The Edge of Dark

by Pamela Hartshorne

  ‘And you became a different boy outside the shop too, didn’t you?’ said Roz. ‘Maggie – the neighbour – told me you started getting into trouble when you’d just been shy before. Our mother was really worried about how you’d changed, she said. They thought it was just a phase. You were jealous of my father and all the attention she gave him and the girls, and then me when I came along.’

  ‘I wasn’t jealous of you,’ he said quickly. ‘You were my sister. But Patrick . . . he was so fucking smug. Always trying to be my friend. Always trying to understand me.’ Jeff practically spat out the word. ‘And the girls used to make my head ache, giggling or screaming, and always making a big fuss about everything. Mum bought into it all. She couldn’t do enough for them. She thought Patrick had rescued us or something, but I could see they were only using her.’ His face darkened. ‘There was never any time for just the two of us any more.’

  ‘So you were nasty and set fires to get her attention?’

  ‘Probably.’ His face worked suddenly. ‘But I didn’t want to kill her!’ he burst out. ‘She was my mum. Why would I want to kill her?’

  ‘What if you didn’t?’ said Roz quietly. ‘What if you were possessed? What if you were the one being used, by a spirit or a ghost trapped at that house in Micklegate? What if it was just waiting for a muddled, unhappy boy to come along?’

  Jeff stared at her. His mouth was dry. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘There’s something wrong with that house. You said it yourself. It’s as if the hall sucks in memories, and then traps them . . . I don’t know how to explain it,’ she said helplessly. ‘As if all the wrongness from the past is still there, somehow, all jumbled up together.’ She held her hands apart, making them quiver to illustrate how the atmosphere in the hall felt to her. ‘It’s like the badness is in the air, looking for a way out. Looking for someone to take the wrongness out of the house.’

  ‘It was a model railway, that’s all,’ said Jeff, but he could hear the desperation in his denial.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Roz. ‘If it had just been a model, I wouldn’t hear it now, but I do. You hear it too, don’t you? I think something happened to you in that shop. Something changed while you watched those trains, didn’t it? Look at me, Jeff,’ she said. ‘Tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.’

  He tried to look at her, but her eyes were too clear, too direct, and his skidded away from them. ‘How do you know all this?’ he whispered.

  ‘Because it’s happening to me too,’ she said.

  Roz crumpled up the napkin she had been fiddling with ever since she arrived and put it in her saucer. ‘I’ve been through all the other explanations,’ she assured him. ‘I’ve done the whole it-can’t-be-happening-to-me thing too, but I’ve given up fighting it. It is happening to me – and I think it’s happened to you too.’

  She sat at the table with its plastic flowers and its cheery tablecloth, and she told Jeff about coming to York. She told him about her aunt’s death, the horrible shock of discovering the truth about her past, and the tensions with Nick over Daniel. And she told him about Jane, right from the start.

  It was difficult to judge how Jeff was taking it. He wouldn’t look at her but stared fiercely down into his tea. But he was listening and when she had finished, he looked up.

  ‘So today, in the yard . . .? I thought you were pregnant,’ he said and she smiled sadly.

  ‘No, not me.’ She put a hand on her stomach, remembering how it had felt to know that a child was growing inside her, and longing stabbed at her. ‘That was Jane. She’s worried about Geoffrey and what he’ll do.’

  Roz was worried too. A certainty had come to her, like all the pieces of a puzzle falling into place, while she was talking to her brother. But would Jeff accept it?

  ‘Why did you come to work at the Holmwood Foundation?’ she asked him carefully.

  Jeff shrugged. ‘It’s not that easy to get jobs when you’ve been convicted of murder. When I was released on parole, York was the only place I knew. It wasn’t like I had any family to go back to,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘I was happy when the Foundation moved to Micklegate and the restoration began. The model shop was one of the few places in York that had happy memories for me.’

  ‘So you weren’t drawn back to the house itself?’

  ‘A bit.’ He paused, thinking about it. ‘Maybe. Yes.’

  ‘And when you were given a new identity, did they give you the name Jeff, or did you choose it?’

