The Darkest Hour

by Barbara Erskine

  Huw shivered. The ice-cold draught which whistled into the house was nothing to do with the night wind or the driving rain. It was evil. Eddie was back.

  ‘Come in, Christopher,’ he said. ‘We’ll go into the kitchen. It’s warm in there.’

  He led the way down the hall, reaching for the light switches as he went. The darkness which surrounded this man was chilling. He glanced up and saw Maggie’s face peering over the banisters. Imperceptibly he shook his head, but he knew she would come down whatever he said and deep inside he was glad. He was going to need her.

  They went into the kitchen and Huw sat Christopher down in a chair by the Rayburn. He found a rug and put it round the man’s shoulders and then went to fill the kettle.

  Maggie appeared a few moments later. She was fully dressed and to his surprise he saw she was wearing a crucifix around her neck. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her wear a cross before.

  ‘This is my wife,’ he said. Christopher looked up but he didn’t seem to register her presence. He was still shaking violently.

  Maggie went to the dresser and brought down the tea caddy. She glanced across at Huw. ‘He’s overshadowed,’ she whispered. ‘Bad stuff. Eddie.’

  Huw nodded. ‘You did right to come here, my friend,’ he said quietly to Christopher. He pushed a cup of tea in front of him. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  Christopher shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he murmured. His voice was husky. ‘I went to put some pictures in storage in Southampton. I locked the door and went towards the car then everything went haywire. I couldn’t see. I had this pain –’ He put his hand on his chest. ‘I thought I was having a heart attack. I got to the car and got in and then I knew he was in there with me. I had to get away. I don’t know how I drove.’ He tried to sip the tea, his hands rattling the cup on the saucer so it slopped over the table. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on.’ He took a deep shuddering breath. ‘Father, I have sinned. Isn’t that what one says –’ He broke off again with a sob.

  Huw smiled. ‘Not to me, my friend. Wrong religion. But it doesn’t matter. We’ll sort this out. My wife and I will both respect your confidence as though in the confessional and we can help you.’

  He sat down opposite Christopher and covered his hands with his own. ‘First, where is Frances?’

  Christopher shook his head. ‘With her parents in Scotland. And the children.’ His teeth were chattering audibly. ‘They are safe.’

  Huw breathed a sigh of relief.

  Maggie had moved slightly to face him. She raised her hands in silent blessing and Huw felt the warmth of light coming from her. This was what she was so good at. Her strength was amazing. Now it was his turn.

  ‘Lord, give us your blessing and your help this night,’ he said quietly. ‘We pray for our brother Christopher in his trouble. Bring him comfort and guard him from whatever evil confronts him here.’

  Christopher was not looking at him. He was staring down at his hands. ‘These are not mine,’ he said. His voice was barely audible. ‘They are not my hands. There is blood on them.’

  ‘Whose hands are they, Christopher?’ Maggie said firmly.

  He didn’t seem to hear her. He was staring at his hands, turning them over, tensing his fingers, an expression of disgust on his face. ‘I need to get rid of them. To chop them off –’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Maggie’s voice was sharp. ‘If they are another man’s hands we will tell him to go away. You are a strong man, Christopher. You can dismiss him. Is this your grandfather?’

  Christopher looked up at her at last. His mouth had dropped open. ‘How do you know?’ His whisper was barely audible.

  ‘Because I can see him! He is a wicked man, a bully and if you say so, it is his hands which are covered in blood. You are strong, Christopher. Tell him to leave you alone.’

  Huw was praying quietly. He could feel the atmosphere around them growing thicker.

  Christopher went on, stumbling over his words. ‘He tried to kill so many people. Anyone who got in his way. He killed my father’s mother so he could take George as his own. No one ever found out. He killed Tony so he could keep Granny. He killed my dad. He told me to destroy the portrait in Laurence Standish’s car to hide what he had done, so he was responsible for his death too. And now,’ suddenly he was crying, ‘he is going to kill me.’ He looked up. ‘You have to help me. Don’t let me hurt anyone else!’

  ‘You are not going to hurt anyone else!’ Maggie seemed to have taken charge. ‘And nor is he.’

  Huw prayed on silently, content to leave this to her. Between them they were holding the light in the room. The shadow was wavering.

