The Darkest Hour

by Barbara Erskine

  Minna drew up at the side of the road and turned to look at her. ‘There is something wrong, isn’t there, Hannah? Please tell me. Maybe I can help.’

  Hannah bit her lip. ‘I’ve come out without any money. Could you lend me some?’ She saw the other woman’s face close. ‘Just enough for a phone call. I’ve forgotten my phone as well.’ And then the inspiration had stuck. ‘I need to ring my father’s aunt. She lives in Brighton and she will come and fetch me. Please.’

  Ollie had told her about Juliette’s visit to their mother when they were away. Frances had confided in him that she seemed a nice woman, as though anxious to let her son know that there were nice people in the family. The visit was a secret from their father, so he was to tell no one. He had of course told Hannah that same evening.

  Minna sighed. She started the car again. ‘My bag is on the back seat. My phone is in there,’ she instructed. ‘Do you know her number?’

  Hannah shook her head.

  ‘Or her address?’

  Again Hannah looked blank.

  ‘So, how do you propose to find her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ And suddenly Hannah was crying huge tears which rolled down her cheeks and soaked into her T-shirt.

  Minna glanced at her watch with a sigh. Her train was growing ever more distant as an achievable goal, but how could she leave this child in such a distressed state? ‘Supposing we take you home and you find your mobile and some money and your aunt’s phone number and address?’ she proposed gently.

  ‘No. I can’t.’ Hannah looked so terrified that she confirmed Minna’s worst suspicions.

  ‘Would you like me to take you to the police, Hannah?’

  ‘No!’ She sounded panic-stricken.

  ‘Where is your mother?’

  ‘She and Dad are out with Ollie.’

  ‘And they left you at home alone?’

  Hannah nodded. She was winding a strand of hair around her finger.

  ‘Well, if you are too afraid to go home, there must be someone else you can go to. What about a friend in the village?’

  ‘I haven’t got any friends. I go away to school.’

  Minna leaned back and closed her eyes in despair. It was too late for the train now. ‘All right, supposing you tell me why you are afraid to go back to your house.’

  ‘There’s a ghost in there.’

  The whisper was so faint Minna thought she had misheard. ‘Did you say a ghost?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What sort of ghost?’

  ‘An old man. A hideous old man.’ Hannah wiped her eyes with her knuckles.

  This was getting beyond a joke. Minna sighed. ‘So, who will know where your aunt lives?’

  ‘It will be in the address book.’ Hannah gave her a pleading look. ‘I can’t go back in.’

  ‘Then I’ll go in and look if you tell me where it is.’

  And suddenly it was easy. She reversed the car into a gateway, turned round in the lane and drove up to Cornstone House, leaving Hannah shaking in the front seat. The front door was, as Hannah predicted, still open and in the hall was a table with an old-fashioned telephone on it; beside it was a bulging address book. Juliette Marston had been crossed out and re-entered as Juliette Bell. Her address and phone number were there. Minna copied them down, all the time glancing up to scan the depths of the hall and the staircase, feeling the intense cold in the house in spite of the warm sunlight outside. She didn’t linger to make the call from the phone on the table in front of her. Turning, she ran back outside, pulling the door closed behind her and returned to her car where she dived back into the driving seat. ‘Here. Ring her.’ She tossed her piece of paper into Hannah’s lap. ‘If she is happy for you to turn up I will drive you to Brighton and then take the train from there.’ She started the engine and was already heading for the gates.

  Behind her the house settled back into silence.

  March 1945

  Lavinia told Eddie that she was pregnant on his next visit. As she stood, her eyes fixed anxiously on his, waiting for his reaction, she felt nothing but fear. She saw the different emotions crossing the harsh narrow planes of his face, anger, anxiety, indignation and then, curiously, triumph. She was standing by her small square dining table near the front window of the room, her fingers locked on the back of the chair in front of her, her knuckles white, half-expecting him to turn round and walk out. Instead he strolled over to the chair which stood by the back window overlooking the garden and the view of the castle and only when he was comfortably seated, one knee crossed casually over the other, did he at last ask, ‘When?’

  She found she was barely able to speak. ‘July.’

