Witchfog

by Isobel Robertson

  A narrow spiral staircase opened up on my left. I had not noticed it on my first visit, but I was relieved to find it. With any luck, Mrs Pender - if the mysterious figure was indeed Mrs Pender - would be in and out without noticing me. An ornamental ironwork gate closed off the bottom of the staircase, but it was not locked and easily swung open without a sound. I headed up the stairs as quietly as possible, my slippered feet hushing against the dust that coated the wood.

  I found myself in another long corridor, the mirror of the one that stretched out below, if perhaps even more faded and neglected. A row of closed doors stood on either side, with the only light coming through a small rose window at the end of the corridor. The air felt just as cold, and I wondered where the draft came from.

  Wandering along the corridor, I picked a door at random. To my surprise, it swung open easily. Evidently, neither Mrs Pender nor my uncle suspected that I would actually gain access to this part of the house. Their precautions only extended so far.

  The room was a perfect square, as I suspected all the rooms in the abandoned wing would be. The furniture lay in jumbled heaps alongside storage boxes, some sealed shut and others wide open, their contents overflowing to flood the room with a sea of paper. Books, folded documents, single sheets, ancient-looking rolled-up parchment scrolls; the room seemed full of paper.

  I lifted a few pieces to examine them, but the darkness made it almost impossible to read. One was in Latin, another in a language I did not understand. I squinted at a small picture, centuries old, judging by its style, and made out the face of a hissing cat. I tried another piece, holding it up to the window in the hope of catching a sliver of moonlight. It looked like the document I held was a map, drawn on thick paper so old it had become soft as fabric. I could not make out the legend in the darkness, but I folded it and tucked it into my pocket, anyway. I would discover later whether I knew the area depicted in the map.

  For now, I wanted to explore as much of the abandoned wing as possible. I tried the next door along the corridor, judging that I stood directly above the room where I had seen the light and the women. The door was stiff but not locked, and I had to shove it open, making rather more noise than I would have liked. Still, the walls and floors here were thick. Hopefully, I would remain undiscovered. I gently shut the door again, pressing it firmly into the frame, then turned to examine the room. I was not prepared for what I saw.

  In total contrast to the room next door, this room was almost completely empty. No messy storage boxes here - just a single long, low stone pedestal in the centre of the room. On it lay the body of a young woman.

  I stepped closer, suddenly afraid. This scene had no place in a house like Sir Philip’s. I knew even before I stepped closer that she was carefully, lovingly preserved. Monsieur Lavelle himself could not have done a better job. I saw the slight cast of death on her skin, but a youthful glow still hung about her. Even with my expertise, I could not tell how long she had been dead. All my doubts evaporated. This house held that which I sought, and it might be even more closely guarded than I had realised.

  Still fascinated, I lent closer to the woman’s face, examining her delicate features. Elegant black brows and sooty black eyelashes stood out starkly against the ivory pale skin. Something about her seemed familiar. I walked around the bier, looking at her long, proud nose and stubborn chin. With a slight start I realised that she looked incredibly similar to Mrs Pender -so alike, in fact, that they might have been twins. This woman looked younger, so perhaps sisters or cousins. Then again, Mrs Pender would look much younger without her housekeeper’s cap and fussy blouse. Besides, who knew how long this body had lain preserved? I had never asked my teacher how old his cadavers were.

  A deep, loud groan from above shocked me out of my reverie. I jumped away from the bier, startled, and looked up at the ceiling in confusion, just as a rumbling began below me, and tremors spread through the floor. With a terrible shock, I realised what I heard, and I ran for the door. No longer caring about noise, I sprinted back along the corridor and half-ran, half-fell down the stairs, slamming into the iron gate at the bottom. It caused me to pause for a second, fumbling with the iron catch as the fog rose around me. Inside the house. How was it inside the house?

  By the time I had worked the catch on the gate, the fog surrounded me, although it did not seem to pass the gate and rise up the stairs. I kept my back to the wall, edging towards the door, desperately trying to see through the fog. The groaning and crashing was louder now, and I knew for certain that the abandoned wing was collapsing around me.

