by Sarah Rayne
He was just managing to convince himself that he could ignore the sounds and that Luisa would emerge in time for dinner, perfectly normal and lucid, when there was a muffled cry and a series of slithering bumps. She’s fallen, thought Michael, horrified – she’s tripped on those wretched stone steps and fallen down them.
He ran out to the hall and across to the door set in the panelling. It was closed, but of course Luisa would have closed it after her. For a moment Michael thought she had locked it as well, and that he would have to break it down, but when he tried the small catch, the door swung smoothly inwards. He took a deep breath and stepped through.
Twelve
The curve of the steps hid the underground room from view, and a faint, flickering light came from below, as if the oil lamp or the candles had been lit. From the top of the steps Michael could not see Luisa, and he hesitated, still concerned, but not wanting to intrude. He had better make sure she was all right, though.
Had it only been twenty-four hours since he had stolen down these steps? In the flickering light his shadow fell blackly and eerily on the stone walls, and Michael glanced at it uneasily. Were there two shapes on the wall, as if two separate people were tiptoeing stealthily down the steps, the second one just behind him …? He whipped round and for a fleeting moment had the impression of someone pressing back in the dark corners.
‘Stephen?’ said Michael, very softly, and it seemed as if the darkness picked up the word and spun it into soft echoes.
Stephen, Stephen, STEPHEN… .
Then, incredibly, like dead breath struggling to form sounds, a faint response seemed to form within the echoes.
‘Here I am … You let me in, remember …? I can never get in by myself – I can never open a door or a window … But I was the shadow you saw inside the rain, and I was the one who printed the footmarks on the floor …’
Michael pushed the whispers away and went down the remaining steps. There was the altar-like table he remembered and the candles. They were unlit, but the oil lamp was glowing in its corner. There was the small desk with the book and pen. Then he saw that the chair by the desk had overturned, and that Luisa was lying near it in an untidy huddle on the ground. Michael went over to kneel by her. She was not moving and her eyes were closed. Was she dead? In films and books people always seemed to know straightaway if a person was dead, even without medical knowledge. But then he saw with relief that Luisa was breathing, although she was certainly unconscious. There was a bluish tinge to her lips – did that mean heart? Michael was not very used to dealing with illness, but there were certain basic things you did when someone collapsed. The first was to summon help, the second was to keep the person warm. He sped back up to the stairs, snatched up the phone in the hall, which was quicker than rummaging for his mobile, and dialled 999. It was a massive relief to hear a calm, clearly knowledgeable voice taking the details, and saying paramedics would be there as quickly as possible, and please to wait with the patient.
‘There’s a tree down in the road,’ said Michael. ‘Will the ambulance be able to get round it?’
The reassuring voice said he need not worry; the paramedics would come on motorbikes, and if hospitalization was needed, there were various services that could be called on. ‘We’re used to remote houses in this part of the world,’ she said, and Michael thanked her, explained that the lady who had collapsed was in an underground room, and that he would remain down there with her until help arrived.
‘Don’t move her. Put a blanket over her, and see if you can call her out of unconsciousness. Try to get her to stay awake.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘And don’t leave her on her own.’
‘No, of course not. Tell the medics I’ll unbolt the front door so they can get in. They’ll get to the underground room from the hall. There’s a door in the panelling – I’ll prop it open.’
‘They’ll call out anyway, and they’ll go over the house if you don’t hear them,’ she said. ‘Shall I stay on the line with you until they come?’
‘I’m not on a cordless phone,’ said Michael, who was conscious of inadequacy and would have been grateful for the friendly efficiency.
‘Well, ring us back if you need to.’
‘Thank you very much,’ he said, and this time ran upstairs to get blankets from the nearest bed, which happened to be his own.
He had been willing Luisa to have regained consciousness when he got back; to be sitting up, the terrifying bluish tinge gone, saying she had stumbled and fallen, briefly knocking herself out. But she was lying exactly as Michael had found her. He spread the blankets over her and sat down on the floor, reaching for her hand.
Call her out of unconsciousness, the emergency service had said, and the inevitable comparison rose up – that of the cataleptic Madeline Usher, about to be entombed alive, but her mind awake and silently pleading for someone to call her out of her dreadful paralysis.
To dispel this grisly image, Michael said, ‘Miss Gilmore? Luisa? Can you hear me? Try to stay awake – you’ve fallen, but you’re all right, and the ambulance is on the way.’
Did a faint flicker of awareness cross her face? Michael could not be sure, but he thought there was a belief that hearing could remain when other senses were dormant, so he said, ‘I’ll stay with you, but if you can open your eyes—’ Still nothing. ‘Or if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.’ Was there the faintest tremor of movement from the thin fingers?
He leaned back slightly, looking around the room. The stone floor and walls gave it the feel of a dungeon, but the presence of the prie-dieu and the altar-table with the crucifix, together with the desk, made it more the retreat of some religious scholar. He was just wondering if he could reach one of the candles and manage to light it, when he felt Luisa’s fingers curl round his. He looked back at her at once. Her eyes were open and she was looking at him.
