Witch Hunt

Chapter Forty-Five




How I managed not to clock the date is still beyond me. I guess I had been so sucked into my own internal world I hadn’t really noticed the turn of the season around me.

So, as I pulled into Mistley that afternoon, it was quite a shock to see covens of witches and devils running amok through the streets. Halloween, All Hallows’ Eve.

The night the dead come out to play.

Of course it was.

To be honest, I would have picked up on it sooner or later anyhow. There was a crackling electricity in the air; a feeling of anticipation and caged energy. Even the houses in the streets glimmered orange, the colour of the festival, and the cobwebs that hung off the rafters had decorated themselves in shiny diamonds of dew.

As if they knew what was coming.

I parked the car in a side street by the Inn, leaving my case and laptop inside for the time being. I might end up staying here. Or maybe moving on to Colchester if I didn’t have the bottle for another session in the Witchfinder’s den.

The chill of night touched my neck as I got out and locked up. The smell of mouldering leaves, damp grass and bonfires wafted through the narrow street, adding to the undercurrent of sulphur: someone had put on a firework display.

A group of half a dozen children bundled past me, full of giggles and mischief. The eldest, a boy of about twelve, was dressed as a zombie. He waved a chainsaw in my direction.

‘Trick or treat, Mrs,’ he challenged and held out a plastic cauldron. Inside I could see they’d already netted an unhealthy haul of E-numbers posing as sweets.

‘Hang on,’ I told them, pretending to go back to the car. ‘I’ve got some apples in here.’

The collective sigh of disgust that issued from the group was highly amusing. A little witch of about four years old lisped in a rural Essex accent, ‘Can we not have some sweets?’ She was cute, little gold curls tumbling from underneath a cobwebbed witch’s hat. Her parents could obviously not bear to hide away her shiny locks.

An older girl, dressed as a vampire holding on to the witch’s hand, cautioned her young charge. ‘Shelly! It’s rude.’

‘No it’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m not from round here and I forgot what day it was. All I’ve got is some small change. Do you want that?’

The zombie ringleader nodded so I bent over my bag and delved into my purse, cleaning out about three quid in coins. I must have only been ten seconds or so, though when I looked up, the small witch opened her mouth.

‘Not in there,’ she said. ‘Not in there.’ Her voice stumbled clumsily over the meter of the words she spoke. Her eyes fixed upon my face, her lips devoid of the excited pretty smile that had been on them only moments before. Her little voice, with its quaint Essex lilt, had become seriously croaky.

‘Turn around, you must,’ she rasped. Rather bemused, I obeyed her and twisted round to face the zombie. He scratched his chin then looked at me. ‘What? No apples thanks.’

‘I’ve got some change,’ I told him again and held my hand open.

‘Thank you. That’ll do.’

‘Nice performance,’ I told the little witch. ‘Very spooky.’

She didn’t respond, too intent on watching the zombie scrape every last penny from my palm.

‘Make sure you share it,’ I told him.

The zombie told me he would and they crossed the road.

I watched them disappear round the corner.

Above the pub a waning moon hovered. Not far off full, its bright illumination revealed the stark beauty of the river opposite. Ivory satin waves shone in flickers on the incoming tide.

Someone once told me the waning moon was good for banishing and cleansing. Perhaps it was.

Inside the Thorn, Felix was waiting at a table. He stood up when he saw me. Despite a ripple of frown lines breaking out across his forehead he looked good. Dressed all in black – suit and turtleneck jumper – his frame looked leaner than before. He rubbed his right hand on his trouser leg and held it out as he kissed my cheek. The cold sweat of his palm transferred onto mine.

‘You’re late,’ he said, releasing me from a micro-hug, then smiled and the lines on his face deepened. ‘I was worried you had had second thoughts.’

I stepped back. ‘Of course not. Traffic,’ I said, taking a seat beside him. Two half-empty cups were on the table.

He sat down heavily and picked the paper napkin out of the wine glass on the table. ‘Never mind. This is going to blow your mind. I think we’ve time for a coffee if you’re parched?’

‘I’d love one.’

Felix waved the waitress over, booked in another round of cappuccinos and paid for them.

‘You look nice,’ he said when she’d gone.

You’re joking, I thought. ‘You too,’ I said.

He smiled but his messy brown eyebrows drooped a bit and he looked down, hands picking at the napkin, endlessly fraying the edges. I thought back over our meeting last week in Colchester. He’d been funny, rakish. Now, he was fidgety and more than a little unfocused. Perhaps something had happened at work so I asked, in what I imagined was a supportive tone, how he’d been.

He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Oh, you know. Busy. Fine.’

