by Cavendish
Chapter Twenty-Three
1891
“Ye’re looking fine, Robbie,” his mother said. “Miss Carmichael has done well by ye.”
“Thank you, Ma.”
“Don’t be calling me Ma now. Ye’ve learned to speak better than that.”
“Yes…Mother.”
“Such a fine-looking young man. Ye’ll be having all the young ladies after ye. And ye’re going to be a lawyer one day?”
“Yes, Ma…Mother. I’m studying at the university.”
His mother looked over at the silent figure of Robbie’s father, sitting in the one good chair, puffing on a clay pipe. “What de ye think of our son now, Andy?”
Mr. McDonald withdrew the pipe from his mouth and nodded, unsmiling.
“I brought you some bread and some mutton. Lucy baked some of her cinnamon buns for you as well. She knows how much you like them.”
Mr. McDonald stood. “Ye’ll no’ be bringing anything else frae her,” he said.
Robbie looked from his father to his mother. She avoided his gaze. A pang of fear struck him.
“Father?”
“Ye’ll pass on our thanks to Miss Carmichael and ye’ll tell her we’ll manage fine from now on. Say goodbye to yer ma now. Ye’ll no’ be seeing her again.”
“What?”
“Yer faither’s right, Robbie. Ye’re not one of us now. Ye need to find your way in your new life with the fine folk ye’re meeting now.”
“But…you’re my family.”
His father turned away. “No, not anymore, lad.”
“It’s better this way,” his mother said, reaching up and smoothing his collar. “Ye’re one of them now.”
Robbie shook his head, angry to find tears welling up in his eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ma. I’m not one of them. I’ll never be one of them. When they look at me all they see is a lad from the Old Town who was picked out of the gutter by some do-gooder and dressed up in fancy clothes and given an even fancier education, but whatever the gloss, I’m still the lad from the Closes. They’ll never accept me.”
His father thumped the table. “They will if ye leave the Old Town behind. Forget Henderson Close. Forget where ye came from. Forget us, laddie. Forget we ever existed. Ye’ll be the better for it.”
“No!” Robbie’s tears flowed unheeded. He might as well tear his heart out right there and then. Lay it out on the table for all to see. It would do him no good anymore. His own family rejecting him.
“Come on now, lad,” his father said. “Ye’re a man now. Men don’t cry. It’s time to put yer childhood behind ye. Your whole life stretches before ye. Full of opportunity. Make the most of it. Now, come on, it’s time to go.”
He put his hand on Robbie’s shoulder and his son made to hug him. He sidestepped him. “We’ll no’ be having any of that. Time to go.”
His mother hugged him tight. “Goodbye, Robbie. I’ll always love ye.”
“Now, Moira, let the lad go. Ye promised.”
His mother wrenched herself free of Robbie’s grasp. “Ye have a wonderful life now.”
“Ma, I—”
“Goodbye, Robbie.” His father stuck out his hand. There was nothing more to do. Robbie shook it and his father opened the door. Robbie half staggered over the threshold. He turned in time to face the door as it slammed shut.
* * *
He had practiced the words until he could rehearse no more. He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that. He never really knew whether she was mocking him or simply having a little harmless fun. Kirsten Lawless. Robbie from the Old Town would never have met the barrister’s daughter, but Robert McDonald from Charlotte Square…now that was something else entirely.
Since the awful last visit to his parents, Robbie had resolved to do as his father wanted. Make these well-to-do folk in the New Town realize that he was one of them. He was entitled to walk among them and he was also entitled to ask the girl he loved to become his wife. He had known Kirsten for six months and, while she had never actually encouraged him, she had not resisted his advances either. Innocent though they may have been.
He swallowed hard. She put her teacup down delicately on her saucer.
“Kirsten. I have something to ask you.”
The brown eyes flashed. “Yes, Robert?”
“Kirsten, you know I am in love with you. I am studying hard and when I qualify, I shall be in a position to offer you a good standard of living and a loving, faithful husband.” It was coming out all wrong.
“My goodness, Robert,” she said, her gloved hand ineffectively stifling a laugh. “You sound like a faithful hound. Shall I buy you a collar and lead?”
Robbie leaped up from his seat and knelt down in front of her, grabbing her hands. “Please, Kirsten, I’m being serious. I want us to be serious. I can’t offer to marry you yet, of course.”
“Of course.” The mocking tone was unmistakable. Why did she have to make it so hard?
“Kirsten, I really want us to be more than friends.”
“More than friends?”
“I don’t mean anything improper.… Kirsten. I would like us to have an understanding that when I am in a position to make a formal offer, you would consider marrying me.” Finally, he had said it. Albeit ineptly.
Kirsten withdrew her hands. “Oh get up, Robert. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
Robbie returned to his seat, feeling his ears grow hot and his palms sweat.
“What am I to do with you, you impossible young man?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Can’t you tell? Can’t you see? I have been amusing myself with you. It has been a most enjoyable escape from the tedium of my life during these past months. But as for anything more than that…surely you can see it would be impossible. My father would never countenance it for a start.”
