She retired early, grateful for the cool, soft pillow and clean, sweet-smelling sheets. She drifted off within minutes.
Her dreams were of moorland and swirling mists. She was searching for Claire, calling her name again and again. The curlew circled overhead, and she too seemed to echo Evelyn’s cries as if she had joined the search.
Then she heard it, a faint answering cry, coming from far in the distance. Evelyn ran, skipping over rough grass and heather. The curlew continued to circle overhead, keeping pace with her. Claire’s cries were nearer now. More desperate.
“I’m coming, Claire. Hold on, I’m coming.”
And then she saw her. On the ground, her face dirty and blood-streaked, her ankle caught in a vicious-looking mantrap.
Evelyn knelt down beside her and took her in her arms. “How did this happen?”
“He did it to me. He isn’t who he seems to be. Oh, Ev…” Her sobs tore at Evelyn’s heart.
Claire shuddered and pulled herself away from her sister’s grip. “He’s back. He’s come for me. He’ll take you too. Oh…” She pointed ahead of her, her hand trembling, eyes wide and staring.
Evelyn turned. A man stood mere feet away, dressed from head to toe in black, his face indistinct…until he moved slightly.
“Matthew? But…” No, it wasn’t him. It was…
The face seemed to drift out of focus. As if someone were manipulating a camera lens.
The features settled. Claire whispered. “Branwell. It’s Branwell, Ev. Only it’s not really him.”
“I know it can’t be.”
The man’s features softened again, became unfocused, then clear as again Matthew Dixon stood in front of them. He said nothing, but a smile twitched the corners of his mouth.
Evelyn stared incredulously. “How can this be?”
He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a sharp-pointed stiletto. He raised his arm, and Evelyn knew it was meant for her. She screamed.
She sprang up in bed, sweating and breathing hard. A nightmare. But it had been so real. Too real. Every image, every second of it replayed in her mind, and her hands trembled as she clutched at the sheets.
The room was bathed in darkness, black as pitch. She reached for the candle, nearly knocking it over in her anxiety. After fumbling for the matches, she found the box and struck one. It burst into flame, and she lit the wick.
She picked up the candleholder and shone the meager light around the room. The flame threw up flickering shadows, and Evelyn wished she had an oil lamp to provide more illumination. The shadows only made her more scared. That dream had really unnerved her.
Then a sound. Someone was in here with her. She swore she could hear them breathing. Still clutching the candle in one hand, she edged herself higher in bed, drawing her knees up.
“Is there someone there?” Her voice trembled. She must control it. No reply.
She shone her candle around, slowly, dreading what it might reveal but forcing herself.
A wardrobe at the far side of the room seemed almost alive in the flicker of the candle. The chest of drawers next to it. Had it moved, ever so slightly? No, it had to be her imagination. Farther around the room, the small dressing table gave her a fright, until she realized the other flame and shadowy person she saw was merely a reflection of herself in the mirror.
She moved the candle still further, until she shone it next to her.
A sudden movement. A rush of air. A pair of bloodshot eyes staring into hers, right before the light snuffed out. Evelyn screamed and threw the useless candle to the floor. She stuck her head between her knees, clutching them tightly to her.
A hammering at her door. Evelyn was too scared to move or cry out again. Voices. Sam’s and a woman’s. Martha’s. Someone threw the door open, and she dared to look up.
Martha rushed to her side, holding an oil lamp. “Miss Wainwright, whatever’s the matter? What happened?”
Sam hovered by the door, also with an oil lamp in his hand. Evelyn was grateful for the light. It showed her the room was empty.
“You’re shaking.”
“I saw. I think I saw. Eyes. Staring at me. Mad…” She couldn’t carry on.
Martha exchanged glances with her husband. “Maybe you had a bad dream. They can be very realistic.”
“No. I was asleep, but I woke up. I heard someone in the room.”
“Did you see anyone?” Martha asked.
“Only eyes. Terrible eyes.” Evelyn shuddered.
Once again the look that passed between her and Sam was not lost on Evelyn. “What are you not telling me?”
Sam left and closed the door quietly behind him.
Martha sat on the edge of her bed. “You’re not the first person to see him, and I dare say you won’t be the last. Old Jeremy Ackroyd has haunted this place since the 1700s. He was the landlord here, but a fearsome man he was. Almost destroyed the business because people were too scared of him to come in. Then one day he disappeared. No one ever saw him again. Not alive anyhow.”
“Do you think someone murdered him?”
“Who can say? If they did, no one ever found his body. Mind you, I don’t think they looked too hard. When the place had been shut up for a week, folk assumed he had up and gone. New people came and ran the place, and all went quiet. Over time everyone pretty much forgot about Jeremy Ackroyd…until the hauntings started.”
“Have you seen him?”
Martha shook her head. “No. And neither has Sam. It seems he doesn’t bother with whoever is running the place. He likes to frighten guests, and he does a pretty good job of it too.” She sighed. “You should be all right now. He’s had his fun for one night. Try and get some sleep. I’ll leave you the lamp.”
“Thank you.” The thought of being plunged into total darkness had not been one Evelyn relished. Now at least she would have a little light to comfort her.
