‘I don’t need a talking board to tell me that there’s a presence in this house.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ said Adele.
‘Yes, Edward’ – this was Clare, standing now – ‘what do you mean?’
For a split second Lucy thought that he was going to tell them all about the Night of the Following and her eyes pricked with tears. It was their secret.
But he didn’t. He told them instead the story of the Eldritch Children, the folk tale about the three mysterious children who, according to legend, had long ago appeared in the field by the woods, confusing local farmers with their skin that glowed and their long, gleaming hair.
Lucy could have laughed with relief.
The others listened, spellbound, as Edward brought the tale to life: the village people so eager to blame the strange young outsiders when crops failed and family members sickened. The kind old couple who took the children under their wing, moving them to the safety of a small stone croft within a bend of the river; the angry group that stormed the site one night, their torches lit and their bellies filled with fire. And then, at the last moment, the otherworldly sound of the horn on the wind and the appearance of the luminous Fairy Queen.
‘That’s what I’m painting for the exhibition. The Fairy Queen, protector of the realm, rescuer of the children, at the very point where the doorway between worlds can be opened.’ He smiled at Lily Millington. ‘I’ve wanted to paint her forever, and now that I’ve finally found her, I can.’
There was much enthusiasm from the others, and then Felix said, ‘You’ve just given me the most wonderful idea. It has become abundantly clear over the past fortnight that the day will never come when a breeze does not blow down that river of yours.’ As if to underline the point, a great gust rattled the glass windowpanes in their frames and made the fire hiss in the grate. ‘I am ready to retire the Lady of Shalott for a time. I say instead that we stage a photograph, all of us, just as Edward described – the Fairy Queen and her three children.’
‘But that’s four characters and there are only three models here,’ said Clare. ‘Are you suggesting that Edward should dress in the part of one?’
‘Or Thurston,’ said Adele with a laugh.
‘I mean Lucy, of course.’
‘But Lucy isn’t a model.’
‘She’s even better; she’s a genuine child.’
Lucy felt her cheeks heat at the prospect that she might be asked to serve as a model in one of Felix’s photographs. He had taken images of all of them over the past fortnight, but only for practice and not as proper works of art – not for possible display in Mr Ruskin’s exhibition.
Clare said something, but it was drowned out by a crack of thunder so loud that the house shook. And then: ‘That settles it,’ said Felix, and talk fell to costumes: how garlands might be made, whether gauze could be used to help create the effect that the Eldritch Children were glowing.
Thurston moved closer to Edward. ‘You said that there were ghosts here at Birchwood Manor but then told us a story about a Fairy Queen rescuing her children.’
‘I did not say that there were ghosts; I said there was a presence; and I haven’t reached the end of the story yet.’
‘Go on then.’
‘When the queen arrived to take her children back to fairyland, she was so grateful to the old human couple who had protected them that she cast an enchantment across their home and lands. To this day, it is said that a light can be glimpsed at times in the uppermost window of any house that stands upon this plot of land: the presence of the Eldritch people.’
‘A light in the window.’
‘That’s what they say.’
‘Have you ever seen it?’
Edward did not answer at once and Lucy knew then that he was thinking of the Night of the Following.
Thurston pressed: ‘You wrote to me when you purchased Birchwood Manor and told me that the house had called to you for a long time. I did not know then what you meant, and you said that you would tell me the next time we met. By then, though, you had other things on your mind.’ His glance swept sideways, briefly, to land on Lily Millington, who met it directly and without even the glimmer of a smile.
‘Is it true, Edward?’ said Clare from the other side of the table. ‘Did you see a light in the window?’
Edward did not answer at once and Lucy could have kicked Clare hard in the shins for putting him on the spot like that. She could still remember how frightened he’d been after the Night of the Following, his pale skin and the dark shadows beneath his eyes after standing watch all night in the attic, waiting to see whether whatever had followed him would find him in the house.
She tried to catch his eye, to signal to him that she understood, but he was focused on Lily Millington. He was reading her face, as if they were the only two people in the room. ‘Should I tell them?’ he said.
Lily Millington took his hand. ‘Only if you wish to.’
With a slight nod and a smile that made him look younger, he began to speak. ‘Many years ago, when I was still a boy, I ventured into those woods alone at night and something terrifying—’
Suddenly there came a loud rapping on the front door.
Clare squealed and clutched Adele.
‘It must be Emma,’ said Felix.
‘About time,’ said Thurston.
‘But why would Emma knock?’ asked Lily Millington. ‘She never has before.’
The knock came again, louder this time, and then the hinge-creaking sound of the front door being pushed wide open.
In the flickering glow of the candles, they all glanced at one another, waiting as footsteps sounded down the passage.
As a flash of lightning silvered the outside world, the door flew open and a gust of wind shot through, throwing shadows with teeth along the walls.
There on the threshold, in the green velvet dress that she had worn to have her portrait painted, stood Edward’s fiancée. ‘So sorry I’m late,’ Fanny said as thunder growled past her. ‘I hope I haven’t missed anything important?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Fanny stepped into the room and began to remove her travelling gloves, and with her came an invisible, but potent, change. Lucy wasn’t sure how exactly, but after a stretched moment of suspension, the others all fell at once to action, as if their movements had been choreographed beforehand. Clare and Adele became emphatically involved in a close conversation on the sofa (each keeping one ear carefully tuned to happenings beyond their coterie), Felix returned his attention to the downpipe outside the window, Thurston spoke loudly and generally to the room about his hunger and the difficulty in finding good help these days, and Lily Millington excused herself, muttering something about cheese and bread for supper as she left the room. Edward, meanwhile, went to Fanny and began to help her with her dripping coat.
But Lucy had not received the cue. Instead, she sat lumpen on the armchair, looking left and right for someone to whom she could attach herself. Finding no relief, she stood awkwardly and made a slow blinkered walk towards the door, easing past Fanny, who was saying, ‘A glass of wine, Edward. Red wine. The journey from London was excruciating.’
Lucy found herself heading towards the kitchen. Lily Millington was at Emma’s large wooden table cutting slices from a wheel of Cheddar. She looked up as Lucy appeared at the doorway.
‘Hungry?’
Lucy realised that she was hungry. With all of the excitement of the day – the finding of the floor plans, the hunt for Edward, the discovery of the priest holes – she had forgotten all about tea. Now, she took up the serrated bread knife and started slicing thick slabs from the loaf.