‘Pev,’ Barbara began in a stern tone, ‘I find it hard to believe you really want to work with old people. What are you up to?’
‘You shouldn’t make assumptions about me. You hardly know me.’
‘Quite.’
He put down his fork, rested his chin in his hands. ‘Very well. If you must know, I want to get to know the old people in order to expedite my enquiries concerning the Murkasters.’
‘This has become quite an obsession,’ Barbara remarked dryly. ‘So much so, I can’t help thinking that researching the Murkasters is your sole reason for being here in the village.’
He grinned. ‘OK, Ms Holmes, you worked it out.’ He leaned forward. ‘But don’t advertise it, all right?’
‘What is your interest in them, or is that a secret, too?’
‘I’m a writer,’ Othman said, ‘and I like to grub around in mysteries. This book could be a big one, but I’m cautious about treading on the wrong toes, especially the wrong powerful toes.’
Barbara shook her head. ‘And there you were the other night, inciting us all at Louis’ to start doing your research for you!’
Othman pulled a mock frown. ‘No, I didn’t. As I recall, you and Lily ran off with the bit between your teeth without any coercion from me!’ He laughed. ‘But don’t go thinking you can gazump me by sending a manuscript off to a publisher before I get mine in. Anyway, I’m contracted.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it!’ Barbara said. She felt rather dizzy. The reasons for Othman’s secrecy and slightly sinister behaviour seemed obvious now. ‘So what are you going to bring to the meeting tonight, some of your manuscript?’
He shook his head. ‘No. And I would prefer it if you didn’t mention what I’m working on to anyone, not even the Winters. I’ll find something to bring, don’t worry.’
‘You can tell us about getting published,’ Barbara said. ‘I presume you’ve had books out before?’
‘A couple,’ Othman said casually, applying himself to his lunch once more.
By Friday afternoon, Lily was starting to panic because Othman hadn’t called on her again. Owen picked up on her restlessness, and probably divined its cause, but made no comment other than a sarcastic, ‘Are you premenstrual, or something?’ Lily went for a walk to escape her brother’s observation, leaving him delving in the fractious innards of the car, with Ray Perks looking on. Owen had being seeing less of his friends recently, Lily thought as she passed them. Bobby had phoned twice since the weekend and she suspected Owen hadn’t bothered returning the calls.
Her feet led her unconsciously to the post office, and it was only when her hand was actually on the door that she realised what she was doing.
‘Lily!’ Eva Manden exclaimed, as if in horror, as Lily walked into the shop.
‘Hi,’ Lily said, eyeing the empty stool by the curtain. ‘Your mother not here again?’
‘No,’ Eva said. ‘She’s not. I did tell her you’d called, Lily, but...’
‘Evie, who is it?’ called a husky, female voice from beyond the curtain.
Eva said nothing, looking at Lily in mute appeal. Then she whispered. ‘Please, just go!’
Lily took a single step backwards, surprised by Eva’s expression and words, but before she could leave the shop, another woman came through the bead curtain. ‘Lily Winter,’ she said, one hand on the door-frame, another lifting a cigarette to her lush mouth. Lily had never seen such a beautiful woman.
‘Hello,’ she said, and frowned. ‘Do I know you?’ She couldn’t remember having met the woman before, and surely she wouldn’t forget such a stunning sight?
The woman sashayed into the dingy shop, lighting up its dusty corners with her presence. ‘I knew your mother,’ she said. ‘In fact, this is her dress. She gave it to me.’ She indicated the loose, faded red folds that fell flatteringly around her slender body. Lily did not recognise it, but then her mother had always had a wardrobe stuffed full of clothes, most of which she never wore. The woman held out a hand, flashed a wide smile. Tentatively, Lily took the offered hand, shook it. The woman’s grip was strong and dry. ‘I’m Emma,’ she said. ‘Emma Manden.’
‘Oh,’ said Lily, ‘a relation?’ She glanced at Eva, whose expression was that of stone, blank and hard.
‘That’s right,’ said Emma. ‘I understand you’ve been asking about your mother?’
Lily nodded. ‘Yes. I wanted to talk to Mrs Manden. She knew her very well.’
