The Castle of the Demon

by Reginald Hill

  ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I knew there was something. I left my lighter and fags on the floor beside your couch. I’ll just pop back and get them.’

  He turned on his heel and set off back towards the cottage.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Emily.

  ‘Yes?’ He paused and glanced back.

  ‘The key.’ She held up her key-ring and shook it so that her keys tinkled together like a cattle-bell. ‘Or are you an expert burglar?’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, moving back to her.

  She lobbed the keys gently to him. He took them one-handed low down by his left ankle, and set off back to the cottage once more.

  Emily resumed her stroll along the grass fronting on to the shore. She was on the look-out for Cal and soon spotted him playing tig with the breakers which the wind was driving in on to the beach. At first he did not hear her call above the crash of the waters, but when she shouted his name a second time he scrambled from the water and came bounding across the sand and stones towards her.

  Kneeling down after she had resisted his initial on-slaught, she held him at arm’s length and examined his eyes and his leg critically.

  ‘You’ll do,’ she said finally. ‘But you’re soaking wet again. And it’s not a good drying day. This wind could give you rheumatics. Well, if you’re very good and walk quietly along with me, I might just be persuaded to buy you a tot of rum.’

  Cal barked joyously as if he recognised the word. Other spirits and wine he did not care for in the least. Beer he would lap up if he were thirsty and there was no water. But rum was his heart’s ease and delight. Aromatic, black, Jamaica rum. White rums he treated with contempt, like a man who has asked for champagne and is given perry.

  They had almost reached the hotel before Burgess caught up with them. Emily had shivered slightly as she passed the spot at the bottom of the lane where she had been attacked, and Cal too had sniffed around suspiciously, growling in his throat. But apart from a slight flattening of the grass in places there was no sign of the previous night’s conflict.

  ‘O.K.?’ asked Burgess as he rejoined them.

  ‘Yes, of course. Did you find your lighter?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did.’

  ‘Good.’

  They went into the hotel together. Emily stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The reception desk was empty.

  ‘I’ll see you in the bar, then,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be.’

  ‘I’ll be surprised if she can see you,’ said Burgess again.

  ‘I’ll take the chance. Off you go with Mr. Burgess, Cal.’

  Emily turned and tried to run lightly up the stairs. But a few steps reminded her she was in no condition for this, so she settled down to a more sedate pace, using the banister for support.

  Room 22 was not difficult to find. It was only a few yards from the first-floor landing. And to make matters easier, there was a woman sitting on a hard chair outside the door. She was reading a magazine with hard concentration and did not look up till Emily came to a halt before her.

  ‘Yes?’ she said. She was middle-aged, her greying hair pulled back severely from her brow and face. Her wide-set grey eyes stared up at Emily with neither interest nor any real interrogation in them. Emily had never seen her before.

  ‘I want to see Mrs. Castell,’ she said, reaching for the door handle.

  ‘She’s resting,’ said the woman.

  Emily turned the handle. The door was locked.

  ‘I think she’s expecting me,’ she said politely, and tapped gently on the door.

  ‘Mrs. Castell. It’s me, Emily Follett. May I come in?’

  There was no sound from within.

  ‘She’s sleeping,’ said the woman.

  ‘Who are you, please?’ asked Emily.

  ‘I’m a nurse. My name’s Simpson.’

  ‘Well, Miss Simpson, Mrs. Castell telephoned me not very long ago and asked me to call. So I must persist.’

  She rapped on the door again, more loudly this time. There was still no sound of movement inside.

  ‘She’s under very heavy sedation, Mrs. Follett,’ said the nurse.

  My, you caught my name quickly, thought Emily.

  ‘I really must ask you not to disturb her,’ Miss Simpson went on. ‘Are you sure it was Mrs. Castell herself who rang you?’

  ‘Certain.’

  ‘Then she must have done it almost in her sleep. I can’t imagine how. Now please go away, I have strict instructions from the doctor that she must not be disturbed.’

