The Edge of Dark

by Pamela Hartshorne

  She could still feel the weight of the necklace and how comfortably it had fit around her throat. She had glowed with the certainty of being loved, and when Adrian had pulled the necklace from its box, she had reached for it once more, forgetting how it had burned her before. She hadn’t been aware of the others’ astonished looks, but Jeff had, and he had acted quickly to distract the others and guide her back to her chair, giving her time to come round. He told Roz afterwards that she had only been ‘gone’ a matter of moments, but the return had been heartbreaking for her. Roz hadn’t wanted to leave her baby behind, and she had sat blinking back tears, trying to act normally while yearning to be transported back to the past. Helen’s suspicious gaze had bored into her but Roz had barely noticed. How could she when she had just given birth? Her body was aching, her breasts throbbing with the phantom feel of a baby suckling, and her hormones were looping and spiralling out of control. No wonder she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the rest of the meeting, and she had barely come round to the present when Adrian carried the day with his idea of dressing them all in Tudor costume.

  ‘Helen will arrange for the costume hire,’ he had said, beaming.

  ‘That’s you dressed as a maid then,’ Jeff muttered in Roz’s ear. Helen’s jealousy of Roz was obvious to everyone except Adrian.

  Roz sighed and forced her attention back to the screen where the cursor was still winking impatiently under York’s most haunted house. The air in her office was hazy with the smoke that only she could smell. It was familiar now, a constant haunting backdrop to the room.

  Should she write about that too? About the necklace? About Jane and how gallantly she had struggled to keep her promises?

  No, she couldn’t do this. Abruptly Roz deleted the words, banging the backspace key until the screen glared blankly back at her once more. Jane had been real. Her joys were real, her pain was real. Roz didn’t want to use her life as a marketing ploy, a jokey idea to pull in the punters.

  She didn’t want to write anything at all. There was only one thing she wanted right then, Roz realized.

  A baby.

  ‘You stay here, sweeting.’ Jane kissed William and set him reluctantly on the floor, where he plopped forward onto his hands and immediately started crawling back towards the turned chair. He had just learnt how to pull himself up and make his wobbly way around pieces of furniture. Any day now he would be walking, thought Jane fondly. Her baby was growing all the time.

  William was so different from Geoffrey that Jane often felt she had never brought up a child before. Geoffrey had rarely smiled, had hated being held, and seemed to have taught himself to speak and walk in private. It was as if he had deliberately withheld the pleasure of seeing him develop, while William was a sunny-natured child whose face lit up with a delighted smile at the slightest provocation. His chuckle had strangers stopping in the street to pinch his cheeks and exclaim at the brightness of his eyes, and he was happy to be passed around. Everybody, it seemed, loved William – even Catherine, who usually had her head stuck in a book.

  Everybody except Geoffrey, of course. Geoffrey wouldn’t even say William’s name.

  ‘I must go,’ Jane said to Catherine, who was sitting in the window. Poppet had been lying with his head on her lap, but as William staggered around the chair, he jumped down and bustled over to the baby, feathery tail whisking gaily backwards and forwards.

  ‘No!’ said Jane, starting towards him, but it was too late. Poppet had licked William’s face and knocked him off balance. William dropped onto his bottom in a gale of giggles and clutched his fat baby hands towards the spaniel’s tail. It was impossible not to laugh with them.

  Jane scooped up Poppet and tucked him under her arms. ‘You come with me,’ she said with mock sternness. Unchastened, he licked her chin.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Catherine, putting her finger in the book to mark her place.

  ‘Margery Ellis has had a daughter. I must go and give her my good wishes for her lying-in.’

  Catherine made a face. ‘It’s too hot to sit in some stuffy room.’

  ‘I know, but it will be hotter still for Margery. Besides, how else will I know what my neighbours are up to?’

  ‘You could always ask Aunt Bess.’

  Jane suppressed a smile. Gilbert’s middle daughter had a sharp tongue and was the most like him, and although Jane loved all three of his daughters dearly, it was Catherine who held a special place in her heart. ‘Where is Mary?’ she asked, smoothing Poppet’s silky head so that the dog closed its eyes in bliss.

