Second Night (43 page)

‘Hey, you're not too old to party,' he teased her, laughing.

‘But not young either, and not as unbreakable as I thought. Don't forget to lock the door.'

The key was black, iron-cast and appropriately ornamental. Caz resisted the temptation to palm it, slipping it into her apron pocket before he carried her back to the kitchen.

She looked around in despair. ‘Oh dear me! The fire's going out and the supper's not laid. What was I thinking of, taking off downstairs at this end of the day?'

‘You must have thought it was important at the time,' he said, setting her down carefully in the cook's chair.

‘It was and it wasn't, if you know what I mean. I just got it into my head that I should be decanting the mead, you know, for the stirrup cup for you and the Master on Hag Night.'

‘But that's more than two weeks away. You didn't have to be doing it now.'

‘I know, but I was just making sure it was done while I thought about it. I'm always worried I might forget something. You know how it is. You always do the daftest things when you're not thinking straight, or if you're thinking too much for your own good. Your head soon forgets to work with your feet and there you are, tripped up flat on your back before you know it.'

Therein lies wisdom,
he reflected. He smiled again and stroked her hair. ‘Thank you, Daisy.'

She looked puzzled. ‘But what for?'

‘Reminding me.' He stood up. ‘I'm going to call the ambulance and fetch John.'

She shook her head, protesting, ‘I don't need an ambulance. I need you to fetch the comfrey root from the scullery and help me get a poultice on this arm. Then we'll bind it up and John can take me in the van.'

‘No, you're going in the ambulance. I'll get whatever you want from the scullery while we're waiting, and I'll see to the supper when you're gone. You don't have to worry, everything will be done as usual and we'll all be waiting for you when you get back tonight.'

But Daisy did not come home that evening. Much later, John returned alone, looking tired and careworn. He found the emergency meeting just concluding in the library.

‘My poor Mister John!' cried Sir Jonas. ‘You look absolutely exhausted! How is our dear Madame Marguerite?'

‘They say she'll be in there for a week, sir,' he replied, letting Alan take his bag and sit him in the chair by the fire next to Blue. ‘They've got to operate tomorrow morning and stick a couple of pins in her poor old bone to hold it together. She'll be all plastered up by the time she gets back home and it could be six months before she's back to where she was.'

‘Does she have a private suite and the best of attention?'

‘It's all fixed. She's as comfortable as she can be.'

Sir Jonas wrung his hands. ‘But have you examined the security system? Are you satisfied that she will be quite safe? Mister Alan, you must telephone and make sure she is well locked in for the night.'

‘She'll be fine,' said Alan. ‘She's in good hands.'

‘But she's fretting worse than you can ever imagine,' said John, ‘especially with it getting on for Christmas, and there's the party and all to sort out for. She's so afraid of letting you all down.'

‘She won't do that,' said Maddie. ‘We've all got our lists. Sara and I are doing the day duties and alternating with Jem at weekends.'

‘I'm doing both days,' added Jemima, unexpectedly liberated from her gating by extenuating circumstances. Her lip was much less swollen and the scratches were almost completely healed.

‘I'm on evening shift with Al,' said Caz.

Jasper held up an empty glass. ‘And I'm full-time foreman and barman. What'll you have John?'

‘A beer'll be fine by me, boy, thank you kindly.'

Sara patted his hand. ‘So now you can tell Daisy that everything is arranged. By the time she comes home all she will have to do is to give the orders and sit down and rest.'

John looked doubtful. ‘I'll believe it when I see it, young Sara,' he said, shaking his head mournfully. ‘When you've known her as long as I have, you'll agree a more strong-minded woman there's yet to meet. But we can always hope, we can always hope.'

CHAPTER 73

News travelled fast in the village, especially when Genista Peacock was behind the bar in the pub. When Bryony realised that Daisy Flint's old stone face wasn't going to be the first thing that greeted her when she knocked at the manor house door to deliver the parish magazine, she waited until Percy was safely out of the way and got out her bicycle. He had finally agreed to let Genista drive him to the hospital in the ‘hearse' and Ivy had gone with them as moral support.

