The Magdalena Curse (14 page)
Read The Magdalena Curse Online
Authors: F.G. Cottam
‘Look at the arm I healed. Better, look for it.’
The limb was no longer there. His suit coat was pinned at the elbow of his left arm with the neat, tailored habit of amputation.
‘What shall I do with you?’ Miss Hall asked, approaching him.
He knew this was not hypnosis. Hypnosis could not kill you. And the sorceress was intent on his destruction.
She had come up very close to him. Shallow as his breathing was, he could smell the stink of her approaching death. In an effort to avoid the sight of her, he managed to twist his head and look at the wall to his right. The beasts in the carvings mounted there were an audience now, all pretence of innocent stillness gone. They watched the spectacle and did not hide their wolfish grins of appreciation. Miss Hall grinned too. Her voice rattled out of her. ‘Is this still hypnotism, Colonel Hunter? Perhaps this is telekinesis, or some other fashionable phenomenon. Before the conclusion of the Cold War, the Russians experimented with telekinesis. I believe they once moved a domino on a tabletop a distance of two inches. Extraordinary.’
He thought it wiser to say nothing. He had antagonised her enough. Anyway, the iron corset of her spell did not allow him sufficient breath to speak.
‘I could put you somewhere, Colonel,’ she said. ‘I could put you anywhere. I know you have a fondness for the mountains. There is a storm on the Eiger just now. Here all is calm. But up there, in the high Alps, the storm rages. I could put you there, above the second ice field, clinging to scant handholds with the void below you in the shrieking gale. All I have to do is will it. You are prodigiously fit and strong. But even if I returned your arm to you, how long do you think you would last before you lost your grip and plunged the vertical mile in darkness to the meadow at the foot of the face?’
‘A minute,’ Hunter managed to say.
‘Less,’ Miss Hall said. ‘Less than half that. Trust me. I know.’
There was a phantom itch in his missing limb. The press of the stone against his back was suddenly profoundly cold.
It caused the muscles in his back to spasm. It was the black chill of the Eiger’s north face. It was the merest hint of what she could accomplish.
It caused the muscles in his back to spasm. It was the black chill of the Eiger’s north face. It was the merest hint of what she could accomplish.
‘But I have in mind something much more mundane,’ she said. ‘I think I shall simply put you under the ground beneath the gravel outside. Eight feet down you will discover a dark, dense berth of clay and rocks. It is very inhospitable. For a few moments, you will suffer unendurably. But after a short struggle you will suffocate and die. Then you will discover rest in your grave. The burden of grief you carry for your wife and daughter will be lifted. And your son’s predicament will no longer be of any concern to you.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Enter.’
Hunter slipped down from the wall and fell to the floor and broke his fall with both hands, made aware by doing so that the missing limb had been restored to him. He was trembling and sweating, his suit was torn and his shirt streaked and stained from his nosebleed. There was a cut to the back of his head. He could feel blood sticky in his hair. The Comte entered wheeling a silver trolley piled with dishes under polished metal domes. To Hunter, the smell of food was impossibly rich. What breath had been allowed him in the last few moments, he knew, had come from up there on the remote reaches of the Eigerwand. The trolley rattled towards the centre of the room. Swallowing blood, with his cheek against the waxed floor of Miss Hall’s dining room, he said, ‘I thought you were more good than bad?’
‘I am, Colonel Hunter. Were I not, I would have killed you at Magdalena.’
Getting to his feet would take a moment. He managed to get to his knees.
‘Let us eat,’ Miss Hall said. ‘I trust you are not a vegetarian?’
‘No.’ He was overwhelmed now by a feeling remembered from then, from Bolivia, the feeling that nothing was mundane or innocuous or really solid in the world. Certainties were built on shifting sand. Malice lurked wherever the light did not burn brightly. It was overwhelming and depressing and it was frightening. Worst of all, this feeling, this suspicion, was defeating. He had not felt it even at Adam’s bedside, listening to the sleeping child speak in forgotten languages. But he had felt it very strongly in the cathedral of black canvas outside Magdalena. And he recognised it again in himself here, in Miss Hall’s grand house above the shores of Lake Geneva.
