‘Apparently not. I want him in on this.’
‘Does he approve?’ She glanced round uncomfortably. Something had changed in the atmosphere of the room.
‘Nope. He thinks we’re asking for trouble.’
‘Which we are.’ Colin’s comment was not quite sotto voce enough.
Mark raised an eyebrow. ‘Trouble is what we’re looking for, but only in a sense. I’m unhappy with some of this myself but I’m a journalist and I’m looking for good TV. We can’t let the chance go by just because we might upset a ghost.’
‘You’re upsetting more than a ghost, Mark.’ Emma shook her head. ‘The whole place has changed. Can’t you feel it?’
He stood still, his eyes on the ceiling as if listening intently. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I can.’ Colin grimaced. He helped himself to a cake out of her box.
‘Have you seen our ghost?’ Joe came and perched on the carton near her. ‘Have a look on the screen there. Col? Show her.’
Emma found herself watching a small loop of film. It showed the shadowy staircase, then clearly a face.
‘Liza!’ Emma’s mouth went dry. ‘Oh, God, it’s Liza!’ She squatted down in front of the small screen, watching as the flickering sequence ran again and again.
‘How do you know that, girl?’ Colin’s cake was suspended on its way to his mouth. He stared at her.
Emma shrugged. ‘I just know.’ She stared at the screen, seeing the fear, the pain, in that shadowy ill-defined hint, then she glanced towards the top of the stairs where the figure must have been standing. ‘He tortured her here in this room and her ghost is still screaming, hundreds of years later.’
And we are going to punish him!
The voice in her head was so loud she was sure the others must have heard it.
You and I, Emma, are going to send his soul to the torments of the damned.
‘Emma? Are you OK?’ Joe switched off the loop. She was staring sightlessly at the screen, her face chalk-white and strained.
We know where to find him, Emma. We know where he is hiding.
She put her hands to her ears. ‘Leave me alone!’
‘Emma? What’s wrong?’ Worried, Mark came over to her. He put his hand on her shoulder.
She jumped as if he had slapped her. ‘I’m sorry.’ Closing her eyes for a moment she tried to pull herself together. ‘Migraine.’
‘Really?’ He did not sound as though he believed her.
She stood up miserably. ‘I think I’d better go home.’
‘Would you like me to drive you back?’ Mark was genuinely concerned.
She shook her head. ‘I’m fine. I just need some fresh air.’
‘Are you sure?’
She nodded. ‘Good luck with the filming.’
Mark grinned. ‘I was about to ask you if you’d like to say something for us. That little spiel just now would be good on camera. We thought maybe the face was Hopkins. You say it was one of the witches. Just as good. Just as interesting.’ He paused, eyeing her carefully. ‘Especially if you tell us how you can be so sure.’
She stared at him blankly, then slowly she shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, Mark. I’m sorry.’
She had to get out of the shop. She had to get into the fresh air and she realised as she ran down the stairs that she had to see Mike Sinclair.
She only realised how much when she drove up to the rectory and saw that his car was missing. Three times she rang the bell. There was no answer and it was only then she remembered what Mark had said. Mike wasn’t there. But, of course, she had the number of his mobile.
75
Piers was sitting on the sofa listening to the chink of plates coming from his kitchen. Playing hooky for the afternoon, he had just listened to his messages. Glancing towards the door he hesitated, then, reassured that no one could hear, he dialled Emma’s number, frowning. There was no reply so, after a moment’s thought, he dialled another, this time in London. Paula was still in her office.
She listened intently. ‘It sounds as though she’s missing you,’ she said at last after he had described to her Emma’s tearful message about the dead kitten she and Lyndsey had found.
‘It’s because she knows I’ll understand how she feels about cats. Any cats.’ He gave a wry grin.
‘It’s more than that, Piers.’ Paula became suddenly very intense. ‘There are things going on down there which are getting to us all. Lyndsey is not good news, Piers. If Emma has made friends with her you must warn her off. I tried. This woman is a really bad influence. Evil. A Devil worshipper!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Piers could not contain his cynical amusement.
