John Bennet – so the story went, and so he claimed to be – was walking in the garden at Belheddon one evening as dusk was falling when he was confronted by something which had the appearance of a man encased in the armour of yesteryear. The figure, at least seven feet tall, strode towards him, its hands outstretched.
In turning to flee his foot slipped in the mud at the edge of the lake and he fell awkwardly upon his back. To his terror the apparition stooped over him and proceeded to lift him in the air. Before he knew it he found himself hurled into the water.
When he surfaced and looked round trying to see his assailant there was no sign of him. The banks of the lake were empty and there was nothing to be seen in the darkness but the outlines of the nearby trees. Swimming to the far bank Bennet, if indeed it was he, climbed out, but his sanity, already unhinged by the death of his only son, had completely deserted him. Instead of making his way to the house and safety, he remembered fumbling for the latch on the gate into a back lane, and running, still dripping with ice cold water into the coming darkness. It was the last thing, or so he claimed, that he remembered, before waking up in the rectory fifteen years later.
What happened to the man who told this story no one knows. He remained in the rectory for several days, then one night he let himself out into the darkness from which he had emerged and was never seen again.
Joss let the pages fall into her lap. From where she was sitting she could see the lake across the grass, concentric circles forming on its glassy surface amongst the lilies as fish came up for flies.
A man in medieval armour? The tin man? She closed her eyes against the glare of the sunlight on the water.
*
She was awakened by Luke’s hand on her shoulder.
‘Hi. How are you?’ He had brought her a cup of tea which he set down on the small table beside her.
She stared at him blankly for a moment, then she sat up, leaning towards the crib. ‘Is Ned OK?’
‘Ned?’ For a moment Luke paused, head to one side. ‘Yes, I think I like that. Edward Grant. He’s fine.’ Luke stood looking down at the baby fondly.
‘And Tom?’
‘Tom is happy as a sandboy. I’ve left him with Janet for the day. And their phone was working, so I’ve rung your Edgar Gower and he and his wife are going to drive over tomorrow to see you. I’ve rung Lyn and she is coming back immediately and some good news: she said Alice’s tests are encouraging. The biopsy showed no malignancy. So, sweetheart, you don’t have a single thing to worry about in the entire world! And another piece of good news. My parents are back. I rang them in Oxford just in case and they got home last night! They send all their love and congratulations and they’re longing to see their new grandson!’
Joss smiled. On the floor, the photocopied pages which had slipped from her knee were scattered around her feet. ‘So, all that and a perfect husband and a cup of tea as well.’
‘All that!’ He sat down on the window seat. ‘Oh, and Jimbo has brought you a box of chocolates!’
Janet brought Tom back while Luke was collecting Lyn from the station that evening. Stooping over the baby she examined the sleeping child with the same dispassionate eye she had turned on their cooking range. ‘Bit small, I suppose, but very pretty,’ she announced. ‘Well done you!’ She straightened and turned her back on the baby, the inspection complete. ‘A bit dramatic, even for Belheddon, wasn’t it? Giving birth in a thunderstorm like that!’
‘I suppose so.’ Joss lifted the baby out of his basket. ‘The midwife has been twice and so has Simon, so I’m being kept a strict eye on!’ She glanced up at Janet. ‘You and Roy were here when Edgar Gower was rector, weren’t you.’
Janet nodded. ‘He’d been here years when we bought the farm.’
‘What did you make of him?’
Sitting down she unbuttoned her shirt and put the baby to the breast. Janet looked the other way but Tom, fascinated, leaned against her knees and poked at the small ear with his finger.
‘A man of fire and steel – so different from dear gentle James Wood. Come here, Tom.’ She hauled the little boy onto her knee. ‘Luke rang him, you know, from our place. He wanted to come over now, today, straight away. He sounded terribly worried.’ She eyed Joss for a moment. Joss’s face was hidden by her curtain of hair as she looked down at the baby in her arms. ‘Joss –’ she paused. ‘Listen, I know we’ve all made a bit of a drama out of the stories about this house. One does. It’s –’ she hesitated, ‘ – it’s fun, I suppose. Dramatic, spooky. Everyone loves a good ghost story. But you mustn’t take it too seriously. Edgar was a bit –’ she stopped, searching for the right word. ‘Superstitious, I suppose. A mystic. Some people might have said a bit of a nutter. Some members of the PCC used to have terrible doubts, you know. Not quite the thing at all in a conservative parish. The thing was, he and Laura used to wind each other up. Nothing really out of the ordinary happened here, you know. Just a series of terrible tragedies. Laura just couldn’t accept that they were accidents. She needed to believe there was more to it than that. But these things do happen. Families have the most rotten runs of luck and then it changes suddenly.’ On her knee Tom, his fingers wound into her pearls, had closed his eyes. She hugged him gently. ‘He’s exhausted poor lamb. A new brother and the promise of his very own kitten when it’s old enough to leave its mother. You don’t mind, do you?’
Joss looked up at last. ‘Of course not. We need a cat. That would be lovely.’
‘And you won’t worry any more?’
‘Not if the cat is black.’ Joss managed a smile.
Janet shook her head. ‘They’re all splodgy. Calico cats. But just as lucky.’
She stood up carefully, holding the sleeping child. ‘What shall I do with him?’
‘Can you put him in his cot? Through there, on the left.’ She sighed as Janet disappeared with Tom. Was that what it was? Imagination. A superstitious man and a hysterical woman in a hot house environment: isolated, bored, lonely.
She cocked her head suddenly at a noise above her head. Mice playing in the attics, or children?