Kingdom of Shadows (99 page)

It was after six and pitch dark when the taxi from the airport deposited Geoffrey and Chloe at the end of the snow-covered drive and turned at once into the blizzard, making for home. Cases in hand they trudged up the long winding drive, exhausted.

Paul had left the light on in the porch. ‘Thank God you’re here!’ He almost dragged them in. ‘Where’s the cab?’

‘He went straight back.’ Geoffrey let his bags fall on the hall carpet and shook himself like a dog. He shed his heavy coat then helped his wife off with hers.

‘How is she, Paul?’ Chloe was shaking with cold.

‘Come and see.’ He led them past the empty drawing room where a huge fire was blazing temptingly up the chimney, up the stairs to her bedroom and pushed open the door. He had left it unlocked only the last time he had gone up there. Clare lay as she had before without moving. Geoffrey walked over and put his hand on her forehead. She didn’t seem to notice him. ‘What finally pushed her over?’ he asked in a whisper.

‘Don’t ask me.’ Paul shrugged elaborately. ‘It happened when I got her back from Duncairn. She’s in some sort of trance –’ He would tell them about Casta later. That would explain everything. They would understand how an accident like that could have tipped the balance.

‘Clare? Clare my dear, can you hear me?’ Geoffrey bent over her. His hands were cold, his face glowing from the walk up the drive through the snow. Some drops of melted ice fell from his dark hair on to her face. She blinked, but she didn’t look at him.

He took her hands and chafed them gently. ‘Clare? I want you to look at me.’ He glanced up at Paul. ‘Has she said anything at all?’

Paul shook his head. Behind him Chloe was standing by the door. ‘Speak to Isobel. See if she is there –’ she whispered.

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘Not now. Not like this, unprepared. I must have time to pray. We don’t know what kind of a spirit this Isobel is; if she’s evil, unhappy, just a lost soul, or one bent on destruction.’ He frowned. ‘We must all pray, then I shall contact the minister here. We must get her to the church.’

‘You mean you can’t do it here?’ Paul was appalled. ‘She can’t go out like this, man! For God’s sake, you’ve got to do it now. I need her in London! An insane zombie is not going to help my case at all.’ Now that he was no longer alone, his fear had evaporated and his anger had returned.

‘Paul, for heaven’s sake –!’

He ignored Chloe’s shocked remonstrance. ‘I thought you said your bishop had given you permission to sort her out, Geoff. Surely he’s told you what to do?’

‘It is not as simple as that, Paul,’ Geoffrey said patiently. ‘Clare needs time and understanding and prayer. I shall pray with her tonight, but if we need to take her to church we will have to wait for tomorrow – we can hardly take her there at night.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Paul was shocked. ‘You’re going to leave her like this for another night?’

‘I’m not going to leave her, Paul, I told you. I shall stay with her and pray. Where are her parents, and Mrs Collins? Perhaps they can help us –’

‘They are not here. They went to Edinburgh.’

‘What?’ Geoffrey looked up, startled. ‘You mean there is no one else here?’

Paul shook his head. ‘No one. It’s up to you, Geoff.’

His brother frowned, with a strange feeling of unease. He glanced at Chloe, wondering if she had felt it too. Something here was not quite right, something quite apart from Clare and her shuttered, unhappy face. Paul was too bland, too innocent. He shrugged unhappily. Whatever it was there was nothing he could do about it now.

Wearily he sat down on the edge of the bed. He felt in his pocket and after a moment brought out a silver cross on a chain. ‘Clare? Clare, I want you to wear this, my dear. Can you see it?’ He held it out before her and for a brief moment he thought he saw her eyes focus on the silver, glinting softly in the lamplight as it swung. He undid the small clasp on the chain, his fingers still clumsy with cold, and slipped it gently round her neck, bracing himself for some reaction. If Satan and witchcraft were at work here, the chances were that she would scream or struggle and throw off the cross before it touched her, but she ignored it. He redid the clasp carefully, settling it beneath her hair, then he placed her hands gently over the cross on her breast. She made no move to avoid it though for a moment he thought he saw the flicker of a smile on her face.

The minister had been called away to a remote farm just before the snow started, to the bedside of a dying man. His wife did not think he would be back today – even if the roads were ploughed – and the farm was not on the phone.

Geoffrey was angry. ‘I told you to speak to him before we got here, Paul!’

‘It was none of his business.’ Paul looked away, embarrassed.