‘You may laugh, but I am serious. Emma would be better well away from Mistley, for her own sake. See if you can’t persuade her to come back to London, Piers, please.’
There was a short pause. ‘Are you sure there isn’t something else worrying you, Paula?’ His voice was dry suddenly. ‘An attractive woman down there in the country not a stone’s throw away and with whom your husband seems to have formed a close relationship, for instance?’
‘Don’t be silly!’ Paula snapped. ‘That’s nonsense.’
Piers glanced towards the door to the kitchen. He sighed. Fond though he still was of Emma, always would be, he assured himself silently, there were other women in the world. Women who came without hang-ups, complications and Essex herb nurseries!
‘I was only joking, Paula, I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘Look, I’ll keep trying to get hold of Emma and check she’s OK, but if you and Alex get a chance to keep an eye on her I would be grateful. She’d never admit in a million years that she was lonely or worried, but I get the feeling something might be wrong and I’m afraid I can’t just drop everything and drive all that way. She’s got to learn to move on and manage without me. Her choice.’
As he put the phone down he felt a twinge of guilt but it soon passed. There was after all nothing he could do, whatever her problem was. Not from so far away.
Standing up, he wandered towards the kitchen and pushed open the door. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asked. The phone call was forgotten.
76
Mike had dumped his bag on the bed of the B&B and headed straight back out. The house where he had found his overnight accommodation was in a small side road just off the main Aldeburgh street. It was a tiny cottage with, he suspected, only two or possibly three bedrooms at most. His, though small, was comfortable, attractive in a nautical sea-faring motif sort of way and very quiet.
He had often headed for this lovely part of the Suffolk coast in the past when he needed to clear his head or work something through to ease his soul. He would walk for miles, breathing the cold clean air, listening to the crash of the sea on the shingle, watching the opaque sandy swell on the horizon, or, turning inland follow the river up towards Snape where the endless beds of reeds rustled timelessly in the wind off the sea. It was strange, he realised, as he walked down onto the beach, how he never seemed to come here in the summer. Crowded beaches, blue seas and quietly moving tides did not appeal to him. He loved the elemental challenge of autumnal gales and winter storms, or the biting east winds of the spring. He looked north up the beach to where the brooding menace of the Sizewell nuclear power station lurked in the distance, a constant reminder of man’s ability to threaten and compromise his environment, and resolutely he turned away from it and walked slowly southwards down the beach. He hadn’t come to think this time. He had come to cleanse body and mind in the fresh salt wind, to exhaust himself and to sleep.
His walk took him several miles in a wide loop which brought him back to the B&B as it grew dark. There was no sign of his hostess, who had given him a key and a list of the best places nearby to dine, so he luxuriated in a hot bath and at half past seven wandered up the road to the pub where he ordered a half-bottle of wine and some of the best fish pie he had ever tasted.
It was still early when he made his way back to the cottage, which lay in
total darkness. Letting himself in he switched on the lights and glanced round. It had finally dawned on him that not only was he the only guest, but that his hostess must live elsewhere. This place was just for tenants, which was why she had offered him the use of the kitchen. She would, she had promised, be there to cook him breakfast and they had agreed on nine o’clock. After that she had left and he was on his own.
He walked into the kitchen, wondering whether to make himself a hot drink, decided he was too tired and turning off the lights climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
He had left his mobile on the table near the window. Glancing at it, he felt a pang of guilt. It had been switched off for most of the day. Supposing someone had tried to get hold of him? The guilt did not last long. He would check his messages in the morning. There was nothing he could do till then, anyway.
Amongst other things he should have contacted Bill. The shock of the monitor exploding had put the thought completely out of his head, and of course the old man wasn’t on the phone. He bit his lip, worried. But in moments the worry was gone. What could he do from here? He had to hope that Bill would cope on his own. Almost certainly he could.
