Hiding From the Light (33 page)

Sarah picked up Liza’s old bag and cradled it in her arms, burying her face in the rough weave of the hemp. Inside it, she had found forgotten fragments of dried plants, a small black-handled knife, a piece of red ribbon and several bags of seed. The bag was all she had left of Liza, now that she had been taken away to prison. A tear fell on the rough cord which fastened its neck and angrily she straightened up. Hopkins was not going to kill any more women. Somehow she had to stop him. Somehow she had to make him listen and if he wouldn’t listen to reason then she would have to find some other way of reaching him. And reach him she would. Her eyes blazed suddenly. 

In her sleep, Emma threw out her arms and groaned. Seconds later she was awake, her heart thudding, adrenaline pouring through her body as she sat up and stared round the dark room. Somewhere outside a fox screamed in the night. Minutes later the sound was answered by an owl.

‘You can go in now, Miss Dickson.’ The receptionist beamed at Emma from behind her counter. ‘You haven’t been here before, have you? Doctor’s room is the second on the left. Through there.’

Following her expansively waved directions, Emma found herself shaking hands with a tall red-haired man in his fifties, his infectious smile and warm manner doing nothing to hide the quick acute glance with which he surveyed her as he waved her into a chair.

‘So, Miss Dickson, I’m afraid I don’t have any notes for you yet, so you are an unknown quantity.’ He grinned.

‘I’ve only just moved here, Dr Good.’

‘And you’re suffering from stress, exhaustion, and a strained back?’ He raised an eyebrow humorously.

She laughed. Already she liked this man a lot better than her stressed, abrupt, London physician.

‘I haven’t strained my back yet. But the rest of it is probably right. The trouble is …’ She hesitated. After another night of terrifying dreams and hours of lying in bed with the light on, too scared to close her eyes, Emma had decided to take action and visit Paula’s doctor. She had no intention of telling the doctor what her dreams were about. She didn’t want counselling. What she wanted was sleeping pills.

‘Ah.’ He sat back, his hands flat on the desk after she had made her request. ‘I’m afraid it’s not that easy. I don’t believe in sleeping pills except as a last resort.’

‘This is the last resort.’ She frowned.

‘You can’t sleep, you say. And when you do, you have nightmares. Can you tell me what the nightmares are about?’

Emma shrugged her shoulders. Why not talk about it? Maybe it would help. ‘I don’t know if you know Liza’s? It’s up in Old Mistley.’

He shook his head.

‘I was told after I moved in that it belonged to a witch.’ She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I didn’t think it worried me in any way, if anything it was rather romantic. But I kept dreaming about her. Horrible dreams!’

‘I see.’ He twiddled his pen thoughtfully. ‘You’re living alone up there?’

She nodded.

‘I can see it could be upsetting. A strange place. A frightening story. No one there with you. The dark silence of the country after the noise of London.’

‘It makes me sound pathetic.’ Emma shook her head.

‘Not at all. Perhaps under the circumstances a few pills might allow you to re-establish a peaceful routine.’ He reached for a prescription pad. ‘Take these and see how you get on.’

As she shook his hand and turned to leave the room, Emma found herself desperately wanting to confide further, to tell him the whole story, to stay within the safe, reassuring confines of the man’s personality. But how could she? He had a waiting room full of patients. He was just a nice man doing his job. To her horror she found there were tears in her eyes as she closed the door, and clutching her prescription, she retraced her steps.

She did not have far to go, however, to find a sympathetic ear. Walking past Barker’s shop she glanced in and saw Mark standing talking to the assistant behind the counter. She pushed open the door. ‘Hi! Remember me? How’s the filming?’

He had been on his way to bring in the coffee so she helped him carry the cups and box of cakes upstairs, where Joe and Alice were arranging a network of mikes. ‘Colin is joining us on Friday and we’re going to set up some stuff up here to do some filming over Saturday night.’ Mark tore open an envelope of sugar and tipped it into his mug. With four of them in the room, the atmosphere was fine. Convivial. Emma perched on one of the crates, watching them, feeling suddenly as though she were amongst old friends.

