Blue Moon (Book One in The Blue Crystal Trilogy) (7 page)

‘
Ah, what a
trifle is a heart,

If once into loves hands it
come!’

I devoured the poem, relishing
its intensity, understanding for the first time in my life the
poet’s emotion. This man had truly loved and lost because he
understood only too well what I was going through:

‘
My ragges of
heart can like, wish, and adore,

But after one such love, can
love no more.’

I couldn’t deny it. Although
I’d met Theo only twice, there had been a deep connection between
us, and I’d fallen for him completely and totally. But no matter
how much I was in love with him, the situation was hopeless. He
didn’t want to know. Despite the fact I’d obviously had a big
effect on him, something was preventing him taking things further,
and I felt frustrated, angry and confused. None of it made any
sense. Unless he had a girlfriend already, of course. I simply
hadn’t thought of that. Maybe he was seeing someone else and that’s
why he couldn’t see me. Now I added jealousy to my list and felt
even more depressed. I sat in my bedroom, playing The Lumineers’
‘Stubborn Love’, feeling bereft and alone, the words having fresh
meaning every time I heard them.

Tash phoned and texted me a
couple of times, suggesting we meet up, but I was unenthusiastic.
There was an unspoken barrier between us, and things just weren’t
the same. I longed to tell her about Theo, but what was there to
say? That I’d met Violet’s brother, that he’d given me some kind of
static shock when I shook his hand and I fancied him like mad, but
he wasn’t interested? It all looked pretty pathetic when you
considered the facts. And apart from that, Tash clearly disliked
Violet, and had even warned me away from her. So, I kept my
distance, not wanting to share my thoughts with her, and pleading
illness in my defence. In truth, I still felt depleted and tired,
and my low spirits were doing nothing to help my energy levels. I
had no appetite and my clothes had started to hang on me. My hair
was lank, my skin looked sallow and I even thought about using
Tash’s beer facial, but couldn't be bothered.

All through the Easter
holidays, I moped and fretted, until even my good-natured Granddad
started to get fed up with me.

“Why don’t you go out?” he
suggested, seeing me sitting forlornly at the breakfast table. “Get
some fresh air. You’re just moping around and that’s not good for
anyone. Why don’t you go shopping with Tash? Or see a film?”

“I’ll go out for a walk,” I
said. “ I think Tash is busy today.”

I set off up the hill and found
myself propelled towards Hartswell Hall. Once there, I paused,
peering up the long driveway, trying to see the house and wondering
if I dared go up and have a look. Just being here made me feel
closer to Theo, although I don’t know what I would have done if
he’d suddenly appeared. That would have been most embarrassing.
Without thinking, I allowed myself to walk a few steps up the
driveway, then a few more, admiring the topiary designs that had
been created in the privet hedges along the way. Someone had been
at work, I noted, but there was still a long way to go, and beyond
the topiary it was wild and overgrown.

As I rounded the next corner,
Hartswell Hall was there before me, majestic and mysterious,
looking now almost completely renovated and restored. I was amazed.
How had they managed to achieve so much in such a short space of
time? And where were the workmen and the scaffolding? Surely it
should have taken months to get to this state of repair, yet Violet
said her family was in the process of moving in.

I stood open mouthed, taking in
the detail. The stonework had been thoroughly cleaned, uncovering
the original Cotswold honey colour lost beneath years of grime, and
the bas-relief ornamentation had been meticulously restored,
revealing leaves, fruit, stags and open-mouthed gargoyles. New
wooden window panes were freshly painted in cream, highlighting the
small leaded panes of glass that twinkled in the sunshine, and the
huge oak front door had been sanded down to reveal the natural wood
in all its splendour, providing an impressive entrance.

My feet crunched on the freshly
laid gravel approach and I stopped, aware that I had come too far
and could be seen from any of the windows on this side of the
house. Too late, I turned to leave and found my way blocked by a
ferocious looking man, with a large hooked nose, glaring black eyes
and wild dark hair. I simply hadn’t heard him walk up behind
me.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a
low, guttural East European accent.

