House of Echoes

  ‘I can’t see anything.’ Lyn dashed the tears out of her eyes as Janet caught up with her, panting.

  ‘Nor can I. You go that way and I’ll go this way. I’ll meet you round the other side. That way we can be sure.’ She squeezed Lyn’s arm and set off, her shoes squelching in the damp muddy grass. The air felt very cold and she shivered as she hurried on, her eyes scanning the water, dreading the thought that she might actually see something there, but the lake and its surroundings were empty of any signs of the small boy or the baby. When she caught up with Lyn she was smiling. ‘Thank God they’re not here. I couldn’t have borne it. Where else can we look?’

  Lyn stared round desperately. ‘Tom’s only little. He can’t have got far. Not on his own.’ She bit her lip. ‘You don’t think – you don’t think they’ve been taken away?’

  ‘Who on earth by?’ Janet shook her head. ‘They were in the house. You’d have known if there was someone else there.’

  ‘Someone locked me in, Janet.’

  They stared at each other for a moment. ‘I think we’d better call the police,’ Lyn said at last. ‘Let’s go back inside.’

  As they walked they were both scanning the garden for any signs. ‘You know he could just be hiding – in a hedge or a bush or something. We should be calling.’ Janet stopped and turning round cupped her hands round her mouth. ‘Tom! Tom Tom, where are you?’

  ‘Tom!’ Lyn echoed. She ran towards the shrubbery at the edge of the lawn. ‘Tom Tom! Come on. It’s lunch time.’

  By the time they had worked their way round to the front of the house they were both exhausted, hoarse with shouting and filthy from peering into the muddy places under bushes and trees.

  ‘It’s no good. It will have to be the police. The woods go for miles. We can’t search them on our own.’ Lyn was white as a sheet.

  ‘No.’ Janet eased her frozen hands into her pockets. ‘No, you’re right. We’d better go in and phone.’

  They walked across the gravel in front of the house, and ducked through the arch into the courtyard. Luke’s car was parked by the back door.

  ‘Oh no.’ Lyn stopped. She had gone white. ‘What am I going to tell them?’

  ‘The truth, love. Come on. The sooner we’ve done that, the sooner we can call the police.’ Janet put her arm round Lyn’s shoulders again.

  Together they went into the back hall and pushed open the kitchen door.

  Luke and Joss were standing by the table laughing. Tom was between them, holding Joss’s hand. In the other he was clutching a model of the Eiffel Tower.

  ‘Tom?’ Lyn’s cry made them all turn round. ‘Tom, where have you been? Where’s Ned?’

  ‘Lyn! Janet! What on earth is the matter?’ Joss stared at them in horror. ‘Ned’s here. Asleep. In the buggy. What’s wrong? Why are you both so wet?’

  Lyn walked slowly round the table and stood in front of the buggy for a full minute staring down at the sleeping baby, then slowly she knelt down and began to undo the harness which held him safely in; the harness which had clips far too stiff for Tom’s small fingers to undo. Around him was tucked one of the soft blankets which she remembered hanging on the front of the range.

  She felt it carefully. It was bone dry. Tears running down her cheeks she stared up at Joss who had come to stand behind her.

  ‘What happened, Lyn?’ Joss was frowning.

  ‘I thought I’d lost them.’ Lifting Ned out, Lyn kissed the top of his head. Climbing to her feet she pushed him into Joss’s arms. ‘I thought we’d lost them. I thought … I thought …’ Sitting down at the table she put her head in her arms and burst into sobs.

  Luke frowned at Joss. ‘It looks as though it’s a good thing we came back. Hey, old thing, come on. Cheer up. Everyone is all right.’ He patted Lyn’s head awkwardly then he looked at Janet. ‘You both look as though you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. Do you mind telling me exactly what’s been going on here?’

  ‘Wait. First let me ask Tom something.’ Janet knelt down before the little boy and gave him a hug. ‘OK, sausage. I want you to tell Aunty Janet where you and Ned were hiding.’ She gave him an encouraging smile. ‘You were hiding, weren’t you.’

  Tom nodded vigorously.

