‘Promise you will be careful, Emma.’ Lyndsey was strolling beside her. ‘The rector will do you harm if you let him. He may not want to, but he may not be able to stop himself. Please believe me.’
‘How can you possibly say that?’ Emma stopped, suddenly angry. ‘He’s a good man. And you have never even met him. He told me so.’
‘I’ve seen him. I’ve watched him. I’ve seen Hopkins hovering near him, overshadowing him!’ Lyndsey stopped suddenly in her tracks with an exclamation of distress. ‘Oh, no. Look!’
Emma, almost too shocked and angry at her words about Mike to register the other woman’s sudden change of mood, followed her gaze automatically, for a moment not recognising what it was they were looking at. Lying in the nettles at the edge of the path was a small dead kitten. The two women stood gazing down at it. Lyndsey squatted down and stroked it gently. ‘Some bastard has shot it. Look.’ She pointed at the pellet holes in the side of its head. ‘Who could do that? Who could shoot a kitten?’ Her voice shook.
Emma was speechless with horror. ‘That’s awful.’ She knelt down on one knee and touched the small ginger face with her fingertip. The kitten was stiff and cold. ‘It must have been a mistake. No one would do it on purpose, surely.’
‘What sort of mistake?’ There were tears running down Lyndsey’s cheeks. ‘You mean they thought it was a fox? A fox cub? No. They must have been able to see what it was. It’s all part of this awful dark hatred that is taking us over.’ She bit back a sob. ‘We have to bury it.’
They found a couple of sticks and scraped a hole in the soft mud of the bank below the hedge. Gently Lyndsey lifted the kitten. She dropped a kiss on its head and laid it gently in the shallow grave.
‘Wait, I’ll get some flowers.’ Emma too was weeping now. Wiping her eyes, she wandered away on her own a few paces and picked some of the forget-me-nots and little scarlet pimpernel she had noticed growing amongst the stubble at the edge of the field. Returning, she saw Lyndsey was whispering a prayer and she waited quietly, her eyes closed, for her to finish.
‘Ready.’ Lyndsey looked up.
Emma stepped forward and gently laid the flowers on and around the kitten, then they scraped the soil back over the soft ginger fur. Lyndsey scattered some hips and haws over the place and finally a layer of leaves. ‘It’s a sign,’ she said sadly. ‘The balance is going so fast now, even the innocent are being drawn in.’
Emma was biting back her tears again. The small pretty animal had got to her. What it had been doing out in the fields she didn’t know. Perhaps it was part of a feral litter out on its first exciting hunt by itself. Perhaps it was a treasured pet, lost all by itself in the dark, seeing a human coming and recognising him as a friend, running towards him squeaking with excitement, because all the humans it had met before had loved it and petted it. They stood for a moment in silence, staring down, then of one accord they turned and began to retrace their steps.
When they reached the gate at Liza’s, Lyndsey stopped. ‘I think I’ll go on home.’ She shrugged. ‘We’re obviously both softies when it comes to cats.’
Emma nodded.
‘Remember what I said about Mike Sinclair, Emma. For your own sake.’ Lyndsey put her hand on Emma’s arm. ‘Please.’
Emma said nothing. She watched as Lyndsey walked off down the lane, then she turned and went indoors.
She had dialled Piers’s office number before she realised what she was doing. He listened to the story about the kitten and she almost felt the shrug as he replied, ‘You wanted to live in the country, Em. They shoot things in the country.’
‘But not cats!’
‘Hopefully not often.’ There was a pause. They were both thinking about Max and Min.
‘Please, Piers, can you come down this weekend?’
There was another longer pause. ‘I’m not sure, Em. I can’t promise, I’m afraid. You’ve got friends there, haven’t you, if you need someone to talk to?’
‘You know I have.’ She frowned. ‘But Piers – ’
‘Look, I’ll try, Em, OK? I’ll let you know.’ He had hung up before she could even reply.
Miserably, she picked up Max and hugged him tightly. ‘Please, Max, take care,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t go out in the fields.’
