Mike’s hands were still shaking as he placed the charcoal in the base of the burner and lit it, watching the sparks race spitting across the disk. The grains of frankincense melted and bubbled gently as he fitted the lid in place and gently began to swing the censer on its chain, purifying, cleansing, ridding the sanctuary of the smell of evil. As the scented smoke curled into his nostrils he felt himself growing calmer.
Under Tony’s eye he unpacked the Communion set, laying out the little cruet and the chalice, then once more he knelt. There, before the altar, he felt stronger than he had felt for a long time.
He did not see the figure behind him. The woman in the long dress, the dark cloak, the woman with madness in her eyes.
And then out of the silence, a second voice was ringing in his head:
So, the man of God, who shelters the rotten soul of Master Hopkins, now it’s your turn. His body may lie in the cold earth, but his soul roams, hunting still for women to torment. His soul is here, with you!
The voice was shrill. Insane. Female.
You have found someone to hide you, haven’t you, Matthew!
She was laughing.
Oh yes, so easy, wasn’t it. To creep into another man’s head.
‘Tony!’ Ruth’s scream echoed round the high rafters of the nave.
The old man spun round, the crucifix still clutched in his hand. ‘Sweet Jesus, be with us here. Mike!’
Sarah had stepped between them, her hazel eyes wild. You think to save him? She was staring at Tony now. You hide behind the cross of Christ, but it cannot save! Nothing can save you from the servants of Lucifer!
Tony gasped. For several long seconds he held her gaze, then slowly his knees began to buckle. The crucifix fell from his hand and he collapsed at Mike’s feet, clutching his chest.
‘Tony!’ Ruth’s terror-stricken cry of pain was lost as Sarah turned to Mike, her face a cold mask of hate.
I curse you three times over, Matthew Hopkins. You will drown in the blood of your own lungs as the women drowned when you swam them, and you will feel the tightening of the noose and you will feel the flames of Hell!
She thrust her hand against Mike’s chest and he staggered back, gasping, paralysed by the force of her fury, unable even to look at Tony. Frantically he ran his finger round the inside of the collar of his shirt, tearing it open. He could feel the sweat running down his back. Feel its arid heat in his eyes. ‘Hopkins isn’t here!’ Somehow he managed to force the words out. ‘He has gone! Listen to me! He has gone! Stand away, Sarah Paxman. There is no place for you here, in the house of God! Matthew Hopkins has gone. Christ be with me.’
The smell had returned. It was worse now. It was choking him. He couldn’t breathe. She didn’t believe him. She still saw Hopkins behind his eyes. She was pointing at him, reinforcing her vicious spell and already he could feel the cough welling up inside him. The cough that belonged to another man in another time. Unable to stop himself, he began to retch, clamping his hands across his mouth. In the candlelight the blood welling out between his fingers was almost black.
He swallowed, terrified, tasting hot, bitter iron filings. ‘In the name of Jesus Christ be gone!’ His voice echoed up into the vault of the chancel above his head. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His heart was thundering in his chest and his breathing was painful; there was a stitching pain under his ribs. The smell of blood filled his nose.
Near him Ruth knelt on the floor, cradling her husband’s head. There was nothing Mike could do to help her. Even as he stood there, his lungs filling with blood, the hazel eyes of the beautiful enigmatic wraith fixed on his, he could feel his own world growing dark.
90
It was after midnight. Across the peninsula the mist rolled in out of the cold clammy swelling of the northern seas, its icy fingers curling in between the huts and up the cliffs at Wrabness, drifting between the trees into Stour Wood, crawling along roads, between hedges, across fields. Inside their houses people stirred in their sleep and groaned. In fields and stables horses flattened their ears against their heads, eyes wide with terror; dogs cringed in fear and howled and in the town children cried in the dark.
In Barker’s shop all was still. The cameras in the first-floor room made barely a sound, their red lights the only sign that they were switched on.
The first tendrils of ice-cold mist drifted across the room unnoticed by the cameras. They drifted aimlessly for a while, coalesced and grew thicker.