  He nodded.

  ‘What do I do?’ she whispered.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Had she really hoped he would tell her he would divorce Evie, demand she divorce her husband, Peter, wherever he was, marry her, create for her a warm loving home?

  ‘I mean what are you going to do? It is your baby.’

  He scratched his chin. ‘I will give you some money. You’ve got a wedding ring.’

  She glanced down at the narrow band on her hand. ‘You mean I should go on living here?’ She tried to hide the hurt in her voice.

  ‘I don’t see why not. Will your landlady object?’ His voice was cold, unengaged. It was as if it was of absolutely no concern to him what her neighbours and friends would think, or the midwife, or the doctor.

  ‘But they’ll know it isn’t Pete’s.’

  ‘Why should they care one way or the other? Just tell them he came home on a bit of leave.’

  She held back her tears. This was Eddie. This was the way he was. She had always known it. ‘Will you tell Evie?’

  His face darkened. ‘That would hardly be tactful after she has lost a baby herself.’

  She gave a half-smile. Since when had he considered himself tactful? Slowly she sat down at the table and with a sigh forced herself to look at him.

  ‘Have you any pictures for me? Or silver? I can dispose of silver.’

  She couldn’t believe he was talking about business again as if the interlude with the baby had never happened, but that was how their relationship was to continue over the next months.

  Mary Brown, her landlady, turned out to be endlessly sympathetic when, realising she could no longer hide her condition, Lavinia had knocked on the door of the upper flat one evening and confessed everything. There was no question of putting Lavinia out on the street, far from it; she was supportive and even excited about the coming event. When the time of the birth arrived it was Mary who rang the midwife, Mary who boiled endless kettles of water and it was Mary who first held the tiny scrap which was Lavinia’s son. Eddie did not appear for three days after being alerted that Lavinia had gone into labour. When he came, to give him his due, he brought flowers and a bottle of wine, most of which he drank himself, and showed every sign of being impressed at the small bundle of furious life which was his child. He gave her money for a pram and for a cot and came more and more frequently, watching in fascination as the little boy developed, ever aware that this was his baby, his child, his son, as Johnny never could be.

  Saturday 14th September, afternoon

  ‘What a nice woman,’ Juliette said as Minna drove off down the street. She ushered Hannah inside and closed the door. Huw and Maggie and Mike had left barely an hour before and Lucy had not returned. ‘Come outside into the garden and we’ll have a glass of fruit juice, then I want you to tell me from the beginning what happened.’

  The only lie Hannah had told was that she had left a note for her parents, so they wouldn’t be worried.

  When Juliette rang Huw there was no reply. She thought for a long time about what to do, then rang again and left a message asking him to ring her back. She needed him and Maggie to return as soon as they could.

  Hannah appeared to be in a state of near collapse. Nervously she followed Juliette into the kitchen and back to the garden. She picked at th
e food she was offered, constantly staring round as though afraid that the ghost had followed her.

  ‘Do you want to ring your mother?’ Juliette said yet again.

  Hannah shook her head. ‘I told you. I left her a note.’ She was beginning to believe it herself. She shivered, hugging her arms around herself. ‘Can I stay here? Please.’

  ‘Yes, of course you can stay. But only if your mother says so, Hannah. You must see we have to make sure it is all right.’

  At last Hannah nodded. She went to Juliette’s phone and dialled. Juliette listened to the call from the kitchen. ‘Hi, Mum. Listen, I’m OK. I’m in Brighton with Aunt Juliette. Can I stay for a bit?’ There was a pause during which Juliette imagined Frances frantically trying to find out what had happened. ‘No, honest, I’m fine. She’s going to take me shopping in the Lanes.’ Hannah took a deep breath, listening again. ‘OK. I’ll ring you when I want a lift home. Thanks.’ From where Juliette was standing the phone was shielded by Hannah’s body and Juliette couldn’t see the girl’s finger firmly holding it disconnected.

  Juliette ducked back out of sight. ‘OK?’ she said as Hannah appeared.

  Hannah nodded. ‘Sure. She doesn’t mind if I stay a bit. I didn’t tell her about the ghost. I knew Dad would freak. So, can I stay? Please?’