I started to make small talk, but he wasn’t tuning in. Instead he nodded, picked up his mobile and flicked it

open.

‘They’ll ring,’ he said, as if I’d not said anything at all. Then he replaced it on the table and moved his hands back to the napkin. There were circles of moisture on the phone where his fingers had been.

‘Who is this mystery visitor then?’ I asked, trying to lighten up. This is what he wanted to talk about, I could see. ‘Are they here?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘On their way hopefully. I’ll get a call when they’re in the vicinity.’

‘You going to give me a clue to how they fit in?’ I asked.

He tossed his head back and laughed. ‘You’ll find out. It’d be a shame to spoil it for you.’ Then, he tapped the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘Listen, I’ve got something to show you.’

‘I know,’ I said.

‘You know?’ His eyebrows rose right up under his fringe. ‘You can’t.’

‘The interviewee …’

‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Not that. This.’ He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a transparent plastic bag. Something white glimmered inside it. The pipe.

‘That,’ I said and pushed back my chair to get away

from it. The blood drained from my face. ‘Why have you got it?’

Felix gave me a quizzical look. He appeared not to have noticed my pallor. ‘What’s the big deal? I know it’s a little ghoulish, but …’ He opened the plastic bag and brought it out. ‘It’s just an old pipe made of bone. Not unusual apparently for the time.’ He put it on the table.

I stared at it, a rash of goosebumps spreading out across my arms. ‘Which was?’

‘Mid-seventeenth century. Or thereabouts.’

‘Hopkins’ time,’ I said slowly.

‘I know,’ he said, turning it over in his hand. ‘Curious that it all comes back to that.’ He glanced at me.

I was too fixated on the pipe to pick up on that last comment. I shivered and pushed his hand further from me. ‘Put it away. Please Felix. It makes me feel bad. I think Hopkins had a pipe like that. I think he might have used it to …’ I broke off. I couldn’t say it. I didn’t know for sure that it was the same pipe. But it looked just as spiteful.

Felix’s face wrinkled into deep lines as he picked it up. An involuntary shudder went through me.

‘How does it make you feel?’ I asked him.

‘Like I own it,’ he said, replacing it in his breast pocket like a ten-year-old secreting his favoured conker. Then he grinned and his eyes crinkled. For a second it seemed to me that it was the other way round – that the pipe owned Felix and if he wasn’t careful, then something terrible might try to snare him.

Seized by an impossible desire to try and communicate the dread I was feeling, I laid my hand on his arm. ‘Listen, Felix, you have to get rid of this. It’s …’ But I was never to complete the sentence as his mobile went off.

Felix jumped up like a cat and scooped it off the table. Darting a smile at me he flicked it open and walked quickly towards the door. ‘Yes, she’s here with me now,’ I heard him say.

The person on the other end of the phone was talking at length. Felix scowled into the mouthpiece, then rubbed his head and bit his lip. ‘Really?’ He cast a sidelong glance at me.

A couple came through the front door, allowing Felix to duck out past them into the street.

I looked around the place. So I was back here again. At HIS headquarters. Where he had tortured Rebecca and so many more. And what if Felix had brought the pipe back to his master? Jeez. Perhaps after the interview I’d venture so far as to tell him what I thought. Maybe I’d tell him everything that I’d learnt. Over dinner. But not here. Somewhere else. Further away. There was no way I was going to spend the night here. I’d drive into Colchester later and find a hotel. I would be more anonymous in a large town. That would help me get under Cutt’s radar. And, I thought, it was right to tell Felix. After all, forewarned was forearmed, and he’d been pretty good to me.

The fire popped and spluttered in the grate, making me jump. The newcomers were warming their hands against the flickering glow. I took a gulp of coffee and stretched back into my chair and yawned.

God I was tired.

My eyes lingered on the bar top. It was decorated in Halloween paraphernalia; two glowing lanterns, carved out with sharp jagged teeth, interspersed with floral arrangements entwining pinecones, candles and skulls. A cut-out of a black cat arching its back was fastened above the large fireplace. The candles on our table were stripes of orange and black.

For a journalist, I’d been pretty unobservant. But to be fair, I had a lot on my mind: Rebecca, Mum, Cutt, the Witchfinder. It all came back to Hopkins. God, I could blow it all open. It’s what I had to do.

My knee was jiggling up and down in anticipation when Felix returned. As he beckoned me outside, I noticed how he clenched then unclenched his hand.

‘What’s up?’ I asked getting to my feet and going to the door.

‘Change of plan,’ he said. ‘We’re going to meet them up the road. They want a little bit of privacy.’

‘Okay,’ I said, frowning for the first time. ‘Why?’

