The hours had passed. She slept, she woke. The sun rose high in the sky; the morning was gone and the daylight lost its lustre, and still she watched. Nothing had moved, only the leaves being blown gently in the breeze. Nothing had changed, save for the buds that were surreptitiously pushing themselves out on the branches and thrusting through the earth, towards the sun. There was no outward sign to warn her of impending tragedy. Yet Maria knew it was closing in.
It was some short time later that Maria allowed Emily to help her up the broad handsome stairway. At the top, she looked down, her serious gaze encompassing the splendid ebony hallstand, the old grandfather clock and the deep rich carpet that lay like a crimson sea before them. The gilt-framed oil paintings hanging on the walls represented a small fortune, as did the dark wood antiques that furnished each one of the ten rooms in this grand old house.
‘Soon it will all be over. Eighty-three years is a long time to live,’ she murmured, feeling Emily’s anxious gaze on her, yet not wanting to meet that gaze, in case her own eyes gave away too much.
‘Don’t talk like that,’ Emily pleaded. ‘Eighty-three years is a long time, of course it is, but you still have your health and strength… and you still have me.’ Emily laughed, but it was a nervous, frightened laugh. Emily’s worst nightmare was that Maria would die, and she would be all alone. ‘Come on, now, let’s get you to bed. It’s been a long day.’
The old lady had sensed Emily’s fears, so very different from her own, yet just as awesome to Emily. She spoke to her now, her voice quietly reassuring. ‘You know you’ll always be taken care of, my dear, don’t you?’ she asked.
‘Please… you know I don’t like you to talk this way.’
‘Oh, but I must!’ Maria insisted. ‘And when I’m gone, you must sell this mausoleum and make a new life for yourself.’ Frantic, she grasped the other woman’s hands into her own gnarled fingers. ‘You must not stay here!’ she told her in a chilling voice. ‘Do you understand? You must get away from this place… far, far away. You will, won’t you? Promise me, Emily. I want you to promise me.’ She had made a clause in her will, but it suddenly occurred to her that Emily might want to buy back this house where she had been so content.
Emily had been astonished by the old woman’s outburst. Firstly, because until this moment Maria had never discussed the possibility of Emily inheriting the house, and, secondly, because of her insistence that it must be sold. Such a beautiful house. Maria had lived here these past fifty years, so why would she be so against Emily remaining here? After all, the two of them had found friendship and solace in this house.
Emily could not fathom Maria’s thinking, but then, she was very old, and lately her mind had begun to wander. ‘Whatever you say,’ she assured her. ‘Now, please let that be an end to it.’
Emily was further astonished when Maria told her, ‘I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of. You, and him. Everything I own will belong to you both one day.’ As though she had said more than she intended, she then lapsed into a deep silence.
Emily, though, was greatly intrigued. Was Maria’s mind wandering? If not, then who was she referring to when she said, ‘you… and him’? Not the gardener, because Maria had little to do with him. In fact, she had little to do with anyone, and, as far as Emily knew, there was no family – or at least, Maria had never spoken of them. Besides which, in the thirty-six years that she herself had lived here, there had been no letters or communication of any kind, apart from the usual traders and the occasional hawker.
But then again, the old lady was a secretive soul. Look at that old wooden chest that she kept locked in her wardrobe! No doubt it contained papers and belongings of a personal kind – besides that old Bible which Maria loved to peruse but would hide away whenever Emily came near – so maybe there was a relative somewhere. Emily thought not, or why had he not kept in touch with such a kindly and delightful person as Maria? No. Emily suspected this ‘him’ was a figment of her friend’s imagination. Still, if it gave her comfort, there was no harm in it. No harm at all.
Unrolling Maria’s grey hair, Emily took up the silver-backed brush. ‘You’re in a strange mood tonight,’ she told her.
‘Tired, that’s what I am,’ came the reply. She had said too much and hated herself for alarming her dear companion.
‘You do have lovely hair, Maria,’ Emily commented. ‘Such a shine, and so very soft.’ Her own hair was boringly straight, and not so easily manageable.
Maria laughed. ‘At my age I might as well be bald!’
