House of Shadows (29 page)

The path ended abruptly, the oaks falling back like sentinels. She was on the plateau she had visited with Mark, only now there was no scented garden. Now a house rose, gleaming tall and white in the darkness, a house she had glimpsed several times before. She had to crane her neck to see the top, with its wooden balustrade, its decorative little cupola and the two soaring chimneys that stood out against the sky.

Ashdown Park, the little chalk mansion, as solid and real as she was.

Wild panic gripped Holly’s throat. She put out a hand to steady herself and felt the roughness of the bark against her fingers. The cold was biting into her now. She had come out with only a light jacket on and it was not proof against the chill of late winter, nor the brisk wind that was blowing down from the hills.

Holly started to walk across the smooth expanse of snow that separated her from the house. No footprints marred the pristine whiteness. She felt light-headed now, bemused, part of her mind taking in the sensory experience of the snow crunching beneath her shoes whilst at the same time wondering if she been right all along, it
had
all been a delusion, the result of grief and stress. She had been so deeply engrossed in the memoir before she had come out. It was entirely possible that she had fallen asleep and was dreaming, having walked into her own fantasy.

The house loomed over her now and she reached out and touched the smooth stone of the wall. It was cold against her fingertips and the chalk was slightly rough where age and wear had washed the stone away. It felt very real.

A light shone from behind a window on the ground floor. The doors at the back of the house were flung wide despite the cold, the drapes blowing outward in the wind. Holly felt the bite of snowflakes against her cheek. The moon had gone, lost behind a bank of cloud.

She could hear voices from inside the house; a man’s tones; cold, and hard, and another; lower, indistinguishable. She was gripped by fear now, deep in her gut, a rising tide
that threatened to obliterate everything. She crept closer, straining to hear the words, crossing the pool of lamplight falling from the window above.

‘I found her at the mill, my lord.’

‘Waiting for her lover.’

Evershot.

Holly did not know how she knew it was him, but her skin crawled with revulsion.

‘Well,’ she heard Evershot say, and there was vicious amusement in his voice that made her feel sick, ‘she can go to join him soon, can’t she, down in the pit? Just as soon as I’ve done with her.’

Holly ran up the wide stone steps, through the open doorway and paused on the edge of the room. It was exquisite, a library with bookshelves the whole height of the wall and a plaster ceiling above, decorated with crowns and cupids and laurel leaves around the border. She saw the initials WC and ES entwined in the corners, picked out in gold leaf.

Evershot was standing by a grand marble fireplace, one arm resting casually along the mantel, a man who would have looked cool and handsome in normal circumstances but whose face was livid with fury, so much so that he vibrated with it, the air alive with violence.

Facing him were two people; a man Holly assumed must be the land agent, Gross, mentioned in Lavinia’s diary. Standing quite still and quiescent in his grip was Lavinia Flyte. Lavinia neither moved nor spoke, but she was all ice and fire, her hazel eyes blazing in a face the colour of snow and her red hair falling in a vivid cascade about her shoulders.

Lavinia.

Holly could feel the pounding of her blood, feel Lavinia’s grief and fury and frustration as her own, blinding, all consuming, the loss of love and hope.

Robert Verity was dead. Lavinia had lost everything she cared for. She burned with the emotion of it.

‘You killed Robert for the crystal mirror,’ Lavinia said. She stood a little straighter in the agent’s grip, speaking directly to Evershot, as though they were alone. Her voice rang out clear and true.

‘I did,’ Evershot said. He sounded bored. ‘For that and for having the temerity to bed my whore.’

Lavinia did not even flinch but Holly did. She flattened herself against the doorjamb and watched, her heart thudding.

Evershot’s face was illuminated by the fire, a lurid orange glow, half light, half shade.

‘
I
have the mirror,’ Lavinia said. She raised her chin defiantly. ‘It will never be yours. Neither will the pearl. The Winter Queen’s treasure is not for you. You have no claim to it.’

Evershot made a lunge for her, but Lavinia was too quick for him. The crystal mirror was in her hand now. Holly saw it; saw the reflection of flames in its surface, like a vision of hell.