69
‘Mike?’ It was the bishop. ‘What is all this I hear? Judith tells me you’ve been in touch with John Downing.’
Mike found his hand clutching his phone receiver unnecessarily hard. ‘I did have a word with him a little while ago, yes.’
‘She said you’d been working too hard, and not getting enough rest. That’s not going to help anyone, old chap. You’ve got to take care of yourself, you know.’
‘I’m fine, Bishop.’ Mike tried to keep his exasperation out of his voice.
‘Of course you are. Mike, Judith has suggested you take a few days away and I agree with her. You obviously need a break. She’s willing to cover for you and take over anything that needs to be done, so there won’t be a problem.’
‘How thoughtful,’ Mike said dryly. He took a deep breath.
‘I want you to go today, Mike. Drop everything and go somewhere away from the parish where you can relax completely. Get some sleep. Some fresh air.’
‘I get plenty of fresh air in Manningtree, Bishop,’ Mike retorted. ‘It’s by the river.’
‘Of course it is.’ The bishop hastily rephrased his suggestion. ‘What I meant was, a change of air. It’s all arranged. I want you out of that rectory by teatime!’
‘I can’t go, Bishop.’ Mike frowned. ‘Not just like that. Next week, perhaps.’
‘Today, Mike.’ The benign voice held a hint of steel.
‘Bishop, Halloween is coming up.’ Mike knew he sounded desperate. ‘There are things I have to do. Things I’ve promised to do.’
There was a pause. ‘Of course. Witches. Judith said you were worried about witches. Mike, you’ve been told to leave all that to John Downing. All the more reason to be out of that parish until it is all over. Now, no arguments. I shall expect to hear from Judith that you have gone by tonight.’
70
Judith arrived half an hour later. Mike led her into his study and they sat down.
‘Mike –!’ She leaned forward earnestly, ready to speak, but he raised his hand.
‘Before you say anything, Judith, may I ask why you went behind my back and rang the bishop?’
‘Because I think you’re working too hard, Mike. You need a rest.’ She smiled benignly.
‘I may need sleep, Judith. I do not need to be packed out of the parish without any notice!’
‘Oh, come on, Mike, it’s not like that.’ She sat forward again. ‘Before you say anything else, I should tell you that I have dealt with Lyndsey Clark. So, that’s one thing less for you to worry about. It won’t be long before she gets the message.’
‘What message is that, Judith?’ He leaned back in his chair.
‘That we don’t want her kind round here. That if she knows what is good for her she will leave.’
‘I thought you said that your prayer circle could contain her? What changed your mind, Judith?’
‘I was wrong, Mike. Very wrong.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I have evidence that she is far, far more dangerous than even I expected.’
Mike frowned. ‘Evidence?’ he asked mildly.
She nodded vigorously.
‘And are you going to share it with me?’
‘Better not, Mike.’ She gave a sly smile. ‘This is women’s stuff.’
Looking up, he caught her expression as she gazed down at him. For a brief second it appeared to hold nothing but contempt. He took a deep breath. ‘And because of this “women’s stuff ” you have seen to it that she loses any jobs she might have so that she can’t stay here?’
‘I’ve had a word with the Wests, yes. And Ollie Dent.’ Judith looked smug.
Mike clenched his fists. She had certainly been busy. Sometimes Christian forgiveness was hard. Mo
re than anything he wanted to wipe that self-satisfied look off her face.
‘Judge not and ye shall not be judged, Judith,’ he said softly. ‘Did you not think that prayer was enough? That Our Lord would be able to deal with this situation without your help?’
‘You’re not telling me you condone what she has been doing?’ Her large brown eyes were suddenly a picture of innocence.
‘I am telling you that it is not our place to be judge and jury. That we should not behold the mote in our brother or sister’s eye because we might possibly have a great big plank in our own. And I am saying that to suggest that she has taken part in satanic rituals and that the Wests’ children are in danger is unforgivable. You do not have a shred of proof.’ His voice had risen angrily.