“Er, no,” I stuttered. “I was,
er, just having a look. Sorry, I’ll, er…”

“Get away from here. Hartswell
Hall’s not open yet.” He towered over me menacingly and I took a
step backwards. “Strangers are not welcome.”

I looked up at his face,
momentarily transfixed by his black flashing eyes and his sheer
presence.

“Aquila, the car, please!” A
woman’s voice called out commandingly, from the front courtyard,
and I turned to see a beautiful blond woman, standing by a long,
sleek, black car.

I stared open mouthed. She
hadn’t been there last time I looked. How did she get from the
house to the car without me hearing her? I didn’t think the car had
been there, either. But there again, maybe I hadn’t noticed it.

“Yes, madam,” said the tall,
dark man, slowly and almost sarcastically. Reluctantly he walked
towards the car, but before he reached it, he turned and glared at
me once again with slitted, glittering eyes. The next second, he
was at the car and opening the rear passenger door for the blond
woman. She was about to get in, when she obviously thought better
of it and turned towards me, addressing me, in a softly spoken,
cultured voice.

“Hello, you must be Emily.”

I was totally taken aback.

“Er, yes,” I stuttered, ‘How
did you…?”

“Violet and Theo have told me
all about you,” she said, with a smile. “It was only a matter of
time before you showed up. But I’m forgetting myself. I’m Mrs de
Lucis.” She held out her hand to me and smiled graciously.

I walked towards her, feeling
rather a fool. I really shouldn’t have come. This was totally
embarrassing. It was only as I took her hand that I realised just
how beautiful she was. Tall, slender and small boned, she was
dressed in a 1950s style powder-blue suit, with a tight fitting
pencil skirt and short tailored jacket with three quarter length
sleeves. Her blond hair was swept up and back, revealing perfect
bone structure and the same ivory white skin as Theo and Violet.
Large sunglasses concealed her eyes, which I guessed to be the same
piercing blue, giving prominence to her glossy pink lips and
perfect white teeth. Her hands were long and tapered, with
beautifully manicured nails, and her skin felt cool and smooth to
my touch. She smiled broadly as we shook hands and I felt instantly
relaxed and at ease.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,”
she said. “I’m afraid I’m late for an appointment, and Theo’s not
around at the moment, so if you don’t mind….”

“No, no, of course,” I smiled
back at her, won over by her friendliness and calm manner. “I was
just looking….” I trailed off, unsure why I was there.

“Goodbye,” she said, smiling as
she got into the rear passenger compartment. Her chauffeur closed
the door with a soft, low click and walked round to the driver’s
door. I watched as he got in, started the engine and reversed the
car. The car shot forward suddenly, forcing me to jump to one side,
and I briefly saw the man’s face again as he drove passed me. His
face was contorted with rage and he gave me a look of pure
malevolence, which chilled me to the bone. Then the car was gone,
disappearing down the driveway and out on to the High Street.

I looked back towards the hall,
feeling more confused than ever, and glanced up towards the first
storey windows. They glinted and winked at me, reflecting the
light. And that was when I saw him. I most definitely saw Theo
looking out of the window, watching me. Too late, he drew back, but
I knew he’d seen me looking up at him. I stared up for a few
seconds more, my heart beating wildly, but the window remained
empty. Feeling hot and embarrassed, and wishing more than ever I’d
never walked up the driveway, I turned and ran. I ran as fast as I
could, and didn’t stop until I got back home. Then I closed the
door behind me, breathing heavily, only realising then how much my
hands were shaking.

5.
Mist Shroud

That night, just before
midnight, a thick, swirling mist settled over Hartswell-on-the-
Hill. The temperature dropped suddenly, the air became damp and the
mist crept along, shrouding the village in an oppressive white
mantle that deadened all sound, creating a cold, eerie silence in
which it was impossible to see or hear anything.

A mist in itself was not an
unusual occurrence, as the fields surrounding the village were
often prone to foggy patches, due to their low-lying marshy
terrain. But this particular mist left the fields untouched, their
tufty hillocks and sleeping cottonwool sheep clearly visible in the
bright light of the nearly new moon. Instead, it affected only the
higher ground, and more specifically, the village, where it grew
ever thicker.

