Blood From a Stone (24 page)

‘That sounds as if Evie Leigh had better watch out.'

‘So she should. Don't underestimate Mrs Hawker, Jack. You're in danger.'

Jack straightened his waistcoat and drew his breath in. ‘All right. I'll be on my guard.' He offered her his arm. ‘Let's go down to dinner.'

It was something of a relief when dinner, a wearily drawn out meal of soup, fish, an entrée of beef, roast duck, strawberry jelly and a savoury of dressed prawns and fruit, was over. Mary Hawker was clearly on edge and Evie Leigh seemed ill at ease. She was, Isabelle noted, wearing a brilliant scarlet beaded shawl. She hadn't been mistaken about the scent, either.

Frank Leigh was clearly under a strain and Celia had evidently picked up the tension round the table. The only ones who seemed completely unaffected were Leonard Duggleby, who chatted about the cave throughout the meal, and Aloysius Wood, who, possessed of a very keen appetite, was heartily appreciative of the food.

When the ladies left, even Wood's breezy cheerfulness suffered a dent in the face of Frank Leigh's brooding silence. Jack drank his port as if it were a patent medicine instead of a pleasure and greeted the suggestion that they should join the ladies with rather more enthusiasm than was polite.

In the drawing room, Celia had turned on the wireless, Evie Leigh was flicking though a magazine and Isabelle was making very stiff conversation with Mary Hawker.

‘I haven't got anything out of Mrs Hawker,' said Isabelle in a whisper as Jack, coffee in hand, sat down beside her. ‘She's being very County. Dogs, gardens and Sales of Work. Celia's on edge and Mrs Leigh's bored witless. I don't blame her.'

The programme of dance music from the Savoy came to an end and Celia switched off the wireless. ‘Let's
do
something,' she said to the company in general.

‘All right,' said Frank Leigh after a pause. He looked round the room and made an obvious effort. ‘We've got two bridge fours. What about bridge?'

‘Good idea,' began Mary Hawker, but she was interrupted by a yawn from Evie.

‘Not bridge, darling. I always get into trouble for overcalling and I find it fearfully hard to remember who's bid what.'

‘The art is to distinguish between a hand with winning cards and a hand without losing cards,' said Mary Hawker, tartly. She was an excellent bridge player.

‘But it takes so much
thought
,' complained Evie, ‘and everyone always ticks me off for not paying enough attention. Shall we play a round game? Or Halma, perhaps? Frank?'

‘Not for me, my dear,' said Frank with a dismissive laugh. ‘Beastly game. I think I'll take a turn on the terrace.'

‘Don't, Dad,' said Celia quickly. ‘I've got an idea.' She cast a covert look at Duggleby and swallowed. ‘I wondered about table-turning.'

Mary Hawker looked up alertly. ‘Table-turning, Celia? Are you serious, dear?'

‘Table turning?' repeated Frank Leigh blankly. ‘What, you mean all holding hands and asking “Is anybody there?” Lot of damn nonsense. There's other ways of passing the time.'

Jack caught Isabelle's eye and had to look away quickly. It was a way of passing the time that involved Celia sitting in the dark and holding hands with Leonard Duggleby, something that Isabelle had obviously figured out right away.

Celia glanced at Leonard Duggleby and flushed. ‘It isn't nonsense, Dad,' she protested, turning to Mary Hawker for support. ‘You don't think it's nonsense, do you?'

‘Certainly not, Celia, but it mustn't be approached in a frivolous manner.'

‘I'm not being frivolous,' said Celia, clasping her hands together earnestly. ‘We all felt something, a feeling, a presence, call it what you like, in the cave this morning.
Is
there anything there?'

‘Dash it, Celia, of course there isn't,' snorted her father.

‘But if there is – well, shouldn't we find out?' She paused, tracing an arabesque with her finger around the embroidery on her dress, then looked appealingly at Duggleby. ‘You must want to know more about the cave. You said as much earlier on.'

‘Well, I ...' prevaricated Duggleby, then swallowed. ‘Of course I do.'

Celia smiled encouragingly. ‘Come on, everyone. You'll join in, won't you, Aunt Mary? You've been to lots of séances,
I know.'