Felix smiled again. ‘I told you. This is explosive stuff.’

A thought flashed over the front of my brain. Had he got to the document too? Had the mystery guest? No, couldn’t have. Anne and Harry had told the world that it had perished.

Could he have got to them since I’d left Ashbolten?

Not possible. On the way here I’d deleted a text from them stating they’d got an appointment with the Museum the following morning and were already on the train.

Wow, I thought, could this be something else? Another clue, maybe from the other side of the Atlantic? Some hard evidence to link Hopkins to Salem? Even his grave? It had to be big: this interviewee was flying out tonight but diverting this way for me. That was commitment.

‘Come on, love,’ Felix tone was so patronising I stopped halfway out the door.

‘Why won’t you just tell me who it is?’ I said, trying to reassert my professional credentials. ‘I might need some research on hand.’

‘Trust me,’ he said and took my arm. ‘You’ll be fine.’

Felix’s hire car pulled out of Mistley to the east. Despite the fine moon a thin mist was coming up from the fields either side.

Away from the domesticating illumination of the streetlights the landscape became wilder. Bald hilltops girdled by bony pricking trees cast shadows that lay oddly across each other. As we journeyed into their darkening embrace something cold descended over Felix.

We drove in silence, watching the road slink furtively towards the shoreline, then reach away into a cluster of pines.

Felix flicked the headlights onto full beam and slowed his speed.

‘There’s a turning somewhere up here,’ he said quietly to himself, as if forgetting I was in the car too. The man was very distracted.

Scouring the countryside I couldn’t see the twinkle of a house light for miles. Just varying degrees of blackness.

‘You sure it’s up here?’ I asked, for the first time noticing discordance to my voice.

Felix ignored me. ‘Ah, here it is.’ He killed his speed and took a sharp left into an old dirt track. Brambles and bushes scraped the metal of the car as we bounced awkwardly down the lane.

‘I can’t see why we should meet here, rather than at the Thorn,’ I was saying. As we reached the end of the lane Felix stopped the engine. In the shadows of the car I could only make out his mouth with any degree of detail. Dour lines descended about his lips, his jaw set into an expression of grim determination.

‘I told you to trust me.’ His voice lowered.

My stomach responded with a small jump. ‘I’m starting to feel uncomfortable about this.’

He looked out the windscreen and smirked. Had I sounded funny? I didn’t mean to.

I followed his gaze. Without the lights of the car I could just perceive what looked like the ruin of a cottage, with a footpath veering past its front and off to the left.

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s not comfortable. You’re a journalist though. You have to do things that take you out of your comfort zone, right? Come on, Sadie. You’re not some cub reporter who’s still wet behind the ears. You’re seasoned, aren’t you?’ He sounded slightly fraught, anxious for me to get out of the car. It was probably all bluff and nerves brought on by the important mystery visitor.

Anyway the appeal to my ego worked. It always did. ‘Right,’ I said, grabbing my bag off the floor and rummaging inside. ‘Let me just find my Dictaphone. Ah, there it is.’

Without taking his eyes from the windscreen he said, ‘You won’t be needing that,’ and in one arching movement leant over and plucked it out of my hand.

I sat there motionless, then I tutted loudly, rolling my eyes over to him. His pink tongue poked out and moistened his lips.

I was beginning to see he had a rather daft sense of drama – or perhaps he was flirting? Had he taken me up Love Lane? Or was that what he intended to do?

Once upon a time I wouldn’t have minded but things had changed and right now I had no patience whatsoever for his games.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. ‘Don’t you think that that’s my decision to make, Felix? Can I have it back please?’

He sighed deeply, and then tossed it back to me. ‘Leave it in the car.’

My eyes narrowed and I was about to ask, quite sarcastically, why, but he cut in. ‘Come on. Let’s get this over and done with.’

What was he up to? What should I do? To be honest, I didn’t have that many options so I put the Dictaphone on the dashboard.

‘Okay,’ I said. A shrill note had crept into my voice.

Felix fished around on the back seat of the car and pulled something out then he got out of the car and came round to my side. Opening the door, he added, ‘After you, madam.’

For a second I hesitated; wondered briefly how Felix would hold up if we were ambushed or attacked. He had a good build and there was muscle there but I imagined I might have to defend myself. If necessary, I absolutely would, though I was certain it wouldn’t come to that. A sudden image of myself running up the lane flashed across my brain. I looked up the track. Mist had filled the gap between the hedgerows. I really didn’t fancy going up there on my own and, if I bottled out now, I could end up the laughing stock of the publishing world. If this was as explosive as Felix was suggesting, then of course, precautions might be needed. Other publishers would be on the sniff. I just needed to hold my nerve.

