Hiding From the Light

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘I know.’ Mike bent and kissed her on the top of the head.

  ‘And be strong, Mike. There is still a fight ahead of you.’

  He nodded, very conscious of the lonely mist-shrouded church behind them, tempted to change his mind and go with them. But there were things he had to do in the church before he locked up. And a final prayer to say.

  He watched the car pull away and then turned back towards the yew trees.

  The candles had long ago burned down and the church smelled only of wood, old mustiness and the faint echo of incense.

  Slowly he walked up the aisle and began to gather up their scattered belongings. Ruth’s thermos. The small Communion set. Tony’s crucifix lying on the ground before the altar. His stole. As Mike folded it up he stared round. There was no sign that a man had died there. No trace of the blood which had poured from his own nose and mouth. His clothes were unsullied. It was as if it had never happened. As if it had all been a dream.

  But it was not a dream. Tony had thought they would be safe in a church; had thought they could strengthen their spiritual muscles here in this peaceful place. And instead it had turned into an arena for their battle.

  ‘But an arena where we won!’

  Was that Tony’s voice in his head? He shrugged. It was true. In a church he was on his own ground, surrounded by the light. But his greatest battle was still before him, he was under no illusion about that. Quietly, he began to pray.

  Somehow he had to rid himself permanently of the restless dark soul of Matthew Hopkins, and then he had to deal once and for all with Sarah.

  And Emma.

  And now he was alone.

  105

  Mark flicked the windscreen wipers onto fast speed as he turned the car onto the A137 and headed for Colchester. They had loaded the last of the equipment up by four o’clock and Joe and Alice had driven on ahead in the van.

  ‘So, what next?’ Colin rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes.

  ‘After filling in the insurance claim?’ Mark shrugged. ‘At least we got a bit of film.’

  The cameras were all consistent. Nothing happened for the first three hours or so, then suddenly at eleven fifty-eight, according to the time marker on the film, things had begun to fly round the room. Within thirty seconds everything had stopped working. There were no ghosts on the surviving film. Most of it had been trashed. What there was showed clearly the first event out of the ordinary – a box of dusters had lifted as far as could be seen, unaided, floated in the air about two feet off the ground, for several seconds, then tipped over and tossed itself against the wall. There was no one to be seen in the room; the action was clear, in the centre of the camera field. Several seconds later they saw first one, then two, then three small round balls of light seemingly dancing in mid-air. Two audio tapes seemed to be intact. When they played them several groans were clearly audible and then some loud crashes. There were other noises that only Alice could hear, the others could make nothing out. They too would be taken back to the AVID editing suite. They would be listening for extremely low-frequency sounds.

  It took a long time to remove all the equipment and clear up and restack the room. Their landlady’s husband, Ron Prescott, came up trumps with enough paint to remove the paranormal graffiti, once it had been photographed in great detail with a stills camera and shot from every angle with the little hand-held camera which Alice had left in the car. ‘They’ll never know.’ Mark checked the room before they left.

  Stan Barker had been adamant when they reported to him what had happened. Move every trace or he would sue. Mark had pleaded and cajoled to no avail. Stan’s original enthusiasm for the film had all but gone. If he lost his tenants as a result of Mark’s messing around, there would be trouble.

  ‘I’d like to have had that writing tested. Seen if it was blood, and if so, whose.’ Colin had been silent for some time as they drove.

  Mark gave a grim smile. ‘I had the same thought. I scraped off some plaster. It’s in a polythene bag in my briefcase.’

  Colin glanced across at him. ‘Well done.’

  ‘I couldn’t be any firmer with him, Col. I didn’t want him to pull the rug on the whole project and forbid us to use the film.’

  Colin nodded. ‘No, you handled him well. It’s a pity we’ve got to be at this meeting tomorrow. I feel there’s a lot more to happen down here.’

  Mark nodded. He dipped his lights as another car hurtled towards them through the dark, throwing up curtains of water off the road. ‘We need the editing suite, though, Col. I want to hear those tapes and see what we’ve got.’ He cursed as his mobile rang.