‘Shame on you!’
‘It’s true, and you can’t deny it,’ Maria insisted. ‘I’m ready for the knacker’s yard.’ Inclining her head to one side, she studied herself in the mirror. ‘Every day another wrinkle… my skin resembles a dried prune. I’ve got varicose veins and swollen feet, and look!’ She pointed at the image in the mirror. ‘The bags have fallen so far over my eyes, I can hardly see out.’
‘Away with you!’ Emily retorted. ‘You might be old, and you may have a few aches and pains, the same as the rest of us, but you’re certainly not ready for the knacker’s yard.’
Shocked to hear Emily say such a thing, Maria turned to stare disapprovingly at her. ‘I hope you’re not picking up any of my bad habits?’ she queried sharply.
Emily made no reply, but when Maria turned away again, she too was smiling. Happen the old lady would think twice before saying such a thing again, she thought fondly.
Friday mornings heralded a special treat for Maria. It was the day when Emily went into Bedford town centre to do whatever shopping had accumulated over the week, and to place the usual grocery order, which was duly delivered later in the day. Before Emily went on her way, she would run a bath full of hot water and help Maria along the landing from her bedroom. Then, with the old lady complaining that ‘I’m quite able to wash myself!’ and insisting that once Emily had helped her into the bath, she should ‘Leave me be… come and fetch me in twenty minutes,’ and knowing it was useless to argue, yet being always wary of Maria hurting herself, Emily would do as she asked, but leave the door slightly ajar and stand quietly outside until her name was called, or until she felt instinctively that Maria had been in the water long enough.
After the hot bath, when Emily would wash the old lady’s iron-grey hair and dry her thoroughly with a large soft towel, Maria would be dressed in a clean winceyette nightgown and warm bathrobe, with fleecy slippers on her feet and a rosy glow to her once handsome face. When the ritual was over, Maria allowed herself to be happily propped up against the feather pillows in her double bed, waiting for Emily to return from the kitchen bearing a large tray, which carried a cup of tea, a lightly boiled egg, two thin slices of toast, and a local newspaper… namely the Bedfordshire Times. Her spectacles were placed within reach, and Emily would then go about her business in town, waiting only for the arrival of the daily help, in order to issue precise instructions – which were exactly the same as the ones issued the Friday before, and the Friday before that: ‘Be sure to keep an eye on Miss Maria. I’ll be back as quick as I can.’ The girl always did, and Emily always was.
Maria heard the front door bell ring. It was the milkman, come to collect his money. Maria liked to have her bedroom door open. It was open now, and she could clearly distinguish the conversation taking place on the front doorstep. ‘Morning… nice day.’ There was always a pause while he consulted his little notebook. ‘That’ll be one pound fifty… you had two extra pints on Monday.’ Mr Barker had a habit of forgetting when Emily ordered less, but he always recalled when she took extra. Another pause while Emily searched in her purse for the loose change. ‘I reckon the world’s gone mad!’ he went on. ‘Week before last we had Gorbachev signing for peace in Afghanistan… today the newspapers are full of how the US have bombed the Iranian oil base.’ Taking the money from Emily’s outstretched hand he slipped it into his pocket. ‘Ups and downs!’ he remarked wisely. ‘Can’t have one without the other, I suppose.’ With th
at philosophical comment he took his leave.
Upstairs, Maria couldn’t help but smile. Mr Barker – who by his own confession had never read a book in his life and accrued all of his knowledge down the pub of a Saturday night, was always putting the world to rights.
A few moments after the milkman had departed, so did Emily. Maria waited for the sound of the front door closing. She heard the tap of Emily’s footsteps going down the path and, leaning sideways in her bed, she watched for Emily to come to the edge of the kerb where she could be seen, merrily waving. When Maria waved back, she went quickly on her way.
Today, the sun was glorious. All along the embankment the recently planted flower beds made neat regimental patterns in amongst the decorative street lamps and the lovely overhanging willows, whose branches teased the surface of the water and provided shade for the many ducks and swans that graced the river at this particular stretch. The river and the broad embankment had been one of the reasons why Maria had chosen to settle here. The other reason was that, according to Elizabeth Manners – who had raised Maria’s mother Agatha and who had passed on information gleaned from Agatha’s late parents, Maria and Ralph – their forefathers had originated from this county.
