‘Edgar –’ Dot bent closer to the bed. ‘Edgar, you haven’t failed.’
‘Fraid so.’ The silence in the room as his fingers fell away, cold, beneath hers, was broken by the sudden strident alarm from the monitor by the bed as his heart slowed, faltered and finally stopped.
*
As David drove slowly through the darkness away from the hospital some time later there were tears on his cheeks. The end had been so undignified, so panic-stricken, doctors and nurses pushing Dot out of the way, the electric paddles in a nurse’s hands, and then the swinging door blocking everything from his view. He had offered to drive her home, but she had shaken her head. ‘Go. Do as he asked. Go back to Belheddon. Rescue the sacrament.’ Reluctantly he had left her to wait for Edgar’s brother, and set off into the dark, consumed with misery and guilt.
And now as he drew closer and closer to Belheddon he was growing more and more scared. He was not sure he would be able to enter the house.
He swung the car into the village and drove slowly down the row of small houses looking for the one where Jimbo lived. It was a pink half-timbered cottage two doors up from the post office. Drawing to a halt he sat still for a moment staring out of the windscreen, hoping that Jimbo would be out. Without the key he could not get into the Hall.
The lights were on in the cottage and he had a feeling that the strong smell of chips on the air came from behind its closed, brightly lit windows.
Mr Cotting opened the door which led straight into the small living room, dominated by a large television. Jimbo lay sprawled on the sofa, his feet over the arm, a can of lager in his hand. His gaze switched from the screen to David with an effort.
David gave him an unhappy grin. ‘It seems that I need the key to the Hall. Mr Gower left some things there.’
Jimbo’s eyes widened. ‘You’re going back there? Tonight?’
David nodded. ‘I don’t suppose I could persuade you to come with me?’
‘No way, mate.’ Jimbo stretched out even further on the sofa and took another swig from his can. ‘Dad, get Mr Tregarron a drink. I reckon he’s going to need one. How is the old boy?’
David lowered himself gingerly onto a chair opposite the television. ‘I’m afraid he died.’
‘Died!’ Jimbo echoed him in disbelief.
David nodded unhappily.
‘Oh my Lor’.’ Jimbo sat up and swung his legs to the floor.
‘Here.’ Fred Cotting handed David a can of lager. ‘Get that inside you. I reckon you need it.’
‘You can’t go back in that house.’ Jimbo’s face was pale beneath his tan. ‘You can’t!’
‘I’ve got to. I promised. Then I’m going on back to London.’
‘Pity young Jim’s sister’s not here,’ Fred Cotting observed slowly. He sat down on the edge of the table. ‘She’d go with you. She’s never been afraid of that place. I tell you what, why don’t you get the vicar to go with you? That’s his job, isn’t it? To chase out evil.’
‘Mr Wood doesn’t believe in that sort of thing, Da,’ Jimbo pointed out uncomfortably. ‘Anyway, I told Mr Tregarron, it can’t be done. Loads of people have tried to get rid of old Nick from the Hall. It’s never worked. Never will.’
David put down his can unopened and stood up. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I want this after all. If you can give me the key …’
Jimbo climbed to his feet – a giant in the small room, and went over to the sideboard. He picked up the key and tossed it to David. ‘Bung it through the letter box on your way back, mate. Good luck.’
David grimaced. ‘Thanks.’
‘If I were you, I’d go and get Mr Wood anyway,’ Fred Cotting put in as he opened the door. He put his hand on David’s arm. ‘You don’t want to go up there on your own. Not now.’
David nodded. He did not need to be reminded.
‘Go on. The Rectory is up there. On the left. Past the street light. You see it?’ He had stepped outside onto the path in his slippers.
David nodded. ‘Thanks. Perhaps I will.’
David watched as Jimbo’s father went inside and closed the door, throwing the small front garden into darkness.
In his hand the back door key of Belheddon Hall felt very heavy. He held it out, looking down at it then he turned away from his car and began to walk swiftly up the road. They were right. It was the rector’s job.
35
From her window Mary Sutton had seen the doctor’s car and then the ambulance. For a long time after they had gone she stood staring across the green towards the Hall then slowly she turned to her telephone and picked up the receiver. It rang for a long time unanswered and in the end she put it down. She walked through to her kitchen and there she pulled open the drawer in the table. Sorting through the kitchen knives and spoons, the ladles, the old flat grater, the used corks, the skewers and the peelers she found what she was looking for at last. A key. A large old-fashioned key. The key to the front door of Belheddon Hall. It was leaden in her hand and ice cold. She held it for several minutes, deep in thought, then at last with a sigh she put it in the pocket of her skirt and went out into the hall. Reaching down her winter coat and her scarf from the pegs she pulled them on and let herself out of her front door.
The lock had rusted and the key was hard to turn, but at last she managed it, using both hands to force it round, and summoning every ounce of strength she had to push back the great oak door.
The atmosphere in the house was strange. She stood still, scenting the air like a dog. It was sulphurous; blood-stained, heavy with evil.
‘Georgie, Sam?’ Her voice quavered as she called. ‘Robert? Children, are you there?’
The answering silence was suddenly attentive, full of tension.
‘Boys? It’s Mary. Protect me, boys.’ Squaring her shoulders she walked firmly towards the door into the great hall, a small determined figure in her ankle-length skirt and thick stockings. In the doorway she reached up and clicked on the light, looking round.