  ‘Mark? It’s Mike Sinclair.’ Mike’s voice was broadcast round the car from the hands-free phone. He sounded exhausted.

  There was a moment’s stunned silence. ‘Mike?’ Mark gripped the steering wheel. ‘Are you all right? Where the hell have you been?’

  There was a pause the other end of the phone. ‘I know. I should have been there to talk to you about the shop. I’m sorry. I had to go away for the weekend. Didn’t Judith tell you where I was?’

  Mark frowned. ‘No, Mike. No one knew where you were.’ He paused. ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘At the rectory. Someone’s been fiddling with my answer phone. Yours is the only message on it. Judith seems to have re-recorded my outgoing message and then turned it off.’

  Mark glanced into the mirror and indicated left. He pulled into a gateway at the side of the road and switched off the engine. ‘Is there anyone there, Mike?’

  ‘No. It’s all shut up. Judith seems to have gone out. Your message sounded so urgent I thought I’d better ring you at once and explain.’

  Mark glanced at Colin and raised an eyebrow. ‘Mike, you do know what happened to Judith?’ he said cautiously.

  There was a short pause as Mike registered the tone of his voice. ‘No, should I?’ His reply was guarded. ‘What’s been going on?’

  Mark was looking at Colin in the dark. Colin shrugged. ‘Mike, I’m sure there should be someone there to tell you. Something awful happened. Judith died last night. At first they thought she had been murdered and Lyndsey Clark was claiming to have had something to do with it. We contacted a CID mate of Colin’s and it turned out that it was natural causes – or at least a reaction to some drug she was on – so the police lost interest. I gather she had some kind of brain haemorrhage or something. I’m so sorry.’

  Mike didn’t reply for several seconds. When he spoke his voice was husky with shock. ‘I can’t quite take this in. Judith is dead? When did this happen?’

  ‘I don’t know a whole lot about it. Some time on Saturday night, I think. But listen, Mike, it gets worse. That woman Lyndsey is a complete nutcase. She was telling everyone she had killed Judith and you, too! She said the whole thing was our fault because we had stirred up Hopkins with our interest in the shop. Once your friendly neighbourhood doctor started looking for natural causes for Judith’s death, it didn’t occur to him to think about black magic, of course. I don’t suppose it would have done anyway.’ He was speaking very fast. ‘It couldn’t have been that. Could it? No one knew where you were, Mike. People were wondering if you were dead! We didn’t know what to think, and no one had heard from you.’

  Mike sighed. ‘Judith knew where I had gone. It was her idea that I went away. I assumed she would tell anyone who needed me where I could be reached.’ There was a pause. ‘This is awful.’

  ‘I know.’ Mark was staring through the windscreen into the dark. Beside them a five-barred gate blocked the entrance to a field. Rain was drumming on the windscreen. ‘I think Lyndsey has lost it, Mike. She was claiming all sorts of shit. She didn’t seem to know who she was. Or who Judith was. And she was ranting on about someone called Sarah.’

  ‘Sarah?’ Mike’s voice sharpened.

  ‘Yes, Sarah. Lyndsey’s bonkers, Mike!’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Did sh
e mention Emma?’ Mike’s voice was suddenly tight with anxiety. ‘No, don’t worry, I’ve got to go, Mark. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Mike?’ Mark leaned towards the phone. ‘Mike, are you there?’

  ‘He’s gone.’ Colin whistled. ‘The plot thickens, and you didn’t even get the chance to tell him about our ghostly visitors.’ He paused. ‘We’re driving in the wrong direction, aren’t we?’

  Mark nodded. Starting up the engine he engaged first gear and began to turn the car. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about all this. Mike’s on his own down there and no one else knows he’s back.’

  106

  August 1647

  Sarah was staring at John Pepper. ‘Matthew Hopkins can’t be dead!’ she said. ‘He can’t be!’

  John shrugged. He was standing in front of the fireplace in Sarah’s Colchester house. ‘John Stearne claims he died five days ago of a consumption and is already buried up at Mistley in the churchyard there. Master Stearne came back from Suffolk specially to watch him put in the soil.’

  Sarah sat down abruptly. She was white with shock.

