The Forgotten Cottage

by Helen Phifer

  He couldn’t believe that his dad had another child and had never mentioned it to anyone ever. Then Will wondered if his mum had known. She would have been heartbroken to know that Tom had cheated on her and got someone else pregnant when she was told not to have any more children. He was angry with his dad but not enough that he’d never speak to him again, but he wanted to know what had happened for them all to end up in this mess. Will had never relied on his dad’s money for anything, yet here he was, tied up in a cold damp cellar because he had some long-lost psychotic half-sister who did want money.

  There was the sound of a bolt being slid across and a shadowy figure began to come down the stairs. The bare bulb illuminated the room, making him squeeze his eyes shut; he had become accustomed to the dark and the light hurt his eyes.

  ‘So if you behave and do what you’re told you should be a free man in two days. Daddy is busy as we speak, getting his cash together, getting my cash together. Then we’ll let you get back to your life.’

  Will had to bite his tongue to stop him trying to lunge for her. He nodded.

  ‘Are you hungry, thirsty? I don’t want you going home malnourished.’

  He shook his head; he would rather die of starvation than ask her for anything.

  ‘Suit yourself but there’s no need to be a martyr.’

  She turned and walked back up; she tugged on the string and the room was black once more. Will opened his eyes; he preferred the dark to being dazzled. The trapdoor slammed shut and the noise echoed around the small room. He knew what she looked like; they all knew what she looked like. His dad, Lily, Annie—he wasn’t pinning his hopes on her letting him out of here unharmed. If she went by what the majority of kidnappers did when the victims could identify them, she would more than likely kill him and do a runner. Well, she could go and get fucked; he wasn’t going to die because she was jealous and thought that he should. He looked around for something to use to rub the rope against but it was hopeless; the only other chance he had was if he could convince her boyfriend to let him go. He didn’t seem like the brightest of blokes, especially getting mixed up in this.

  Will closed his eyes and felt his head begin to nod to one side. Considering his circumstances, he was sleeping like a baby.

  ***

  Luke was playing on his Xbox but keeping a close eye on Amelia. He was fed up with the stupid bitch and wished he’d never moved here with her. They were in a serious world of shit and she didn’t get it; she honestly thought that once they’d got the money they would be out of here and away. Never mind the fact that Bill, Will, whatever his name was, had seen both their faces and would be able to identify them in a line-up from a hundred miles away. He had no idea what he was going to do but he wasn’t going with her. He thought about phoning the police himself; he could ring from the iPhone he’d kept in the car. He’d turned it off and then lifted the carpet up in the boot and put it inside the spokes of the spare wheel. He could tell them where they were and grass her up, then he could hop on a train and go anywhere as long as it was as far away from the English Lake District as possible. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. Of course she would flip but he didn’t care; he didn’t want to spend his life with her—she would probably tie him in the cellar and leave him for dead if he pissed her off.

  Amelia walked past and patted him on the head. ‘Have you been a good boy today, Luke? Sorry about earlier; it’s just that I don’t want you talking to him and getting all friendly. Next thing I know, you’ll both be sitting on the sofa drinking cans of lager and discussing who will win the Champions League.’

  Luke grunted some form of reply at her; the less he said the better.

  She slapped him across the face, the shock making him jump off the sofa and throw the control pad on the floor.

  ‘Ouch… what did you do that for?’

  ‘Because you weren’t paying attention—when I talk, you listen, not ignore me. Who do you think you are?’

  ‘Sorry, you’re right. I didn’t mean to ignore you.’

  Inside he was so angry he felt like wrapping his hands around her neck and choking the life out of her but he didn’t; instead, he followed her up to bed like the good boy that he was.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Annie slept all night, no dreams; in fact she didn’t remember falling asleep. The en suite bathroom light was still on and she felt guilty for not turning it off but she hadn’t wanted to be alone in the dark in case the scary woman paid a visit. She got up, showered, dressed and ran downstairs to a deserted kitchen. She had expected Lily or Tom to be up but guessed both of them had probably not slept too well and were catching up. Starving, she opened the cupboards until she found a box of porridge oats and began to microwave some. Picking up the phone on the wall next to the breakfast bar, she rang Jake, who answered just before she was going to put it down.

