The Silent Touch of Shadows (38 page)

The Reverend Brindle was made of sterner stuff and ignored the interruption. ‘Free this place, O Lord, from all disturbances of demons and deliver it from evil. Spirits begone from this place, be banished for ever
 
…’

The headache had grown to monumental proportions and Melissa cradled her head with her hands to ease the pounding.

‘In the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, I command you to leave here and proceed to that place beyond death which God has prepared for your reception and healing.’

The pain was agonising. Unbearable.

The priest repeated his command to the spirits of the house to leave, and as Melissa’s eyes opened briefly she saw Mr Atwell staring towards the fireplace in stupefied terror. She turned to look at the familiar figure of Roger for the last time, but instead of his normal handsome self, her eyes encountered a horrifying sight. He was bleeding, battered and bruised, swaying as if he was having trouble staying upright. His face was contorted with pain and rage, and she could almost see the sparks flying from him. The air all around fairly crackled with his fury and frustration and in his hand he brandished his sword, as if defending himself from multiple attackers. Melissa drew in a shaky breath and looked at Dorothy. Could she see him, too? She thought she probably could, since the old lady’s mouth was open in astonishment even though she remained calm.

The door to the hall slammed shut with such force that it shook the walls and a painting became dislodged. A crack appeared in the plaster next to the doorframe, zig-zagging its way up the wall. Mr Atwell gave a pitiful little moan and crumpled into a heap on the sofa in a dead faint. Everyone ignored him.

Eyeing the imposing spectre by the fireplace with determination, the Reverend Brindle raised his voice to repeat his command to the spirits for the third and last time.

‘Free this place, O Lord, from all disturbances
 
…’

‘No! Hold! I haven’t finished
 
…’

Melissa’s head was being torn apart by the wails of anguish. She was in real danger of being extremely sick right there on the carpet. She tried to will the voice to leave her alone, but there was no let-up. It was relentless, wearing her down. She just couldn’t stand it.

‘NO! Stop! Please, please, stop,’ she screamed at the vicar, great sobs beginning to rack her body. She supported her head between her hands. ‘We c-can’t do this, I’m s-sorry,’ she hiccoughed. ‘It’s wrong.’

Mr Brindle had been cut off in mid-sentence and it obviously wasn’t something he was used to. He glared at her angrily.

‘My dear Ms Grantham,’ he hissed, ‘I am a man of God and you are probably under the influence of the demons I’ve come to expel. I shall ignore you.’

‘No, please, you have to stop. It’s all wrong.’

Visibly controlling himself with an effort, he came over and put a large hand on the top of her head in a gesture of concern. ‘My dear child, what makes you think it’s wrong for a soul to take his rightful place beside God? Surely, that is as it should be?’

‘No, not in this case. Not yet. He – that is the spirit – has something which binds him to earth, unfinished business. Until it’s done, he can never rest in peace. Please believe me, I’m absolutely sure of this.’ The tears continued to stream down her cheeks, but the ache behind her eyes was receding. ‘I want you to leave now.’

‘Very well.’ Tight-lipped, he conceded defeat, although only temporarily as his next words confirmed. ‘I shan’t continue today, but I beg of you to reconsider your decision during the next few days. I’ll be happy to come back another time when you are less distraught. There is no need for you to be present if you don’t wish to be.’ He clearly thought it was her own feelings at stake here, and Melissa saw no reason to enlighten him further. Let him think whatever he wanted. It made no difference. She had to find another way.

Mr Brindle packed up his things with jerky movements, indicating his impatience with such stupidity, but he couldn’t continue without permission. Dragging the terrified, but slightly recovered, Mr Atwell with him, he disappeared after a curt, ‘Goodbye.’

Completely drained, Melissa stayed in her chair as Dorothy saw the clergymen out. The angry shape by the fireplace had melted into the shadows as soon as Mr Brindle had stopped his incantation.

Melissa was alone. For now.

Chapter Thirty

‘You’ve come to do what?’

Instead of Sibell’s father, Roger was facing her eldest half-brother Henry, the dim-witted one. Apparently John of Ashleigh was out inspecting the fields so Roger had had to state his business to the heir instead. He tried to keep calm as he repeated his errand a second time, although it annoyed him that Simon had failed to mention his sire’s absence. ‘Is your father expected back soon? If not, I can return later.’

Henry stared at him with eyes that were dangerously close to popping out of their sockets. Roger regarded him warily in return. ‘I’ve no idea,’ Henry said. ‘And what on earth makes you think he’d let Sibell wed a bastard, landless knight?’

‘I am not landless,’ Roger protested, keeping his voice level, despite the provocation. ‘I stand to inherit some holdings from my maternal uncle, Roger of Langford the elder
 
…’ he began, but with a snarl of anger, Simon erupted from his seat on a nearby bench and came to jab his finger into Roger’s middle.

‘We don’t care how many holdings your uncle is giving you.’ Simon spat vehemently on to the floor. ‘Nor if the King himself gives you holdings. You’re still an upstart nobody of no account, and we’ll not have our sister associating with the likes of you.’

‘But I–’

‘You must know Sibell is to marry Sir Fulke of Thornby come September. Father has but recently returned from negotiating the contract. It’s all settled.’ He glanced at his other brothers. ‘Now since you’ve not heeded our earlier warning, I think we’d best send you on your way with a reminder. What say you, Henry, Edmund?’

‘Aye, Father did say he’d love for us to teach this son of a bitch a lesson,’ Edmund smirked.

