Paternoster (35 page)

Undeterred, Rachel went to Roseanne and begged to go in her place.

Roseanne shrugged. ‘They’ll notice, won’t they? They ask for me,’ she indicated her mahogany skin, ‘they’re going to notice if a fair girl turns up.’

So she tried Felicity. Tried tales of murder and sacrifice, of blood drinking and summoning the devil, but Felicity wasn’t swayed.

‘I’ve heard you get twenty guineas for going there for one evening,’ she said. ‘I’m not losing twenty guineas for you.’

Desperately, Rachel said, ‘I’ll give you the twenty guineas. Please, Felicity.’

Felicity goggled at the offer. ‘Mrs Bedwin’s right,’ she said. ‘You do like it strange. What, is a bit of slapping and pinching not enough for you?’

Rachel didn’t reply. She fetched the money from where she’d hidden it and handed it over. Felicity tucked the money into her bosom, where it was well concealed, and agreed to change places.

That evening, Felicity and Roseanne dressed for Greville House. As the carriage waited for them in front of the house, Rachel slipped out of the back door and scurried round to the far side of the carriage. When Felicity entered the carriage, her hood pulled over her head, she scuttled across the seats and out of the far door, and Rachel climbed up inside in her place. Emma had been primed to create a disturbance so Mrs Bedwin was distracted, and the carriage moved off without Mrs Bedwin noticing the switch.

Once in the house, Rachel searched for Rodney amongst the men at the feast. He wasn’t there. He would be in the tunnel, she thought to herself, or waiting to enter the temple. Probably getting into robes and a mask right now. She’d see him soon, and could warn him. Whisper to him not to chew the bean; save his life.

Her thoughts rattled on. When Rodney passed the initiation test, they’d have to let him into the Paternoster Club, and then he could buy the land he wanted. So much for Darby and Mr Ellison thinking they controlled it all. She hid a smirk as she imagined Darby’s dismay when Rodney survived his initiation.

As before, she went through the tunnel and met the bedraggled girls. One was coughing horribly, spitting bloody phlegm on to the earth floor. Her eyes were sunken and her skin was grey. The odour of the grave already hung about her like a miasma. None of the girls spoke, whipped into silent despair.

They didn’t have to wait long in the cold antechamber before they were taken into the temple. Mr Ellison presided over the initiation, his ram’s head mask terrifying. The candles created pools of light and dark, and the men clung to the shadows. Rachel peered into the darkness, struggling to see Rodney. The men were all masked, grotesque in the gloom, and she could barely see. Maybe Rodney wasn’t here at all?

Mr Ellison intoned the words, and the initiate stepped forwards. Rachel inched closer, squinting. Surely that was Rodney’s walk? It must be him under that mask. They’d given him a rabbit mask; not a fox or lion like the other initiates. Her heart twisted. Poor Rodney, he probably didn’t even realise they were laughing at him, in his rabbit’s mask with droopy ears.

She swished her skirts about her, trying to draw his attention. He turned briefly towards her, and she started to mouth, ‘Don’t chew the bean,’ but he’d turned away again before she finished.

Rodney was slowly circling the temple. As he approached, she stared boldly at him, trying to catch his eye. Did he see her? She couldn’t tell, not with that ridiculous rabbit mask. Desperately she mouthed, ‘Don’t chew the bean. Rodney, don’t chew the bean.’

His steps neither slowed nor faltered. Had he seen her? Did he understand what she was trying to tell him? Her heart thudded against her ribs. What if he didn’t see her, didn’t understand, and chewed the bean. He’d die. Her heart wrenched at the thought. He couldn’t die, not her own sweet Rodney.

Mr Ellison, his ram’s head mask looming above them all, poured wine into a goblet. Instead of offering the box of beans to Rodney and dropping it into the wine, he proffered the box, and when Rodney selected one, he said, firmly, ‘Chew this bean twenty times. Though it be bitter, the wine will wash the bitterness away.’

Rodney’s hand hovered over the box. His fingers dipped in, and he pulled out a bean and held it aloft. Rachel stared in horror as he put it into his mouth.

She lunged forwards, shrieking, ‘Don’t chew it! It’s poisonous! Rodney, don’t eat it!’

Mr Ellison whipped round and struck her across the face. She collapsed on the stone floor, screaming, ‘Don’t eat it! It’ll kill you!’

Ellison kicked her in the stomach. She curled into a ball, her arms around her head as he kicked again. ‘Shut up, whore!’

