by Jodi Taylor
‘He turned out the lights.’
‘Oh.’
She seemed slightly put out. It’s obviously much easier to believe in the supernatural than accept your husband has just tried to kill you.
‘But you can’t see – because The Widow blinded you.’
‘No, I’m sorry. Your husband blinded me.’
‘But I saw … that hideous hand.’
I saw again that long black arm and the claw-like hand. ‘He put on one of those children’s monster gloves so that anyone who saw anything would assume it was The Widow. He had to disable me first.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Jones had told him I can genuinely see things. That I would be able to see The Widow. Only I didn’t because it wasn’t The Widow, it was him. If that makes sense.’
I didn’t mention that small dark shadow on the stairs.
‘But in the Banqueting Hall, it was Thomas who saw … oh.’
‘It was Thomas who pretended to see The Widow. It was Thomas who wound up Alex so that he would open the door. So that if something happened to you or Alex, then everyone would assume it was the legend of The Widow coming true. That she had come for Alex and that you were … injured … while trying to protect him. Jones and I were to be independent witnesses to the tragedy.’
‘But the legend … Francis Rookwood … his eldest son …’
‘I suspect Thomas concocted that story. Did he ever show it to you? Did you see it yourself?’
‘No, he just said he had found it in an old book. I believed him. We all believed him.’
She was quiet, thinking through the implications.
‘I have to ask,’ I said. ‘Is there any reason the two of you can’t just divorce?’
‘Money. Thomas needs money. Thomas always needs money,’ she said bitterly. ‘Alex is his son – a simple paternity test would establish that. Any settlement would certainly be in my favour, so how else could he get rid of me and keep what little money of mine remains?’
How else indeed?
I said slowly, ‘So he puts together a plan, utilising the story of The Widow. He goads Alex into opening the doors. He pretends to see her. He knows you will stick with Alex. Jones and I testify to finding Leo unconscious. Obviously, The Widow has already struck. We gather round and somehow, in the dark, you and/or Alex fall down the stairs.’
I could hear the anguish in her voice. ‘How could he do such a thing? Alex – both of us – we could have been badly injured’
‘You’re bigger and heavier. You could have broken your neck.’
She took a deep shuddering breath. ‘How could he be sure of that? I might have just sprained an ankle – like Alex.’
‘True, but suppose Jones had dashed off for help – which I’m sure was Thomas’ plan. I’m lying helpless and blind at the top of the stairs – you and Alex are helpless and hurt at the bottom.
I sat still, imagining Thomas Rookwood, appearing out of the dark with murder on his mind. I’m sure Helene was doing the same.
She sighed. ‘The two of you saved our lives.’
‘The least we could do. I suspect it was our coming here that triggered events in the first place.’
‘How are your eyes?’
‘Easing a little, although I still can’t see a thing.’
‘That might be because we’re sitting in the dark.’
‘Ah. Yes. Well, that might account for it. But no, they don’t sting so much now.’
There was another long silence and then she said in a small voice, ‘I have a confession to make.’
I couldn’t help it. ‘It’s not your fault that he used your mace.’
I heard her gasp in the darkness. ‘How did you know that? Are you really …?’ She stopped.
‘No. Well, yes. Well, perhaps a little bit. But when Jones told me not to touch my face in case I made it worse, I guessed it was mace, and it seemed too much of a coincidence that Thomas just happened to have some on him. I’m guessing you carry it and he simply nipped off and helped himself.’
‘In my handbag,’ she said bitterly. ‘A lipstick spray. Since I was mugged a couple of years ago. Two minutes for him to race back and take it. I’m so sorry.’
‘Not your fault, I said. ‘I’m just relieved it wasn’t anything worse. And actually, I think I’m able to see a little.’ I squinted. ‘I can see my hand in front of my face.’
I heard Leo stir and Helene murmured gently to him again. ‘I wish we could leave. Leo will need attention. Did Mr Jones have to put us in the dungeon?’
‘Yes, he did. This door has a bolt. On the inside.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Don’t tell me your husband doesn’t have keys to every room in the castle.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Do you think he will be all right?’
‘Who?’
‘Mr Jones. Thomas is still out there and I think, at the moment, that he is perhaps not very … and his scheme has gone horribly wrong.’
‘Oh,’ I said cheerfully, ‘I think we’ll find Mr Jones is not in any particular danger,’ and barely had the words left my mouth than there was a movement in the darkness and a long shrieking scream echoed around the cellar, causing the two of us to jump out of our skins.
I said, ‘Stay with Leo,’ and struggled to my feet, telling myself I was ready for anything and knowing I wasn’t.’
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘Please … it is nothing to worry about. It is the tableau in the dungeon, that is all. Do you remember, the skeleton and the rat? And the scream?’
‘I do,’ I said slowly. ‘But I also remember Alex telling us it operates on a sensor.’
‘In the passage,’ she whispered. ‘Something is outside the door. Oh my God, suppose it is The Widow after all.’
The scream came again and now that I knew what it was, I could see a faint green tinge in the darkness as the tableau activated itself again and the light streamed up through the grating in the floor.
