by George Mann
“I can’t risk it. You know that. If someone were to see me, it might get back to Dad and Petra. At least here, we’re not likely to be spotted.”
“We can’t go on like this, though. We’re not kids any more,” said Daisy.
“I know, I know,” said Lucy. “And I’m sorry. It’s Petra. She has this hold over Dad, and she’s such a bitch. I think she already suspects something. She keeps going on about Iain and Carl, and how disgusted she is every time she sees them holding hands in the village. I know it’s the way she was brought up, but it still hurts.”
“I know,” said Daisy. “I’m so sorry you have to put up with that.” She pulled Lucy into a hug. “But remember, I’m here if you need me, and most people don’t think like that any more.”
“How are you doing, anyway?” said Lucy. “I saw you with that reporter woman the other day. Is she bothering you with lots of awkward questions?”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” said Daisy. “She’s great. I’ll introduce you at some point, if you like. She’s going to do a piece on my artwork for the local paper.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” said Lucy. “About time people saw what you were capable of.”
“I suppose so,” said Daisy. “I guess I’m just a bit nervous. Once it’s out there in the world, it becomes real, you know?”
“It is real. And it’s great,” said Lucy. “People are going to love it.”
They kissed again.
“So what about the murder enquiry?” said Lucy. She found a patch of dry earth and sat down, her back against a listing headstone. “People are saying you did it. Well, that you did for Nicholas Abbott, anyway. They’re saying that you threatened him in the tearooms, and then later went round and throttled him to death in revenge for touching you up all the time.”
Daisy stared at her. “Is that really what they’re saying?”
“Well, that’s what I’ve heard. Someone in the hairdresser’s the other day was going on about it. Petra agreed with them of course. Silly cow.” Lucy looked at her warily, as if expecting some sort of revelation. “I mean… you didn’t do it, did you?”
“Of course not! How could you even ask that?”
“It’s just that you’re always so strong. You know exactly what you want, and you don’t stand for any bullshit. I wish I could be like that. I just wondered – had you had enough of the old codger and decided to see him off?”
“I can’t believe you’d even consider that,” said Daisy. The image of Abbott’s house on Hulston Lane came unbidden to her mind: the whispering voice, the dizziness. The fact that she’d found herself in the woods two hours later, with no recollection of where she’d been, what she’d done.
“It’s a compliment!” said Lucy. She clambered back to her feet, coming over to tug on Daisy’s jacket again. “I only meant to say that I think you have it in you to do anything you want, and damn the consequences. It’s a very attractive quality.”
“Well it doesn’t feel that way,” said Daisy. “And this isn’t something to take lightly, Lucy. If people in the village think I did it, what do the police think? That detective was up at my house today, asking more questions. Do they think I’m responsible, too?”
“Look, I’m sorry,” said Lucy. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Well you did,” said Daisy. Her heart was thumping in her chest. She kept going over it all in her mind – the blackouts, the whispered voice, the questions from the police. Nicholas Abbott’s lascivious expression as she’d warned him off.
“I’m not feeling very well,” said Daisy. “I think I’d better go.”
“I’ve only just got here,” said Lucy.
“I’m sorry, Lucy. I can’t do this, not now. I need to go home.”
“Are you okay?” She sounded genuinely concerned. She put her arm around Daisy’s shoulders.
“I will be. I just need to think things over.”
“What kind of things?”
“Everything,” said Daisy. “I just… I don’t know. I’ll call you, okay?”
“Okay,” said Lucy. “Tomorrow? Just to let me know you’re all right.”
Daisy nodded. She forced a smile. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be okay. I just… I’d better go.” She cupped her hand around Lucy’s cheek, and then turned and hurried off down the hill, leaving Lucy staring after her from amongst the headstones.
* * *
She was nearly home before the dizziness came again, striking her like a wave, carrying her along in its disorienting pull. She paused for breath, leaning one hand against a lamp-post, fighting the urge to vomit.
