House of Echoes

  He frowned. ‘What is a work basket?’

  ‘Sewing.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ He let out a guffaw of laughter. ‘She hated sewing. Not even a button. I did all the buttons! I’m surprised she didn’t put it in the garbage!’

  ‘So.’ Joss shrugged her shoulders and raised her hands in an unconscious imitation of his wonderful Gallic gestures. ‘What did she love?’

  ‘She loved books. She read and read. She loved poetry. She loved art. That was of course how we met. But there were things she hated. Strange things.’ He shook his head. ‘She hated flowers – especially roses – ’

  ‘Roses?’ Joss tensed.

  ‘Roses.’ He did not notice the sharpening of her tone. ‘She detested roses. She said the greniers – the attics – at Belheddon always smelled of roses. I could not understand why she disliked them so much. Roses are beautiful things; their smell is –’ he searched visibly for a word and found it with a kiss of his finger tips, ‘incroyable.’

  Joss glanced at Luke. ‘I can understand. The roses at Belheddon are not like other people’s roses.’ She gave a small sad smile. ‘Poor Mother.’

  The men left her with the suitcase full of letters and books and the leather box full of more of Laura’s jewellery, planning to walk across the fields and down to the river. Settling down alone on the hearth rug in front of a gentle, sweet smelling fire of apple logs Joss sat for a long time gazing into the flames, hugging her legs, her chin resting on her knees. She felt closer to her mother here than she had at any time at Belheddon. It was a nice feeling; warm, protective. Safe.

  It was almost with reluctance that at last she reached into the box and began to sort through the papers. There were loads of letters – all from strangers – none of special interest though all showed how much her mother was loved – and several demonstrated how she was missed by friends back in England. None however came from the village of Belheddon, she noticed, remembering how Mary Sutton had complained how Laura had never written; no one mentioned the life she had abandoned in East Anglia.

  At the bottom of the box she found two notebooks she did recognise. The same make that Laura had used for her diaries and commonplace books at home. They were full of closely written notes. The same mixture as before. Poems, interesting snippets and diary entries. She settled herself more comfortably, leaning back against one of the chairs and pulling a cushion down behind her head as she started to read.

  I had a dream last night about the old days. I woke in a cold sweat and lay there shaking, praying I had not

  awakened Paul. Then I wished I had. I snuggled against him for comfort, but he did not stir. Bless him, he needs his sleep. An earthquake would not awaken him.

  And two days later.

  The dream came again. He is looking for me. I could see him searching the house, slowly, unhappily. He is lost and lonely. Dear sweet God, am I never to be free of this? I thought of speaking to Monsieur le curé, but I don’t want to breath His name aloud out here. This is too special a place and surely he can’t reach me any more. Not in France!

  Joss looked up for a moment. So He – it – had a name. She read on; at the beginning of the second book came a revelation.

  I wonder whether I should write to John Cornish and ask him to tear up the will; to leave the house straight to charity. How would anyone at Belheddon know what I had done? Here he can only reach me in my dreams and I cannot tolerate the thought of Jocelyn learning of her good fortune and going in all innocence into the trap. There will be no danger to her, of course. He will love her. But should she ever have children. What then? If only I could talk to Paul but I want nothing to spoil our relationship, not even the mention of the name …

  Joss put the book down, tears in her eyes. She shivered. So her mother had known only too well the nature of the dangers at Belheddon and had felt guilty enough after all, about leaving the house to her, to have thought of changing the will. She sighed. But if she had done that, there would have been no story, no family, no home; once Luke’s business had folded, no cars, no money. She frowned, brushing away the tears. There was so much that was wonderful at Belheddon.

  Surely – surely there must be a way of removing the danger. She sighed. At least the children were safe. There was no possibility of them going back to Belheddon until the problems had been resolved.

  She picked up the diary again, turning almost fearfully to the last pages.

  The pain grows worse each day. Soon I shall not be able to hide it from Paul and I shall have to stop my writing. I must burn this and all the rest before I grow too weak or silly to do it.