  ‘So. Where were you? Aunty Lyn and I looked and looked and we couldn’t find you.’

  ‘We were playing with Georgie.’

  ‘Now, why don’t I find that surprising,’ Janet said softly. She raised her hand sharply to forestall Joss’s cry of alarm. ‘So, where do you go to play with Georgie, Tom?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘Right upstairs? In the attic?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And was it you that locked Aunty Lyn in the attic?’

  He stared at her for a moment. ‘That was Georgie.’

  ‘I see. You knew that was naughty of him, didn’t you.’

  Tom looked shamefaced. He peeked at Lyn and then buried his face in Janet’s sweater. She looked up at Joss over the little boy’s head. ‘Please, bring them back to me. Don’t keep them here.’

  ‘Janet – ’

  Luke’s protest was cut short by Lyn. ‘Please, Luke. Until we’ve sorted out what happened.’

  ‘But you don’t believe in all this rubbish about ghosts!’ Luke stared at her.

  ‘I don’t know what I believe any more. I think we should all go to Janet’s. If she’ll have us. Just till we find out what’s happening.’

  ‘I’d love to have you all, Luke.’

  Suddenly he caved in. ‘OK. You girls go, and the kids. But I’m staying here.’

  ‘No; remember what Paul said.’

  ‘Joss, I am not afraid of a jumble of legends and stories. I live here. My job is here. I like this house and I’m not afraid of it.’ He gave a sober smile. ‘Honestly. I’ll be all right. You two take Tom and Ned to Janet’s because I know you won’t get a wink of sleep unless you do, but then tomorrow we’re going to have to work something out. We can’t go on like this.’

  In the end they persuaded him to come back to the farm for supper at least, but later, after they had all eaten, and checked on the children, asleep and safe upstairs in the long low-ceilinged bedroom Luke eventually got up and stretched his arms above his head. Lyn had gone to bed half an hour before. ‘I don’t know about you, Joss, but I’m feeling a bit jet lagged.’ He grinned at his own joke. ‘I think I’m off home now.’

  ‘No.’ Joss clutched at his hand. ‘Stay here. Just tonight.’

  He shook his head. ‘Joss, my love. I must go back. I am not going to be chased out of our own house. That is ridiculous. And tomorrow we’ve got to find a way of reassuring you and Lyn.’ He turned to Janet and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks for a wonderful meal. You look after them and keep the hysteria levels down, OK? I think perhaps what we’ll do is get the family to rally round. The christening contingent. Your mum and dad, Lyn and my mum and dad and perhaps Mat as well. And David and Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and anyone else who wants to come. We’ll have a pre-Christmas wassail.’ He grinned. ‘No ghost would dare show its face in a house that full, would it?’ He gave Joss a hug. ‘Now, no more worry, OK? And remember, if Janet doesn’t mind, you promised you’d ring Paul and tell him everything was all right.’

  In a moment he was gone. Janet sighed. ‘Men. They won’t be told. Isn’t he scared at all?’

  Joss shook her head sadly. ‘I think he’s as scared as hell. He just won’t admit it. Not even to himself.’

  Paul was reassuring. ‘He’ll be all right, Jocelyn. He is strong, your husband. But if you want more reinforcement call me and I will come too.’ She could hear his laughter and his affection down the phone.

  ‘Bless you, Paul, I will.’ When she had hung up she turned to Janet who had picked up her needlepoint and was working by the light of a lamp near the fire. ‘Can I ring David? I want to find out what happened here when he came.’

  ‘Of course.’ Janet bit off a thread. ‘Get him up here as well.’

/>   ‘I don’t think I can. It’s term time still.’ She pulled the phone down off the table and sat in front of the fire near Janet with the instrument on her knee.

  David was marking a pile of essays on the Education Act. Nemesis, he thought ruefully as he sat staring at them, listening to a soft background Sibelius. He was far from displeased when the phone rang even though it was after eleven.

  ‘David? It’s Joss.’

  ‘Joss?’ His heart leaped at the sound of her voice. ‘Where are you? Are you home?’

  ‘The boys and I are with Janet.’

