House of Echoes

  ‘Look –’ Luke took a deep breath trying to clear his mind. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I’m being obtuse. You want to speak to Joss, right?’

  ‘Right.’ He could hear the amusement in her voice. ‘If I set off now, I should be with you in an hour and a half, or thereabouts. Can you tell Jim – that is Jimbo,’ she snorted once more, ‘that I’m coming, please. And tell Mrs Grant to stay away until I get there, OK?’

  ‘What do you mean, stay away –’ Luke was indignant. ‘Hello? Are you still there?’ He knew she wasn’t. He had heard the click as she hung up.

  Washed and shaved and in a fresh shirt he felt a new man. It was only as he walked through into the bedroom and rummaged in the chest of drawers for a thick sweater that he noticed the bed. Staring, he walked towards it and stood looking down. It was neatly made, the covers in place, not a dent or wrinkle anywhere and around it the floor was spotless. There was no sign anywhere of a single white petal.

  * * *

  Jimbo arrived at eight thirty as usual. He was unlocking the carriage house when Luke walked out of the back door and joined him, looking down at the shining chassis on the blocks before them. ‘Nearly finished.’ Jimbo’s voice was filled with pride. ‘I got a lot done while you were away.’

  ‘You did indeed.’ Luke glanced at him. ‘Jimbo, your sister rang this morning. She said to tell you she was coming over.’

  ‘Nat? She’s coming? That’s good.’ Jimbo avoided his eyes. ‘I thought she should talk to Joss.’

  ‘So she said. May I ask what about?’

  Jim took a deep breath. ‘Ghosts. She knows a lot about ghosts. She can talk to them. They never frighten her.’

  ‘And they frighten you?’ Luke’s hands were rammed down in his jeans pockets. He felt less confident than he had before.

  ‘I’ll say. No way will I go into that house.’ Jim smiled sheepishly. ‘I never liked it, and now –’ his voice trailed away.

  ‘And you think Joss and the children are in danger.’

  ‘Not Joss. No. Joss has never been in danger.’ Jim shifted his feet uncomfortably. Then he glanced up. ‘I think you should watch it, though.’ He shrugged, embarrassed. ‘Not keen on men, the ghosts in this house. Look at what happened to the Reverend Gower.’

  ‘He had a heart attack, Jimbo. It could have happened anywhere.’

  ‘It didn’t though, did it. It happened here.’ Jimbo turned to the work bench and reached for a spanner. ‘That Lyn, she’s over at the Goodyears’ too, is she?’ he asked casually.

  ‘Yes,’ Luke nodded. ‘They’re all over there.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Jimbo turned back, the spanner in his hand. ‘You just think what happened to old Mr Duncan, and his two boys. I thought Nat should know Joss says it’s all happening again.’

  ‘So, how can Nat – Natalie – help?’

  Jimbo shrugged his shoulders. ‘She always said she could. When she was little. No one would listen to her then, of course. But now – well, she knows about these things. She’s a psychic, you see.’

  ‘Oh.’ Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘I see.’

  He wasn’t at all sure what he was expecting a psychic to look like – shawls, beads and big hooped ear rings, at least – certainly not the neat young woman in a business suit who turned in under the archway some forty minutes later, driving a Golf GTi.

  ‘Sorry.’ She reached out to shake Luke’s hand. ‘I couldn’t leave at once after all. I had to look in at the office first. Is Joss here?’

  Luke shook his head. ‘My wife is still over at the Goodyears’ with the children.’

  ‘Good.’ Natalie glanced over her shoulder at the house. ‘May I go in and wander round? There’s no need for you to come in too.’

  Luke hesitated.

  ‘That’s a bit rich, Nat. He doesn’t know you’re not a burglar,’ Jim put in. ‘He doesn’t know you from Adam.’

  Luke laughed. ‘I’ll take a risk. Yes, please, go on in.’

  He stood and watched as she walked over the cobbles towards the back door, noting absent-mindedly that she had extremely good legs beneath her short executive skirt.

  ‘What sort of job does she do, Jim?’ he asked as he turned back to the work bench.