She issued a wretched, anguished moan. She’d hoped this was over with; there’d been no indication of anything untoward last night while she’d been at home with Elspeth. She staggered back from the main street, sinking into the shadows of a nearby lane. Whatever was going on, she didn’t want anyone to see her. She didn’t want to have to answer more questions.
She clenched her jaw, trying to hold back the fog that was threatening to close in on her mind.
To fight it off.
That’s what Elspeth had said, that maybe she was fighting something off. It certainly felt that way. She could almost sense it, like a tangible thing. A force that was trying to enshroud her, to subsume her in its terrible embrace.
She coughed, buckling at a lancing pain in her head. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t stop it. She was drowning. She gasped for breath.
The darkness swam in.
* * *
Her eyelids fluttered open.
It felt like only seconds had passed. She was standing before the ancient cross on the green, right at the heart of the village. The breeze was ruffling her hair.
This would become the centrepiece of the fayre, where the parade would culminate and the effigy of the witch would be placed on a temporary gallows and then burnt while all the villagers watched and cheered, feasting on marshmallows and burgers and sweets and beers. Now, though, it was utterly deserted. It seemed as if even the surrounding houses had somehow been pushed back, as if the entire world had shrunk to just this single point in space and time, right there at the heart of Hallowdene.
The sight filled Daisy with a deep sense of foreboding. She realised she was unconsciously rubbing her throat. She swallowed, but her mouth was dry, her tongue swollen in her mouth.
“Without grace or remorse.”
The whisper was a dry croak, like the breaking of twigs underfoot. It was close. Too close.
She turned on the spot, but there was no one there. Just the shifting of the shadows in the moonlight, the stirring of the trees in the wind.
Something had brought her here. There was no other explanation. She knew it with a horrific certainty. Something had wanted her to come here, to stand before the gallows, to feel the fear and trepidation that it had felt. To know what it was to be afraid.
Daisy turned, and ran.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hallowdene village hall was, like many municipal buildings in the area, an old Victorian structure that had seen better days. Built from red brick with tall sash windows, it looked terribly dilapidated, with crumbling fascia boards, peeling paint and old metal guttering that was badly rusted. It stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the whitewashed stone cottages that comprised the remainder of the village, and despite being over a hundred years old, gave the impression of being a modern building that had somehow been displaced in time. A display board outside encouraged donations for a project to replace the roof, and listed the times and dates of a number of local clubs that took place inside – Weight Watchers, Pilates, a youth group and a film club. Elspeth wondered how well they were attended.
This particular Saturday afternoon, the hall was bustling with people, and she was surprised to find herself having to squeeze through a sizeable crowd to find a spot with a good view. She recognised many of the faces in attendance – Hugh and Lucy Walsey, Sally Jameson, Iain and Carl Hardwick, Jenny Wren. Dais
y was there too, dishing out cups of tea from a serving hatch by the side of the stage, wearing her uniform from Richmond’s. She was too busy to look up, so didn’t notice Elspeth as she sidled around the edge of the crowd.
Avi Dhiri and Robyn Baxter were standing close to the stage, sipping from paper cups and looking harassed. She wondered if they were going to film the whole thing, or just get some shots of the display afterwards. She glanced around, but there was no sign of Steve or his camera. The thought that she might get caught on film wasn’t particularly appealing.
Up on the stage itself a display case had been arranged, covered for the moment by a blue velvet curtain, no doubt awaiting the big reveal. Behind it stood three blue display boards, with photographs and print-outs pinned to them, presumably relating the story of the Hallowdene Witch and how Jenny and her team had come to excavate her remains. Elspeth was impressed by how quickly they’d put the display together, given that the dig had only taken place earlier that week, but it nevertheless had something of the appearance of a school project about it.
She supposed she was being unkind. It was a good thing for the village, and the display would undoubtedly draw in even more folk from the surrounding area for the coming festivities. It was hardly as though Iain and Sally had been gifted with time to do anything more professional.