  ‘She is with Cecily. They’re in the kitchen, I think. Cooking or something,’ said Catherine without interest. Gilbert despaired of this daughter, who had no desire to learn how to run a house.

  ‘What is to become of her?’ he asked Jane sometimes.

  ‘Perhaps she will find a husband who will appreciate her wit and her conversation,’ Jane replied. ‘Let us hope that it will be so. I fear our Catherine is not meant to be a housekeeper.’

  ‘Will you look after William then?’ It was time Catherine had some responsibility, Jane thought. She was overshadowed by the dutiful Mary and the sweet-tempered Cecily, both of whom adored William and never tired of playing with him. Catherine loved her little brother, of course, but she loved reading more. Jane saw the longing glance Catherine cast towards her book. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said in a dry voice.

  Catherine closed the book with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Of course, Mamma.’

  It was stifling in the chamber where Margery Ellis was lying in the big bed. The shutters were closed against unwholesome odours in the air, and a fire burned in the grate so that the women’s faces beneath their caps gleamed with sweat. Jane tried to ease her bodice away from her skin as unobtrusively as she could, but she could feel the perspiration trickling between her breasts, down her lower spine and inside her thighs. Poppet lay on her lap and panted. Still, Jane remembered her own lying-in and how it had cheered her to be initiated into the mysteries of motherhood by the other women. She touched the necklace Gilbert had given her that day. She wore it always, a talisman of happiness.

  It was good to talk to her neighbours too and to grumble together about the heat, about lazy servants and the incompetence of the local constables. About the latest scandal and their husbands’ foibles. When Jane left, she walked slowly back up St Dunstan’s Hill and across Tower Street to Minchen Lane with Poppet snuffling along beside her. The whole city seemed to be wrapped in a haze of heat that stung the eyes and thickened the air so that it was like breathing through a rough blanket. The streets were stinking with rotting refuse, and the dogs lay panting in the shade, too hot to snarl over scraps.

  Jane put a hand to the back of her neck and made a face at the feel of the dampness there. She wished for a storm to break the suffocating heat. A long spell of hot weather like this was always worrying. The slightest spark could lead to a fire that could ravage a house in no time, and then there was the constant danger of sickness. Praise God, there had been few cases reported so far, but the longer the heat lasted, the sicker folk would get.

  She would ask Gilbert if they could go out to the garden house, Jane decided, walking under the sign of the golden lily and down the passage. The door to the kitchen stood open in a vain attempt to let any breeze in. Mary and Cecily were inside, straining the whey from cream boiled with eggs to make a blancmange.

  ‘I see Catherine is not helping you,’ Jane said without surprise.

  ‘She’s reading.’ Mary sounded baffled. She had no more interest in reading than Catherine had in cooking.

  ‘I don’t suppose she’s got much reading done with William,’ said Jane.

  ‘She hasn’t got William,’ said Cecily. ‘She’s on her own. I went up to ask her for something and she just told me to go away,’ she remembered bitterly.

  Jane stiffened. ‘Then where is William?’

  ‘Geoffrey’s looking after him. Catherine said Geoffrey never does anything t
o help, and she’s right, he should do something, but she never does anything either.’

  To Jane, the kitchen was suddenly cold. ‘Where did Geoffrey take him?’ she asked sharply. ‘Did you see where they went?’

  ‘Out into the yard. Didn’t you see them when you came in?’

  Jane was already picking up her skirts and running back outside. The heat bounced off the dried mud and she held up a hand to shield her eyes. Where would Geoffrey have gone?

  Think, Jane, think . . . But she couldn’t think. She kept seeing William’s trusting smile. He would let himself be picked up by anyone, even Geoffrey, and taken . . . where? There was no time to get the girls to help search and she didn’t want to frighten them too soon. Jane was frightened enough for everyone. She had been so careful never to leave Geoffrey and William alone. Why hadn’t she ensured Catherine understood that? But how could she have told the girls not to trust her own son?

