Hiding From the Light (37 page)

The answer phone picked up Mark’s call to the rectory. He frowned. Away until Monday? He couldn’t do this. He was counting on having Mike there on Saturday, at least at the beginning. Not all night, perhaps, not after what Mike had said, but there, at least for a comment. He left a terse message informing Mike that whether he was there or not, they would be filming in the shop all night, tomorrow, thirty-first of October. Then, slamming down the receiver he sat back on the bed in his small room at Mrs Prescott’s B&B and rapped the end of his biro against his teeth. If he was going to go ahead with this project, he was going to have to do it properly. This was the perfect time to inject more suspense. Being quite cynical about it, and putting his conscience to one side, he had to wind up the locals! If not Mike, then Lyndsey. He frowned. All very well, but how to find her?

He leaned forward and picked up the phone again. Mrs Prescott’s, more of a hotel than a B&B really, had all the facilities including inter-bedroom communication. ‘Allie? A bit of research for you.’ Smiling, he wondered how long it would take her. In the meantime he had better get back to the shop and help Joe and Colin set up for the final and hopefully climactic shoot.

Alice had not moved from her bed where she had been leafing through a copy of the
Essex
Magazine
. Throwing it down, she reached into the drawer of her bedside table for the local phone book and began to search for the Clarks. And Clarkes. There were over two pages of them. She groaned. She would have to go through every one to find those who lived in Mistley and Manningtree, and possibly then widen the search to the outlying area. It took her a while to copy down a selection of addresses but finally she had done it and had clumped down the stairs to consult Mrs Prescott about taxis. After all, this was on expenses.

The taxi driver, with perhaps an ulterior motive, suggested the furthest address first. And they struck gold. The woman who answered the door at the end of a neat flower-bordered path, a member of Judith’s prayer circle, was furiously indignant that Alice should consider for one instant that she should have anything at all to do with ‘that godless witch’, who lived, apparently, on Mistley Quay. Alice spied out the land, saw that Lyndsey’s door was open, returned to the taxi with a thumbs up and paid him off. Even she could see that Mark would not pay for the man to wait and it was not far to walk back to the B&B when one thought about it.

She wasn’t sure what her brief was. Mark had only said ‘find her’, but Alice was not averse to doing a bit of investigating on her own and Lyndsey intrigued her. Slinging her bag, complete with mini tape recorder, notebooks and pencil on her shoulder, she wandered back down towards the quay.

There was no reply when she knocked on the open door. Peering in, she knocked again then, unabashed, stepped inside. ‘Hi, Lyndsey!’ She was calling loud enough to be heard upstairs. ‘You there?’

There was no response. She took a few steps further in, staring round. The sun, shining in obliquely through the narrow south-facing kitchen window, hit the mirror just inside the front door and its light ricocheted back into the room, highlighting the deep lush colours of the throws, the bright paintings of flowers, the crystals and candles, a bowl of late honeysuckle.

‘Cool.’ Alice’s outbreath of admiration was totally sincere.

‘Who are you?’ The sharp question made her jump. Lyndsey had appeared at the top of the staircase. She had been working in her studio. Running down, she confronted the intruder with a look of extreme anger. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Who said you could come in?’

‘Hey! Whoa, sorry!’ Alice raised her hands in surrender. ‘I knocked and shouted. I knew you must be here somewhere or you wouldn’t have left your door open. If you don’t want people coming in, you ought to lock it, you know.’ She threw herself down on the sofa uninvited. ‘This is a great pad!’

‘Thank you.’ Lyndsey was tight-lipped. ‘May I ask who you are and what you want?’

‘I’m Alice. I’m with the film crew up at Barker’s.’

There was a short silence.

‘I see.’ Lyndsey sighed.

‘We wondered if you would like to be on the programme.’

‘I want nothing to do with it.’ Lyndsey folded her arms.

‘Is it true you’re a witch?’ Alice sat forward on her seat. ‘Can you cast spells on people?’

‘Look, I’m busy.’ Sighing, Lyndsey walked over to the front door and stood beside it. ‘I would like you to leave.’

‘Sure, I’m going.’ Alice didn’t move. She smiled in the most beguiling way she knew. ‘I’d really like to know. Mark thinks you can help us a lot. We really need someone who knows what they’re doing.’

‘That I can well believe.’ Lyndsey was still unimpressed.

‘We’re setting up an overnight shot in the shop. Time-lapse cameras and stuff. Everyone is pretty sure that the ghost will appear. Mark is trying to get the rector to come. He’s threatening to exorcise the place, but we’re not going to let him before we’ve done the shoot. Then we want to film the exorcism to see what happens. It would be really cool to get you on the film too. A spokesperson for the dark side!’ Her eyes were shining.