  Joss paused. So, she had never meant anyone to read all this. For a moment she felt guilty, but she read on.

  One of my fears is that he – Edward – will be waiting for me when I die. But, how can he if he is earthbound? Will Philip be there, and my boys? Or are they too trapped at Belheddon?

  So, had she and David been right? It was Edward. Was it Edward IV of England, and had she inadvertently named her younger son after him? Shuddering, Joss skipped on. There were several more pages of closely written script, the writing growing more and more illegible as the days passed. Then came the last page.

  So. I am accepted into the Catholic church and Paul and I are married at last. I have done all I can for the safety of my soul.

  There was a trail of ink across the page as though her hand was too tired to hold the pen properly any more, then the writing resumed.

  I was so sure she could not cross water.

  Katherine

  my nemesis …

  That was all. Joss rested the book on her knee and stared into the flames.

  Katherine.

  The name that echoed through her head and through the his tory of the house. I was so sure she could not cross water. What did that mean? That she had come to France? Followed Laura here?

  What was the significance of crossing water? Witches couldn’t cross water; wasn’t that a part of the tradition? But it was Katherine’s mother who was the witch. And why should Katherine come here? What was Laura to her?

  Her head was throbbing. She rested it wearily on her knees as the book slid to the floor and lay face down on the carpet. She could hear the ticking of the long case clock in the hall, slow, hypnotic; reassuring. In the hearth the logs burned with an occasional quiet hiss throwing a wonderful fragrant warmth around her. Closing her eyes she laid her head back against the cushions.

  Come back to me, Katherine, love of my life and my destiny …

  The cry wrenched her back from sleep with a leap of fear. It had been too loud; too desperate.

  It was a dream; nothing more. A nightmare sparked off by reading the diaries. She picked up the book and clutched it against her chest. Poor Laura. Did she have any peace at all before she died? She had died here, in this house, Paul had said, attended by a full-time nurse over the last few days. The end had been quiet, he said, although she had said she wanted no more drugs. He had been sitting with her, her hand in his, and she had smiled at him, perfectly lucid, before closing her eyes for the last time. If she had cried out the names of any strangers he had not mentioned it.

  Trying to shake off her melancholy she drew the small leather jewel box towards her and opened the latch on the flap which fastened it. Inside cushioned in faded blue velvet lay several very beautiful pieces – a string of pearls, some lapis beads, several brooches and half a dozen rings.

  It was growing dark when Paul and Luke returned, hearty, glowing with cold and eager they had already laughingly agreed for an English cup of tea. Standing in the doorway Paul looked down at Joss near the fire. He could hardly see her in the dusk of the room. ‘Ma chère Jocelyn, I’m sorry. Were you asleep?’

  For a moment she closed her eyes, trying to compose herself then with a smile she scrambled to her feet. ‘No. Only dreaming and perhaps a little sad.’

  ‘Ah. Perhaps we should have given you longer to look at your treasures.’ He came over and put his
arm round her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Laura would not have wanted you to be sad, Jocelyn. She was happy in France.’

  ‘Was she?’ Joss hadn’t meant it to come out that way – as an accusation. ‘Are you sure? Are you sure she didn’t bring her demons with her?’ She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘Demons?’ he echoed.

  She gestured at the notebook on the carpet. ‘Did you read her diaries?’

  For a moment he looked shocked then slowly he sat down. ‘Jocelyn, it may surprise you to know that I never did. Laura asked me to burn them, and I meant to. I put all her things in that box to take them outside to the garden and put them on the fire, but I couldn’t bear to do it. In the end I put the whole box away – perhaps in a strange way to wait for you to make the decision if you ever came,’ he shrugged, ‘I don’t know. But for whatever reason the things were there for you. But they were not mine to read.’

  ‘But you were her husband.’

  ‘Yes.’ He gave a grave smile.

  Joss looked up at him. ‘You were only married at the very end.’

  He nodded. ‘So, she wrote about that.’

