Read The Guardian Stones Online
Authors: Eric Reed
The Guardian Stones (24 page)
“We're trying to identify the remains but there's not much left.” Constable Harmon gave a hopeless shrug.
Edwin, seated across from Harmon's desk at the Craven Arms police station, remembered crouching in the old crater with Grace, deafened by thunderous explosions, blinded by a rain of dirt and rocks, while the earth shook as if trying to throw them off into eternity. When the bombs stopped falling and the plane's throbbing faded until it was lost in the sounds of night insects, they climbed to the top of Guardians Hill.
No sign of the stone circle remained, nor any hint of life. The clearing was a cauldron of fire and smoke, ashes and sparks whirling upward in a titanic column. Edwin and Grace might have been looking into a volcano or the gateway to hell.
Harmon stared, grey and tired, at the folder in his hand as if it might suddenly tell him anything new. His manner was no longer as supercilious as during his visit to Noddweir when he'd refused to treat the deaths of Emily Miller and Tom Green as anything out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, although the constable now acknowledged that something terrible had happened, it was plain he wasn't sure exactly what it was or how it related to his law enforcement duties.
“Not only haven't we been able to identify any remains yet,” he said, “we haven't found any bodies elsewhere except for the crucified deserter, Baxter. He would have been better off fighting the Krauts.”
Harmon glanced up and abruptly bit off his words. Turning slightly, Edwin saw Grace in the doorway.
“It's all right.” She crossed to the desk and took a chair beside Edwin. “Father wasn't a good man and it finally caught up to him. They've released the body. I'll arrange to have it sent back to Noddweir for burial.” She took a cigarette out of her purse and lit it. “Reggie's been talking?”
Harmon pushed an ashtray toward her. “Oh, yes. Cunning little bugger. He didn't do anything. Except what the others forced him to do. To hear him tell it, he had to go along. He was no match for them, with that brace on his leg.”
Grace blew out a cloud of smoke. “So he says. He'll be released from hospital soon, won't he?”
“Yes, and in a few years he'll be in prison or an asylum for the criminally insane.”
“Was it Reggie who killed Emily's dog?” Grace asked.
“Yes. Sleeping downstairs as he did it was easy enough for him to sneak out of the house, despite the brace on his leg. He confessed he strangled the dog first because he loved it and didn't want it to suffer.”
“A strange kind of love, but logical in a twisted way,” Edwin observed.
“He set the dog on fire because Isobel promised to cure his leg if he did. He says he was afraid of retribution if he refused,” Harmon continued. “He's still very angry about it. His leg remains the same and he reckons it was because he gave the dog a merciful death compared to what Isobel had in mind. Her magic didn't work.”
“Poor Patch trusted Reggie because the little monster gave him treats,” said Grace. “No wonder he didn't bark when the children broke into Emily's shop.”
“But what about Emily?” Edwin put in.
“The little swine claims she had a heart attack after he and Isobel and the Finch boys reached through the broken window to unlatch the door and get into the shop. Not surprising really, given he says they threatened to set her on fire like her dog.”
“And Special Constable Green was doubtless helped over the cliff.” Grace gave Harmon an accusatory look.
The constable massaged his temple as if he had a terrific headache. “In retrospect, Miss Baxter, I can see how those two deaths fit into the larger pattern, but at the time⦔
“At the time you should have paid more attention to what we were telling you! And what else did Reggie get up to? What about the dead thing and the knives in Susannah's cupboard?”
“It was a frog. The boy dotes on frogsâ¦in his own way. It was planted with the knives to make trouble for Miss Radbone. She had already left Noddweir, which would make it look still worse.”
“And you've found no trace of her?” asked Edwin.
“No. And nothing of Duncan Gowdy either, although considering what happened to the other adults the kids got hold of it's easy enough to guess their fate.”
Edwin wondered whether Grace should be hearing these details so soon after recent events. After all, she would have to return to Noddweir to live by herself. “The children had a remarkably easy time creeping about in secret,” he said. “Breaking into houses, carrying out abductions.”
“Not abductions. They enticed others to join them willingly,” Harmon corrected.
“Neverthelessâ”
“Doesn't surprise me.” Grace flicked ashes into the ashtray. “Issy's lot were mostly hardened city kids. Children in the country aren't quite so tough in the way they are. And Issy knew the forest like the back of her hand, so it was easy to find hiding places.”
Harmon riffled through the papers in his file, scanning them.
“If you can believe him, Reggie gave an explanation for everything,” he said. “It says here they discovered Harry Wainman hoarded petrol. They used it to set fire to Joe Haywood's house after stealing from his stores. They proposed to camp out all winter and we found a cache of tinned food and a couple of tin openers where Reggie told us to look.”
“Utter madness,” Grace declared. “They'd freeze to death.”
Harmon shrugged and continued to turn over pages. “They transferred Haywood's body into the church while the kids' parade was at the far end of the village. Knew the parade was planned, you see, and were ready for it. They constantly observed, listened, watched for people trying to leave the village.”
Edwin shook his head. “So when I felt the back of my neck prickling, I was in fact being watched.”
Grace shivered. “To think they were in my house when they stole Grandma's herbs and such.”
“Yes, there is that aspect,” Harmon said slowly. “Reggie swears they were assisted by supernatural forces associated with that stone circle, forces controlled by Isobel.”
Grace gave a harsh laugh. “Grandma filled that girl's head with nonsense and it got Grandma and a lot of others killed.”
“Martha couldn't have known Isobel was the way she was,” Edwin protested.
“No? You think not? How could she have missed it? The girl was pure evil!”
