by Syd Moore
Anne reached out and put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. ‘Then we had the fire.’
I nodded slowly as an uncomfortable image flashed in my head. The word ‘Desist’ written across the map. It was an order. A couple more occasions drifted up from the recesses of my mind. The man watching me when I had been in the pub with Amelia. The car tailing me from the petrol station. That guy at Dan’s place. ‘Last night,’ I said eventually, ‘I was burgled. Maybe I was being warned off.’
‘You think it’s connected?’ Harry heaved in a deep breath.
‘As far as everyone else knows the evidence went up in smoke.’
‘But how would he know about your research?’ Anne asked.
‘I’ve practically been shouting it out,’ I said. ‘His company are publishing my book.’
‘Good lord,’ Anne spluttered again.
‘But he can’t know about everything that’s going on in every corner of his domain,’ Harry said, more to himself, and tapped the sofa. ‘I suppose the timing is crucial right now. If the press published his lineage it might be another blow to his political aspirations.’
‘Exactly.’ I stood up. ‘We need to get this stuff somewhere safe. I need to write this up and then get it to the magazine. I’m not sure Portillion will want to publish my book any more. But someone else will and I know that Mercurial will go with it. In fact, they’ll love it. The next issue goes to press in ten days. That means within two weeks we can get it into the public domain. That’s how we make the knowledge safe – get it out there and expose it. Sitting on it won’t do any of us any favours. Can you go up to London soon and get the documents over to the British Museum? Or take them to the university? No actually, the museum will be more secure.’
Harry nodded. ‘We’re planning on a trip to town next week.’
‘Thank you. This is fantastic stuff. Okay,’ I said and got to my feet. ‘I’ve got a lot of work to do.’
When I think back to that day I try to remember exactly how I felt right then: if I was scared or worried?
I don’t recall those feelings at all and in retrospect I think that was a good thing. It gave me a break. A little reprieve, some time to be excited and feel alive.
I should have relished it. I wish I had.
Things were about to get a whole lot darker.
Chapter Forty-Three
I had to make a considerable effort to focus on the road as I drove back to Ashbolten; the storm was moving on, but the rain was coming down hard and visibility was still very poor. Even so, I couldn’t help wondering what the hell was going on. Not just with Cutt, but what had Mum been doing at Treetops? And why had she left me a pointer on my real birth certificate? That continued to perplex me. Dan suggested that Rebecca had contacted Mum. Had Rebecca led Mum there? To show her her story?
When I pulled up outside the pub the rain had eased. The lights in the village were out. A tentative moon popped out from a break in the clouds and coated everything briefly in a wet silvery sheen. I was lifting my stuff out of the boot when something made me look towards the village green. It was a small patch of grass with a duck pond, currently empty of fowl, and something white was floating on the surface. From a distance it looked like a large white plastic bag. I took a couple of steps closer. It was larger than that. In fact, it looked more like a pillowcase packed with meat. Or the back of a body. No. That was silly. My imagination had been fired up and was obviously going into overdrive. I turned back to the car, but I couldn’t let it go. Damn, I thought and threw my stuff back into the boot. Two minutes, that would be all it would take to make sure some poor sod hadn’t trundled out of the pub and into the water. It was a terrible night for it and no one else was about.
I locked the car, put my keys in my pocket and jogged towards the pond. It wasn’t very wide, only four metres or so, but God knows how deep it was. As I reached the edge I peered at the lump. It was floating about three foot out, and yes, it did look rather human within its soggy white cloth casing. Several times I looked around for a stick, finding one eventually in the pond, and stretched out to poke and hook it to me. Just out of my reach, I leant dangerously over the edge. Hearing footsteps behind me, I turned slightly, bringing my chin over to my shoulder but keeping my eyes on the floating thing, and yelled ‘There’s something here. Can you help?’ I was only able to catch a glimpse of a man looming when, with one quick move, he shoved me on the back. I put my hands out to grab something, but wasn’t quick enough and toppled forwards and into the pond.
The shock of the freezing water squeezed all the air out of my lungs. I flailed about underneath the surface, touching roots and reeds. Something caught around my foot. I struggled against it, with increasing terror, trying to lift my face to the surface. Only everything was black. Where was the surface? The sky? The moon?
Something had wrapped itself around my lower left leg and try as I might, I couldn’t kick free its hold. My hands were twitching and jerking as I tried to seize hold of a root or something to climb upwards. Whatever had hold of my foot tugged me down into the depths of the pond. Breath escaped from my lungs in a thin stream, brain and heart galloping in an echoing yet muted drumbeat that resonated out of me and into the dark water.
I panicked. Opening my mouth, I tried to scream, and liquid rushed in and began to fill me up, its cold infecting every part of me.
My sense of self and of struggle began to diminish. I could feel my body giving up the fight, my lungs preparing to accept the water. Then, suddenly, there was another form in the blackness – a pale ghost-white face, dark hair floating in feathery tendrils about her.
Rebecca loosened the grip of the thing around my foot and moved me. Before I reached the surface I saw bubbles stream from her mouth. Through the grimy water I heard the words ‘Not yet. Go.’ And then I was rushed upwards.