‘Unfortunately, Mrs Manden isn’t very well,’ said Emma. ‘In fact, she’s had to go away.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Lily glanced once again at Eva, who still appeared to be frozen.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ said Emma, ‘to help. Anyway, I knew your mother very well, too, so perhaps we could go for a walk and have a chat about her.’ She looked at Eva. ‘You don’t need me this afternoon, do you?’
‘Do what you like,’ answered Eva in a flat voice. She turned away and busied herself straightening some magazines on the shelf behind the counter.
Emma put an elegant hand on Lily’s shoulder. ‘Well, would you like to walk with me?’
Lily shrugged. ‘Well, er, yes. I suppose so.’
They went out of the shop. Lily was privately thinking that Emma Manden looked too young to have known her mother that well, but then, as she’d already come to suspect with Peverel Othman, appearances might be deceptive.
‘Will Mrs Manden be all right?’ she asked, as they walked down the lane. She let Emma choose the route.
‘Oh, I doubt it,’ Emma replied, wrinkling her nose. ‘But then, she’s very old. Poor old Eva will be devastated, of course, but it can’t be helped. Personally, I think Emilia’s better off dead. It must be dreadful to get so old and frail, don’t you think?’
Lily liked Emma’s forthright attitude. She seemed an easy person to be with, as if Lily had known her for years. ‘Oh yes. The thought of it scares me. If I think about it, that is.’
Emma linked her arm through Lily’s. ‘Well, I doubt you think about it very often, and why should you!’
Lily was slightly disturbed, and slightly thrilled, when this unusual female leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘Er.. thanks.’
‘Anyway, such a lovely thing as yourself, I doubt you’ll ever get old. The very thought is an abomination!’ Emma laughed in a free, ringing manner, the sheer essence of laughter.
‘Have we met before?’ Lily asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Emma answered, ‘but I looked different then.’
‘Much younger, I suppose?’
‘Well age can make a change to appearance, can’t it!’
Emma was leading them out of the village. ‘Where are we going?’ Lily asked. She sensed Emma had a definite destination in mind.
‘Oh, just walking. Do you mind? Let’s allow our feet to guide us.’
Your feet, thought Lily, but she didn’t object.
‘Isn’t it warm for October?’ Lily said, to break a silence.
‘Yes. I expect it’s very cold everywhere else in the country. Little Moor is enchanted by heat, a heat that pervades everything, even flesh!’ Emma pinched Lily’s arm.
‘That’s weird!’ Lily said, giggling. She was beginning to think Emma Manden was rather an odd woman.
‘Weird, yes,’ agreed Emma. ‘Ask me about your mother.’
‘Well, actually, it’s my father I’m rather more interested in.’ Lily felt no awkwardness about confessing this to Emma.
Emma laughed. ‘Ah, I see! Well, I don’t blame you!’
Lily’s heart leapt in her chest. ‘You knew him?’
‘Oh, very well!’ Emma smiled at Lily. ‘I expect you’re going to ask me what he was like.’
‘Well, I would like to know. Mum never told us anything. I want to know why it’s such a big secret.’
‘It’s only a secret to those who don’t know,’ Emma said, rather enigmatically. ‘Scandal, you know, in a small community like this, breeds all manner of intrigue.’
&n
bsp; ‘Scandal,’ said Lily, deadpan.
Emma stopped walking. Lily noticed they had come to the overgrown gateway of Long Eden. Emma was staring down the wilderness of the driveway. She made a move in that direction. ‘You don’t want to go in there, do you?’ Lily asked.
‘Yes,’ said Emma. ‘I do. What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t like it,’ Lily answered, disengaging her arm from Emma’s. ‘It spooks me.’
‘Nothing to be afraid of,’ Emma said. ‘Not for you, Lily Winter, especially not for you.’
‘What do you mean?’ Lily asked, but Emma was already squeezing between the rusting, sagging bars of the gates like an eel. Lily paused for a moment, then reluctantly followed. By the time she’d wrenched her body through the gate, Emma was some yards up the drive. Lily had to run to catch up. Emma glanced behind herself, noticed Lily’s pursuit, and also began to run. She did not slow down until the shadow of Long Eden fell over her, where she glowed within it. Lily came gasping to a halt before her, beyond the fingers of shade.