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Oh, it’s you; I thought it was some PPI crap or something.’

  ‘Cheers, don’t sound so happy. Have you heard anything at all?’

  ‘Not a peep but I’ve just finished speaking to Kav; we’re going to be coming up to see you soon and then go to see Nick and his team. Oh, for some reason your builders have rung the station asking to get a message to you. Apparently they need to speak to you as soon as you can; there’s a problem with the house.’

  ‘That’s all I need. I’ll ring them and, if I need to, can you drive me there after lunch?’

  ‘Of course, have to go but I’ll see you soon.’

  He ended the call and Annie put the phone down, worried now about what the builders wanted. Deep down, she knew what it was but didn’t want to think about it right now. It was something to do with the woman…girl…ghost. She got her porridge out of the microwave and left it on the side to cool while she went into the study to borrow Tom’s computer. She needed to do some digging and find out exactly who the dead woman was and what it was she wanted from Annie.

  She sank down into the soft leather desk chair and sighed. She could sit here all day and work. The computer loaded and she typed ‘Hawkshead village in the 1700s’ into the search bar and hit enter, waiting to see what it would bring up. Before long, the pages began to load. There were diary entries, parish records that had been updated by computer. At the very bottom was a list of deaths in the village that happened in 1782. There was one suspected death by arsenic poisoning and four confirmed deaths by arsenic poisoning. Alarm bells began to ring in Annie’s brain as she clicked on it and waited for it to load. The photocopied handwriting filled the screen and she read the list of names and dates. There was a Gladys Baker, survived by her daughter Betsy Baker, and as she read the name Annie felt the room begin to spin. She knew that Betsy was the woman who had been trying to scare her half to death and caused her accident.

  As she read further down her hand flew to her mouth: two of the victims were boys, both aged nine: Thomas and Henry Brown, survived by their father, Joss Brown. If Betsy Baker had poisoned so many people, no wonder they had been chasing her through the woods until they had caught up with her. Annie didn’t agree with them taking the law into their own hands and killing Betsy, but she now knew what the dreams were about. She needed to go to the house and put Betsy Baker to rest, once and for all. Annie had a feeling that they wouldn’t have buried her in the church or given her a proper funeral and suspected that somewhere in the grounds of her new home was an unmarked grave containing Betsy’s remains. Jake would go mental but she had no choice; until she did this there was no way they would be able to settle in their dream home.

  Annie googled the phone number for her friend Father John, who was the priest at St Catherine’s in Bowness. It had been a while since she’d spoken to him but he would know what to do and give her some good advice. Tom had an old-fashioned phone on his desk with a proper dial and it felt strange putting her finger in the dial and waiting for it to turn around. Finally it began to ring John’s number and she grinned when she heard his voi
ce on the other end.

  ‘Hello, Father John speaking.’

  ‘Hi, it’s Annie.’

  ‘Annie, how lovely to hear your voice. How are you and how are those wedding plans coming along? I’ve had my best dress sent off to be dry cleaned just for the occasion.’

  ‘I’m not too good, to be honest, John. I don’t know where to start, really.’

  ‘Well, I suggest that you start at the beginning, because I have all day for you.’

  Annie blinked back her tears and began to relay everything that had happened in the last few weeks to him, leaving nothing out. She knew that he wouldn’t tell anyone about Will or anything else that was happening.

  ‘Oh, dear Lord, Annie, you poor thing. How are you coping? Do you need me to come and see you because I’m on my way?’

  ‘I’ve been better but I’ve also been a lot worse. I would love to see you, John, that’s if you have nothing more pressing to do.’

