Hiding From the Light

by Barbara Erskine

  His bedroom had never seemed more welcoming. It was warm, the central heating for once on and functioning, the light by the bed throwing mellow shadows across his pillows, the rose-pink curtains, chosen presumably by his predecessor’s wife, closed against the unexpectedly frosty night air. He had brought up a glass of whisky and his Bible. He planned to sleep with the light on.

  Before he climbed into bed he pulled back the curtain a few inches and peered out into the dark. The night was peaceful. Above the line of trees he could see stars; the wind had dropped. For the moment at least there was no fog. Letting the curtain fall into place, he turned back into the room. The trouble was, the shadow he feared so much wasn’t outside. It was here inside his own head.

  The words of the prayers came, weaving their comfort around his heart, but there was something missing. ‘Deliver us from evil.’ He stared round the room. ‘For thine is the kingdom.’ He held his breath. The room around him seemed to be doing the same. ‘The power and the glory.’ He could do this. He could withstand the attack. His faith was strong. Christ was with him. With Christ on his side how could he fail?

  You are right. The Lord is with us!

  The voice in his head was clear.

  I fight evil in the name of the blood and bones of Christ.

  ‘No!’ Mike shook his head. ‘We are not on the same side!’ He realised that he had spoken out loud. His fingers tightened around his Bible. ‘Jesus Christ is merciful. You are not!’ He looked around the room again. Silence. He held his breath. Pray. That was what Tony said. Fill your head with prayer. Leave no gaps, no nooks or crannies where he can lodge. ‘Why me?’ That was stupid, asking a question. Mike closed his eyes and bowed his head, resting it on his interlaced fingers.

  Because you are a man of God.

  The voice was soft now, less strident.

  You needs must fight the Devil, Michael! Destroy the witches!

  Mike’s eyes flew open. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the Bible to his chest.

  You asked me in, Michael!

  The voice seemed to be fading.

  ‘Christ be with me, Christ within me,

  Christ behind me, Christ before me,

  Christ beside me, Christ to win me,

  Christ to comfort and restore me …’ Mike intoned under his breath. Don’t argue. Don’t enter a discussion. Pray.

  At eleven o’clock the old boiler down in the cellars clanked to its appointed stop. The house began to grow cold. Mike’s eyes were closing. Each time his head nodded forward he jerked awake and began to pray again. As the cold grew more intense he pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped it round his shoulders, allowing, just for a moment, the silence in the room to surround him. Nothing. All was quiet.

  ‘Thank you, Lord, for your protection. Stay with me now. Lighten my darkness, I beseech thee, O Lord, and by thy great mercy defend me from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of thy only Son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ …’ The gaps between his whispered words grew longer. At some time after one a.m. his head nodded forward and he slept.

  John Butcher was standing in front of Matthew Hopkins’s table. The huge man in crumpled, bloodstained clothes, was twisting his cap between his meaty fingers, his face contorted with tears.

  ‘My Jane has died because of you! The only chance she had was Liza’s medicine and you took Liza away! You’ve killed my wife!’

  Hopkins frowned, trying to place this man who had forced his way upstairs. ‘I am sorry to hear your wife has died, but Liza could not have helped her. Would you have wanted the Devil’s hand on her?’ He stared up coldly.

  Tears were streaming down the man’s face. ‘She was in travail three days. Three days! She died screaming! Screaming in agony as she bled to death. She died and the baby, too.’ Butcher shook his head piteously, his mouth slack. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.

  ‘It was God’s will.’ Matthew was indifferent. ‘Leave us. There is nothing to be done. Go home and bury your wife and let it be the end of the matter.’ He glanced towards the door, where someone else was hurrying up from the street below.

  It was Sarah.

  ‘So, Master Hopkins, are you pleased with the results of your justice?’ She leaned forward across his table, her hazel eyes flashing as Butcher shambled blindly out of the room, sobbing. She had regained her courage; her desperation had given her strength. ‘What else will you do? How many more people must die? How many more tests will you inflict?’