  ‘She works in a solicitors’ office.’ Jim grinned at him over an oily carburettor. ‘She inherited all the brains of the family. None left for me.’ He sniffed good-naturedly. ‘Can’t think where she got them from. Not my dad, bless him, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Are you going over to the house, later?’ Lyn had finished clearing away the children’s breakfast and returned Janet’s kitchen to a pristine neatness. She glanced over at Joss who was sitting at the table over a cup of coffee. ‘You haven’t eaten anything, you know. You must have something.’

  Joss shook her head. ‘I’m feeling a bit queasy to tell you the truth. I’ll get something later. This will do. I thought I’d go and have a chat with Luke a bit later, yes. If you don’t mind keeping the boys here.’ She smiled fondly at Tom who was playing on the mat with the brother of Kit and Kat who was still firmly resident at the farm.

  ‘Have you rung Luke?’

  Joss shook her head. ‘I’ve been trying not to since five o’clock this morning. I’m sure he’s OK.’

  Lyn raised an eyebrow. ‘Sure he is.’ She scrutinised Joss for a moment. ‘You are looking lousy. Why not go back to bed for a bit. Janet won’t mind. As soon as she comes in from her hens or wherever she is she suggested she and I take the boys shopping. Tom would enjoy it and Ned can come in his pram. It’ll give you the chance to rest.’

  I’ve been resting. For days. Joss could feel the words hovering on her lips, but she didn’t say them. She did feel lousy, and she would like nothing more than to go back to bed, but she had to go over to the house. She had to talk to Luke. And above all she did not want the boys there. Not ever again.

  She waited until they had gone before letting herself out of the back door and walking swiftly across the garden towards the orchard. The morning was dull and cold; occasional showers of drips cascaded from the bare branches of the tall old apple trees as she walked past, and above through the network of twigs she could see the rain waiting in the bellying clouds. Shivering she walked more quickly, feeling the wet grass and mud slippery beneath her shoes as she turned out of the orchard and onto the footpath. In the distance she could see the roofs of Belheddon Hall huddling in the mist on the crest of the ridge.

  The garden seemed very silent as she let herself in by the gate and walked slowly around the lake. A duck was paddling on the far side, dipping its beak from time to time into the weed and she stood for a moment, staring at the pattern of rings spreading out from it across the water.

  The shutters in the study were still closed. She could see the blank windows from here. Standing still she studied the house and surreptitiously her hand went up to the crucifix on the chain around her neck.

  No one saw her approach. Leaving a trail of darker footprints in the wet grass she stepped onto the terrace, shivering with cold and walked towards the windows. Peering into the great hall she could see the room in the dim morning light. There was no fire and on the table she could see a vase of dead flowers, petals scattered around on the dusty surface. Her scalp was tingling and she rammed her fingers down into her pockets. They were ordinary flowers. Chrysanthemums and autumn daisies, but why had Lyn left them to die?

  With heavy steps she walked round towards the gate into the courtyard and stopped. The coach house doors were open and the lights were on, brilliant strips of fluorescent tubing, and she could hear the cheerful banging of a hammer on metal. Someone – Jimbo – was whistling.

  It was like looking at a stage from a darkened auditorium; a world that was separate and unreal was displayed before her – a world of noise and bright lights and happiness and laughter while she, on the outside, peering through the bars of the gate was in some strange limbo where time stood still and shadows lurked in the darkness.

  There was
a tightness in her chest and in her pockets the palms of her hands were beginning to sweat. Quietly she unlatched the gate and pushed it open. Passing the garage without announcing herself she let herself into the kitchen and stopped in astonishment. A stranger was standing near the kitchen table.

  ‘Joss?’ The young woman held out her hand. ‘I’m Natalie Cotting, Jim’s sister. I’ve come to help.’

  40

  ‘This was always one of the centres of activity.’ They were standing in the great hall in front of the fireplace. ‘Here and the large bedroom upstairs.’ Natalie stood for a long moment in complete silence, her eyes on the floor a few inches in front of her feet. Joss watched her, standing a yard or so from her. She could feel a tight knot of tension somewhere below her ribs. It was interfering with her breathing.

  Slowly Natalie nodded. Without saying a word she moved towards the staircase where she stopped for a moment. ‘There never used to be any trouble in the study. Is it still happy in there?’