‘How do you know?’ She stood up and walked up to his desk. ‘It is only unforgivable if it is untrue.’ Leaning on the desk, she brought her face close to his. ‘Why are you so sure she is innocent?’ she hissed suddenly. ‘Why? Perhaps she has been weaving spells around you as she has around the woman living up at Liza’s.’
‘Emma?’ Mike was looking at her. Her face was very close. Too close. For a moment he didn’t recognise the Judith he knew.
‘I saw them just now walking in the fields. Talking. Whispering secrets. Close as that.’ She thrust her crossed fingers into his face.
Mike could not disguise his feeling of distaste. ‘Emma is well aware of Lyndsey’s beliefs. And we are both quite capable of taking care of ourselves, Judith. Thank you.’
‘Are you?’ She held his gaze with eyes that were as hard as stone. ‘When the bishop phoned me back last night he was very shocked that you hadn’t told him everything yourself.’ There was triumph in her voice. ‘He wondered if you were really settling in properly, if you felt you couldn’t go to him straight away if anything was worrying you. I told him I thought everything was all right, we were coping, but you had had to have a word with his deliverance team.’
‘Judith, it was not your place to speak to him!’ He stood up, unable suddenly to contain his anger.
‘Someone had to, Mike.’ She put her hand on his as he leaned forward, his braced fingers splayed on the cluttered desk in front of him.
He shuddered, and straightening, he pulled his hand away sharply. She did not appear to notice.
‘I told the bishop how hard you had been working. How wonderfully you have been coping with such a large scattered parish. How I felt you deserved a short break to recharge your batteries.’ She smiled. ‘I told him there was nothing happening that I couldn’t deal with. If there is anyone you need to see over the next couple of days or so, you can postpone your visit to them or I will do it for you. I will take the service on Sunday. It’s evensong, so that’s no problem. You needn’t do anything or tell anyone. I will do it all.’
‘But, Judith – ’
‘No buts, Mike.’ She smiled. ‘It’s all arranged. Bishop’s orders. All you have to do is pack a bag and head for the hills.’
She walked over to the window and gazed out into the garden. ‘I’ll even stay here, if it will help. I know you wouldn’t want to leave the rectory empty.’
This woman will help us, Michael. Much like Mary Phillips, to whose soul she has given refuge, she is one of the army of the Lord.
The voice was soft and insidious inside his head.
She will uncover the ungodly and see that they are punished. But it is better that you stay. Yours is the hand that holds the sword of the righteous.
‘No!’ Mike smacked the desk in front of him. ‘Get out! Do you hear me, get out!’
Judith stepped back, alarmed. ‘Mike – ’
‘Not you!’ Mike was staring at her, but he did not see her. Just for a second he thought he had seen another face, a man’s face, a wispy figure so close to him it was like his own shadow. He wiped his face on his forearm and took a deep breath. ‘You’re right, Judith. I need to get away. Go somewhere he can’t find me.’
‘Who?’ Judith had lost her confident demeanour. Suddenly she seemed unsure of herself.
Mike was breathing quickly, clenching and unclenching his fists. He had forgotten Judith was there. He had forgotten everything in the struggle to regain control of his mind. He could beat this. He was strong. He would not panic, would not give Hopkins the chance to get anywhere near him.
‘Mike? Is it your head? Shall I call a doctor?’
He heard her voice in the distance seconds before it was drowned by the roaring in his ears and then the explosion.
For a moment he didn’t know what had happened. He stood stunned, aware only that he was standing amidst a shower of glass, then he looked at Judith. She was chalk-white. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ he asked. ‘Are you OK?’
‘It’s the monitor, Mike. The monitor on your computer.’
They stared at the smoking wreck of what had once been a fourteen-inch screen on the corner of his desk. A curl of smoke drifted across the room, accompanied by the acrid smell of burning plastic.
Mike shook his head. The voice had gone. The room was very quiet.
