The Moorstone Sickness

by Bernard Taylor

  28

  Standing under the shower Rowan washed the touch of David Lockyer from her body. Then, wrapping herself in a towel, she went next door into the bedroom, where she dried herself and put on her nightdress. She felt as though she were moving in a dream.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed she looked dully at her reflection in the mirror. The sight of the long white gown with its intricate decoration of lace made her wonder why she’d bothered putting it on. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep. She never wanted to sleep here again. The house and the village—each had lost its magic for her. She got up, stepped into her slippers and pulled on her dressing gown.

  She began to pace the room. Hal had gone. And there was no knowing when he would be back; if he ever did come back. But this last thought she tried to dismiss from her mind. He would come back. He had to. Maybe not for a while, but he would return in the end.

  But then, she realized, she couldn’t wait. It might be days before he came back, and she couldn’t wait that long. . . .

  Abruptly ceasing her pacing she got a suitcase from the cupboard, opened it up on the bed and began to pack it. Tomorrow, as soon as it was light, she would leave. She’d go to Exeter and get a train for London. She’d find him at his club. Everything would be all right then. It would have to be.

  Behind her on the bed her suitcase lay packed and closed.

  She sat at the window, looking out into the night.

  The lights up by the Stone seemed to be growing in number. Something was happening up there. . . . She shivered and pulled her dressing gown more closely around her. Things were different tonight. She could sense something; something that was not—right. It was almost like the barely discernible vibration of some weird, unknowable under­current. It even pervaded the house. It was not due simply to her anxiety following Hal’s departure; it was something more.

  Mesmerized, she continued to stare at the lights. She seemed unable to keep her eyes from the sight. What was it that was happening up there?

  As she sat there, so still, she suddenly realized that she had become aware of the beating of her own heart. Putting her hand to her breast she found that her palm was wet with perspiration. The realization that she was afraid brought with it its own measure of fear.

  But what was she afraid of? With an attempt to brush her unnamed fears aside she urged herself to be calm. But it was no good; the fear persisted and grew stronger. And then into her mind came a picture of herself sitting alone and exposed at the window of the lighted room. Immediately she got up and reached for the curtain cord.

  Even after the curtains were drawn she remained standing there, eyes wide, as if still looking down towards the end of the drive. And her fear had grown even more—for now there was something to which it could be attached.

  In the moment before the curtains had come together she had caught a fleeting glimpse of two figures. They had been standing side by side in the shadows by the gate. Her view of them had lasted only an instant, nevertheless she was sure she had recognized them . . .

  She backed away from the window. Mrs Palfrey and Tom Freeman . . . what were they doing—waiting there, watching the house . . . ?

  29

  He wouldn’t take the risk of driving through the village so instead he took a roundabout route back towards Crispin’s House, approaching it now from the north-east. Neither, he felt, was it safe to get too close with the car, so, coming to within a hundred yards of the gate he turned the car around and parked it in a dark, overhung spot where there was little chance of its being seen.

  He switched off the engine and the lights and then turned quickly to the figure of the old woman who sat pressed into the corner of the seat behind him. Way back there on the lonely road she had given him the answers to so many of his questions. It had taken very little time. And there was little now that he needed to know.

  ‘Will you be all right here?’ he asked. She’d covered herself with his raincoat. All he could make of her face was a pale blur.

  ‘Yes,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m very tired and rather cold, but I’m okay. Perhaps I shall sleep a little soon. But it doesn’t matter about me. You go on. You must hurry.’

  He stepped out of the car, closed the door as quietly as he could and moved alongside the rickety, tree-lined fence that bordered the eastern side of the garden of Crispin’s House. On his soft-soled shoes he made hardly any sound. In his hand he carried the torch, switched off; he wouldn’t use it unless it was absolutely necessary. For the moment it was not.