‘Take it, you fool!’ Evershot shouted as the land agent stood still, gaping, his grip on Lavinia loose with shock. ‘Don’t let her—’

But it was too late. There was a roaring sound as though the wind had plucked off the roof of the house and was
rampaging through. Fire flared outward from the face of the mirror in a curtain of orange and gold, the flames so fierce and sudden, scorching and scouring that Holly leapt back in terror. The room had gone in an instant, obliterated in a blaze so fierce she raised her arm to shield her face from the heat. She heard the land agent shout; heard the house crack and groan like a foundering ship.

Holly stumbled down the steps and out on to the parterre. Snow was falling harder now mingling with the sparks flying from the windows. The fire already had the house well in its grip. She could see flames leaping through the roof. She could feel the sting of cold and heat against her cheek, the cold burn of cinders she remembered from before.

There was a rush of movement and Lavinia was there. The crystal mirror was still in her hand. For a moment they stared at one another and then Lavinia ran down the lime tree avenue and away into the darkness.

Holly stood still, stupefied, then she ran too, plunging into the wood. Behind her the house illuminated the sky like a beacon. The noise of the fire faded away until all she could hear was the thudding of her heart and all she could feel was her breath bursting from her lungs.

She had no idea where she was any more, which time, which place.

The house was burning. Robert Verity was dead. She had seen Lavinia.

The jumbled thoughts raced through her head as she ran. The trees slipped by, rank upon rank of them, thicker than she had ever seen before, a prison, a maze. Then, abruptly,
they opened out and she recognised where she was. It was the clearing in the woods with the fountain. Catching her breath on half a gasp, half a sob, she dropped to her knees, a stitch in her side, unable to go any further.

She lay still, panting, whilst above her the stars shone diamond sharp in the blackness and the light of the moon cut through the trees to dapple the grass and the images continued to flicker through her head like pictures on a dark screen:
The house, Evershot, Lavinia, the fire, the crystal mirror …

She shuddered, sitting up. It had been impossible and yet so real. Was she losing her sanity? She realised suddenly that the air felt warm and that a pattern of leaves danced across the grass and rustled as they moved in the trees overhead. There was no snow beneath her. Wherever it was that she had been, she was back now. She could go home. A path ran directly back to the mill from here, if only she could find the right one. Everything would be all right, and Bonnie would be there …

She took a deep breath and scrambled to her feet. The stars above the wood had almost vanished behind a thin curtain of cloud drifting in from the west. There was rain in the air. She hesitated for a moment then took the second path on the left. She was sure it was the way home.

She was still shaking fifteen minutes later when she saw the moonlight falling on the whitewashed walls of the mill. Then there was a bark and Bonnie came flying out of the darkness towards her.

‘Bonnie!’ Holly’s legs buckled as she grabbed the dog tightly to her, hugging her with all her strength. Bonnie
tolerated this with stoicism for a few minutes before pulling away and sidling down the path, an indication that she wanted Holly to follow her. Turning the corner of the mill, Holly smelled smoke and then she heard the crackle of a radio, voices, the splash of water. She stopped dead.

There was a fire engine on the gravel sweep by the millpond and a whole group of people hanging around outside the picket fence. One of them was Fran, who saw her limping down the track, and with a glad cry ran towards her and drew her into a bear hug.

‘Oh thank God!’ Fran was squeezing her so hard Holly thought she would snap. ‘Where have you been? We thought you were inside! We thought you’d disappeared like Ben—’

‘Bonnie got lost in the woods,’ Holly said. ‘I was looking for her.’ She ran a dazed hand over her face. ‘What on earth is going on?’

‘There was a fire,’ Fran said. ‘In the studio. Mark reported it. He found Bonnie down by the stable yard and brought her back and when he got here he saw the flames and called the fire brigade.’ She pulled Holly towards the mill door. ‘It’s OK, we can go inside. The fire was very localised, apparently. They think it was a lightning strike. It destroyed one of the cupboards in your workshop but that’s all. Everything’s doused in water but your stock should be OK. It’s a miracle, isn’t it? Anyway, we should get you a cup of tea …’ She was chatting, but Holly could not hear the words. Instead of following Fran into the house she broke away and went along the path to the workshop. It was chaos here, with hoses lying across the grass and everything dripping
with water. Mark was standing in the doorway talking to one of the firemen. He broke off when he saw her.