  ‘Yes, you can’ Juliette realised she had been manipulated masterfully. Still, late night shopping was perhaps a good way to defuse the situation until Huw and Maggie got there. ‘Let me show you my spare room so you can have a wash and settle in, then we’ll go out.’

  The spare room was next to the bathroom on the first floor. Juliette led the way in. ‘There are clean sheets on the bed and towels in here.’ She opened a cupboard and passed a couple of pink fluffy towels to Hannah. ‘Come down when you’re ready.’

  In the event Huw and Maggie were not to come back until the next morning just after ten. ‘Sorry not to have been able to come last night. We were tied up,’ Huw said enigmatically. He and Maggie had followed Juliette into her living room. ‘Then I had to take early communion as it’s Sunday. Lucy has gone in to the gallery to pick up some stuff and then she’s off to have lunch with her assistant, Robin, so we have time now to hear Hannah’s story.’

  Huw, at Juliette’s suggestion, was wearing his dog collar and the sight of it certainly seemed to have had a calming effect on the girl.

  ‘You mean you are an exorcist?’ she asked him with wide eyes as he explained why he was there.

  He nodded. This was not the time for prevarication.

  ‘And you are a psychic?’ she went on, looking at Maggie. ‘A real one?’ A real one as opposed to Tab, whose advice and competence she was seriously beginning to doubt. Maggie too nodded gravely. Hannah needed to have confidence in them.

  Juliette glanced at Maggie.

  Maggie in turn looked at Huw. ‘So, what do we do next?’

  Huw stood up. ‘Will you excuse me if I go out for a while, ladies? Half an hour perhaps. I won’t be any longer, I promise. Having heard Hannah’s story I need to think about it. Why don’t you girls get something to eat? I bet Hannah is hungry.’ He smiled.

  Juliette turned to Maggie when he had left. ‘Was it something I said?’

  Maggie smiled, shaking her head. ‘He’s gone out to pray. He often does that. He prays while he walks. I expect he’ll go down on the beach. He needs to ask what to do for the best.’ She saw the sceptical look on Hannah’s face. ‘God is his boss, Hannah. He’s just contacting base. It’s enormously helpful.’

  Hannah scowled. ‘My father says God doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ Juliette put in. ‘And does he allow you to think for yourself?’

  ‘Of course he does.’ Hannah looked defensive.

  ‘I think that is obvious or you wouldn’t have gone looking for the ghost,’ said Maggie gently. ‘That took a lot of courage.’

  ‘But I did it all wrong. Tab said I could banish him but I needed to see him first.’ Hannah bit her lip hard, obviously finding it hard to talk about it. ‘I was so stupid. I thought it would be easy. I thought he would go away when I asked and Dad would be impressed, because he was frightened and I wasn’t.’ Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘You were courageous, Hannah,’ Maggie repeated. ‘If anyone is to blame it is your friend who does not understand fully what she is talking about, and the books you read which didn’t warn you that what you were doing could be dangerous.’

  Juliette stood up. ‘Come on, let’s find something to eat. I think brunch would be a good idea. Nice and grounding. Hannah, let me show you where the dining room is and perhaps you could lay the table for us.’

  She led the way to the dining room door and opened it. ‘OK? The cutlery is in the dresser drawer there.’

  Hannah didn’t move. There was a short pause. ‘Hannah?’ Juliette realised suddenly that Hannah was staring at a picture on the wall on the far side of the room, her eyes rounded in horror, her face white.

  ‘That’s him!’ Hannah cried. ‘Oh my God, that’s him. The ghost. It’s him!’ Pushing between the two women she ran back into the drawing room and dropped onto the sofa sobbing.

  Juliette was looking at the picture. She too had gone white. ‘That’s Johnny’s father,’ she whispered. ‘That’s Eddie Marston.’