  ‘Thank God you’re not in that house. I suppose you heard what happened.’

  ‘Some.’ She was conscious of Janet staring at her. ‘Can you tell me exactly what happened?’

  It was several minutes before she spoke again.

  ‘Can you come, David? Can you come, so we can talk?’

  He hesitated. His flat was warm and comfortable and above all safe. Staring down at the pile of essays he was tempted to say no, but the edge of panic in Joss’s voice had reached him. Her dumbo husband still did not seem to have caught on about what was happening. She needed someone who understood.

  ‘OK. I’m free after fifth period tomorrow. I’ll come up then.’ There was a moment’s silence as he mentally questioned his own sanity. ‘Can you stay away till I come?’

  ‘No, David. Of course I can’t stay away.’

  ‘Then keep the children away and you be careful. Please.’

  She sat for a long time after she had rung off staring into the flames, aware that Janet had put down her embroidery and was watching her carefully.

  She looked up at last. ‘So, supposing you tell me what really happened this afternoon. You and Lyn seemed determined to keep it quiet.’

  ‘We didn’t want to frighten you.’

  ‘So, frighten me now they’re safe.’ She turned a speculative gaze on Janet.

  It did not take long to tell the story.

  Joss turned back to the fire. She did not want Janet to see her fear.

  ‘It can’t have been Tom,’ Janet repeated. ‘He couldn’t have reached the key and he couldn’t undo the baby harness in the buggy.’

  ‘But you don’t think it was a real person.’

  ‘Jimbo?’ Janet shrugged. ‘I gather he has a key, but somehow I doubt it. Who else is there?’ She began to fold her work away into her sewing basket. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Joss. I wish Luke hadn’t gone back there, I really do.’

  39

  Luke turned off the kitchen light and made his way slowly towards the stairs. In the great hall he stopped and stared round. The room was still warm, though the fire had long ago died, and it smelled nice – wood smoke and flowers and old lavender polish. He stood savouring the moment, his hand on the light switch. It was good to be home again, though he had enjoyed the trip to France; he had liked Paul enormously, as had Joss, and he hoped to see him again. Sighing he turned off the switch and began to climb the stairs.

  Flicking on their bedroom light he was pulling off his jacket when he noticed the bed. He stared for a minute, hardly able to believe his eyes, then slowly he walked across to it and bent down to run his hand over it. It was covered in white rose petals. His mouth fell open. They were ice cold, like snow flakes, scattered thickly over the whole area of the crewel work cover.

  Lyn or Janet? A practical joke – and not a very kind one – aimed at Joss. Angrily he swept them off the bed, watching as they scattered all over the floor.

  In the corner of the room, in the far shadows, the slumbering silence stirred and one of the shadows detached itself and moved a little closer to the bed.

  Luke was pulling the cover back, shaking it and folding it onto the chair in the corner. He turned, surveying the floor, and decided it was too late to bother with sweeping it. Time enough for that tomorrow before Joss came home. Hauling his sweater up over his head he walked through into the bathroom and began to run the hot water.

  Whistling to himself under his breath he peered at his reflection in the mirror as he reached for the toothpaste, noting the bags under his eyes with a scowl then he stopped what he was doing suddenly and held his breath; he was listening, he realised, straining his ears above the sound of running water. Impatiently he turned off the tap, wrenching at it as the water flow continued for a few seconds. Then came the drips plopping seemingly unstoppably into the bath with the sound of stones rattling in a dustbin and then at last silence. Tiptoeing to the door he turned the handle soundlessly and eased it open, peering out into the hallway. The house was silent.

  Reaching for his dressing gown he pulled it on, belting it over his jeans and took a step out onto the landing. Cautiously he peered over the banisters and down into the stairwell. He wasn’t sure now what he had heard, but he could feel rather than hear that there was something – or someone – there.

  ‘Joss?’ It was a whisper. ‘Joss?’ he tried louder. The silence seemed to deepen. He wished he had some kind of a weapon to hand. Looking round desperately he spotted the pewter candlestick on the coffer between the doors to the bedrooms. Stealthily he crossed over and taking out the candle he hefted the heavy lump of metal into his hand before turning once more to the stairs.