Arriving here at the age of thirty-eight, recently bereaved, alone and afraid, and pursued by some malign force beyond her understanding, Maria had found a small measure of peace, albeit a shallow and uneasy one.
‘Good morning.’ The chirpy voice drew Maria’s attention. It was the young woman whom Maria had employed to help out with various duties about the house. ‘I’ll be in the back garden,’ she told Maria. ‘There’s a pile of clean washing needs pegging out. If I put them out now, they’ll be dry before I leave.’ She was a chubby little thing, with a broad smile and a mass of blonde hair piled up on her head and tied with a gaudy pink ribbon. She had on a pair of low-heeled shoes and a dark ankle-length dress which was oddly old fashioned. Emily had been unsure of her at first, but domestic help was hard to find, besides which, Sally had proved herself to be hard working and always prompt on reporting for duty. ‘I thought I’d best tell you, because it’s no good you shouting or knocking the floor with that there stick.’ She pointed to the walking cane which Emily insisted Maria should keep beside her bed in case she needed to summon her companion from the drawing room directly beneath. Maria had scorned the idea, saying, ‘I’m not so old and senile that I can’t find my way down the stairs, or raise my voice if needs be!’ She had never used the stick. She had no intentions of ever doing so.
‘Don’t you concern yourself about me, young lady,’ Maria remonstrated with a firm expression. ‘Just get on with your work and leave me in peace. I shall be out of my bed within the hour,’ she declared, before adding, ‘when I will expect a fresh brew of tea, and the kitchen to be sparkling clean.’
The girl gave no answer, but frowned slightly, making a wry expression as she turned away. Unperturbed, Maria enjoyed her breakfast, before pushing the tray to one side and opening the newspaper, which she spread out in front of her and perused in great detail. She enjoyed the local news. She did not use her spectacles as Emily had directed. Maria believed that once you began to rely on such things, it was only a matter of time before you became totally dependent on them. Presently, you wouldn’t be able to see your hand in front of your face unless it was through a pair of spectacles!
It was the heading that caught her eye. She looked closer, reading: ‘LOCAL MAN TAKES NEW BRIDE TO THE FAR SIDE OF THE WORLD.’
Intrigued, Maria began reading it, a smile on her face; it was always a joy to hear of a young couple starting out in life together. But, as she read on, the smile slid from her face. Every word seared itself into her mind, heightening the terror there.
The article showed the wedding picture of a young man and his bride. The bride was in her wedding gown, the groom in his formal suit. They made a striking pair, she being small, fair haired and exceptionally lovely… he, a tall handsome man with dark eyes and a mop of unruly black hair.
The heading referred to their planned honeymoon, which was to be in Perth, Australia. The young woman’s name was Catherine. Her new husband was called Matthew Abel Slater. Matthew Abel Slater!
At first, Maria was too numb with shock to rationalise her thoughts. All she could think of were the two people she had seen buried in a churchyard in Australia fifty years before – her own sister and brother-in-law, caught in a bushfire that killed them both… Lizzie and her husband, Abel Slater… Abel Slater! Dear God. Could it be a coincidence that this young man’s name was also Abel Slater? And that his first name was Matthew, the name of her own uncle? She reminded herself that the name was not uncommon. Yet, her instincts told her that this young man may well be part of the awful legacy handed down to her. A legacy created by forces beyond her understanding.
Suddenly the years sped away. The panic was back, the terror of it all. In her mind’s eye she saw three children playing around the gravestones whilst their mother, Agatha, placed flowers on her husband’s grave… and the children, two girls and a boy, a small boy, hiding behind the headstone. The youngest girl ran away to hide. The other was the seeker. She, Maria… was the seeker. For some reason she would never understand, she was meant to see the tragedy unfold.