  Joss nodded.

  ‘Good. Let’s go upstairs then.’

  They toured the house slowly, room by room, then found themselves back once more in the kitchen. There too Natalie stood in silence, her head bowed until at last she looked up and caught Joss’s eye. ‘Sorry. You must think I’m loopy.’

  Joss smiled. ‘No. Tell me what you’ve been doing.’

  ‘Just having a feel around.’ Natalie slipped into the chair at the head of the table and leaned forward earnestly, her chin cupped in her hands. She looked as if she were about to address a board of directors. ‘I used to come here a lot when I was little. I would play with the boys, Georgie and Sam. Georgie died about ten years before I was born and Sam I think about ten years before that. They must have been your brothers, I suppose?’ She waited for Joss’s nod. ‘Of course they didn’t know each other in life, but where they are now, in whatever dimension it is, they are a pair of tearaways.’ She smiled affectionately.

  ‘My son Tom talks about them. He’s found some of their toys. And –’ Joss hesitated, ‘I’ve heard them calling to each other.’

  Natalie nodded. ‘Monkeys. There are other children here too of course – the boys who have been lost. There’s Robert. He was your mum’s brother. And little John. He’s only a wee thing of about three, with golden curls and big blue eyes.’

  Joss gasped. ‘You can see them?’

  Natalie nodded. ‘Inside my head. Not always. Not today. I’m not seeing today.’ She frowned. ‘There’s a lot of other things here today. Unpleasant things.’ She clenched her fists. ‘People have been meddling. The Reverend Gower – Jim told me. He always made things worse because he didn’t understand what he’s dealing with here. Exorcism works when the priests understand. So many don’t. Often they are dealing with people – people like you and me – not demons. Other times they are dealing with evil far worse than they can conceive and their faith in what they are doing lets them down. They aren’t strong enough.’

  ‘And what are we dealing with here?’ whispered Joss. Her eyes were fixed on Natalie’s.

  ‘I’m not sure yet. When I came as a child I was always welcome. I could talk to Sam or Georgie or Robert. But they’re not there. They’re hiding. There’s something else.’ She stood up, her movements restless and quick. Looking out of the window she shook her head. ‘There’s too much here now. It’s confused. I’m going to need some time. Let’s go back to the great hall.’

  A few minutes later standing in front of the fireplace she shook her head again. ‘I can feel so much anger and so much pain.’ She put her hands to her temples. ‘It’s filling my head. I can’t sort out the voices.’

  Joss shivered. There was something in her own head as well – an echo, nothing more; an echo she couldn’t quite hear.

  K atherine

  It was the name from the shadows.

  ‘Katherine,’ she whispered. ‘Is she a part of this?’

  Natalie frowned. She half raised a hand to silence Joss, still listening hard to something Joss could not hear.

  Katherine, my love. You were meant to be mine forever

  Katherine! Where are you?

  Natalie was nodding. ‘Katherine is part of the grief. His mourning is trapped in every stone and timber and tile of this house.’

  ‘Whose mourning?’ Joss whispered. ‘Is it the king?’

  Natalie’s eyes focused sharply. ‘So you know? You’ve seen him?’

  Joss shrugged helplessly. The shutter had suddenly come down in her mind again; the black wall she could not penetrate. ‘I think so. Yes. My little boy calls him the tin man because of his armour.’

  Natalie gave a small puzzled smile and nodded. ‘It is odd, isn’t it, to wear armour in his lover’s house.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. But he’s an angry, bitter man. Why else should he kill?’

  ‘Ssh.’ Natalie lifted her hand sharply. ‘Perhaps we can get him to speak to us. But not now.’ She shook her head. ‘Let’s go outside. Do you mind?’

  There was no sign of Jimbo or Luke in the coach house as they walked out and into the garden, Natalie wearing a pair of Lyn’s boots and an old jacket of Joss’s over her smart office clothes.

  Once on the grass she shook her neat, glossy hair out in the wind and took a couple of small childish skips across the grass.

  ‘Sorry. The atmosphere in there was so oppressive I couldn’t think straight. I could feel them listening all round me. Better to talk out here and decide what to do in private as it were.’