  ‘Joss? Who’s there?’ His voice was stronger this time. ‘Come on, I can hear you.’

  It wasn’t true; the silence was so intense it was almost tangible.

  ‘Joss?’ He put a foot on the first step down. ‘Joss? Lyn?’

  He was half way down the stairs when he heard a movement behind him. Spinning round he looked up onto the landing, peering through the turned wooden posts of the banisters and caught sight of something as it fled into his bedroom. Not Kit or Kat. A woman.

  ‘Joss? That is you, isn’t it? Come on. Stop playing the fool. I nearly hit you with the candlestick.’ Two at a time he retraced his steps and pushed open the door.

  She was lying on the bed under the covers – an indistinct shape in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He smiled, relief flooding through him. ‘My God, you had me going there; I thought it must be your ghost.’ Putting down the candlestick he walked across to the bed. ‘Joss? Come on. No need to hide.’ Reaching down he pulled back the covers.

  There was no one there.

  ‘Joss?’ His voice slid up the register. ‘Joss, for Christ’s sake, stop messing about.’

  He peered behind the hangings and then stooped to look under the bed.

  ‘Joss, where are you?’ Spinning round, he peered into every corner of the room. ‘Joss!’ The palms of his hands were sweating. ‘That’s enough. You’ve had your little joke.’ He backed away from the bed towards the door. With one last glance over his shoulder he turned and fled down the stairs.

  In the kitchen he threw himself into the chair at the head of the table and put his head in his hands. What in God’s name was the matter with him? He was going neurotic; he was going mad; he rubbed his face with his hands and for a moment he sat still, just staring at the door, half expecting someone to appear through it at any moment.

  It was several seconds before he stood up again and went to the stove. Pulling open the door to the fire box he peered in. The coals were glowing nicely and for a minute he stood, his hands outstretched to the warmth. There was no way he was going back to Janet’s! He was not going to be chased out of the house by the girls having a joke on him, or by anything else.

  He frowned for a moment, not wanting to think about what else it might be. Joss’s terror and Paul’s very real warning hovered for a moment at the corners of his mind, but he pushed them back angrily. This was complete nonsense. He had allowed them to get to him, that’s all. And it wasn’t going to go on. He was going to stay in the house and that was that.

  For a moment he was tempted to retrace his steps to the great hall, stand up and make an announcement to that effect to any ghosts or spirits or demons who might be lurking, but he thought better of it. A good night’s sleep – or at least what was left of
the night – he looked at his watch and realised suddenly that it was well after one – was a more sensible plan of action and in the morning the others would be back.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of hot chocolate in front of him, he cupped his hands round the comforting warmth of the pottery and stared blankly ahead, aware that his eyes were closing. Slowly his head began to nod. Once or twice he jerked it up and resolved to stand up and go back upstairs, but each time he leaned back, sipped the chocolate and decided to wait a few more minutes by the warmth of the stove.

  He was awakened by the phone ringing. Staring round, confused, he found he was still in the kitchen and it was – he peered at the wall clock – nearly seven o’clock. Outside it was still pitch dark. Fumbling for the phone he picked up the receiver.

  ‘Mr Grant?’ The voice was unfamiliar. A woman with a soft local accent.

  He grunted assent, running stiff fingers through his hair. The inside of his mouth felt like old mouldy felt.

  ‘Mr Grant, I’m Natalie Cotting. Jim’s sister.’

  ‘Jim?’ For a moment Luke was confused. ‘Oh, Jimbo.’

  There was an amused snort from the other end of the line. ‘Jimbo. Right. Did he tell you he’d been on to me?’

  ‘No. He didn’t. Did you want to speak to him?’

  ‘No. No. I’m sorry to ring so early, but I’ve been thinking and I reckon I should come over today if I can get the day off. Is your wife there, Mr Grant?’

  ‘Joss? No.’ He was shaking his head, confused. ‘She spent the night with a neighbour.’

  ‘Ah.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘And your children. They’re with her, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ The relief at the other end of the line was palpable.