‘Well, here we are!’ Emma said, her hands on her hips, her head thrown back as if to bask in the shadow of the house. ‘I’ve always loved this place. It’s such a shame it’s not cared for any more. But then, perhaps it is.’
Lily was gasping for breath. Was she that unfit? Emma wasn’t breathing even slightly heavily. The enormous towers of the house seemed to loom over Lily with oppressive intent. She’d never liked it here, not even when she and Owen, as children, had been obsessed with grubbing around old ruins. She wanted to tell Emma how much she hated it, but for some stupid reason, didn’t want to say anything like that when the house could hear her. ‘I wouldn’t want to live here,’ Lily said. ‘It’s too big.’ Even though she stood beyond the shadow, she had to shiver. ‘When are you going to tell me about my father?’
‘Lily, come here.’ Emma held out her arms, extended them from the shade. Light danced upon the golden hairs on her skin.
‘No,’ said Lily. ‘I don’t want to.’
‘Come under the wing,’ said Emma. ‘Don’t be afraid. This is your home, Lily.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Lily said, backing away. She wanted to get away from Emma now. The woman was mad, could even be dangerous.
‘But it is your home,’ Emma continued in a gentle, coaxing voice. ‘This is your father’s house, the High Lord Kashday. This is his seat, his place of power. You are the daughter of this house.’ The soft chanting tone of Emma’s voice, more than the actual words she spoke, raised the hair on Lily’s head. She dared not take her eyes away from Emma’s, afraid of looking at the black stones behind her, rearing so high.
‘My father?’ she said.
Emma nodded. ‘That is correct, my dear. Helen, your mother, was seduced by the lord of this house. You. Your brother. The progeny.’
Lily shook her head, even laughed a little, nervously. ‘That’s impossible!’
‘Why? Surely you should know that nothing is impossible?’ Emma folded her arms. ‘I was here when your mother first came to Little Moor. I knew her well. She left here twenty years ago, and came back some time after you were born.’
‘My aunt,’ Lily began.
Emma shook her head. ‘There was no aunt, Lily, no relative of flesh and blood. You belong to this village and its people. If anything, the women of Little Moor are all your aunts. It is we who have cared for you since Helen died.’
Lily shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. This is all too much...’
Emma sighed. ‘Ah, your father was fine, my Lily, a fine man. You would have loved him, and he would have loved you. Such a pity.’
‘Is it really true?’ Lily asked in a weak voice. She felt numb, somehow immune to the words. Surely she should feel shocked or excited, bursting with questions. Strangely, there were none.
Emma nodded. ‘Quite true. It’s the secret they’ve been keeping from you, all this time. I just had to tell you. It’s only right.’ Still smiling, she came out of the shadows, into the sunlight. ‘Don’t be afraid, Lily. There’s no need. Your mother, I know, wanted this to remain secret, but things are happening now, and I think it’s vital you become aware of your heritage. Soon, you will understand what I mean. Be careful of strangers.’
Lily shuddered. How much did this woman know about her? Perhaps it was a lie, this thing about her father. Perhaps Emma was playing with her. Yet there were the listening shadows of the house thrown out over the unseasonably warm day, grabbing sunlight and somehow, in a totally invisible, indescribable way, backing up Emma’s words. That house. Lily risked a glance at it. He had walked through those battened doors. He had stood there, once, gazing at this spot where one day his daughter would stand. Lily could almost see him, a tall, insubstantial shadow in the arch of the porch, standing beneath the coat of arms, devoid of mottoes, proclaiming only ‘Murkaster’.
‘You see,’ murmured Emma. ‘You must come home. Soon, if not today.’
Lily could no longer deny the urge to escape, which had been building within her since Emma had revealed her knowledge. Emma’s vivid presence filled Lily’s head. It was impossible to think about what she’d heard while she was with Emma. ‘I have to go,’ she said, taking a few steps back, dragging her eyes away from the house towards Emma’s bland, beautiful face. Emma had taken a packet of cigarettes and a slim, ladies’ lighter from her skirt pocket and was lighting up. The sun flashed on the chased silver casing of the lighter. The air, momentarily, smelled of petrol.