  Jane ran down to the outhouses, opening the doors to the still room, the brew house, the privy to make sure William wasn’t shut in. ‘Geoffrey!’ she called, unable to stop the panic trembling in her voice. ‘Geoffrey, where are you?’

  It was Poppet who found them. Sensing Jane’s distress, he had followed her out into the yard. His ears pricked, he sniffed at the dust, and then he followed his nose to the woodstore, where he stood at the door, tail waving gently.

  Snatching open the door, Jane found William sitting round-eyed on the filthy floor. He was watching as Geoffrey carefully laid a faggot on the fire he had laid in the space between the piles of logs. Relief at finding them both unharmed made Jane slump against the doorway.

  William’s face lit up with a smile at the sight of his mother, and he began to crawl towards her. Geoffrey only glanced up with a peeved expression. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said.

  Jane picked up the baby while anger rolled over the relief. ‘Geoffrey, what are you doing with William?’

  Something shifted in the black eyes. ‘I’m looking after him.’

  ‘In the woodstore?’

  Slyness slipped over his face. ‘I’m teaching him about fire. Ah!’ He sat back with a sigh of pleasure as a flame caught on the dry tinder and flickered into life.

  ‘Put that out!’ said Jane. ‘It will burn down the whole house, if not the whole street!’

  ‘What if it does?’

  Exasperated, she kicked out the little fire he had built herself and stamped on the embers. ‘What is wrong with you?’ she demanded furiously, but Geoffrey only glared back at her, his eyes burning black in his white face. ‘Ah, I should have listened to Gilbert when he would have sent you into service,’ she said in disgust. ‘If it were not for that promise . . .’

  ‘What promise?’ he asked sullenly, and Jane let out a sharp sigh. She should not have told him, perhaps, but now that the words were out, she could not call them back.

  ‘I made a promise that I would care for you and keep you safe always.’

  Geoffrey’s lip curled. ‘To my butcher father, I suppose?’

  ‘No, to . . . someone else,’ she said. This did not seem the time to tell him the truth about his parentage. ‘I am your mother, Geoffrey, and it was a vow any mother would keep for her child.’

  ‘So you keep your vow by marrying a man who despises me and having another child you care for more than me?’

  ‘Geoffrey . . .’ Jane sighed and sat on the stump the servants used to split logs. Happily oblivious to the tension, William grabbed at her shoulder so that he could bounce up and down on her lap. Was it possible that all Geoffrey needed was reassurance? ‘Geoffrey, I do not love you less because I have another child. Is that what you think?’

  ‘It is what I know,’ he said, his face dark with resentment.

  ‘Then you are wrong,’ said Jane. She hesitated. Geoffrey was not a boy who let himself be touched but she had to find a way to comfort him somehow. ‘Sometimes . . . sometimes you are hard to like,’ she said frankly. ‘You can be cruel and selfish, and when you light a fire in a woodstore on a hot day . . . well, that is sheer foolishness. But you are my son, Geoffrey, and I love you. Nothing can change that.’

  ‘You will not abandon me?’

  ‘What foolishness is this? Of course I will not abandon you!’

  ‘Promise me,’ he said fiercely.

  His thin shoulders were hunched, his black eyes blazed. Jane looked at him, this strange, difficult boy who had suddenly given her a glimpse of a much more insecure and vulnerable child inside than she had ever imagined, and she knew that of all the promises she had ever made, this was the one she must keep above all.

  ‘I promise,’ she said.

  ‘What’s going on in here?’ The overhead spotlight stabbed through the dark hall and Jeff jerked back in his chair, throwing up an arm to shield his eyes against the sudden, glaring brightness. Helen was standing with her hand on the switch, her face triumphant. ‘I knew something was up!’

  ‘For God’s sake, woman, think what you’re doing!’ Charles Denton was on his feet, his face alight with fear. ‘Do you have any idea of the danger you’re putting Roz in?’

  Roz? Danger? Jeff was feeling groggy, disorientated. He rubbed a hand over his forehead as he turned to look at Roz, who was sitting in a chair staring blankly ahead into the shadows.

  Helen was unimpressed. ‘Oh, this is all such rubbish! She’s not in any danger. Any fool can see she’s putting it all on!’