  Peering to his right in the moonlight he continued on, looking for a break in the fence; he knew there were several throughout its length. Eventually he found what he was seeking. The gap was just wide enough and he squeezed through. The bushes on the other side tore at his hands and clothing but he paid no heed and pushed on until he found himself on the rear lawn. Before him was the house—showing a light behind the curtains of the bedroom’s side window. Without hesitating for a moment he ran over the grass to the back door. It wasn’t locked. He let himself in and hurried through the darkened rooms to the hall and then up the stairs.

  When he reached the bedroom he opened the door to find Rowan standing wide-eyed against the opposite wall. Immediately, as he entered, he saw her expression change from fear to relief.

  ‘Hal . . . I thought it was someone else,’ she said as he went towards her.

  He wrapped her in his arms and she clung to him. ‘I was sure you wouldn’t come back,’ she said. ‘I was certain of it.’

  He held her more tightly. ‘I shan’t ever leave you again,’ he said.

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  For a second they remained quite still, then, holding her from him at arm’s length, he said urgently: ‘Now listen, carefully. We’re leaving now. For London. There’s no time to waste. There isn’t even time to explain why.’

  She stared at him and then gave a little laugh which abruptly ceased and he could see his own fear so clearly reflected in her eyes. She knew well that he was in deathly earnest.

  ‘Something’s happening, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I know it.’ Her hysterical laugh came again. ‘I looked from the window not long ago and saw Mrs Palfrey and Tom Freeman standing near the gate, looking up at the house. Why? What for? What do they want? Hal—I’m afraid!’ Her rising terror brought his own fear surging.

  ‘Are they out there now?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know. Tell me—what’s happening?’

  ‘Later.’ He forced his voice to sound calm. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded then pulled away from his impelling hand. ‘Just let me put some clothes on. And my case—I packed it ready to go up to London tomorrow—to find you at the club.’

  ‘Forget it.’ He reached out and took her hand again. ‘Just come as you are.’

  With one more look at her bewildered, frightened expression, he turned towards the door. ‘We’ll leave the lights on in here,’ he said and then led her, hurrying, onto the unlit landing. Side by side they went down the stairs and through the lower rooms to the kitchen. At the back door he stood listening for a moment, then, carefully easing it open, he pulled her behind him out into the night.

  Hand in hand they raced silently over the grass and she followed him through the shrubs to the gap in the fence. Another few moments and they were outside on the verge of the road. In the moonlight he turned to look at her as she stood panting beside him. Then, tightening his grip on her hand he turned once again and led the way to the car.

  And then they were inside. They had made it. Now they would be safe.

  As the relief swept over him he saw Rowan start as she caught sight of the huddled figure on the back seat.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked, turning, peering into the gloom. ‘It looks like—is it Miss Carroll?’

  ‘No, it’s not Miss Carroll.’ He reached down for the keys. ‘It’s Alison.’

  ‘Alison?’ she said.
‘Alison?’

  He was hardly aware of her cry that followed. He was feeling for the ignition key and finding nothing there. The panic back and sweeping over him he turned to her as his groping fingers searched the floor. She was sitting pressed against the door, eyes wide, staring in horror. He straightened and, eyes following her gaze, looked at the still figure in the back.

  He had assumed that she was sleeping. She was not. Even in the deep shadow he could make out her unblinking, unseeing eyes. He stretched out his arm and touched her shoulder. She didn’t move. When he brought his hand back he could feel on his fingers the warm stickiness of blood.

  For a moment he was paralysed with terror, then, leaning quickly across he jerked Rowan aside and flung open her door. ‘Get out!’ he yelled at her. ‘And run.’

  They had only gone a few paces when the people came.

  Dark, darting shadows, they leapt from the cover on either side of the road. There seemed to be so many of them. As Rowan screamed Hal whirled her about to face the way they had come.

  But they were there too, the people. It didn’t matter which way you turned, there was no way of escape.

  30

  When Rowan opened her eyes she lay there for some seconds before becoming aware that she was lying out in the open, looking up at the sky. She tried to get up but found she couldn’t. Her hands and feet seemed to be tied.

  As her panic threatened to engulf her she closed her eyes again. She hadn’t awakened, she told herself. She was still asleep. She must be. Soon she would really awake and find herself at home in her bed, with Hal, safe, and laughing over a bad dream.

