The Haunting of Maddy Clare (12 page)

Alistair was waiting in the private room at the inn. He took one look at Matthew, striding toward him, with me trailing
behind, and his expression grew taut. “What happened? Did she appear?”

“I would guess so,” said Matthew. He went straight to the sideboard, where a pitcher of water had been set out, and poured a glass. “You’ll be hearing from the Clares in a moment unless I miss my guess. She came screaming out of the barn.”

I dropped into a chair, relieving my shaking legs. Alistair looked at me. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I said. “Matthew is right, I’m afraid. I was screaming. I may have made something of a spectacle. I’m sorry.”

The familiar gleam came into Alistair’s eyes and he picked up his pad and pen. “Tell me everything. Now, before any of it leaves your mind.”

I shuddered involuntarily. “None of it will ever leave my mind.”

“Then go.”

I looked at him. I realized I would have to tell Alistair that Maddy had told me she wanted him to come, and for a moment I seriously considered not telling him. What did Maddy want him for, after all? To kill him? It would be better if he didn’t know. I could simply say that Maddy had grabbed me, lifted me, thrown me down. That she had not spoken to me at all.

But how foolish was I, to think that Alistair needed my protection?

Alistair lifted his eyebrows at me, and Matthew put a glass of water on the table. Reluctantly, I put the idea of lying away. These were grown men, experienced men, men who had been to war and seen unspeakable things. Why be afraid of a ghostly shadow? How could I think I could protect them—I, who was so afraid and unworldly next to both of them? Stupid to think that I could simply face Maddy Clare on my own.

“She spoke to me,” I said.

Alistair’s eyes widened in excitement. “My God. What did she say?”

And I started from the beginning, and I told them everything.

When I finished, Alistair stood and slammed his notebook to the table with a bang. He paced the room, running his hands through his hair. “Incredible,” he said. “Incredible. This is the most advanced manifestation anyone has ever seen. This is more than just a shadow. It’s what we’ve been looking for, Matthew. It’s
awareness
, don’t you see?”

Matthew, leaning against the sideboard, looked down into his empty water glass and said nothing.

“Five years,” Alistair went on. “Sixty-four confirmed manifestations I’ve witnessed in the last five years alone. And nothing ever, even remotely, like this. This is the greatest discovery in the history of the field. Physical manifestation. Voice. Reaction to stimuli.” He shook his head. I had never seen him so excited, so happy. He could not stand still. “This will make our names, all of us. There’s no way it can be faked. How to grab a human being and levitate her into the air? It can’t be done. This is a true manifestation, fully documentable.” He turned to us, eyes alight, and said what I most dreaded. “I’m going into that barn.”

“You can’t!” I said.

He turned his gaze on me, though he was hardly seeing me. “She asked for me. How can I not go?”

“It doesn’t sound like a good idea, Alistair,” Matthew added.

“I’m going to document her,” Alistair went on as if we hadn’t spoken. “I’m going to record her and get photographs and fully document this. She can’t escape me.” He grinned, a narrow grin that unsettled me. “I’m going to hunt her down.”

The chill his words gave me made me almost physically ill. My mind was groggy and throbbing, the way it is after waking from a nightmare, thrashing and still unsure of reality. Cold sweat ran down my temples. I pictured Alistair going in there, Maddy seeing him. I felt something yawning and avaricious inside me, something almost gleeful—not my emotions, but Maddy’s, as if she were somewhere inside me. The thought was so horrifying I pushed it from my mind.

“Sarah,” came Matthew’s voice from somewhere over my shoulder. “Are you quite all right?”

I put my hand to my forehead. “I really think I might lie down a moment.”

“Of course, of course,” said Alistair. “I will have some tea sent up—”

A short, sharp knock sounded at the door. Without a pause for an answer, the door opened and Mrs. Clare stepped in. Her face was haggard and alarmed.

“This is terrible,” she said without preamble. “What happened in there, Mr. Gellis? You promised us you would not go in the barn yourself. I only saw Miss Piper from the window this morning.”

“I assure you I did not, Mrs. Clare. What do you mean?”

Her tired gaze turned to me. “Maddy is as agitated as I’ve ever seen her. What did you say to her?”

I shook my head. Alistair spoke for me. “It seems Maddy was in an angry mood. We are still debriefing Miss Piper.”

How smooth he was! How honest he sounded! He wanted to shield Mrs. Clare from the truth, it seemed. Perhaps to hide his own intentions of getting into the barn despite her orders.

Her eyes, lined with exhaustion, never left me. “The noise is going to drive me mad if it keeps up. Thumps and crashes—I didn’t
think there was anything left to destroy in there. Several paintings fell from the walls in the house this morning, and crockery was broken in the kitchen. She never comes into the house anymore, not like she did at first. You said something to upset her.”

I looked at her helplessly.
Lock your barn,
I thought.
Please, lock it—though perhaps it is too late.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I told her my name. I hardly had a chance to say more. I can’t think what set her off.”

Her eyes narrowed, and I knew she didn’t believe me. I stood on my unsteady legs. “If you’ll pardon me. I must go lie down.”

“By all means, Miss Piper,” said Alistair.

I looked at him and saw nothing but bland politeness on his face. Alistair, so friendly and sweet, and, I was discovering, so capable of deception in pursuit of what he wanted. I looked at Matthew, seated in the corner with one ankle crossed over the other knee, but he was staring down at his boot and frowning. He did not look at me. I turned away and left the room.

