I’ve been resting. For days. Joss could feel the words hovering on her lips, but she didn’t say them. She did feel lousy, and she would like nothing more than to go back to bed, but she had to go over to the house. She had to talk to Luke. And above all she did not want the boys there. Not ever again.
She waited until they had gone before letting herself out of the back door and walking swiftly across the garden towards the orchard. The morning was dull and cold; occasional showers of drips cascaded from the bare branches of the tall old apple trees as she walked past, and above through the network of twigs she could see the rain waiting in the bellying clouds. Shivering she walked more quickly, feeling the wet grass and mud slippery beneath her shoes as she turned out of the orchard and onto the footpath. In the distance she could see the roofs of Belheddon Hall huddling in the mist on the crest of the ridge.
The garden seemed very silent as she let herself in by the gate and walked slowly around the lake. A duck was paddling on the far side, dipping its beak from time to time into the weed and she stood for a moment, staring at the pattern of rings spreading out from it across the water.
The shutters in the study were still closed. She could see the blank windows from here. Standing still she studied the house and surreptitiously her hand went up to the crucifix on the chain around her neck.
No one saw her approach. Leaving a trail of darker footprints in the wet grass she stepped onto the terrace, shivering with cold and walked towards the windows. Peering into the great hall she could see the room in the dim morning light. There was no fire and on the table she could see a vase of dead flowers, petals scattered around on the dusty surface. Her scalp was tingling and she rammed her fingers down into her pockets. They were ordinary flowers. Chrysanthemums and autumn daisies, but why had Lyn left them to die?
With heavy steps she walked round towards the gate into the courtyard and stopped. The coach house doors were open and the lights were on, brilliant strips of fluorescent tubing, and she could hear the cheerful banging of a hammer on metal. Someone – Jimbo – was whistling.
It was like looking at a stage from a darkened auditorium; a world that was separate and unreal was displayed before her – a world of noise and bright lights and happiness and laughter while she, on the outside, peering through the bars of the gate was in some strange limbo where time stood still and shadows lurked in the darkness.
There was a tightness in her chest and in her pockets the palms of her hands were beginning to sweat. Quietly she unlatched the gate and pushed it open. Passing the garage without announcing herself she let herself into the kitchen and stopped in astonishment. A stranger was standing near the kitchen table.
‘Joss?’ The young woman held out her hand. ‘I’m Natalie Cotting, Jim’s sister. I’ve come to help.’
40
‘This was always one of the centres of activity.’ They were standing in the great hall in front of the fireplace. ‘Here and the large bedroom upstairs.’ Natalie stood for a long moment in complete silence, her eyes on the floor a few inches in front of her feet. Joss watched her, standing a yard or so from her. She could feel a tight knot of tension somewhere below her ribs. It was interfering with her breathing.
Slowly Natalie nodded. Without saying a word she moved towards the staircase where she stopped for a moment. ‘There never used to be any trouble in the study. Is it still happy in there?’
Joss nodded.
‘Good. Let’s go upstairs then.’
They toured the house slowly, room by room, then found themselves back once more in the kitchen. There too Natalie stood in silence, her head bowed until at last she looked up and caught Joss’s eye. ‘Sorry. You must think I’m loopy.’
Joss smiled. ‘No. Tell me what you’ve been doing.’
‘Just having a feel around.’ Natalie slipped into the chair at the head of the table and leaned forward earnestly, her chin cupped in her hands. She looked as if she were about to address a board of directors. ‘I used to come here a lot when I was little. I would play with the boys, Georgie and Sam. Georgie died about ten years before I was born and Sam I think about ten years before that. They must have been your brothers, I suppose?’ She waited for Joss’s nod. ‘Of course they didn’t know each other in life, but where they are now, in whatever dimension it is, they are a pair of tearaways.’ She smiled affectionately.
‘My son Tom talks about them. He’s found some of their toys. And –’ Joss hesitated, ‘I’ve heard them calling to each other.’
Natalie nodded. ‘Monkeys. There are other children here too of course – the boys who have been lost. There’s Robert. He was your mum’s brother. And little John. He’s only a wee thing of about three, with golden curls and big blue eyes.’
Joss gasped. ‘You can see them?’
Natalie nodded. ‘Inside my head. Not always. Not today. I’m not seeing today.’ She frowned. ‘There’s a lot of other things here today. Unpleasant things.’ She clenched her fists. ‘People have been meddling. The Reverend Gower – Jim told me. He always made things worse because he didn’t understand what he’s dealing with here. Exorcism works when the priests understand. So many don’t. Often they are dealing with people – people like you and me – not demons. Other times they are dealing with evil far worse than they can conceive and their faith in what they are doing lets them down. They aren’t strong enough.’
‘And what are we dealing with here?’ whispered Joss. Her eyes were fixed on Natalie’s.