As he climbed into bed and reached to turn off the bedside lamp, he was aware that he could hear the rhythmic rattle of the waves on the beach in the distance. It was his last waking thought. Too tired even to pray, he was asleep in seconds.
‘The date of the assize is fixed. There will be ten women facing charges of witchcraft. Your evidence will condemn them all.’ John Stearne was standing over him as he sat at his table writing. ‘We will make good money from ridding the world of these women, Matthew.’
Matthew looked up wearily and nodded. ‘But always there are more. The Devil’s battalions appear to be infinite, John.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And Sarah Paxman is next. The Devil values her. She learned well from old Liza and she is dangerous, John. She is rich. She has connections who will query her involvement with Satan. Who will speak for her.’ He coughed violently, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. It was already stained with blood. ‘And it is Sarah Paxman who pursues me with evil spirits.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I thought that the bear with bloodied claws and jaws that drool foul poisons was sent by the other women. Elizabeth Gooding. Anne Leech. But they are gone and still it comes after me. She has sent it to pursue me, John. It comes from her.’ He coughed again.
‘You must look to your health, Matthew.’ Stearne frowned. ‘Do you have medicine?’
Hopkins nodded. ‘Apothecary Buxton in Colchester has given me a distillation to soothe the cough. I will be well again soon.’ He glanced up and smiled coldly. ‘There is a pleasing irony in the fact that it was old Liza’s syrup which soothed me best. I trust she has left her receipt with some God-fearing person who can make it as she did. I would watch her hang with more pleasure if I could be sure of that.’
Stearne grimaced. ‘The physicians would take issue with you, Matthew. Their mixtures are the more powerful and do not involve the use of spells.’
Both men looked down at the notebook on the table. Hopkins stabbed the page with his finger. ‘Sarah Paxman is next, John. We must take her up without delay. I can feel her familiars watching me.’ He shuddered. ‘She is evil beyond measure. Worse than the others.’ He glanced up at his companion. ‘The woman haunts my dreams, John. She does not let me sleep …’
Mike awoke suddenly and lay still, staring up at the ceiling. His heart was thudding unsteadily and his throat was sore. He had been dreaming again. He knew the symptoms. But the dream had gone, evaporating into the ether without so much as an echo. He sat up, staring towards the window. He could still hear the sea, but the sound of the waves was gentler now. More distant. The tide must have turned. Desperately he started to pray.
77
Trapped in the office by meetings and phone calls, Paula had missed the train. And the one after that. She was tired and cross by the time she reached the house and furious to find Sophie alone in the kitchen eating biscuits.
‘Where is your father?’ Paula dropped her briefcase and went straight to the fridge for the white wine.
‘Jamie’s been sick.’ Sophie reached for another biscuit. ‘I haven’t had any supper.’
Paula was pouring out the wine, her back to the child. She turned round, frowning. ‘Has Daddy called the doctor?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘He had a row with Lyn. They were shouting at each other and Lyn cried.’ The little girl frowned. ‘Jamie cried, too. Then when we got home he was sick.’
Paula scowled. ‘You were at Lyndsey’s house?’
Sophie nodded. ‘She collected us from Sally’s. Daddy said he forgot we weren’t supposed to go to Lyn’s any more. Why, Mummy?’ She turned an angry wide-eyed gaze on her mother. ‘Why can’t we? Jamie and me, we love Lyn!’
Paula drained her glass. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’m afraid Lyn hasn’t time to look after you any more. She’s too busy.’
‘She said she could. She was really cross. She said, did Daddy think she would turn us into toads or something, and then Jamie was sick and it was green.’
‘Oh, dear God!’ Paula stared at her. ‘She wouldn’t! Surely she wouldn’t!’ For a moment she stood stock still, too shocked to move, then, slamming the empty glass down on the table, she turned and ran out of the kitchen. Sophie, sensing trouble, stayed where she was and reached for another biscuit.
Paula found Alex in Jamie’s bedroom. The little boy, his face very white, was lying in his bed in his pyjamas. There was an ominously large bowl on the floor by the bed, blessedly empty.