‘I do not represent the dark side.’ Lyndsey was losing patience fast.

‘Then you’re a white witch?’

‘Look, Alice – ’

‘Please, tell me. I want to know.’ Alice leaned forward and picked up the chunk of rose quartz sitting on the small table beside the sofa. ‘Do you use this in your spells?’

‘No, I don’t. I make models of people and stick pins into them!’ Lyndsey regretted saying it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I was joking. It’s just, I’m really busy right now.’ Upstairs on the table by the window a delicate watercolour of autumn honeysuckle and spindle berries was drying on the thick creamy paper even as she spoke. ‘Look, you have to tell your director or producer or whatever he is, that he mustn’t go on with this film. He is playing with fire, do you understand?’

‘You must come and tell him yourself. He won’t listen to me.’ Alice paused. Then she put her head a little to one side as a thought struck her. ‘You do know we’ve filmed the ghost, don’t you?’

Lyndsey stared at her. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Filmed it?’

Alice nodded. ‘Really. A face in the shadows on the staircase. They’ll show it to you if you come down to the shop.’ She could swear Lyndsey had gone pale. For the first time she seemed uncertain. She was staring at Alice, but Alice had the feeling she wasn’t actually seeing her.

Alice wondered suddenly if she should have said anything. Mark would be furious if she had jumped the gun in some way. ‘Look, you’d better not talk about this to anyone. I’m not supposed to have told you.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ Lyndsey looked grim.

‘So, will you come? To the shop.’

Lyndsey hesitated.

‘It’s really cool. We’re filming on Halloween. That’s dodgy, isn’t it?’ Alice looked pathetically eager.

‘Yes, it’s dodgy.’ Lyndsey sighed. ‘I suppose he chose the date deliberately?’

‘Of course.’ Alice gave an evil smile. ‘What better?’

‘What better indeed!’

‘So, will you come?’

‘I’ll have to think about it. I might come down and speak to him later.’

‘Great!’ Alice stood up. ‘It’s going to be a fantastic programme. He wants to put you up against the reverend.’

Lyndsey frowned. ‘I’m not being put up against anyone.’

Hastily retracting, Alice shrugged. ‘Not literally. He doesn’t expect you both to fight or anything. He just wants both points of view. I’ll tell him you’ll be there later, yeah?’

Lyndsey was staring into space.

‘That OK?’ Alice repeated.

A shadow had appeared in the doorway and Alice shrank back.

‘You at home, Lyndsey?’ Bill Standing stepped into the room.

Lyndsey glanced at him, then back at Alice. ‘Are you still here?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m on my way.’ Alice gazed with interest at the newcomer. He was in his eighties, she guessed. Stooped, with a weather-beaten face and wild, wispy white hair. Brilliant. A warlock! He had shrewd, pale-blue eyes which scrutinised her briefly and without recognition as she stepped past him.

‘Later, then?’ she repeated defiantly over her shoulder, and she stepped out into the daylight.

‘There’s things you and me need to talk about, girl.’ Bill waited until Alice was out of sight before turning to Lyndsey. He gave her a long slow look as though confirming something in his own mind. ‘It’s ’bout St Mary’s and what you’ve been doing up there. You’ve been messing about with things, girl. If you’re going to join in this battle you’ve got to do it properly, see?’

Lyndsey went to the front door and closed it, then she turned back to face him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You knows as well as I do. That witchy stuff of yours.’

Lyndsey glared at him. ‘I doubt if it’s your business.’

‘It’s my business all right. You’ve been trying to keep Hopkins in his bed, right?’

Lyndsey surveyed him silently.

‘Well, you’re going about it all wrong,’ he went on. ‘You are just going to antagonise him. You’re not strong enough to do this on your own, girl.’

‘Of course I’m strong enough. Wicca is immensely powerful!’

‘Wicca?’ He snorted with disgust. ‘That’s American, right?’

She scowled at him. ‘Wicca has ancient roots in this country. It’s nothing to do with America.’ She folded her arms. ‘If they practise it, it’s because they’ve learned it from us. It’s the one religion this country has given to the rest of the world!’

‘It still doesn’t make you strong enough to cope with this on your own, girl.’

‘So, you’re offering help?’

‘ ’Course I am. And you needs my help fast. It’s Hollantide come Sunday.’

Lyndsey raised an eyebrow. ‘Hollantide?’

‘Halloween. November Eve. All Saints. All Souls. He’ll be stirring then, and others with him.’