“I wouldn't blame your grandmother,” Harmon put in hastily. “Isobel Chapman wasn't right in the head, in my opinion. I've gone over everything you told me, Professor Carpenter, as well as Miss Baxter's statement and the vicar's, not to mention everything we've got out of Reggie, and it's pretty clear what happened, if not why.”
He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Correct me if you think I'm wrong. The blood on Isobel's clothing was human. She hadn't been murdered, she was menstruating. She'd got hold of the idea that with that came real power. Does that sound right?”
Grace said nothing. She sat smoking, stony-faced.
Edwin nodded. “It has been claimed, and especially if it was the first.”
“Isobel began recruiting followers,” Harmon continued. “Whether the other children actually believed her tales or merely liked the idea of living in the forest and raising hell is irrelevant. We know what they did, if not the details of how they did it. For example, Violet, the Gowdy's daughter, said she saw a white thing approaching Green's room. Reggie claims Isobel left a note supposedly from you, Miss Baxter, in Green's room to lure him up to the Guardian Stones.”
“Shows what a fool he was,” snapped Grace. “If I wanted to meet him up there I wouldn't have sneaked into the pub to leave a note. I'd have simply asked him. To think he imagined⦔ Her face reddened.
“Yesâ¦well⦔ Harmon muttered. “At any rate, Reggie also says the night Jack Chapman was killed, Isobel left them saying she was going to Noddweir to deal with her father.”
“Didn't he hang himself?” Grace asked.
“We found a wound on the back of his head. Our theory is Isobel found him drunk, knocked him out and hung him. She was strong enough to handle the body.”
“But what was the point of terrorizing the village?” Edwin asked. “Why would they kill people who'd done nothing to them?”
Grace stubbed out her cigarette. “Evil doesn't need a reason.”
***
As Grace waited on the railway platform to see Edwin safely away, she lit another cigarette.
Edwin frowned. “I didn't know you smoked.”
“I don't very often. Grandma didn't like me to.” She blew out a particularly large cloud of smoke and looked down the track. “It's really no concern of yours, Edwin.”
“No, I suppose not. Will you be all right now, living by yourself?”
“After all that's happened, you mean? Of course. Is it any worse than what's happening in Europe and elsewhere? One day the war will end and the survivors will simply rebuild and try to get on with their lives.”
“You're a practical young woman, Grace. I don't know I could resume life in the same place after what went on.”
“I plan to leave soon. Maybe I'll go to Birmingham, find work where I can contribute more to the war effort.”
“You won't be the only one to go. By the time the war's over there won't be anyone left in the village.”
“Polly will still be there. She's the wise woman now, for those who believe in things like Grandma's persuasions. As far as they're concerned she possesses the same knowledge that saved Noddweir.”
“She owes her reputation to your grandmother's sacrifice. I notice Polly didn't go up to the stones with Martha.”
“She claims she had an attack of the rheumatics and couldn't climb. Not that she could have helped. What happened wasn't Grandma's doing either. Can you start to believe in God now, Edwin?”
“Why would what happened make me believe in God?”
“Who was it brought the bombs down on those accursed stones?”
“Some young German pilot on his way to Wales getting confused by the bonfire and thinking it was something worth bombing, mistaking it as the result of another plane's bombs.”
“You don't think it might have been the hand of God?”
“Your God? Or Martha's? Or Isobel's? Or the god worshiped by the builders of the circle?”
Grace smiled bleakly. “Oh, Edwin!”
“If anything, what's happened might make me believe there's evil forces at work in the world. Why was Isobel the way she was? Reggie says she told him her father never beat or abused her. He claims the bruises you and others saw were self-inflicted. Was she simply born evil? Was Martha right, did the stone circle exert a malign influence over Noddweir? Was it because Isobel ate blackberries in October and invited the devil's attention? Or was it because she was born under a horned moon? Yes, I might believe in evil forces if I were superstitious, which I'm not.”
“Do professors always engage in intellectual arguments when they are standing on railway platforms saying farewell?”
Edwin felt his face flush. “I apologize. I haven't exactly distinguished myself during my stay here.”
“You saved my life, racing into the forest after me.”
“I remember it was you who knocked Reggie off my back.”
“But if I hadn't turned back to help you I would have reached the top of the hill as the bombs started falling.”
“You might have reached Martha in time.”
“No, I would have been too late. She didn't want to be reached. She wanted to confront Issy. Maybe she did help put an end to the horror.”
Edwin's reply was cut off by the sound of a train whistle.
“I know you intended to stay longer,” Grace said. “You don't need to cut your visit short.”
“There's nothing left for me to study.”
“The barrows are still there. You never got to examine them closely.”
“It's a difficult time for Noddweir. You don't need a foreigner underfoot.”
“What will you do?”
“I don't know.” He was surprised to hear himself admit it. He couldn't recall a time in his life when he did not know exactly what he was going to do next. He felt a sudden rush of panic and elation.
“Don't look behind you, said Death, but we're being followed.” Edwin recalled Emily Miller's words on his first day in Noddweir.
“That's a local expression, Edwin. I've never been certain what it meant.”
“Maybe it means we spend too much time looking over our shoulders for death, while death is always right beside us, a fact of life. We ought to pay more attention to things we could do something about. Then again⦔
The roar of the approaching train drowned him out.
Grace flipped her cigarette toward the tracks, leaned over and kissed Edwin on the cheek, then pivoted and strode quickly away. He averted his gaze from her retreating back and turned to watch the train arrive.
For other books, upcoming author events, or more information please go to:
To receive a free catalog of Poisoned Pen Press titles, please provide your name, address and email address through one of the following ways:
Phone: 1-800-421-3976
Facsimile: 1-480-949-1707
Email:
[email protected]
Website:
www.poisonedpenpress.com
Poisoned Pen Press
6962 E. First Ave. Ste 103
Scottsdale, AZ 85251
