One thing that surprised me was that at first he never even mentioned Meg. I didn’t remind him about her, though: I didn’t fancy having to go down the steps to the cellar by myself. As she’d spent the whole summer sleeping down there, a few more days wouldn’t matter much. So I had to do most of the chores. Alice helped a bit, but not as much as I’d have liked.
“Just because I’m a girl don’t mean that I have to do all the cooking!” she snapped when I suggested that she’d be better at it than me.
“But I can’t cook, Alice,” I told her. “Mam did it at home, the Spook’s boggart did it at Chipenden, and Meg did it here.”
“Well, now’s your chance to learn,” said Alice with a smile. “And as for Meg, I bet she wouldn’t be so keen on doing all the cooking without all that herb tea!”
Then, on the morning of the third day, the Spook finally came wearily downstairs and sat himself down at the table while I did my best to cook the breakfast. Cooking was a lot harder than it looked, but not quite as hard as the bacon ended up.
We ate in silence until, after a few minutes, the Spook pushed his plate away from him. “It’s a good job I’ve not much appetite, lad,” he said, shaking his head. “Because hunger would force me to eat all that, and I’m not sure I’d survive the experience.”
Alice roared with laughter and I smiled and shrugged, pleased to see my master so clearly on the mend. As bacon went, I’d tasted better, but I was hungry enough to eat anything, and so was Alice. I began to cheer up, because it looked like the Spook was going to let her stay.
The following morning the Spook finally decided that it was time to wake Meg. He was still unsteady on his feet, so I went down the steps with him and helped bring Meg back up to the kitchen while Alice heated some water. The effort proved too much for him, and his hands started to shake so much that he had to take himself back off to bed.
I helped Alice get Meg’s bath ready. “Thank you, Billy,” Meg said as we began to fill it with hot water. “You’re such a considerate boy. And your pretty friend is so helpful, too. What’s your name, dear?”
“They call me Alice,” she replied with a smile.
“Well, Alice, do you have any family living nearby? It’s nice to keep close to family. I wish I had. But now they live so far away.”
“I don’t see my family now. They were bad company, and I’m better off without them,” Alice said.
“Surely not!” Meg exclaimed. “Why, what on earth was wrong, dear?”
“They were witches,” Alice replied with a wicked little sideways grin toward me.
I was really annoyed. That kind of talk might jog Meg’s memory. Alice was doing it on purpose.
“I knew a witch once,” said Meg, a dreamy look in her eyes. “But it was such a long time ago. . . .”
“I think your bath’s ready now, Meg,” I told her, grabbing Alice’s arm and leading her away. “We’ll go to the study so that you can have some privacy.”
Once in the Spook’s study, I rounded on Alice angrily. “What did you have to say that for? She might start to remember that she’s a witch herself.”
“Would that be so bad?” Alice asked. “Ain’t fair, treating her the way he does. She’d be better off dead. Already introduced to her, I was, but she’d forgotten me already.”
“Better off dead? More than likely she’d end up in a pit,” I retorted angrily.
“Well, why don’t you just give her a little bit less of the herb tea—so that she has a better life and don’t keep forgetting everything? Get the dose just right and she wouldn’t remember everything, but things could be a lot better for her. Let me do it, Tom. Ain’t too difficult. I’ll just give her a little less each day until we get it right—”
“No, Alice! Don’t you dare!” I warned. “If the Spook found out he’d send you back to the Hursts in the blink of an eye. Anyway, it’s just not worth the risk. Something might go badly wrong.”
Alice shook her head. “But it ain’t right, Tom. Something’s got to be done sooner or later.”
“Well, later rather than sooner. You won’t do anything about the herb tea, will you? Promise me.”
Alice smiled. “I promise, but I think you should talk to Old Gregory about it. Will you do that?”
“It’s not the right time to do it now, when he’s still ill. But I will when I think the time is right. He won’t listen, though. This has been going on for years. Why would he change it now?”
“Just speak to him, that’s all I ask.”
So I agreed, even though I knew I’d be wasting my time and would just make the Spook angry for nothing. But Alice was starting to worry me. I wanted to trust her, but she certainly had a bee in her bonnet about Meg.
The Spook came down late in the afternoon and managed to eat some broth, then spent the evening wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire. When I went up to bed, he was still there, and Alice was helping Meg to wash the pots ready for breakfast.
The following morning, which was a Tuesday, the Spook gave me a short Latin lesson. He didn’t look too well: he tired very quickly and went back to bed, so I was left to study by myself for the rest of the day.
Then, late in the afternoon, there was a knock on the back door. I went to answer it and found Shanks, the Spook’s delivery man, waiting there. He had a very nervous expression on his face and kept glancing over my left shoulder, as if he expected somebody to appear behind me at any moment.
“I’ve brought Mr. Gregory’s order,” he said, nodding back toward his pony with its load of brown sacks. “And I’ve got a letter for you. It was delivered to the wrong house, and they were away on business. They’ve just got back so it must be over a week old.”