‘Please hurry up, Sadie. It’s cold,’ Felix said, a tone of exasperation threading his words now.

I guess it was the ‘please’ that made me move. I opened the door and swung my legs, quickly feeling in my bag for my mobile. Touching the solidity of its mass was reassuring. While Felix marched on ahead I opened the voice recorder app and pressed play, replacing it in my bag. It wouldn’t be great quality, but it would be a record of sorts.

Felix looked to be making for the cottage but took a sharp left and ducked out along the path. I slammed the car door shut and scrambled after him.

The path was narrow, only a couple of feet wide and bordered by prickly blackberry bushes and towering thistles. Further back the wood pitched up masses of tall spiky trees. Their silhouettes crowded over the top of me and for a second I felt like I was in an ancient cave. There was a cryptic quietness in the wood, a feeling of expectation, like the air itself was waiting to see what was going to happen. Something croaked in the thicket about me. I saw instantly that under the darkness the land was seething with life. Shadows were moving amongst the trees.

The temperature dropped quickly. We had only been trudging down the path a matter of minutes but already my body heat was evaporating and my teeth beginning to chatter. A twig snapped in the undergrowth. My eyes darted to the sound. Flimsy shadows danced in the bracken: willowy, brownish human-sized forms. For a moment I thought there were actually people in the trees, but as I watched they dissolved, only to reform a few feet away. Perhaps they were the shadows of the trees themselves – some trick of the light brought on by the change of perspective as I walked past them.

I hurried to catch up with Felix. ‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s not far now,’ he said and marched on. ‘Come on.’

I followed him round a corner. For a moment his form was obscured by the overhanging branch of a sprawling oak. When I pushed it back I saw the track widened and came out into a secluded clearing. Up on a little hillock stood a mist-drenched wooden bench, overlooking the river.

Felix was sitting up there. In the dimness of the hazy moon, I could see the bench was empty. Above us, the stars in Orion’s belt shone sagely.

‘Sit down, Sadie,’ he said.

I followed his order. My eyes, adjusting to night vision, perceived a slight sneer on Felix’s face.

I looked around. ‘They’re not here,’ I said simply.

He sniffed, though it sounded more of a snort. ‘It’s me.’

That totally confused me. What was he talking about? I cocked my head to one side, and put my hands on my hips. ‘What do you mean – it’s you?’

‘I’m the one you’ve come to meet.’ His quartz eyes glittered. Shrouded in night, his features had darkened. True, there was still a raffish beauty about them, but now I could fathom a hardness within that I hadn’t noticed before.

A dozen scenarios skipped across my brain. ‘You mean that they can’t make it?’

He tutted and crossed his legs. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’

‘Haven’t got a clue,’ I said lightly, though another feeling was pushing through the confusion, causing the muscles in my neck to tense.

Felix coughed. ‘There isn’t an interviewee. Not entirely my idea.’ He stroked the front of his sweater. ‘Personally I would have preferred somewhere a little more sheltered.’ It was like he was speaking to himself. ‘Just a ruse. To get you out here.’

A black bolt of adrenalin thrilled through me. Was he flirting? No, the tone wasn’t right. He turned to the west, looking out over the river inlet.

‘You said “It’s me,”’ I repeated unsteadily. ‘You mean, you have something to tell me about Hopkins? Is that what you mean?’

Felix snorted again, keeping his eyes on the distant hills. ‘Oh dear,’ he said at last. The words were dripping with so much undisguised contempt that immediately the idea that he intended to volunteer information fell away.

That could only mean one other thing: that he must know about the Phelps’s documentation.

And he could only know about that if he was indeed working for Cutt.

Bugger.

He knew.

And if he knew then it was obvious what this was about. He must suspect I had the passenger list.

There was no point in maintaining the charade. ‘I know what you’re after,’ I said at last.

He swivelled his head to me, lips pursed. ‘You do?’ One eyebrow arched.

I nodded slowly. ‘It wasn’t destroyed.’

‘It wasn’t,’ he said flatly.

‘No.’

‘I didn’t know there was an attempt to destroy it.’

He wanted me to say more but I kept it minimal. ‘You didn’t?’

‘No.’ He looked away. I got the feeling he didn’t want me to see his expression. This was how he regularly conducted his business, I was sure now: call and response. He called, others scampered up to cater to his every whim. His tone had changed so markedly that I could only conclude that our early meetings with the hint of sexual attraction, the cheery bonhomie, the ‘honest’ enthusiasm – had been an elaborate illusion.

Shit.

‘Do you have it?’ he said, still looking off over the far side of the inlet where the river met the south side of the shore.