‘You may wish to clean up. You are a mess. The Comte will show you to a bathroom where you can restore and compose yourself. Then we shall eat. And I shall tell you what it is that you must accomplish if your son is to live and recover.’
Hunter could not yet gain his feet. Strength and balance were returning to him. But it would be another minute. He smelled the rich aroma of the food. He heard the discreet clatter of the Comte laying plates and cutlery in the background.
‘Goodness,’ Miss Hall said. ‘I am forgetting my manners. You have been my guest here for nigh on fifteen minutes. And I have not yet offered you anything to drink.’
On that first full night of his being under her care, Elizabeth let Adam stay up later than his regular bedtime. He had enjoyed two good nights since the phone call in the early hours of Saturday. There had been little debate about returning him to school on the Monday morning. School would seem much more familiar to him than spending the day with a nanny he had never met, regardless of her competence or professional qualifications. His father had been
anxious to try to return him to normality as soon as possible. Normality meant routine and that meant school. And Adam wanted to see his schoolfriends. He was buoyant, excited by the prospect, rested, the dark confusion of the dreams already receding from a life where Man United topped the Premiership and he’d just downloaded Girls Aloud’s killer new single on to his iPod.
anxious to try to return him to normality as soon as possible. Normality meant routine and that meant school. And Adam wanted to see his schoolfriends. He was buoyant, excited by the prospect, rested, the dark confusion of the dreams already receding from a life where Man United topped the Premiership and he’d just downloaded Girls Aloud’s killer new single on to his iPod.
But his dad was away. And Adam had never been away from his dad since the day of his mother’s and sister’s deaths. Mark had told her that himself. There was every chance that Mark would feel the separation more acutely than his son. It was Elizabeth’s experience that children were much less sentimental than adults tended to be. But she thought it best to keep him occupied and entertained and then pack him off to bed when he was tired enough to fall asleep without pondering his father’s sudden absence. He had been told his dad had needed to go off on business.
‘Business?’ he had said. ‘What business? Your business used to be jumping out of aeroplanes with a big gun. You’re a bit old for that these days, Dad. And you’ve given your army clothes back. Plus, I don’t see any big gun.’
But he had not questioned further. He trusted his father. He had never in his life been given any reason not to do so.
The woman Mark had employed on her own recommendation had prepared a dinner of roast chicken and put it in the oven half an hour before Elizabeth’s arrival at the house. She washed up and changed in the spare room and Adam chatted to her as she boiled the potatoes and steamed the broccoli and peas and made gravy. Her mother had taught her to cook. It was her mother’s recipe she followed almost without conscious thought as she made the gravy for their roast dinner. She felt ambivalent about her mother, she realised. She had always taken Mum for granted, as she imagined most grown-up daughters did. But now she wondered how well she
actually knew her. Certainly she now thought there was more to her than the sweet, elderly, forgetful caricature recent years had allowed her mother to become in her mind prior to Saturday afternoon.
actually knew her. Certainly she now thought there was more to her than the sweet, elderly, forgetful caricature recent years had allowed her mother to become in her mind prior to Saturday afternoon.
‘Elizabeth?’
‘Adam.’
He was seated at the kitchen table taking the tyres off a toy car. ‘Can I have a Diet Coke?’
‘No.’
‘Please?’
‘Your dad told me your regular tipple is apple juice. Nothing carbonated. No caffeine.’
‘My dad’s a monster when it comes to nutrition.’
‘He’s responsible for your health, Adam.’
‘He knows no mercy.’
‘I wouldn’t go quite that far. There’s apple crumble and ice cream for pudding.’
‘I see you’ve got some greens on the go.’
At the sink, Elizabeth drained the broccoli. ‘Is that a bad thing?’
