Nemesis (7 page)

9

Present

Alicia Vyne Fitzpatrick always bought yellow roses for Sarah’s grave. Had they been her favourite? Alicia had no idea. They were a bright, cheery colour and it was the right thing to do.

The roses looked so beautiful against the white headstone it was a shame no one ever saw them. Natalie never visited her sister’s grave and, as far as Alicia was aware, neither did anyone else. Perhaps no one knew the grave was here, hidden away behind this little church, the headstone engraved with only one word.

Sarah

Alicia had often wondered what Sarah would have been like if she’d lived. Would they have gone to university together, and been bridesmaids at each other’s weddings? Would they have even remained friends? Sarah had always been the kind of girl who would have gone places and done amazing things. Alicia had the idea that both she and Calahurst were likely to have been left trailing in Sarah’s wake years ago.

Dispirited, Alicia took this week’s yellow roses out of their wrapping and tried to arrange them in the little stone vase on Sarah’s grave. Whatever she did, the roses looked as though they’d been plonked in. So in the end she gave up and settled for checking that the marble chippings covering the grave were free of weeds, and picked up a stray cigarette butt that had fallen amongst them.

St Daniel’s Church was a Victorian addition to the Hurst Castle estate, built to replace the ruined chapel in the gardens. Of the same grey limestone, it was almost hidden by the surrounding woodland. The church was always kept open for the tourists, although there were considerably less of those now the castle was no longer open to the public. The grander family tombs were inside the church, or outside on either side of the main path - all the better to be admired.

Sir Henry had suggested Sarah should be laid to rest here, right at the back to discourage the ghouls from seeking her out. She was well hidden. The graves here were over a hundred years old and mostly belonged to the castle servants. Some didn’t even have proper headstones, and those which did exist were so worn the inscriptions were impossible to read. It broke Alicia’s heart every time she saw them. She would have loved to have had these little headstones repaired but James would not hear of it.

“Why waste money on the dead?” he’d told her (even though it was her money). “Your mother should flatten the lot, before one of those old headstones falls over and breaks someone’s foot. And they sue her skinny arse.”

So today, as always, Alicia placed the roses on Sarah’s grave, stepped back to say a prayer for the friend she’d lost forever, and tried not to cry.

She could feel the fading sunlight warm her back. The summer was clinging on, despite the leaves of the surrounding trees already glinting gold. Her children had been back at school for a few weeks now, and the evenings were drawing in and becoming cooler. It was depressing to think the only thing she had to look forward to now
was
Christmas.

As Alicia stood there with her eyes closed, an unexpected rustling sound broke into her thoughts - as though someone was forcing a path through the long grass. At first she ignored it, assuming the noise was caused by a dog, or local children playing, but as the sound drew closer she became unable to concentrate. Her eyes flicked open to glare at the intruder - only to find she was surveying an empty churchyard.

Alicia turned slowly to ensure she was still alone. The boundary of the churchyard was marked by a low stone wall and completely enclosed on three sides by trees. Behind her were the little wooden lych-gate and the road that led into the village. To the right were the woods where the locals liked to walk their dogs. Directly ahead was another gate, which led through the trees and up the hill towards the castle. On the left, separated from the churchyard by a straggly hedge, was the Old Rectory - a beautiful Georgian manor house, where Alicia now lived with James and their children.

Although the sun was setting behind her, the churchyard was still bright with its golden light and it was hard to see past the shade of the ancient woodland. The Civil War had been fought in these parts, almost four hundred years ago, and there were some in the village who believed that the ghosts of the soldiers still lingered.

But Alicia was a practical sort of person, who didn’t believe in ghosts.

Did she?

Alicia moved away from Sarah’s grave and back onto the path. She could hear nothing but the crunch of her own footsteps on the gravel. No sound of wildlife, or traffic from the road. The gate was hanging open but, as there was no wind, it remained motionless.

The path led back between the grander headstones to the road, but Alicia didn’t want to go that way. Instead she headed towards the woods. Away from the path the grass grew tall and yellow. Every few months her mother would arrange for one of the castle gardeners to cut back the grass with a strimmer. But not quite often enough, Alicia realised, as she felt the hems of her jeans grow damp.

“Hello?” she called, as she stepped into the shade of the oak trees. “Is somebody there?”

She let her hands rest against the stone wall, feeling its chill against her palms. “Hello?” she said again.

She thought she heard a slight rustle of leaves, but that could have been her imagination. It certainly didn’t sound as though anyone was walking between the trees. There was a lingering scent of smoke.
A cigarette?
Or had the castle gardeners lit a bonfire?

She leaned forward. “Are you lost?” she said, and now felt even more of an idiot. Because who else would be in the woods at twilight but a local dog walker? So she turned away.

There was a blur of grey as a wood pigeon shot out from beneath the canopy of trees, almost brushing against her head before it landed on one of the graves behind her.

Alicia shrieked. Was that all it had been?
A pigeon?

The bird preened itself, supremely unconcerned.