Martha closed the door softly behind her.
Evelyn slept only fitfully, waking at every slight noise. At dawn, the sound of birds chirruping brought her comfort. She had made it through the night here. Despite Jeremy Ackroyd’s best efforts.
Now remained the issue of whether to stay another night in Haworth. If she did, Evelyn was certain she wouldn’t remain here.
By breakfast time she had decided. She picked up her packed overnight bag and made her way downstairs where the welcoming smell of frying bacon greeted her. Martha smiled as she passed her coming out of the kitchen. “It’s all ready for you. I’m so sorry you had such a fright in the night. Did you manage to sleep at all?”
“A little. Thank you for the lamp. It helped.”
“You’ll be leaving us today, then?” Martha indicated the bag.
“Yes.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
“Such a shame you didn’t find your sister. I do hope she turns up soon.”
“So do I. Thank you, Martha.”
* * *
After breakfast, Evelyn made her way down Main Street and knocked on the door of the Black Lion. Jessie’s beaming smile made her feel truly welcome.
The landlady seemed riveted by Evelyn’s story of the ghost in the night. “I had heard he was up to his old tricks again. Pretty fearsome sight by all accounts.”
“He was. It’s so strange. Until recently I’ve been quite skeptical about that sort of thing, but so much has happened lately…” She paused, realizing she had been about to tell Jessie everything. The woman’s easy, almost maternal, manner made her a natural person to confide in. But a story as fantastic as Evelyn’s? She didn’t know her nearly well enough. “I mean this Jeremy Ackroyd business. I know what I saw.”
“Oh, it would have been him, right enough. Fortunately we don’t have anything like that here. All our ghosts are harmless ones.” She smiled at Evelyn. “You’ll sleep soundly in your bed tonight, I can assu
re you.”
Evelyn took in the neat room, pretty with floral curtains and bedspread. A small dressing table, single wardrobe and chair completed the simple but perfectly adequate furnishings.
She set down her bag and sat on the edge of the bed. The day stretched before her, and, having exhausted all the places Claire could have stayed, she had few options and no clue as to where her sister might be. Maybe if she walked around the village… Evelyn remembered Claire’s secretive solo trips she never spoke about. What if she had come here? What if Claire knew someone here and would come to meet them? Or maybe one of the shopkeepers would remember her. Of course her trips could as easily have taken her sister to Halifax, Leeds or Bradford. Keighley even. But a nagging feeling wouldn’t leave her. Haworth, with all its connections to Branwell, would be the one place Claire would choose to escape to.
Evelyn left her room, went downstairs, out onto the street and nearly barreled into Matthew.
He caught her. “Evelyn, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you to Haworth?”
Surprise? It certainly didn’t look like it. If Evelyn hadn’t known better, she would have sworn Matthew knew exactly where he would find her.
“I’m looking for Claire. She’s missing.”
“Missing?”
He still didn’t appear as shocked as he made out.
“She left me a note saying she was going and I wasn’t to look for her. Naturally I had to try and find her. I don’t think she’s well.”
“And you thought you’d try here.”
“She’s obsessed with Branwell Brontë. It seemed the obvious place. Why are you in Haworth?”
He avoided her eyes. “A short break. I thought I would try the moors here for a change.”
A lie. But for what reason? “They’re pretty much the same as in Thornton Wensley,” she said.
“Ah, but on these moors Emily Brontë was inspired to write Wuthering Heights.”
Suddenly Evelyn didn’t want to stay in his company. She didn’t want to hear him lie to her anymore. After their last parting – when she had assumed their brief friendship had been irrevocably tarnished – she had tried to put him out of her mind, and now, for some unknown reason, he had followed her here. No question about it. Should she challenge him?
“Matthew, I’m sorry, but I need to get along now. Have a pleasant stay.” It was easier this way. She hurried off up the street, hoping he didn’t follow her. At the top of the hill, breathless, she turned back to look down. No sign of him.
She called in at a few shops, but no one had seen Claire.
Evelyn mounted the steps to the church and opened the door. Inside, peace and tranquility reigned, giving her a chance to decide on her next course of action.
Why had Matthew followed her? By the time she left the church half an hour later, she had decided there was only one way to find out. She gritted her teeth.
He wasn’t hard to find. Sitting in a café, drinking a cup of hot chocolate, right by the window where he could watch all the comings and goings on bustling Main Street. He smiled at her and beckoned her to come in and join him. She did so.
She sat opposite him, and a smartly dressed waitress appeared. “I’ll have hot chocolate too, please,” Evelyn said.
The waitress nodded and left.
“Any joy yet?” Matthew asked.
“None, I’m afraid.”
Her cup of hot chocolate arrived, and Evelyn sipped the sweet, warming beverage. Matthew watched her every move. Evelyn set her cup down in its saucer.
“I need to ask you,” she said. “Why are you really here?”
“I told you. The moors—”
“No, Matthew. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.”
“Then what do you believe?”
“That you knew I was here. You knew Claire was missing, and you came after me.”