  He looked up and met her gaze, confident that John Stearne, standing in the corner of the room near the window, would escort her to the door. ‘I do God’s work, mistress.’ He was too tired to argue today. The visit of John Butcher and the weakness from the fever had left him drained. ‘Beware, lest you too are accused of serving Satan.’

  ‘Where is she now? Where have you taken Liza?’

  ‘To Colchester.’ He sighed. ‘She will be held in the dungeons there under the castle until she is taken to Chelmsford to the assize, after which she will assuredly hang.’

  ‘Is this lady,’ John Stearne’s voice broke in quietly, ‘not on your list, Matthew?’ He stepped forward. Taller, older than his colleague, his face set in deep weary lines, he stood in front of her and looked her up and down, then he turned to Matthew and stabbed at the notebook on the table in front of him with his forefinger.

  In the draught from the open door, the candle in its black iron holder trailed smoke across the table and Matthew coughed.

  ‘Search down the names,’ Stearne went on. ‘I know you wrote Mistress Paxman’s down there, Matthew.’ He looked Sarah up and down again. ‘Her brazenness and her care for this witch betray her each time we see her as one of Satan’s sisterhood.’

  This time Sarah stood her ground. ‘You talk nonsense, Master Stearne. My husband’s friends in Colchester tell me they do not believe in your list. They do not believe that women like Liza are witches. What has she ever done to you, Master Hopkins? She is a good, kind, gentle soul who worked to alleviate the suffering of her neighbours. People like poor little Jane Butcher.’

  ‘She is one of the coven, mistress, who met near my house and conjured Satan’s creature, the bear, to torment me!’ Hopkins snapped back at her. His eyes were watering in the candle-smoke. So far he had found no evidence for the existence of covens anywhere in the region, but perhaps this woman would at last lead him to them. ‘Do not speak to me of evidence. There is ample evidence. The woman had two familiars. Cats.’ He shuddered. ‘And she has confessed. She has confessed everything. And even if she hadn’t, and there was no evidence, I need none. If her name is on the list, that is evidence enough! I have Parliament’s commission.’

  He leaned back in his chair. His face was damp with sweat. Livid patches on his cheeks betrayed the fever lurking in his bones. ‘Her name is there.’ He picked up his quill and scratched it across the page, underlining a name. ‘As is yours, Mistress Paxman.’

  Why was she not afraid of him any more? Last time she had backed away, scared of his threats. Now she held his gaze steadily. Confident. He shivered. Were those Satan’s eyes looking out of that pretty face? Had she had carnal knowledge of the Devil himself? Taking a deep breath he summoned up the strength to stand, aware that with his tall crowned hat still firmly in place on his head he was taller than her. Just.

  ‘Get thee behind me, Satan!’ Fixing his eyes on hers he glared at her, his voice echoing around the room.

  Mike started awake with a groan and his Bible fell to the floor from his lap. He stared round. She had gone. The room was empty.

  64

  ‘Where on earth have you been?’ Alex looked up as Paula came in. ‘Why didn’t you ring me?’

  She dropped her handbag and briefcase on the carpet. ‘I tried. There was no answer. I got a lift with Judith Sadler and I went back to her place for some tea. She drove me home in the end. Where are the kids, Alex?’

  ‘Watching telly in the den.’ He frowned. ‘I’m sorry,
I must have forgotten to switch on the mobile. You look all in.’

  ‘I feel it.’ She threw herself down on the sofa. ‘Were they with Lyndsey this afternoon?’

  ‘You know they were.’

  ‘And they’re all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ His eyes slid away from hers and he hesitated.

  Paula sat forward. ‘Oh God, what’s wrong? What did she do to them?’

  ‘She didn’t do anything. James cut himself on a knife. But he’s fine. She put some of her spooky green ointment on and bandaged … Paula?’

  ‘James!’

  He watched dumbfounded as she ran into the den, grabbed the little boy by the hand and dragged him off to the downstairs cloakroom. There she pulled off the plaster, ignoring James’s wails of protest, and proceeded to scrub his hand.