‘I spoke to Mike Sinclair last night,’ Mark explained between sips of scalding coffee. ‘I still can’t persuade him to go on camera but I think he’s weakening.’

‘What does he think about your ghost?’ Emma asked.

‘He thinks prayer will sort it. He told me that he and a colleague are going to hold a service up here. Not before Saturday, though.’ He grinned.

‘So, what is it you’re going to do on Saturday night?’ She was strangely apprehensive at his words.

‘Ah, that’s kind of secret.’ He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Let’s say we need all the ghosts in residence and completely unexorcised. And then, if there is going to be a service later, I want to be there with a camera.’

‘Mike would never let you do that.’

‘No.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘He’ll certainly take some persuading. He’s a nice chap, but he sticks to his principles. I like him. I find I can talk to him. He must be good at his job.’

‘Yes.’ Emma stared round the room. ‘Yes, he’s good. His parishioners seem to adore him.’ She paused. ‘He rescued me the other night, marooned without a car. He very kindly drove me home.’ The car, when she had walked down the hill to look at it yesterday afternoon, had started first go. ‘But, I doubt if he’d let you film him exorcising this place.’ She shivered. ‘It does feel weird, doesn’t it.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Sort of tense. Expectant.’ She recalled Lyndsey’s earlier warning. ‘Perhaps your ghost likes being on TV. Perhaps it likes being talked about.’

Mark laughed uncomfortably. ‘I do hope so.’ Without realising it, she had picked up on the one theme that Mike had kept on hammering home to him.

‘Did you hear we’ve got him on film?’ Alice finished coiling some spare cable and came over, helping herself to a doughnut. ‘It’s really cool. Spooky.’

‘Aren’t you scared?’ Emma was feeling more and more uncomfortable in the room, although the others seemed completely at ease.

‘No.’ Alice was licking jam off her fingers. ‘They can’t hurt you. Unlike cigarettes.’ Her father had lit one up as he perched on the window sill.

‘Helps me keep my hand steady on the mike,’ Joe replied good-naturedly. ‘Right, folks, I don’t know about you but I want to do some work. The light’s about right now, then we’ll go out on location and look for your ducking place, Mark, OK? You don’t have to go, love,’ he added as Emma made a move.

‘Thanks, but I must get home.’ Emma suddenly needed to be outside. She felt stifled. Anxious. Every muscle in her body was tight. ‘I’ll see you around if you’re going to be up here a few days.’

Outside she paused, closed her eyes, and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to steady herself. When she opened them she saw Mike walking towards her down the High Street. He was wearing his dog collar, the first time she had seen him in uniform, she realised.

He smiled when he saw her. ‘Are you OK? Is the car fixed?’

‘We’re both fine, thanks.’ She was slightly taken aback at how pleased she was to see him. ‘Have you come to see Mark and his film crew?’

He glanced up at the window above their heads. ‘The haunted shop.’ He sighed. ‘I thought I’d look in.’

‘Expect a bit of pressurising, then. They really want you to be in the film.’

Mike smiled. ‘Not a chance.’ He hesitated. ‘Emma, I feel maybe I didn’t help you as much as I could have done on Monday night. You were worried about something …’

‘No.’ She spoke too quickly. ‘No, I haven’t been sleeping too well to be honest and it’s making me jumpy. I keep seeing things in the shadows.’ Things like Matthew Hopkins, who looks sometimes out of your eyes? ‘I think it’s the stress of the move and everything. I’ve just got some sleeping pills. That’ll sort me out.’

Mike looked at her steadily and their eyes met. ‘I’ve had trouble sleeping too,’ he said quietly. ‘Perhaps it’s infectious.’

Emma looked away. ‘Dr Good is the man you want, then.’

He laughed. The moment had passed. ‘I’ll bear that in mind. See you soon, Emma.’

She watched him step inside the shop out of sight, and once again she found she was shivering.

Lyndsey had walked over to the Gordon-Smiths’ to collect the children after school. In the new, even more complicated collection timetable Rosalie Gordon-Smith brought the children back from Colchester every Wednesday afternoon. Today she had taken them as well. Alex’s car was being serviced, so he had dropped Paula at the station at seven a. m., then driven home in hers. This evening he would fetch her when she rang.