He looked back at her and somehow he managed to smile. ‘It is definitely time I took a holiday!’
71
Friday October 30th
The answer phone picked up Mark’s call to the rectory. He frowned. Away until Monday? He couldn’t do this. He was counting on having Mike there on Saturday, at least at the beginning. Not all night, perhaps, not after what Mike had said, but there, at least for a comment. He left a terse message informing Mike that whether he was there or not, they would be filming in the shop all night, tomorrow, thirty-first of October. Then, slamming down the receiver he sat back on the bed in his small room at Mrs Prescott’s B&B and rapped the end of his biro against his teeth. If he was going to go ahead with this project, he was going to have to do it properly. This was the perfect time to inject more suspense. Being quite cynical about it, and putting his conscience to one side, he had to wind up the locals! If not Mike, then Lyndsey. He frowned. All very well, but how to find her?
He leaned forward and picked up the phone again. Mrs Prescott’s, more of a hotel than a B&B really, had all the facilities including inter-bedroom communication. ‘Allie? A bit of research for you.’ Smiling, he wondered how long it would take her. In the meantime he had better get back to the shop and help Joe and Colin set up for the final and hopefully climactic shoot.
Alice had not moved from her bed where she had been leafing through a copy of the Essex Magazine. Throwing it down, she reached into the drawer of her bedside table for the local phone book and began to search for the Clarks. And Clarkes. There were over two pages of them. She groaned. She would have to go through every one to find those who lived in Mistley and Manningtree, and possibly then widen the search to the outlying area. It took her a while to copy down a selection of addresses but finally she had done it and had clumped down the stairs to consult Mrs Prescott about taxis. After all, this was on expenses.
The taxi driver, with perhaps an ulterior motive, suggested the furthest address first. And they struck gold. The woman who answered the door at the end of a neat flower-bordered path, a member of Judith’s prayer circle, was furiously indignant that Alice should consider for one instant that she should have anything at all to do with ‘that godless witch’, who lived, apparently, on Mistley Quay. Alice spied out the land, saw that Lyndsey’s door was open, returned to the taxi with a thumbs up and paid him off. Even she could see that Mark would not pay for the man to wait and it was not far to walk back to the B&B when one thought about it.
She wasn’t sure what her brief was. Mark had only said ‘find her’, but Alice was not averse to doing a bit of investigating on her own and Lyndsey intrigued her. Slinging her bag, complete with mini tape recorder, notebooks and pencil on her shoulder, she wandered back down towards the quay.
There was no reply when she knocked on the open door. Peering in, she knocked again then, unabashed, stepped inside. ‘Hi, Lyndsey!’
She was calling loud enough to be heard upstairs. ‘You there?’
There was no response. She took a few steps further in, staring round. The sun, shining in obliquely through the narrow south-facing kitchen window, hit the mirror just inside the front door and its light ricocheted back into the room, highlighting the deep lush colours of the throws, the bright paintings of flowers, the crystals and candles, a bowl of late honeysuckle.
‘Cool.’ Alice’s outbreath of admiration was totally sincere.
‘Who are you?’ The sharp question made her jump. Lyndsey had appeared at the top of the staircase. She had been working in her studio. Running down, she confronted the intruder with a look of extreme anger. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Who said you could come in?’
‘Hey! Whoa, sorry!’ Alice raised her hands in surrender. ‘I knocked and shouted. I knew you must be here somewhere or you wouldn’t have left your door open. If you don’t want people coming in, you ought to lock it, you know.’ She threw herself down on the sofa uninvited. ‘This is a great pad!’
‘Thank you.’ Lyndsey was tight-lipped. ‘May I ask who you are and what you want?’
‘I’m Alice. I’m with the film crew up at Barker’s.’
There was a short silence.
‘I see.’ Lyndsey sighed.
‘We wondered if you would like to be on the programme.’
‘I want nothing to do with it.’ Lyndsey folded her arms.
‘Is it true you’re a witch?’ Alice sat forward on her seat. ‘Can you cast spells on people?’
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