Frank Leigh stared at her and Mary Hawker coloured. ‘I sometimes have sittings with Deirdre and Lucia Trelawney in the village. You know the Trelawneys, Frank. Very sincere, the pair of them. I've seen some funny things,' she said gruffly. ‘Odd things, I mean, that I can't explain. Everyone must have done table-turning at some time,' she said defensively.

‘Yes, on a winter's afternoon when there's nothing much else to do,' agreed Frank. ‘I usually take myself off with a newspaper and leave the ladies to it. Evie, what about you?'

‘I suppose Evie thinks it's too stupid for words,' broke in Mary Hawker.

Evie's eyes widened. ‘I'd rather you didn't decide my opinions for me, Mary, darling.' She looked at Celia as if she'd just performed some difficult party trick, then gave an unexpected laugh. ‘Why not?' She looked around the room. ‘Mr Wood? Are you a believer in ghosts and spirits and things that go bump in the night?'

‘Me?' said Wood with a smile. ‘Not really. I've done table-turning but I've never seen anything that can't be put down to shoving.'

‘That would be
quite wrong
,' said Celia severely. ‘I hope no one is going to shove. I want to see what we can find out about the cave.' Her eyes sparkled. ‘I feel as if I've been blind. All these years I've taken it for granted and yet here, here on our very doorstep, are wonderful things waiting to be discovered.' She shot Duggleby a succulent look. ‘All I needed was someone to show me the way.'

‘I ... er ... yes,' agreed Duggleby, then added, in a worried way, ‘I must confess I've never actually sat in at a séance before. What do we actually do?'

‘We sit round a table and everyone holds hands. It's got to be in the dark, of course.'

‘That's right,' agreed Mary Hawker. ‘The spirits cannot tolerate the harsh rays of artificial light. Then, when everyone's settled, we invite a spirit guide to join us.' She cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘When I sit with the Trelawneys, my guide is Anatenzel, an Aztec princess. She was betrothed against her will to an Aztec prince but she was cast out by her people when she fell in love with a Spanish Conquistador. He only pretended to love her because he thought she had vast amounts of Aztec treasure. When he found she was penniless, he cast her off and she was murdered by the prince, who was maddened by love for her. Ever since she has tried to help poor souls who might find themselves on the wrong path.'

‘Gosh,' muttered Jack. He looked at Mrs Hawker with new respect. With a lurid imagination like that, she could make a packet writing for the popular magazines. He didn't know if she was a dangerous woman, as Belle had maintained, but he marvelled at the yearning for romance concealed by that gruff exterior.

‘We need a table, dear,' continued Mrs Hawker, looking at Celia. ‘What about the card-table?' she asked, indicating the lightweight green-baize card table.

‘Can't we sit by the window?' asked Duggleby, pointing to the very solid circular oak table positioned by the bay of the window looking out onto the terrace. ‘That'll do, won't it? There's more room.'

‘No one will be able to shove that table around,' muttered Isabelle to Jack. ‘He is new to this, isn't he?

A discussion about the relative merits of the two tables ensued.

Frank Leigh gave the casting vote to the oak table on the grounds that if he was going to engage in complete tomfoolery, he was jolly well going to sit in comfort while he did it.

‘Are you joining in?' Isabelle asked Jack.

Jack clicked his tongue. ‘I'm not sure. As a good Catholic I'm not meant to dabble in Spiritualism.'

Isabelle's eyes sparkled. ‘You don't think there's going to be any, do you?'

‘I can't say I do. What if I take notes? Although that's going to be difficult in the dark.'

Celia was appealed to. Although disappointed Jack wasn't going to join in, she suggested he sat under the small reading lamp the other side of the room from the table, where the light wouldn't disturb them.

With Celia chivvying them on, everyone sat down. Celia, predictably, was next to Duggleby but with her father on the other side, which, thought Jack, might cramp her style. Mary Hawker sat beside Frank Leigh, and Isabelle, Evie Leigh and Aloysius Wood completed the circle.

Jack turned off the lights and groped his way back across the room to where the reading lamp shone over the back of
the armchair.

‘Everyone put their hands on the table,' said Celia. ‘Make sure you're touching the fingertips of the person next to you.' There was a certain amount of giggling. ‘Dad,' complained Celia, ‘you've got to keep holding hands.'

‘If I want to drink my whisky and soda, my girl, that's what I'll do, spirits or no spirits.'