I looked at him in amazement. Who could be sending me a letter here? He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumpled envelope and handed it to me. I was worried, because I recognized my brother Jack’s handwriting on the envelope and knew it would have cost a small fortune to send the letter by the post wagon: it had to be something serious. It was bad news for certain.
I tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter, which was short and to the point.
Dear Tom,
Our dad’s taken bad ways again. He’s sinking fast.
All his sons are here but you, so you’d best come
home right away.
Jack
Jack always was blunt, and those words made my heart drop right down into my boots. I couldn’t believe that Dad was going to die. I couldn’t even imagine it. The world wouldn’t be the same without him. And if Jack’s letter had been down in the village for a week, waiting to be read, I might already be too late. While Shanks unloaded our provisions, I ran inside, went up to the Spook’s bedroom, and, with shaking hands, showed him the letter. He read it, then gave a long sigh.
“I’m sorry to hear your bad news,” he said. “You’d best get off home right away. At a time like this your mam will need you by her side.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Will you be all right?”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right as rain. No, you get off while there’s some daylight left. You’ll want to be down off the moor long before nightfall.”
When I went down to the kitchen, Alice and Meg were whispering together. Meg smiled when she saw me. “I’m going to make you both a special supper tonight,” she said.
“I won’t be here for supper, Meg,” I told her. “My dad’s ill, and I’ve got to go home for a few days.”
“Sorry to hear that, Billy. Snow’s on its way for sure, so wrap up warm against the cold. Frostbite can make your fingers fall off.”
“How bad is it, Tom?” Alice asked, looking concerned, so I handed her the letter and she read it quickly.
“Oh, Tom! I’m so sorry,” she said, coming across to give me a hug. “Maybe it won’t be quite as it seems. . . .”
But when our eyes met, I could tell that she was just saying that to make me feel better. We both feared the worst.
After saying good-bye to the Spook, I walked to the back door with Alice. To my surprise, rather than saying farewell then, she tugged her coat from the hook and pulled it on.
“I’ll come down to the end of the clough with you,” she said, giving me a sad smile.
So we walked down together. We didn’t speak. I was numb and fearful, while Alice seemed really subdued. When we reached the bottom of the clough and I turned toward Alice to say good-bye, to my surprise, I saw that there were tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong, Alice?”
“Ain’t going to be here when you get back. Old Gregory’s sending me away. I’m off to stay at Moor View Farm again.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Alice. He didn’t say anything to me about that. I thought everything was all right.”
“He told me last night. Says I’m getting too close to Meg.”
“Too close?”
“I think it might be because he saw us chatting together, that’s all. Who knows what’s going on inside Old Gregory’s head? Just thought I’d tell you. So that you’ll know where to find me when you get back.”
“I’ll call in to see you first thing,” I told her. “Even before I go back to the Spook’s house.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Alice said, taking my left hand briefly to give it an affectionate squeeze.
With that, I left her and continued down, pausing once to look back. She was still there watching me, so I gave her a wave. Alice hadn’t offered any final words of comfort. She hadn’t mentioned my dad. We both knew there was nothing to say, and I dreaded what I would find at home.
Dusk came quickly, helped by a bank of thick, heavy cloud from the north. It was getting dark as I left the heights of the moor; somehow I managed to lose my bearings and missed the track I’d intended to take.
Down below was a copse of trees and a low drystone wall with a small building some way beyond it—probably a farmhand’s cottage, which meant that there would most likely be a small road or track leading from it down the hill. I clambered up onto the wall but hesitated before dropping down on the other side. For one thing, it was well over six feet high, and I discovered I was now looking down at a large graveyard. It wasn’t a cottage in the distance, either. It was a small chapel.
I shrugged and dropped down among the gravestones. After all, it might be a bit creepy, but I was the Spook’s apprentice and I had to get used to places like this, even if it was almost dark. I began to weave my way through the graves, moving downhill, and it wasn’t long before my feet were crunching along a gravel path on the approach to the chapel.
It should have been straightforward. The path led down the side of the chapel; beyond that, it meandered through the gravestones toward two huge yew trees that formed an archway over a gate. I should have kept walking, but there was a glimmer of light showing in the small stained-glass chapel window, evidence of the flickering of a candle. And as I passed the door, I noticed that it was slightly ajar, and I distinctly heard a voice from within.
A voice that called out a single word: “Tom!”
It was a deep voice, a man’s voice, a voice that was used to being obeyed. I didn’t recognize it.
Even though it seemed unlikely, I felt that I was being called. And who could be inside the chapel who knew my name, or that I was passing by in the dark at that moment? There shouldn’t have been anyone in the chapel at that time of night. It would only be used occasionally, for short services before burials.
Almost before I realized what I was doing, I went up to the chapel door, opened it, and walked in. To my surprise there was nobody there, but immediately I noticed something really strange about the layout inside. Instead of rows of benches facing toward the altar, with an aisle between them, the benches were in four long rows against the wall, and they were directly opposite a single large confessional box against the wall to my right, which had two large candles positioned like sentries at either side of it.