‘I suppose it could be worse,’ Adam said. ‘It could be Brussels sprouts.’
‘And we all know what they do, don’t we?’
He grinned at her. ‘They make you blow off,’ he said. ‘Like a wizard.’
She peered through the oven’s glass door. The chicken looked ready. She thought that Adam Hunter was definitely on the mend.
After dinner they played a couple of games of chess. Adam won both, Elizabeth sensed with something to spare. She was reminded that this was a boy who could read fluently at the age of three. Things came very easily to him. He was extremely bright and, physically, nothing short of beautiful. He should not have had a care in the world. After the chess,
he asked if he could watch a DVD. Elizabeth would have baulked at one of the spookier
Dr Who
episodes; but his choice was a Jeremy Clarkson programme in which Clarkson made fun of some easy automotive targets and then destroyed examples of these sad vehicles from the dark days of British engineering and design by dropping them from a crane. There was a popcorn maker in the kitchen. Elizabeth made Adam popcorn with hot maple syrup and butter and he ate it lounging on the sofa, laughing at Clarkson’s grown-up schoolboy antics, yawning when the programme finished, definitely ready for bed.
he asked if he could watch a DVD. Elizabeth would have baulked at one of the spookier
Dr Who
episodes; but his choice was a Jeremy Clarkson programme in which Clarkson made fun of some easy automotive targets and then destroyed examples of these sad vehicles from the dark days of British engineering and design by dropping them from a crane. There was a popcorn maker in the kitchen. Elizabeth made Adam popcorn with hot maple syrup and butter and he ate it lounging on the sofa, laughing at Clarkson’s grown-up schoolboy antics, yawning when the programme finished, definitely ready for bed.
He stood up and stretched. ‘Goodnight,’ he said.
‘Don’t forget to brush your teeth.’
‘I won’t. Will you come and check on me in ten minutes?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He just stood there. She realised that he expected a goodnight kiss. Of course he did, his father never failed to provide him with one. Elizabeth pecked him on the cheek and ruffled his hair and he reached around her waist and hugged her.
‘Goodnight, Adam.’
He smiled. ‘Your popcorn is epic,’ he said.
When she checked on him ten minutes later he was deeply and restfully asleep. On her return to the sofa in the sitting room, she picked up her phone and saw that someone had texted her. Mobile reception was patchy in the area at best and the text could have been sent hours earlier and only just reached her. Anything urgent and it would be the message light flashing, not the text icon showing on the display. But she opened and read the text anyway. To Elizabeth’s great surprise, it was from her mother. She had not even known her mother could text. She smiled to herself, but the smile was grim. She was learning more about her mother all the time.
The text was a question. Her mother wanted to know
whether Elizabeth had made any inquiries about the Campbell witch trial archive left among his papers by Judge Jerusalem Smith. She scrolled down and saw that the text had been sent at 6.05 p.m. Her mother had allowed her one working day in which to contact the British Library. But given that she was in no position to plan an imminent trip to London, she had not even thought to do so. In her mother’s mind, there was clearly urgency here. It was as though her mother was in a hurry for her to discover something. Elizabeth wondered why. She did not think the reason for her mother’s anxiety likely to be a very happy one. She did not think any truth she might uncover likely to be innocent. There was nothing good or wholesome about the one relic of Ruth Campbell carved in singed oak in the stable at her family home, was there?
whether Elizabeth had made any inquiries about the Campbell witch trial archive left among his papers by Judge Jerusalem Smith. She scrolled down and saw that the text had been sent at 6.05 p.m. Her mother had allowed her one working day in which to contact the British Library. But given that she was in no position to plan an imminent trip to London, she had not even thought to do so. In her mother’s mind, there was clearly urgency here. It was as though her mother was in a hurry for her to discover something. Elizabeth wondered why. She did not think the reason for her mother’s anxiety likely to be a very happy one. She did not think any truth she might uncover likely to be innocent. There was nothing good or wholesome about the one relic of Ruth Campbell carved in singed oak in the stable at her family home, was there?