Geoffrey, heavy-eyed after his night’s vigil, was still sitting beside Clare’s bed. She had barely moved in the night. One hand had fallen from the cross and hung dangling over the edge of the bed. He had not replaced it.

‘You’ll have to do it by yourself. Do it here,’ Paul whispered angrily.

‘I don’t want to do it here.’ Geoffrey shook his head. He had prayed again and again and there had been no response. ‘There is too much here; too much of her past; too much atmosphere.’

‘Too many ghosts, you mean.’ Paul was sarcastic. ‘Aren’t you a match for them, then?’

Geoffrey frowned. In the night he had felt a cold which was not a physical cold and sensed a presence in the room besides him and Clare. Afraid, he had knelt and prayed harder than he had ever prayed before. The prayers had comforted him, they had surrounded him and safeguarded him, but they had not touched Clare.

He got up wearily from his chair and walked across to the window. ‘Do you know what day it is, Paul?’ The river was black between the snowy banks beneath the trees.

‘Monday.’ Paul was short-tempered. He had rung Rex again and still there was no reply. And the Sigma offices were still closed, at nearly 8.20.

‘It is the ancient feast of Yule,’ Geoffrey said thoughtfully. ‘A day of power.’

‘Good. Well, use it.’ Paul turned back to the door.

‘Their power,’ Geoffrey went on. ‘The men and women who worshipped the old gods. Women like Isobel.’

Paul stopped. He felt a sudden prickle of fear run across his shoulders.

‘I have to take Clare to hallowed ground, Paul, to defeat her.’ Geoffrey wasn’t looking at him. He frowned, still staring through the window. He was watching a fox running across the snow-covered lawn in the distance. It vanished between the trees.

Paul had raised an eyebrow. ‘Where better than Dunkeld then? The cathedral is pretty old, isn’t it?’

‘There has been a church here for more than a thousand years.’ Geoffrey had been reading up about Dunkeld. ‘But I have to have permission from the minister; I don’t know his views –’

‘I’ll ring him again.’ Suddenly Paul wanted to be out of the room. It still felt unnaturally cold, in spite of the radiator and the electric fire. He glanced at the fireplace. Normally he would have lit a fire there, but his wife’s abstract expression, with her eyes open blinking naturally from time to time and moving slowly across the ceiling, was getting to him. He shuddered. Chloe could do it later.

She was in the kitchen frying bacon. A jug of coffee was warming on the Aga.

‘We have to try to get her to eat, Paul.’ Chloe had tied her hair back in a blue flowered head scarf. The colour did not suit her; it accentuated her pale tiredness.

‘She won’t. I’ve tried.’

Chloe suppressed the comment she was about to make. ‘Even so, let me have a go. And anyway the rest of us could do with a good breakfast. Poor Geoff sat up with her all night.’

‘As I did, the night before.’ Paul took her remark as a reproach. It wasn’t true. Afraid of the strange hostile chill in the room he had turned the key in the lock and left her alone.

This time there was a reply from the cathedral manse. The minister would definitely be away until the following afternoon, and no, sorry, he could not be contacted; if it was an emergency, could they suggest a neighbouring minister …

Paul put down the phone angrily. What now? He glanced towards the door. The house was eerily silent.

He dialled Rex’s number again. Still no reply, but he managed at last to reach Doug Warner’s secretary. She was sorry but Mr Warner had flown to the States and would not be back until the New Year. Paul cursed silently then as an afterthought he asked her about Rex. She didn’t know where he was, but she did know that he would be in Scotland for the whole of the Christmas holiday. Sigma Aberdeen was sending a helicopter to meet him at Dyce Airport.

Paul tensed. ‘Dyce? Are you sure? When?’

There was a pause. ‘If you’ll hold the line, Mr Royland. I’ll check for you.’

The American voice the other end of the line was distracted by another phone in the distance and Paul heard her asking someone else to hold, then at last she was back.

‘The helicopter is to fly Mr Cummin and his guests to the Duncairn Hotel, Mr Royland. I have the number here –’

‘Don’t bother.’ Paul smiled grimly. ‘I know it.’

He slammed down the receiver. So, the bastard was still interested enough to spend Christmas there! And what a Christmas present he could give himself, if he chose, if Sigma dropped out. Paul smiled. He sat for a moment staring at his briefcase as it lay on the table in front of him. Suddenly he was filled with confidence.

They had propped Clare up in a sitting position and Chloe had gently sponged her face. Ignoring Paul she poured out the coffee. ‘Come on, Clare, you must have something.’

