She turned and let out a single scream as the long bladed dagger embedded itself deep between her breasts, and then she fell to the floor, dead.
The hooded figure straightened, withdrawing the dagger, and as he did so, he sensed movement in the shadows. He knew it to be the Witch he had seen within the flames, and with a maniacal scream, he lunged at the shadows.
But there was nobody there. The Witch was gone.
Now Gloria knew that her dream was no mere dream. It was definitely a memory of Isabella’s final moments. Some-how, someone had witnessed Isabella’s murder, and now that person’s memories were in her mind. It occurred to her that the memories might be those of Peter Neville. Perhaps he had actually been waiting for Isabella in her bedchamber after all and had witnessed the murder? Perhaps he had told the story of his cousin’s murder to his children and they had passed the tale on to their descendents, before finally reaching Ria, who had taken it upon herself to write the tale?
There were still many unanswered questions in Gloria’s mind. Completely engrossed in the semi-autobiographical tale, she read on to discover the fates of other principal characters. As she reached the penultimate chapter, she finally understood what it was that her grandmother had always known, and why the old woman had always jealously guarded the terrible secret.
Gloria climbed from the bed and went down to the drawing room, where her grandmother sat playing patience whilst listening to Beethoven on the record player.
Mary looked up as Gloria approached, sadly noting her grand-daughter’s ashen face. ‘You’re nearly at the end, aren’t you?’ she asked quietly.
Gloria slumped into an armchair next to her grandmother. She could only manage a slight inclination of her head as her words failed her.
‘And, what do you think?’
Gloria cleared her throat. ‘I think it’s horrible,’ she managed to whisper in a cracked voice, not unlike that of her grandmother. ‘You have known… all this time?’
Mary nodded. ‘It hasn’t been easy, knowing and being unable to do anything.’
‘I can imagine.’ Gloria paused, staring at her grandmother searchingly. ‘So you believe then that this is more than just a novel? Am I really the one… she who is destined to relive the events of the past?’
Mary shrugged. ‘Your dreams would certainly seem to indicate so. But then again...’ She tried to sound reassuring, but was not entirely successful. ‘It’s probably best not to dwell on it. If past events have preordained your destiny, there’s no way it can be avoided or changed. It’s just something you have to accept, even though, obviously, nobody would wish for something like that. As I say, it may not ultimately rest with you. It could easily be your daughter, or granddaughter, or even your great-grand-daughter!’
Gloria managed a subtle smile. ‘The family curse?’
Mary nodded. ‘The very fact, though, that none of the other members of the family down the years ever reported such vivid dreams, seems to me significant.’
‘So I’m the last...’
Mary nodded, lost in thought. It seemed to Gloria that the old woman was about to tell her something else, but as suddenly as it had appeared, the wistful look vanished from Mary’s eyes. ‘Of course, it could all just be pure coincidence. There’s nothing to say there’s any truth in the novel. Isabella was a talented writer who was clearly far ahead of her time. It could all be just fanciful nonsense, after all, John dreams about a nameless woman from the future – a woman tormented by her own dreams of Isobel. Reincarnated in the body of this future woman, Isobel relives her last days, right up to her death at Vilam’s hand, his own spirit having somehow manifested itself in the future. It’s hardly the usual type of story from that era, is it?’
Gloria was deep in thought. ‘I’m not so certain. From what I know of factual history, Isobel is clearly Isabella, John is James, Philip is Peter, and Vilam must be Samuel Wylams. It doesn’t clear up the mystery of who killed Isabella, though. Peter and James might have just sided against Samuel because of their hatred for him.’ Gloria thumped the card table in fury. ‘God, I wish I had never become obsessed with Isabella Bloody Neville! I know things which may or may not be true, and they’re all things I’d really rather not know.’
Mary patted her granddaughter’s hand reassuringly. ‘Try not to worry about it, child. I’m sure everything will be all right.’
Oh, sure, thought Gloria, miserably. That’s easy for you to say. You’re not in my shoes!