‘Of course not. I’m not stupid.’ I was struggling with anger and embarrassment. How had I let myself fall for it? I should have known it was all too good to be true – the book offer, the attention, the flirtation …

‘Quite,’ he said. ‘But we will get it. It’s a matter of time.’ It was a simple statement of fact.

Pompous git. ‘You’ll be lucky.’ It felt good to say that. I was back in control. Why not tell him more? See a bit of emotion on that chameleon face. ‘As we speak, it’s on the way to the British Museum. You will not be able to hush it up any longer.’

‘Museum?’ He jerked his head back in my direction and blinked at me. Twice. Then a haughty guffaw of laughter burst from him. He made a dismissive waving motion, as if fanning away a nasty smell. ‘Oh dear.’

The reaction was not one I’d anticipated. For a second I felt like I’d been totally wrong-footed, and made an effort to regain myself. ‘I don’t know why you’re so bothered. Has he come down hard on you? He’s only your boss for goodness sake. You can release me from my contract and I can take it somewhere else. You’re off the hook.’

‘Doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid. Uncle Robert doesn’t like mess.’

‘Cutt’s your uncle?’ I hadn’t seen that one coming.

He didn’t answer my question, but now I was looking at his profile, remembering the glittering grey eyes, I could see the resemblance.

‘There’s too much invested in his appointment to chance another cock-up,’ he continued. ‘I’m afraid there are lots of interested parties who have got far too much at risk.’

I crossed my legs and stuck my chin out, in a faux show of determination. Internally I was going nuts. ‘Well, that’s not my concern. I know who Jediah Curwen-Dunmow really is. I know about the Hopkins connection. And it’s all coming out now. It needs to …’

Felix clapped his hands together with delight. I felt instantly as if I wanted to punch him in the face. My fists crushed in on themselves instead.

He threw his head back and hooted like an owl. The sound cut through the clearing and echoed out over the tide. ‘You think we care about that? Witches. Witchfinders. We can make it all work for us. Robert’s ancestry can be overcome. We can make him over as a new Christian crusader if we so wish.’

I was gobsmacked. He was here for God’s sake – sitting out with me in the middle of nowhere. Of course he cared about it, otherwise what was going on?

I shook my head. Nothing was making sense any more. ‘Well, what’s this about? What do you want?’ For a second he let his eyes meet mine. His expression didn’t add up. There wasn’t malice or annoyance in there. No, Felix was looking at me with something akin to fascination.

‘Shit,’ he said. It was the first time I’d heard him swear. ‘We thought you knew. You don’t, do you?’ he said. ‘She never told you.’

I was lost now, unable to keep my cool. ‘Who? What are you talking about?’

‘My God. You really don’t know.’ The ice was back in his voice. ‘He thought you did. A surveillance report stated that you’d found it …’

There was no need to ask what – bewilderment was written all over my face.

‘Oh dear,’ Felix said again. ‘You’re Uncle Robert’s daughter. In another life, we’d be cousins.’

At first his words were totally unintelligible. My brain couldn’t process them. Then, as their meaning took hold, I breathed out and felt my body weaken. I steadied myself with a hand to the bench, breathed in a huge gulp of air and suddenly it was like I had entered another world. One where ideas and half-formed notions and different realities converged.

Behind the inert gaze of my eyes synapses were sparking, sending messages from one part of my brain to another, making connections that, I was beginning to realise with a profound sense of unspeakable desperation, I had hitherto overlooked.

In my ears there was a buzzing sound, as if I’d been whacked round the head with a baseball bat.

Cutt’s daughter.

It couldn’t be.

Cutt – the ‘unexpected sperm donor’. Mum had worked in publishing once. She’d been put off by the experience … she’d been … The shock was so much even my internal monologue was faltering.

I was hot and sticky coming back to Felix, trying hard to refocus on his words.

‘And we can’t have that,’ he was saying. ‘Not with the campaign as it stands.’

Now he angled the full length of his body towards me. It was like a solid wall. ‘You’re not something he’s proud of, I can assure you. A little indiscretion at a publishing party, what – thirty-four years ago? Uncle Robert always did have an eye for the ladies. Less so these days, I’m glad to report. Runs in the family.’ He crossed his legs away from me and winked. ‘Of course, your mother protested and cried rape. So many of them do. Always with a mind on any cash that they can get.’ He gave an exasperated huff.

An immobilising numbness was creeping over my frontal lobes and down my face. I managed to open my mouth to speak, but realised that I didn’t know what to say. My jaw slacked pointlessly as he continued.

