A Finer End (18 page)

The door swung open and Garnet Todd stared at him without speaking.

“I want to see Faith,” Nick said.

“She’s not here.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m telling you, she’s not here.” Garnet started to close the door.

Nick stepped forward, jamming it with his shoulder. “Where else would she be? The café’s closed, and she never goes anywhere else, does she? You can’t stop me seeing her.”

“You’re trespassing. This is my house,” protested Garnet, but gave way a step.

Nick’s anger surged with his small victory. Why had he
let this witch bully him—and Faith—for so long? “What are you going to do, ring the police? You don’t have a telephone.” Another step and he was in the house, shutting the door behind him. He looked round the kitchen for some sign of Faith, then called out her name.

“I’ve told you, she’s not here.”

“Then where is she?”

“I don’t know!” There was an edge of panic in Garnet’s voice. “When I went to fetch her from work she was gone, and she hasn’t come home.”

“You’re sure she’s not in the house?”

“Why don’t
you
look, then, if you don’t trust my word.”

Nick turned away without replying and left the kitchen, but once in the corridor he realized the folly of his gesture. There was no electricity, and dusk had invaded the house. Well, he bloody well wasn’t going back to ask Garnet for a candle or a lantern—he’d just have to navigate the shadows as best he could.

Downstairs, first. He went through the dark corridor into the parlor at the front of the house, a musty, disused room, filled with tatty furniture. There was no sign that it had been recently disturbed.

Next, the room that served Garnet as an office, with its rolltop desk and ancient wooden file cabinets. A glass-fronted case against the far wall held a collection of dusty bird’s nests and shells … relics of Garnet’s childhood hobbies, perhaps, now long forgotten.

Returning to the corridor, he found the cold and primitive bath beneath the stairs. In the dim light, he made out a bottle of shampoo on the shelf beside the tub—Faith’s. When he opened it, the pear scent evoked her so strongly that she might have been standing beside him.

What if she
had
come home and confronted Garnet over Winnie’s accident? Would Garnet have silenced her?

But he’d sensed a real fear behind Garnet’s assertion that Faith hadn’t returned to the farmhouse—and if that were true, where could she possibly have gone?

Home to her parents in Street? Not likely. Or—and this was the thorn that Nick never quite managed to dislodge—had she gone to the baby’s mysterious father? For all Faith had given away about him in the past months, the child might as well be the result of immaculate conception. But could Faith have been driven to seek the father out?

Suspicions roiling, Nick climbed the straight flight of stairs. First, he tried the bedroom on the left, immediately recognizable as Garnet’s. An open wardrobe held her gypsy clothes; a dressing table, a collection of combs, brushes, hair slides, and a pretty etched-glass oil lamp. With the matches he kept in his pocket for lighting candles in the bookshop, Nick lit the lamp. Shadows danced on the walls and ceiling as the light illuminated a carved, four-poster bed draped with a lace coverlet. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder if Garnet had ever shared it with anyone.

He took the lamp into the bedroom on the right. This room held little other than a narrow iron bedstead, and beside it a plain deal table. Pegs on the wall organized Faith’s few clothes. A white nightdress and a worn plush rabbit were arranged tidily against the pillow. On the bedside table lay the copy of T. H. White’s
The Once and Future King
he had brought her. There was nothing to indicate where she might have gone.

Returning the lamp to the bedroom, he went back downstairs to the kitchen. Garnet sat in the chair by the woodstove, rocking slowly, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the chair arms.

“Satisfied?” she demanded.

“I’ll find her. And if anything’s happened to her—”

Leaving the threat unspoken, Nick let himself out the door.

The night creatures had begun to venture out of their burrows, but Faith lay still, curled in a nest of leaves beneath
the hedge. At last, a bird shrieked nearby and she woke, conscious at first only of the cold and of the stiffness of her limbs. As she moved, a branch scratched her face and awareness seeped back.

At Buddy’s insistence, she’d left work early. A customer had given her a lift up the hill and dropped her at the farmhouse gate. Immediately, Faith saw that Garnet was home—the van stood in the yard, its wheels mud caked.