*
Gloria decided her grandmother was correct when she said the best course of action was to try to forget what she knew. However impossible it might first appear to achieve, if there was one thing Gloria had known for years it was that there is precious little one cannot achieve with ambition, a strong will, determination, and perseverance. With such attributes, anything is possible.
She decided to try to ignore her obsession concerning Isabella Neville, concentrating instead on her own new novel.
Her mind, however, had other plans for her.
That night, after some days of absence, the dream returned as potent as ever to plague her uneasy slumber. Although it was disturbingly realistic in its intensity, even with the increasingly familiar images of long ago, the hooded killer’s identity remained hidden.
Although she was again the observer, there were further curious, subtle differences, taking her deeper, exploring uncharted avenues of the lifestyle of the poor, unfortunate victim. She seemed to spiral backwards in time from the moment of the murder, witnessing other events she had not experienced before… and yet, they all seemed inordinately familiar to her.
The exterior of the house is enshrouded in mist. A horseman rides by, as though chased by the very devil himself. The hooded stranger lurks outside.
The image flickers, changes.
The hooded stranger strolls through a forest, up the slopes of a hill and into his cave. He throws back the hood, laughing.
It is clear now that the killer is indeed a man.
That laughter is so cruel, tinged with evil. The man stops laughing, sensing the presence of another. He slowly begins to turn.
A discordant ringing pierced the silence, and the image faded to black.
Tossing and turning feverishly on the rumpled bed, Gloria awoke with a start. The sound of her clock’s alarm rent the air. With shaking hands, she fumbled in the gloom and switched it off, her breathing laboured and uncontrolled as she searched for the bedside lamp. The soft glow illuminated the room, and for several long minutes, Gloria just lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, struggling to control her breathing.
She had intended to return home today, hence the alarm awakening her at five o’clock. Now, however, Gloria decided she would stay on a little longer… just a day or two. With the reappearance of the wretched dream, her steadfast resolve at trying to forget about Isabella dissolved.
She could have cursed the clock, for its alarm had awakened her at the critical moment of revelation: a couple of seconds more and she would have seen the face of Isabella’s killer; the quest would have been over, the obsession finished with.
She was tantalisingly close, yet still so far away from the truth. More than ever, now, she was convinced of the preordination that was her destiny. She knew she was intended to uncover Isabella’s real killer, to set the record straight and at last lay the poor woman’s spirit to rest.
With the resurrection of the dream, so the obsession increased, and with desperation in her heart, Gloria suddenly understood that the dreams were both a portent of the future, and an ill omen that time was running out – for Isabella, and for herself.
If I could only contact Allan and confide in him, she thought. However, she could no more do that than she could call her parents and confide in them. Indeed, the most disconcerting and worrying aspect of it all was the dreadful realisation that she could tell nobody of her fears. Her grandmother, though she knew the facts, was too old to burden with the terror she felt, and nobody else woul
d believe her, except perhaps Daniel and Susan, in whom she had entrusted her fears more than a decade ago. She thought that perhaps she might talk things through with them once more when she returned to Neville Hill.
Destiny was coming full circle. The net was closing in on her, and there was no escape. From the book that Isabella and Ria had written she knew her future, with as much certainty as if she had consulted a fortune teller.
With the obsession imprinted upon her consciousness, Gloria knew she would have to follow it right through to the ultimate end, no matter what. As she saw it, there were two options open to her: she could go mad – which was not far short of her current frame of mind anyway, or she could relax and succumb to the obsessive dreams, wherever they might lead her.
There was no real choice.
Since she had decided against leaving, Gloria remained in bed, thinking silently about all that had happened so far. At seven-thirty, she finally decided to get up, realising that if she lay there much longer she would fall asleep again, so she threw back the bedcovers and walked across the room to pull back the curtains, where a solid wall of water greeted her. She had never seen such heavy rain before, not even here in Scotland. She was glad she had made the decision to stay on, because she detested driving in heavy rain, and avoided doing so whenever possible.
After washing and dressing, Gloria tiptoed downstairs in order to avoid waking her grandmother, and she found Wilma already hard at work in the kitchen.