The horror was as real in Maria’s mind now as it was all those years ago. She could see it all now through the same eyes, the eyes that had seen the headstone fall in that moment before it actually did. Eyes that had stared into the boy’s own terrified face and seen it all… even before it happened! She could hear herself screaming, yet even as the headstone came crashing down she was powerless to move. She had willed it! She had made it happen! She knew it then; she knew it now. At the time she did not know why. But later, it had all become clear.
On the liner she had tried to dispose of the evil thing that had been placed in her care. With her own eyes she saw the tallow doll sink beneath the waves and drown. Yet when she opened the chest on arriving at this house, the doll was there… nestling in amongst the precious items that had been her grandmother’s! Horrified, Maria had thrown it into the fire; watched it melt as the flames licked about it. The next morning there it lay in the ashes – whole, unblemished, seeming to smile at her. That was when she had gone into the garden and buried it deep, afterwards planting a sapling over it, hoping the invasive roots would spear the doll’s venomous heart.
Fifty years – fifty long years – it had lain dormant. But now… what now? This young man, Matthew Abel Slater? According to the article, he lived some thirty miles from Bedford. Maria wondered why she had never heard of him before. But then, why should she? He lived in the country. She lived in the town. It was only natural their paths had not crossed. Could he possibly be the son of Maria’s own nephew, whom she had left in the Perth orphanage? Yes, it could well be. All things were possible. All the same, she would not rest until she knew for sure one way or the other.
In her heart, Maria feared the worst. She knew also that there was another who would not rest. Not while there were males of the Ryan lineage still breathing. Oh, but wait! Wait, Maria… think! How could it know? ‘Because it watches!’ she told herself in shocked tones. It may be entombed deep in the dark, clammy earth, but it watched, and it listened. It read her mind. It was reading her mind now; it knew her thoughts, sensed her terror. Shh… shh! Don’t let your fear show, Maria. Don’t let it hear you think!
Sally had pegged out the washing and was crossing the hallway to fetch the vacuum cleaner from the big understairs cupboard, when she was startled by the commotion – first the stick being frantically pounded against the floor and then the old lady’s voice, feeble, desperate. In a moment the girl was racing up the stairs. She did not stop until she went bursting into Maria’s bedroom. The sight that greeted her turned her heart over. Maria was standing by the bed-head, oddly stooped as though two unseen hands were pressing her down. She was clinging to the bed-head, the walking cane at her feet, her face drained white and a
look of abject terror in her surprised eyes. She was violently trembling, making small unintelligible sounds in the back of her throat.
Shocked, the girl rushed forward, wrapping her arms round the frail shivering figure and easing her into the bed. ‘Come on, now, gently does it,’ she coaxed.
Inside the girl was in turmoil. She had never before come across this kind of situation and the prospect of seeing someone die before her eyes was terrifying. Yet, as she enticed the old lady into the bed, her voice was surprisingly calm. She felt Maria resisting. ‘No, no, sweetheart… you must get into bed. Then I’ll go and call the doctor,’ she told her gently. She didn’t reveal that the doctor’s number was always placed in a prominent position on the hallstand, whenever Emily went out.
At that point, Maria drew on every last ounce of strength. ‘There must be no doctor!’ she said quietly. What ailed her was not of this world. ‘I want you to do something for me, child,’ she said, her vivid blue eyes intent on the girl’s face.
‘Only if you get into bed,’ replied the girl, astonished that the old lady had so determinedly regained her composure. Maria’s face was still white as chalk and she was still trembling, but her speech was lucid now, and she had a certain authority that must be acknowledged. ‘Into bed,’ the girl insisted, ‘then I’ll listen to what it is you want me to do.’
‘Has she been all right, Sally?’ Emily asked, putting her shopping bags to the floor and taking off her jacket.
‘Oh yes. No trouble at all,’ lied the girl. She had strict instructions to say nothing about the earlier incident, and Maria had rewarded her well for her silence; even now the wad of notes could be felt, warm and secure, in Sally’s pocket. She had given her another set of instructions also. Sally had been astonished on reading what Maria had written down. She thought it a strange and unusual request, but she would carry out the instruction to the letter. After all, she had been generously paid, almost a month’s wages, and who knows what little titbits might be offered if she was to worm her way into the old biddy’s affections.
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