Witch Hunt

Chapter Forty-Four




Bob was in the small bar pulling back the heavy velvet curtains. The grey morning sky did little to perk up the gloom of the empty pub mid-morning. He nipped behind the counter and unpacked a dishwasher of last night’s pint pots, clocking my pale face and the rings under my eyes as I came through the door. ‘Good night was it, eh?’

I felt like I’d not slept a wink.

After staggering from the pond, when I finally reached the safety of the pub I locked myself in my room and put the chair against the door.

I was physically shaking from head to toe, with the cold and with fear. But when you are in such a desperate situation it’s almost like a greater self takes over. I could have sat there and shivered all night but I knew I had to take control.

I ran a bath and got out of my clothes. Once the water roused me and returned my body temperature back to something approaching normal I made a sugary tea. Then I wrapped myself up in the duvet and lay on the bed. Of course, it could have been a drunk teenager or local lout who had pushed me into the pond as a prank – but it could also have been someone connected to Cutt. And who was it who had held on to my leg?

Thank God for Rebecca, I thought. ‘If she hadn’t come then …’ I didn’t complete the thought. Instead I was caught up in hysterical laughter. Was I thanking the lord above for the intervention of a ghost? Was I really that far gone?

‘Oh dear, Ms Asquith,’ I whispered to myself. ‘What are you doing?’

Finding no answer to my question, and in the absence of anyone else, I hugged myself.

Never before had I so desperately yearned for my mother’s embrace.

When I came round in the morning I was foggy. I ordered breakfast in bed and despite lack of appetite, made sure I ate everything. I had to be strong, to have my wits about me. The revelations of last night and the consequent dunking had left me in a state of intense alarm, but, at the same time, I found my resolve had hardened. If I was going to stick my beak into people’s business I had to be careful. There were some out there prepared to go to extreme lengths to keep their secrets safe. That was now as clear as day.

‘How much do I owe you?’

Bob wrote out a docket and passed it over. I handed over the money, thanked him and told him I’d be off.

‘Hope you weren’t woken up by all the commotion this morning?’ he asked, fiddling with the cash drawer.

‘What was that?’ I rotated my body round to the till. Bob wore an amused grin.

‘Had a prowler in the backyard near the guest rooms. Early. About sixish. The wife heard it. Reckons something fell over by the back door. So she goes to the window and sees a man there. Scarpers as soon as the light comes on.’

‘Did you catch him?’

‘No. Glenys called the police. They weren’t too fussed. Said to call if it happened again.’

‘Oh dear,’ I said earnestly and turned back to the room.

‘Not a boyfriend of yours?’ Bob called after me.

‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ I called back, heart thumping as I scurried down the hallway. They were ramping it up. What was I meant to do?

The only way I could see to protect myself was to write this down and get Maggie to publish as soon as possible. Maybe she could go to print early? There was always the Mercurial website too.

In the room, I sat on the bed, plugged in my mobile and charged it up. Three text messages and two missed calls. I had no time to listen to them now though. There were more pressing things – the prowler. It was such an old-fashioned word, laced with misplaced sexual undertone, but I doubted very much that last night’s mysterious intruder was after knickers on the washing line. It was obvious now that one of Cutt’s people was onto me. Not only that, but inadvertently I may have led them straight back to the Phelps.

If they were reckless enough to start fires, break into my flat, or even attempt to drown me (if last night’s bath in the duck pond was their handiwork), who knew what they’d do to the Phelps?

I had to warn Harry and Anne. I started dialling their number, then stopped and threw the phone on the bed. Was I being paranoid or could they have a trace on my phone?

Was that ridiculous?

I stared at the mobile for a moment, then decided

whatever was happening, I should err on the side of caution.

Within seconds I was back in the bar, asking Bob if I could use the pub landline. He pointed me in the direction of a call box by the door.

It was Harry who picked up.

‘Hi,’ I said breathily. ‘It’s me, Sadie. I think Cutt’s people may have been here last night.’ I avoided telling them about the incident at the pond. ‘They may even be watching your place now. Is there any way you could get up to London today and sort that thing out?’

He didn’t seem to process the urgency in my voice. ‘We’ve had a look at the journal after you went. Couldn’t resist it. Terrific.’

‘Harry, listen, I think you should get out of the house now. Do you think that’s possible?’

‘Let me talk to Anne.’ The phone clanked and I heard the heavy breathing of one of the hounds sniffing the speaker. A minute later he came back on. ‘We’ll leave within the hour.’

‘Great,’ I said, feeling more relieved than I expected. I thanked him and asked him to text me when he’d sorted it. Then I hung up and returned to my room.

When I got through the door my mobile was ringing.

‘Hello, there. How’s our newest author?’ It was Felix.

Where did he fit into all of this? I couldn’t believe that he knew anything about it. He was, after all, just an editor. Pretty low down in the pecking order. If Cutt told him what was going on, then Felix would become another potential leak which would have to be monitored. It was doubtful that Felix had a clue; though it wouldn’t look awry for Cutt to ask about the book. I remembered Delphine’s words, ‘Robert likes to keep an eye on things.’ I needed to keep my cards close to my chest. Breeze it out. Act like nothing unusual had happened.

‘Great,’ I told him.

‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you since yesterday,’ he said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

I apologised. ‘Sorry, I haven’t had a signal.’

‘You not at home?’

‘Following up a lead for an article I’m writing about, er, pub closures.’ Did that sound feasible?

Must have. Felix didn’t pause.

‘I see. Look, can you make it over to Manningtree this afternoon?’

‘Um. Well I really wanted to get home. Is it important?’

‘Well I don’t want to put you out, but I did mention it last week? That expert I was telling you about. I’ve got you an interview. I think you’ll be rather delighted by this particular person. They have a lot to say about your Witchfinder.’

Not more than me I thought, but I humoured him. ‘Fantastic!’

‘They’re only in the country for one more night,’ he was saying.

Oh crap. I really didn’t want to be driving all the way to North Essex. I wanted to write up this article, expanding on everything I’d learnt, and fleshing out a bestselling book which would undoubtedly not be published by Portillion. Surely with this new information I could get another deal? Though perhaps, Felix’s interviewee might strengthen what I knew? Put like that, I guessed it might be worth a detour.

Plus, I could even stay in Manningtree and start writing up the story straight after the interview. The irony of it came to me, clear as crystal. Somehow it seemed right to expose Hopkins in the very place where he had started his awful crusade. He would be turning in his grave.

Wherever that was.

‘Are you coming too?’ I asked. Felix could act as a protection of sorts.

He paused for a second then lowered his voice. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Okay then,’ I said.

‘That’s great.’ He sounded relieved. ‘I will be at the Thorn Inn from four. I understand the food there is fabulous. I’ll buy dinner.’

‘Four?’ I glanced at my watch. It was gone twelve now. ‘That’s pushing it I’m afraid, Felix.’

‘Five, then,’ he said.

I tried to explain that it would be traffic-dependent, but he’d already hung up. He was obviously on a mission.

I was too.

Though, as it was to pan out, only one of us would succeed.