  Saturday 14th September, late afternoon

  ‘Hannah? We’re back. Are you feeling better, darling?’ On returning home the day before, Frances had stopped on the landing and stared at the dropped basket and its scattered contents for several seconds before knocking on her daughter’s bedroom door. There was no reply. ‘Hannah?’ Frances opened it and looked inside. The room was empty. She stared round with her usual feeling of helpless dismay at the mess in which Hannah lived. Automatically she stooped to pick up various garments and put them on the bed. She sighed. There was no sign of Hannah downstairs. Unlikely as it seemed, perhaps she had gone out for a walk. Closing the door behind her Frances went back down to the kitchen. Minutes later Ollie appeared. ‘Any sign of her?’ He looked worried.

  Frances shook her head.

  ‘Did you see the stuff on the landing?’

  Frances nodded towards the kitchen island. The basket stood there with its strange contents, gathered from the carpet upstairs. ‘I can’t think what that was all about.’

  Ollie bit his lip. Hannah didn’t know he had sussed her interest in ghosts. For a while he had quite fancied Tabitha when she had come to stay last summer and he kept a quiet but constant watch on Tab’s activities on Facebook. He knew enough to be suspicious of the contents of the basket he had stepped over on his way to his own room, and after his mother had gone downstairs he had rummaged under his sister’s mattress and withdrawn the books she had hidden there. Her bookmarks were still in place.

  He wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  Christopher walked in to the kitchen. ‘Any sign of Hannah?’

  Frances and Ollie both shook their heads.

  He threw the newspaper he had been carrying under his arm onto the table. ‘She must be feeling better.’

  Frances gave a tight little smile. ‘Good. She hasn’t been looking very well for several days.’

  ‘Did you look in the attic?’ Ollie blurted out suddenly.

  Both his parents looked at him in puzzlement. ‘What on earth would she be doing there?’

  ‘She, she, she …’ He paused, stammering slightly.

  ‘Well, boy, spit it out.’ Christopher glared at him.

  ‘She was talking about the ghost you saw.’

  Christopher went white. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘She was intrigued. She said she had never seen one and –’ Again Ollie fell silent. Hannah would kill him for this. ‘I think she may have stayed at home to get the chance to be on her own.’ His glance shifted towards the basket on the table. ‘Those are things people use to get rid of ghosts.’

  ‘I did not see a ghost!’ Christopher said abruptly through gritted teeth. �
��Do you hear me?’ He glared at Frances. ‘Who said I did?’

  ‘I said nothing,’ Frances said quickly.

  Christopher shook his head in exasperation. ‘Go upstairs, Ollie. Check if she’s up there.’

  Ollie turned towards the doorway and for a moment he hesitated. One glance at his father’s face made up his mind for him and he headed out into the hall towards the staircase.

  The attic landing was dark, the doors to the two rooms closed. Nervously he stood there for a moment at the top of the stairs plucking up the courage to let go of the banister. The two way switch at the foot of the stairs had failed to turn on the light. He took two paces forward and reached out for the switch up here. It had no effect. The light was broken. He swallowed hard. ‘Hannah?’ he whispered. ‘Are you up here?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘Hannah?’ He took a deep breath and headed for the door on his left. Grabbing the handle he pushed it, expecting it to be locked. It swung open with a slight squeak of the hinge. For a moment he stood without moving, then he managed to force himself to take a step forward. He groped inside the door for the light switch. This light did not work either. Clicking it up and down he cursed under his breath. There must have been a fuse. Stupid. He should have brought a torch. He stood irresolutely in the doorway. He could see there was no one in there. Enough light was percolating through the window to illuminate the shadowed corners and the areas behind the piled furniture and old suitcases. He scanned the room carefully and then backed out, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Leave it. This is not your business, boy.

  The voice in his ear was a harsh whisper. Ollie let out a yelp of fright. ‘Hannah?’ he gasped. ‘Stop it. Where are you?’ His eyes were like saucers as he stared down the narrow landing. It wasn’t his sister’s voice he had heard; it was a man’s voice, deep and rasping. He focused on the other door. Cautiously taking a couple of steps forward he reached out towards the door knob. He turned it and pushed. The door was locked. He shook it. ‘Hannah? Are you in there?’

  ‘Well, is she up here?’ His father’s voice from the landing below made him jump. Christopher took the stairs two at a time. ‘Why are you up here in the dark you stupid boy?’ He put his hand out towards the light switch. The light came on at once.