Joss chewed her lip. So, even then, he knew. Where had John Bennet come from? How had he and Mary met? It was all there. His father was a clergyman in Ipswich; his mother had died some time before. He himself had trained for the law, and for several years he seemed to have been a partner in a firm of solicitors in Bury. When he married he gave up the partnership, presumably to manage Belheddon which had been at that time a large and prosperous estate, with farms and cottages and hundreds of acres.
The diary fell in her lap and she leaned back against the wall, staring at the shadows on the far side of the attic. The hot sunshine, the heavy carved mullions, the arched roof beams: the combination sent a network of dark shadow over the wall paper, shadow that looked – almost – like the figure of a man. She frowned, trying to focus, conscious suddenly that her heart was beating faster than normal. Her palms had grown moist. She pressed them hard on the lid of the trunk on which she was sitting, taking comfort from its solidity and glanced at the doorway. It seemed a hundred miles away. The attics were unnaturally quiet. The usual creaks and groans of the timbers, the soft soughing of the April wind, all had faded to silence.
‘Who are you?’ Her whisper seemed crude and violent in the emptiness. ‘Who are you?’
There was no answer. The shadows had rearranged themselves, back into a criss-cross of architectural shapes.
Swallowing nervously she pushed herself up until she was standing upright. The diary fell unnoticed to the floor, and lay, face down, the pages splayed at her feet.
‘In the name of Jesus Christ, go!’ Her voice tremulous, she found her hand tracing the age old pattern from head to heart, from shoulder to shoulder, the protecting, blessing cross. Slowly, step by step she sidled towards the doorway, her eyes fixed on the wall where she had seen – thought she had seen – the shape of a man. Her back to the wall she edged out of the attic, then she ran. She ran through the attics, down the steep stairs, down the main staircase, through the great hall and into the kitchen. There, panting, she threw herself into a chair and buried her head in her arms on the table.
Slowly her panic subsided and her breathing calmed. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Then reflexively she cradled her arms around her stomach. She was still sitting there when Lyn came in with Tom in his buggy.
‘Joss?’ Lyn abandoned the pushchair and ran to the table. ‘Joss, what is it? What’s happened? Are you all right?’ She put her arms around Joss’s shoulders. ‘Is it the baby? Are you in pain?’
Joss smiled weakly and shook her head. ‘No, no. I’m fine. I just had a bit of headache, that’s all. I thought I’d make a cup of tea, and I felt a bit dizzy.’
‘I’ll call Simon.’
‘No.’ Joss shouted the word in a panic. Then more gently she repeated it, ‘No. Don’t fuss, Lyn. I’m OK. Honestly. I was sitting down and I stood up too suddenly, that’s all.’ She dragged herself to her feet and went over to Tom, releasing his harness and humping him to his feet. ‘There, Tom Tom. Did you have a nice walk?’
The things she had heard, children’s voices, the voices of her own brothers, they had nothing to do with whatever had scared generation after generation of grown men and women in the house. Georgie and Sammy had been born long after their grandparents and great grandparents had died. John Bennet, Lydia Manners – they could not have heard the laughter of Georgie and Sammy in the attics. Controlling herself with an effort she picked up the kettle and carried it to the tap. No one else had heard anything. No one else seemed worried. Perhaps Simon was right. She had got herself into a silly neurotic state as a direct result of her pregnancy. Perhaps all the pregnant women in her family had the same wild fancies. The idea struck her suddenly as ludicrous and she found as she turned with the filled kettle to put it on the hot plate that she was smiling.
Lyn noticed and smiled back. ‘Before I went out David rang,’ she said abruptly. ‘I said we wanted him to come down. I said I thought it would cheer you up. He was a bit iffy about it but he said he would. Next weekend. Is that all right?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘I told Luke.’
‘Good.’ Joss glanced at Lyn. ‘How did he take it?’
‘OK. I told him it wasn’t just you who liked David. And not all of us are married.’ Lyn’s face had coloured slightly, and Joss found herself studying her sister with sudden perception. The normally colourless complexion, the slightly surly demeanour had been replaced by a sparkle which Joss had never seen there before. She sighed. Poor Lyn. Sophisticated, intellectual and well-read, David would never fancy her in a million years.
At first the weekend went well. David arrived loaded with wine for Luke, (‘Now that so much of yours has been taken away I reckoned a donation to help top up the cellars would be appreciated – when is the auction, by the way?’) books for Joss, a pretty porcelain vase for Lyn and a massive black teddy bear dressed in a crocheted lace jumper for Tom. He insisted on helping Lyn cook lunch, admired the latest car in the coach house, met Luke’s new part-time assistant, Jimbo, a twenty-year-old apprentice mechanic from the village and, Joss felt, avoided her as much as possible.