‘I know that!’ She looked cross.

‘Well, all your fancy spells and such are not going to tie down anyone as wants to walk. You need the old ways. The real old ways!’ He narrowed his eyes.

‘And you can tell me?’ Suddenly she was watchful.

‘If I’ve a mind. There’s things should be done.’

‘Why don’t you do them, then?’

‘I’m doing them. I went out yesterday and burnt simson round the village. You know what that is? That’s what they call groundsel. That fumigates the place against evil. I sent the smoke all over. And I’ve spoken to the rector.’

‘The rector?’ Lyndsey was disgusted. ‘What’s he got to do with it?’

‘Everything, and don’t you forget it, girl. We got to work together on this.’

‘Oh, no.’ She folded her arms. ‘I don’t think so! Besides, I’m perfectly strong enough. I know exactly what I’m doing!’

‘I don’t think you do. A little bit of humility from you wouldn’t go amiss, girl. None of us can do this on our own. Can’t you see how much danger there is out there?’ He waved his arm behind him. ‘That mist, it just hangs there, waiting, like a black curtain. It’s got such strength in it; such evil!’ He shivered and pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘I can show you some stuff, same as I’m showing the rector. Stuff as will hold it and bring the light back.’

Lyndsey scowled. ‘I told you, I don’t need help. You do your thing and I’ll do mine. Besides, this is a women’s thing. Hopkins has to be dealt with by women.’

Bill gave an exclamation of impatience. ‘This isn’t just about Hopkins, girl! It goes far deeper than that. If we don’t go to the root, we’ll never get rid of it. Never. You can’t just dance about up at that churchyard going all iddy biddy “women’s things” ’bout it. Listen to me, girl!’

‘No! Listen to me! I want you to go.
Now
!’ Lyndsey’s face had darkened. ‘How dare you! This is my business. This is Liza’s business.’

‘You needs the Ward, girl. We’ve got to reawaken the Ward.’

‘I need no one! I can deal with this in my own way. And I will.’ Reaching past him she dragged open the door. Outside, tendrils of mist drifted up the quay. ‘I’d like you to leave.’

Bill shook his head. ‘Do you know what the Ward is?’

‘No. And I don’t want to.’

‘See, you know nothing. Like I said, I reckon they iddy biddy spells of yours are all American. They don’t have anything to do with real life in a real place like this, or maybe you need to learn to do them properly. Look,’ he was getting impatient. ‘You need me, girl, as much as I need you. You, me and the rector. We’re the only ones as knows what’s going on here.’

‘Don’t mention him in the same breath as me!’ Lyndsey’s face was growing red. ‘I don’t need him. And I don’t need you. Now go!’

‘Lyndsey, girl – ’

‘Go!’ she screamed at him suddenly. ‘Get out! I don’t want to hear any more. I know what I’m doing.’ She pushed him so violently, he staggered backwards.

In a moment he was outside. As she banged the door behind him he found himself staring across the river. The Suffolk shore was out of sight now, veiled in dark, soft fog.

Police Constable John Furness was finally going off duty. With a deep sigh of exhaustion he stepped out of the police station and stood looking up and down the road. A clammy white mist was drifting up from the river, dark against the trees in the garden opposite. He shivered. It had been one hell of a day. What was happening to the world? To this town? This was a nice place. Usually. So why was it suddenly so full of violence? What had made that woman, today, start hitting her child in the Co-op? Screaming and screaming, she had behaved as though she were possessed by some evil demon. And the old boy up near the sailing club. Why had he decided to pick up an axe, walk solemnly down the middle of the road and sink it into one of the boats drawn up on the beach? When John Furness had arrested him, axe still in his hand, the bloke had stared at the axe as though he had never seen it before. Then he had laughed. Laughed! ‘You’re not going to believe this, young man,’ he had said. ‘It was the voices. The voices in the mist. They told me to do it.’

They’d called Dr Good to that one. The old boy was carted off to the funny farm, crying, asking for his axe back, saying he had to finish the job.

Walking over to his car, John Furness glanced up. The mist was growing thicker. He could feel it soaking into his clothes, hear it dripping from the trees; he was breathing it in, icy, cold, smelling strongly of the sea.

Fumbling in his pocket for the car key he pulled it out and aimed it at the lock. His hands were cold and he dropped it into a pile of wet leaves and suddenly the rage was upon him, too. Swearing and shouting, he kicked the car, then he kicked the leaves. The key flew towards the fence, but he didn’t see it. Already the red veil had descended over his eyes and all he could see was the fog and the blood and all he could hear was the rush of the sea in his ears.