  His cries turned to shrieks of agony as the nailbrush she had seized tore into the open wound.

  ‘Hey! Paula! Whoa! What’s happened?’ Alex followed her into the tiny room and took the brush out of her hand. ‘Come on, Jamie, let’s find you some proper antiseptic ointment in a tube and a nice new plaster.’ He glared at her. ‘What the hell was that all about?’

  She was shaking. ‘Do you know what she puts in that ointment, Alex?’

  ‘Marigolds. She told me.’ He patted James’s hand dry with some loo paper off the roll and rummaged in the medicine cabinet on the wall, coming out with some TCP ointment and a box of children’s brightly coloured plasters.

  ‘Fat from dead babies!’ Paula was shaking.

  Alex and James stared at her, both shocked into silence. Then both spoke at once. ‘Yuk!’ James held his hand out as far away from himself as he could.

  ‘Crap!’ Alex glared at her. ‘Paula, are you listening to yourself? Here, old chap.’ He put his arm around James’s shoulders, aware that Sophie had followed them and was listening wide-eyed in the doorway. ‘You’re fine. I don’t know where Mummy got that funny idea, do you?’ He patted James on the back and gave him a little push. ‘Back to the telly, both of you.’

  They went, but he saw the nervous way James clutched at his sister’s hand, something he hadn’t seen him do for a year at least. As they disappeared silently through the door, Alex turned to his wife. ‘What in God’s name is the matter with you?’

  ‘I had to get the stuff off him, Alex.’ Paula ran the taps in the basin and reached for the soap again.

  ‘The stuff, Paula, was marigold ointment. It’s made with herbs and Vaseline.’

  ‘Not Vaseline.’ She glanced in the mirror in front of them and held his gaze. ‘Judith told me.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Alex was exasperated. ‘You don’t believe her?’

  ‘She’s with the church, Alex. She’s a lay reader. She teaches at the local primary. She’s not going to make up things like that.’

  ‘Oh, excuse me!’ Alex’s voice rose in anger. ‘And where does Lyn get these dead babies?’

  ‘Sacrifice.’ Paula’s voice came out in a broken whisper. ‘Satanic rituals.’ She scrubbed harder.

  ‘And you think Lyndsey – our Lyn – is involved in that kind of stuff?’ He stared at her, aghast. ‘Even if I believed that it happened at all, which I don’t, and nor does anyone else if you remember all the enquiries that went on about it, how in the world could you believe that she would take part in something like that?’

  ‘Judith has proof, Alex. I know it sounds crazy but she wasn’t just making it up.’

  ‘What kind of proof?’ He leaned over and turning off the taps took the soap and nailbrush out of her hands. ‘Dry them,’ he commanded. He handed her the towel. ‘Now, come into the kitchen where we can talk without the kids overhearing us.’ He glanced over towards the door where he could hear the TV on quietly. Striding over, he glanced in. The children were sitting side by side on the sofa, uncharacteristically quiet, their eyes fixed on the screen. ‘Come on.’ He caught Paula’s wrist and dragged her into the hall. In the kitchen he closed the door.

  ‘You must never let them see her again.’ Paula sat down at the table and put her head in her hands. ‘Never. I’m not going to the office tomorrow. I’m going to see the rector and then the police.’

  ‘Paula!’ Alex was standing over her, appalled. ‘You will do no such thing. Do you hear me? Listen to yourself! You are a rational, sensible woman. This is the twenty-first century! People do not, I repeat, do not kill babies and render them down to make fat to put in ointments. Especially not gentle herbal ointments to make other children better!’

  ‘But Judith said – ’

  ‘Judith Sadler is clearly a credulous fool,’ Alex put in firmly. ‘If you are going to have a word with anyone I think it should be the head teacher at the school who is clearly harbouring a dangerous lunatic.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘Paula, think. This is Lyndsey we are talking about. Our gentle, sweet Lyndsey. We both knew she dabbles in Wicca. She probably does a few spells. She plays with herbs and crystals. For all I know she dances round the fields naked. She is not a witch. Not the kind of witch you are thinking about. She is not a Satanist. And she loves our children. She loves them, Paula!’