‘What in God’s name is going on?’ Paula was furious.
‘I did what you asked.’ Alex looked at her, his face as white as his son’s. ‘I went and collected them and told her we didn’t need her services any more. It did not go down very well.’
‘And you had to do it in front of the children?’ Paula was beside herself with anger.
‘What else could I do? I knew if you found out I had left them there you would go apeshit!’ He stood up. ‘Enough, Paula. We will discuss this later. Jamie needs to sleep.’
The little boy gave a whimper and reached out to clutch his father’s hand. ‘Don’t go.’
Paula tightened her lips. ‘I’ll go and change. We’ll talk later.’
Wearing jeans and a loose sweater, she was in the kitchen again ten minutes later. Putting on some water to boil an egg for Sophie, she was reaching for the wine bottle again when she noticed the light on the telephone blinking. Leaning over she stabbed at the button.
‘Alex, it’s Emma. I’m sorry to bother you …’ The disembodied voice broke tearfully.
Paula scowled. She listened to the message and then pressed the delete button.
When Alex appeared she rounded on him. ‘So, your girlfriend summoned you, did she? Did you go?’
‘Girlfriend?’ Alex frowned. He found a glass and helped himself to the last of the wine. Paula had been cutting toast soldiers for Sophie and he took one off the plate, licking the butter off his fingers.
‘Emma Dickson.’
He sighed. ‘Oh, Paula, for god’s sake! I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Her message on the answer phone.’
‘I didn’t hear any messages.’ He threw himself down on the chair. ‘I was more than occupied with Jamie puking all over the place. What did Emma say?’
Paula pulled the egg out of the water with a spoon, dropped it into an egg cup and pushed it in front of Sophie.
‘She wanted you to go and see her. All weeping and lonely.’
‘Oh, shit!’ Alex glanced at his watch. ‘What time did she ring?’
‘I have no idea. And you are not going now.’
‘No,’ he frowned. ‘No, of course not. It’s much too late. But perhaps I ought to ring her?’
‘Leave it, Alex.’ Paula glared at him. ‘There are more important matters to discuss. As soon as Sophie is in bed.’
He looked up, frowning. T
hen he nodded slowly. ‘Lyn. Of course.’
‘Were you out of your mind to sack her in front of the kids?’ Paula resumed the quarrel as soon as Sophie’s light had been turned out. Jamie was long since fast asleep.
‘I’m sorry. I suppose it was stupid. But what was I to do? She was expecting to pick them up tomorrow. Are you sure we’re doing the right thing, Paula? I can’t believe she would ever hurt them. She adores them.’
‘Judith was certain. She and her prayer circle are praying for us, Alex. For our children. To keep them safe.’
‘This is all nonsense, Paula. You must realise that. Nonsense.’
‘Is it? Think about it, Alex. You sack her and immediately Jamie is sick. Supposing she did that. Just a little spell, to warn us what she can do!’
‘No!’ He shook his head violently. ‘No. Absolutely, no!’
She was silent and Alex sat down. He sighed. ‘She was really upset, Paula. Ollie Dent has sacked her, too. Judith spoke to him, apparently. She has lost both her jobs. Is that what we really want?’
Paula shrugged. ‘What other people do is none of our business, but I am not prepared to risk my children. Are you?’ She sat forward, staring at him.
‘Of course not.’
‘Then why are we arguing?’ She sighed dramatically, throwing herself back in the chair. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I started it. I was just so frantic when I saw Jamie.’
‘He’s OK, Paula. Just a bit over-excited. He’ll be fine.’
‘I hope so.’
It occurred to neither of them – then – to pray.
78
It was growing dark as Emma climbed out of the car and walked up the path to the house. Miserably, she slotted the key into the lock and pushed open the door.
‘Min? Maxie?’ she called.
There was no answering chirrup from the cats.
She walked through into the kitchen and glanced automatically at the phone. The light was steady; unblinking. No one had called.
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