‘You’re quite all right,’ said Michael very clearly. ‘But I’ve phoned for an ambulance, and it’s on the way. Are you in any pain anywhere?’
Her free hand came up to tap the left side of her chest significantly.
‘Heart?’ said Michael. ‘Angina?’ There was a faint nod, and remembering that one or two of the older dons at Oriel had angina, he said, ‘Do you have a spray? Tell me where it is and I’ll get it.’
‘No use.’ The words came on a ragged breath of sound.
‘But—’
Her hand clutched his, and Michael took it in both of his hands, trying to infuse it with warmth.
Luisa said, ‘Stephen—’ Her eyes looked beyond Michael to the corners of the room and distended with fear. Involuntarily, Michael looked over his shoulder, but nothing stirred.
‘There’s no one here,’ he said. ‘Stephen isn’t here. You’re quite safe.’ Her eyelids fluttered, and Michael said urgently, ‘Luisa, stay awake. You must stay awake. The ambulance won’t be long.’ Oh God, let that be true, he thought, and as if on cue, he heard sounds above – a door being opened, loud footsteps, and a man’s voice calling that he was the paramedic and asking where they were.
‘Down here,’ called Michael, releasing Luisa’s hand and going halfway up the stairs.
‘Good God, what on earth is this place?’ said the paramedic, coming down the stairs, his green emergency bag banging against the wall. But he was already kneeling down, his hands moving with professional assurance over Luisa, then opening the bag to take out stethoscope and pieces of equipment that Michael thought were heart monitors.
‘Miss Gilmore – can you hear me? Are you in any pain?’
‘She indicated her heart,’ said Michael. ‘When I said was it angina, she said yes.’
‘Does she have a spray?’
‘I asked her that, but she said it was no use and I couldn’t get her to say where it was. I don’t even know where her bedroom is and I didn’t want to leave her to search for it— And you were on the way—’ Damn, he thought, I’m sounding indecisive and altogether useless.
‘One of the advantages of a small community,’ said Michael.
‘It is. I’ll give her nitroglycerine as well, then we’ll get her to the cardiac unit.’
‘How?’ said Michael, in dismay as the man opened his bag again and took out a phial and a fresh syringe. ‘The fallen tree—’
‘They’ll airlift her,’ said the man, administering the injection. He reached for his phone and tapped out a number. ‘We often have to do it out here.’ He spoke into the phone, then nodded, apparently satisfied. ‘Ten to fifteen minutes before they reach us,’ he said. ‘It’s a good service, and the helicopter can land in the field just beyond the main walls I should think. In the meantime, if you’ll help me to carry her up the stairs, we can be ready in the hall.’
A thin spiteful rain was beating against the windows when they got Luisa into the hall, and when Michael opened the main front door the helicopter was already approaching, its propeller sounding like massive leathery wings beating on the night sky. The lights sliced through the dusk like pale, glaring eyes, and the scene began to take on a surreal quality.
The air ambulance men brought a stretcher, and between them they put Luisa on to it and fastened straps around her. Michael had located her bedroom by this time and had put washing things, together with hairbrush and comb, in a sponge bag. The bedside cabinet had two or three medicine bottles and a small spray of pink liquid. He tipped these in as well so the hospital would know what pills she was taking, then wrapped everything in a dressing gown.
Luisa was still semi-conscious, but Michael leaned over, explaining what was happening, hoping she could hear and understand. He thought she roused sufficiently to look towards the panelled door, and he said, very quietly so the paramedic would not hear, ‘I’ll lock that up for you. Don’t worry.’
‘Key—’ One hand went to the pocket of her woollen jacket.
‘I’ll look after the key until you come back,’ he said. ‘Is that right? Is that what you want me to do?’
When she nodded, he took the key from her pocket, and she gave a grateful half-smile, then in a suddenly urgent voice, said again, ‘Stephen—’
‘Stephen won’t hurt me,’ he said, taking her hands. ‘It’s all right. I know about him, remember? I can deal with Stephen. You can trust me.’
‘I know I can,’ she said. ‘I’ve written it all down. It’s in my book.’
‘The book in the underground room?’
‘Yes.’ She seemed grateful for his comprehension and unquestioning of how he knew what she referred to. ‘Michael, you need to know – to understand … I want you to be the one who knows the truth.’ Her hands closed tightly around his, and a spasm of pain crossed her face.
Speaking carefully, hoping she could still hear and understand him, Michael said, ‘If it seems necessary, I can look at what you wrote in your book? Your journal? Is that what you mean?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You can read it— I trust you … I didn’t think there would ever be anyone, not till you came here—’
‘You can trust me,’ he said as she broke off again. ‘I promise I’ll do whatever’s necessary.’ This seemed to satisfy her. She gave the half-nod again and sank back against the blankets.
When she had been carefully stowed on to the helicopter, Michael turned to the paramedic who was preparing to set off on his motorbike.
