Determined not to show how hurt she felt she declined the offer of a walk with the others after lunch and climbed instead to the bedroom where she flung herself down on the bed. Exhausted she was asleep in seconds.
In her dream she seemed to be looking down upon herself as she slept. The figure standing near the bed was more defined now. It was tall, broad shouldered, clearly a man, or all that was left of the spirit of what had once been a man. It moved closer, looking down at her, stooping slightly to rest a hand as transparent and light as gossamer on her shoulder under the cover. Gently, imperceptibly, the hand moved down to rest on the hump of her stomach, almost caressing the baby which nestled there in the safe darkness of her womb. The room was unnaturally cold, the atmosphere electric. Joss groaned slightly, and moved in her sleep to ease the discomfort in her back. The figure did not move. It bent closer. The icy fingers brushed lightly across her hair, her face, tracing the line of her cheekbone. With a cry of fear Joss awoke and lay staring up at the tester of the bed. She was perspiring slightly and yet she felt desperately cold. Shivering she pulled the covers round her more closely. The shadow had gone.
It was early evening before she had a chance to speak to David alone. Luke had gone over to see the Goodyears and it was Lyn’s turn to put Tom to bed. Sitting opposite Joss in the study, his legs stretched out to the fire, a glass of whisky in his hand, David scrutinised her appreciatively for a moment, then he grinned. ‘So, how is authorship?’
‘Fine. Good fun. Hard work.’
He took a sip from his glass. ‘I had lunch with Gerald Andrews last week. I don’t know if he told you but he’s about to go in for a hip operation, poor man. He’s very frustrated. He won’t be able to help us with our research after all. We talked about you quite a bit.’
‘And?’
‘And –’ he paused in mid-breath as though changing his mind about what he was going to say. ‘Joss, have you ever thought about selling Belheddon?’
‘No.’ She said it uncompromisingly, without even a moment taken for thought. For a moment neither of them said anything, then she looked him in the eye. ‘Why?’
Uncomfortably he put down his whisky glass. Rising he went over to the French doors and stared out across the moonlit lawn. It was very bright out there, and cold. There were still traces of the previous night’s frost lying in the shade of the hedge.
‘We felt that maybe the stories about the house might be depressing you a bit,’ he said after a moment.
‘Did you mention this to Luke?’
‘No.’
‘Well please don’t. I’m not in the slightest bit depressed. Why should I be? It is in the nature of history that most of the players are dead.’
His face cracked into a smile almost against his wishes. ‘I couldn’t have put that better myself.’
‘David. What about you and Luke? Is it all right?’ She looked away from him, a little embarrassed.
‘It’s fine. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’ He did not turn round. There was a long silence and at last she stood up. Coming over to stand next to him at the window she decided to change the subject.
‘Something Gerald said stuck in my mind. He noticed that Belheddon nearly always passed down through the female line. That is why everyone has different surnames even though they are related. Matrilineal descent, he called it. I checked up on it afterwards on the family tree I’ve been drawing up. It’s true. No son has ever lived to inherit Belheddon Hall. Not once. Ever.’
She did not look at him as she spoke. Her eyes seemed to be focused on a distant point on the water of the lake, where the moon glittered on the grey surface, turning it into a diamanté cloak.
‘We hoped you wouldn’t notice.’
‘No exhortations to ignore it; to believe it is just coincidence?’
‘What else could it be?’ His voice was bleak.
‘What else indeed.’ Her voice was flat. She went back to her chair and threw herself into it.
‘Have you told Luke about this, Joss?’ David followed her to the fire. He stood with his back to it, looking down on her.
She shook her head. ‘I tried telling him about the diaries, the letters. He didn’t want to know. It was you who told me not to ram my inheritance down his throat. How can I tell him that this house is cursed?’
‘It isn’t. I’m sure it isn’t.’ In spite of himself he shivered.
‘Isn’t it? Do you know how many accidents have happened here over the years? Over the centuries? And never to a woman. Never. Only to men. My brothers, my father, my grandfather – only my great grandfather escaped, and you know why? Because he saw it coming. He wrote in his diary that it – it – was going to get him next.’ Her voice had risen. She slumped back in the chair suddenly. ‘Perhaps it did get him. All we know is that he disappeared. We will never know whether he ran away, or did something awful happen to him? Perhaps he was cornered in the woods or the lanes, or in the garden and his body was never found.’
‘Joss, stop it.’ David sat down on the arm of her chair and reached for her hand. ‘This is ridiculous. It is coincidence. It has to be coincidence.’
‘Then why did you want me to sell up?’
He smiled ruefully. ‘Because in each of us, however down to earth and boring, there is a tiny treacherous bit of superstition.’
‘And that bit believes the devil lives at Belheddon.’ Her voice was very small.
David laughed. ‘Oh no, I didn’t say that. No not the devil. I don’t believe in the devil.’
‘That, if you don’t mind me saying so, hardly proves that he doesn’t exist.’