The children danced round Lyndsey, full of excitement about something that had happened that day. ‘The fire alarm went and we all had to go out into the playground.’

‘And was it a real fire?’ Lyndsey took each child by the hand as they waited to cross the road. They loved coming back to her cottage to wait for Alex or Paula to collect them. It was the highlight of the week.

‘Sort of.’ Sophie looked up at her eagerly. ‘Someone set fire to a wastepaper basket in the staff room. My friend Becky said one of the teachers must have put a cigarette in there.’

‘My goodness.’ Lyndsey led them down the steep road. ‘I should think that teacher will be in big trouble!’ She pushed open the front door.

‘What’s in your shopping bag, Lyn? Is there something to eat?’ James pounced as Lyndsey put the bag down on the sofa.

‘Don’t touch!’ Her shout was too late. The little boy had dived into it, tipping various packets onto the floor.

‘Ow!’ His eyes filled with tears as he held up a bleeding hand. ‘Lyn, there’s a knife in there!’

‘I know, James. That’s why I told you not to touch. Damn, now it’s no use!’ She grabbed the boy’s wrist. ‘Come into the kitchen and I’ll wash it. I wish you kids would mind your own business!’

‘I’m sorry, Lyn,’ James was taken aback. Neither of them had seen her so cross before. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘No.’ She took a deep breath. ‘No, I know you didn’t.’

‘Can I have some of your magic ointment?’

‘Yes, of course you can.’ She cleaned the wound, applied the salve and slapped on a large sticking plaster. ‘There you are. Good as new.’

‘Lyn.’ Sophie had been collecting all the parcels. ‘He didn’t break it.’ She held out the knife which had cut its way through its paper wrapping. ‘Look. It will still work. It’s a very pretty knife.’

Lyndsey took it from her. She had found the small ebony-handled knife in the antique shop in Manningtree that afternoon. It was to replace her athame, her witch’s knife, the one that Mike had taken. ‘Yes, sweetheart, I know it will still work.’ Would it? Even cleansed, the blood energy would still be on it. She put it out of reach on top of the cupboard. ‘OK, kids. There are some teacakes in there somewhere. Shall we toast them on a long fork in front of the fire? Your dad will be here soon, so we’d better get going.’

Alex arrived just before six and found two contented buttery children sitting with Lyndsey by the fire as she read to them from Harry Potter. It always astonished him that they were prepared to stay for a single second in a house without a television, never mind for a couple of hours or so, but without fail Lyndsey seemed to be able to keep them busy. And happy. He did not know, nor did anyone, that the children were allowed upstairs into Lyndsey’s studio. She had knocked the cottage’s two bedrooms into one glorious bright living space where her easel stood by the north-facing window overlooking the estuary; a large table was covered in paints and coloured pastels and the plants she drew; and one whole wall was lined with bookshelves. Her bed was a single divan, in the corner, covered in a bright patchwork quilt. In this room there was no dust; no shadow. This was Lyndsey’s kingdom and her life. And no one but James and Sophie, who each had their own sketchbook and paint box, was allowed there.

Downstairs, James climbed out of the chair and greeted Alex, hand outstretched. ‘Look, Daddy! I cut myself on Lyn’s special knife!’

Alex found himself staring at the large pink sticky-plaster on the palm of his son’s hand. There were several long seconds of silence. He raised his eyes to Lyndsey’s face.

‘It’s all right, Daddy.’ James sensed an uncomfortable atmosphere and was puzzled. ‘Look, this is Lyn’s magic ointment. She put it on and it made it better.’ Running through into the kitchen, he grabbed the small ceramic jar off the draining board. Pulling out the cork, he waved it under his father’s nose. Alex was aware of some bright green greasy substance. It did not smell particularly nice.

‘Lyn …’

‘It’s OK, Alex.’ She anticipated his question. ‘It’s herbal. Marigold. It’ll heal quickly and cleanly.’

‘But how did he get hold of the knife in the first place?’ Alex frowned.