  “You cannot win.”

  The voice in the fog was still soft, still sibilant, but now its tone sounded triumphant rather than tempting. One lone figure stood in the corridor, a black silhouette whose face I could not make out. Trusting myself to reach the main house in time, I turned my back on the figure and ran. I stumbled the last few metres along the corridor and fell onto the door as it swung out into the great hall. I slammed the door behind me, hearing the stone walls finally collapsing, but perhaps I did not quite move quickly enough. Something crashed into my head before the door swung shut. I screamed even as blackness rushed up to envelope me and I felt myself falling.

  Awakening

  When I awoke, it appeared to be evening. Soft shadows filled my bedroom, and I could still make out traces of warm evening light through the windows. I sat bolt upright, breathing hard and trying to work out what had happened. I must have succumbed to the fog again and collapsed into a faint. Carefully, I took mental stock of my entire body. My head ached, but everything else seemed fine. Perhaps I had not fallen too hard, after all.

  To my surprise, Sir Philip sat in a little chair beside my bed, his mouth unceremoniously open as he dozed against its high back. A novel lay open on his lap, apparently half-read. He must have been there for some time. Despite all my misgivings, I felt a stab of affection for my elderly cousin. It was not impossible that I had misjudged him. He might wish me nothing but the best of health and luck.

  Still, I had to check something before he awoke. I slipped out of my bed, moving stiffly but silently, and made my way to the wardrobe. My dressing gown from the night before hung there, neatly put away by a maid. I reached in and drew the folded map from the hidden inside pocket. My heart leapt in triumph. Of course, the map might well prove to be useless, but at least I had something to show for my efforts. Glancing over at Sir Philip to check he still slept, I replaced the map and returned to my bed. I drifted into a light doze although I did not completely return to my deep sleep.

  It was perhaps an hour later that Sir Philip finally stirred, his eyes flickering open as he stretched.

  “Lily! My dear!” he said as his sleepy eyes focused on me. “I’m so glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine,” I assured him with a smile. “Apart from a slight headache, I feel completely normal.”

  Time to test whose side he was on.

  “What is bothering me, though, is that I don’t quite remember what happened. How did I end up unconscious?”

  Sir Philip paused, obviously deciding how best to answer.

  “You don’t remember at all?” he asked, eventually.

  I shook my head.

  “I remember going to the kitchen in search of a cup of tea. And then nothing. There seems to be quite a gap in my memory.”

  “You fell and hurt yourself in the kitchen,” Sir Philip said gravely. “No doubt you tripped. I am glad to see you have taken no permanent harm, but perhaps you should remain in bed a little longer.”

  I adopted my most sweet, innocent tone.

  “Yes, perhaps I should. Although I find that I am very hungry.”

  Sir Philip leaped to his feet.

  “Say no more, dear girl! I will have Mrs Pender prepare you a feast!”

  He bolted out of the room, no doubt rushing to share his story with his accomplice.

  My memory of the night before was indeed hazier than I would
have liked. I was certain I had not tripped in the kitchen, regardless of my uncle’s tale. Had the abandoned wing truly collapsed on me? Or had Mrs Pender attacked me? I pulled the blankets up around my shoulders, burying my chin in the wool. I did not want to believe that the kindly housekeeper would treat me so poorly. Surely I could trust my safety in my uncle’s house?

  “Lily?”

  Theo’s head appeared around the door frame, his dark hair hanging loose around his face. He looked exhausted. I waved him in before I even had time to think, and he came to perch nervously on the edge of my bed. Incredibly improper, utterly unacceptable in polite society - but I felt safer when he was with me.

  “Your uncle did not tell you the truth,” he said, his voice low and urgent, his face close to mine.

  I swallowed. His eyes were almost unbearably intense.

  “I know,” I told him softly. “I remember. The abandoned wing, the fog, the body.”

  His eyes widened.