  Troubled, Emily turned away. It was true, she told herself. Amanda had sounded a little strange and distant. But the more she thought of it, the more certain she was that there had been something other than physical fatigue in her voice.

  At the bottom of the stairs she paused, contemplating rejoining battle with Nurse Simpson, but uncertain precisely what she would use for weapons. A rather pretty, fresh-faced young girl leaned over the reception counter and smiled at her.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Emily, then changed her mind. ‘On the other hand, perhaps you can, Miss …?’

  ‘Pettle,’ supplied the girl. The name fitted.

  ‘I’m a friend of Mrs. Castell,’ said Emily.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the girl with genuine sympathy in her eyes. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it? We’re all really sorry for her. Have you been up to see her?’

  ‘Yes. Yes I have. But she was asleep. Actually she telephoned me about forty-five minutes ago. The call would have to come through here, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. That’s right, I remember. I was having my coffee back there.’ She jerked her head towards the door which opened from the rear of the reception area. ‘I had to come and put the call through.’

  ‘I see. Was Miss Simpson there too…’

  ‘The nurse? Yes, she was. Why? There’s nothing wrong, is there?’

  ‘Oh no, of course not. I just wondered if you’d mentioned to anyone that Mrs. Castell had made a call.’

  ‘Oh no!’ The girl was very sure. ‘Of course not. You’ve got to know who you’re talking to before you say anything about guests.’

  ‘And you don’t know Miss Simpson?’

  ‘No. I’d never seen her before this morning.’ Something in her tone indicated an adverse judgement. Emily gave her a friendly grin.

  ‘Mind you,’ said Miss Pettle, suddenly confiding, as if she’d decided in favour of Emily’s face, ‘I can’t say I was delighted at the thought of having her around here all day. I was pretty pleased when she set off back upstairs. I wondered if it had been the doctor who called.’

  ‘You mean she had a call too?’ Emily was interested again.

  ‘Oh yes. About fifteen minutes later. And she set off upstairs as if she’d left a kettle on.’

  ‘The doctor, you say?’

  ‘Oh no. I don’t know. Just a man’s voice. I answered at the switchboard and passed it right over to her.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Miss Pettle. You must let me buy you a drink when you’re off duty.’

  As she walked away from the desk, something made her glance up the stair well. Standing on the first-floor landing peering down was the blank, set face of Nurse Simpson. She stepped smartly back as Emily looked up, but there was no doubt who it had been.

  In the bar Burgess was sitting by himself in the window-seat. Cal was on his haunches at the other side of the room looking soulfully up into the old grizzled face of the only other man in the bar.

  ‘Why, hello, Joe!’ said Emily with pleasure, recognising her dominoes mentor of the previous night. ‘Spending your ill-gotten gains?’

  The old man chortled with delight.

  ‘All four-square and above board, Em, my dear,’ he said. ‘But I admit I got enough to buy you a drink with. What’ll it be?’

  ‘Later, if you don’t mind, Joe. This is my round, I promised earlier. Arthur?’

  ‘Thanks. I’ve deliberately kept away fr
om that hatch in anticipation,’ said Burgess, smiling. ‘A pint of keg for me, please.’

  ‘And you, Joe.’

  ‘I won’t say no. I’ll have a bottle of Special in here,’ he said, indicating his half-empty pint pot. ‘Livens it up. We’re still drinking last night’s slops!’

  He roared with laughter at the barman’s pained expression.

  ‘And Em, lass. You’d better do something about this dog. I don’t know what he wants, but he’s pining for something.’

  ‘It’s a tot of rum he wants,’ said Emily.

  She ordered it and Cal moved eagerly forward.

  ‘Right. Head back!’ she said.

  Obediently he tossed his great square head back and opened his jaws wide. Emily tipped the glass over and poured the small quantity of dark red liquid directly into his gullet.

  A tremor of pure pleasure ran through the beast’s body.

  ‘Well?’ said Burgess, as Emily sat down beside him. ‘Any luck?’

  ‘No. Not really. She was asleep and there was a kind of female dragon lying across the door.’