As the first scream rang out in the silence, Joe’s sound-activated recorder snapped on. A small light moved across the ceiling and danced in front of the microphone for a moment, then it darted on to hover in front of one of the cameras.
The show had begun.
91
‘Come on, Emma. It’s over. Let’s get you back in the warm.’ Lyndsey took Emma’s shoulders and turned her gently towards the lane. Tears were pouring down Emma’s face and she was shaking violently. For a moment she couldn’t move.
‘Emma, there’s a storm coming. It’s going to rain.’ Lyndsey took her cold hand and gave it a tug.
A movement in the shadows near them distracted her for a moment. She stared towards it, frowning suspiciously. Then she shrugged. The wind must have disturbed some small creature in the hedge. Turning away, she thought no more about it.
It wasn’t until she had Emma wrapped in a towelling bathrobe sitting in a chair drawn up beside the Aga that she tried to speak to her about what had happened. Emma was staring into space. She was still shivering.
Lyndsey knelt in front of her and took her cold hands between her own. ‘That was fantastic. Brilliant!’ Her eyes were shining with excitement. ‘You were amazing!’
Slowly Emma focused her eyes on Lyndsey’s face. ‘What happened out there?’
‘Sarah came through. She cursed the bastard! Wherever he is, whatever happens, however hard he tries to escape, we are going to nail him. He’s a dead man!’ Releasing Emma’s hands, she scrambled to her feet. ‘You and I, Sarah’s descendants, are going to avenge Liza’s death and the death of all those women.’
‘What happened to Sarah? Was she hanged too?’ Emma huddled into her chair.
Lyndsey shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps. Why else is she so full of anger?’
‘But she had descendants. Us. In my dream she couldn’t have any children.’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘I don’t understand. And if they are both dead, she and Hopkins, why doesn’t she deal with him wherever it is they are? Why does she have to come back and do it here?’
‘Because they are not in the same place. He is still full of shit!’ Lyndsey slammed her fist into the palm of her hand. ‘He haunts this place. Not here,’ she waved her arm around the kitchen, ‘but this whole area. He’s using the evil which comes in with the mist. It gives him power. He was frustrated in his ambitions. He didn’t do enough damage. He didn’t have time to kill all the women he wanted to kill, so he wants to come back and continue his campaign of terror.’
‘And Sarah has followed him, by taking residence in my head.’ Emma shuddered. It was all becoming clear at last. ‘And that’s why he’s trying to possess Mike, isn’t it?’
Lyndsey nodded eagerly. ‘That’s what I’ve been warning you about. I knew he was overshadowing him, though I would have thought that the rector would be the last person on earth he would choose! But Mike is a sensitive, I realised that the first time I saw him in the churchyard.’
Emma forced a small smile. ‘Who else would he choose but a man of God? Mike has been having the nightmares, too. He must be in torment. He didn’t understand what’s been happening to him any more than I did.’
Lyndsey laughed. ‘Oh, I think you’ll find he understands by now.’ She frowned. ‘It’s odd though, because Bill Standing said he was on our side. Bill knows about the evil and the energies, too. Old Norse and Anglo-Saxon magic. Prehistoric practices. Celtic curses. This land is soaked in darkness. That is why this is happening. We have forgotten how to keep it al
l at bay. And Hopkins has returned, feeding on it, because so many people have called him back. The TV crew. The children in the village. The people who own the pub and want his ghost there to entice in the punters; people who think the whole thing is a joke!’
Emma swallowed. ‘But you joined in. You kept on calling him over his grave.’
‘To contain him, not to set him free!’
‘But that is what you have done. And he has possessed Mike!’ She shook her head. ‘And now you have made me a witch!’
Lyndsey nodded. ‘But a white witch, Emma. Never forget that. You and I are fighting the darkness.’
‘And Mike, what does he do?’ Emma bit her lip in her anxiety.
‘That’s up to him. It depends how strong he is.’ Lyndsey shrugged carelessly. She grinned suddenly. ‘You cursed him fairly effectively.’
‘I cursed him?’ Emma was appalled.