  ‘He wants me to kill Tony. I don’t understand. Tony is dead. He wants me to go to Rosebank Cottage and kill Tony.’ Suddenly Christopher was tearing at his hair with his fists, shaking his head in despair. ‘Don’t let me. Please, don’t let me.’

  ‘No one is going to let you do anything,’ Huw said firmly. He stood up and raised his right hand to make the sign of the cross. ‘Edward Marston, in the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave this man alone!’ His voice seemed to echo round the kitchen for several seconds.

  The kitchen was desperately cold. The atmosphere was clogged, hard to breathe and full of electricity. For several seconds Huw felt his heart straining to beat as though he was hundreds of feet beneath the water. He wanted to turn away and run, he wanted to scream, he wanted to turn on God who had forsaken them. Then slowly he felt the room returning to normal. He took a deep breath and then another. Christopher’s face was shiny with perspiration, his eyes wide with terror, but he was slowly sinking back into his chair. The sinews of his neck were relaxing.

  Eddie had gone. Huw could feel the space suddenly, the lightening of the atmosphere, the soft reassurance in the room. He tried to hide a smile. Round one to God.

  The echo of his voice was still there holding the silence in place. As it died away the kitchen door opened and the cat walked in. It looked from one to the other and sat down.

  ‘Has he gone, Roger?’ Maggie asked softly. ‘I think he has, don’t you? For now.’

  The cat began to wash its ears.

  Huw nodded cautiously. ‘Good. Are you all right, Christopher?’ He put his hand on Christopher’s head. Christopher looked up, his face dazed. He stared round as if he didn’t know where he was. ‘I’m going to ring the doctor,’ Huw said gently. ‘I don’t doubt for a minute that you are better, my friend, but I think it might be wise if you were to have a bit of a rest somewhere safe, do you agree?’

  Christopher nodded.

  Huw headed for the door, then he changed his mind. He nodded at Maggie. ‘You go. I’ll stay with him. Tell them he’s had a psychotic episode,’ he said quietly. ‘It is over, thank God, but he needs to be kept safe from our friend Eddie. Eddie is the one we have to deal with now and no hospital on earth can fix him. I have no doubt at all that he will be back. I’d like to think that we have banished him for now, but my prayers have never been strong enough before. Even with God’s help, I don’t think he’s finished yet. He’s gone somewhere else.’

  Saturday 28th September

  ‘Evie loved thunderstorms.’ Tony smiled fondly as the sky darkened over the Downs behind the cottage. ‘We were caught in one once when I was with her. She adored the drama of the lightning up there on the Downs. I was scared we’d be struck but she was so brave. She revelled in it.’

  They were sitting round the lunch table, drinking their coffee as the rain rattled against the windows and poured off the roof, splashing on the terrace outside. Dolly had made them a casserole and left it in the fridge for them after promising to come the next day to meet Tony. Time enough, she said. In the meantime she would stay away to let them get to know him better and let him get to know Evie’s home.

  Mike had collected Tony from London and Lucy was there to meet them when they arrived. He walked slowly and stiffly up the front steps and into the sitting room where he stopped a
nd looked round.

  ‘There are no pictures,’ he said. His face had fallen.

  ‘No.’ Mike helped him into a chair. ‘That is a long story.’

  ‘There is one, Lucy added. ‘I brought it over this morning. I’ve hung it in the studio for now.’

  He smiled. ‘I remember. You said your husband bought it.’

  Lucy nodded.

  Tony studied her face for a moment. ‘How strange. Fate is sometimes very cruel but in this case she seems to have relented at the last moment. I am so pleased. Can we go and see it?’

  Lucy glanced at the window. ‘It’s pouring.’

  Tony pushed back his chair and stiffly climbed to his feet. ‘Don’t you have umbrellas in Sussex?’

  The studio was dark as the thunder rolled ever closer. Mike closed the door behind them then reached for the light switches. Lucy had hung the picture opposite the door, where one of the spotlights focussed directly on the canvas. Leaning on his walking stick Tony stood staring at it for a long time. Glancing at his face Lucy saw there were tears in his eyes.

  ‘I remember her doing this. It seems to have been in the wars,’ he said at last. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s been torn.’