The story of the fight with Jemima was all around the school. Bryony had been interviewed that morning and the headmistress appeared to accept her tears and her denials. But not everyone was prepared to believe her and there were no friends waiting to comfort her when she came out of the office.

Mirror Girl believed her. She knew she was innocent. She was the only friend Bryony had left in the world.

‘All your wishes will come true,' she reminded her, ‘and all your prayers will be answered.'

Bryony couldn't remember when she had last ridden a bicycle. At first it wasn't anything like as hard as she thought it was going to be, but there was a bitter chill in the air and the road to the manor was much longer than it seemed to be when Percy took her in the Jeep. She passed the last house out of the village and began pedalling the steady pull uphill until she reached the path through the river meadow. Someone had put up a
FOR SALE
sign in front of the old thatched barn on the opposite side of the road.

Who would want to buy that spooky old place?
she wondered, shuddering.

The river had recently flooded. The path had been cleared as far as the bridge but the rest of it was still buried under a mess of mud and debris. She had no choice but to go back to the road. A gaping, black hole under the battered eaves of the old barn stared down at her as she struggled with the bike – a dark eye that watched her until the road wound around a long bend to the turning next to the old post box on the manor wall.

The afternoon was dull and horribly quiet. She rode along, looking anxiously from side to side and sometimes up at the trees looming over the length of the uninviting wall. The occasional car sped past and once a lorry, followed by a van. The lorry drove on but the van pulled up beside her and she recognised one of the drivers from Carl's garage.

‘Need a lift, love?' he asked. ‘There's plenty of room in the back.'

‘No, thanks, I'm okay, ' she replied crossly.

‘I'd keep my lights on then, if I was you. We don't want you getting squashed, do we?'

He waited while she fumbled with the switch before he drove – much too slowly – away. She knew he was watching her in the side mirror in case she changed her mind.

If Carl tells Granddad, I'll never go out with him again,
she thought furiously.
It doesn't matter how many diamonds he gives me!

She ducked into the lay-by in front of the barred gates to the wood yard, waiting until the van disappeared. Her knees were aching and her legs felt like jelly, but she was glad to be out of the gloom under the trees. There were lights on in some of the sheds. Smoke drifted up out of the chimney above the forge and she thought she heard a radio playing.

It seemed safe and comfortable, until her eyes strayed upwards and she saw the dark line of the hills cut out against the lead-grey sky, with the scowling mass of the outer reaches of the forest at their feet. She shivered and pushed the bike back out into the road, forcing herself to go on.

At the last steep incline before the gates she thought she heard a car coming from the direction of the village. There was a brief flash of light and then everything went dark. She glanced over her shoulder. A growling, black mass filled the space directly at her back, driving slowly and purposefully behind sinister, tinted windows.

She pulled over to let the car pass, but it stayed where it was, tracking her every move. She began to panic. There was no one to hear her if she screamed. There was nowhere to go except onwards. She tried to pedal faster but the car followed. She lost control of the bike. It wobbled over the centre line and she fell off in the middle of the road.

The car loomed over her. The faceless driver revved the engine. Clouds of exhaust choked her. Just when she thought she was finished forever, the headlights flashed, the car swung past and roared up the road and vanished.

Shaking all over, she picked herself up and dragged the bike under the shelter of the wall. She put her hand in her pocket for her phone but it wasn't there. She tipped the magazines out of the briefcase and felt around the pockets in the sides. There was no phone, no mirror and no makeup. She had forgotten to pick them up when she had switched bags. The manor was the only place left to get help.

‘They've got to let me in now,' she wept. ‘They can't leave me out here with a pervert. Caz has got to help me! He's got to save me!'