‘It was in Lyn’s bag.’ James, ever helpful interrupted again. ‘It’s OK. Lyn’s put it out of reach so we can’t touch it. But my blood made it dirty.’ He looked extraordinarily sorrowful.

Lyndsey pursed her lips. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. It never occurred to me the little tykes would rifle through my bag.’ She could see Alex frowning. Read his thoughts. Sense his unease. ‘I would never willingly hurt them, Alex. You know that,’ she said softly. ‘I adore Sophie and James. I would do anything to keep them safe.’

‘Daddy?’ Sophie was tired of being side-lined. ‘We’ve saved you a teacake.’ She proffered a jammy, buttery plate. ‘I toasted it myself.’

Alex smiled. ‘As long as you don’t tell Mummy. You know she doesn’t like me eating butter.’

The atmosphere relaxed. The children disappeared to collect their things and put on their coats. Alex looked back towards Lyndsey. ‘I do trust you, Lyn, but you must keep your stuff to yourself, OK? I don’t want the kids involved, even by implication.’

She nodded. ‘I know.’

‘And I don’t want you reading those books to them, either.’ He nodded towards Harry Potter. ‘There’s enough witchcraft around here already and I don’t think Paula would approve. Anyway, they’re too young!’

She shrugged. ‘OK, if you say so.’

‘And, while we are on the subject, I want you to leave Emma out of your witchy activities, please. You’ve upset her quite a lot.’

‘If I’ve upset her, Alex, it’s because I was trying to warn her that she’s in danger, as you know. The kids are nothing to do with it, you don’t have to worry about that. But Emma is different. She’s moved into Liza’s. She is a part of it all, by choice. Her blood, her ancestors, brought her here. Because she doesn’t understand yet, she’s vulnerable. If she doesn’t take care, this will destroy her.’

Alex stared. ‘What will destroy her?’ He was talking very quietly, not wanting the children to hear.

‘Hopkins. His spirit never rested. He pursued his vile cruelty on into the next world, but that did not suit him. It wasn’t enough. So he returned. The people here –’ She waved her arm to encompass the village around them and the town itself. ‘They think about him. They talk about him. Their children learn about him. I saw a school group today with clipboards and notebooks in the town, doing a project on him! They shudder and listen and laugh. Some of them laugh, Alex! And they say how glad they are it was all so long ago, not realising that every time they say his name, he gets stronger.’

Alex’s usually friendly, gentle face had assumed a strange overlay of distaste. ‘Oh, come on Lyn. That’s all in your imagination!’

‘No, it’s not!’ She thumped the table with her fist, an exclamation of irritation bursting from her. ‘Listen to me, Alex. It is real. He is real. Ask that film man at Barker’s shop. Ask Emma. They will tell you. Yes, Emma knows. She doesn’t understand what is happening, but she knows. Make no mistake.’ She sighed. ‘Please, Alex, if you have any influence over her tell her what I’ve said. I shall warn her again but if it comes from you as well maybe she’ll listen. Oh!’ Again the frustration, another thump. ‘Why can’t people see what is in front of their eyes! Why are they so brainwashed by modern stupid science they have lost touch with every scrap of instinct, intuition, common sense! That’s why I gave up at university! There was no acknowledgement that plants, that anything, had a soul; a spirit. They didn’t understand! Emma can feel it. See it. Hear it! I know she can. But still she denies the evidence of her own senses. And that will prove a disaster.’

Alex sighed. Her passion was frightening him. And, he realised grudgingly, she had him half convinced as well.

‘Look, I will talk to Emma, but I don’t want to scare her – ’

‘She is scared, Alex! What she needs are weapons. The tools to fight the bastards!’

Alex glanced up at the cupboard at which James had pointed. ‘Like your special knife?’

‘Yes, like my special knife.’

Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘I will talk to her, Lyn.’

‘Good. Do that.’ She saw two enquiring small faces in the doorway and she turned away, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans. ‘The kids are ready.’

‘So I see.’ Alex held out his arms and they ran to him.

‘Don’t forget, Alex, will you?’

Lyndsey stood on the doorstep and watched as they walked away along the quay.

Her last words were whipped away on the wind.