The Macbeth Prophecy (3 page)

It was appallingly rude, but Eve Braithwaite answered calmly, “I was at the eight o'clock service, Dr Selby.”

Philip's discomfiture at her knowledge of his name made her laugh. “I heard Mrs Earnshaw was expecting you this weekend, though admittedly I didn't know – and I'm willing to bet she didn't either – that you were twins. I'm surprised Anita didn't mention meeting you, though. Perhaps she tried to phone last night when we were out. What did she do that puzzled you so much?”

Briefly we recounted what had happened and she nodded. “Telepathy. She uses it more and more, though she usually manages to be discreet. I imagine she assumed Louis had gone for your order, and knowing what it would be, didn't wait for confirmation but passed it along the line. Then when he actually was going to collect it, the kitchen staff would have told him it was already in hand.” She looked at us steadily. “I'm sure I don't have to tell you anything about telepathy.”

I found myself resenting her matter-of-factness. “We've noticed it between ourselves, but not with other people.”

“Probably only because you haven't tried it more widely.” She pushed herself away from the stone. “Well, I'll leave you to make your obeisance to the twin gods. Church must be out now and Douglas will be wondering where I am.”

With a little nod she left us. We stood side by side watching her diminishing figure as she walked over the grass and gradually dropped below the level of our vision. She didn't turn round.

To break the lengthening silence between us, I said, “Odd, that Mother should have complained only the other evening of our tricking girls by pretending to be each other. These blokes were playing the same game thousands of years ago.”

He didn't answer me directly. “Doesn't it strike you as ominous,” he said musingly, “that we should always have had such a fear of crows?”

Lunchtime came and went without our noticing and we stayed on the hillside till the lengthening shadows warned us that it was late afternoon. We had needed that time alone together, to try to come to terms with something which neither of us had yet formulated.

According to the guide book, the Gemelly Circle was an estimated three to four thousand years old. It was eighty feet in diameter and composed of some forty stones of varying shapes and sizes, and Philip and I moved constantly among them, running our hands over the rough-hewn surfaces, exploring cracks and crevices.

This affinity with standing stones was something we had discovered during research for my paper on ancient circles. Prolonged contact with them always brought a sensation of peace, but never before had I felt such a deeply personal bond as now encompassed Philip and myself. There was something here I didn't understand.

Time and again we returned to the Wedding Group which Eve Braithwaite had pointed out, trying to decide which characters they represented in the legendary marriage service. By half closing my eyes, it was possible to mould the small Bride Stone into the shape of a girl kneeling in her wedding dress, with the Priest in front of her as Eve had said. Poor, petrified little bride. However, there was no groom by her side, just two stones standing confrontationally face to face – doubtless the Bear Twins at each other's throats.

I shuddered involuntarily. It was only a legend, but legends had their roots in race memory and there was often a grain of truth in them.

I started as Philip laid a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Matthew. If we don't make a move we'll turn to stone ourselves! Let's walk over in that direction and see if there's another path leading back to the village.”

I said thoughtfully, “However she might have discovered our surname, Mrs Braithwaite knew you were a doctor.”

“Yes, that hadn't escaped me. Perhaps I smell of disinfectant!”

Over the next rise we could discern the sheep whose bleating had reached us earlier. In the distance lay a small crescent-shaped belt of trees. We made our way towards it but, reaching one end of the windbreak, stopped in some embarrassment. Concealed behind the trees was a small gypsy encampment comprising three shabby caravans and a few lean-to tents. Some scrawny horses cropped at the grass and over a fire a woman, heavily pregnant, balanced a cooking pot. The smell rising from it identified the contents as rabbit stew. Beside her, two olive-skinned, dark-eyed babies played in the dirt.

No-one had noticed us and we were about to withdraw tactfully when a raucous noise shattered the quiet and a large crow – surely the bird which had presaged our arrival – started flapping its great wings without attempting to rise from the shaft of the caravan where it perched. The woman at the fire turned and stared across the intervening space, sullen and resentful of our intrusion, and the children stopped their play to gaze at us open-mouthed.