‘Holly,’ he said, and she heard the tension and relief in his voice. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘I got lost,’ Holly said briefly. She walked past him into the workshop, where one of the fire fighters barred her way.

‘Sorry, ma’am, it’s still not safe. We’ll let you know when you can come in and assess the damage.’

Holly said nothing. Over his shoulder she could see the charred pile of ash and wood that had once been a storage cupboard. There was the smell of smoke and water in the air. It caught at her throat.

‘I don’t suppose there’s anything left,’ she said, but then she saw it, the faintest sliver of a reflection in the pile of ashes that had burned hotter than a furnace.

It was the crystal mirror, whole, undamaged.

Turning, she found Mark at her shoulder. He looked at her searchingly. ‘You’re not OK, are you?’ he said.

‘No,’ Holly said wearily. ‘I just want everyone to go away.’

She didn’t know how Mark did it but within ten minutes the fire brigade were packing up, having assured themselves and her that there was no chance of the fire flaring up again, and all the onlookers had been gently encouraged to return to their homes.

‘I expect they are all disappointed that the fire wasn’t as dramatic as the one two hundred years ago,’ Holly said, as she shut the mill door behind them all.

Bonnie curled up on the sofa and yawned widely.

‘I feel like that too, Bon Bon,’ Holly said. Suddenly she felt totally exhausted. Now that she was home, in the light
and the warmth, reaction started to hit her and she began to shiver violently.

‘I can go as well,’ Mark said, ‘if you’d rather be alone.’

‘No,’ Holly said instinctively. Then she blushed. ‘I … It’s just … There’s something I need to tell you.’

Mark took her trembling hands in his. ‘You’re frozen,’ he said. ‘Go and get in the shower before you do anything else. I’ll make you something to drink.’

‘Mark,’ Holly said, catching his sleeve. ‘I saw the house. Ashdown Park. It was on fire. And Lavinia …’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘I saw her too.’ She started to shake. ‘It was all so real,’ she said.

‘Holly. Go and have that shower.’ Mark’s voice was very calm. ‘We’ll talk afterwards.’ He rubbed his chin. He hadn’t shaved and the dark stubble shadowed his jaw. He gave her a gentle push towards the stairs.

The shower was hot. Holly welcomed the way it beat down on her head and her shoulders and yet she still felt cold inside. Evershot had killed Robert Verity and Lavinia had taken her revenge, burning the house to the ground with Evershot still in it. She wondered if the crystal mirror responded to negative emotion; whether it drew on hatred or jealousy and transformed them into energy.

Or perhaps she was just losing her mind, because while she had been watching the mirror destroy Ashdown Park it had been here at the mill, surviving another fire, magically untouched.

Holly turned off the shower and reached for a towel, wrapping it about her head and another around her body. Downstairs in the kitchen she could hear the clink of
crockery and the sound of Mark talking quietly to Bonnie. It sounded reassuringly domestic and yet the darkness still lingered, crowding her mind. She knew what she had seen and it seemed madness but she knew it was not.

Shivering, she went into the bedroom, dropping the towel and reaching for the robe that hung on the peg behind the door. She wrapped it about her, tying the belt, her hands moving automatically.

There was a tap at the bedroom door.

‘I’ve brought hot chocolate,’ Mark said. He put the mug into her hands, wrapping her fingers about it. ‘You’re still freezing!’ He looked at her more closely. ‘You’re also as white as a sheet. Did you hurt yourself?’

‘No,’ Holly said. ‘It’s not that.’ She sat down abruptly on the side of the bed. ‘I’m not mad, you know,’ she said, almost defiantly. ‘I know what I saw.’ Some liquid splashed from the mug as she shivered. Mark took it from her and placed it carefully on the bedside table then took her hands in his again. The mattress gave slightly as he sat down beside her. ‘I don’t think you’re mad,’ he said.

Holly looked up and met his eyes. ‘But it is some sort of delusion, isn’t it? People don’t travel through time; they don’t see visions!’ Her voice was rising. ‘Not unless there’s something wrong with them.’

‘Your coat was covered in ash and chalk dust,’ Mark said. ‘It was no delusion.’

It took Holly a moment to understand and then the relief swamped her. ‘Oh, thank God,’ she said. For some reason she was trembling all the more now. ‘I didn’t imagine it.’