‘Robert was, is, a very charismatic man. Liked to get his way. Aunt Sylvia turned a blind eye – everyone did – but Ms Walker was fifteen. And whichever way you look at it, that still isn’t legal. Statutory rape I believe they call it. Wouldn’t have been back when great great, however many greats, Granddad Hopkins walked the earth. Funny that. Anyway the parents were bought off, and everybody assumed that was that. A few months afterwards some source fed back that your mother was pregnant. Tried to keep an eye on her but she disappeared. Fell off the face of the world.’

He paused for a moment, looking intently at my face. I had no idea what I looked like. Inside I was like a computer going into overload, flitting about without pattern, trying to assimilate everything that was going on, getting more and more battered by every sentence he spoke.

He cleared his throat and removed an invisible piece of lint from his knee. ‘Of course, we had feelers out for years. But wherever she was, your mother had done a good job of blending in. She’d become virtually invisible. And she hadn’t squealed so we pretty much guessed she wasn’t going to.’

I managed to move my hands and ran my fingers through my hair. I wanted to say something. To protest about the way he talked about Mum. But again, I found I couldn’t make a sound. Although I was stunned to the core, at the same time, part of me was wordlessly assimilating the information.

‘Over the years the threat downgraded and faded to some extent. Didn’t seem too much of a priority, other than the fact that you were a walking DNA sample.

‘Then one of our guys turned up a picture of you in some magazine. I mean, there was a different name on it but Robert could see you were the spit of your mother. You have the Cutt eyes. I saw the resemblance as soon as you walked in the office door.’

Felix tossed his hair up. ‘Unfortunate profession you’re in. Journalism. Couldn’t have picked a worse occupation really. Maybe law.’ He weighed up the two for a moment as lightly as one might consider whether to buy apples or pears. ‘Nah, journalism is what got you going.’ His grey eyes glimmered with malice. ‘We monitored the situation for a good while. When your mother’s health deteriorated and Robert’s public profile was getting knocked about a bit we had to move in. And get that boyfriend of hers sorted too. Wondered if she’d told him something.’

A flash of Dan’s beardy deranged face whizzed onto my mental screen. Was he telling me that he, that Cutt, had been responsible for Dan’s descent into mental illness? I wanted to swear but I was still too traumatised to organise my vocal cords.

‘But,’ Felix shook his head and tutted, ‘your obsession with the witches meant it was only a matter of time before you hit upon Robert. Or that Mummy dear blabbed. We assumed that she hadn’t told you. There had been no paternity suit – and who wants to find out they’re a rape baby? But if Rose Walker was soon to kick the bucket, she might start confessing. And the cat could simply not be let out of the bag. Too close for comfort, you see. Our hand was forced. It’s nothing personal.’

I could hear my breathing coming fast and irregular. My body was shaking as if I was starting to have a fit. I tried to speak again but instead a sob came out. I swallowed loudly then gagged. The action cleared out some of the confusion and I was able to force out a question. ‘But what have you been looking for? My birth certificate?’

Felix pushed my shoulder in a foppish, almost camp, manner. ‘Don’t be silly.’ My back was so stiff it hit the bench and ricocheted off again. The movement galvanised me somewhat and I squeezed backwards along the bench, away from him. For now I was starting to sense danger in the air. A quickening of energy.

‘Everything’s digital now, my dear. We’ve seen your “Father Unknown”. No, it was more an inkling, so to speak. Robert wanted to make sure there was no paper trail. Apparently your mother used to keep a diary as a teenager.’

I sniffed. ‘Never saw her write one.’

‘No. We concluded that she hadn’t kept it or had most likely disposed of it. Took a while but better to be safe than sorry, eh?’

I wasn’t sure if I was crying. My cheeks were wet and my hair had fallen across my face. I wiped it back with the sleeve of my coat. ‘So what do you want?’ The words came out roughly, hurting my throat.

Another big sigh from Felix, this time tinged with irritation. ‘We want you to go away.’

He bent over to grab something dark underneath the bench. It was heavy. He grunted at the exertion and brought the object up onto his lap. It was a briefcase.

‘You’ll find a new identity and papers in here and enough cash to set you up somewhere very far away. I’m sure you’ll find that this is quite enough to compensate you for your, inconvenience. So much more than you could ever hope to earn from a book deal or eight.’ The clasps cracked open and he held up the interior for me to see.

In the light of the moon, I saw a moth flutter up from folds of banknotes, a passport and other documents. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s completely untraceable. You’d have to be FBI to track this.’ He passed his hand over the notes. ‘The passport is convincing enough to get you out of the country and into the unknown. But from there you’re on your own.’

A voice at the forefront of my mind was screaming at me to pick it up and get out of there as quickly as possible. Another wanted answers. ‘Does he know what you’re doing?’