Breaking the surface of the pond I clambered to the side. Water still clogged my throat. I drew air into my lungs swiftly.
How I managed to pull myself out, I’ll never know. The wind was screaming through the village as I uncurled at the side of the pond. I gasped greedily, trying to get the cold air into my lungs – aware that across the green, a black car was speeding into the night.
Chapter Forty-Four
Bob was in the small bar pulling back the heavy velvet curtains. The grey morning sky did little to perk up the gloom of the empty pub mid-morning. He nipped behind the counter and unpacked a dishwasher of last night’s pint pots, clocking my pale face and the rings under my eyes as I came through the door. ‘Good night was it, eh?’
I felt like I’d not slept a wink.
After staggering from the pond, when I finally reached the safety of the pub I locked myself in my room and put the chair against the door.
I was physically shaking from head to toe, with the cold and with fear. But when you are in such a desperate situation it’s almost like a greater self takes over. I could have sat there and shivered all night but I knew I had to take control.
I ran a bath and got out of my clothes. Once the water roused me and returned my body temperature back to something approaching normal I made a sugary tea. Then I wrapped myself up in the duvet and lay on the bed. Of course, it could have been a drunk teenager or local lout who had pushed me into the pond as a prank – but it could also have been someone connected to Cutt. And who was it who had held on to my leg?
Thank God for Rebecca, I thought. ‘If she hadn’t come then …’ I didn’t complete the thought. Instead I was caught up in hysterical laughter. Was I thanking the lord above for the intervention of a ghost? Was I really that far gone?
‘Oh dear, Ms Asquith,’ I whispered to myself. ‘What are you doing?’
Finding no answer to my question, and in the absence of anyone else, I hugged myself.
Never before had I so desperately yearned for my mother’s embrace.
When I came round in the morning I was foggy. I ordered breakfast in bed and despite lack of appetite, made sure I ate everyth
ing. I had to be strong, to have my wits about me. The revelations of last night and the consequent dunking had left me in a state of intense alarm, but, at the same time, I found my resolve had hardened. If I was going to stick my beak into people’s business I had to be careful. There were some out there prepared to go to extreme lengths to keep their secrets safe. That was now as clear as day.
‘How much do I owe you?’
Bob wrote out a docket and passed it over. I handed over the money, thanked him and told him I’d be off.
‘Hope you weren’t woken up by all the commotion this morning?’ he asked, fiddling with the cash drawer.
‘What was that?’ I rotated my body round to the till. Bob wore an amused grin.
‘Had a prowler in the backyard near the guest rooms. Early. About sixish. The wife heard it. Reckons something fell over by the back door. So she goes to the window and sees a man there. Scarpers as soon as the light comes on.’
‘Did you catch him?’
‘No. Glenys called the police. They weren’t too fussed. Said to call if it happened again.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said earnestly and turned back to the room.
‘Not a boyfriend of yours?’ Bob called after me.
‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ I called back, heart thumping as I scurried down the hallway. They were ramping it up. What was I meant to do?
The only way I could see to protect myself was to write this down and get Maggie to publish as soon as possible. Maybe she could go to print early? There was always the Mercurial website too.
In the room, I sat on the bed, plugged in my mobile and charged it up. Three text messages and two missed calls. I had no time to listen to them now though. There were more pressing things – the prowler. It was such an old-fashioned word, laced with misplaced sexual undertone, but I doubted very much that last night’s mysterious intruder was after knickers on the washing line. It was obvious now that one of Cutt’s people was onto me. Not only that, but inadvertently I may have led them straight back to the Phelps.
If they were reckless enough to start fires, break into my flat, or even attempt to drown me (if last night’s bath in the duck pond was their handiwork), who knew what they’d do to the Phelps?
I had to warn Harry and Anne. I started dialling their number, then stopped and threw the phone on the bed. Was I being paranoid or could they have a trace on my phone?
Was that ridiculous?
I stared at the mobile for a moment, then decided
whatever was happening, I should err on the side of caution.
Within seconds I was back in the bar, asking Bob if I could use the pub landline. He pointed me in the direction of a call box by the door.
It was Harry who picked up.
‘Hi,’ I said breathily. ‘It’s me, Sadie. I think Cutt’s people may have been here last night.’ I avoided telling them about the incident at the pond. ‘They may even be watching your place now. Is there any way you could get up to London today and sort that thing out?’
He didn’t seem to process the urgency in my voice. ‘We’ve had a look at the journal after you went. Couldn’t resist it. Terrific.’
‘Harry, listen, I think you should get out of the house now. Do you think that’s possible?’
‘Let me talk to Anne.’ The phone clanked and I heard the heavy breathing of one of the hounds sniffing the speaker. A minute later he came back on. ‘We’ll leave within the hour.’
‘Great,’ I said, feeling more relieved than I expected. I thanked him and asked him to text me when he’d sorted it. Then I hung up and returned to my room.
When I got through the door my mobile was ringing.
‘Hello, there. How’s our newest author?’ It was Felix.