  “You saw the body?”

  His tone did not contain the surprise I had expected. The body, not a body? This house has dark secrets, he had told me. How many of them did he know? I drew back.

  “Explain.”

  He met my eyes squarely.

  “On the first day we met, I told you about witches. You didn’t believe me then. Do you believe me now?”

  Magic. Witches. Could any of this mess be true? Would I believe a single word of it once I was back in London, laughing and dancing my way through a ballroom? Yet, somehow, it seemed real here and now. Dangerously real.

  “I believe you,” I told him. “But I don’t understand.”

  Theo drew in a deep breath, then got noiselessly to his feet. I watched, uneasy, as he checked the corridor and eased the door shut. Then he came back to sit on the bed - but, this time, so close that our bodies almost touched, and I could feel the heat of his arm.

  “Witches have always lived in Yorkshire,” he told me, the words whispered into my ear. “This was once their land, or so they say. But they are cruel, angry creatures who inflict terror on anyone who disobeys them. So, for as long as there have been witches, there have been those who hunt them. I am one of those hunters.”

  I should have laughed in his face, or slapped him for sliding so close and telling me such lies. But there, in the gloom of Killston Hall, with the wind whistling outside, I could not help but believe him.

  “What can you tell me?” I asked him. “About this house, I mean.”

  He frowned off into the distance as if recalling something.

  “This house is well protected, as are most properties on the moors. There is iron buried into the property boundaries, charmed to provide safety.”

  That would explain why the monster had left me alone.

  “But there is something odd about this house in particular,” Theo continued. “I can feel magic where there should be none. I think it stands on an old witch stronghold and still has some of that power lingering in the earth itself. They seem to be stronger here.”

  “I know,” I whispered. “They’ve come so close.”

  Theo gripped my hands, pulling me against him.

  “Don’t go back into the abandoned wing,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “My grandfather told me about the body of the witch-queen he killed. Their power is strong there, and I cannot be sure I will always save you.”

  He paused for a second, his eyes devouring my face as I gazed at him in growing panic.

  “How could I go back?” I asked him. “The wing collapsed, almost on top of me.”

  He cocked his head curiously. “Some ceiling plaster came down. But that was all. What do you mean?”

  The memories had seemed so clear, so real, but they already slipped from my mind. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know how a witch entered the house last night,” he told me. “But she almost caught you. She was a foot or two behind you, wrapped in fog, when I made it into the hall. She ran from me, disappearing back into the abandoned wing, so I locked the door behind her. And then I brought you up here.”

  Theo had rescued me, not Sir Philip or Mrs Pender? Yet again, I owed him my life.

  And then the full extent of his story sank in.

  “A witch behind me, you say? But there was no witch. Just Mrs Pender.”

  I heard my words as if someone else recited them from a distance, my brain struggling to reach the speed of my mouth. Witch. Mrs Pender.

  We stared at each other in horror.

  The Enemy Within

  “No. She can’t be.”

  I stared at Theo, desperately wanting him to agree. But he frowned, and that expression twisted my stomach to the core.

  “It would explain a lot of things,” he said slowly.

  No. Not in the house. If she knew I had seen her… I couldn’t bring myself to believe.

  “I’ll need to be sure,” Theo said. His voice was distant, his eyes seeing something faraway. He had already started planning, laying his schemes. For the first time, I believed he was what he claimed to be.

  “Please, Theo,” I said, pleadingly. “Let it be. I need to get the stone and leave, then everything here can continue as it did before.”

  Whatever ghosts and spirits walked these halls, could he not just let them lie? I had no desire to stir up more terrors than those I had already seen.

  “This might be what I have been waiting for,” Theo said, his voice so grim that I almost hesitated to ask further questions. It was not the voice of a man facing a terrible fear. His anger dripped from every word.

  “What will you do?” I asked.

  “I have my ways to test for witches,” he said.

  And then we both started at a soft noise outside the door. Footsteps on the stairs.