  ‘I chose it,’ he said slowly. ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘I think it’s Geoffrey who’s haunting Holmwood House,’ said Roz in a rush. ‘He’s just a child but he’s evil. He’s bound up with what happens to Jane, I can feel it,’ she said, leaning over the table, her eyes intent on Jeff’s. ‘He hates her, but he can’t bear to let go of her either. He’s conflicted.’

  ‘He was,’ said Jeff. ‘He’s dead, right?’

  The words were like a slap and Roz shuddered. ‘Yes, he’s dead. And so is Jane. But don’t you see, Jeff, they’re trying to live again through us?’

  ‘Say I believe you,’ Jeff said, holding up a hand to stop her reply. ‘Just say,’ he warned. ‘Why pick us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said impatiently. Now that she understood what was happening, she was gripped by a sense of urgency. ‘Maybe we were both vulnerable because of other things that were happening. Maybe our mother was descended from them in some way. I don’t think it matters. What matters is what we’re going to do about it.’

  Jeff rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. He was thinking his way through it, she could tell. Not wanting to be rushed into anything. She swallowed her own impatience. The more she pushed, the more he would dig in his heels. Nick was like that too.

  The thought of Nick was like a cool balm, and she longed for him suddenly.

  ‘If you’re right . . .’ said Jeff at last. ‘I’m not saying you are,’ he added quickly when Roz sat up straighter, ‘but if . . . it would explain how mixed up I’ve been feeling about you since you arrived. Like, one minute I’d think you were my baby sister and the only family I had, and the next I’d resent you like mad for abandoning me. I knew it wasn’t fair. You were only a little kid, you couldn’t have stopped them taking me away, but that’s what it felt like. Like I was all alone and you had people to love you. Like you had everything and I had nothing.’

  ‘Oh Jeff . . .’ Without thinking, Roz reached out and laid her hand over his on the table. Her heart ached for the brother she had never known. If she was right, his fate had been a hard one indeed. Driven by Geoffrey’s spirit, he had destroyed his mother and his only chance of a normal future, and she saw something crumple in his eyes at the realization.

  He swallowed. ‘What are we going to do, Boo?’

  ‘We’re going to have to stop them before something terrible happens,’ she said, sounding confident, although inside she could hardly believe she was having this conversation. ‘I’m calling Charles Denton back. He has some cleansing rituals he uses to get ghosts to depart. I think we should both be there. Can you make sure the house is open if I arrange for him to come? I know the alarms are complicated now.’

  ‘I can do that,’ he said. ‘But how are you going to keep Sir Adrian away?’

  ‘I’m not going to tell him,’ said Roz. ‘This is nothing to do with him.’

  Here she came, swanning back as if she had all the time in the world! Helen pressed her lips together as Roz walked through the door, brushing her hair back from her face. That Jeff was tagging along behind her, holding the door for her. Another idiot caught up in her spell, Helen thought contemptuously.

  ‘Where have you two been?’ she demanded.

  Roz favoured her with one of her long, cool stares. ‘We’ve been out,’ she said.

  ‘Sir Adrian’s called a meeting,’ Helen informed her importantly. ‘He wants everybody there. You too,’ she added to Jeff as he turned to go.
r />   ‘Me?’

  ‘Everybody, he said. We’ve all been waiting for you two.’

  ‘Ah, there you are, Roz!’ Sir Adrian beamed as she ushered Roz and Jeff into his room. Why could he never be irritable with her for being late? Helen took her seat and opened her notebook.

  ‘I’ve had an idea,’ Sir Adrian announced. ‘I think we should all wear Tudor dress to the opening!’ He looked around triumphantly, waiting for the applause.

  Seated behind him, Helen had a prime view of everybody’s expressions. Mark was looking cautious, Lucy dismayed, Roz appalled. That dolt, Jeff, just looked stolid. None of them had any idea of how hard Sir Adrian worked. They didn’t appreciate him at all, she thought bitterly.

  Lucy looked at Roz, who looked at Mark. It was Roz who spoke first. ‘You don’t think that might make our guests feel uncomfortable?’ Her BBC accent was like nails down a chalkboard to Helen, whose fingers tightened around her pen.

  ‘No,’ said Sir Adrian in surprise. ‘Why would it?’