  ‘On the contrary, she’s possessed by a strong and stubborn spirit. I’ve been trying to persuade it to leave Roz alone, but now you’ve broken the connection,’ said Charles angrily. ‘If I can’t re-establish it, she could be lost in the past.’

  ‘What should we do?’ asked Jeff, alarmed.

  ‘Get her out of here for a start.’ Charles jerked his head at Helen, who visibly swelled with outrage.

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that? You’ve got no business in here. You’re a charlatan, a nothing!’ Her voice shook with malice. ‘I’m going to tell Sir Adrian about the gross abuse of his trust,’ she spat and her eyes rested venomously on Roz. ‘He’ll get rid of her at last,’ she said with satisfaction.

  ‘And as for you,’ she went on, turning on Jeff, ‘you can go too! He should never have employed you. You’re nothing but a cold-blooded killer. You’re a murderer.’ Her voice dropped, suppurating with spite. ‘I know what you did,’ she said. ‘I’ll get even with you yet.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Out of nowhere, hatred for her roiled through Jeff. His face darkened and he took a step towards her, but Charles put a hand on his arm.

  ‘Do you know what she’s talking about?’ he asked in a low voice.

  ‘We never wanted you in the first place,’ Helen taunted. ‘You were just a means to an end.’

  Confused, Jeff hesitated. A moment ago he had been so certain that he knew what Helen was talking about, but now he wasn’t so sure. He snatched at the memory, but it was gone. Was she referring to the arson? How would she know about that anyway? His records should show only that he had been released from a secure unit, not any details of his conviction.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said to Charles. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m just wondering why she’s so angry.’

  ‘What are you whispering about?’ Helen was pacing in the shadows, as if reluctant to step into the brilliant spotlight. ‘I want you all to leave right now,’ she said, her voice rising shrilly, ‘or I’ll call the police.’

  ‘We need to get her out of here.’ Charles turned his back on her and focused his attention on Jeff. ‘I’m worried about Roz. Jane’s hold on her is very deep, and I can’t reconnect while Helen is here. She’s creating too much negative energy.’ He touched Jeff on the arm. ‘Can you get her away?’

  Jeff glanced at the chair where Roz sat oblivious to what was happening around her. The blankness of her gaze made ice pool in the pit of his stomach, but he was finding it difficult to think clearly. So many emotions were surging and swirling in h
is head: hate and need, bitterness and anger, loss and longing . . . It was as if she kept shifting, blurring between the sister he had only just found and the woman who coated his vision with resentment. He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and tried to focus. At least with Helen, he knew how he felt.

  ‘I’ll get rid of her,’ he said, and headed purposefully towards her, unaware of the viciousness that twisted his expression.

  Helen fell back at his approach. ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’

  ‘Get out of here!’ he snarled.

  ‘You and her,’ she spat with a glance at the silent Roz. ‘You’re nothing but trouble. I’ve known it right from the start. You’ve always got your heads together, whispering and plotting! You don’t care about him. You never have.’

  ‘Care about who?’ Charles asked and she seemed to blink and stumble. ‘Who doesn’t Roz care about?’

  ‘Sir Adrian, of course.’ Helen recovered herself, but she touched her head as if dazed. ‘She’s just using him, and so’s he,’ she said, jabbing a finger at Jeff. ‘I’m not going to let them get away with it. I’m going to go and ring Sir Adrian right now,’ she said, backing away as Jeff continued to advance.

  ‘You do that,’ said Jeff. ‘Just go away.’

  ‘You’re going to regret this,’ said Helen, whirling around and slamming out of the hall so that the latch on the wooden door clattered, reverberating through the silence she left behind.

  ‘Okay, good. Stay with me, Jeff.’ Charles spoke very carefully. He seemed to be speaking from very far away, but Jeff turned and shook his head slightly. ‘Can you turn out the light?’

  Yes, he could do that. He couldn’t make sense of what was going on in his head but he knew where the light switch was. Moving like an automaton, he went over and flicked the switch so that the hall was plunged back into a darkness illuminated only by the three candles Charles had lit earlier. Their flames beckoned him closer.