‘Wait, you’ve not heard everything yet.’ Roger strived to keep his voice even and stand his ground.

The fourth brother, Godwin, suddenly spoke up. He’d been sitting by one of the windows, staring out passively, but he rose now and walked over to join the group by the hearth. ‘Let the man speak first,’ he said.

‘Stay out of this, Godwin. Lord, but you’re such a runt,’ Simon grumbled.

‘I may be a runt, but at least I don’t make ill-informed judgements,’ Godwin retorted, glaring back. He turned back to Roger. ‘Now what did you have to add, Sir Roger?’

‘I was about to say that Sir Gilbert Presseille has agreed to acknowledge me as his natural son. He’s backing my proposal.’

‘A likely tale,’ Edmund scoffed. ‘And what difference does it make? As I said, Sibell is promised elsewhere.’

‘Your father was keen for the connection with the Presseille family once before,’ Roger reminded them.

‘Well he isn’t now he’s got Sir Fulke instead. This changes nothing,’ Simon spat again.

‘Sir Gilbert has promised me some of his holdings as a wedding gift. He is very fond of your sister.’ Roger glanced at Sibell, who had come sidling in during the conversation and now sat watching from a shadowed corner, obviously trying not to attract notice and thus make things worse. She shook her head slightly, as if to warn him not to draw attention to her presence, so he concentrated on the brothers instead.

‘Perhaps we should at least inform Father and let him make the decision,’ Godwin suggested, looking from Roger to the others. ‘I’ll go and fetch him if you have the time to wait?’ Roger nodded his agreement and Godwin headed for the door. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘Yes, go, run to Father like you always do,’ Simon sneered. As soon as they heard the front door close, he added, ‘And in the meantime, we can have some sport.’ He grinned at his brothers and unsheathed his sword. Henry chuckled and Edmund followed suit, a look of pure malice crossing his features.

‘I’d say it was time to pay you back, Sir Knight.’ He laughed and in the next instant, the three of them attacked.

With grim determination, Roger pulled out his sword to defend himself.

Sibell screamed. Why had Roger come alone? she wondered. Why hadn’t he brought his new-found father? Or, at the very least, Hugone. She could only think he must have been in such a hurry to see her again and tell her of his good fortune that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. Her stomach muscles clenched in fear.

‘For the love of God, stop this madness!’ She forgot about staying unobtrusive and tried to throw herself into the fray.

‘Stay out of this, woman.’ Henry cuffed her so hard she flew backwards and tripped over a bench, hitting her head on the wall. She sank to the floor, the pain so strong it made her nauseous. Tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks as she realised she had no chance of helping her beloved. Nothing she could do would be of any use.

Roger fought like a man possessed. Time and again he held her brothers off, managing to turn just in time as they came at him from all sides. He had excellent reflexes and thrust his sword with lightning speed, wounding at least two of the brothers. Sibell knew he had bested four men once before, because he’d told her so. She prayed it hadn’t been an idle boast and that he could do so again. As she watched the fight in mounting horror, however, Sibell began to think that perhaps there was one crucial difference – this time Roger wasn’t dealing with honourable men.

Oh, Godwin, where are you? Hurry!

Terrified now, she made another attempt to join the fight, latching on to Simon’s sword arm like an eagle holding on to its prey, but his strength was such that he managed to dislodge her with a single, impatient shake. Before she had time to try again, he gave her an almighty shove that thrust her into the wall once more. Her head swam and her vision became blurred.

Through a haze of pain, she saw Roger continue to fight valiantly. His breathing was becoming laboured, and sweat poured into his eyes. Impatiently he swiped at it with his sleeve. It was obviously more difficult by the minute to keep them all at bay. She saw him inch closer to the door, intending to make his escape, but someone was there before him, blocking his way.

Henry’s sword had gone flying clean across the room, but instead of taking the time out to retrieve it, he had picked up a sturdy piece of wood from the pile next to the fire. The light of battle was in his eyes as he advanced on the man who had humiliated his brothers before the crowd at Idenhurst.

Just then, Godwin came into the room and took in the scene, his eyes widening in horror. He must have seen Henry’s intent at the same time as Sibell, and launched himself in his brother’s direction while shouting, ‘Henry, no!’ But it was too late.

Roger may have felt the stirring of the air before the heavy wood connected with the back of his skull, but he didn’t have time to react. As his knees buckled, he looked up, his eyes connecting with Sibell’s. She could only stare, horrified, as his lips formed her name, but no sound emerged.

Sibell screamed again. ‘
Nooooo!
Roger!’ The drawn-out sound stopped her other brothers in their tracks and they froze, swords held in mid-strike. Slowly, they lowered their weapons and stared at each other as they took in what had happened

The room was suddenly eerily silent.

The nightmare struck without warning, even more frightening because of its intensity.

‘Melissa, Melissa!’
Several different voices were calling her, beckoning her towards
 
… what? She didn’t know, but she was afraid of it.

In the black void of darkness the voices were soft and silky at first, like a lover whispering endearments. They were persuasive, cajoling, but soon their tone changed subtly. She began to shake with fear and tried to say ‘no’. Nothing happened. No sound was heard from her, but the voices continued, angrier now.

Suddenly faces appeared out of nowhere, swirling around her, luminous, translucent. She didn’t know who they were or why they were there. Disembodied faces, nothing else. Some were happy, some sad. There were angry faces, threatening ones, too. She tried to shrink back, but they surrounded her on all sides, pursued her relentlessly. There was nowhere to hide.