  Quickly she recounted what had happened upstairs and after.

  ‘What did you expect if you got into the room?’ demanded Burgess. ‘That she’d be lying there murdered or something?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Emily wearily.

  ‘Look, you’ve had a rough time in the last day or two. It’s upset your judgement a bit, that’s all.’

  His voice sounded very strong, very certain, very reliable. His face as he looked at her was full of reassurance and care.

  She put her hand out and touched his arm.

  ‘You’re probably right, Arthur. This place hasn’t done my imagination much good, I must admit. I’ll be glad to get away.’

  He started slightly, surprise showing now.

  ‘Away? I thought you were here for another week at least?’

  ‘No. I’ve had enough. I’m off tomorrow.’

  ‘But where to? Where will you go?’

  ‘Don’t worry! I’ve got friends around. I’ll find somewhere.’

  She was touched by the strength of his concern, though not yet certain if she wanted to tap the emotion which must lie behind it.

  ‘You’ve got friends here too, Emily,’ he said earnestly. ‘You needn’t go off looking for them.’

  There was a sentimental note about this which rang false. Emily suddenly found herself no longer touched, but on the edge of irritation.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve made my mind up. It’s me for the road tomorrow.’

  ‘The road?’

  ‘In my car. Along the road. That’s what roads are for,’ she said with deliberate slowness, as though to a stupid child.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a car?’

  ‘Did you think that white Triumph outside the back door belonged to Mrs. Herbert?’

  ‘No. Of course not. I didn’t give it a thought. The only time I’ve been near your back door, I was too concerned about you to notice cars.’

  She flushed at the hint of reproach in his voice. He stood up. He hadn’t finished his beer.

  ‘Will I see you again before you go?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  He visibly hesitated, as if pondering something in his mind. Finally he decided. She could almost see the cog wheels turning in his open face.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Have dinner with me again tonight. That way I can at least make sure you get back to the cottage safely.’

  Now she was feeling guilty again. And in any case she’d need something to occupy her this evening if she wasn’t to end up sitting in the cottage listening to creakings in the walls. It looked as if some nasty weather was blowing up, which would mean rain beating against window-panes, wind whistling down the chimney. Comforting sounds to those in comfort, with friends, or at home reading some old favourite book in front of a huge fire. But containing little comfortable when backed by the breaking of grey breakers on a stone beach and the forlorn cry of a gull.

  ‘All right,’ she said.

  ‘Good!’ He smiled his pleasure. But again she sensed something else behind it. A worry. A qualification.

  He went on: ‘And this time I will call for you, no matter what you say!’

  ‘All right,’ she said again.

  ‘I must go now,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the drink.’Bye, Cal.’ He nodded to old Joe and left.

  Emily sipped her drink and scratched Cal’s ears thoughtfully.

  Joe, who had been listening openly to the conversation, leaned over and said in reproving tones, ‘You won’t be playing dominoes tonight.’

  Again the implication that she would be missed both touched and irritated Emily at the same time.

  ‘No. I’m sorry. But, anyway, you should have Mr. Scott back with you tonight.’

  ‘Michael. Oh, aye.’ Joe laughed. ‘He plays a nice game, but he’s not as pretty as you.’

  ‘How long have you known him?’ Emily asked on impulse.

  ‘Not all that long,’ said Joe. ‘Nine months. A year. Something like that.’

  ‘He’s not a local, then? He seems to know his way around.’

  ‘Oh aye. He does that. I think he comes from these parts somewhere, and he gets around everywhere on that great black horse of his. But he’s never said much about his background and such. Not that we haven’t asked him, mind. We’re not backward about being forward up here!’

  Emily grinned, remembering the searching inquisition she herself had had to withstand the night before.

  ‘He’s at the college, isn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What does he do there? What does anyone do there?’

  Joe finished his drink and stood up. He looked at Emily, his blue eyes twinkling shrewdly in his weather-lined old face.

  ‘Why don’t you ask Michael when you see him? You’ll be having a word before you leave?’