Lyndsey glanced at her. ‘Don’t you remember what happened out there? You were – or rather Sarah was – magnificent. I should think Mike Sinclair is feeling pretty ill by now. As would be anyone hosting the spiritual cesspit which was once the Witchfinder. And not just Mike Sinclair, either. You should have heard yourself cursing Mary Phillips and Judith.’ She paused. ‘Judith, the rector’s lick-spittle. She’s been trying to destroy me; she deserves everything she gets.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If you were as good as I think, they might even be dead by now!’
‘No! No, I don’t believe you!’ Emma was horrified. She stood up and threw off the rug which Lyndsey had wrapped around her knees. ‘I can’t take any more of this. Stop it, Lyn! This is all nonsense. Horrible, horrible nonsense. I don’t want anything to do with it.’
‘Too late. You can’t back out now.’
‘I can and I will. I want to get out of here. I’m going to go back to London. I’ll ring Piers. He’ll let me stay with him …’
‘You can’t leave, not now!’ Lyndsey stood up, too. Her smile had vanished. ‘You have to see this through. You have to!’
‘No, Lyn. I can’t. I won’t. This is sick. Horrible! I want to get away from it all. If I thought for one single second that what you’ve told me is true – that I could hurt Mike, or Judith –’ She stopped, unable even to finish the sentence, and threw herself towards the phone. ‘I don’t want to be in this house any more. I have to get out of here.’ Grabbing the receiver, she punched in Piers’s number.
Lyndsey tried to snatch it from her. ‘Emma, don’t do this!’
‘I have to.’ Emma turned her back, dodging Lyndsey’s flailing hands. ‘Leave me alone, Lyn. I don’t want to be part of this, I really don’t.’
In Piers’s flat the phone rang on and on unanswered.
‘Piers!’ Emma bit back a sob. ‘Answer, damn you. Please!’
Lyndsey fell back. She folded her arms. ‘He’s not there, is he.’ She waited in silence as Emma stood, the receiver clamped to her ear.
At last Emma broke the connection. Her back still towards Lyndsey, she redialled. Piers’s mobile, this time. The answer service picked up the call. ‘Piers, I need you! For God’s sake, come. Please. Come soon.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Where are you?’ Sobbing, she put down the phone. For a moment she stood still, staring down at it.
‘You don’t need him, Emma.’ Lyndsey was leaning against the Aga rail, watching. ‘You sounded pathetic! You are an empowered woman. Why should you need a man?’
Emma turned and stared at her. ‘Does it occur to you that I might love him?’
Lyndsey shook her head. ‘You’ve grown out of him. You made that decision when you came here. People move on, Emma. There is no point in trying to cling to a relationship that has become hollow. You shouldn’t and he probably hasn’t. He’s probably in bed with another woman at this very moment!’
Emma stared at her. Her shoulders sagged. ‘You’re probably right.’ For a moment she was silent. ‘Perhaps I could go and stay with Alex and Paula.’ The suggestion was only half-hearted. She did not believe it herself.
‘You don’t want to stay with anyone!’ Lyndsey was growing irritated. ‘This is your home. Here. This is where your destiny lies.’ She sighed. ‘Look, if you’re afraid of being here alone, why don’t I stay the rest of the night? You should go to bed. You look exhausted. I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa. You’ll feel stronger after you’ve had some sleep. Honestly.’ She smiled again.
Emma shook her head, defeated. She didn’t want Lyndsey there. She was afraid of her, of what Lyndsey had made her do, but there seemed to be no way out. It was easier to give in. Within half an hour both women were upstairs, Lyndsey in the spare room under the thatch, Emma sitting on her bed staring at the dark window panes between the undrawn curtains. She was shivering again.
Of course Lyndsey was right. Piers had gone. He would not be there for her now. She couldn’t – shouldn’t – call him in the middle of the night. Now that Lyndsey had gone to bed, Emma was thinking straight again. But there was someone she wanted to talk to very badly indeed and that was Mike Sinclair. She had to make sure he was all right. To convince herself that what Lyndsey had said was rubbish. To warn him – convince him – that he was in danger.