“Not strictly true,” he said, steepling his fingers. “I knew Claire was missing, and I guessed you would come here looking for her.”
“But how did you know she had gone?”
“Because she told me.”
“She told you? When?”
“She pushed a note through my door.” He fumbled in an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to Evelyn, who immediately unfolded it.
Dear Matthew. I am finding it impossible to stay here in Thornton Wensley. Life with my sister is stifling me, and I need to break away. Please be a good friend to her. She needs one. Kind regards, Claire Wainwright.
Evelyn folded the paper and handed it back to Matthew, who pocketed it. Her feelings fought with each other. Sadness, worry, and above all a sense of incomprehension. What had gone so terribly wrong with their relationship that made Claire feel stifled? And why hadn’t she spoken of it to her?
“Why would she deliver such a note to you? She barely knows you.”
“Maybe that’s the reason. She knows you and I are friendly and I would be unlikely to try to prevent her from taking such a drastic course of action simply because I wouldn’t feel comfortable interfering in the life of a virtual stranger.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? All that nonsense about trying a change of scenery.”
“You took me by surprise. I was about to enter the Black Lion to see if Jessie had seen you.”
“You know the landlady, then?”
“Slightly. I have enjoyed the occasional beer in there on my infrequent trips to Haworth. You are staying there, I gather?”
“She told you that?”
“No, you did, when you came out of there at ten o’clock this morning.”
Evelyn nodded. “I have decided to go back to Thornton Wensley tomorrow. It doesn’t look as if my visit here is going to bring me any closer to knowing where Claire has gone. I can only hope she comes to her senses and returns home.”
“You could report her as missing. I could accompany you to the police station.”
“I doubt the police would be interested. She is a grown woman and has gone of her own accord. If she had been kidnapped or simply disappeared without a word, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“Then I think you are probably right to return. In all probability she will come back when it suits her.”
“I hope so, Matthew. I really do.”
“Join me for dinner this evening? I have also taken a room at the Black Lion for the night, and it’s a miserable business eating alone.”
Evelyn hesitated, then smiled. He had a point. She had felt quite uncomfortable eating her solitary dinner yesterday, even if the food had been delicious.
“Very well, Matthew. Thank you. I would be happy to.”
“And as for now, let’s go and enjoy these wuthering moors.”
Evelyn smiled. If only she knew she could trust him, but something still niggled at her and wouldn’t stop.
They trekked up past the church and onto the moors, clambering over uneven ground. Matthew took her hand a few times to steady her over the more treacherous parts, until they came within sight of a lonely building standing next to a tall tree. The wind whistled around them as Evelyn took in the weathered gritstone house. Sturdily built, its color varying from sandy to gray to almost black, it showed every sign of having been added to over many years as the needs of its inhabitants changed. An L-shaped building had probably stabled a horse or two. Outbuildings in various stages of disrepair could have served a variety of purposes, and, some distance away, a small outhouse stood apart. The privy, no doubt.
The house stood entirely alone, an anomaly in a bleak landscape where little would grow. A few sheep grazed but nothing to indicate how anyone living there could earn enough to keep them.
“It’s a fearfully isolated place,” Evelyn said.
“That, my dear Miss Wainwright, is Top Withins. Inspiration for the Earnshaw family ho
me in Wuthering Heights.”
Evelyn studied it. Top Withins – built from the very stone of the Pennines themselves – asserted its right to be there. Solid, braced for all weathers and for everything the harsh elements could throw at it. Small wonder it served as inspiration for the fertile imagination of the parson’s daughter from Haworth.
She cast her mind back to her well-worn copy of Emily Brontë’s masterpiece. “She changed it a lot. From here it doesn’t remotely resemble the house she described. But the landscape does. It’s so bleak and empty. Almost devoid of life.”
“Some might even call it desolate. Only fit for sheep. There’s no arable farming around here. The soil is too acidic.”
The wind whistled around them, fluttering Evelyn’s skirt. The isolation of the place must make it hard to live in. Yet smoke curled up from the chimney. Someone was at home.
Evelyn fought an urge to proceed up to the front door and knock. Maybe Claire had been there. But she dismissed the thought. Whatever frame of mind her sister was in, she would be unlikely to make the walk to Top Withins all by herself. Reluctantly she tore herself away.
“I think we should start back now, Matthew.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
They walked mainly in silence. Evelyn’s feet ached. She hadn’t walked this far in a long time. She welcomed the prospect of soaking in a nice hot tub and concentrated on the pleasant image to try to take her mind off her pain.
Matthew was a little ahead of her when he stopped dead and bent down. “How extraordinary,” he said. “Have a look at this. Did you ever see anything like it?”
Evelyn caught up with him and bent down to peer at the large rock. She stared and didn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Do you know what that is?” Matthew asked.
Evelyn took in the carved scaly serpent, its body coiled and its hinge-less mouth open, ready to strike.
“Todeswurm,” she said.
Chapter Eleven
“Todeswurm?” Matthew asked. “What’s that?”
“A death worm. I don’t know much about it, but it’s odd to see it up here. Maybe that’s where he got the idea from.”
The Garden of Bewitchment Page 13