She hadn’t meant to look. But she couldn’t avoid passing the van on her way to the house, and before she could stop herself she’d swiveled round and stared. The fender was smudged and smeared, with one wide swipe that could have been made by an impact with a large, solid object—a body?

Oh, God
. She felt a surge of nausea. Nick couldn’t be right—he just couldn’t. But why had Garnet been so strange when she’d come back last night? And all that time Winnie had been lying nearby, injured and unconscious.…

Faith blinked back tears. Garnet had done so much for her … How could she even think her capable of such a terrible thing? But what if—what if Nick were right? Fear clutched at her. She couldn’t go into the house—couldn’t face Garnet. Not yet. She had to think.

Turning away, she walked out of the yard, into the lane. The pull of the Tor drove her up the hill. As she climbed, tendrils of pain began to radiate from her pelvis round her abdomen, but she picked up her pace, ignoring them. The sun had formed an enormous red ball hovering on the horizon—if she didn’t hurry she’d have to climb in the dark. Her sense of urgency increased. She knew she must get to the top of the Tor, although she couldn’t quite formulate why. Then, as she came in sight of the entrance to the north path, a cramp caught her, doubling her over in pain and surprise.

She stopped, panting, took another step, stopped again. The pain worsened, squeezing at her. She had to get off her feet, just for a little while, make it stop. Then she would go on.

Looking round, she had seen the gap in the hedge, just big enough for her body, and when she’d crawled inside, she’d fallen instantly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Now, fully awake, she cupped her hands round her abdomen, felt the gentle flutter of the baby turning. The pain had gone, and she realized that whatever had driven her had dissipated as well. Although it still tugged faintly at the edges of her consciousness, it was not as powerful as her desire to go home. She knew now what she had to do.

She could not betray Garnet without giving her a chance to explain herself.

Easing herself from the hedge, she looked up, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. The sky was overcast, starless, and her only orientation was the deeper blackness of the hedges. Slowly, she made her way down the hill, watching for the glow of oil lamps that would mark the farmhouse.

But it was the white shape of the gate she saw first. Only then was she able to make out the house, a darker shadow against the Tor’s flank. There was no sign of Garnet’s van in the yard, and when Faith let herself in the unlocked back door, only the cats came to greet her.

It was fully dark by the time Jack reached the hospital. He hurried through the car park, head down against the damp, chill wind, assuring himself that no news from Maggie meant that Winnie’s condition remained stable.

But the first person he saw when he entered the ICU waiting area was Andrew Catesby, sitting with his head in his hands.

“Andrew,” he said sharply. “What’s wrong? How is she?”

Andrew looked up, dropping his hands from his face with apparent reluctance. “I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything.”

Jack swallowed, making an effort to keep his panic in check. “Have you seen her?”

“No. I—” Andrew shook his head. “I couldn’t bear it.”
He stood, so that their eyes were on a level, and Jack saw that his face looked sallow and pinched, as if he were utterly exhausted. No trace remained of the boyish charm Jack had seen him display with Suzanne and Fiona.

“I’ve been here for hours,” Andrew continued. “Suzanne came, and Simon Fitzstephen, and the bishop. They all wanted to know where you were, as if her life depended on
your
presence. But I know the truth.” He jabbed an accusing finger at Jack. “She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. You and your daft ideas, and your daft friends—you’ve done this to her. We were happy on our own before you came. We had a good life. And now—now nothing will ever be the same. Maybe she’d be better off dead.”

“Andrew! You can’t mean that!”

“Can’t I?” Andrew turned and disappeared through the swinging doors.

Jack stared after him. The man was utterly mad.

Shaken, he rang the bell for admittance to the ICU. It was not Maggie who answered his summons, but an older, heavyset nurse whose name badge read “Joan.”

“You’re here to see Winifred?” she asked.

“How is she?”

“Her heart’s still playing up a bit, and that’s causing her blood pressure to drop.”