She took the Clarkson DVD out of the machine and put it back in its case with the others, stored in a neat row under the player. Most of the DVDs were feature films and it was very much a boys’ collection:
Gladiator
,
Casino Royale
,
Men in Black
and
The Bourne Ultimatum
. There was a discerning section Mark must have hand-picked for Adam; vintage action films such as
The Vikings
and
Jason and the Argonauts
and Eighties children’s classics including
The Goonies
,
Ghostbusters
,
Back to the Future
and
Flight of the Navigator
. There were
Torchwood
and
Doctor Who
of course. And there was Clarkson. And there was a narrow section of cases with hand-written titles on their spines.
Klosters, 2007
, one of these said. Elizabeth took it out and slipped the disc into the player. Maybe it was morbid to watch a Hunter family home movie. Certainly it was an invasion of privacy. But she also thought it might justifiably be called background on her patient.
Gladiator
,
Casino Royale
,
Men in Black
and
The Bourne Ultimatum
. There was a discerning section Mark must have hand-picked for Adam; vintage action films such as
The Vikings
and
Jason and the Argonauts
and Eighties children’s classics including
The Goonies
,
Ghostbusters
,
Back to the Future
and
Flight of the Navigator
. There were
Torchwood
and
Doctor Who
of course. And there was Clarkson. And there was a narrow section of cases with hand-written titles on their spines.
Klosters, 2007
, one of these said. Elizabeth took it out and slipped the disc into the player. Maybe it was morbid to watch a Hunter family home movie. Certainly it was an invasion of privacy. But she also thought it might justifiably be called background on her patient.
Klosters was cold. The light was flat, the sky overcast. The snow had that fluffy, powdery consistency it only has when
the air is so far below freezing point that there is no moisture in it at all. The family were well wrapped up against the elements in ski suits and gloves. They wore hats and hoods and masks. Their features were completely concealed. Mark, presumably, was behind the camera as his lost daughter skied towards him down a long, steep slope followed by her brother and then, lastly, by her mother. They were all obviously expert skiers. But Kate had a particular grace and lightness, a distinctive poise. She skied very fast but was totally in control of her neat, rapid turns as she descended and then stopped with a slewed flourish inches from the lens. Her breath came through the scarf covering the lower half of her face and clouded on the frozen air. She lifted her mask and her eyes smiled. And Elizabeth remembered that she had been on the way to a ballet class at the time of her death and wondered how Mark ever found the strength to watch what she was watching now. Probably, she thought, he did not.
the air is so far below freezing point that there is no moisture in it at all. The family were well wrapped up against the elements in ski suits and gloves. They wore hats and hoods and masks. Their features were completely concealed. Mark, presumably, was behind the camera as his lost daughter skied towards him down a long, steep slope followed by her brother and then, lastly, by her mother. They were all obviously expert skiers. But Kate had a particular grace and lightness, a distinctive poise. She skied very fast but was totally in control of her neat, rapid turns as she descended and then stopped with a slewed flourish inches from the lens. Her breath came through the scarf covering the lower half of her face and clouded on the frozen air. She lifted her mask and her eyes smiled. And Elizabeth remembered that she had been on the way to a ballet class at the time of her death and wondered how Mark ever found the strength to watch what she was watching now. Probably, she thought, he did not.
Other books
The Great Brain by Paul Stafford
The Millionaire Myth by Taylor, Jennifer
Taking a Dare - A Hellion MC Novel by J.A. Hornbuckle
The Hating Game by Talli Roland
Buenos Aires es leyenda by Víctor Coviello Guillermo Barrantes
Dark Salvation by Salidas, Katie
Wake of the Bloody Angel by Alex Bledsoe
Dare To Love Series: Daring to Chance It (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Desiree Holt
Mason: Fallen Angels MC by Laura Day