She pushed the bike up the hill as fast as she could run. Then she heard it again – unmistakably, the sound of a powerful engine. The car was creeping down the road towards her. The pervert had turned off the lights and he was coming back. She ran faster, gasping in terror, desperate to get to the gates before he grabbed her. Out of the dark, a hollow, disembodied voice, low and diabolical, gloated, ‘Heh, heh, heh.'

Headlights flashed and a banshee wailing filled the air. Terrified, she turned the bike and fled, screaming soundlessly all the way back to the village.

The car squealed into reverse and came to a shuddering stop in front of the gates. The passenger operated the remote control. The gates opened and the car pulled forward. The passenger turned off the sound.

‘How long did your bro say we could have the Beast, Tris?' he asked.

‘Until he gets his new foot, Saturday.'

‘How about we keep it for an extra day for the parade?'

‘I dunno.'

‘Find out. That is a direct order from your leader.'

The Beast growled to a standstill in the lodge driveway. The driver turned off the lights, commenting, ‘I didn't know Bindweed rode a bike.'

‘You do now.'

The diabolical voice gloated. ‘Heh, heh, heh!'

CHAPTER 74

When the telephone in the office started ringing at ten o'clock that evening, Alan left the washing up and trudged down the passage. At that time of night it could only be John or Charles. He picked up the receiver, hoping it was John. Blue sat by the radiator.

‘Good evening, Alan,' said Charles Fordham-Marshall. ‘I was hoping to catch you.'

‘What can I do for you, Charles?'

The voice was strident, eager. ‘Are you overheard?'

‘Not that I know of.'

‘Where's the boy?'

‘He's out in the yard, seeing to the colt. They're coming for him first thing tomorrow morning.'

‘And the Master?'

‘He's in the study, as far as I know.'

Charles came straight to the point. ‘Why wasn't I notified of Jemima's intention to perform a second ritual at Thunderslea?'

‘I thought you'd see it when you checked the footage.'

‘As I have done, a full week after the event took place.' The tone was accusing.

‘There's been a lot going on down here just recently,' Alan reminded him.

‘Did you see the ritual yourself?'

‘No.'

‘Have you studied the footage?'

‘No need. Caz and the Master were there before me.'

‘Well, I have spent most of the day going through it. Alan, she has advanced considerably since her first rather childish attempt in October! She displayed the results of obvious research into her subject. Not only did she ride Freyja, she sealed the ritual with her own blood and she was wearing the Goddess cloak! The one we thought had been buried in the family vault! What an absolutely extraordinary artefact! It appears that the artist failed to do it full justice when Christina sat for the portrait I've got up here. It should be on display in the exhibition room.'

‘Master says she's to keep it as long as Daisy has the care of it.'

‘I tell you, Alan, Jemima must be considered as a future candidate for the oath. In the event that neither the boy nor the Master survive Hag Night, you and she are our best hope.'

Alan was outraged. ‘We're not sending a woman up against a visitation! Don't even think of it, Charles!'

‘I would remind you that the Valkyrs are women and originally not all of immortal stock.'

‘If they exist! There was no sign of them reported last time and that was something Caz did choose to discuss with the Master.'

Charles ignored the implication. ‘That one of our number should be admitted to their illustrious ranks! Think of it! What justification for all the years of hardship and sacrifice! Has Jemima ever indicated any interest in weapon training?'

‘None whatsoever!' said Alan emphatically. 'Leave it alone, Charles. She's still three months shy of her fifteenth birthday and she came a nasty cropper off that mare before she got home. She's not in the reckoning, I tell you.'

‘I entirely disagree. Our mission is to win the Runes of the Deathless and by whatever means available to us. In two years' time, Hag Night and the December new moon are one and the same, traditionally the night when our women candidates are sworn. I want her under the oath by then, if not before. She must be observed.'

‘I won't have it, Charles! I'll see to it personally that you never get the vote on this one and Caz won't stand for it either!'

The voice was silk-smooth and confident. ‘She has sacrificed to the Goddess and has been rewarded. I think you would agree that the matter is already out of our hands.'