I said inadequately, “I'm so sorry – we didn't know anyone was here.” But the harsh rasping of the crow's alarm call drowned my words. We turned and made our way hastily back round the screen of trees. I was shaking violently and wondered if I were going to vomit.

“One of the goddess's messengers!” said Philip, with a totally disastrous attempt at lightness. “I told you it had gone to announce our arrival.” He looked at me closely. “Are you going to throw up?”

“Such a medical turn of phrase! I hope not. About crows,” I added carefully, after a moment. “It's never struck me before, but ours is a very selective phobia, isn't it? Plenty of people are terrified of birds in general, but with us it's only crows.”

“No-one understands phobias,” Philip answered, kicking the turf at his feet. “If we cared to be psychoanalyzed there's no doubt a rational explanation.”

“I'd rather not know,” I said.

As we'd supposed, a fairly well-worn track led down from the trees, presumably used by the gypsies. It brought us out on to a stretch of Upper Fell Lane near our lodgings.

“What now? Having missed lunch, I'm beginning to feel hungry and there won't be any food at number twenty-two. Shall we take the car into Barrowick and find somewhere to eat there?”

But a letter awaited us on the hall table which altered our plans. Avoiding Mrs Earnshaw's curious eyes, I waited until we reached the privacy of our room before opening it.

The note began baldly: “My sister and I would be delighted if you'd join us for supper this evening – seven-thirty at the Vicarage.” It was signed “Eve Braithwaite”.

“Well, well,” Philip said softly. “That could be interesting. Can you stand another dose of Celtic lore?”

“You think that will be served with supper?”

“Sure to be. And perhaps Mrs Barlow is looking for another chance to practise her telepathy. Brother, this will be a vicarage party like no other!”

We forebore from asking directions to the vicarage. Mrs Earnshaw's curiosity was patent as we came down the stairs and we had no intention of gratifying it. Once in the streets we could if need be enquire the way to the church; the vicarage was sure to be close by.

We turned left at the gate, along the stretch of Honeypot Lane we had not yet explored. It didn't in fact stretch very far, ending in a T junction on Ash Street, which curved round behind it from further down Fell Lane. And almost opposite the end of the road stood the squat outline of a church.

“That didn't take long!” I commented, but Philip shook his head, indicating the noticeboard by the gate. “Our Lady of the Sorrows,” I read aloud. “You could be right. There's unlikely to be a wife in that setup! Those would be the bells that woke us this morning, though.”

Another winding road led off beside the church and we followed it until we found ourselves at the top of the High Street. “There's Crowthorpe Grange,” I pointed out. “I wonder if the squire and his lady are in residence this evening.”

“Not to mention their twin daughters,” Philip said darkly. “No wonder the locals looked at us askance. They probably feel they have their share of twins already. Matthew, why do you suppose we've been invited to supper? Doesn't it strike you as odd, after so very brief an acquaintance? Especially when there was no mention of husbands being present.”

“You think they have designs on us?” I suggested facetiously.

He was pursuing his own line of thought. “I've a feeling they – expect something of us, and since I should hate to disappoint them, I'm counting on you to back me up, even if you don't see what I'm driving at.”

We had followed the bend in the road and another church was now in sight lower down the hill, with the vicarage just beyond. As we turned into the gateway, Mrs Braithwaite opened the front door.

“I'm so glad you've come. Douglas is preaching in Barrowick this evening and the boys are having tea with friends. It seemed a good opportunity to get to know each other.” She was speaking rather quickly, and the undercurrent Philip had suspected reached me clearly. “Do come through.”

She led us into a pleasant square room at the back of the house. The curtains had not yet been drawn and there was a superb view down the sloping garden and the fields beyond to a stream in the valley, presumably making its way to the lake.

“You've met Anita, of course.”

Mrs Barlow turned from the fireplace and held out her hand. Seen together, there were marginal points of difference between the two women, but these lay more in their manner than any disparity of appearance. I fancied that the vicar's wife had the stronger personality.

