been one of Brad’s expressions. ‘I’m extraordinarily hungry,’ he used to say. Beth had picked it up, and Nell liked hearing her say it. It’s all right, Brad, she said in her mind. We’ve got her back. She’s safe.

  ‘She’s checking out fine on all scores, Mrs West,’ said the young Indian doctor while Beth was tackling the scrambled eggs with reassuring enthusiasm. ‘We’ll keep her here overnight, just to be sure, but we can’t see any real cause for concern.’ He frowned slightly. ‘As to what happened – who can say? Temporary amnesia is a possibility. The trauma of her father’s death . . .’

  ‘I thought she was coping with that,’ said Nell quickly.

  ‘Again, who can say? One thing we are fairly sure of though, and it’s that she wasn’t in that churchyard very long. There was no hypothermia, no slowing of the body’s metabolism. If she was abducted, she was kept somewhere. Oh, and there were no traces of any kind of drugs,’ he said, clearly anticipating Nell’s next question.

  ‘The police are going on the assumption that she really was abducted.’

  He spread his hands. ‘Police deal in facts. My belief is that this is something of the mind. Your daughter was somewhere during those hours, but you might never know where. She might not know, either. But she may have instinctively gone somewhere she felt safe. Even into the church. Are you a churchgoer? Was your husband?’

  ‘Not especially.’

  ‘I’ve talked to the on-duty psychiatrist – just in general terms. But we can book an appointment for Beth to see her properly if you wish.’

  Nell had no idea if this would be a good thing or not. She said, carefully, that she would think about it.

  ‘My advice – also that of the psychiatrist – is that it would be better to let this episode fade gradually and naturally,’ he said.

  ‘I think so, too.’

  ‘If it happened again, that might be different, of course. But the mind heals itself in odd ways. We can do deeper tests later – for epilepsy, for disorders of the brain . . .’ Nell flinched, and he put out a reassuring hand to her shoulder. ‘There are no indications at all of anything wrong there,’ he said. ‘But I suggest we make an outpatient appointment for her – two weeks ahead, let’s say – and if we think it necessary then, we can arrange some scans. But I don’t think it will be,’ he said quickly.

  Nell stayed with Beth until visiting hours ended, then hugged her goodnight, promising to be back early in the morning when they would go home. Beth was apparently content with this. She was a self-contained, self-sufficient child. As far as Nell could tell, the experience had bewildered her, but not unduly. She was interested in being in hospital, she had eaten the scrambled eggs and trifle, and she would have an adventure to tell when she went back to school. Above all, she seemed definite that the man she called the nightmare man had got her mixed up with someone else.

  ‘I’m sure he did,’ said Nell. ‘Go to sleep now, and when you wake up it’ll be tomorrow, and I’ll be here to take you home.’

  TEN

  As Nell went through the hospital’s small reception area, Michael Flint came in. It looked as if he had been waiting for her, because he came up at once and said, ‘She’s all right?’

  ‘Quite all right,’ said Nell. ‘And I’m so pleased to see you. I haven’t had a chance yet to thank you. Inspector Brent said you were the one who found her.’

  ‘Well, I did, but it was just luck, really.’

  Nell said, ‘I don’t care what it was. I’m so grateful I don’t think I can put it into words. And if I do I might start crying.’

  ‘You’re entitled to cry for hours, I should think. But Brent’s men would have found her before much longer, you know.’

  ‘Yes, but— I don’t know all the details yet, but I do know you drove all the way here to help the police artist, and you found out about the church, and you went out there—’ This time her voice did wobble, and she broke off, because she would not cry again, certainly not in front of someone she hardly knew.

  Michael appeared not to notice the wobble. He said, ‘Has she been able to talk about any of it? To tell you what happened?’

  ‘She doesn’t seem to remember anything,’ said Nell, grateful to switch to practicalities. ‘I don’t know whether to be relieved by that or terrified. She’s seeing it as a kind of extension of the nightmares.’

  ‘What do the doctors say?’

  ‘I don’t think they really know. They’ve talked about some sort of temporary amnesia— What have I said?’

  ‘Nothing. Go on. Temporary amnesia?’

  ‘Perhaps connected to her father’s death, they said. The inspector’s still following up the theory that it was a genuine abduction, of course, but I think he’s a bit unsure. He’s going to get the church checked by his forensic people tomorrow – the inside of the church, I mean.’

  ‘To see if she had been in there all night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Michael said, ‘When I found her – she looked almost as if she had been laid down quite carefully. She looked perfectly comfortable. I honestly don’t think she could have been out there in the churchyard all night.’

  ‘I think that’s a comfort,’ said Nell. ‘Although I’d rather know where she was all those hours.’

  ‘Yes.’ They were outside the hospital by now. ‘Is your car here?’ said Michael.

  ‘No, Inspector Brent said to ring when I was going back and he’d arrange a lift.’

  ‘I can drive you home,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you have to get back to Oxford?’

  ‘Not tonight. I’d booked at the Black Boar again. I didn’t know how long this might all take.’ He looked round the car park. ‘I’d probably be quicker than calling the inspector,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, you probably would. Thanks very much,’ said Nell gratefully.

  As they pulled up outside the shop front, Michael s
aid, ‘I’m sure you’re exhausted and you just want to go home and go to bed. But in case you haven’t eaten, the Black Boar do a reasonable bar meal.’

  He said this diffidently, as if he was not at all sure it was the right thing to say, and certainly as if he was not sure of her reply.

  Nell started to say she would go straight in, then realized two things. One was that she still did not know what had sent him out to the old churchyard and it was important to find out as much about that as possible. She could let Inspector Brent and the hospital know where she would be for the next hour or so, and in any case, she would have her phone to hand.

  The other thing was that, as Brad would have said, she was suddenly extraordinarily hungry. So she smiled and said, ‘D’you know, that’s a very welcome suggestion.’

  The Black Boar’s dining room was small and had the air of being an extension of the bar with a few knives and forks dropped casually on a couple of the tables. Even so, it felt odd to be facing a man across a dining table after so long.

  Michael ordered the food, then took from his pocket a folded A4 sheet. ‘This is what sent me to that church,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘It’s a printout from an article in one of the local newspapers.’

  Nell looked at the headline. ‘“Missing girl found in churchyard”. She glanced at the date then read the article through, frowning slightly. ‘How on earth did you know about this?’ she said, looking up at him.

  ‘You mentioned it to me on the phone.’

  ‘Did I? Oh yes, so I did.’

  ‘And you told the inspector as well,’ said Michael.

  ‘I do remember that,’ said Nell. ‘He managed to get the case notes, but he said they were very brief. That there was nothing to link it to Beth’s disappearance.’

  ‘There wasn’t. I saw the file. But I had something else to go on,’ said Michael. ‘Two things, in fact.’

  ‘What?’ For the first time she felt a faint suspicion.

  ‘The first is that when I was at Charect House a few weeks ago I saw – or thought I saw – a man who fits Beth’s nightmare.’