The Mercer's House (Northern Gothic Book 1) (8 page)

And now I don’t know what to think. He’s only seven—surely far too young to be wishing serious harm upon us? But I saw him push Rowan with my own eyes, and he’s so much bigger than him that he could easily injure him if he really wanted to. I’m a lot taller than Will, of course, so I doubt he could hurt me, but he could get at me through Rowan. But the voice. That’s what’s puzzling me. Where did it come from? It didn’t sound anything like the voices from years ago, so it’s certainly not the old thing. And besides, I’m too happy here for it to be that. It only used to come when I was unhappy. Then what is it? I’ve heard of children being possessed before. Could it have something to do with Sarah Humble? But it wasn’t a woman’s voice I heard. Her husband, then?

I’ve just read back what I’ve written, and I have to admit it sounds a bit ridiculous. Still, I’m going to keep an eye on Will, just in case it happens again.

‘Y
OU’RE BACK,’ said Garrett, looking up from the bar menu as Zanna came in. ‘How was the homicidal maniac?’

‘Completely non-homicidal,’ she said. ‘We had some wine and he told me a ghost story, and it was all very nice.’

‘Marvellous. I was just about to order something to eat. What do you recommend? I’m pondering the home-made burger.’

‘It’s all good, I think,’ said Zanna. ‘No, don’t worry, I’ll get another one,’ she said, as he held out his menu. ‘Do you want another drink?’

‘If you’re offering,’ he said, and drained the last of his pint.

Ewan was emptying the dishwasher behind the bar. He straightened up when he saw her.

‘I didn’t know you were an artist,’ he said. ‘Joe says he saw you sketching out on the rocks after lunch. Are you any good?’

‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent long enough practising.’

‘You’ll have to show me your stuff. We could do with some nice artwork for the lounge, for when we get around to doing it up. Do you charge a lot?’

‘Whatever I can get,’ she said. ‘I’m not above haggling.’

‘Game on!’ he said.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said with a laugh, and returned to the table with the drinks. ‘So, then, how was Alnwick?’ she said to Garrett. ‘I can’t believe you spent the whole afternoon talking to the police.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘although I did have to wait for ages, as they were busy. I think an old woman was mugged or something, and they were beside themselves with excitement. There can’t be much for them to do around here.’

‘So what did they tell you? Do they keep records going back that far?’

‘No. If no action was taken they usually get rid of them after five years. I knew they wouldn’t be able to tell me anything if the story was true. I just wanted to make sure it was.’

‘Do you mean you think Alexander was lying?’

‘He might have been,’ said Garrett. ‘I wanted to find out whether they had anything else on him.’

‘Like what?’

‘Domestic violence, you know, that kind of thing. If it turned out he’d been beating her, then her disappearance would look a lot more dodgy, obviously.’

Zanna tried to imagine the mild-mannered Alexander resorting to violence against anybody, and was unconvinced.

‘Yes, it would,’ she replied. ‘But if the police had a record of something like that then surely they’d have been a lot more interested in where she went.’

‘True,’ said Garrett. ‘I just wanted to investigate all avenues.’

‘And did they have anything on him?’

‘Nope,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Not a thing. They’re an entirely respectable family of good standing in the community.’

‘Well, then.’

‘But that makes it all the more suspicious, don’t you think?’

‘In newspaper-land, maybe.’

‘Oh, come on. Nobody’s that perfect. If it was all so idyllic, then why did she take her child and run away?’

‘Who knows? Maybe she got bored with marriage to a man who was more interested in dead people than he was in her. Alexander’s a historian,’ she explained, in reply to his enquiring look.

‘Oh,
that
Alexander Devereux? You mean the one who wrote that book about George the Third that everyone was going on about a few years ago?’

‘That’s the one. He’s already admitted that he wasn’t the most attentive husband. It’s all very pretty around here, but I imagine Helen was dying of boredom after a while. I just wish I had any idea where she went.’

‘Maybe you should ask to see her letter. Perhaps she gave a clue in that.’

‘I’m sure they’d have mentioned it if she had. Alexander did say she was fascinated by Canada and used to talk about going there. But yes, you’re right—it can’t do any harm to look at the letter, if they still have it. I’ll send him a text before I forget.’

She took out her phone and at that moment remembered the email, which had temporarily slipped her mind.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Garrett, as he saw her expression.

‘I’ve just remembered something,’ she said. ‘I got an email from someone calling themselves Helen Chambers.’

‘What?’ he said in surprise. ‘What did it say?’

‘It said, “I am waiting,”’ said Zanna.

‘Is that all? Waiting for what?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Is it someone’s idea of a joke?’ he said.

‘I don’t know. As a matter of fact, I wondered for a second if it was you.’

‘Why would I do something like that?’

‘Well, you do like to play jokes on people.’

‘Funny jokes, yes. Funny being the operative word. This one’s just stupid. Can I see it?’

‘OK,’ said Zanna. She opened her inbox, then frowned. ‘Oh. Where’s it gone? It’s disappeared.’

‘Are you sure? Maybe you deleted it by mistake.’

‘No,’ she said after a few moments. ‘It’s not in deleted items either.’

‘Give that to me,’ said Garrett. ‘You must have filed it somewhere.’

He searched through her emails for several minutes, but without success.

‘But where can it be?’ said Zanna. ‘I’m sure I didn’t delete it. I just opened it and then turned the screen off and put the phone back in my bag. Can emails self-destruct?’

‘Not as far as I know. I think they can be recalled sometimes, but not when they’re stored on a web server, like yours are.’

‘Oh, well,’ she said. ‘So much for that. Anyway, I’ve told you who it was from and what it said. We’ll just have to assume it was a joke.’