  Emily wasn’t sure whether the second question referred specifically to Michael or just to Joe and his cronies.

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said, compromising. ‘’Bye, Joe.’

  ‘Cheerio, lass.’

  Cal barked a goodbye as the door closed, and barked even louder a couple of minutes later as it opened again to reveal Michael Scott.

  He stood in the doorway, darkly handsome, something between a sneer and a smile on his lips, his aquiline nose with nostrils flared. He was dressed as usual all in black. One hand was on his hip, the other buried deep in the fur of the cat, Miranda, who was draped negligently over his right shoulder.

  ‘Bravo,’ said Emily. ‘You really must let me take a picture, Mr. Scott. Else my friends won’t believe me.’

  He didn’t ask, believe what? and lay himself open to the insult she was prepared to follow up with. Instead, infuriatingly, he addressed her as though she had not spoken.

  ‘Joe says you’re leaving.’

  He said it flatly, not as a question. But she answered anyway.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He nodded twice as if to some private thought of his own.

  Not another fan! thought Emily. Everyone seems to be so unhappy I’m leaving. Perhaps it means there’ll be no one left to punch around and generally terrorise!

  ‘Disappointed, Mr. Scott?’ she asked coyly.

  ‘A little,’ he said. ‘I’d hoped you might go today.’

  For a second she thought it was a mere gratuitous insult and angrily decided to ignore it. Then looking at the man’s face she suddenly realised he meant it. Her anger went.

  ‘Why do you say that, Mr. Scott?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘You’ll be safer.’

  ‘I’m grateful for your solicitude,’ she began with cumbersome irony, but he interrupted her.

  ‘Don’t be. I don’t take account of personalities. The innocent, the unwary, and the idiot need protecting. I do wh
at I can where I can. How’s the leg, old boy?’

  Cal, who had been regarding the almost motionless furry shape on Scott’s shoulder with considerable suspicion, now offered his leg for inspection from a safe distance.

  ‘Which category do you put me in?’ asked Emily, her voice unsteady with some emotion more subtle than anger.

  ‘The same as your dog. The sooner you both get away from here, the better.’

  ‘Just what are you trying to say, Mr. Scott? Or are you merely getting your hand in at oracular utterances? Perhaps you really believe you are the Michael Scot.’

  ‘I’m the only one I know. If you’re referring to my illustrious medieval ancestor, I agree; we have a lot in common. You could too.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You could be dead. Soon. Your own name doesn’t seem to be the talisman I’d have thought. Which just goes to show, what’s in a name? Have a nice trip tomorrow.’

  He was gone before the explosion of wrath whose short fuse he had lit in Emily’s mouth could take place.

  ‘Damn you for a stupid, opinionated, narcissistic, perverted …’ The fuse fizzled out and Emily decided the only thing to do was have another drink.

  Behind the bar putting some money in the till she saw Miss Pettle, the pretty young receptionist.

  ‘Hello there,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, hello again.’ The girl smiled agreeably.

  ‘Are you free now?’

  ‘Nearly. It’s just coming up to my lunch hour.’

  ‘What about that drink, then?’

  It would be nice to talk to someone young, happy and uncomplicated, thought Emily.

  ‘Thanks very much. I’d love it. I’ll come round when I’m finished here. In fact I’ll act as barmaid and then come round and drink it!’

  She quickly dispensed the two drinks that Emily ordered, dropped the money in the till and came round from behind the bar.

  They drank together.

  ‘Whereabouts are you staying?’ asked Miss Pettle.

  ‘Down on the sea-front,’ said Emily.

  ‘I thought you must be. I noticed you the other night with Mr. Burgess and I knew you weren’t booked in here. Did you know him before?’

  ‘No,’ said Emily with a smile at finding a youthful equivalent of old Joe’s curiosity. ‘We just met that day. We were both alone, so it seemed nice to have dinner together. I expect he was pleased to find someone to take the place of his friends. It would have been someone else if it hadn’t been me.’