  But the present sensations wouldn’t go. They only grew stronger. And then she began to remember. She’d run from the house with Hal. They’d been caught. On the road a pad of something had been pressed over her face. That was the last she had known, until now. And now here she was. This was no dream. This was real. Silently she lay there and screamed.

  When at last the screaming inside her head had died away to a whimper she became aware of the sounds from outside. There was a constant hum of voices all around her—low, but charged with a strange, suppressed excitement. Opening her eyes she saw about her various people from the village. Miss Allardice stood chatting with Sandra Cassen. There was Mrs Palfrey with David Lockyer. She recognized, too, Endleson the vicar, and McBride from The Swan. There were many other faces she knew but couldn’t put names to. The schoolmistress was there passing round toffees whilst the butcher tipped a silver flask to his lips. One young man was drinking from a bottle of Coke while the girl next to him bit into an apple. The scene was lit by the wavering, shifting light of lanterns, either held in the hand or suspended from ropes supported by poles. The whole thing was like some strange festive occasion, some weird party.

  The surface on which she lay was cold and hard. And then, looking at the lanterns once more she recalled the lights she had seen from the window of Crispin’s House. She was on the Stone. She couldn’t be anywhere else.

  Turning her head to the right she saw Hal lying at her side, just a few feet away. His eyes were closed and he lay very still.

  ‘Hal . . .’

  She called his name but he didn’t move. She spoke again, louder.

  ‘Hal . . . Hal . . .’

  As she strained her neck to stare at his unmoving profile she realized that the voices around her had died away. Shifting her gaze she saw that the faces now were all looking in her direction, eyes full of curiosity. The people continued to regard her in silence for some moments, but then their attention wavered and the chatter broke out again.

  Glancing over to her left she recognized the slim figure and blonde hair of Alison, and into her mind flashed a picture of the dead woman she had seen on the back seat of the car. It was Miss Carroll who had lain slumped there; she knew that. Yet Hal had said no, it was not Miss Carroll: it was Alison. But that couldn’t be. That was impossible. How could it be? She had seen Miss Carroll there with her own eyes—just as clearly as she now saw Alison standing on the arm of Ralph Collins.

  She turned once more towards Hal. His eyes were still closed. From her left she heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Don’t worry about him, Rowan. He’s all right. He’ll come round soon.’

  She looked up towards the voice and saw Paul Cassen standing above her. As their eyes met she felt her lower lip tremble. Fighting back the tears that threatened she said pleadingly:

  ‘Paul . . . help us . . .’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘Please . . .’

  He said nothing. After a moment she asked:

  ‘What’s happening? What are they going to do with us?’

  ‘. . . It’ll soon be over.’

  ‘But what’s going to happen? Are you—are you going to hurt us?’

  The answer came from another voice. Suddenly Mrs Palfrey was standing at Cassen’s elbow.

  ‘No,’ she said decisively, ‘not in the least. No one’s going to harm a hair of your head. Not one single hair.’

  ‘But—then what do you want?’

  ‘Just don’t worry.’ The old woman spoke like a nurse re­assuring a patient. Then, her tone abruptly changing, she said, ‘Look! She’s got nothing under her head and nothing over her. This is ridiculous. Who’s supposed to be looking after these things?’

  ‘Freeman,’ Cassen said.

  ‘Huh, I might have known.’ Mrs Palfrey looked into Rowan’s face again. ‘I’ll get you a cushion and a blanket. You’d be more comfortable then, wouldn’t you?’

  Rowan nodded. ‘Please—and for Hal too . . .’

  ‘All right.’ Mrs Palfrey sighed and moved out of the line of Rowan’s vision. She reappeared a few moments later carrying cushions and blankets in her arms. Cassen took the cushions from her and placed one beneath Rowan’s head. The other he put beneath Hal’s.