Most villagers slumbered in
their beds, oblivious to the snaking, silent fingers of fog that
stretched into every nook and cranny, and only a handful of people
experienced the strange phenomenon.

Burt Bennison, driving back
from a late night Legion meeting, spoke of one minute driving along
a well-lit road with perfect visibility and the next being faced
with a solid bank of fog, as impenetrable as a brick wall, just as
he reached the outer boundaries of the village. Unable to see more
than a few inches, he had no choice but to leave his car by the
gated entrance to a field and walk the last few hundred yards to
his house.

Mrs Beaton, taking her dog,
Benjie, for a late night walk, more to aid her insomnia than for
the dog’s benefit, saw the mist starting to creep in. She hurried
home, anxious to escape the damp and cold before it affected her
bronchitis. Late night revellers, Larry Swanson and Mick Jones,
stepped out of The White Hart after a late night lock-in, barely
able to stand, much the worse for wear after six pints of Black
Sheep. The mist curled around them, sweeping and caressing them, as
they staggered on their way. Somehow it seemed to propel them
homewards, and each arrived home with no sense of having seen
anything out of the ordinary, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep
and waking the next day, with only dim memories of the night
before.

Only Father James, enjoying a
few moments of silent contemplation in the old village church, saw
the mist with any real sense of alarm. Rising to his feet after his
late night prayers, he saw the first tendrils of mist curling
through a small side window that had mistakenly been left open. For
a few seconds he watched, transfixed by the sinewy beauty of the
swirling fronds, dancing through the open space like silent
wraiths. Then coming to his senses, he hurled himself upon the
window, closing it tight in one quick movement. Clutching his
crucifix, he watched the mist grow ever heavier, pressing itself
against the shut window, but unable to enter.

Later, he was to ask himself
why he had been so frightened, after all it was just a heavy mist,
easily explained by atmospheric conditions. But at the time,
instinct took over and all he knew was a deep sense of unease, a
foreboding that all was not well and a feeling that he had to
protect himself and his church from this strange, unnatural,
creeping entity.

* * *

At two o’clock in the morning,
when the mist was at its heaviest, the roads were empty and
everyone in the village was sleeping, things began to happen at
Hartswell Hall. A car, which had been waiting for hours at the
nearby airport for a private plane to come in, collected its
precious cargo and made its way, seemingly unaffected by the dense
mist, up the High Street and towards the hall.

There, a welcoming committee
waited on the front steps. Mrs de Lucis stood alongside a
statuesque black woman, tall and straight-backed, like a Somali
tribeswoman, dressed in a stunning blue gown.

The car crunched on the gravel
and came to a halt, just yards before them. Aquila, the chauffeur,
got out of the car and opened the rear door to reveal a handsome
blond boy of twenty or so, wearing a crumpled brown linen suit,
holding a silver casket engraved with ancient symbols. The boy
carefully handed the casket to Aquila, before getting out of the
car and shutting the door with a soft click. Seeing Mrs de Lucis,
he smiled, then bounded up the steps to embrace her.

“Viyesha,” he murmured, kissing
her on the cheek.

“Joseph,” she said softly.
“Have you brought it?”

“Yes,” he replied, “but it’s
been a dangerous journey and we need to get inside quickly. We
don’t know who is watching.”

“Hopefully the mist has
provided some protection,” said Mrs de Lucis, looking out into the
grounds. Addressing the tall, black woman, she added, “Thank you
Pantera. You’ve done well tonight.”

The black woman inclined her
head slightly in acknowledgement but said nothing.

“Now, the casket, if you
please,” said Mrs de Lucis.

Joseph turned and beckoned to
Aquila, who solemnly walked up the steps and handed him the silver
casket. He took it, then presented it, with some ceremony, to Mrs
de Lucis.

“At last,” she said quietly,
under her breath, more to herself than anyone else. She gripped the
casket fervently with both hands and for a few seconds gazed at it
with a rapt expression on her face. Then, recovering herself, she
spoke quickly and urgently. “Come, everyone, we must go inside. Be
quick.”