  Mike looked towards Lucy, not sure what to say. ‘It seems to have had a few adventures,’ he said at last, his tone guarded. ‘As far as Lucy can make out Eddie sold it in about 1942.’

  ‘He took it without Evie’s knowledge,’ Lucy said. ‘According to her diary she found out later he took it to a man called David Fuller and asked him to paint you out.’ She scowled. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps you would rather not know all this.’

  Tony shook his head. ‘On the contrary. I want to know every detail,’ he said firmly.

  ‘David Fuller ran an art gallery in Chichester which sold a lot of Evie’s early works. Ironically it is the same building that Larry and I bought to run as a gallery ourselves. The whole thing seems to have been destined in some strange way.’ She took a deep breath and went on, ‘Eddie seems to have asked David Fuller to paint you out and you stayed out until my husband Larry, started to clean the painting seventy-odd years later.’

  ‘Then I owe your husband a debt of gratitude. Without him you would never have found me and given me back my grandson.’ Tony gave a grim laugh. ‘Eddie would not be happy about any of this. He didn’t like being thwarted.’

  A flash of lightning cut through the room followed by a loud crash of thunder. The lights flickered uncertainly and went out.

  Lucy stepped closer to Mike. ‘That is truer than you know,’ she murmured.

  Tony had stepped nearer the painting. ‘So, how did it get torn like this?’

  ‘Eddie did it,’ Lucy whispered.

  Tony turned and fixed her with a stern look. ‘Tell me how.’

  She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

  ‘It sounds mad,’ Mike put in. ‘And you probably won’t believe it, but it’s Eddie’s ghost. He seems not to be resting in peace. Far from it.’

  They both watched Tony. He had stepped forward again and was peering closely at the canvas. ‘In which case this storm seems rather apt. Clichéd even,’ he said dryly. ‘Are we about to receive a visit from the demon king, do you think?’

  Lucy shivered and felt Mike’s arm round her shoulders. ‘It’s not a joke. He’s real. A real ghost. I shouldn’t have brought the picture here. He haunts the picture. I’m such an idiot. I didn’t think.’ She reached into her pocket for her phone. ‘Oh my God, this is awful! I’m going to ring Huw, he seems to be able to hold him at bay. Please, let’s go back into the cottage,’ she said nervously.

  ‘You two go, Lucy,’ Tony said. ‘I myself would rather enjoy the opportunity to tell Eddie Marston what I think of him. I have waited a long time for this. The man was a bounder; he was a bully and a cheat then and it seems to me he still is. Besides which he tried to murder me.’

  Another low rumble of thunder reverberated round the shadowy studio.

  ‘I can smell oil paint,’ Lucy murmured. The room was suddenly full of the cloying scent of turpentine.

  Mike pulled her close. ‘Please, Tony. He’s dangerous. I think we should leave this to the professionals.’

  Tony swung round. ‘And you think I’m not a professional? Not a ghostbuster, maybe, but this man is mine! You say he made my Evie’s life a misery, he was unkind to your father, Mike, and he tried to kill me! If anyone is going to rid the world of his wraith it will be me. If he’s got the nerve to show himself.’

  Another flash of lightning sliced through the studio. Lucy gave a little whimper.

  ‘Come on, Eddie!’ Tony called. ‘Are you too afraid to appear now you know I’m not afraid of you? I’ll come after you if I have to. That’s the great thing about being my age. I’m not afraid of ghosts; I’m not afraid of dying!’

  ‘Tony!’ Mike cried. ‘There is something we haven’t told you.’ He glanced down at Lucy, who was huddling in his arms. ‘Evie killed him.’

  ‘What?’ Tony turned round to face him.

  ‘Not on purpose – at least, I don’t think so – but she pushed him down the stairs.’

  Tony let out a shout of laughter. ‘That’s my girl! Can you smell her paints? Her hair always used to smell like that. Turpentine and linseed oil. I loved it. Even on the farm when she was working with the animals she smelled of the paint; she used to get it under her fingernails.’ He turned round slowly. ‘Well, Eddie? Where are you? Let’s see you.’ He rapped his walking stick on the floor.

