Shadow Music

by Elisabeth Rose

  Between them they told him everything they knew and to his credit he sat and listened intently, asking for clarification now and again but taking it all in, in silence. Perhaps as a minister he was used to nutters unburdening themselves. When they finally stopped talking there was a long pause. Martin glanced at the window. The rain had ceased and a watery sun was trying to break through the clouds in feeble little fits and starts. Nina lay pale and still under the blanket.

  “So,” said Giles. “If I understand it correctly, Piers was experimenting with astral travel fuelled by meditation and chant. He must have attempted to reach Miranda this way after her death. He must have tried crossing into the spirit world. He also had the notion of using his music, the Shadow Music, as a means of passing said boundary and actually reviving the woman he loved. Something went wrong and he was left to wander eternity as a displaced spirit constantly trying to reach his beloved Miranda.”

  “Perhaps,” said Jessica, voice and face taut. “Piers’ body was physically killed while he was astral travelling. His spirit wasn’t able to return to its home.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it just doesn’t work. Goes against all the natural laws of life and death,” suggested Giles.

  Martin leapt to his feet. “Piers is evil. He sounds romantic and tragic the way you put it and I know that’s how Nina sees him, too. He’s seduced her, mentally and physically. You don’t know how powerful he is. He’s dangerous and he’s ruthless and we have to stop him! Look what he’s done to her.” He finished pacing about the room yelling the last words at their concerned faces.

  “Martin.” Jessica rose and took his tense hands in hers. She held tight and forced him to meet her earnest gaze. “It’s not Nina he’s seducing, it’s Miranda. He thinks Nina is Miranda.” She emphasised the last words.

  “But they’re rapidly becoming the same.” He closed his eyes and tried to calm the seething mass in his mind into coherent thought. “What can we do?” She patted his arm and sat down. He slumped into the nearest chair as despair robbed him of strength. “What can I do?”

  “Love is a very strong emotion,” said Giles after a moment. “I’ve read that these physical manifestations by spirits need to be fuelled by a strong emotion. In this case it’s love, I don’t think we can doubt that. It’s not hate or revenge making Piers seek out Miranda—it’s love.”

  “If it is, it’s been hideously distorted by time and grief,” Martin said. “He wants Nina. He can’t have her.”

  “You have to destroy the music first,” said Giles. “From what you’ve told me it’s the key to the whole thing.”

  “We can’t. Lots of people have tried and failed.”

  “Perhaps I could try?” Giles’ voice quivered with suppressed excitement.

  Martin looked at Jessica. She pulled a face and shrugged.

  “No harm in trying.”

  So Martin reluctantly left them watching over Nina’s motionless form and drove back to Blackstone Cottage. When he returned with the music Giles had prepared soup for lunch and they sat at the dining room table to eat.

  “I play the organ, you know,” said Giles in an attempt to lighten the mood. “The church has a wonderful pipe organ. The donation of a generous, rich member of the congregation.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard it,” said Jessica brightly. “Such a special, glorious sound, a pipe organ. It must go straight to God’s ears.”

  Giles beamed at her. Martin managed a tiny smile. He’d never been one for organised religion but it obviously brought comfort and strength to many people.

  “I know what you’ll probably say,” Giles went on, “but I’m rather curious. I mean what you’ve told me is so extraordinary. Very intriguing.”

  Jessica and Martin exchanged glances then turned to Giles and waited. He was going to suggest he play the music and Martin was going to say, “No.” An emphatic and decisive “No.”

  “I wonder could I hear the melody? I mean it’s not likely to have any effect on me, is it? Piers would hardly be interested in me.”

  “We can’t play it to you,” Martin snapped.

  Giles’s round face flushed pink. His plump fingers slid up and down the silver handle of his soup spoon. “I thought perhaps I might be able to have a quick run through on the organ. And then destroy it. Throw it in there.” He indicated the open fire burning vigorously in the fireplace, his cheeks creased in an apprehensive smile but upon Martin’s implacably opposed expression said, with a cunning Martin never suspected, “It would certainly make it easier for me to believe what you say.”