Her firm tone seemed to reach Clare and slowly she focussed on Chloe’s face. ‘The cage –’

‘There is no cage.’ Chloe’s voice was bracing. ‘You’ve been dreaming. Come on, have a sip of coffee.’ She closed Clare’s hands around the mug.

Obediently Clare drank but as the hot spicy coffee flowed through her veins, her hands began to shake violently. ‘Casta? Where is Casta?’

Chloe glanced at Geoffrey. Geoffrey grimaced. ‘She’s dead, Clare,’ he said gently. ‘She can’t have suffered, my dear. It was just the most dreadful accident. But life must go on. You have to eat. Look. Chloe’s made you some breakfast.’

They watched her as she lay back against the pillows, her eyes closed, struggling against the tears as the memories flooded back. It was a long time before she could compose herself enough to sit up again and drink some more coffee. She pushed the bacon away in distaste, but eventually she managed to nibble some toast. She hadn’t looked at Paul.

Geoffrey had a plate of bacon and eggs on his knee, still seated beside the bed. He was watching her closely. The atmosphere had lightened, he was sure of it; Isobel had loosened her hold. He glanced at the cross around Clare’s neck. It lay on the soft blue wool of her sweater, glinting in the lamplight. She seemed completely unconscious of it. He nodded, relieved. She had not at any time recoiled from it; nor torn it off. It was a start.

His food was almost cold but he finished it without tasting it, not wanting to offend Chloe, then purposefully he stood up. ‘Why don’t Paul and I leave you girls for a bit? A good hot bath would make you feel better, Clare, I’m sure.’

She looked at him. He noted again the strangely quizzical expression which crossed her face for a fraction of a second before it was gone, and she nodded.

Chloe had to help her out of bed. Her legs refused to function as she tried to walk across the bedroom, and she felt her head spin. Slowly Chloe helped her down the passage to the bathroom and bent to turn on the taps.

‘Don’t shut the door!’ Clare’s voice rose in panic as Chloe turned away.

Chloe stopped. She frowned. The terror had been very real. ‘I won’t. I’ll leave it open and wait out here till you’ve finished if you like.’

Clare stood for a moment, her hand on the edge of the door whilst behind her the steam rose from the bath. ‘Chloe, have I been ill?’

‘Ill?’ Chloe shook her head. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then why are you here? Why is Geoffrey here? What’s happened?’

‘Nothing has happened, love. You were upset about Casta and Paul was worried about you.’

‘Paul! Worried!’ Chloe was unprepared for the venom in Clare’s voice. ‘He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care about anything. He –’ She broke off abruptly. Whatever accusation she had been about to make had been blanked from her mind as if a black impenetrable shutter had come down. She fiddled with the door handle uneasily. ‘You will stay, Chloe –?’

‘Of course I will. Have your bath and get dressed and we’ll go downstairs.’

Chloe sat chewing her thumbnail while Clare bathed. She watched, half embarrassed as Clare walked back, naked, into the bedroom afterwards, her hair still pinned up on the top of her head, envying her sister-in-law her slim taut figure. Clare rummaged through her cupboards and produced underwear and a soft white woollen dress with a flared calf-length skirt and a tie belt, and slowly began to dress.

Chloe tensed suddenly. She had taken off the cross. ‘Clare –’ She had spoken before she thought.

Clare glanced at her. She was brushing her hair. There were dark circles under her eyes.

‘The cross, Clare. What have you done with it?’

Clare smiled grimly, still brushing. ‘Geoffrey’s talisman against my evil ways? It’s in the bathroom.’

Chloe got up and edged past her towards the bathroom door. ‘Please wear it, Clare. To please Geoffrey. It won’t do any harm …’ She dived into the steamy bathroom and glanced round. The cross was lying on the glass shelf over the basin. The chain was broken. Chloe picked it up and looked at it. Her heart had begun to hammer in her chest. She faced Clare in the doorway. ‘You’ve snapped the chain.’

I’m sorry. It got caught.’ Clare threw down her hairbrush. ‘Don’t patronise me, Chloe. I’m grateful for your being here. I didn’t want to be here alone with Paul –’ She paused. Again the strange blank. ‘But I don’t need Geoffrey’s help!’

‘Don’t you?’ Chloe was suddenly angry. ‘Then what about Isobel? Don’t you think she needs his help?’

Clare stared at her. The colour had drained from her already pale face. ‘Isobel is imaginary, Chloe.’