  ‘She let James cut himself.’

  ‘That was an accident. And you saw for yourself it was not a bad cut.’

  ‘Even so.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want her anywhere near them again, Alex.’ She looked up. ‘Not ever. You’ll have to find someone else to look after them.’

  65

  As it grew dark, the mist had drifted once again, in across the mud and up the hill towards Lawford. It was moving imperceptibly in around the houses on the Seaview estate. The gate of number twenty-eight hung off its post. The front garden was full of waist-high grass and weeds, liberally sewn with crushed beercans and torn fast-food boxes.

  Behind the front door, two men dragged a third to the bottom of the stairs and pulled open the door to the cupboard that held the meters. Their victim sagged, half conscious, his face a soggy mess of blood and bone as they pushed him in.

  His assailants had sensed the evil in the mist. They thrived on it and inexorably it was taking them over. Common sense, humanity, had long ago left them. They did not know why they acted as they did or what this young man had done to annoy them. What they felt now was blood lust.

  In a short while the red veil of the Berserker would be drawn across their eyes and their victim would be dead.

  66

  Thursday October 29th

  Paula got up early as usual. Neither she nor Alex mentioned the previous night’s quarrel when he climbed out of bed after her and, pulling on his dressing gown, went downstairs to make her some coffee. He kissed her and waved her off in her reclaimed car, meticulously keeping her to her usual timetable, and as she did not once mention taking the day off or going to see Mike, he assumed with enormous relief that she had cooled off overnight and changed her mind.

  He was at Emma’s by nine. This time she did not seem surprised to see him. He accepted a mug of coffee and threw himself down on a chair at her table without being asked. ‘Paula and I had the most God-awful row last night.’

  ‘Ah.’ Emma sat down opposite him.

  He glanced up at her; she too was looking very tired, he realised. There was strain showing round her eyes. ‘Do you mind if I talk?’

  She smiled. ‘Feel free. Although I’m not too good in the advice department.’

  ‘It was about Lyndsey. Have you met a woman called Judith Sadler?’ She looked blank and shook her head so he went on. ‘Pure poison. She works for Mike Sinclair at the church in some capacity or other, as well as at the local school.’ He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Wait till you hear what she said to Paula!’

  Emma listened with increasing disbelief. ‘And Paula believed her?’ she said at last.

  He nodded.

  ‘Poor old Lyndsey.’ Emma stood up and went to fetch the coffee pot from the Aga. She poured them each a refill. ‘I admit I think Lyn is a bit odd, but killing babies? No wa
y! Never! That’s dotty. I can’t believe anyone would believe that.’ She sat down again. ‘Paula was up here on Tuesday night. She didn’t seem worried about the children then.’

  ‘Paula was up here?’

  Emma nodded. ‘Warning me off her handsome husband.’ She grinned.

  Alex’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh God, Emma, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I told her I was still too hung up on Piers to be thinking of stealing other people’s men.’ She leaned forward and patted his hand. ‘I’m pretty sure she was convinced.’

  ‘That’s a very naughty smile!’ Alex was struck suddenly by how pretty she was when she lightened up, and how sad she had been looking until that moment. She was fanciable; Paula was right. Very.

  ‘OK. Now we’ve got that out of the way,’ she went on, taking another sip of coffee, ‘what do you think we should do?’

  ‘Warn Lyn?’ Alex frowned. ‘Paula doesn’t want her going near the kids ever again. They’ll be inconsolable. They adore her.’

  ‘That’s tough.’

  Alex nodded. ‘Do you think I should speak to Mike? Paula was threatening to rampage round there. She was even talking about going to the police.’ He frowned.

  ‘I doubt if the police would take her seriously.’ Emma folded her arms. ‘But Mike is already deeply concerned about Lyn. You say this other woman works for him?’