The confessional box had the usual two entrances, one for the priest and one for the penitent. A confessional box is really two rooms with a dividing screen so that, although the priest can hear confessions through a grille, he can’t see the face of the person making the confession. But there was something strange here. Someone had removed the doors so that I was facing two oblongs of utter blackness.
As I stared at the doorways, feeling very uneasy, someone stepped out of the darkness of the priest’s entrance on the left and walked toward me. He wore a cloak and a hood just like the Spook.
It was Morgan, although the voice that called me hadn’t been his. Was there somebody else in the chapel? As he approached, I had a sudden feeling of intense cold. Not the routine cold that told me something from the dark was close. It was different somehow. It reminded me of the cold I’d experienced when facing the evil spirit called the Bane in Priestown.
“We meet again, Tom,” Morgan said with a faint, mocking smile. “I’m sorry to hear the news about your father. But he had a good life. Death comes to us all in the end.”
My heart lurched inside my chest and I stopped breathing. How did he know about Dad’s illness?
“But death isn’t the end, Tom,” he said, taking another step toward me. “And for a while we can still talk to the ones we love. Would you like to speak to your father? I could summon him for you now, if that’s what you want. . . .”
I didn’t reply. What he was saying was only just starting to sink in. I felt numb.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Tom. Of course, you don’t know, do you?” Morgan continued. “Your father died last week.”
CHAPTER XI
Mam’s Room
MORGAN smiled again, but my heart lurched up into my mouth and I was filled with panic; the world spun about me. Without thinking, I turned and ran for the door. Once through it, I continued on down the path, my feet crunching on the gravel. When I reached the gate, I turned and looked back. He was standing in the open doorway of the chapel. His face was in darkness so I couldn’t see his expression, but he lifted his left hand and waved to me. The sort of wave you might give to a friend.
I didn’t wave back. I just opened the gate and carried on down the hillside, a mixture of thoughts and emotions running through my head. I was distraught to think that my dad might already be dead. Could Morgan be right about that? He was a necromancer, so had he summoned some ghost who’d told him that? I refused to believe it and tried to push it to the back of my mind.
And why had I run away? I should have stayed and told him what I thought of him. But a lump had surged into my throat and my legs had carried me through the door before I’d had time to think. It wasn’t that I’d been afraid of him, even though it had been really creepy to hear him say things like that in the chapel, with candles flickering behind him. It was being confronted with news like that.
I don’t remember much about the rest of the journey, apart from the fact that it seemed to be getting colder and windier. By the evening of the second day, the wind had veered to the northeast and the sky seemed heavy with snow.
Snow didn’t actually start to fall until I was within half an hour of home. The light was beginning to fail, but I knew the way like the back of my hand and it didn’t hinder my progress. By the time I opened the gate to the yard, there was a white blanket covering everything and I was chilled to the bone. Snow always makes everything seem quiet, but a special evening stillness seemed to have fallen over the farmhouse. I entered the yard, and the stillness broke as the dogs began to bark.
There was nobody about, though a light was flickering in one of the back bedroom windows. Was I too late? My heart was down in my boots, and I feared the very worst.
Then I saw Jack. He came stomping across the yard toward me.
He was scowling, his bushy eyebrows meeting above his nose.
“What kept you?” he demanded angrily. “It doesn’t take over a week, does it? Our brothers have been and gone. And James lives halfway across the County! You were the only one not to arrive—”
“Your letter went to the wrong address. I got it a week late,” I explained. “But how is he? Am I too late?” I asked, holding my breath but already reading the truth in Jack’s face.
Jack sighed and bowed his head as if unable to meet my eyes. When he raised his head again, his eyes were glinting with tears. “He’s gone, Tom,” he said softly, all the harshness and anger gone. “He died peacefully in his sleep a week yesterday.”
Before I knew it, he was hugging me and we were both crying. I was never going to see my dad again; never hear his voice, his old stories and wise sayings; never shake his hand or ask his advice; and the thought was unbearable. But as I stood there, I remembered someone who’d feel that loss even more than I did.
“Poor Mam,” I said, when I could finally speak again. “How’s she been?”
“Bad, Tom. Very bad,” Jack said, shaking his head sadly. “I’ve never seen Mam cry before, and it was a terrible sight to see. She was beside herself, didn’t eat or sleep for days. And the day after the funeral she packed a bag and left, saying she had to get away for a while.”
“Where’s she gone?”
Jack shook his head, his face filled with misery. “I only wish I knew,” he said.
I didn’t say anything to Jack, but I remembered what Dad had once told me: that Mam had her own life to lead and that after he was dead and buried she’d probably return to her own country. And he’d said that when the time came I should be brave and let her go with a smile. I just hoped that she’d not gone already. Would she go without saying good-bye to me? I hoped not. I just had to see her again, even if it was for the last time.
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