House of Echoes

by Barbara Erskine

  Exhausted, Joss threw herself on the bed, still fully dressed. ‘I don’t think I have the strength to have a bath.’

  Luke sat down beside her. He gave a great contented sigh, stretching his arms above his head. ‘I really enjoyed today, Joss. It’s so nice having Ma and Pa and Mat here. They love the house, did they tell you?’ He smiled, reaching over to kiss her. ‘Come on, sleepy head. Climb out of your dress. It’ll get spoiled if you sleep in it. I’ll go and check on Tom and Ned.’

  Ned had been allocated his own small bedroom, opposite Tom’s. A cot, a pine chest of drawers and now lots of shiny christening presents adorned the room which Lyn had papered in a pattern of teddy bears and balloons. Luke peered in. The baby was fast asleep his little hands lying half clenched above his head, his face pink. Above him hung a mobile of small red fire engines, a present from his godfather, Mat. ‘He needs something he can use now,’ Mat had said cheerfully. ‘The mug is boring. He won’t need it till he’s about twenty. I wasn’t sure what babies like when they’re this big – or,’ he had peered into the pram doubtfully, ‘to put it another way, small.’ The mobile was perfect. Already Ned had spent a happy half hour seemingly gazing at it before he drifted off to sleep.

  Tom was fast asleep too, lying on his tummy, his bedclothes tumbled at the end of the bed. Luke left them.

  Even with the windows thrown open it was too hot to breathe. He stood for a while in the bathroom sluicing cold water over his face and head then at last he climbed into bed and lay staring into the darkness.

  He was woken much later, by a piercing scream from Tom.

  ‘Christ! Joss, what’s that?’ He was out of bed before he was properly awake and before he realised that Joss wasn’t there. Scrabbling for the light switch Luke ran into Tom’s room. The little boy was lying on the floor beside his cot amidst a tangle of sheets, sobbing his heart out.

  ‘Tom? Tom, my God, what happened old chap?’ Scooping him up into his arms Luke was trying to comfort the little boy as Joss appeared in the doorway. In her white cotton night-dress she looked almost ethereal for a moment as she peered in. ‘What’s wrong?’ She looked odd to Luke. Vague. Spaced out.

  ‘Where on earth have you been?’ he shouted. ‘Didn’t you hear Tom crying? He fell out of bed!’

  Joss frowned. ‘Tom?’ She stared round. ‘He can’t have. The cot side is up.’ She took a step into the room. ‘I was feeding Ned.’ She reached to touch Tom’s head with her finger tips then she stooped and picked up the tangled sheets. ‘He must have climbed out. I’ll remake his bed and you can settle him down again.’

  Shaking out the small white cotton sheets she smoothed them over the mattress, tucking them in. ‘OK? Do you want to put him down now?’

  ‘He won’t go, Joss. He’s too upset.’ The little boy was clinging to his father’s neck, his face red with screaming, tears pouring down his cheeks and nose.

  Suddenly Joss too was near to tears. ‘Luke – I can’t cope. I’m too tired. You’ll have to deal with him.’ She was white and strained. ‘Do you mind?’

  Luke stared at her then his face softened. ‘Of course not, sweetheart. Off you go. Go to bed.’

  It was a long time before he climbed back in beside her.

  It was Joss who moved first. ‘What’s the time?’

  ‘About three, I think. Sorry. Did I wake you?’

  She grimaced. ‘I couldn’t sleep. Too tired. Is Tom OK? I can’t think why he didn’t wake everyone.’

  ‘He’s settled now. Poor little chap. Joss –’ he turned to her and propped his head on his arm. ‘Joss, when I changed him – he was covered in bruises.’

  ‘But he was all right.’

  ‘Yes, he was all right.’

  ‘He must have got them falling out of bed.’ Her voice was blurred with exhaustion. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be OK.’

  The next morning the storms had cleared away out to sea and the air was fresh and bright.