‘Is there any news of whether the road’s cleared yet? I was hoping I could go with her to hospital, but—’
‘I should think it’ll be tomorrow before they get the tree off the road,’ he said. ‘The storm brought a couple more down, but they’re on the main roads, so they have priority. You’ll be all right here, won’t you?’ He glanced at the house. ‘Odd old place, isn’t it?’
You don’t know the half, thought Michael, but he said, ‘It is, rather. But it has an interesting history. Thanks so much for all you’ve done this evening.’
‘All in a day’s work,’ said the paramedic, smiling. ‘I’ll give you the number of the hospital where they’ll take her.’ He handed over a small card. You could phone in a couple of hours to find out what’s happening. They’ll be wanting next of kin details and so on.’
‘I don’t know who her next of kin is,’ said Michael. ‘But I’ll phone anyway.’
‘You’d better have the number of the local police station as well, while I’m about it. They’d know the situation about the tree.’ He scribbled a number on the back of the card.
Michael waited until the helicopter had taken off and watched it wheel itself around and head off. The motorbike growled its way down the drive and turned on to the main road. He stood in the doorway for a moment, then took a deep breath and went back into the house, locking and bolting the main door. Then, in accordance with his promise to Luisa, he locked the panelled door and put the key in his pocket again. But, crossing the hall, he was conscious of Fosse House’s silence – haunted and watchful – pressing in on him.
‘You let me in,’ Stephen had said.
Michael frowned and went systematically through the ground floor rooms, switching on lights. He located a radio and a television in a small sitting room on the side of the house and switched the radio on. With lights and music one could surely drive back any amount of ghosts. Feeling slightly better, he searched the kitchen for an evening meal, hoping Luisa would recover sufficiently for him to apologize for raiding her fridge. He had a sudden wild image of himself taking her out to lunch as a thank you. The prospect of sitting opposite Morticia Addams in a local pub restaurant and hearing a waitress reel off the day’s specials pleased him immensely. Dammit, thought Michael, taking eggs and cheese from the fridge, I’ll do it. Get better quickly, Luisa, because we’ve got a date.
He managed a reasonable plate of scrambled eggs with grated cheese, which he carried into the TV room, where he watched the evening news. This had the effect of making him feel slightly more in touch with normality, even though normality took the form of soaring inflation, wars in various countries, and battling politicians.
But after he had washed up, even with lights switched on, and Classic FM playing a lively Mozart concertante, Fosse House seemed to be filling up with soft rustlings and whisperings.
‘I’m still in the house …’
I don’t care if you’re swinging from the light fittings, said Michael to Stephen’s image, and went into the library and phoned the hospital to find out how Luisa was.
‘We can’t really give out information other than to family—Oh, you’re the gentleman who called the paramedics, yes, I see. Well, I’m afraid she’s still rather poorly. Can you give me any details about next of kin?’
‘I’m afraid not. I don’t even know if there is any family,’ said Michael. ‘I think you’d better use this number as a contact for the moment.’ He gave Fosse House’s number, then his own mobile.
‘We’ll let you know if there’s any change in her condition, but if you do trace any family for her, give us a call.’
It was still only a little after nine o’clock, and the evening stretched rather emptily ahead. Michael phoned Nell, explaining what had happened.
‘Poor Luisa,’ said Nell. ‘I hope she makes it – I rather liked the sound of her.’
‘A bit eccentric in certain
areas,’ said Michael, who somehow did not want to say – even to Nell – that Luisa had seemed more than eccentric earlier in the day.
‘Will you be able to track down her family?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve got the run of the library, but I don’t think I can start looking through her private papers.’ Except the journal, said his mind. She wanted me to read that. ‘I’m hoping it won’t be necessary to rifle through her things,’ he said to Nell.
‘She sounds like a survivor,’ said Nell. ‘And you might find an address book somewhere un-private – by a phone, for instance But listen, just to put you back on track, I’ve been finding out a few things about Holzminden – about the prisoner-of-war camp, I mean. Godfrey at the bookshop in Quire Court – you’ve met him, haven’t you? – produced a couple of very useful tomes. One has excerpts from letters written in 1917 by an attendant who was a guard there. Even allowing for the German to English translation, they paint quite a vivid picture of the place. I’m trying to track down the rest of the letters – apparently they were privately printed.’
Michael smiled at the enthusiasm in her voice, asked after Beth, and was pleased to hear Beth was having a good time with Aunt Emily in Aberdeen.
‘I’m going to the Bodleian tomorrow to look for the letters,’ said Nell. ‘I’ve asked Owen to hold my hand and guide me through the hallowed portals. Also the Radcliffe, if necessary. I’d rather have your hand to hold, but I’d like to find the letters as soon as possible, so Owen’s a good substitute. And—’
‘And you’ve long suspected you’d never be in any danger by holding Owen’s hand anyway.’
‘Well, as a matter of fact I did suspect that,’ said Nell. ‘Ah, yes, I see. Dear Owen. But you’ll be back soon, won’t you?’