  “Why not, Martin?” murmured Jessica. “He’s right, Piers won’t be interested in him.”

  “All right,” Martin said. “But against all my better judgement. You stay here with Nina, Jessica. Giles and I will go to the church.”

  He stood and picked up his empty bowl and spoon but Jessica took them from him and moved around the table collecting the rest. Giles threw another log onto the fire then left the room. Martin knelt beside Nina and stroked her cheek gently.

  “Nina, darling,” he whispered. “I’ll be back shortly.” He kissed her forehead and as he sat back gazing at her, her eyelids flickered and her lovely, dark eyes opened. They focussed slowly on his face. Recognition dawned.

  “Martin,” she sighed. Her lips curved slightly. “Martin.”

  He gathered her into his arms and squeezed her against his chest. Tears pricked at his eyelids. “I thought he’d taken you. I was so frightened. Nina, you must fight him. Stay with me.”

  “Martin,” she breathed again. “I want to sleep. I’m so tired.”

  Her eyes closed gently but this time she was sleeping. Her face had resumed its normal colour. He kissed her lips and drew the blanket up over her body. Jessica stood beside him, fingers twisting together.

  “Is she asleep?”

  Martin nodded, throat too choked to speak. She reached out and gripped his hand tightly as he stood up. “I’ll sit with her. You two go—but hurry back.”

  He bent down and kissed Jessica’s soft cheek. “Thanks. I really don’t think this is a good idea,” he whispered.

  “What can happen?” she replied equally softly. “And if it makes him believe us, so much the better. He could prove very useful, Martin. This sort of thing is much more his field of expertise than ours. And he’s already told us things we didn’t know.”

  Martin nodded, still unconvinced. The whole thing smacked of disaster. Giles was really an unknown entity. “I suppose.”

  “And he may act as some sort of spiritual deterrent for evil.” Jessica gave a little laugh but Martin didn’t doubt that on some level she wanted the sanctity of the church as embodied by Giles, to give her support and backing. He couldn’t blame her for that and he also couldn’t deny it to her.

  Giles came in, buttoning up his coat. “Better put your coat on. The church has no heating. Well, it does but it’s too expensive to run outside of services.”

  Martin and Giles walked along the path between the churchyard and the vicarage. The rain still held off but the weak sunshine had been smothered by further looming clouds of the dark and threatening variety. The gravel walkway was flooded in places and they had to step carefully around pools of muddy brown slush. Drops of ice-cold water fell from the heavily laden bushes lining the path.

  “Looks like snow on the way,” commented Giles cheerfully. “It’s been relatively warm this winter. Not so much icy as wet and windy. But summer is a long way off.”

  “You wouldn’t believe it,” said Martin, “But we were in shorts drinking cold beer a few weeks ago in Sydney. We went paddling at Bondi Beach.”

  The longing for that sun-warmed patio and the little outdoor table under the tree in Nina’s special garden slammed in so hard it was almost a physical ache. He wanted to be there with Nina again, laughing over lunch with Florence, cooking dinner together in Nina’s little kitchen, making love in Nina’s big bed. He desperately wanted this endless nightmare to be over. He had to end
it.

  “Australia is one place I would really love to visit,” said Giles.

  “You can stay with us.”

  Giles gave him a penetrating look. “Will you be going back there?”

  “Oh, yes, definitely. I don’t think Nina wants to live anywhere else.”

  “True love.”

  “I think so.” Martin nodded.

  “That could be the deciding factor in all this,” said Giles. “Love is certainly the common element binding the main players together. You must remain steadfast in your love for Nina and trust that she loves you just as much despite your fears regarding this spirit. This Piers.”

  But did she love him as much as he loved her or was it only because of Piers they were together?

  They reached the church and Giles produced a key to unlock the door. The ancient wood had swollen in the damp. Martin had to help shove as it stuck on the doorjamb but it swung open with a complaining squawk. As Giles had warned, the inside was bitterly cold, making their breath rise in steamy wafts as they exhaled. Giles switched on lights and the dim interior took on a friendlier less sepulchral air. St Bede’s wasn’t a large church but it was of a solid design dating from Norman times with its square tower and thick stone walls.