  Matthew was entranced by everything he saw. Standing next to his brother on the terrace at the back of the house he took a deep breath and beamed. The same height and colouring as Luke with dark hair and hazel eyes, he had inherited a crop of freckles from his mother which gave him a carefree, unruly appearance that made him irresistible to women. ‘I’m going to say it again, brother. You’re a lucky, lucky sod!’ Mat clouted Luke affectionately across the shoulders. He raised his hands above his head and took a deep breath of the sweet air. ‘It’s a heavenly place for kids to grow up. I heard young Tom playing in the attics behind my bedroom this morning. God, I wish you and I had had somewhere like this when we were kids!’

  ‘You heard Tom in the attic?’ Luke stared at his brother, surprised. ‘Well, that’s somewhere he shouldn’t have been. He’s too young to go off up there on his own. I expect he was looking for you or Ma.’

  ‘Georgie. He was calling someone called Georgie.’ Mat stepped onto the lawn. ‘Come on. I want to see your fish. Are there carp in that lake?’ He set off over the grass, leaving Luke staring at him thoughtfully.

  ‘You know Tom’s covered in bruises.’ Lyn had come up behind him, her bare feet silent on the warm York stone terrace.

  ‘I know. He fell out of his cot.’

  ‘When?’ Lyn stared at him in horror.

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘And where was Joss. Why didn’t you call me?’

  Luke shook his head. ‘Joss was feeding the baby. I didn’t call you because there wasn’t any need. I coped.’ He smiled. ‘Come on. Let’s go and find a carp for Mat.’

  David was watching them from the study window. He stepped back as Joss came in behind him and he felt his heart turn over. Her exhaustion had forged her dark beauty into something ethereal. He closed his eyes, willing himself to put all his lustful thoughts out of his head and with a supreme effort kept his voice steady. ‘Kids OK?’

  She nodded wearily. ‘Two grannies baby sitting. I thought I’d have a sit down for a minute.’ She glanced out of the window where Luke and Mat and Lyn were strolling down across the grass towards the water.

  ‘Poor old Joss. But sorry old thing. No time for resting. I want you to come with me back to the church. There’s something I want to check.’

  ‘No, David.’ She threw herself into a chair. ‘I told you, I don’t want to think about all that now. I really don’t.’

  ‘You do, Joss, if it puts your mind at rest.’ He squatted down in front of her and reached for her hand. ‘I had a long talk to your rector yesterday – the old one with the white wild hair – and I put one or two thoughts I’d been having to him for his views.’ He stared up into her face. ‘I think he and I may have similar theories on this one, Joss, and I think that whereas he is coming at it from an intuitive angle, I as a historian have the edge. I know where to look for the proof.’

  ‘Proof?’ She rested her head against the back of the chair, her eyes on his face. ‘What sort of proof?’

  ‘Evidence. Gossip. Chronicles. Records. Letters. Not proof perhaps that would stand up in a court of law, but nevertheless something to substantiate and explain what has happened here in the past.’

  ‘And stop it happening again?’ She looked at him wearily.

  ‘Until we know what it really is, we won’t know how to fight it, Joss.’

  ‘And the answer is in the church?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He stood up and held out his hand again. ‘Come on. Take the opportunity, while the grandmas are here and on call and still delighted with their new grandson. Take advantage of the chance. It probably won’t last.’

  ‘All right.’ She grasped his fingers and let him pull her to her feet. ‘Let’s go and look.’

  The path to the church, cut back neatly for the christening, was lined with pink roses, cascading in heavy curtains from the wild rose bushes, nestling between hedgerow trees and curtains of ivy. Under foot the soft moss, greened by the thundery rain, allowed them to walk silently as far as the door. Reaching for the handle Joss swung it open and t
hey stepped down into the dim cool interior.

  ‘Don’t the flowers look nice.’ David pulled the heavy door closed behind them.

  ‘We didn’t come to see the flowers.’ She averted her eyes from the window with the white roses. One of them had blown and she could see the petals on the floor, drifting over a grating.

  ‘Up here.’ He headed towards the chancel steps. ‘Gower said to look under the carpet.’

  They stood looking down at the faded Persian runner which lay between the choir stalls. Even in the dim light they could see the richness that had once been there. David crouched and flicked back one corner of the rug. ‘Good Lord. Look. He’s right. There’s a beautiful brass under here.’ He dragged the carpet back revealing the exquisitely elaborate detail of an inlaid brass about six feet long.