  ‘And that she had converted to Catholicism.’

  Sighing he leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. Behind him Joss was conscious of Luke standing silently by the window. No one had turned on the lights and the only illumination came from the dying fire and the slight tinge of pale light still showing in the sky out of the window. ‘I am not a religious man. I did not encourage her in this – either the marriage or the lessons with the curé – this came from inside her. I asked her to marry me of course, when she came to France, but she did not want it and here no one minded – no one asked. We were both free – I think, as I told you, that perhaps she enjoyed the – how you call – naughtiness of it? She had been for so long a respectable lady in England.’ He gave a huge warm smile, his eyes focusing on a distant memory. ‘Then at the end, when she became ill, I think she became a little afraid.’ He frowned. ‘Do not misunderstand. She was very brave, your mother. So brave. When the pain came she did not complain ever. But there was something – something out there –’ he gestured towards the sky outside the window. ‘Something which had always haunted her; the thing she had fought with her visit to Sacré Coeur. For a while it was held at bay. She did not think of it. Then one day, I came home and found her sitting by the fire in the dark, much as you were doing just now. And she was crying and she told me that the ghosts had followed her to France. That first they had come in her dreams, and that now she thought they were growing stronger.’

  ‘No.’ Luke stepped forward suddenly. ‘I’m sorry, Paul, but I think we’ve had enough of these ghosts. They were the reason we came to France in the first place.’

  Paul turned in his seat. ‘Put on the lights my friend. Pull the curtains. Let us see what we are doing.’ He turned back to Joss. ‘Do you wish to talk of this now?’

  She nodded. ‘Luke. It’s important. Paul, I have to know. Did she say who was haunting her?’

  ‘The ghost of her lover.’

  Joss stared at him, completely shocked. ‘Her lover?’

  ‘That is what she said.’

  ‘She had a lover!’

  ‘Why not. She was a beautiful woman.’

  ‘But I thought –’ she shook her head as though trying to dislodge her thoughts. ‘I thought that it was a ghost. A real ghost. From the past.’

  He smiled again. ‘All ghosts are from the past, Jocelyn.’

  Her thoughts were whirling. ‘Did she mention anyone else to you? Anyone else who came here. A woman called Katherine?’

  He nodded. ‘At the end. It upset her very much. I do not know how she came in – the nurse said she had opened the door to no one, but somehow she came to see Laura.’

  ‘Did you see her?’

  ‘Non.’

  ‘Who was she, do you know?’

  ‘She had been this man’s lover too. And he had left her, that much I understood. She was very bitter that Laura had stolen him. I was so angry when Laura told me. Not about the lover, although she had never told me about him either,’ he shrugged gallantly, ‘but this woman was apparently young and beautiful, and my Laura was so ravaged by the disease. It was an obscenity for this Katherine to come here. It was only a day or so later that your mother died.’

  Katherine

  The word seemed to fill the silence in the room.

  Luke came and sat down near Joss. ‘That’s a terrible story. What happened to her? Did she ever come back?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘No. If she had she would have regretted it. All my rage and misery and grief was directed at that woman. To come to a dying woman and taunt her with her own beauty. Laura kept talking about her beautiful, long dark hair. And then she brought some roses. The roses which Laura hated most in the whole world.’

  ‘White roses,’ Joss whispered.

  ‘Exactement! White roses. I threw them from the window. It was as if she knew, Laura said, that it would kill her to bring them here.’

  ‘How did she know where Laura was?’ Joss was still frowning, trying to rearrange her thoughts.

  Paul shrugged once more. ‘Who knows? She probably hired a detective. I do not make a secret of my home. I have this house for thirty years. Everyone knows me. We had nothing to hide.’

  There were several seconds of silence, then Luke cleared his throat. ‘Why don’t I go and put on the kettle.’

  When he returned with a tray and three mugs of tea and a saucer full of lemon slices for Paul, they were both still sitting there, staring at the fire, each preoccupied with his own thoughts.