‘Who?’

‘Robert Cutt.’ I managed to say his name.

‘He knows what I’m doing. Doesn’t know how I got the passport or what your new identity is. He doesn’t want to. What you don’t know you can deny in earnest.’

The casualness of it all, the breezy way he was able to talk about the lives of both myself and my mother suddenly hit me and a surge of anger sliced through me. ‘You want to buy me? Shut me up?’

‘Here we go,’ Felix moaned. ‘Yes. I thought you’d say that. I didn’t want to do this but …’

He pushed the lid of the case shut with one hand, revealing in the other, a neat black revolver.

It was pointed at me.

Despite all the commotion in my head, when someone does something like that to you, your survival instinct kicks in. Mine forced me to my feet immediately.

I took a couple of steps across the grass. ‘Jesus Christ, you can’t be serious. You’re joking, right?’ I tried to make my voice sound even.

Felix laughed a long thin mirthless chuckle and rose. He threw the briefcase to the floor and carefully kicked it out of the way.

‘It all works out well enough: Mercedes Asquith, journalist, is slightly mad and paranoid by all reports. Adored your chapter, by the way. Fantastic for us that you wrote about “seeing” things. It reads well. Loved the Hopping Bridge – the sense of danger in the woods, the visions of the witches. A shrink would have no problem testifying to mental illness – delusion, paranoia, and schizophrenia. Poor Ms Asquith, depressed and unhinged by the loss of her mother, immersed in her silly world of witches, casts herself into the River Stour at Manningtree. It has a poignant symmetry to it, don’t you think? And Robert prefers a suicide. It’s cleaner. Doesn’t leave anything behind. No idea why he didn’t suggest that in the first place. Some misplaced or belated paternal impulse, no doubt. Still, he’s back in the game now. But you’re not, dear heart. Don’t worry, you’ll make it to page eight when your body washes up. So you’ll get some acknowledgement of sorts. But, darlin’,’ he mimicked my accent, ‘your book ain’t going nowhere and neither are you.’

My brain was alert now. It had pushed out the other information that had been crowding in and was focused entirely on getting out alive. I threw my hands skywards in a gesture of surrender. ‘You can’t do this. You don’t want to do this. There’s a good person inside you, Felix. I’ve seen it.’

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘You’ve seen what you wanted to. I was surprised how easy it was to reel you in. You were a good-looking woman. You should have had more dignity.’

I noted his use of past tense. ‘Please Felix. Don’t. I can’t believe you could do this.’

‘Deadly serious,’ he said and pulled on the safety catch and waved the gun to the edge of the bank. ‘Over there please. I’d prefer not to use this but I will if I have to. The tide is high now. There are strong currents out there. It’ll be over in minutes. You won’t suffer too much.’

I kept my front to him and backed away two or three more steps in the direction he’d indicated. I could hear the slap of water on the bank. A quick glance either side revealed a six-foot drop to the waves. I stumbled and stopped. ‘I’m not doing it.’

‘As you wish. I didn’t want to shoot you. I’m not cut out for this sort of thing but it can work for us too: you try to blackmail Robert over some ancient document relating to the family. Although I bring the requested money to the appointed place you become greedy and aggressive. There is nothing I can do but shoot in self-defence. Requires a little explanation of the firearm’s presence, but having read your chapter I am already feeling vulnerable.’

I didn’t move.

Felix raised the gun and took a step towards me. A couple of moths zigzagged over his head and up to the moon.

Don’t they say that when you look death in the eye your whole life flashes before you?

Well, that’s not true. No, at that point it wasn’t my life but the lives of others that flitted in a montage across my eyes – fragments of love, seconds of distress, moments of anguish. Elizabeth Clarke pushed up to the noose; Susan Cock, afraid, fainting; Rose Hallybread, Joyce Boones … the old ones … the poor ones … the young … Anne West silently sacrificing herself. Rebecca. Her vision swam before me, then I blinked and I saw him through her eyes. Felix took another step and it was as if some filmy projection had covered him – dressed in his tall hat, his red rheumy eyes on fire. With black, lank hair dripping off his skull, the Witchfinder stared back.

And then the witches were not in my mind’s eye but out there, before me, swirling in the cold autumn night like wreaths of smoke, circling the Witchfinder and me, shooting in between us like ethereal comets, lighting the air with flares of brilliance, sprouting wings like moths, then melting into the atmosphere, reappearing, criss-crossing the space, repeating the pattern again and again. I could feel a churning energy about me. It was coming in through my fingertips, pulsing down my arms, filling me with incredible strength and power. Claiming me.

It had always been there, but latent, until now, on Halloween, it pervaded my entire form, hitting the ground beneath my feet and passing through it into the earth.