Rodney dropped the bean and ran over to Rachel. Shoving Mr Ellison aside, he dropped to his knees beside her, throwing off the rabbit mask, and gathering her into his arms.

‘Rachel.’

His face was blurred through her tears. ‘You didn’t eat it, did you? It’s poisonous.’

Rodney shook his head. ‘No. My God, Rachel.’ He clamped her against his breast.

‘Get them out of here,’ Mr Ellison snapped.

Four masked men dragged them through the antechamber and down into the tunnel, Mr Ellison following. The men dumped them on the floor, then at a signal from Ellison, they vanished into the darkness. He towered over them, his ram’s head mask an evil shadow on the wall, then raised his hands and lifted off the mask. Rachel’s heart stuttered. She’d assumed the mask concealed Mr Ellison. She was wrong.

‘Darby!’ Rachel breathed.

‘You meddling whore.’

‘Don’t speak to her like that,’ Rodney said. ‘Is it true, about the bean being poisonous?’

Darby rounded on him. ‘As if we’d let an upstart like you in the Paternoster Club.’

Rodney sprang to his feet, his fists bunched in front of his face.

Darby snickered as Rodney bounced on the balls of his feet. ‘You think you can fight me?’

‘Come on, then.’

Darby ignored him. ‘What am I going to do about you two? You know far too much.’ He pressed his hands together, as if praying, and set his fingers against his lips. He looked from Rachel to Rodney with an expression that turned her insides to water.

Rodney flew to Rachel and shoved her behind him. ‘Don’t hurt her.’

‘Do be quiet,’ Darby said.

In one smooth movement he drew a knife out of his belt and stabbed Rodney in the chest. Rodney collapsed to his knees, blood bubbling from his mouth. Darby forced the knife in to the hilt and twisted it. He tugged the knife free and wiped it clean on Rodney’s coat. Holding the blade up to the light, Darby spat in disgust. The tip of the knife had snapped off.

Rachel stared in horror as Rodney twitched in a pool of his own blood. Eventually he gargled, sprayed a gout of blood, and was still.

‘Rodney!’ she whispered, too shocked to cry.

She made to run to him, but Darby held her back.

‘That’s enough trouble from you,’ he said.

She had no time to scream. His hands were round her neck. His rank breath on her face. She struggled and kicked as the blackness overcame her, then kicked no more.

Her arms and legs ached and her body was a mass of bruises. She felt as though she was ninety years old, it hurt to move so desperately. Yet the memory of Chelsea’s mother’s face, when she was told the news that her daughter was safe, cheered and comforted her. Chelsea and the other girls were in hospital, being checked over and assessed, and would receive counselling to get over their trauma. The nightmares would stop. Eventually. And Chelsea was a fighter. Eden grinned at the expression on Greg’s face when Chelsea decked him with the candlestick. The girl had guts.

Eden had an appointment to go into the police station to make a statement later that morning, but for now there was a pile of receipts to reconcile, and her case notes on Paul, Donna and Chelsea to write up.

First things first. Today had an air of celebration about it: a nasty swag of villains banged up. In her old job that would have meant an evening down the pub getting absolutely bladdered, and a big fry-up to compensate the next morning before they went back to business as usual.

This was no time to break with tradition. She headed out of her office and along to Tony’s sandwich shop. He was standing in the doorway soaking up the early spring sunshine.

‘Global warming,’ he greeted her.

‘Egg and bacon butty, please,’ she said.

He peeled himself away from the sun and they went into the steamy sandwich shop.

‘You catch many scumbags lately, Eden?’ he asked, as he always did.

‘One or two,’ she said, with a smile. ‘Loads of brown sauce on the bap, please, Tony. I’ve earned it.’

She watched him frying the bacon and flipping the egg, the white frilling and crisping at the edges, just how she liked it. She hummed to herself as she carried the paper package back to her office. Today was a good day and she was happy and light. The sun was shining, the hyacinths in their planter were pumping out a heady scent of spring, and there was a bacon and egg bap in her hand. Life couldn’t get any better.

As she pushed open the office door, she cast an eye over the car park. Two spaces down from her car was a red Skoda Octavia. Her heart stuttered. The car that had followed her was a red Skoda Octavia. She stared at it for a moment, then chided herself it was only a car, one of hundreds like it. The fact it was parked only yards from hers didn’t mean a thing.