She’d worked it out for herself. ‘Thomas is out there, isn’t he? He’s found us.’
I whispered back. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘He knows we’re in here.’
The green tinge faded. Whatever it was had moved away out of sensor range. There was a minute’s silence and then the scream came again. It had come back. I had a sudden vision of something pacing the corridor. Up and down. Up and down. Until hunger and thirst drove us out of here.
And where was Jones? Was it at all possible …? Had my confidence been misplaced? Had I got it wrong? Was Michael Jones at this moment lying face down somewhere, drowning in a pool of blood?
This is what comes of being locked in a dungeon with an unconscious child, a hysterical mother, a skeleton and a hyperactive electrical rat. Your imagination goes into overdrive. There was no way in a million years that Thomas Rookwood could ever have got the better of Michael Jones.
Unless he had a gun. Or a crossbow. Or some kind of medieval weapon I knew nothing about. A sword perhaps. I saw Jones creeping around the darkened castle while Thomas Rookwood stepped out of the shadows behind him swinging one of those vicious balls with spikes …
The green light flashed on again. The rat … the scream … not frightening in themselves, but quite terrifying when you know that something is waiting on the other side of the door. Waiting for us to come out …
Because we couldn’t stay in here for ever. And if something had happened to Michael Jones … no one else knew we were in here. Rookwood wouldn’t need to do anything. He could just lock the door and leave us here. He could tell everyone Helene had gone to visit relatives in France, taking the boys with her. After a suitable period of time he could tell everyone she wasn’t coming back. Very sad, but they’d been having problems … and then, one night, he would open up the door, remove our bodies, and dispose of them somewhere. This was a castle – there would be disused rooms, abandoned wells, miscellaneous holes. Or leave us on top of one of the towers, open to the sky, to have our
bones picked clean by the birds. Who would ever know?
And who would miss Jones and me? Would they even bother to look or would they just assume we’d gone to ground somewhere? Somehow, at that moment, Sorensen and his attack helicopters and tank regiments didn’t seem so bad.
I could hear a soft, dragging sound, as if someone was running his hands over the door and then a whisper. ‘Elizabeth? It’s me. Michael. He’s gone. Open the door.’
Beside me, Helene made a small sound and moved towards the door. I pulled her back and whispered, ‘Quiet.’
‘But …’
‘Quiet.’
That creepy whisper again. ‘Elizabeth. Come on. Open the door.’
We both stood frozen in the darkness.
The scream came again. Helene jumped and sobbed.
I put my arm around her. ‘Shush.’
Rookwood abandoned the pretence, kicking at the hefty wooden door. ‘Helene. Open the door. It’s Alex. He’s more badly injured than we thought. Mr Jones is starting the car. We need to get him to the hospital. We’ll talk about everything else later. The important thing now is to save Alex.’
I had hold of her arm. ‘He’s lying. Stay here.’
We sat in silence, not daring to move.
‘All right, Mrs Jones, I didn’t want to have to say this, but your husband is dead. No one’s coming to save you. I have Alex and if you don’t open this door right this moment …’
I was struggling with Helene and she was much stronger than me. Fortunately, we both tripped over Leo in the dark and fell to the ground and she was on the bottom. We rolled around, both of us tangled up in Leo who was half awake and crying. I don’t know how long I could have held her back – not long, I suspect – when something thudded heavily against the door. And again. And again. And again. Something was hitting the door with massive force, causing it to rattle in its very solid frame. And one last time, as whatever it was finally slithered down the door and everything was silent.
We waited, clutching each other and panting with exertion, too terrified even to move.
The silence seemed endless and then we heard soft footsteps approaching. There was a pause and then someone hammered on the door. ‘Are you still in there, Cage? Get a move on will you. Alex and I are starving.’
I rolled off Helene and began to laugh.
Chapter Seventeen
One bacon sandwich and two cups of tea later, I was having my eyes bathed again.
‘You weren’t very gentle with Thomas Rookwood, were you?’ I said, as Jones gently sponged my eyes with milk.
We’d both seen the blood-covered casualty as he was stretchered past and taken away.
‘Nothing to do with me,’ he said cheerfully.
‘You’re too modest.’
‘I’m not modest at all, Cage, you know that. I’d like to take the credit, but alas … not in this case.’
‘But,’ I said, bewildered. ‘He looked as if … well, not to put too fine a point on it, he looked as if someone like you had been having a go at him for ten minutes or so.’
‘Not me,’ he said simply.
‘Then who?’
He shrugged. ‘Sorry, Cage – I would have liked very much to be your gallant rescuer, but he was a mangled wreck when I arrived. All I did was call for the ambulance. How’s that? Better now?’
‘Fine,’ I said, drying my milky eyes. ‘So what’s Helene telling everyone?’
‘That he fell down the stairs. That the lights went out and he went off in the dark to try and fix the fuse and came the most tremendous cropper down the stairs. Apparently, you and I slept through the whole thing.’
‘Who rang for the ambulance?’
‘I did.’
‘From your bed?’