Everything that had ever been fell into place.

I was caught in a moment between time and space – a complete and perfect being with no beginning, no end – a single point of conversion. There was no dissonance or fear, only a surge of feeling – a profound sense of strength, justice, duty.

And knowledge.

I gasped out as my conscious mind connected with the feeling and in response the air about me rippled and opened, like a torn veil. Voices came in from different directions. Low at first, like a bubbling stream. Women, old, young, poor, and men, too, pleading, demanding, their words stabbing the air like needles. Then louder, more pressing, urgent, harsh until, like the thunderous trumpet of an avenging archangel, the sounds gathered and contracted into a point and a deafening roar blew out across the world.

The man was spinning round, gripping the gun. He looked at me, pathetically, but I was not myself. One of many and yet of none. The women filled me up. Gone were their limps, their arthritic aches, their fear, loneliness, horror and frailty. Their rage was fuelling my strength and guiding me.

The man’s expression changed as I came to him. ‘Your eyes,’ he said, stepping back from me. ‘They’re like wish lanterns.’ And briefly through the overlay I glimpsed Felix. But then he vanished and the red eyes appeared again. Hopkins.

A blaze of power raged through me. Outside of my own pinprick of consciousness I was aware of others, thousands surrounding me, kaleidoscoping in over my soul, pushing down, concentrating my will.

The man reached out to steady his hand and aim the gun.

I took another step closer to him, put my hand over the barrel and pulled him so close I could smell the stink of decay on his breath.

‘You are not going to kill me again,’ we said.

I think he knew what was coming. He could see it on my face. Up close I could see his hair bristling with fear. He tried weakly to pull the gun down but my grip was firm. Rock solid, and just as unyielding, I held it still with the force and will of all those waking vengeful souls.

‘It ends now,’ we told him.

‘You can’t,’ he said simply.

But the dice had been cast. It had to be.

He made to push me to the ground but I held firm. He looked me straight in the eye then, in a single movement, jerked his face forwards and headbutted the top of my nose. Blood exploded into my vision. I blinked, blinded, and took my hand from the gun to wipe the red viscous liquid away. He seized his opportunity and punched me in the stomach.

It was a mistake, for none of the souls within were bound and tethered as before. In fact we were unleashed and free.

And very, very angry.

As I hit the floor my feet kicked out and caught his legs. I pushed hard on his shins and threw him off balance, kicked out again and brought him down. There was a crack from his elbow as he hit the ground. With a movement that was at once of me and yet not so, I was on him.

Unable to struggle against all our strength he tried again to wrest the gun from my grip, but failed. This time he took one look at my face, gritted his teeth, then, just as his fingers crept forwards to curl round the gun, it seemed his attention was drawn to something just beyond my head. He paused for a millisecond then stopped moving, his face wrinkled into confusion.

His body twitched back away from me, and I considered the notion that somewhere inside Felix had relented, realised the error of his ways or experienced a brief pang of conscience.

Those thoughts disappeared when I saw his eyes widen into huge semi-circles of white. In them was an expression of utter terror. Suddenly his body went limp.

As I lay transfixed, gazing at him, unsure of what to do, something detached itself from my hair – a tiny winged thing, black and wriggling. It circled the Witchfinder’s face then settled on his eyebrow. He released his hand from the gun and tried to brush it off, but another landed beside it. A shiver ran through me as another, then another, then another dived onto his face.

He gasped out and tried to yell but it was no good. Within a couple of seconds his face was swarming with tiny creatures.

Everything happened very fast. The moths became a bobbly blanket covering his features, like an enormous beard of bees that spread over all his face. Only his mouth grew visible as he opened it to breathe. They had been waiting for that. A couple peeled away from his cheek and flew into the red cavern. As his lips opened wider in a silent panicked scream, I saw at least fifty pairs of black wings waddling over his tongue, disappearing behind the curve of his throat. More poured into his mouth, so that shortly his tongue and teeth were no longer to be seen. Groping for air, his hands clutched his face, clawing at his mouth, then flung out in desperation to his sides. That was when he felt me. At least, his knuckles bruised against the barrel of the gun. I don’t think he could see what he was doing. I don’t think he meant to do it at all. Maybe the moths had got right down inside him and cut off his oxygen supply. I don’t know. But I can tell you this – it was over in one quick movement. His upper body spasmed as he squeezed the trigger. There were a couple of flashes or maybe three, and two loud shots echoed across the river.

In the seconds that followed I can’t be sure what occurred. Even now I have only a vague memory of being giant-like, of wings and voices and screams, of fire and smoke and dewdrops.

And then it was all over.