  ‘You mean apart from sitting Mrs Bexley and Miss Smithson down and banging their heads together! I’ve been waiting for an excuse to come along to put this meeting off; it’s great to know that the old guy actually listens in to my prayers now and again . In fact, you could return the favour once everything is sorted out and come and do the mediation between the pair of them. Who would have thought cake baking could turn into such a deadly battle of wits?’

  ‘I’ll do anything for you. I’m at Tom and Lily’s house; they needed someone to stay and be the liaison although I don’t know an awful lot. I’m relying on Jake to pass everything on but I know the police are doing the best they can.’

  ‘I’ll be there soon; do you want normal attire or the full monty?’

  ‘Normal will be fine; I don’t want to freak Tom out.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  The line went dead and Annie thought back to the first time she’d met him. She’d been admiring the beautiful roses in the presbytery front garden and had thought he was the gardener in his shorts and faded rock and roll T-shirt. They had worked together to get rid of a Shadow Man who had claimed the soul of nine-year-old Sophie and between them they had managed to banish him to the shadows for good; at least Annie hoped it was for good. Now she needed his help to send Betsy Baker to the other side because, by all accounts, she was very much grounded on this side and not very happy.

  Annie forced herself to get out of the chair and to go back to eat her breakfast, wondering if that bitch Amelia was feeding Will and taking care of him. A vision of him, alone in a damp dark cellar, flashed across her eyes and she felt her heart skip a beat. Closing her eyes to concentrate, she could make out Will’s familiar figure on a bed but it was too dark to see anything else. An icy-cold, tiny hand slipped into hers, breaking her concentration. Annie looked down to see Sophie and smiled.

  ‘Will is okay, Annie; the man who helped the woman to take him is scared and wants to let him go.’

  ‘Thank you, Sophie, but how do you know this?’

  ‘Because I whispered in his ear that he should, over and over again, and he agreed with me.’

  ‘You are amazing. I love you, Sophie.’

  ‘So don’t worry about Will; he is going to be coming home before you know it, but I’m really scared for you, Annie. I think you are in a lot more danger than Will.’

  Annie felt a cold shard of fear lodge itself in the base of her spine and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear what Sophie was about to tell her.

  ‘Why?’

  Sophie beckoned for her to lean towards her so she could whisper in her ear. Annie did so and shivered as the little girl’s cold lips pressed against her ear but she didn’t pull away.

  ‘That woman is horrible; she scares me and she watches you all the time.’

  ‘Do you mean Betsy Baker?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘She’s mean and very angry. I think she will do something really bad if you don’t get rid of her.’

  ‘Do you know why she’s so mad with me—why doesn’t she like me?’

  ‘Because your great-grandad was a distant relation to a man called Joss. Your cottage belonged to Joss and he was there when the other men did something horrible to her.’

  Annie nodded. It all made a lot more sense. There was a reason she had fallen so in love with Apple Tree Cottage; she was meant to be there. Maybe it was her destiny to put Betsy Baker to rest, once and for all.

  ‘Thank you, Sophie.’

  Annie looked around for her ghostly friend but she’d disappeared as quickly as she’d come.

  She looked at the grandfather clock in the hall. It had been twenty minutes since she’d spoken to Jake; hopefully by the time she’d eaten and washed the bowl they would be pulling up outside the front door.

  ***

  Megan was always up before Henry. He’d asked her why she never stayed in bed and her reply had astounded him. She’d told him that life was too short to spend it wallowing in bed sleeping.

  ‘Why dance in the dark when you could run in the sun?’