‘Gloria, I thought you’d gone!’
Gloria smiled. ‘That was my original intention, but when I saw the weather I changed my mind.’
‘Weathermen say it’ll last a week, all this rain.’
Gloria shrugged, unable to shake the feeling that Wilma was trying to get rid of her. In spite of the young woman’s politeness, she had felt a vague inclination that Wilma was up to something from their first encounter, and now she was certain. Well, whatever the young woman was up to, she was not going to get away with it. ‘I’m in no real hurry to get home,’ she said. ‘My boyfriend won’t be back for several weeks, and I’ll enjoy the company.’
‘Mrs Turner will be pleased you’re staying on.’
Gloria watched Wilma intently, amused to see that she did not attempt to conceal her flash of disappointment. She smiled. ‘Yes, I’m certain she will. I haven’t spent nearly enough time with her in the past.’
Wilma dried her hands on her apron as she finished washing up the previous night’s supper dishes. ‘Your grandmother is very in tune with today’s lifestyles, Gloria. She understands the need for solitude when you are writing. She adores you.’
‘And she clearly confides in you a lot, Wilma.’
‘She treats me and my brother like two of her own grand-children, and since she seldom has anyone else to talk to, she tells us things… like how she feels about you. We like keeping her company, and she obviously likes us to keep her company too.’
Gloria nodded her understanding. ‘You obviously care a great deal for her, and she clearly thinks a lot of you and your brother.’
‘That’s true enough, but she talks constantly about you. I think she likes you more than she does her daughter.’
‘You sound disapproving, Wilma.’
Wilma sniffed noncommittally. ‘It’s not my place to approve or disapprove,’ she said haughtily, going about the tedious business of breakfast preparation. ‘You’re her kin, I’m just hired help.’
‘You seem to be implying that I’ve treated Nana Turner badly!’ snapped Gloria, not caring for Wilma’s condescending tone.
‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, Gloria. Let’s just say I’m not as in tune with the lifestyles of people down south as your grandmother is. If you were my granddaughter, and had avoided me as you’ve avoided Mrs Turner, then quite frankly I wouldn’t welcome you so readily! Just because you’re her flesh and blood doesn’t make you a member of her family. A family is a close-knit unit of people surviving on love and companionship. Sharing the same bloodline has nothing to do with it. Phil and I are Mrs Turner’s family now. We–’
Gloria shook with impotent fury as she slapped Wilma’s face hard, silencing the tirade of abuse. ‘How dare you!’ she gasped, unable to believe what she was hearing. ‘How dare you presume to tell me that I’m not a member of this family and that you are! I think I am more aware than you of what the word family means, and believe me, my dear, you and your brother are not members of this family. Members of the household, yes, but like you said, you’re hired help, nothing more, and I think perhaps it’s about time you remembered your place!’
Gloria had failed to curtail her anger, and to her surprise, she actually felt much better for it. It clearly did her no good when she cloistered away all of her pent-up emotions, and to her immense satisfaction, she had actually silenced the upstart.
‘I have always loved Nana Turner,’ she added guardedly. ‘I feel no need to explain to you my actions and decisions. Nana Turner knows of them and she accepts them, and that’s all there is to it. I don’t need to justify them to anyone else, and certainly not to you of all people.’
Gloria was in full flow, showing no sign of letting up, and Wilma was the first to notice Mary standing by the door, listening intently to the way her granddaughter was talking to her.
‘Good morning, Mrs Turner,’ she said gaily, smiling in an almost vindictive manner as Gloria turned to face her grand-mother, ashamed that she should be caught mid-tirade.
‘Good morning, Wilma,’ came the frosty reply.
‘Did you sleep well, Nana Turner?’ asked Gloria, trying to smile warmly as she hastened over to the old woman’s side.
‘I did,’ Mary replied, returning Gloria’s affectionate kiss. She glowered at Wilma over Gloria’s shoulder and the smug grin on the younger woman’s face faltered slightly.