  “I won’t go far,” Theo promised me. He slipped from the room, closing the door soundlessly. I heard no voices outside; had he successfully avoided notice?

  Sir Philip let himself back into the room, beaming at me as he balanced a tea-tray.

  “Mrs Pender has whipped up a veritable feast for you, my dear! We’ll have you back on your feet in no time!”

  I couldn’t help but smile back at him as he carefully placed the tea-tray on my nightstand. My uncle radiated so much love and kindness - surely he could not knowingly be harbouring a witch? I considered asking him about her history, but I bit my tongue. I already knew he had not been honest regarding the true nature of their relationship. In part, I was a coward. I could not bear to have him lie directly to my face. So I kept silent and smiled as he left the room again, a cheery whistled tune slipping from between his lips.

  I drank the tea and ate the hot buttered crumpets, but I could not relax. As the shadows grew longer and the light of my fire shone brighter against the evening gloom, I felt the house filling with an unbearable tension that seeped into my bones and set my teeth chattering. The aftermath of a blow to the head, I told myself. But I knew dark magic was brewing.

  By the time Theo reappeared in my room, hours after Sir Philip had brought me a light dinner, I felt stretched almost to breaking point.

  “Tell me what is going on,” I hissed, grabbing his hand to tug him down on the bed beside me. He felt warm and comforting, so different from the strange phantoms running through my mind.

  “My plan is in place,” he told me. “I cannot tell you all the details, but by the end of the night I will prove that Rosa Pender is a witch.”

  I shook my head dumbly. There were witches haunting this estate, I no longer doubted that. But would a witch make me tea and hot buttered crumpets? I could not believe such evil of the housekeeper, odd though she might be.

  “I will set myself as bait in the abandoned wing, drawing her towards her dead queen,” Theo continued. “You should stay here, in the main part of the house. Your uncle’s authority will keep you safe.”

  I would not back down so easily.

  “If you plan to test her, I need to see too. I have to be sure.”

&n
bsp; “No!” Theo’s spoke sharply and loudly, startling even himself. He lowered his voice. “Stay away, Lady Lily. I work alone. Do not entangle yourself in dangers you do not understand.”

  And then he was gone, disappearing without another word. My room suddenly felt colder and emptier than before.

  But I did not laze much longer in bed. Whatever Theo might think, I would not leave this mission to him alone. I could not condemn Mrs Pender as a witch without the proof of my own eyes - and besides, I still had that entire wing to search. I would not be leaving this house without my stone, witch or no witch.

  So, I dressed as quickly as possible, then brushed my hair and put it up. I winced at the feeling of raw skin on the back of my head, but I could do nothing for it at the moment. I left my hair down, reluctant to use pins on my sensitive scalp. Finally, I wrapped a warm shawl around my shoulders and set off into the dark of the house. I took my little bag with me, all my notes and ointments crammed into its soft folds.

  The door to the abandoned wing stood ajar. Had Theo or Mrs Pender left it so? It did not much matter, for my purposes. I made my way into the long, dark corridor, fighting off memories of my last foray into this corner of the house. The spirits would be more occupied with Theodoric this evening, no doubt.

  I decided to try one of the downstairs rooms this time. But the first door was locked, and so was the second. I hissed in frustration, once again cursing myself for not preparing. Faint sounds drifted through the air around me, whispers brushing against me as softly as my loose strands of hair. What was real and what was my imagination? As I tiptoed along the stone floor of the corridor, the hairs shivered on my spine, but I gritted my teeth and tried the next door. I would not be so easily scared.

  Locked. I trailed my hands over the door, the wood rough under my fingertips. What lay behind? I shoved hard, suddenly desperate to get inside, ignoring the noise as I slammed against the wood. It wouldn’t move. I threw myself at the door again, my head banging against it, and I screamed my frustration. I always got what I wanted. How dare they stop me like this! I hammered harder, the pain sinking into my hands until I struggled to move them, and still I did not stop. I could barely see the wood in front of my face now, the fog was so thick -