Anita said jerkily, “I'm afraid I disconcerted you last night. I'm so sorry.”

“It was most impressive,” Philip assured her. “Do you read the tea leaves too?”

She gave a light, breathless laugh. “No, I leave that to Janetta Lee!”

“Janetta – ?”

“Can I offer you some sherry?” Eve interrupted. “I'm sorry we've nothing stronger.”

“Sherry will be fine. Incidentally, we'd better introduce ourselves properly. I'm Philip and this is Matthew.” He glanced at Eve. “Or did you already know?”

“No, I –”

“You addressed me as ‘doctor' this morning.”

She stood looking at him, the sherry bottle in her hand. “Why did you come to Crowthorpe?”

“We told you – for a holiday.”

“No other reason?”

“Should there be?”

“When twins come to Crowthorpe, they usually stay.”

Feeling it was time I made a contribution, I said lightly, “We were very impressed with your Circle. I suppose it's quite a tourist attraction.”

“In the season, yes.” Eve turned away and at last began to pour the sherry. I saw that her hands were shaking. “There are several round about – Castlerigg, Long Meg.”

I sat down on the sofa next to Anita. “Tell me how you managed to read our minds so accurately last night.”

“I hope you don't think I was prying. It's very difficult when one automatically eavesdrops on people's thoughts. I don't mean to – it's just as if they're speaking too loudly and one can't help overhearing. Sometimes I find myself answering, and as you'll appreciate, that can cause problems.”

Eve handed me a glass of sherry. “I was telling them this morning they could do it themselves if they tried. Think what an asset it would be in their professions! Matthew could see the block which was preventing a child from learning his tables –” She broke off. “You are a schoolmaster, aren't you? And Philip would know how his patients were without having to ask!”

I could feel Philip's excitement flicker across the screen of my own consciousness. “Then by all means let us see what we can do.” Gently he turned Eve to face him. “Concentrate on something, and I'll tell you what it is. Better still, send the message to me and
Matthew
will repeat it!”

I looked up, startled, but Philip's eyes were already boring into Eve's and almost at once I heard myself saying: ‘“Thou dost put into our minds good desires – '”

Eve spun to look down at me. “That's fantastic! It was part of this morning's collect. I knew you could do it!” She paused, her eyes consideringly on my face. “You're not too happy about it though, are you, Matthew? Before, it's always been just between you and Philip; a closed shop. I know how you feel but it has to spread. That's the whole point.”

I took a gulp of sherry, feeling the brief pressure of Philip's hand on my shoulder. My brain seemed to be racing in an entirely new dimension and no longer felt as though it belonged to me. Was this what the two women had been expecting from our visit?
Do you read the tea leaves?
Philip had asked sarcastically. And, “Who's Janetta Lee?” I asked aloud.

“One of the gypsies at the camp on the hill.”

“The pregnant one?”

“No, that's Nell. Poor thing, she has a baby a year when Luke's not in jail. How do you know about her?”

“We came down the hill past the camp. They wouldn't have noticed us if it hadn't been for a crow which set up a tremendous racket.”

The women exchanged glances. “That would be Granny Lee's tame one. She goes round with it on her shoulder. Mind you, I use the word ‘tame' loosely. It's an evil-tempered old thing.”

“How many families are up there?”

“Well, they're all interrelated. There's Luke and Nell Smith and the two babies; he's a blacksmith by trade but seems to spend most of his time in prison for molesting barmaids! Between you and me, though, I think they ask for it. He's a handsome brute – lord knows what he ever saw in Nell. Then there's Buck and Nan. They're distant cousins of the Smiths. You may see their son Benjie wandering round, a boy of about eight. He's slightly retarded, poor lamb.”

Eve paused, glanced across at us and then away. “The story goes that he wandered over to the Circle one night and fell asleep between the stones. When they found him the next morning his – his brain was addled. Of course it probably isn't true, but he was certainly normal enough until he was two or three, so
something
must have happened. Most likely he climbed on one of the stones and fell and cracked his head.”