As I approached the stairs, a man descending them brushed past me. His shoulder jarred mine, and as I turned to look at him, he lowered his face. He wore a cloth cap and a gray jacket, and he disappeared quickly out the door.

I slowly ascended the stairs. I went to the washroom first, where I splashed warm water on my face and hands. Despite my manufactured excuse, I found exhaustion was indeed weighing on me, and I wanted nothing more than to lie on my bed. I dragged my aching limbs down the hall to my bedroom and opened the door.

The entire room was in disarray. The drawers were pulled from the dresser and overturned, the nightstand pitched against the wall. My valise had been opened and everything inside pulled out,
and—I let out a cry at this—my clothes were shredded. Every piece of clothing I owned—paid for with pennies earned one by one—every skirt and blouse, so painstakingly packed by the naive version of myself who thought this to be a wonderful paying job, torn to pieces.

I thought of the man in the cap and the gray jacket. He had ransacked my things.

I should have screamed; I should have run for the landlord. I could do nothing but stare in a sort of sickened, exhausted horror that left me without the will to move. One of the maids found me there, five minutes later. I remember nothing of it, though later she told me I was weeping.

T
here was an uproar, of course, though I hardly recall it. The employees at the inn were questioned. They had seen nothing, no strangers or suspicious men. I was repeatedly asked for a description of the man. I could not give one. I had not seen his face, and there had been nothing distinctive about him at all.

Someone suggested the constable be called—there was none in Waringstoke, but someone could be summoned from a neighboring town, some sort of representative of law and order. Alistair turned the idea away. He took pity on my embarrassment and told the innkeeper that no harm had been done, that it need go no further than it already had. He requested I be given a new room. He said he would replace my things himself.

That broke me from my exhausted stupor. “You can’t,” I protested.

“You are here at my discretion, Sarah,” he said gently. “I’ve put you in this predicament myself. I feel terrible, if you want to know the truth. Of course I’ll replace your things.”

I was proud, but what choice did I have? I was alone with nothing but the clothes I wore, and hardly a penny to my name. I had to accept. Secretly I hoped it would be a loan, that I would be able to repay Alistair someday.

Everyone listened to Alistair, of course. He had a way of easy authority about him. The curious patrons drifted away and the innkeeper and his wife set to work moving my room, no longer panicked. It was easy to believe everything would be all right when Alistair said so.

I knew better. Nothing would be all right. My upper arms hurt where Maddy had touched them, and I rubbed the skin gingerly through my sleeves, my arms crossed over my chest. The rubbing only made them feel worse.

Somewhere in the madness, Mrs. Clare had disappeared. I vaguely wondered when she had left.

My things were moved; the inn had only six rooms, so I had been moved down the hall, closer to the washroom, while the latch to my original room was repaired. Alistair steered me down the hall. “Are you certain you’re quite all right? You’ve had a few shocks today. Should I send for a doctor? Some food? Tea?”

“There’s only one thing she needs,” said a familiar voice from behind me. “A ticket out of Waringstoke.”

I turned. Matthew had put his cap on, and was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“I don’t think you will.” Matthew’s face was inscrutable, but his voice was cocky, and I suddenly sensed he was mocking me. “Or did you not notice what just happened here?”

I took a step forward in a genuine spurt of anger. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I left? Then you’d be free of me.”

“Now, now,” said Alistair.

Matthew’s face darkened. He ignored Alistair and spoke straight to me. “It isn’t that I would like it. It’s only that this doesn’t seem like a good situation for a woman, and it gets worse by the minute.”

Outrage made my face hot. “And that’s your objective opinion, is it? That I should step aside and get out of your way? I already know you want me to go. You needn’t bother to deny it.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He was flushed now. “You’re in danger, that’s all. Something you seem too stubborn to figure out. If Alistair had any sense, he’d send you straight to London on the next train.”

“
Send
me!”

“Hey—both of you.” Alistair raised his voice. “What’s gotten into you?”

I backed up a step. Matthew took off his cap and scrubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, the scar plainly visible from under his cuff. I shook my head, assuring myself I’d be a fool to entertain, even for a second, the notion that Matthew was truly concerned about me. He only wanted me gone. “I’ll be in my room,” I said.

It was hard to believe I was tired, but for once my body overtook my overwrought mind. After I was left alone in my new room, my shredded things piled in a suitcase on the dresser next to me, I sat on the bed and removed my shoes. I lay back, looking at the old oak-paneled ceiling, trying to catch my thoughts and pin them down, but they would not stay still.

I was, in fact, afraid. I knew it was dangerous, that things were starting to spin out of control. I realized now that a wild kind of alchemy had happened that morning between Maddy and me. She had awareness,
thoughts
, not just rage. Mrs. Clare said I had upset her, but I wondered if it was so simple, if there was not worse to come.

And now there was the man. Matthew was right about that—it wasn’t safe here. If I was logical, I would leave.

But if I was in danger, then so were the others. Lying there on the bed, I decided I would not leave. We had all been through a war, after all. I knew of so many men who had never come home. After that, what was dangerous to any of us anymore?

I must have dozed, for I opened my eyes to see that dusk had fallen. My room was quiet. My mind drifted; my thoughts slowed.