  ‘It’s a woman,’ Joss said after a moment. She grimaced. What else would it be at Belheddon.

  ‘A beautiful rich woman.’ David stood with his back to the altar so he could see her the right way up. ‘Gower said this was only uncovered in 1965 when they took the floorboards up because of dry rot. The original stone floor had been covered to raise it at some point.’

  ‘Who is she, do we know?’ Joss joined him with her back to the altar.

  ‘Margaret de Vere. See.’ He pointed to the ornate lettering: ‘Hic jacet … Margaret … uxor … Robert de Vere … morete in anno domine 1485.’ He glanced at Joss. ‘This is Katherine’s mother!’

  Katherine!

  She had seen the king’s gaze following the girl around the hall and she had long ago sensed his lust.

  ‘Husbands can be disposed of, my lord.’ Her eyes narrowed as she smiled. He frowned and shook his head.

  The presence of the woman made his flesh crawl. But still his whole body ached to have the girl.

  Squatting by the elegant pointed feet of the woman on the floor before them David leaned forward and touched the cold brass with a tentative finger. ‘Margaret de Vere was accused of sorcery and fortune telling, which was their way of saying witchcraft,’ he whispered. ‘It was even rumoured that she had brought about the king of England’s death. The king being Edward IV – the king who came to Belheddon.’

  There was a long silence. Joss’s first reaction, incredulous disbelief, wavered. At Belheddon anything was possible.

  ‘What happened to her? Was she burned or did they hang her?’ Joss stared down at the aquiline features beneath the ornate head-dress.

  ‘Neither. Nothing was ever proved. She died at home in her bed.’

  ‘At Belheddon.’

  ‘At Belheddon.’

  They both stared down at the floor.

  ‘Do you think she was a witch?’ Joss asked at last.

  David shook his head thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know. I wondered if we would find a clue. Some kind of symbol on the brass perhaps. You know, the way you can tell whether a crusader reached Jerusalem or not by whether or not his feet are crossed. I’ve always wondered if that is true or not!’

  Joss managed a smile. ‘You mean we’re looking for a heraldic broomstick?’

  He shook his head. ‘Witchcraft wasn’t so much a cottage industry then. It was a far more aristocratic pastime at this period, don’t forget. The court was riddled with accusations. There were rumours about Elizabeth Woodville, Edward IV’s queen, and the Duchess of Bedford, her mother, and at least one of his mistresses, Jane Shore – ’

  ‘Surely a lot of those accusations were part of Richard III’s propaganda against the princes who were Elizabeth’s sons.’ Joss sat down in the front choir stall, still staring down at the brass.

  ‘But not all. Accusations had been made against Elizabeth Woodville from the start, because no one at court could understand why King Edward married her. There was this young, tall, handsome, romantic king, and he meets this widow, who is a Lancastrian, has two children already, is not even particularly beautiful, in the middle of a forest and within days and against everybody’s advice he’s married her! Perhaps she did bewitch him.’ He smiled. ‘And there lies our problem. No historian worth his solid, scientific salt, would believe it. It must have been something else. Something dynastic.’

  ‘Or just her beautiful blue eyes?’ Joss smiled.

  He scowled. ‘Or was there no smoke without fire? Did these women and others like her – the Duchess of Bedford or Margaret de Vere here, actually find a means of summoning the devil to help them achieve their ends?’

  The atmosphere in the church appeared to have dropped several degrees.

  Joss shivered. Did he really believe that? ‘You’re talking about Satanism, David, not witchcraft,’ she said at last.

  ‘Devil worship.’ He glanced at her. ‘Don’t tell me you’re one of these women who believe that witchcraft was some kind of goody goody, never hurt a fly, paganism which does no harm to anyone and is the feminist answer to the patriarchal, misogynist church!’

  Joss smiled. ‘Something like that, perhaps.’ She found herself staring into the shadowy nave. ‘But not in this case. Here, I think you may be right.’

  Almost unwillingly she looked down at the brass at her feet, picking out one by one the details from the ornate curlicues of the surround. Were there hidden symbols there, clues she could not see or recognise?

  ‘You believe that she,’ she gestured at the floor, ‘conjured the devil here, at Belheddon.’