“Your father has been most considerate. He has even offered me a place in his practice when I qualify.”
“That’s Papa all over. I shouldn’t think he spelled out what that post would be, did he? Most likely tea boy or post boy.”
Robbie cast his mind back to the conversation he had had with Sir Humphrey. Had an actual position been mentioned? A job title? He couldn’t recall one. That terrible pang of fear he had last felt in Henderson Close now once again stabbed him.
He heard Kirsten’s next words through a mist.
“Miss Carmichael probably should have left you where you were. You’d probably have been happier. You know that old saying about silk purses and sow’s ears? I’m afraid you’ll never be accepted as a true gentleman, and I can only marry a true gentleman. Such a shame, but the fun will have to be over now. You’ve ruined it by getting serious.” She stood and smoothed her dress. “Goodbye, Robert, please don’t contact me again.”
He didn’t try and stop her, what would have been the point? He heard the front door close and sank down on the chair. Damn Miss Carmichael and her do-gooding ways. Damn Kirsten! Damn them both to hell!
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hannah and George crept down the stairs and along Henderson Close. In the distance, they could hear voices, chanting, whispering.
“It’s like earlier,” Hannah mouthed at George through the gloom of the emergency lights. He nodded.
They came to the boards separating the two Closes, stopped and listened. One voice rose above the others.
“Oh great Lucifer, Lord of the Underworld, Bringer of Darkness, come to us now your humble servants.”
Beneath their feet, the ground rumbled. The chanting heightened, became more intense. The voice grew almost hysterical.
“Satan our Lord and Master is with us. Behold, he comes.…”
The sulfurous stench poured through the boards. Hannah choked. The chanting stopped. She held her breath. She could tell George
was doing the same.
The door opened.
For an instant, Ailsa stood before them. Ailsa but not Ailsa. For the first time, Hannah saw what George had seen. The mole on her face. The signet ring on the wrong finger. Fingers that seemed longer than Ailsa’s. The woman seemed to stare right into her soul. Despite herself, Hannah flinched, then shook her fear off. She would not be intimidated by this creature, whoever – or whatever – she was.
The woman seemed to sense the change in Hannah. She grinned, her mouth wider than Ailsa’s, with sharper teeth than Ailsa’s. In seconds, her skin turned black, scaly. Her arms culminated in clawed hands with long talons that could rip flesh. Her eyes flashed red and her newly bald head glistened. When she spoke, her voice sounded familiar – but not as it should have been. Not from this creature. Not from Ailsa either.
“You have interfered for the last time.”
Hannah stared. “Mairead?”
George sounded as shocked as he looked. “No!”
The creature stood her ground, not moving, a strange, cockeyed smile on her face. Behind her, the chanting voices started again. They grew louder and louder, until the crescendo was too much for Hannah’s ears. She clamped her hands to them, desperately trying to shut out the noise. George did the same. They reeled in pain while the creature before them laughed. Scales fell away from her skin, leaving suppurating sores in their wake. Sparse blonde hair sprouted from her head, her eyes lost their red glow.
Still the cacophony continued. Hannah screwed up her face, blocking out the terrible parody of Mairead standing in front of them, still laughing.
The Mairead/Ailsa creature spoke again and the accent was much stronger. “You meddle where you dinnae belang. This place is not yours. It belangs to the maister.”
The chanting stopped.
Hannah tentatively dropped her hands. “Mairead, what’s happened to you?”
“I am hame. Hame at last. Where I belang.”
“My God,” George breathed.
The creature’s eyes flashed. “Ye dinnae want to mention that name here. This is the maister’s place.”
“We saw you vanish into the ground,” Hannah said. “Now you’re here like this. What did they do to you?”
“I belang here. I have always belanged here. This is my hame.”
“The Devil has many faces,” George said. “We know you’re not Mairead. Release her in the name of God.”
The creature reared up and laughed. “You invoke the name of God? Your God will do you no good. Have you not learned this? I rule here. I and I alone.”
A quivering motion began in Hannah’s stomach. Unpleasant. It made her feel nauseous. She swallowed hard.
“I know who you are.” The words were out before Hannah realized she had uttered them. In her mind, she saw it. A different world. Miss Carmichael’s world. A world of stark contrasts. Rich and poor living cheek by jowl. Like a film, snapshots of a comfortable living room in an elegant house, only to be replaced with scenes of a filthy, stinking hovel. One room, peeling paint, five children, a man and a pregnant woman. One of the children – a boy with haunted eyes – stared at her. The only one who could see her. He couldn’t be more than nine. He smiled at her. The smile morphed into a sneer. The scene wavered and the boy grew.
The shabby room faded as the boy became a young man. Well dressed. The haunted eyes now hard and cold. The scene shifted once more and the young man grew taller. He advanced toward Hannah and raised his hands. A part of her detached itself and went to him. She was dressed in late Victorian style. He looked at her imploringly.
“Kirsten. Don’t leave me.”
She laughed at him. A mocking, terrible laugh that chilled Hannah’s blood. Laughed until that was all Hannah could hear. The noise rang in her ears, echoed down the Close.
“No! That can’t be me.”