And that the danger came from her.
Cautiously, with a glance at the door, she lifted the receiver from the phone by her bed and dialled the rectory. The answer machine had been switched off, but there was no reply. Frowning, she tried his mobile. That at least was on. Sitting on her bed in the darkness she listened to it ring. It was still ringing as she lay back against the pillows, exhausted, the receiver to her ear.
When the call cut off she was already asleep.
92
Sarah woke suddenly and stared up into the darkness at the embroidered tester above her head. Her heart was pounding as she sat up, listening. There it was again. A shout, outside in the grounds of her father’s house. Slipping out of bed, she ran to the window and stared out. She could see nothing, but downstairs her father’s dogs had begun to bark.
Behind her there was a sudden urgent rapping on the door. ‘Mistress Sarah!’ It was Agnes. She pushed open the door and came in, a shawl around her thin shoulders, a candle in her hand. ‘Quickly! With your father from home we are undefended. John Pepper is downstairs, he said Hopkins is coming up the lane with a whole group of people. They are coming for you!’ Her eyes were huge and frightened, the candle throwing black shadows across her face as she stared at Sarah. ‘They say you are a witch!’
For a moment, Sarah was so paralysed with terror that she couldn’t move.
‘Hurry!’ Agnes was almost hysterical. ‘If you stay here you will be trapped.’ She glanced towards the window. ‘Here, put on your shoes. And take a thick shawl. Take mine.’ She tore it off and wrapped it around her mistress’s shoulders. ‘There is no time to dress. John is at the back door. He knows somewhere you can hide.’
Bustling and fussing, Agnes ushered her out of the room and down the back staircase into the huge echoing kitchen, empty now, the centre table scrubbed and bare, the dressers and shelves laden with pots and pans neat and ready for the early start, baskets of fruit and vegetables brought in from the storerooms stacked around the walls. The cook and the kitchen maids slept upstairs in the attics, but the sleepy turnspit boy was curled up on the flags by the smouldering fire. He looked up blearily as they passed and then fell back onto his sleeping mat. In another hour they would start baking the bread for the day. When they questioned him later he would remember nothing of who had passed and he was soundly beaten for his lack of memory.
‘Here!’ Agnes pulled open the door. The night air was cold and fresh after the warm cooking smells of the kitchen.
John Pepper was standing in the darkness with two horses. ‘Hurry,’ was all he said.
Sarah glanced beyond him across the courtyard to the narrow gateway which led out into the park. ‘Where are they?’ She was so frightened she could hardly speak.
‘They are coming up to the front of the house from t
he lane.’ He bent to take her foot and threw her up into the saddle. ‘They know Master Anthony is away with most of his men and they thought they could take us by surprise. He would not dare try to take you in Colchester and he has been planning to catch you these last few weeks, so they say.’
They were in the saddle now and he turned and led the way at a trot across the yard. Behind him Agnes shut the door and bolted it. Within minutes she was in her own bed, the covers pulled up over her head.
John drew his horse to a standstill under the archway and leaned forward, listening. Behind him, Sarah held her breath, steadying her horse with a gentle hand on its neck. They could hear nothing.
‘Follow me!’ He set the horse at a canter down the hill, and she followed, aware that the white of her nightgown was billowing round her under the heavy grey shawl.
Behind them Hopkins and Stearne, surrounded by a group of some dozen men, had reached the front door of Overly Hall and were beating on it with their staffs. When there was no answer a group, led by Stearne, separated off and ran along the side of the house towards the back. As they came round the corner they spotted the two horses in the distance, the flicker of white from Sarah’s gown clearly visible in the moonlight.
‘She’s gone. She’s escaped!’ Stearne turned and yelled back at Hopkins. ‘This way. We’ll cut them off below the hill.’
John Pepper turned in his saddle and looked over his shoulder. ‘They’ve seen us!’ He raised his hand and thwacked the horse’s flank. ‘Faster, mistress, we’ll turn up beyond the wood. Don’t fear. They won’t catch us.’
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