  ‘I think maybe she did something rather strange. Enough to make people suspicious. I’ve a few more sources to look up before I try and formulate a theory.’

  ‘I think it will be very hard to find proof, David.’ Joss gave him a tolerant grin. ‘We’re dealing with a field here which is not amenable to the kind of reductionist study you are used to.’

  He stooped again and began dragging the carpet over the brass. ‘That won’t stop me trying, old girl,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Not now I’ve got my teeth into it.’

  She stared down for one last time as he pulled the rug across the cold haughty face of the woman on the floor and she shuddered. ‘It would be wonderful if you could find a way to end all the unhappiness.’

  ‘We’ll find a way, Joss. You’ll see.’ He reached out for her hand. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the house.’ Did she realise, he wondered, just how beautiful she was looking – more so every time he came to visit the house – every time he set eyes on her.

  23

  Alice was alone in the study reading one of the pile of copies of Good Housekeeping which she had brought for Joss and Lyn. She looked up as Joss walked in and put it down with a smile. ‘Hello, love. How are you? I’ve seen hardly anything of you, you’ve been so busy.’

  Joss sat down near her and reaching forward took Alice’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. What with the christening and everything. How are you, Mum?’

  ‘I’m fine. Just fine. Still a bit tired, but better every day for knowing there’s nothing terribly wrong with my insides.’ Alice scanned Joss’s face carefully. ‘Don’t do too much, Joss. Let Lyn help you as much as she can, won’t you.’

  Joss gave a wry smile. ‘I think Lyn feels she’s doing enough already.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Alice sounded suddenly brisk. ‘That young lady has more energy than she knows what to do with. And she’s worried about you, Joss. You’ve not long ago had a frightening birth and on top of that there’s this big house to look after.’ She stared round the room with pursed lips. ‘I can see it’s a joy for you, but it’s a big responsibility as well. You let Lyn help. And your Dad and I will too, if you’ll let us. You’ve only got to ask. Joe,’ she took a deep breath. ‘Joe feels you might be a bit reluctant to have us here, dear, seeing as it’s your real mum’s house, but I told him you would never, never feel such a thing. I’m right, aren’t I?’

  Joss slipped to her knees beside the sofa and put her arms round Alice. ‘How could he even think such a thing? You’ve been more to me than real parents ever could, you know that. You always used to tell me I was special because I was the chosen baby. I rea
lly believed it.’ And Lyn, who had once heard her father say it to Joss when no one knew she was there, had never forgotten or forgiven the fact that she was not chosen. She just arrived. She hoped Alice and Joe would never find out that little source of some of Lyn’s bitterness.

  ‘Right, dear.’ Alice pushed her away gently and edged herself forward so she could climb off the sofa. ‘Now that’s settled, let’s go and find the others. I let Elizabeth and Geoffrey take that baby out in its pram, and I reckon it’s time this set of grandparents had a go, don’t you?’ She chuckled. ‘So, where’s little Tom got to?’

  Joss shrugged. ‘There are so many people looking after him I’ve lost track. He’s having the time of his life with so much attention.’

  ‘Yes, well. Don’t let him get spoiled.’ Alice pursed her lips as she opened the door. ‘And Joss, remember what I said. Rest. You’re looking peaky.’

  Mat was standing in the great hall looking up at the picture over the fireplace. He grinned at Alice and then caught Joss’s hand. ‘A word before you rush off, sister-in-law.’

  She looked up at him in surprise. ‘I am popular today.’

  ‘Popular, and as your mother said, peaky. Luke’s worried about you, you know, Joss.’

  Joss shook her head. ‘Why on earth is everyone so concerned suddenly?’

  Mat looked down at her, his dark eyes, so like his brother’s, deeply troubled. ‘David Tregarron has no business worrying you about the house. Luke says he’s winding you up, frightening you deliberately.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Joss was indignant.

  ‘Luke thinks it is. Being Luke he’s not about to say anything, Joss. At least not to you. He knows you value David’s friendship, and he knows you’d resent him interfering.’ He paused. ‘David’s in love with you, isn’t he?’

  ‘That’s none of your business, Mat.’