She stepped inside, jolting when the door slammed shut behind her. Whipping round, she took in a thick bull’s neck garlanded with a spider’s web tattoo. A face from the past, last seen on TV outside the Court of Appeal, confronted her.

‘Hello, Jackie. Or is it Eden, now?’

‘Hello, Nutter.’

They eyeballed each other for a long moment.

‘Well, it’s been nice chatting to you, Dave,’ Eden said, her breath tight in her chest, ‘but I’ve got to get on.’

‘We both know that’s not going to happen.’

Her eyes locked on his.

‘Time’s up,’ Nutter said. ‘You’re going on a little journey.’

‘How did you find me?’

Nutter laughed. ‘Hammond can buy anyone he wants,’ he said.

‘You’re still working for him, then?’ Keep him talking; there must be a way out. Think!

‘I’m loyal, me.’ He jutted his chin. ‘Not like you.’

Eden spread her hands. ‘Just doing my job. Nothing personal.’

‘I did two years in high security ’cause of you,’ Nutter spat. A glob of spittle landed on Eden’s cheek. She fought the urge to wipe it away.

Nutter took a step towards her and she rammed the scorching butty into his face. He hesitated only for a second, then came for her. She backed away until the edge of the desk slammed the back of her thighs. Desperately she groped behind her for anything she could use as a weapon. Her hand fastened around a pencil.

Nutter grabbed her arm and twisted it. Little Jimmy captured and tortured; Hammond’s hallmarks on his body. Now it was her turn. A low moan escaped her lips.

She lunged with the pencil, aiming for Nutter’s eye. He anticipated the blow and swiped her arm aside. With his other arm, he punched the side of her head. It was his left hand, and the punch fell short, but it knocked her off her feet. Winded and dazed, she had a close-up of the carpet before Nutter hauled her to her feet, clamping his arm round her neck in a stranglehold.

‘Fire! Fire!’ was all she managed to scream before his meaty arm crushed her throat. She kicked wildly for his instep. He grunted but didn’t release her. The pressure increased. She tasted blood; smelled a dark, feral odour. Black spots exploded before her eyes. As she faded, she saw what he’d left on her desk, and knew the fate that awaited her: plastic ties, a gag, and a hood.

‘Eden! Eden!’ Light in her eyes. She fumbled her hand to her throat, gasped, retched, and rolled on to her side, groaning.

‘Where’s he gone?’ she croaked.

‘He’s there.’ Aidan nodded at Nutter lying motionless on the floor.

‘Is he dead?’

‘No.’

‘Never mind.’ Her throat spasmed as she fought for breath. She coughed and struggled to sit up.

Footsteps sounded on the metal walkway and Tony burst inside. ‘What the hell’s going on? Eden? Are you OK? Where’s the fire?’

‘I’m fine, Tony. Call the police, please. I’ve been attacked.’

‘And the ambulance,’ Aidan called after him. Turning back to her, he said, ‘You need checking out. He nearly killed you.’

Slowly she eased herself to her feet and looked about her. The office door was wide open. A bouquet lay outside, and one of her planters was smashed. Bulbs, flowers and compost were strewn over the carpet.

Her throat was on fire. She staggered to the kitchen unit and poured a glass of water. Impossible to swallow. She choked it back up, spitting bloody froth into the sink.

‘What happened?’ she whispered.

‘I came to bring you these,’ Aidan said, picking up the bouquet. ‘I was locking the car when I heard you scream, so I ran up, and found him trying to strangle you.’ He perched on the desk next to her and slipped his arm round her shoulders. ‘I didn’t think. I grabbed the plant pot and hit him with it.’

‘Thank God you did,’ Eden said. She glanced at the plastic ties, the hood, the gag. How long would Nutter have kept her here, captive, before delivering her to her executioner? She shivered and pressed closer to Aidan.

Nutter snorted and let out a groan, then crumpled back into unconsciousness.

‘Who is he?’ Aidan asked.

‘Someone from my life before.’

Aidan said nothing, just squeezed her tight. She winced. ‘Bruises from last night’s fight,’ she said, ruefully.

‘Eden,’ he began, lacing his fingers in hers. ‘Is it all over now? The past?’

For now, she thought. After this escapade, sending Nutter to kill her, Hammond would be moved to a high-security prison. That’d clip his wings for a little while.

Sirens wailed close by. ‘I think they might be for us,’ she said, and went to meet them.