  He agreed with her to a certain extent but there was nothing worth jumping out of bed for at the moment; there was no job, no agenda, nothing except for the two of them. He went into the kitchen diner and sat down at the small table. There were two daily papers spread out on the small plastic-coated table with both their pictures filling the front pages. The headline: ‘Where is Britain’s most dangerous serial killer and his nurse?’ So the police had checked the security cameras and realised that Megan had been a willing accomplice in his escape. He wondered how she would be feeling at seeing her face plastered all over the nationals like this. Her blonde hair with the fuchsia-pink streak dominated the photos. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to dye it brown or there would be armed police with machine guns surrounding the caravan and ready to storm it within minutes. He wondered where she was. Maybe she’d changed her mind and gone to the nearest telephone box to call Crimestoppers and give him in. He stood up and turned the gas on, filling the kettle. He might as well make the most of his freedom; it wasn’t as if he could go anywhere. He had nowhere else to go and if she turned up with the police he would deal with it then; there was no point in worrying about it.

  He opened up the cutlery drawer and took the sharpest knife out. He would keep this close in case he needed to use it. There was nothing he could do now; it was out there. He would only be able to leave after dark, not that he’d gone out much; Megan was quite happy to do the running around. The kettle began to whistle and he poured the boiling water over the tea bag, then he popped two slices of bread into the toaster. He enjoyed having Megan around but he much preferred his own company; it could be quite a challenge engaging in conversation with her. If she was feeling happy it was the latest gossip from the soap operas but if she was feeling down all she wanted to talk about was death and killing people. It hadn’t been something that Henry had really thought about before he’d done it; well, not to the extent that Megan talked about it – she was quite obsessed with the whole idea of killing someone. Last night she had said that she wanted to kill women who looked like the bullies who had made her life hell at school. Women with long hair, it didn’t matter what colour as long as it was really long and they loved it, and by loving it she meant that they did nothing but play around with it. She wanted to abduct them, take them somewhere to a cellar or an empty room in a disused house and tie them up. She wanted to take a pair of sharp scissors and cut their long hair off until it was in a pile on the floor. Henry had listened to this, quite fascinated by her desire to take a person and then take away everything from them that had defined them. She was going to gag them and wasn’t sure how she would kill them, but after looking at various methods she was quite keen to try garrotting them. It was something she thought she could manage on her own, given the right tools.

  Fuck, Henry had been so freaked out by the conversation he had excused himself and retired to bed to be alone with his thoughts. She was definitely on a par with some of the most depraved killers he�
�d heard of, but of course he couldn’t criticise her because he had done something very, very similar. It was just strange to look at her pretty face and hear those words spoken from her mouth; they would be calling her the Angel of Death once it all broke out. Megan had been quite clear that she didn’t want to spend ages setting up blind dates or meetings with her victims but she would take extra care when out and about and if she saw someone who matched her profile then she would follow them home and figure out how and when they could abduct them.

  He ate his toast and sipped his tea whilst reading the articles in both papers; they were very similar, apart from one that said the people of his home town were on high alert in case he returned there. Too late, he’d been here three, maybe four days now; it was hard to keep count, and no one at the caravan park looked remotely as if they were on high alert. Caravan doors were propped open from morning until night; there were kids running around everywhere, playing football and having water fights. He didn’t mind the football but the incessant screeching when they blasted each other with water from the neon-coloured submachine guns was unbearable. In his day the best you could get was an empty washing-up liquid bottle and if you were really lucky a brightly coloured, see-through plastic water pistol, but Henry had to make do with the bottle. Not that he’d had many water fights; he hadn’t had a lot of friends when he was a child. As his mother had always told him, ‘You’re such a loner, Henry Smith. Go out and make some friends.’ His fists curled up involuntarily at the thought of her; to this day he didn’t regret killing her. At the time he’d felt sad that it had come to such a terrible decision but once he’d got over the initial guilt he’d found it didn’t bother him at all. How could you miss someone who’d dominated your whole life until the day you finally liberated yourself?

  1782

  The noise was horrendous. The men were all talking at once, their voices getting louder and louder. Joss picked up a pan from the stove and banged it down onto the table so hard that they all jumped and stopped talking.