Grumbling beneath her breath, Alicia picked her way back through the long grass to the path. She didn’t have the time to stand around spooking herself. She was already late collecting her children from drama club.

It took a matter of minutes to reach the lych-gate, but before she left, she gave the churchyard one last look, as though to reassure herself that there really was no one else there, before stepping out onto the pavement and ensuring the gate was firmly closed behind her.

It was only after she had walked the short distance to the Old Rectory that she remembered.

10

Natalie drove away from her apartment at a speed that was excessive, even for her. As the quayside diminished in her rear view mirror, she caught sight of her own reflection, white-faced and angry. The BMW shot around the war memorial at the top of the hill, scarcely on two wheels. She hit the straight and accelerated. The stone gateway of Hurst Castle was ahead of her, closer with every second. As the car bumped over a pothole, she finally appreciated her fury was likely to get her killed and slammed on the brakes. The BMW went into a short skid and ended up on the grass verge, perfectly parallel to the castle wall. She abandoned the car and walked through the huge stone gateway.

In the fading light the Lodge resembled something imagined by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, and was exactly as she remembered - but then a building of this age and history was not going to be allowed to rot. The only mystery was why it had taken Clare Vyne so long to save it from neglect.

The fence had been replaced by new wood, creosoted dark-brown and stretching along the length of the garden. The grass had been cut, although it still had the shaggy appearance of a meadow rather than a lawn. The slabs of stone that led to the front door had been jet-sprayed to remove the decades of grime. She’d never seen them that pale colour before and, for the first time, she made the connection with the ruined medieval chapel beside the castle. It was clear where the slabs had originated from.

She nudged open the gate with her foot and walked up the path. The two little windows tucked beneath the thatch followed her progress like malevolent eyes. As a child this had always given her the creeps. As an adult it was hard to shake off the sensation that she was being watched.

The scent of fresh paint and brick dust still lingered in the air. Up close, the diamond paned windows gleamed and the brass letterbox shone. She traced its outline with her finger. When she had been small she had thought it a mouth, ready to bite off an unwary finger.

The flat-roofed porch, built by her father, had been demolished but his trellis still framed the door. The climbing rose was long gone but another could always be planted in its place. Natalie glanced up at the window to her old bedroom. Had it really been twelve years since she’d left to go to college? She began to feel overwhelmed with memories. The night she’d climbed out of her window to go to the fair. The night she’d met Geraint Llewellyn. The night her sister had died. The whole chain of events had started here.

She was still holding her keys in her hand. Her car key, her apartment keys and three much older keys she could never bring herself to throw away. She slotted one of these into the lock - and was disconcerted to find it still fitted.

After a few moments she pulled the key out and dropped the bunch back into her pocket. What the hell was she doing? Hoping to lay old ghosts? It wasn’t going to happen. Nothing had changed. The place radiated evil; she could almost touch it. She took a step back. What had she been thinking?

Yet framed by the golden glow of the autumn forest, it became an ordinary cottage again - picture-book pretty, nothing sinister at all.

Apparently appearances could be deceptive.

“I’m not coming back,” she said out loud. Then, with more force, “I’m not coming back, do you hear me?” Feeling the confidence surge through her, instead of returning to her car she let her feet take her across the castle drive and into the woods, following a familiar path through the trees.

She was not wearing the best footwear for an outdoor hike but the weather had been dry today. The earth was soft but not too muddy, and gave way to rough-hewn cobblestones, then red bricks arranged in a herringbone pattern. At this point she stopped watching her feet and looked up. Directly before her was a wrought-iron gate, set between two neatly clipped yew hedges. It was padlocked.

Was she disappointed, or relieved? She pressed her face against the gate. It felt cold against her skin. It was smaller than she remembered and freshly painted. The yew hedge on either side had been ruthlessly clipped back, revealing glimpses of weathered brick.

The walled garden.

How long had it been since she’d stood here?

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the twilight. There was an expanse of lawn and several large trees, which cast long, dark shadows. In the distance was the glimmer of moonlight on water. Or was that only her imagination? After years of neglect, surely the ponds would have to be drained, cleaned and repaired before they could be restocked and filled with water?

She felt disappointed, and then angry. It was only a garden, what had she expected? That it would be frozen in time? That there would be people standing in huddles, some in uniforms, some in regular clothes, all talking in whispers? That the garden would be illuminated by the flashes of cameras? Did she think she would see a young girl floating in the water, eyes staring sightlessly at the sky? Did she really believe she was going to see Sarah?

Her lashes felt damp. She rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes and felt a cold breeze stroke the back of her neck. She shivered, stepping back from the gate. The heel of her boot caught on a loose brick and wobbled. Instinctively she reached out to steady herself and caught a handful of yew. The sharp pain brought her back to the real world. Objectively she examined her palm. One of the twigs had nicked her skin and now it was bleeding. When she licked away the little ball of blood another oozed into its place. She sighed. It was time to go.