‘Of course you do,’ she said. ‘I quite understand. This must be... a shock to you. You must go away and think about what I’ve told you.’ She paused, exhaled smoke in a silvery plume, smoke which had touched the inside of her body. ‘Perhaps you should not mention any of this to Owen, just yet.’
‘Why not?’ In fact, Lily hadn’t yet considered telling her brother. But she might tell Peverel Othman.
‘Tell no-one,’ Emma said firmly. ‘You are being welcomed into the ways of women, Lily, certain ways. I must ask you to trust me.’
Hadn’t Othman asked that of her too? Lily shrugged. ‘All right.’ She had no intention of keeping to it.
‘I mean what I say, my dear,’ Emma continued, her eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Lily’s. ‘Especially, you must not speak to any of your new friends. If you want Peverel Othman — and I know you do — you must keep silent for now. This knowledge is your tool of control over him. He must not realise you know.’
Lily looked away, felt herself blush. ‘I don’t want him,’ she said.
Emma came towards her on light feet, touched her hair. ‘Lily, my dear, don’t lie to me. He has spoken to certain people here in Little Moor. He knows about you. Othman is more than he seems, a very powerful, dangerous man. You don’t realise how close you are to being burned, which is why you must trust me. I know how to handle his type, how to wield the whip to keep the jaws at bay. This is a simple truth.’ She smiled. ‘I know you are wondering how I have the right to say these things to you, but all I can tell you is that I am aware of your mother’s history, and your own, and really do know what’s best for you. It is no coincidence I have come back here now, just as your world is beginning to change. And it is changing, isn’t it? I’ve come back here especially to help you. As a test, I will say this: he will not come to you tonight, nor tomorrow. The next night he may well come to you, but not before.’ She stepped back into the shadow. ‘Now go. We shall talk again soon. I look forward to it.’
Lily stared at her for a few moments, and then turned, ran without stopping all the way back down the drive. At the gates, she looked back as she squeezed herself through the rust, but there was no sign of Emma Manden. The shadows seemed to have swallowed her.
Chapter Nineteen
Friday 23rd October: Cresterfield and Little Moor
Daniel Cranton was both embarrassed and delighted to find that Owen had come in the old car to meet him from school. They had not seen each other since very early Thursday morning when Owen had sneaked
out of the house; it felt like an eternity to Daniel.
As he walked down the school driveway with a group of friends, one of them said, ‘My God, who’s that?’
Owen had parked the car just beyond the gates, and was leaning against the bonnet, dressed in his city evening clothes of leather and black linen, wearing a pair of shades, his hair a yellow-white mane around his head and shoulders. He was smoking what appeared to be a cigarette, but Daniel knew Owen well enough to suspect it might be more than that. Daniel kept silent during the interminable stroll to the gates, while his friends, who suddenly seemed absurdly young and naive, conjectured about which girl might be the one for whom this outlandish interloper was waiting. In the manner of young males finding themselves in the presence of a superior specimen of their kind, who was clearly a member of a different youth culture to their own, they began to make insulting remarks, which grew ever louder as they approached the car. Daniel cringed inwardly. In a way, he wanted to run, so that no-one would know that Owen was waiting there for him. Another, braver part of him, welcomed the moment of surprise when this fact became obvious.
‘Fucking weirdo!’ one of the boys said loudly, the proud owner of a haircut seen only in places where alternative culture never ventured.
Owen raised his shades. To make matters worse, he was wearing smudged eye-liner, obviously already dressed for this evening’s entertainment. ‘Fancy a lift, boy?’ he drawled in a fake American accent.
This invoked a babble of outraged and confused braying from Daniel’s companions.
‘Give it a rest, O,’ Daniel said, and walked round to get in the passenger side of the car, before anyone could say anything else.
Owen got in, grinning, and started the engine.
‘Thanks,’ Daniel said. ‘Remember I have to come back here on Monday, and explain myself.’
‘Only a few more months,’ Owen said airily. ‘You could leave now, if you wanted to.’
Daniel declined to respond. And live with you after my father and sister go berserk? he thought. He couldn’t bear to look at his school friends, who had all stopped to gawp at Daniel sitting in the car. He could feel his face was bright red. They must know, he thought, they must all know. Oh God!
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