‘Pretty bad taste. Do you think it was one of the Devereuxes?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Zanna slowly. She was thinking over the events of the day. Neither Alexander, nor Will, nor Corbin had struck her as the type to play a silly trick like that, which seemed designed specifically to unsettle her. And yet she hadn’t imagined it—or had she? The thought came unbidden into her mind and she tried to push it away, but it kept on intruding. There had been a period last year when her mind
had
played tricks on her. Eventually she had had the sense to mention it to the doctor, who had swapped her antidepressant tablets for different ones, and then things had seemed to settle down. She was coming off the medication slowly now, but she knew there were potential withdrawal symptoms, including hallucinations. But no; this was not a hallucination, she was sure of it. Her mind was clearer than it had been in a long time, and to think otherwise was unhealthy. She looked up and saw Garrett regarding her with a sympathetic smile.

‘I must have deleted it, that’s all,’ she said. ‘I’ve never got on with this phone. So, are you going to come with me tomorrow? I want to speak to a woman about Helen.’

‘Oh, are we still investigating?’ said Garrett. ‘Count me in. Who is she?’

‘Her name’s Alison Maudsley, and she lives in the pink house at the top of the street. She runs an artists’ retreat, and used to know Helen, apparently. Alexander seems to think she knows something about where she went, but won’t say.’

‘Why not?’

‘Who knows? Loyalty, maybe.’

‘Hmm. Why am I thinking domestic violence again?’

‘You think Helen didn’t say where she was going because she was worried that Alexander would come after her and harm her?’ said Zanna. ‘I really can’t see it myself. And if she was so scared for herself and Rowan, then why did she leave Will with a violent father?’

‘Is Will’s mother still around?’ said Garrett. ‘I assume that’s why. You can’t just run off with someone else’s child, can you?’

‘No, I suppose not,’ said Zanna. Still, she was not convinced.

‘Have you looked for Rowan on Facebook yet?’ he said.

‘Not yet. I looked for Helen when I first started, but I didn’t know Rowan existed at the time.’

Garrett took out his own phone and began searching.

‘OK, then, what have we got?’ he said after a minute. ‘Not many Rowan Devereuxes here, and all of them either female or the wrong age.’

‘What about Rowan Chambers?’ said Zanna. ‘He might have kept his birth name when Helen got married.’

‘Good thinking, Batman.’ He was silent for some minutes, frowning as he scrolled through the profiles. ‘There are three or four in Canada. Want me to message them? Or will you do it?’

‘You do it. I wouldn’t know what to say.’

‘“Hi, Rowan, did you and your mother run away from your abusive stepfather in England in 1989? If so, we’d all like to know how you’re doing, and can we have an invite to your house please? Love and snuggles, your long-lost cousin Zanna.”’

‘Don’t you dare!’

He grinned.

‘You spoil all my fun. OK, I’ll just ask them all if they’re any relation to Helen Devereux, née Chambers, of England. That do you?’

‘Better.’

‘Of course, there’s no saying they
did
go to Canada. It’s a pretty tenuous lead. They might have gone anywhere. They might still be living in Britain under assumed names.’

‘They might, yes,’ said Zanna. ‘If they are then there’s not much I can do. I can’t afford a private detective—which reminds me, Alexander was supposed to give me the correspondence from the private investigation agency they used at the time. He must have forgotten.’

‘Well, you still haven’t texted him about the other thing. Helen’s letter. You can add it to the list.’

‘Oh, I haven’t, have I?’ said Zanna. ‘I got distracted by the email that never was.’

She sent the message, then put her phone away. They ordered food and watched as the bar began to fill up. Over in the corner, Ewan was setting up a microphone.

‘Have you got a band on?’ said Zanna to Joe as he came to take their plates.

‘Karaoke night,’ he said gloomily. ‘Not
my
idea,’ he added as they laughed at his woebegone face, ‘but as you can see it’s popular, for some strange reason.’

He went off to stand behind the bar like a grim sentinel.

‘You. Me. Sonny and Cher,’ said Garrett, pointing at Zanna and then himself.

‘Over my dead body,’ said Zanna. She had just seen Will Devereux come in. He glanced at her and then with curiosity at Garrett, then went to the bar and began talking to Joe.

‘You know you want to,’ said Garrett. ‘And even if you don’t, have another couple of drinks and soon it will seem like a perfectly sensible thing to do.’

The bar was quite full now. Ewan, for whose benefit the karaoke had clearly been put on, stood up and did a passable impersonation of Frank Sinatra, to great applause. That broke the ice, and one after another people began to get up and sing. The rest of the evening was something of a blur. The bar was crowded and Zanna had more to drink than she had intended. She was vaguely aware of sitting among a crowd of people, and was fairly sure that at some point Will came to join them, and that she introduced him to Garrett, but she had no memory of what had been said, if anything—the noise was too loud for much conversation anyway. At last the final song was sung and the last stragglers ejected, and Zanna and Garrett staggered upstairs, giggling. Garrett showed signs of wanting to come into her room, but she shook her head and wagged her finger.

‘No. No. No. That one’s yours,’ she said, pointing down the corridor.

‘But I was going to give you a fireman’s lift across the threshold,’ he said.

‘Not in your state,’ she said. ‘You’ll drop me on my head.’

He stuck out his chin petulantly, then blew her a kiss and went off unsteadily to his own room. Zanna went inside and began undressing with difficulty, then had a sudden worry that she had left her purse downstairs, so went to fish in her bag. The purse was there, but she saw that her phone was flashing with a missed call. She dialled the voicemail number and listened. For a moment she thought someone must have called her by mistake, as all she could hear was the sound of the sea and the murmur of voices in the background. Then a voice spoke, and the sound of it sobered her up almost immediately. It was a woman’s voice.

‘Helen . . . it’s Helen . . . it’s Helen,’ it said. Then there was a beep and the message ended.