Natalie took a different route back to her car. Trying to stumble along an overgrown woodland trail in the dark would not be smart. So she continued along the path as it led uphill towards the castle. From here she would be able to walk through the gardens and back to the drive. If she kept to the shadows she wouldn’t be seen. She really didn’t want to get into any kind of conversation about what she was doing skulking about the place where her sister had been murdered.

As she emerged from the woods she saw lights were starting to pop on all over the castle. Alicia’s mother, Lady Vyne, was working at her laptop computer, her slim silhouette easily identifiable in the huge window of the library. She had paused to chat to her assistant, Kenzie. No, not chat; the conversation was too intense for that. He rested one hand on her shoulder as he leaned towards her, his mouth only inches from hers. Natalie quickly dropped her gaze, unwilling to act the voyeur.

The sun had set and it was too cold to hang around. She turned right, taking the garden path between a
grove
of ancient yews. These grew so thickly, the branches drawing together above her head made it seem darker. Directly ahead was the chapel. Only two walls of it remained - redbrick on the inside, pale stone for the exterior. ‘Re-imagined’ in Victorian times as a folly, her father had helped the illusion by planting shrubs and flowers amongst the fallen stones. Now there was no floor, just earth and grass, and one remaining window, which gave a fine view of the castle and framed a little orange glow a few feet beyond.

Natalie stopped, peering through the darkness.

A man stood on the other side of the chapel, directly in its shadow. His hair was dark and his clothes were dark. She would never have seen him but for the cigarette he was smoking - the orange glow that had caught her attention.

It felt as though all her breath had been expelled out of her. Who was he? The Vyne family had always had been happy to let the villagers walk all over the estate, provided their privacy was not compromised. But it was too late to be taking a walk and there was no evidence of a dog. There was also something in the way he stared impassively at the castle that made Natalie think it would be better for her if he did not know she was here.

She took a step backwards, intending to disappear into the woods, but as her foot made contact with the ground a distinct crack disturbed the silence.

The only twig in the vicinity and she’d trodden on it.

Cliché or not, the man had now turned to look back through the chapel window.

“Who’s there?” he said.

She took another couple of steps back and made such a racket with her boots scuffing up the loose stones on the path that she gave up trying to be quiet and hit the woodland track running.

“Hey, come back!” he called.

Surely he wasn’t serious?

Natalie sprinted through the yew grove and down the path towards the walled garden, slipping and sliding all the way. Her boots were low-heeled but not designed for woodland rambles. At this rate she’d break her own neck before he even got the opportunity. She could hear him close behind, cursing at the uneven ground. And that was another thing. If his intentions had been honourable, would he risk frightening her half to death by chasing after her?

The gravel path tracked steeply towards the walled garden. In places, it had been shored into steps with sections of wood. In the dark these were a hindrance. More than once her foot caught against a piece of jutting timber, almost sending her flying.

Once past the walled garden, the path levelled off and she was able to move more quickly. To her right she caught glimpses of white light, as the street lamps flickered on one by one. To see civilisation so close was reassuring, but she knew it was only familiarity with the path that had given her the advantage. As it grew narrower, unseen brambles caught at her clothes and the thin branches of the undergrowth whipped back against her skin.

He was drawing closer. Soon he would be able to reach out and -

Suddenly her feet were running across tarmac, past the old Lodge and through the stone arch of the castle gate. Her car was in front of her, parked skewed on the grass verge, exactly where she’d left it. She thrust her hand in her pocket for her keys. There was a brief moment of panic, when she failed to locate them, then their cold metal dug into her fingers and she dragged them out, squeezing hard on the fob until she heard the reassuring click of the central locking disengage.

As her fingers closed over the door handle, she risked looking back - and saw him fall out through the undergrowth and onto the castle drive, much as she had done a moment earlier. He straightened, checking to see which direction she’d taken, and then saw her standing on the grass beside her car. As she watched, too terrified to move, she saw his expression change into one of shock. Then he said something, one word that she didn’t quite catch, and held out his hand.

It was all the motivation she needed. She wrenched at the handle, and by that point it seemed like a miracle the door even opened. She almost fell into the car, pulling the door closed behind her and locking it.

Her overwhelming relief vanished the moment his palm slammed against the side window.

Horrified, she watched his hand slide down the glass before she heard the door handle rattle.

What the hell was she still doing here? What if next time it wasn’t his fist, but a rock?

Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly get the key in the ignition. The engine firing caused him to thump on the window again. Although it drowned out his voice, she could see his lips forming the word ‘please’.

‘Please’ what? ‘Please open the door’? As though that was going to happen!

With more assurance she slid the car into gear, released the handbrake and put her foot on the accelerator. The tyres skidded briefly, got a grip, and then the car shot forward across the grass, causing him to jump out of the way. She barely had time to jerk the steering wheel around to avoid a collision with the castle wall, before the car bumped back onto the road.

Hardly daring to believe she’d got away, she glanced up at her rear view mirror. She could see him plainly in the light from the streetlamp. He was still standing beside the castle gate, staring after her.

It was only then she realised what he’d said when he’d first seen her.