Something was not right. The old woman should be coming to her defence, tearing strips off Gloria for being so rude, but instead they were greeting one another as though the old woman had overheard nothing.
‘That was a very interesting conversation,’ Mary said as she hobbled over to the table in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Thank you, child,’ she added, settling gratefully onto one of the chairs Gloria pulled out for her.
Gloria stood behind the chair, resting one hand on her grandmother’s bony shoulder. They both stared at Wilma. ‘I had thought you a friend,’ Gloria muttered, ‘but now you reveal your true colours.’
‘It’s true, I was afraid you would rob Phil and me of Mrs Turner’s love,’ cried Wilma in unbridled desperation. ‘She’s treated my brother and me as her own since we came to work here.’
Mary snorted. ‘That turned out to be a big mistake!’
‘What do you mean?’ gasped Wilma.
Betraying none of her ninety-six years, Mary spoke in a clear voice for the first time in ages. ‘You know full well what I mean. You and your brother came here eight years ago with the sole intention of swindling me out of my money and my home. You thought that if you could worm your way into my affections I would treat you like the grandchild I so seldom get to see, and that I would leave you a substantial amount in my will.’
Gloria let out a gasp of horror as Wilma’s face betrayed the fact that the accusation was true.
‘How did you know?’ Wilma demanded.
‘I’ve known from the start. Everything was your idea, and you roped in your brother because you lacked the confidence to try the scheme alone. Well, Phil loathed the idea and told me everything within a week of you both starting work here.’
‘The little bastard!’ hissed Wilma venomously. ‘If you knew, why did you go along with it as though you knew nothing?’
Mary smiled. ‘I wanted to play games with you, as you were playing games with me. I wanted you to think that you were so clever, and I wanted to see who was the smartest – a feeble old woman, or a greedy, manipulative little girl.’ Mary laughed aloud. ‘Besides, I needed the help!’
Glor
ia laughed too. Nana Turner was still full of surprises, even as she approached her centenary.
‘You were naive and foolish,’ Mary continued. ‘I, on the other hand might be old, but my mind is still sharp. I have age and experience, whilst you have only your greed, nothing more.’
‘I suppose that means our services will no longer be required!’
‘I hardly need dignify that question with a response,’ snapped Mary frostily.
Wilma sighed. ‘I’ll fetch Phil and we’ll pack our things.’
‘No, Wilma. You will pack your things and leave immediately. Phil has not been dismissed.’
‘What!’
‘Phil has been honest with me all along. He doesn’t deserve to be dismissed, any more than he deserves you as his sister. Now, I suggest you pack your things, say your goodbyes and leave. The sooner you are gone, the better.’
Trying hard to control herself, Wilma fled the kitchen, and Mary slumped forward on the table wearily.
‘Are you all right, Nana Turner?’ asked Gloria, concerned.
Mary looked up, chuckling. ‘Yes child, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.’
‘You’re not getting any younger, and that sort of confrontation can’t help much.’
‘I’ve got a little life left in me yet!’ Mary said archly. ‘Well, now Wilma’s gone Phil will have to do the cooking… until we are ready to leave.’
Gloria arched an eyebrow. ‘We?’
Mary nodded. ‘I’ve spent my entire life in this house. I have known no other home. I’ve never been anywhere else, even for a visit, so I thought I’d keep you company on your long journey back south, and stay with Rachel and Jeremy for a while.’
‘Oh, Nana Turner, Mother and I have been trying to persuade you to do that for years.’ Gloria hugged Mary affectionately. ‘I’m so glad you’ve made the decision at last.’
‘I may even make it a permanent visit. I haven’t really decided yet. It depends on your parents, on whether I can persuade them to live up here with me, or whether I can actually bear to live away from Ravenscreag Hall!’
Gloria smiled. ‘There’s no real hurry to make that sort of decision. Besides, I’d quite like to stay on here a couple more days. I changed my mind about leaving this morning because of the weather, and considering what’s just happened, I’m quite glad I did.’
Master of the Scrolls Page 8
