Sammy! Come and play! Sammy? Where are you?
The plaintive voice was very clear. The scuffle of feet on the stairs and the giggle as if someone was running away echoed across the room. ‘Take no notice,’ Edgar repeated calmly. He was lighting the two candles. ‘They are just what they seem. Two innocent mischievous children.’ He shook his head. ‘I conducted their funeral services. Both of them.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Sweet Jesus, bless this place. Look on us now and give us your strength to vanquish all evil from this house. Release and bless the souls of the children who have died in this house. Remove and cleanse the evil and the hatred which have trapped them here.’ He opened a leather case which proved to contain a set of small bottles and silver topped pots. ‘What Dot calls my travelling picnic kit,’ he said quietly. ‘Oil. Water. Wine. Salt and wafers.’
There was a resounding crash upstairs. David looked up. His mouth had gone dry with fear. ‘Should we go and look?’ he whispered.
Edgar shook his head. He had opened his prayer book. ‘Concentrate on the prayers. Stand here. Close beside me.’
Somewhere a child had started crying. David clutched at Edgar’s sleeve. ‘We ought to go and look.’
‘We know there is no one there, man.’ Edgar’s fingers had tightened on his prayer book convulsively. ‘Concentrate.’
The candle flames were flickering wildly; as David watched a splattering of blue wax fell across the table. ‘They should be white,’ he was muttering to himself. ‘You’re right. The candles should be white.’ He found he was shivering violently.
Edgar frowned. He was having difficulty finding the right page. ‘Our Father,’ he began, ‘which art in Heaven. Hallowed be Thy name – ’
Another crash, this time from directly overhead. In the hearth the ash was blowing about, a fine mist above the fire dogs. With a puff of wind a cloud blew out into the room, scattering across the floor to their feet. Edgar gave up trying to turn the fine India pages of his prayer book and put it down. His fear was making him angry. ‘Enough!’ he suddenly bellowed. ‘Get thee hence! Out of this house, do you hear me? In the name of Jesus Christ Our Lord, leave this place. Now! Take your evil doings and your malice and your hatred out of this house and leave the people who live here in peace.’ He raised his hand and made the sign of the cross in the air. ‘Out!’ Seizing his bottle of water he tucked it into his arm. Taking one of his small pots he struggled to remove the lid. ‘In the name of the Lord!’ he cried through gritted teeth. The lid flew off and salt spilled all over the table. David stood back, shocked, tempted to dive forward and throw some over his shoulder, but Edgar had already scooped some up into his palm, and was putting it into the water, blessing it with the ancient words: ‘Commixtio salis et aquae pariter fiat, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti,’ words which seemed to him more fitting for their purpose than the plain English he had been about to use.
Upstairs the little boy was crying. Involuntarily David took a step away from the table, unable to stop himself, his heart wrung by the misery of the sound. Edgar, without taking his eyes off the ritual he was performing shot out a hand and grabbed David’s jacket. ‘Don’t move,’ he muttered. ‘Stay right here. There’s nothing up there, I promise you. She’s playing with us. We can defeat her. If only we believe hard enough.’
He lifted up the cross. ‘Here. Carry this and follow me.’
Slowly they processed around the room, Edgar in front, flicking the Holy Water into every corner, David behind clutching the cross. For all his fear David could not help giving his own small prayer of gratitude that his head master could not see him at this moment, and unbelievably a small gurgle of laughter rose in his throat. Edgar stopped and turned. His face was white with anger. ‘You find this funny? After all we have discussed? After all you have heard here, you find this funny?’ He was almost shouting with fury.
‘No. I’m sorry.’ David bit his lip, holding the cross higher, in front of his face. ‘Put it down to hysteria. I’m not used to this sort of thing – ’
‘Thank God you are not!’ Edgar stared at him for a long moment. ‘I just hope that our witch has not got to you as well. Perhaps it would be better if you waited outside.’
‘No.’ The thought that he might have been bewitched was so frightening David felt the cold sweat drenching his shoulders. ‘No, Edgar, I’m sorry. Please. I’ll help you.’ He glanced up at the beams of the high ceiling as they both heard clearly the sound of running feet. ‘Don’t forget the king, Edgar. If the king is here too – ’
‘First things first,’ Edgar snapped. His hands had begun to shake. He tossed a shower of water into the dark corners beneath the gallery. ‘Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ab ira, et odio, et omni, libera nos Domine! This way.’ He turned towards the door. ‘… ubicumque fuerit aspersa, per invocationem sancti nominis tui, omnis infestatio immundi spiritus abigator, terrorque venenosi serpentis procul pellatur …’
‘Mr Tregarron? Are you there?’ The loud voice echoing suddenly through the room stopped him dead. ‘Mr Tregarron, are you all right?’
David closed his eyes. He wiped his face with the back of his arm. ‘It’s Jimbo; Luke’s mechanic,’ he whispered. His hands were shaking so much he had to clutch the cross against his chest.
‘Mr Tregarron?’ The voice sounded less certain now.
‘Keep quiet. He’ll go away,’ Edgar commanded in a whisper.
‘Mr Tregarron? The back door was open.’ The voice was closer suddenly. ‘I thought I’d better check.’