Where did he fit into all of this? I couldn’t believe that he knew anything about it. He was, after all, just an editor. Pretty low down in the pecking order. If Cutt told him what was going on, then Felix would become another potential leak which would have to be monitored. It was doubtful that Felix had a clue; though it wouldn’t look awry for Cutt to ask about the book. I remembered Delphine’s words, ‘Robert likes to keep an eye on things.’ I needed to keep my cards close to my chest. Breeze it out. Act like nothing unusual had happened.
‘Great,’ I told him.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you since yesterday,’ he said, a hint of irritation in his voice.
I apologised. ‘Sorry, I haven’t had a signal.’
‘You not at home?’
‘Following up a lead for an article I’m writing about, er, pub closures.’ Did that sound feasible?
Must have. Felix didn’t pause.
‘I see. Look, can you make it over to Manningtree this afternoon?’
‘Um. Well I really wanted to get home. Is it important?’
‘Well I don’t want to put you out, but I did mention it last week? That expert I was telling you about. I’ve got you an interview. I think you’ll be rather delighted by this particular person. They have a lot to say about your Witchfinder.’
Not more than me I thought, but I humoured him. ‘Fantastic!’
‘They’re only in the country for one more night,’ he was saying.
Oh crap. I really didn’t want to be driving all the way to North Essex. I wanted to write up this article, expanding on everything I’d learnt, and fleshing out a bestselling book which would undoubtedly not be published by Portillion. Surely with this new information I could get another deal? Though perhaps, Felix’s interviewee might strengthen what I knew? Put like that, I guessed it might be worth a detour.
Plus, I could even stay in Manningtree and start writing up the story straight after the interview. The irony of it came to me, clear as crystal. Somehow it seemed right to expose Hopkins in the very place where he had started his awful crusade. He would be turning in his grave.
Wherever that was.
‘Are you coming too?’ I asked. Felix could act as a protection of sorts.
He paused for a second then lowered his voice. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Okay then,’ I said.
‘That’s great.’ He sounded relieved. ‘I will be at the Thorn Inn from four. I understand the food there is fabulous. I’ll buy dinner.’
‘Four?’ I glanced at my watch. It was gone twelve now. ‘That’s pushing it I’m afraid, Felix.’
‘Five, then,’ he said.
I tried to explain that it would be traffic-dependent, but he’d already hung up. He was obviously on a mission.
I was too.
Though, as it was to pan out, only one of us would succeed.
Chapter Forty-Five
How I managed not to clock the date is still beyond me. I guess I had been so sucked into my own internal world I hadn’t really noticed the turn of the season around me.
So, as I pulled into Mistley that afternoon, it was quite a shock to see covens of witches and devils running amok through the streets. Halloween, All Hallows’ Eve.
The night the dead come out to play.
Of course it was.
To be honest, I would have picked up on it sooner or later anyhow. There was a crackling electricity in the air; a feeling of anticipation and caged energy. Even the houses in the streets glimmered orange, the colour of the festival, and the cobwebs that hung off the rafters had decorated themselves in shiny diamonds of dew.
As if they knew what was coming.
I parked the car in a side street by the Inn, leaving my case and laptop inside for the time being. I might end up staying here. Or maybe moving on to Colchester if I didn’t have the bottle for another session in the Witchfinder’s den.
The chill of night touched my neck as I got out and locked up. The smell of mouldering leaves, damp grass and bonfires wafted through the narrow street, adding to the undercurrent of sulphur: someone had put on a firework display.
A group of half a dozen children bundled past me, full of giggles and mischief. The eldest, a boy of about twelve, was dressed
as a zombie. He waved a chainsaw in my direction.
‘Trick or treat, Mrs,’ he challenged and held out a plastic cauldron. Inside I could see they’d already netted an unhealthy haul of E-numbers posing as sweets.
‘Hang on,’ I told them, pretending to go back to the car. ‘I’ve got some apples in here.’
The collective sigh of disgust that issued from the group was highly amusing. A little witch of about four years old lisped in a rural Essex accent, ‘Can we not have some sweets?’ She was cute, little gold curls tumbling from underneath a cobwebbed witch’s hat. Her parents could obviously not bear to hide away her shiny locks.
An older girl, dressed as a vampire holding on to the witch’s hand, cautioned her young charge. ‘Shelly! It’s rude.’
‘No it’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m not from round here and I forgot what day it was. All I’ve got is some small change. Do you want that?’
The zombie ringleader nodded so I bent over my bag and delved into my purse, cleaning out about three quid in coins. I must have only been ten seconds or so, though when I looked up, the small witch opened her mouth.
‘Not in there,’ she said. ‘Not in there.’ Her voice stumbled clumsily over the meter of the words she spoke. Her eyes fixed upon my face, her lips devoid of the excited pretty smile that had been on them only moments before. Her little voice, with its quaint Essex lilt, had become seriously croaky.
‘Turn around, you must,’ she rasped. Rather bemused, I obeyed her and twisted round to face the zombie. He scratched his chin then looked at me. ‘What? No apples thanks.’
‘I’ve got some change,’ I told him again and held my hand open.
‘Thank you. That’ll do.’
‘Nice performance,’ I told the little witch. ‘Very spooky.’