There was a snort of subdued laughter from Wood. ‘At least we're sure of some sort of spirit.'

‘Please, Mr Wood!' chided Celia. ‘Be serious.'

There was silence.

Time crept on. Jack lit a surreptitious cigarette. He sat back in his chair, blew out a mouthful of smoke, then very nearly swore.

From the table came a hollow plop, the sound of dripping water, the same sound he had heard in the cave that afternoon. It was followed by another drip and then another. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

‘Is anyone there?' asked Celia in a wavering voice.

The only sound was the drip of water.

‘Are you a spirit?'

A loud crack sounded. Celia gave a nervous yelp. ‘Will you answer one rap for yes and two for no?'

One rap.

‘Are you Anatenzel?' asked Mary Hawker shakily.

Two raps.

‘Are you –' Celia Leigh broke off and swallowed – ‘are you from the cave?'

One rap.

‘This yes and no business is hopeless,' complained Wood. ‘Can't you go into a trance or something, Mrs Hawker? It could speak through you then.'

‘I can't summon up a trance for the asking,' said Mary Hawker in a worried voice. ‘We could use the alphabet, I suppose. One rap for A, two for B and so on? Major Haldean, you can keep track for us, can't you?'

‘Just as you like,' said Jack, jotting down the alphabet in his notebook and numbering the letters.

‘Thank you, major. Spirit of the cave! Can you speak to us through the alphabet?'

Jack counted as a quick series of raps sounded. Twenty-five, then a pause, five and another pause, then nineteen. That spelt ... ‘Yes.'

It was handy, thought Jack, that the spirit should be so conversant with modern English. Another series of raps sounded.

‘Did you get that, Jack?' asked Celia.

‘“Peace”,' said Jack, reading his notes. ‘“The barrier is broken”.'

It was hard, in the dim light, with the stilled hush of breathing from the group at the table and that inexplicable drip of water, to remember that this was meant to be nothing more than a parlour game.

‘Who are you?' asked Celia.

More raps sounded. ‘“Barita”,' Jack read.

‘That's a girl's name,' said Duggleby. ‘A Romano-British girl's name.'

More raps sounded.

‘“Euthius is trapped”,' read Jack. ‘“Free him”!'

‘How do we free him?' asked Celia. ‘Can I free him?'

‘“No”,' Jack read. ‘“You are not the god's choice”.'

Celia gave a little cry. ‘Who, then?' she demanded.

‘Hold on a minute,' said Isabelle. ‘Do we want Euthius to be free?'

A long series of raps sounded. ‘“Darkness. Trapped”,' said Jack, working out the message. ‘“Release him. Tree. Walking tree”.'

‘What on earth does that mean?' asked Mary Hawker.

‘“The tree must walk to the cave”,' Jack read. ‘I'm not sure which tree,' he added.

‘You'll have to be rather more precise with your instructions,' said Mary Hawker, addressing the spirit of Barita as briskly as if it were on a committee. She was very brisk indeed, with a nervous edge to her voice. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘“Follow the sign”.'

‘What sign? We haven't got a sign.'

They waited for an answer but there was silence, broken only by the dripping of the water. As the silence lengthened, that sound, too, became more and more spaced out, then stopped.

‘I think,' said Evie with a little sigh, ‘the spirit has gone. How extraordinary! Turn the lights on, Frank, darling.'

As the lights came on, she pushed her chair back and, interlinking her fingers, pushed her arms straight, stretching her shoulders, then stopped abruptly, staring at Aloysius Wood's hands.

Beside her, Wood had his hands clasped lightly together on the table. An ominous red stain rimmed his knuckles.

‘What's that on your hands, Wood?' asked Frank.

Wood opened his hands slowly and stared in confusion at his palms. They were stained red.

Celia started to her feet, pushing her chair over with a choking noise. ‘It's blood! Can't you see? It's blood! Oh my God, it's like the cave! First there was the water and now there's blood! The next thing will be a fire!'

‘Calm down, Celia,' said her father. ‘Wood must've cut himself somehow, that's all. Don't get so worked up about nothing.'

‘Have you cut yourself, Wood?' asked Jack, as they all crowded round.

‘No, no I haven't,' he said in a bewildered voice. He looked horribly shaken. ‘I felt something sticky when you – the spirit I mean – was talking about signs, but I don't know how this stuff got on my hands.'