  ‘Well . . . I’m just wondering if it might seem a bit odd with some of us in fancy dress and everybody else not.’

  ‘We won’t be in fancy dress. We’ll be in authentic dress,’ he insisted. ‘And it’ll be the perfect opportunity to display the necklace!’

  Helen saw Roz’s expression slip. Obviously remembering what a fool she had made of herself last time the necklace came out of the safe, she thought with satisfaction.

  Sir Adrian went over to the safe and was punching in the code as he talked. ‘One five eight zero,’ he said. ‘Sir Geoffrey’s birth date, so it’s easy to remember.’

  Helen pursed her lips. Only she and Sir Adrian should know the code to the safe. What was he thinking telling the likes of Jeff Wood? The man had been in prison, for heaven’s sake! But that was typical of Sir Adrian. He was an innocent in many ways, and far too trusting!

  ‘And here it is . . .’ Sir Adrian lifted out the box and carried it over to the desk, where he set it down and took off the lid carefully. ‘This is too beautiful not to show off, surely?’ he said.

  Helen wondered if they realized that they were all staring at the box. It seemed to her as if they were holding their breath and as Sir Adrian pulled it out in a flash and glitter of gold and gems, they let out an instinctive sigh. Her lip curled as she watched them, enthralled by a piece of jewellery. Some people were less materialistic, she thought virtuously of herself. Lucy was bad enough, but look at Roz! Miss Superiority herself was staring at the necklace as it dangled from Sir Adrian’s hand with naked longing, and as Helen watched in disbelief, a smile suffused Roz’s face with such joy that Helen’s stomach twisted with envy.

  She might look beautiful, but she was well on the way to making a fool of herself too, Helen noted with delight. After all the fuss she had made about the necklace burning last time, Roz seemed to have changed her tune. Not content with looking, she was actually reaching out for the necklace as if she would take it for herself.

  ‘I have brought you a gift,’ said Gilbert, bending to kiss Jane as she lay, weary but elated, in the great bed. They had tidied away the bloody sheets, and cleaned her and anointed her belly with some oil of St John’s wort and then swathed her in clean linen. She had sipped a decoction of liquorice, raisins and cinnamon and Annis had brought her a nourishing broth with some bread, butter and sugar. And now, at last, Gilbert was allowed into the chamber to see her and inspect his son.

  From a purse at his belt he drew a necklace that glittered in the candlelight. ‘For you, my bird,’ he said, smiling. ‘Hold out your hand.’ He dropped the necklace into her palm. Exquisite roses made of rubies and pearls were strung together with gold and a delicate pattern of pearl drops, and Jane’s eyes stung with tears.

  ‘Oh Gilbert, it is beautiful!’

  ‘As are you, wife,’ said Gilbert and she smiled at him.

  ‘I think your delight in your son has addled your brain, sir. Have you forgot I am your plain Jane?’

  ‘You have never been plain to me,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘You have the clearest, most beautiful eyes I have ever seen, the straightest back, the most gallant set of your head.’ He lowered his voice so he could not be heard by the servants bustling around in the background. ‘And I have seen you naked, Jane, and I know that you are not plain at all. Your hair is like silk,’ he said, lifting a lock from the pillow and rubbing it between his fingers, ‘and your skin is soft and smells of gillyflowers – ’ He broke off in consternation. ‘Now, what have I said to make you cry?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said with a watery smile. ‘It is just I do not know what I have done to deserve such happiness.’ She glanced at the cradle, where her son, William, lay, his tiny hands curled into fists. He had a smudge of dark hair and his face was red and puckered, and every time she looked at him, happiness squeezed her heart so hard it was painful.

  Remembering Juliana’s agony, she had been anxious about the birth, but once her labour had started, Jane had forgotten her fears. It was as if her body had taken control, her belly contracting violently whether she willed it or not. Gilbert made sure the best midwife was sent for, and Annis and Bess were on hand to murmur comfortingly that she was doing fine. When they put William on her breast, Jane looked down at his scrunched-up face and tears of joy had leaked from her eyes.

  Now it seemed that she could not stop crying. Bess assured her that it was normal. ‘I wept scuttlefuls for each of my babes,’ she told Jane. ‘Did you not cry when Geoffrey was born?’

