I took in the thin, cruel lips and cold, hard eyes, the walking stick—topped by a silver lion—that he held in one hand. Could Aunt Charlotte really have surrendered herself to a man like this? It was hard to believe. Yet I had read the evidence written in her own hand. She had said she had to share his bed, but I still didn’t have a clue why.
The giggling started again. It was coming from the doorway. I looked up.
This time, she made no attempt to run away. Veronica stared at me, her thumb in her mouth. We gazed at each other. She removed her thumb and began to hum.
“Serenade in Blue”.
I stared at her. She stopped and her childish voice rang out. “It’s his song. In this house, that’s the devil’s serenade.”
Charlotte
Chapter Twelve
Midsummer Night 1964
Charlotte Grant set down her pen and closed her Book of Shadows. She stared out of the window. In the day’s last fading light, she could still make out the shadow of the willow tree. Willow, such a force for good and Charlotte had long been fascinated by the ancient wisdom surrounding it. She’d made a study of it these past few years, since moving to this house. She knew her employer practiced dark arts, but she shut her mind to it—and sometimes her ears.
How many times had she resolved to leave? Too many to count, but where would she go? Not to her sister’s. Marjorie didn’t even know how low she’d sunk after Freddie’s death. When the war ended, Charlotte left home and moved to London, but she couldn’t find work. Eventually, dispirited and still grieving, she stopped trying. Marjorie knew nothing about this time in her life or about the shoplifting when she was penniless. She never knew about the arrest and how a strange man Charlotte had never met had made the charges go away. Nathaniel Hargest. She had been grateful, and both relieved and happy to agree to be his housekeeper. At least she would have a roof over her head.
It wasn’t long before Charlotte began to realize that the gift of a new life her benefactor had given her was never going to be straightforward. She knew that the cries she sometimes heard at night and the strange thumps and crashes overhead as she lay in her bed were not merely evidence of Mr. Hargest’s sexual proclivities. She pulled the blanket over her head when she heard a woman scream on the top floor, locked her door every night, and Mr. Hargest never came near her. She still didn’t know how he had heard of her, or why he had saved her from an almost certain prison sentence.
Charlotte never ventured up to the top floor. Mr. Hargest said it wasn’t necessary for her—or any of the constant stream of maids—to do so. Except those who disappeared of course. She never saw them again, quietly replaced them, and avoided the prying eyes and whispered conversations as she went about her business in the town.
If Charlotte closed her mind to the darkness that pervaded the top floor, she could stay here, fed and clothed. If she left she would be homeless again, with no references and no hope of finding another position before hunger and desperation took over once more. So Charlotte ignored the rumors of missing children, the sounds of chanting wafting into the house on previous Midsummer Nights when she had lain awake, clutching her talisman—a Green Man on a leather necklace that Freddie had given her, which she always wore under her clothes.
When it all got too much for her, she went down to the willow tree, stroked the ancient bark, listened to the whispering of the leaves and imagined the spirits that dwelt within it. Her fingers tingled with the power that flowed from its core, through her veins.
Spirits of willow protect me. Spirits of willow come to me. Spirits of willow let no harm reach me from the darkness and the evil ones…
This Midsummer Night was different. Tonight it was happening. Somehow she had always known it would and that one day Mr. Hargest would take her.
Charlotte turned from the window, smoothed down her long black gown and reached for the cloak given to her by Mr. Hargest. Her heart pounded uncomfortably. Her fingers shook as she struggled with the clasp at the neck. Panic rose from the pit of her stomach. Tonight. It would be tonight. Mr. Hargest had said so. Down by the tree, the coven would meet. Charlotte stared at her reflection as if the terrified, white-faced woman was some stranger she had never seen before. Her brown eyes blinked with rapid-fire speed. Tears threatened to well up, but she mustn’t let that happen. Mr. Hargest would be angry with her, and the Lord and his Lady knew she didn’t want to make him angry.
She pulled the sleeve of her gown down to her wrist, covering the darkening bruises where her employer had gripped her hard. Her neck still ached from when he had shaken her and broken the leather necklace so that her talisman fell to the floor. It had been her own fault. She had dared to say “no” when he first told her what plans he had for her.
“I will have a son and you will be its mother,” he said. “You have been chosen. It is your destiny.”
Charlotte had stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. In the nine years she had been Mr. Hargest’s housekeeper, he had never laid a finger on her, either in anger or lust. He had shouted, sworn, thrown objects to hand when he lost his temper, but never any suggestion of anything improper. Recently things had changed. She had caught him looking at her differently when he didn’t know she was watching. A lasciviousness had crept into his glances. Now he had revealed his true purpose. Tonight, at the Midsummer Feast, he would summon the darkness, aided by the faithful coven.
The door opened. Charlotte caught her breath and whirled round. Nathaniel Hargest stood, framed in the doorway, his unfashionable top hat and black coat sacrificed for a long cloak of black with gold thread picking out strange symbols that looked Egyptian but could have emanated from a far older civilization.