“But she’ll be all right? Can I see her?”

“We seem to have got her settled down again for the time being.” Joan glanced at her watch, then said kindly, “Fifteen minutes. Then I’ll throw you out on your ear.”

Jack eased himself into the chair by Winnie’s bed and took her hand. It seemed to him that it felt cooler than it had that morning. He spoke to her quietly, stroking the soft skin on the inside of her wrist, telling her about his day and his visit to Fiona. “You’ve had a good many visitors,” he continued, “and Andrew was here when I—”

Was it his imagination, or had her fingers moved? He gripped her hand more tightly and gazed at her face. There! Surely her eyelids flickered, surely he felt an infinitesimal
change in her breathing. “Nurse!” he called, and Joan came immediately from the next cubicle.

“I was talking to her—I think she moved her hand, and blinked.”

“Good, that’s very good,” said Joan, checking the monitors. “She knows you’re here, and she wants to respond. She’s just not quite there yet.” The nurse scrutinized Jack with a professional eye. “And I’d say you’re about done in. Why don’t you go get yourself a bite to eat in the canteen, then come back for another little visit? Are those her things you’ve brought?” She nodded towards the carrier bag beside Jack’s chair.

Joan helped him set up the small CD player beside the bed, and as he left he heard the opening bars of the da Palestrina
Agnus Dei
he had chosen—one of Winnie’s favorite pieces.

In the canteen, he ate his sandwich mechanically. He couldn’t get Andrew Catesby’s words out of his mind. Why would Andrew think that someone Winnie had met through Jack would want to hurt her? And how could he possibly say that Winnie would be better off dead than with him? Were Andrew’s feelings for his sister even more twisted than he had suspected?

A horrifying thought struck him. Had it been not his voice that had triggered Winnie’s brief response a few moments ago, but his mention of Andrew’s name?

Jack … Jack’s voice … deep, smooth, a river of sound.… Telling her—No, she had lost it. She tried to speak, to tell him she heard, but she seemed to be at the bottom of a well.… Couldn’t reach the surface. Her heavy limbs wouldn’t respond. Or did they belong to someone else? There was a light.… Somehow she knew that. Was she dead?

But there was pain. Hers, she was sure, although it was distant, quite separate from her. Not dead, then.

But where? And how had she got here?

Andrew—it had to do with Andrew. Something bad about Andrew. Something she must do …

Weary … too weary … Jack’s voice faded to nothingness, and she drifted away once again, untethered … except that she heard, as if from a great distance, the sound of singing.

By the time he left the lights of Taunton behind, Jack knew he was too exhausted to drive safely. He should have taken a hotel room near the hospital, stayed the night, but he couldn’t summon the energy to turn round.

All his senses seemed heightened, raw, and the headlamps of the oncoming cars seemed unnaturally bright. He found himself squinting—once even closing his eyes, which terrified him so much he spent the remainder of the journey wide-eyed, gripping the wheel.

As he turned into his drive, his lights caught a flash of something white within the shelter of the porch. It took a moment to register that it had been a human face. He got out of the car with some apprehension, calling out “Hello?”

He heard a thread of sound in reply, perhaps a whimper. His alarm increasing, he went forward. He had to kneel to be sure of the identity of the huddled shape against his door.

“Faith?”

“I didn’t tell,” she whispered urgently through chattering teeth. “But she left—left me … shouldn’t have.… I wouldn’t have told.”

Jack touched her cheek. The girl was burning with fever.

“Who left?”

“She never goes out, not that time of night, not in the van.… I didn’t tell, did I?” She peered beseechingly up at him.

He lifted her to her feet and held her, shivering, against his chest. “Of course you didn’t. We’ve got to get you inside, ring for the doctor—”

Faith tugged away. “You’ve got to find her, before it’s too late—”

“Find who, Faith?”

“Garnet. They’ve taken her away.”

“Who has?”

Making an obvious effort, she looked round, as if afraid someone might overhear. Then she rested her cheek against his chest and whispered, “The Old Ones. But it was
me
they wanted.”