  Brightly coloured crocheted kneelers hung from hooks on the backs of the pews, the work, no doubt, of an enthusiastic church ladies’ guild. Stained glass windows depicting various apostles and Bible stories let in faint red and blue light, but apart from the altar the main feature was the array of magnificent silver and brass organ pipes. They covered the wall above the main entrance and the organ keyboard itself was situated in a small wooden choir loft also above the entrance. They had to ascend a tiny, cramped, curved stairway which wound its way up the tower with narrow high steps carved into the stone. Martin followed Giles as he squeezed his bulk around the tight twists, wondering what he would do if the vicar became wedged.

  Breathing heavily, Giles emerged in the loft and by the time Martin arrived beside him, stepping gingerly on the creaking wooden floor, had already opened the keyboard and begun fiddling with the stops.

  “Violin and flute, you mentioned,” he muttered and made the appropriate adjustments. Suddenly the opening bars of a hymn banished the brooding silence of the church with a blast of full, warm-blooded sound. After a verse and chorus he swung into a Bach chorale.

  “Sleeper’s Wake” resonated gloriously, bouncing from the arched roof beams to the grey stone walls to the stained glass of the windows filling the air with rejoicing and hope.

  Martin suddenly wished he’d brought his flute from the cottage as well. The acoustics were marvellous even though his fingers were frozen and would probably barely move.

  “You play well,” he said when Giles stopped.

  “I get in here and practise quite a bit. It’s such a magnificent beast. I’ve organised a few recitals too, with singers and other instrumentalists. I’ve got a very nice choir as well now. We did the Fauré Requiem one year. Wonderful work.”

  “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

  “Now then.” Giles looked hopefully at Martin and then at the bag which held the music. Martin reluctantly drew out the score and placed it on the music stand. Giles studied it for a few moments then reached out to turn the page but Martin quickly whipped out a hand to stop him.

  “It’s probably better not to touch it yet,” he said.

  Giles didn’t argue despite a brief flicker of annoyance. He nodded and allowed Martin to complete the page turn.

  “Interesting harmony,” he said. “Shall I try the guitar line with the chords? Perhaps you could play the melody line on the keyboard.”

  Martin shook his head. “I can’t. I mean it won’t let me. I tried to play the cello part on my flute once and couldn’t. It resisted.” A thought occurred to him which gave him partial relief from the intense anxiety about this whole venture with Giles. “Maybe it won’t let you play either. It’s not written for organ.”

  “We’ll see, shall we? Giles splayed his fingers dramatically over the keys. “I can try the bass part with my feet.” He felt for the correct pedals with his feet and began.

  The Shadow Music sounded quite different on organ used as Martin was to hearing the sobbing and soaring of the violin and his own silvery flute sound. He held his breath as Giles played the opening bars.

  Nothing happened. The voices remained silent. The music had no effect beyond inducing a peculiar deflation of spirit. Such an extraordinary contrast to the heartache and anguish that beautiful slow melody usually produced. Giles would never believe them after this. He’d think they were loonies.

  Martin released the pent-up breath slowly. He rose, ready to make some excuse, some feeble sounding explanation as to why the spirits weren’t reacting. Tell him the organ wasn’t the right instrument to re-create the spiritual vibrations. Sound a complete lunatic and accept Gilesʼ kind reassurances and denials.

  But Giles strained forward intent on the page before him. It wasn’t just the focus of sight reading a new piece of music or the difficulty of deciphering the handwritten notes. Martin pursed his mouth. Here were the frightening beginnings of the obsession which had gripped Nina and himself. Giles was a believer just as they were.

  He had to be protected.

  Martin stood up and whipped the music from the stand.

  “Hey, don’t!” Giles attempted to snatch it back but expecting the reaction Martin stepped out of reach.

  “You see?” The music quivered in his hand but he steeled himself against its anger. He slid it into the bag with the other parts. Giles flushed and rubbed his hands over his face.