  ‘Were there two Katherines then?’ Joss said at last. ‘The Katherine who died in 1482, whose presence fills the house at home; and now this other. I never thought – I never ever guessed, that mother had a lover.’

  Paul got up to throw a log onto the fire. ‘She had me!’

  ‘I know.’ Joss smiled fondly. ‘But that was different. One expects everything to do with the French to be decadent and shocking.’ She was teasing now. ‘The thought that my mother had a lover – an English lover – at Belheddon – that is somehow wrong.’

  Paul clicked his teeth. ‘You English are not logical. Not at all. Ever.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Your father died over thirty years ago, Jocelyn. Would you expect your mother to be without love for so long? Surely you would not have condemned her to that.’

  Joss shook her head. ‘No. Of course I wouldn’t. No one should have to live without love.’ She held out her hand towards Luke, who came and took it. He put his arm round her.

  ‘It is all a little bewildering for us, Paul,’ he said slowly. ‘We have been imagining the house full of ghosts from the past – the distant past – and now it seems that they come as well from the living present.’

  ‘But not the children,’ Joss whispered. ‘The children came from the past.’

  ‘That house is not good for children,’ Paul said thoughtfully. ‘You should be careful. Laura was full of superstition about it. Coincidence is strange. It attracts more coincidence. The expectation of people is liable to be fulfilled. Once the expectation changes, then slowly the mood will change and the coincidences will no longer be there.’

  ‘You sound very wise.’

  He let out a crack of laughter. ‘That is probably the only good thing about being as old as me. Age gives a spurious sense of experience and wisdom. Now,’ with a groan he levered himself to his feet, ‘I shall stop being pompous and I shall go and look for a bottle of wine while you ring grand-mère and check that your babies are well. When you have done that we can all relax and talk of what we shall do tomorrow.’

  Luke waited until he had left the room before he spoke. ‘What an incredibly nice man. Your mother was so lucky to have found him.’

  ‘Wasn’t she.’ Joss curled up on the sofa, hugging a cushion. ‘I’m so confused, Luke.’

  ‘But happier,
I hope.’

  ‘I think so.’ As he reached for the phone and began to dial she rubbed her eyes wearily.

  Katherine

  A medieval Katherine with long wild hair and flowing gowns. And a modern Katherine. A Katherine in high heels with soignée artfully tumbled hair and red lipstick; a Katherine who could fly to Orly just as they had, not on a broomstick but on a plane. Were they different women or the same? She would never know now.

  Katherine

  The echo in her head would not go away; it was an echo from the past, an echo that was tinged with laughter …

  Luke had, she realised, put down the phone. He looked thoughtful. ‘Lyn took the boys back to Belheddon yesterday,’ he said slowly.

  Joss went white. ‘Why?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Mum says she was getting more and more resentful and possessive; she didn’t want any help or advice and contradicted everything they tried to do.’ He raised an eyebrow.

  Joss scowled. ‘That sounds familiar. The stupid, stupid girl! How dare she! Luke, what are we going to do?’

  ‘Ring her presumably. No –’ he raised his hand. ‘Let me. You’ll rush in and make things worse.’

  ‘She can’t stay there, Luke. She’s got to take them out of the house. Tell her to go to Janet. She won’t mind – ’

  ‘Let me speak to her, first.’ He was dialling, lifting the receiver to his ear.

  Katherine

  The echo in her ears was louder; the laughter wilder; a medieval Katherine and a modern Katherine. Two women with the same eyes, the same red lips, the same wild hair, two women out for revenge.

  Scrambling to her feet Joss went to stand beside Luke. She could hear the phone ringing on and on. No one answered.

  Behind them Paul appeared with a small tray. He stood for a moment in the doorway, then he put down the tray. ‘What is wrong? Can’t you get through?’

  ‘Lyn has taken the boys back to Belheddon,’ Joss was biting her lip hard. ‘There’s no reply.’

  Paul frowned. ‘Is there a neighbour you can ring? I am sure there is no need to worry.’ He put his arm round Joss’s shoulders.