Tonight, Mr. Hargest gave barely a hint of his ninety-five years. He stood ramrod straight, over six feet tall, towering over Charlotte. A tall crown fashioned from bent twigs and painted gold added to his height and Charlotte shuddered when she realized that underneath the enveloping cloak, her employer was stark naked.
The dim light of the single table lamp in her room protected her from seeing what lay underneath that cloak, but the protrusion at the front of it left her in no doubt that he was aroused.
He passed his tongue slowly over his lips as if savoring a particularly delicious taste.
“Come, my dear. It is time to meet the others.”
Charlotte shrank back. Her employer’s expression darkened. He half turned and summoned two women who had been standing out of sight. They were naked. One young, the other middle-aged. They had the look of each other as a mother and daughter would. Neither spoke as they advanced toward Charlotte who couldn’t move her feet. Fear tore at every pore of her body as each woman took one of her arms and propelled her forward. She staggered.
“Come, Charlotte.” There was irritation in that voice. Another moment and he would become angry. The sooner she acquiesced to the inevitable, the sooner it would be over and if she didn’t incur his wrath, she might make it out of there alive.
But he didn’t want her dead, did he? Mr. Hargest had made it perfectly clear what he wanted. What he intended to get—by one means or another.
The two women silently led the quivering Charlotte down the stairs and out into the balmy night. In the distance, the church clock chimed the half hour. Eleven thirty. In half an hour the serious business of the night would begin. Charlotte tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry. A few yards away, a silent group of ten men and women stood, naked, each holding a candle. They had gathered a few yards from that strangely deformed willow tree, as if to mock its goodness with their evil. Leaves rustled in the slight breeze. It knew they were there. It knew the man’s dark design. As Charlotte was thrust into the middle of the circle, the assembled started a low chant that seemed to find an echo in the ground beneath, which trembled under Charlotte’s feet.
Hargest took up his position opposite her. Now her eyes wer
e accustomed to the gloom and the flickering candlelight, Charlotte made out a low black table toward which her two guards pushed her. No one looked directly at her or at Hargest. All stood with heads bowed as if in the presence of some great deity.
Hargest raised his arms, letting the cloak fall away to reveal his naked body. The quavering light illuminated the wrinkled skin and white chest hair. Charlotte looked away. She didn’t want to see what else it illuminated.
The two acolytes removed her cloak and pushed her still closer toward the table. Charlotte fought against their grasp, but her employer had chosen these two well. They were strong. Maybe farm workers. So far, she hadn’t recognized one person among those gathered there.
The women forced her onto the table. Escape was impossible. The coven had moved closer and clustered together on three sides, leaving one side free for their master.
Charlotte closed her eyes. Firm hands grasped her ankles and wrists and dragged her legs apart. Someone took hold of the hem of her gown and tore it from her body. The rush of air to her naked flesh made her cry out. She didn’t even think of the shame of lying there, her body exposed to this group of strangers. At that moment, all she cared about was getting out of there alive and unhurt. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, squeezed her eyes tight shut and tried to will herself away from the scene of her certain violation.
The chanting began again—a strange, foreign language that sounded nothing like any she had heard before. As ancient as the symbols on Hargest’s cloak perhaps. Cold hands probed between her legs. The chanting grew more urgent. Behind her the branches of the ancient tree creaked.
At the first stab of her pain, cries of ecstasy issued from the coven. At the age of thirty-seven, Charlotte was no longer a virgin.
Someone was forcing his way into her. Stretching her wide. Tearing her. A loud grunt filled her ears and hot, sour breath made her retch. Charlotte opened her eyes and screamed.
Hargest was on top of her. Barely human. His eyes—flaming red pools of fire. Windows to the gates of hell itself. He grunted again, thrusting himself still further into her unwilling body. Shards of pain tore at her insides. She tossed her head from side to side and struggled against the firm hands holding her down. She tried to kick out, but her captors were too strong for her.
The creature that was part Hargest and part demon opened its mouth. Fangs filled the gaping maw. Its tongue snaked out and licked her cheek, burning it with stinging, hellish saliva.
Another agonizing stab of pain tore through her. “No!” But Charlotte heard her cry from far away, as soft hands embraced her spirit and guided it toward the tree.
“You will be safe with us. Trust us.”
Healing warmth flooded her consciousness.
“Where am I?”
“You are here with us. Safe within the tree.”
“But the tree is his. This is his land.”
“He has taken the darkness from the tree. We are the light he cannot reach.”
“I don’t understand. I can’t see you. I can’t see anything.”
“Rest now. Rest and sleep…”
* * * * *
Charlotte awoke with a start. For a couple of seconds she forgot about last night. Then the pain struck. Knives of agony scythed through her insides and between her legs. She lay in her bed, clothed in one of her ankle length cotton nightgowns. She struggled to sit up, but fresh torments made her gasp and lie back, panting.
The sun filtered through the drapes. She peered at the clock on the bedside table. Just after eight. Normally she was up by seven. Her brain felt sluggish, shrouded by some awful memory that she was about to recall and when she did, the fear began. But her bladder was full. She would have to get up somehow.