  ‘We’ve never seen him here,’ Lucy said. Her voice was husky. ‘We thought it was so completely Evie’s he would never haunt it. He wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Is she here?’ Mike whispered. ‘If you can both smell her paint. Perhaps she has come to see you, Tony –’ He broke off as another lightning flash illuminated the studio. It was followed instantaneously by a huge crash of thunder.

  They all saw the figure standing near them as more lightning flickered on the walls.

  It was Evie.

  Saturday 28th September, afternoon

  ‘Something is happening at Rosebank Cottage.’ Maggie greeted Huw as he opened the front door and shook his jacket free of rain. ‘Lucy rang me. That’s where Eddie went. Come on. We have to get there!’

  Huw allowed himself to be pushed back into the rain. He had only just driven in and behind him the car bonnet was steaming gently under the force of the downpour.

  She dived into the driving seat. ‘Get IN!’

  Huw ran round and let himself in beside her as she was already reversing out of the drive. ‘How was Christopher?’ she asked curtly as she pulled away. ‘Come on!’ There was another car in front of them, making its way cautiously up to the crossroads.

  ‘They have kept him in for the time being.’ Huw had gone to the mental health unit with Christopher and their doctor, where Christopher had voluntarily admitted himself. ‘He seems a defeated man. I spoke to Frances on the telephone. She and the children are safe in Scotland. It is terrible. It seems the police had been to see him. They think he paid the man who ran Laurence Standish off the road. He wanted the portrait of Evie and Tony destroyed. He doesn’t seem to know why himself, but Frances says it was Eddie bullying him, making him act out of character. Watch out!’ He clutched at the dashboard as Maggie braked and swerved past the car in front. ‘Did Lucy say what was happening at Rosebank?’

  ‘No, but she sounded desperate.’ She slowed the car and turned onto the main road. It was awash with rain. The sky in the west was zigzagged with lightning.

  ‘Christopher has admitted forging the codicil to Evie’s will, leaving all the paintings to him. He has promised to return them to Mike. He’s stashed them all in a lock up somewhere,’ Huw went on. He was hanging on the hand hold.

  Maggie frowned, leaning forward to try to see better through the streaming windscreen. ‘Hold them in your prayers, Huw.’ She indicated right and slowed, trying to see a gap in the traffic.

  Huw was groping in th
e pocket of his wet waterproof, trying to get hold of his mobile phone. He extricated it at last and stabbed at the buttons. ‘I’ll try Lucy again. And Michael. Find out what is happening. One of them must pick up.’

  But the numbers rang and rang unanswered.

  Maggie pulled in right beside the gate and threw herself out into the rain. ‘This way. They’re in the studio.’

  Huw followed her and he could feel it now: an ice-cold stillness in the heart of the storm. He felt for his crucifix, as usual worn discreetly under his jumper. It was warm and solid and reassuring.

  He pushed open the studio door and stood there staring into the darkness, aware of Maggie beside him holding her breath. For several seconds they were unable to see, then another flash of lightning lit the space. Eddie Marston was there, and in front of him they could see a tall elderly man who appeared to be brandishing a walking stick. There was another figure there too, shadowy, near the wall where the portrait hung. It was a woman. It was Evie.

  Maggie and Huw stared from one figure to the other. Lucy and Mike appeared to be clinging together near the doorway but they were outside the drama being enacted in the centre of the studio in front of the torn portrait on the wall. Every second Evie was becoming more solid. The three figures were locked in some kind of duel.

  ‘My God, it’s Tony,’ Huw murmured. He had seen the old man’s face as he moved towards Eddie. It was the face of the young pilot in the picture, seamed with seventy years of memories.

  ‘May God blast you to hell and keep you there forever!’ Tony’s voice was still strong. ‘You failed, Edward Marston. As you were always destined to fail. Slicing my face out of an oil painting is not going to help you. I am here. And I am still alive and now everyone knows the truth you were so anxious to hide.’

  He stabbed at Eddie with his stick. The stick passed right through the figure. Tony laughed. ‘Didn’t feel it, eh? I am sure God can arrange something you can feel. I’ve been a judge in my lifetime, Eddie, and I’ve sent a good many rogues down for what they’ve done but if the time has come to refer you to a higher court, so be it!’