‘I suppose we should check everywhere.’ David picked up the keys. Poor Edgar. Pushing open the door and clicking on the lights he hesitated for a moment, then he led the way down the uneven steps and stood at the bottom looking round. ‘No sign of anything unusual down here.’
They both listened for a moment in silence. ‘I wonder why he came down here?’ James Wood was frowning as he stepped through into the further cellar. ‘It does seem a rather odd thing to do.’ His voice echoed slightly as he moved out of sight.
David shrugged.
‘Of course, one of the children died in here, didn’t he.’ The disembodied voice drew further away. ‘These cellars go on for miles. I’d no idea they were so big.’
David frowned. ‘They’re not that big! Mr Wood? James?’ In a sudden panic he sprinted towards the archway and peered through.
James was standing by the wine bins, peering into the darkened corner. ‘Someone has left some toys down here. What a shame, they’ll get ruined in the damp. Look.’ He had picked up an old woven rush basket. In the harsh light of the electric bulb they could clearly see the green mould growing on the handle. Inside were a half dozen or so of the same little wooden cars which David had seen earlier, and a rusty toy gun and beneath them a penknife and a red painted yo-yo.
‘I think they must have belonged to one of the boys who died,’ David said slowly. He reached out and touched the yo-yo with a finger. ‘They’re not Tom’s.’
He shivered, unable to stop himself glancing over his shoulder. ‘There’s nothing else down here. Shall we go back up?’ At least it was marginally less cold upstairs. All he wanted now was to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
James nodded. He put down the basket. ‘So sad,’ he murmured. ‘So sad.’ He frowned. ‘What was that?’
‘What?’ David’s nerves were raw. He spun round, listening.
‘I thought I heard something. A voice.’
‘A woman laughing?’ Swallowing, David faced the staircase.
‘No.’ James looked confused. ‘I’m not sure. Probably the water pipes or something.’
‘Let’s get out of here.’ David moved swiftly towards the stairs. ‘Come on. I don’t like cellars.’
‘Nor I.’ With a rueful smile James followed him. ‘I must confess I see your point about this house. The atmosphere leaves a lot to be desired when it’s empty like this. But we mustn’t be foolish. Our rational minds tell us there is nothing to fear.’
Emerging on the landing they stood for a moment both looking towards the great hall. Reaching behind him David turned off the cellar light and pulled the door closed. Locking it carefully he withdrew the keys and went with them into the study. ‘Tell me, James, how does your rational mind cope with a belief in God if it rejects all other aspects of the supernatural?’ he called over his shoulder. He was about to throw the keys down on the desk once more when his eye was caught by something lying on the manuscript of Joss’s book. A dried flower. He was sure it hadn’t been there before. Frowning he dropped the keys and picked it up. A rose; an old dried rose, its petals, once white, now the colour and texture of soft chamois leather. He stared at it thoughtfully, aware that the small hairs on the back of his forearms were stirring uncomfortably.
Roses. He dropped it and turned towards the door.
‘James?’
There was no reply.
He took a deep breath. It couldn’t happen again. Forcing himself to move slowly and calmly he went through into the great hall and stopped dead. James was standing by the table staring down at it in disbelief, Edgar’s briefcase open before him.
David went to stand beside the other man and looked down in silence. ‘They’re empty,’ James said after a moment. He nodded towards the vessels. ‘All of them. The rest of it’s here: the cross, the candlesticks. It was under the chest here. Someone must have hidden it all.’
David shook his head. ‘There’s no one else in the house, James.’
‘There must be.’ The rector sounded desperate. ‘There has to be some logical explanation. Children perhaps; children from the village. I remember Joss saying she thought there were children hiding in the house.’
‘There are.’ David was aware how bleak his voice sounded. ‘But not children from the village.’
James looked at him in silence for a moment, then slowly he closed the lid of the case. Neither of them had noticed the faint outline on the flags where the salt water had dried in a perfect circle.
‘What do you suppose has happened to the contents?’ David asked soberly.
‘Very desirable in some quarters. They use them for Satanic rites; witchcraft; that sort of thing.’ James’s previous hearty tone had gone. It had been replaced with weary disillusion.
‘So we were too late.’
James nodded. ‘It looks like it.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘The Grants are all away, you said?’
David nodded.
‘Then there’s no danger to the family in the immediate future.’ James stared round the room thoughtfully. ‘I can’t feel anything, you know. Nothing at all. I wish I could, then I’d be more use in knowing how to deal with it.’
David shook his head. ‘Just be thankful you can’t feel anything! I don’t think it can be very nice to be psychic. Not very nice at all.’
He did not mention the rose. Waiting for James to pick up the case he walked back to the wall to switch off the lights. There was someone up there in the gallery, watching, he was sure of it. He could even feel the suppressed triumph.
He did not look up. Walking back into the room he hustled James out in front of him. The laughter he thought he could hear behind him was not that of a child. It was a woman.
In the churchyard Mary lay on her back in the long grass, staring up at the sky. One by one the stars had disappeared as the clouds rolled in from the sea and the sky was totally black now. She closed her eyes, pleased the pain had gone away at last. Slowly her legs were growing numb.