‘Of course not. When he didn’t return, a concerned Mrs Rookwood went to look for him, and finding him at the bottom of the stairs, acted with great presence of mind, came to wake me and I phoned for the ambulance. Sadly, we were unable to wake you.’
‘And Alex?’
‘Tripped in the dark trying to help his mother. Everyone’s saying what a brave lad he is and his ankle isn’t serious and he’ll be up and about in a few days. Tomorrow probably.’
‘And Leo?’
‘Still snoring in his bed. He may not remember much of what happened when he does wake up.’
I stared at him. ‘You did it all, didn’t you?’
‘All what?’
‘Picked people up off the floor, rang for the ambulance, told people what to say, put the boys to bed …’
‘… made you a bacon butty and a cup of tea and bathed your eyes. I’ve had a busy night, you know. I’m absolutely shattered.’
‘So you did everything except actually give Thomas Rookwood the good hiding he so richly deserved?’ I said.
He picked up the bowl and the towel. ‘So it would seem.’
‘Where are you off to now?’
‘Just calling in to see how they’re doing over there.’
‘And not tying up loose ends in any way.’
‘Perish the thought. You?’
‘I …’ I stopped. ‘I thought I’d get some fresh air,’
He grinned at me. ‘What a good idea.’ He disappeared.
I gave him a few minutes and then slipped out into the courtyard. The infamous door stood wide open now, letting in much-needed sun and fresh air. I wondered if, having been closed for three hundred years, it would now stand open for the next three hundred. I walked slowly into the Banqueting Hall.
She was waiting for me. The same small, dark shadow stood across the room. As if she was afraid to come too close. This was not the vindictive harpy of Rookwood’s story, but a faint, frail little woman who had carried the weight of her grief down the long years, and who was lost and alone. Her voice was a whisper at the edge of my mind.
‘My Jamie. Do you have him? Is he here?’
‘I’m sorry, no,’ I said, wondering if perhaps she had no idea of all the time that had elapsed since her son rode off to the wars all those years ago. ‘I’m sorry, but he never returned home.’
‘But the door was opened and I’ve waited for so long.’
‘Yes, it was opened, but not for him. Another son did it. A very unhappy and confused and frightened little boy. He thought it would make things better with his father but he was wrong.’
She nodded. ‘His father saw me on the stairs. I frightened him.’
‘You did.’
‘I did it to save the little boy.’
‘You succeeded. He was not badly injured. His mother would thank you if she was here.’
‘He was an evil man.’
‘He was, yes.’
‘He would have hurt the little boy very badly.’
‘If he had had the chance,’ I said softly.
‘I …’ She stopped, because we both knew what she had done to Thomas Rookwood.
‘Again, his mother would thank you if she could.’
‘It was wrong, but I was so … angry.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘throwing him against the door once or twice might have been sufficient to stop him, but four or five times certainly taught him a lesson.’
She said angrily, ‘He used my tragedy to hurt his family,’ and I could feel her fury from across the hall. The fury of a woman who would give anything to have her own family back again.
‘Yes. He was an evil man. But his son is safe.’
‘My own son …? What of Jamie?’
I said as gently as I could, ‘I’m sorry. He’s gone. You have waited for so long, but he will never come back here again. Perhaps it is time for you to go as well. Perhaps, somewhere, he is waiting for you.’
She looked past me at the open door. ‘I am afraid.’
‘There is no need to be.’
‘That little boy? And his brother?’
‘They will both be safe. Their mother will take them far away from here. And thanks to you another mother is not grieving over another lost
son.’
She looked out through the doors again. ‘Is my son out there?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said gently. ‘But you know he’s not here.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said and I could barely hear her. ‘Perhaps it is time.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’
She inclined her head. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
The sun had risen. Long purple shadows stretched across silvery frosted cobbles. The walls glowed a warm gold in the early morning sunshine.
She paused on the threshold and looked back because this had been her home. I waited.
‘I am ready,’ she said. ‘To feel the sun on my face again …’
We stepped through together, out into the courtyard. She stood in a patch of weak sunshine, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the light.
I said, ‘Good luck.’
She faded. Right in front of my eyes, she just faded away. I heard a faint whisper, ‘Beware the snow …’ and then I was alone in the courtyard.
‘And you thought I was a bit of a bastard.’
I said indignantly. ‘No, I didn’t. Well, not very much.’
He frowned and forked his last chip. ‘I’m not as nice as you think I am.’
‘I don’t think you’re nice at all.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
‘Did you know it was Rookwood all the time?’
‘I had an idea. Did you?’
I nodded. ‘Yes – his colour was … wrong.’
‘Well, what do you know – we both arrived at the same conclusion – and by completely different routes.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Well, I couldn’t understand why he was goading Alex as he did. And then in my job you always check your sources and no one had read the legend but him. No one saw The Widow but him. His haste to get you out of the picture – the one person who could see The Widow. Except you wouldn’t see her because she wasn’t there and the last thing he needed was you telling everyone she wasn’t there. Sorry about that, by the way. I couldn’t resist the urge to tell him about you and I do feel his attack with the mace was my fault. Still – no great harm done, eh? And I didn’t like the bloke. And I have a suspicious mind. And you said you couldn’t see her.’