  ‘It’s good news, mistress.’ John eyed her cautiously. ‘There’s none to hunt you down now.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Nor me, for that matter. No one hunts for witches any more. There is more than that to worry about with the war coming closer all the time.’

  ‘But we are not avenged, John. He has escaped me!’ She paced up and down the floor a couple of times, the heels of her shoes clicking on the polished boards. ‘I don’t believe it! He was to have been hunted down and swum. I needed to see him suffer as I suffered. As Liza suffered.’ She was growing more and more agitated. ‘The people of Manningtree were going to swim him, John. They were going to see him punished! I know it. I was going to go back to my father’s house and we were going to find him. I was going to lead them after him.’

  She walked over to the window, turned and walked back again. ‘He has escaped! It is all pretence. He is not dead! He has fled. He has gone away. We will find him. He can’t have gone far.’

  ‘He is dead, mistress.’ John was frowning. ‘It is time to let him go.’

  ‘I’m not going to let him go!’ She turned on him furiously. ‘Do you think he has taken ship from Mistley or Harwich? Where would he have gone? To the Low Countries? To the Americas? He has a brother in the Americas. Agnes told me so. Perhaps he has gone there.’ Her agitation was growing every second.

  John shook his head. ‘Let be, mistress. Just be glad you are safe. No one will dare impugn your honour now. No one will suggest that you were involved with Liza. Let be. Please, for your father’s sake. Don’t worry him more. He has enough to think about with the king a prisoner in Scotland and the country all to pieces. Liza is at rest. Let her lie in peace.’

  ‘She is not at peace, John!’ She turned on him angrily. ‘How could you think it?’

  Once more she paced back and forth across the room. John stepped back. He could feel her wrath and it frightened him. It was coming off her in waves. Suddenly she stopped. She swung to face him. ‘I shall find him, John. If not in this world, then the next. I will find him if I have to follow him through hell and back!’

  107

  Sunday evening

  Mike sat staring at his desk for several minutes after he had spoken to Mark, then wearily he rose to his feet. ‘God bless you, Judith.’ A quick whispered prayer would have to do for now. There were other things he had to deal with and quickly. Picking up his car keys, he headed back for the door. He wished, not for the first time, that Bill had a telephone. But there was no time to fetch him now. Perhaps the old man would sense that he was needed now more than ever.

  Lyndsey’s house on the quay was in darkness. He stood on the doorstep and knocked loudly, but it was no more than a gesture. He could see – could feel – that she was not there.

  Turning his back on the door, he stood still for a moment and watched the dark water, hearing the hiss of rain as the tide inched along the edge of the quay. Then he turned and pulling the collar of his jacket up around his ears, he headed back for the car.

  As he drew up outside Liza’s, he saw the black outline of a bicycle leaning into the hedge. He climbed out of the car slowly, staring at it, guessing it belonged to Lyndsey. Emma’s MG was there too.

  He could see some lights on in the cottage behind closed curtains but there was an eerie silence about the place as he opened the gate and walked up the path. The doorbell rang loudly inside the house and he waited, sheltering under the wooden porch as the rain thundered onto the leaves of the trees behind him. He allowed several minutes to pass, strangely reluctant to try again, then he pressed his finger on the bell once more, leaving it there for several seconds. There was still no sound from indoors.

  Sighing, he stepped back into the rain and glanced up at the upstairs windows. Emma and Lyndsey were there all right, so why weren’t they answering?

  His shoes squelching on the soaking grass, he made his way down the side of the house towards the back and stepping onto the terrace, found he could look straight into the kitchen. There was no one there, not even one of her cats. Making his way over the wet moss-covered flagstones, he reached for the doorhandle and turned it. The door opened.

  ‘Emma?’ He stepped inside and stood dripping rainwater just inside the kitchen door. There was no answer. He paused for a moment in the middle of the kitchen, listening intently. The house was silent. Frowning, he walked over to the door and pulled it open. The hall was in darkness. Then he heard it – the muffled sound of a voice.

  ‘Emma? Are you there? It’s Mike!’ He moved towards the door which led into her sitting room and pushed it open.