  ‘There,’ Mrs Palfrey said, ‘—that’s better, isn’t it?’ She laid one of the blankets over Rowan and tucked in the sides. ‘You’ll be warmer now.’ As she laid the other blanket over Hal she said to Cassen, ‘I can’t have her catching cold. That would be a fine start.’ She tucked in the edges of Hal’s blanket. ‘By rights,’ she said, ‘I should leave this to Freeman. If he can’t take care of it himself he doesn’t deserve anything.’ She straightened and looked around her. ‘I don’t even know whether he’s here. Have you seen anything of him?’

  ‘No, not yet.’ Cassen shook his head. ‘But he’ll be here soon, there’s no doubt about that.’

  ‘Oh, no doubt at all.’ With a toss of her head Mrs Palfrey turned and moved away.

  Beyond the voices of those immediately around her Rowan became aware of other voices coming up from below. There must be many more of the villagers down around the base of the rock, she thought; certainly the rock itself couldn’t hold a fraction of their number.

  Raising her head a little she saw that she and Hal were lying in the centre of the stone plateau. Their heads were towards the overhanging lip, their feet towards the wall that rose up, towering above the lanterns. There, close to the wall, a brazier had been placed, its coals glowing, giving off a warmer light than that from the lanterns above. She also saw a small table there holding assorted receptacles and various other objects.

  Laying her head on the cushion again she looked over at Hal. His eyes were open now, wide open and fearful. As she gazed at him across the two-yard gap he turned his face towards her. For a while they just looked at one another, then she saw his lips move in a single, unheard word: ‘Ro . . .’ Involuntarily her right hand moved within the narrow constriction of the cords that held it—as if she would reach out to him—but she could not and she lay still beneath the blanket.

  Paul Cassen had moved around and now came to a halt near Hal’s feet. He looked from Hal’s face to Rowan’s. ‘There, I told you he’d be all right,’ he said. ‘Didn’t I say that?’

  ‘Let us go,’ Rowan said. ‘Please, Paul . . .�
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  ‘Yes.’ Hal spoke aloud now. ‘Let us go.’

  ‘It’s not up to me,’ Cassen said.

  ‘But they’ll listen to you,’ Hal said. ‘After all, you were the one who found us—who got us to the village in the first place.’

  ‘I was only doing my job.’

  ‘Please,’ Hal said again. ‘Talk to them. They will listen to you; you know they will.’

  ‘Oh, no, they won’t!’ Another voice broke in here and Tom Freeman came into Rowan’s view. Stepping forward he stopped by Cassen’s shoulder and stood gasping for breath, one hand pressed to his chest. His speech fragmented by his laboured breathing, he said to Hal, ‘What happens to you is up to me. And you’re going to stay where you are. You’ve put us to enough trouble tonight already.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ Cassen agreed. ‘You had him worried sick.’ Turning to the old man he said, ‘We were wondering where you were. Thought perhaps you’d decided not to come.’

  ‘Oh, you will have your little joke,’ Freeman said, smiling uncertainly. He patted his chest. ‘God, that climb up here. A couple of times back there I didn’t think I was going to make it.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Still, I did. I’m here now and everything’ll be all right.’

  ‘You’ve got everything ready? Your will and everything?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Signed and witnessed?’

  ‘Weeks ago.’

  Cassen nodded. ‘Weeks ago. Yes, I believe you. Could hardly wait, could you?’

  ‘Well—I’m sure you’re no different.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘Well, there you are then.’ The old man grinned and then turned his attention back to Hal. ‘Did you hear all that?’ he said. ‘My last will and testament. It’s all made out. All legal and above board. Yes, if anything should happen to old Tom Freeman then—’ He broke off, paused with his head on one side and then added: ‘Guess. Guess who’s going to be the lucky one when I go . . .’

  Hal said nothing. The old man looked over at Rowan. ‘Guess,’ he said.

  When she also remained silent he said, ‘Mr Hal Graham, that’s who. He’ll come into everything I own. Everything. Lock, stock and barrel.’ He raised his head. ‘Isn’t that right, Sylvia? And you’ll be leaving all your worldly goods to Mrs Graham. Isn’t that right?’ Turning her head slightly Rowan saw Mrs Palfrey standing there with a look of scorn on her face.