  “I’m sorry, Martin. It’s quite extraordinary. I didn’t want to stop.” He looked up with a bewildered expression. “I don’t think I could’ve stopped if you hadn’t…Quite extraordinary.”

  “I know exactly,” said Martin.

  Giles smiled feebly. “Of course you do.”

  “Did you hear him?”

  “No. It just gave me the most unutterable sense of sorrow, great and overwhelming grief. I wanted to keep playing.”

  “That’s what Jessica felt, too. The sorrow.”

  Giles closed and locked the organ keyboard and Martin followed him down the spiral staircase. When they reached the bottom Giles said, “I think I’d like to stay awhile. Ask for guidance, you know?” His normally ruddy, cheerful face was pale, his expression bewildered, confused.

  Martin nodded. “Of course. Is it all right if we stay a little longer in the vicarage? Until Nina wakes up?”

  “Yes, yes by all means.” Giles gripped Martin’s arm. “We have to get to the bottom of this. I’d be most upset if you continued on the quest without me.” His eyes searched Martin’s face.

  “Thank you very much. You’ve no idea how comforting your support is. For all of us but especially Jessica.” Martin held out his hand and Giles clutched it firmly with both of his. “We’ll have a brainstorming session later. You’ll stay for dinner?”

  “I’ll talk to the others but I’m sure they’d love to. Thank you.”

  “Give me half an hour or so,” said Giles.

  Martin turned to drag open the heavy wooden door and step out into the gloomy afternoon. The clouds had settled even lower and more rain was imminent. A restless wind had sprung up, icy and biting, tearing at his hair and coat as he followed the muddy path through the graveyard. The big, dark pines down one side wall waved and moaned overhead. Martin shivered involuntarily, nothing to do with the chill. What did they say? Someone stepped on your grave. Big drops began to fall and he sprinted the last few yards to the shelter of the vicarage, shoulders hunched against the cold of the rain and the ruthless attack of the wind.

  He entered by the back door, the way he and Giles had left, calling out to Jessica so that she would know who it was and not be alarmed. He went through the kitchen, removing his coat, welcoming the warmth of indoors filtering through the layers of clothing. Giles surely had more heating t
han that open fire. Martin hung his coat in the hallway and cautiously stuck his head around the door to the living room. Jessica sat in one of Giles’ big armchairs with the wingbacks, head back, eyes closed, fast asleep. Martin smiled.

  What a remarkable woman she was. He watched her for a moment or two then walked further into the room to where he could see the couch. The red blanket lay bundled on the floor in an untidy heap. The couch was empty. Nina had gone.

  “Nina,” he shouted. “Nina.” He rushed from the room and down the corridor searching for the bathroom in case she’d gone to the loo. “Nina.”

  His frantic voice roused Jessica.

  “Martin? What’s happening?” She sounded feeble, suddenly old and frightened. He ran up the stairs calling Nina, louder, more urgently when there was no response. He threw open doors and peered into bedrooms, a storeroom, a spare room filled with extra furniture and boxes. Jessica stood at the foot of the stairs peering up white-faced as he came running back down.

  “Where is she?” he shouted, gripping her arms tightly. “Where’s Nina?”

  Jessica shrank from his rage. Martin realised with a shock how frail and small she was and how harshly he was acting. He released his grip and she rubbed the place where he’d held her. Tears gathered in the grey eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Jessica, sorry,” he said. “She’s gone. I can’t find her.” He rubbed a hand over his face, dashing away the hint of tears which sprang into his own eyes.

  “It’s my fault. I went to sleep. So stupid of me.” She clenched a soft hand into a fist and thumped it into her open palm.

  “We have to find her,” said Martin. “Perhaps if you stay here and tell Giles when he comes back I can go to the cottage and see if she went there.”

  Jessica darted toward the front door. “Her coat,” she said. “It’s still here.” She held out Nina’s new navy blue parka Martin had insisted she buy in London just a few days ago. “She’ll freeze out there without it.”

  “Giles thought it might snow.” He stared at her, fear coiling in his belly like a snake. He sprang into action, grabbed his own coat still damp from the rain which was now falling in earnest, and flung the door open.