  ‘Tom and Ned are in danger, aren’t they.’ Joss was walking beside her slowly, her hands in her pockets as they headed towards the lake.

  ‘I think if the past history of this place is anything to go by, you must assume so, yes.’

  ‘But why? Why does he hurt the boys?’ She paused for a moment then she looked up. ‘Did you mean it? Can you get him to speak to us?’

  Natalie shrugged. ‘I can try.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I wasn’t feeling so tired. I feel as though I’m being drained.’

  They had reached the lake. She stood staring down into the water. ‘You know, I said in there I couldn’t sort out the voices. There were more than I expected. Not the children’s voices, not the lost boys or the men who have died. Other voices, powerful voices.’

  ‘Men’s voices or women’s!’ Joss was watching the moorhen scurrying back and forth between the water lily leaves.

  ‘That’s the strange thing. I’m not sure. I can hear snatches of words – powerful words, but I can’t make them out. It’s like fiddling with the dial on a radio. One flashes backwards and forwards through the stations – some are loud, some faint and there is lots of static – then occasionally – just occasionally – one finds a station where one can understand the language and the reception is good and for a while one can tune in, then something happens – perhaps the wind changes or the antennae in my head move slightly and it’s gone and I can’t find it again.’

  There was a long silence. Joss was shivering. ‘You can hear them, but can they hear you?’

  ‘Why do you think I came out here?’

  ‘You think they’re trapped within the walls of the house; that they can’t travel?’

  Natalie shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ She gave a grimace. ‘But I feel safer out here.’

  Joss pulled up the collar of her jacket. ‘Luke and I have just returned from France. We went over there to see Paul Deauville, my mother’s second husband. He gave me her last diaries. She mentioned Edward by name. She said she dreamed that he was looking everywhere for her here. He couldn’t reach her in France. Then she made a strange entry: she said, “I was so sure she could not cross water”.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘What kind of person can’t cross water? A vampire? A dead person?’

  ‘A witch?’ Natalie’s voice was very thoughtful.

  ‘Margaret de Vere was accused of witchcraft; accused of trying to kill the king,’ Joss went on slowly. ‘She was Katherine’s mother; Kat
herine, who we think was the king’s lover. Here.’ The moorhen took flight suddenly. Flapping its wings wildly it ran across the top of the lilies until it was airborne and dived out of sight behind the hedge. ‘While we were in France I found out that Katherine – a Katherine no one except my mother saw – visited her when she was dying. She took my mother white roses. Paul says that a Katherine had been the mistress of the man who became my mother’s lover here at Belheddon, and that her rage and jealousy were so great she hunted my mother down across the water.’ She was staring sightlessly down at the slowly spreading ripples beneath a wind-spun leaf. ‘I’m trying to work this out, and it makes no sense. Are we saying that King Edward of England, a man who had been dead for five hundred years, was my mother’s lover?’ She looked up and held Natalie’s gaze. ‘That is what we’re saying, aren’t we? But it can’t be. It can’t.’

  ‘They were both lonely, Joss. Your father had died. And he, Edward, had lost his Katherine.’

  ‘But he was dead!’ Joss was revolted.

  ‘He’s an earthbound spirit who still has earthly emotions,’ Natalie said gently. ‘He still feels anger and fear and bitterness – those are the things which I suspect anchor him here – but perhaps he also feels loneliness and even love. We don’t understand these things, Joss, so we must use our intuition. It’s all we have.’

  Joss was staring down at the water again. A memory had surfaced out of nowhere. The cellar; a face; a pair of arms …

  ‘Joss? Joss, what is it? What’s wrong?’ Natalie’s arm was round her shoulders. ‘Joss, you’re white as a sheet. Come on, it’s cold out here. We ought to go in.’

  ‘No.’ Joss shook her off. She was trying to think, to remember, to grasp at a sliding mirage, a chimera at the edge of her mind, but already it had gone and the wall was once more firmly back in place, leaving nothing but the sour aftertaste of blinding panic.

  Natalie was watching her carefully. She could see the fear and the revulsion like a cloak around the other woman and suddenly she began to understand. ‘Dear God,’ she whispered. ‘He’s made love to you too.’