  Emma was sitting on the sofa, and Lyndsey – he presumed it was Lyndsey – was sitting on the floor in front of her, her hands gripping Emma’s wrists. The room was in darkness, lit only by a candle standing on the low coffee table.

  ‘Emma?’ Mike stepped into the room.

  Both women turned to stare at him. Even in the dim candlelight, Mike could see the total blankness on Emma’s face. She did not appear to recognise him for a moment, then suddenly she stood up, pushing Lyndsey away from her so hard that Lyndsey fell backwards onto the floor.

  ‘You!’ She pointed straight at Mike, her eyes narrowed, her features twisted with fury. ‘You killed her. You killed my Liza. After all I said; after I begged you! After I told you what I would do – ’

  ‘Emma!’ Stepping towards her, Mike caught her by the shoulders. ‘Emma, listen to me!’

  ‘You tortured her and you watched her hang!’

  ‘Emma!’ He held her away from him with difficulty and glanced at the other woman. ‘What’s happened to her?’

  Lyndsey smiled. She had picked herself up off the floor and was now seated in the chair opposite them, watching. ‘I think you know what’s happened!’ She leaned back almost casually. ‘You are not speaking to Emma.’ Lyndsey appeared to be mildly amused. ‘You are speaking to Sarah Paxman. Once, a long time ago, she vowed to kill Matthew Hopkins, and now it looks as though, although somehow he seems to have escaped her up to now, finally you are going to give her the chance to do it!’

  As Mike transferred his attention to Lyndsey for a fraction of a second, he let his grip on Emma’s shoulder slacken and she took the opportunity to wriggle away from him. In seconds she had renewed her attack, her clawed fingers within inches of his eyes. He seized her wrists. ‘Emma, listen to me! You are not Sarah Pax-man, do you hear me? Sarah is dead!’ He pushed her down onto the sofa. ‘And I am not Matthew Hopkins! I am not his descendant. I am not the man reborn. He tried to possess me – no –’ He pushed her back as she tried to stand up. ‘No, listen, Emma. I am not him. He did not succeed. Hopkins is dead. Do you hear me? He’s dead! Leave his punishment to God!’

  ‘She can’t hear you,’ Lyndsey put in calmly.

  ‘What have you done to her?’ Mike shouted at her over his shoulder. ‘What has happened here? How can I get her back?’

 
‘The past has caught up with you.’ Lyndsey folded her arms.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, get real, Lyndsey!’ he snapped. ‘Have you hypnotised her? Is she drugged? What has happened to her?’

  Emma was trying to stand up again and he shoved her back hard with the flat of his hand. ‘Emma, listen to me!’ He snapped his fingers loudly in front of her nose. Emma did not react.

  Lyndsey snorted. ‘No, she’s not hypnotised. This is not some magic show. You told me to get real. I suggest that is what you should be doing. This is not pretend. This is not a game of trick or treat. This is revenge time. This is when women fight back and you pay for all the blood and the burnings.’

  ‘Which shows how much you know about it!’ Mike snapped at her. ‘Hopkins didn’t burn women. That is rubbish!’

  ‘Rubbish?’ Lyndsey leaped to her feet. ‘You ignorant, stupid man! Don’t you know anything? Millions of women were burned. By men!’

  Mike was panting now as he struggled to hold Emma at arm’s length. ‘Judith was right. I’m beginning to realise where all the trouble is coming from. It’s you.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. Judith.’ Lyndsey smiled again. ‘The witchpricker. I hear she died a thousand deaths and drowned in her own blood. Sarah did that. Sarah, not me. Sarah is a very powerful woman, Mike.’ She emphasised his name sarcastically. ‘And now it’s your turn for her exclusive attention.’

  Mike heard a car drive up outside. The reflections of its headlights were bright for a moment against the curtains, then they died. The engine was cut. Mike breathed a prayer of thanks as he heard the car door bang. When the doorbell rang he shouted as loudly as he could. ‘Round the back! Quickly! The kitchen door is open. I need some help here!’

  Lyndsey laughed. ‘So, your God needs a bit of backup, does he? Sarah, can you hear me?’ Her voice sharpened. ‘This man needs to die.’