She pushed back the sheet and tried to move her legs. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain coursing through her. She fought against the urge to give up. It wasn’t an option. She had to get to the bathroom. Somehow she got to her feet and the room swayed. She steadied herself by holding on to one of the four bedposts and waited for the worst to subside. Finally, she trusted herself to take a tentative step. Then another and another. Achingly slowly, she made her way out of the bedroom and down the corridor. The house was silent, although by now the cook and her maid would have arrived and be preparing breakfast.
In the bathroom, Charlotte pulled her nightdress over her head and winced at the purple, red, blue, and black bruises that seemed to cover most of her exposed body.
She whimpered with the burning, stinging pain as she relieved herself. Then she ran a bath, sinking gratefully into the hot, soothing water.
Last night’s memories gradually returned, each more unreal that the last. The horror of her violation at the hands of Nathaniel Hargest and whatever…thing…he had summoned up from the depths of hell. Then the spirits that had rescued her, taken her from her body and transported her somehow into the tree itself. But that wasn’t possible. None of this was possible.
When Charlotte returned to her bedroom, she took her suitcase down and began to pack. She had got no further than emptying her wardrobe when the door flew open.
Charlotte gasped. Her employer, dressed once more in his familiar black Edwardian morning suit, strode in. A half-smile changed into a frown in a second.
“Oh no, Charlotte. You will not be leaving this house. You will never leave this house.”
“You can’t force me to stay here. I’m not your prisoner.” Charlotte had no idea how those words dared to issue from her mouth. He would make her pay for that.
Nathaniel Hargest stared at her. “In nine months you will bear my child. A child who is destined for greatness. I say you cannot leave this house and indeed you will not. You will live here until the day you die. You belong here.”
Charlotte stared at him, the impact of his words barely registering. How could he know she was pregnant? It was too soon even for her to know, but somewhere deep inside her mind, she knew he was right. He, or that demon, had planted his seed in her last night. But what sort of child would she bear? Hargest closed the door behind him and she sank onto the bed, for once oblivious to the pain of her injuries. In nine months, would she birth a son…or a monster?
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte moved heavily in her last month of pregnancy. Her ankles had swollen and her legs throbbed painfully. Even the effort of rising from her bedroom chair and inching her way over to the desk under the window made her grit her teeth and support her distended belly. By the time she reached her destination, her dwindling energy reserves were exhausted. She sank down gratefully onto the stool and opened the drawer. She pulled out a black, leather-bound book and her fingers traced the gold embossed lettering of her Book of Shadows. Charlotte turned the pages and came across her last entry, written days before Midsummer Night:
Now he tells me I must share his bed.
But that hadn’t been his purpose. His purpose had been to use her, ritually impregnate her and, after the baby was born…
Not for the first time, cold fear struck Charlotte. Was her sole purpose to be the bearer of Nathaniel Hargest’s heir? What use would he have for her after the baby was weaned? He’d already told her she couldn’t leave the house. Not until the day she died. What if that day was to arrive sooner than later?
Charlotte rummaged further in her drawer and pulled out her diary. It had been a while since she had written in it. She found a new blank page, selected a pen from her desk and wrote the date. March 7th, 1965.
I am sick at heart today. The baby kicks me unmercifully day and night. I feel it isn’t prepared to wait until the proper time. God help me, I don’t want this child. I want nothing of Mr. Hargest’s. I must get away somehow after this baby is born, or I am sure he will kill me. Yet he confuses me. When he is angry and his eyes darken, I swear I can see again that demon that raped me. Yet, on other occasions, he can be strangely atte
ntive. I have never seen this side of him before. Except perhaps when he asks me to play “Serenade in Blue”. I wish he didn’t like it so much. That is OUR song—mine and Freddie’s. He sullies it by even listening to it. But I will not let him spoil it for me. I will not let it become a devil’s serenade. His serenade.
I had a little more energy yesterday afternoon. The sun shone on a beautiful spring-like day and I made my way to the willow tree. Only there can I find peace, despite what happened close by. The good spirits of the tree comforted me as I sat on the branch. I was frightened of them at first. How strange that seems now. They are my friends. They will protect me. It almost makes staying here worth it, if I can be near them. They bring me such solace and comfort. Of course, I am the only one who can see them, and it is a public right of way, so I shall have to be more careful to notice who is around when I speak to them. Yesterday, Mrs. Price from the shop caught me, apparently talking to myself. She gave me a strange look and pulled her dog away from me.
A knife-like pain shot through Charlotte and she dropped the pen. She felt wetness between her legs and struggled to her feet as another agony struck her.
The baby. But it was too soon.
Charlotte half crawled to her door. Mercifully, Lily—the agency maid—was taking towels to the bathrooms. Seeing Charlotte in obvious distress, she dropped them and rushed to help her.
“Oh, Miss Grant. Whatever is it? Is the baby coming?”
Charlotte nodded, her breath coming in gasps.
“I’ll call an ambulance. Let’s get you back to bed.” Charlotte leaned gratefully on her as the young woman steered her. She was stopped by a voice that boomed along the hall.
“There will be no need for an ambulance. I have made arrangements. Take her back to bed. I shall call my doctor.”
The labor pains were so intense and frequent, Charlotte had no energy to protest. Lily hesitated but did as she was told.
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