  Jane blinked. She had forgotten that only Annis knew that William was the first child she had borne, although she suspected the midwife had guessed too. She had given Jane some shrewd looks, but Jane did not dare tell Bess the truth. Too many lies rested on the promise she had made to Juliana. Bess was kind but her tongue ran like a fishwife’s, and she would be bound to let something slip to Gilbert.

  Gilbert, for whom the truth mattered most of all.

  Gilbert, whose love for her would shatter if he knew how she had lied to keep Geoffrey safe.

  Jane remembered when Geoffrey was born and the relief she had felt that he was alive and a boy, but the joy of his birth and the hopes she had had for him were muddled up with her grief over Juliana’s death. Jane had wept then, indeed.

  ‘Not like this,’ she said to Bess.

  ‘Well, you have a cry if you need it,’ Bess advised. ‘You’ve given my brother a fine son, so you’ve got thirty days to lie in before you need to be sensible again. I’d make the most of it if I were you.’

  So Jane sniffed back the tears as she drew the necklace wonderingly through her fingers again and again in a blur of gold and jewels. She had never owned anything as fine.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ she said again.

  Gilbert grazed her cheek tenderly with his knuckle. ‘Put it on,’ he said, and Jane sat up obediently, bending her head down so that he could fasten the necklace around her neck. It settled into place around her throat and she touched it, feeling the warmth of the pearls, the weight of the gold.

  Smiling mistily at Gilbert, she tangled her fingers with his. ‘Thank you, my heart,’ she said. ‘I will wear it always, so that every day I will think of this moment when I have everything I could ever want.’

  ‘Are you ready to see the girls? They are clamouring to meet their new brother!’

  ‘Of course.’

  But when the girls were hanging over the baby and exclaiming, Jane’s eyes met Gilbert’s over their heads.

  ‘And Geoffrey?’ she asked, knowing what the answer would be.

  ‘He isn’t here. He is jealous, Jane. Don’t fret. He will be back. Geoffrey likes to be comfortable. Where else does he have to go?’

  Sure enough, Geoffrey returned much later, or so Jane was told by Annis, who was keeping her company in childbed.

  ‘It’s time he got used to sharing you,’ she said briskly. ‘A boy like that should be out, not clinging to his mother’s skirts.’

  �
�It is hard for him,’ Jane said, excusing Geoffrey as she always did.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You know his story, Annis. He has only had me to care for him.’

  ‘And somewhere comfortable to live and food on the table and a place in a household,’ Annis reminded her. ‘Geoffrey has more than most boys. He’ll come round to William.’

  ‘Of course he will,’ said Jane, trying to convince herself, but when the conversation turned to goings-on in the street and Bess came in shaking her head over another fire, Jane couldn’t help but wonder.

  And worry.

  Roz sat at her desk, absently tapping her fingernails against her teeth. It was a habit that drove Nick mad, but at least he wasn’t there to complain. She was supposed to be writing the blurb for a new flyer about Holmwood House. York’s most haunted house, she had written so far, and now the cursor blinked relentlessly at the top of the blank screen, waiting for her to go on.

  Would the house still be haunted after tonight? She had arranged for Charles Denton to come after everybody else had left, and Jeff had agreed to be there as well. Charles would be doing a cleansing ritual. If it was successful, Jane would be gone, and Geoffrey too. When she thought about how Jeff had been used by Geoffrey and the terrible price he had paid for being a vulnerable and unhappy boy, Roz was sure that it was the right thing to do. Her brother deserved a chance to be himself, to make his choices unclouded by another’s malign spirit.

  But when she remembered holding William to her breast, Roz’s certainty evaporated. She ached to go back and feel the warm weight of him in her arms, to stroke his downy head. Her baby, her boy. Roz was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

  She had been so happy.

  Jane had been happy, Nick had pointed out when she told him what had happened, and Roz knew that he was right, and that it hadn’t been her experience. But it felt like it was. She remembered the agony of her muscles stretching, stretching, stretching, the feeling of her insides being wrung by pitiless, impersonal hands. The glorious rush as the baby slipped into the midwife’s brisk hands. The euphoria even as she sobbed with exhaustion.