‘Here?’ The voice at the other end of the line had sharpened.
‘I came up this morning. I’m at Belheddon.’ He reached out and put his finger on the roof of the little car, running it up and down the table.
‘I see.’ There was a long pause. ‘You’re there alone, I gather?’
‘Luke and Joss have gone to Paris.’
‘And the children?’
‘I understand they’re with their grandmother.’
‘But not at Belheddon.’
‘No. Not at Belheddon.’ There was a moment’s silence as both men had the same thought: Thank God.
‘Mr Tregarron.’ Edgar could no longer see the ship. ‘A thought has struck me. If you would like to drive to Aldeburgh, we are only about an hour’s drive away. It would be good to talk this over, and –’ he added casually, ‘ – you might like to stay the night here.’
David closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a rush of relief. ‘That’s good of you. Very good.’
The urge to abandon everything and leap into his car was very strong. It was his pride which stopped him. He would eat his supper, collect his books and papers and then check the house and turn off the lights before he left. He glared at the whisky bottle. He had probably had too much of the damn stuff to drive without some food inside him anyway.
The pie, though messy and in some parts disintegrated, was good. He ate it swiftly, with relish, straight out of the foil. Washing up his fork and glass he banked up the stove and then turned towards the door.
He forced himself to go upstairs first, turning off the lights, closing doors. The house was quiet, even benign. Checking Joss and Luke’s room though was different. He stood for a moment in the centre of the floor, listening intently. The silence was heavy; almost tangible. There had been some sort of shift in the atmosphere. It was as if someone or something was watching him. He swallowed hard, heading for the door and clicking off the light he went out onto the landing. He could feel it there too: a brooding resentment, a chill which had nothing to do with the physical cold in the house.
Ignore it. Collect the books and go. He put his hand on the top of the banisters and looked down. In the bright cold light of the hall he could see the toys lying all over the floor. Cars, like the one he had left on the kitchen table; pieces of meccano, a pencil box …
‘OK,’ he spoke out loud, his lips dry. ‘Point taken. I’m on my way.’ It took an enormous amount of willpower to walk down the stairs, to step over the scattered toys, and go into the study. He looked round, expecting to see something in there as well, but the room seemed much as he had left it. The fire had died down and it was cold, but otherwise the room felt friendly, almost safe. He prodded the fire flat and put the guard in front of it to be doubly safe, then heaped his papers and books together into his arms. One quick glance round and he was ready. Switching off the light he closed the door behind him.
In the hall he hesitated for a moment, then stooping, he scooped some pieces of meccano and a car into his pocket. ‘I’ll bring them back, lads,’ he said out loud. ‘Just want to check something.’
The giggle behind him came from the staircase out of sight beyond the curve. He glanced up. He was not going to go up or run away. They were only kids. Kids teasing. They couldn’t hurt him.
Could they?
Hesitating he glanced up again. ‘So long, boys,’ he said softly. ‘God bless.’
Pulling the back door shut behind him he heard the dead lock click. He threw his books into the car and climbed in. It was only as he slammed the locks down that he realised he was shaking all over. It was several seconds before he could get his key into the ignition. As the car shot through the courtyard arch and out into the drive he glanced once into the rear-view mirror. The windows of the house were all once more blazing with light. Putting his foot on the accelerator he skidded down the drive and out into the road.
Mary Sutton stopped as she walked across the village green in the dark, returning home late after the bus had dropped her at Belheddon Cross, and she watched the car screech out of the gates of the Hall scattering mud and stones behind it as it turned west through the village. She gazed at its retreating tail lights until it was out of sight then she turned and thoughtfully studied the driveway. The Grants had gone away, Fred Cotting, young Jimbo’s dad, had told her that. The house was supposed to be empty.
It was a clear cold night and as she stood in the entrance gateway she could see the house in the starlight. The windows were dark now and uncurtained, the glass black; unreflective.
She hesitated, gripping the top of her capacious handbag very tightly with both hands. Little Lolly would have wanted her to keep an eye on the place. That was what Laura’s brother Robert had called his little sister. Robert who had died, aged fourteen, falling out of that great chestnut tree which guarded the front of the house. She hadn’t told Laura’s daughter about those two boys, Laura’s brothers. She could see that Jocelyn could barely cope with the idea of her own brothers’ deaths.
Mary pursed her lips. Slowly she began to walk up the drive. She did not think the car which had left in such a hurry could have been a burglar’s. No one in its entire history had burgled Belheddon Hall. No one dared. So, who had it been?
She stood on the front gravel staring up at the house, feeling the waves of emotion coming off it: the fear, the hate, the love, the happiness; feeling the blessing woven by little boys’ laughter and behind it all the ice cold venomous evil which poisoned the very air itself.
Gripping her bag even more tightly she began to walk around the house. Every door and every window was locked, and at each she muttered a few words and traced the sign of the sealing, pointed star. Her powers were long unused, weak compared to those of Margaret de Vere, but her loyalty to little Lolly and her daughter was absolute. They would have whatever strength was left to her.
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