How can that be me?
The man put his head in his hands. He wept, deep gut-wrenching sobs that tore themselves from his shaking body.
Then he stopped. He lifted his head from his hands and his eyes were red. Not from weeping, but the red of the fires of hell.
He reached out to the devil creature. Became one with it, their bodies melding together in a swirling demon dance. His expression changed from sadness to anger, to hate. Hannah could sense his thirst for revenge.
The scales grew back and embraced them both as one. Blackened and simmering with evil.
George gripped Hannah’s hand.
“You can see it too?” she asked.
“Yes.”
The demonic dance ended. The blackest of shadows enveloped the half-human, half-demon creature that the two had become. Unholy cries echoed off the walls, faded and disappeared.
George and Hannah were alone.
Hannah stared, not daring to move, not daring to believe what she had witnessed.
“We’re next,” George said. “And I haven’t a clue how to stop it.”
“Me neither.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“No, we can’t. The creature isn’t trapped. It’s roaming free and it’s.…” Hannah could barely grasp what she was about to say. “It’s feeding. Consuming souls and bodies.”
“That’s what it looked like. Ailsa, Mairead…who was the other guy?”
“I believe it was Robbie McDonald. You remember? Mairead told us about him. But I’ve just seen him in a different way.”
“He was a young boy when she met him.”
“And that’s how I saw him…at first. Then he grew. There’s something about him.… He wasn’t what I thought he would be. We have to try and trap that thing in here. I need your help.” She held her breath, certain George was going to refuse. His frown told her he was battling with his decision. The frown lifted. He took a step closer and she breathed again.
“I must be as crazy as you but I know it’s the only way we have any chance of stopping this thing.”
Hannah smiled and George followed her into the Close.
The pentagram was clearly marked.
George joined her inside it. “What do we do now?”
“We act as bait. Draw the creature out and into the pentagram. We get out and it’s trapped inside because the force within will bind it.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Not really. But according to something I read, that’s how it works. Or that’s how it will work once I’ve completed the preparation.” Hannah reached in her pocket and drew out a neatly folded piece of paper containing the arcane symbols she had printed out.
She retrieved the small pot of paint they had left behind and began to copy the symbols into the five points of the pentagram.
George watched her. “I hope this is worth it.”
Hannah looked up. “It has to be, George. It’s our only chance.”
“Now what? We know what happened last time we summoned Miss Carmichael.”
“Last time we weren’t in the pentagram and we didn’t have the extra protection I hope I’ve just given us.” Hannah mentally crossed her fingers. It had to work. “OK, here goes.”
She smoothed out the piece of paper and read the words. “‘Oh Great Diviner of the Universe, send your spirits of protection to us that we may be safe in this your sacred design. Summon the evil in this place and trap it within, that it may never more devour the souls of the innocents.’”
Beneath their feet, the ground shifted. Hannah grabbed George’s arm and continued. “‘Great Spirit, hear our words, we beseech thee.’” She jabbed her finger at the paper and George repeated.
“We beseech thee.”
Outside the pentagram, a furious wind whipped up the dust and small stones until it sounded like a hailstorm, but within its protective confines, Hannah and George remained untouched.
An angry roar. A tumultuous crash.
Hannah clung tighter to George and he to her. From out of the shadows, the creature they had seen earlier appeared. It walked on scaly human legs bent backward. Its face continually shifted from Ailsa’s to Mairead’s to Donald Bain’s, then to Robbie McDonald’s and back to a reptilian demon with flashing red eyes.
Mairead’s face looked tortured, anguished. Hannah hoped and prayed the thing would release her once it was trapped. It lashed out with its clawed hands – its feet mere millimeters away from the edge of the outer circle.
“Come on, what are you waiting for?” Hannah said.
“Hannah!” The horror in George’s voice took her aback. Couldn’t he see they had to goad the thing into the circle? The outer edge of it at any rate. No closer than that before they made their escape.
Hannah waved her arms at it, taunting it. “Come on, closer, if you dare. You want to eat my soul? Come and get it. I dare you.”
“Hannah. For pity’s sake!”
“George, if you’re not prepared to help me, shut the fuck up.”
The look of hurt in his eyes was too much but Hannah didn’t have time for bruised feelings.
The creature lashed out once more. Mairead’s face, locked in a paroxysm of fear and pain, flashed before her.
Another figure appeared. It stood next to the demon. The little girl in a white shift. With no face. Her doll drooped from her right hand.
Hannah was taken aback. She momentarily lost concentration. What was this child doing here, now of all times? “Isobel? You’re not safe out there. Come to me. Take my hand.” She put out her hand. Outside the pentagram.
George screamed at her. “Hannah, what the hell are you doing? She’s not real. The girl. That thing’ll have you.”
Too late, Hannah realized. A trick. The child vanished. The creature grabbed Hannah’s hand in a vise-like grip. It pulled her. George grabbed her from behind and held on tight but he was fast losing ground.
Hannah tugged desperately at her hand, but the harder she pulled, the tighter its grip became. The creature’s face morphed into Mairead’s. Her shocked, human look gave Hannah hope.