Elspeth couldn’t talk. She was hardly feeling professional herself, still vaguely tired and hungover from the night before. She’d spent the morning in London with Abigail, taking her for brunch at a café near the train station before heading off, still apologising for the previous night. She felt as though she’d let her friend down, even though they’d ended up having a nice time back at the flat and Abigail hadn’t seemed particularly bothered about the party. She was more concerned about Elspeth, keen to stress that she hadn’t intended to exert any undue pressure about London, or Peter, or the job. She’d somehow got the impression that she was the one who’d made Elspeth feel uncomfortable.
Elspeth knew it would all blow over – that things would be back to normal between them in a few days… whatever ‘normal’ was. She’d been thinking about it on the train home, and she’d come to the conclusion that she and Abigail were simply on different paths, and while that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends – and close ones at that – it did mean that they were less likely to fall into one another’s natural orbit. She’d have to make more of an effort, that was all, and for her part, Abigail would need to try to understand that Elspeth simply wasn’t interested in returning to her old life, or any of its trappings.
She felt someone nudge her arm, and turned to see Peter, smiling down at her. He was wearing his grey suit, his shirt open at the collar. He’d even brushed his hair. She felt a sudden rush of relief at seeing him, and she slipped her arm around him and gave him a squeeze.
“All right! I’m on duty, remember. At least until this is over with.”
“I know. It’s just… I’m pleased to see you.”
“Glad to be home?”
“Yeah.”
He gave her a squeeze back, and they gently parted. “There’s been a right business here this morning,” he said. “A few of the locals have signed a petition saying the fayre should be cancelled in light of the murders. They delivered it to the parish council earlier, and then set up a demonstration outside Richmond’s. Sally Jameson called in the police to have the group disbanded.”
“Understandable, I suppose, that people are nervous. It certainly doesn’t feel like a time to be celebrating.”
“Yeah. With a murderer – or two – at large, I know how they feel. Especially after what you said, that another death might be likely.”
“Well, we don’t know that for sure,” said Elspeth. “It could all be unconnected.”
“Hmmm,” mumbled Peter, noncommittally. “Here we are. Looks like they’re getting ready for the big moment.” He nodded towards the stage, where Jenny Wren, Sally Jameson and Iain Hardwick had gathered before the covered display case. Close by, Avi was looking furious. He exchanged a few words with Robyn, and then pushed past her, cutting a swathe through the crowd towards the exit. Elspeth watched him go. Peter had seen it, too.
She turned back to the stage. Sally was waving for quiet. “Hello? Hello, everyone? Thanks for coming.”
The cacophony of chatter died to a low murmur.
“Thank you, thank you. Welcome to what promises to be a very special event in the history of our village, and marks a spectacular opening for the annual Hallowdene Summer Fayre, starting here tomorrow!” She paused for a brief round of applause.
“Now, you all know me and my co-organiser, Iain Hardwick, but today I’d like to introduce to you Ms Jennifer Wren, the lead archaeologist from the team that’s been busy working to bring us this historic find. Jenny?”
Jenny stepped forward, looking rather awkward. “Thanks, everyone. We’re here today for the unveiling of a rather special exhibit, a rare chance for the local people who’ve been so supportive of our project to get a first look at the finds excavated from the grave of the so-called Hallowdene Witch.”
A brief cheer went up. Jenny waited until it had died down.
“So without further ado, I’d like to introduce you all to one of Hallowdene’s oldest residents, the remains of a person I believe to be Agnes Levett.” She turned, and with a flourish, whipped the velvet drape from the display case, revealing the grisly treasure within.
A murmur passed through the audience, with everyone straining to see.
The case was horizontal, fronted with glass on all sides, and sitting atop four grey, metal legs. Inside, it had been laid out much like the grave, with Agnes’s skeleton – now cleaned and free of soil and other remnants – positioned in repose, empty eye sockets staring up vacantly at the ceiling. Around her, the fetishes of the old villagers – or at least those that had survived intact – had also been positioned, exactly as they’d been found during the excavation.
Elspeth felt a shudder pass along her spine. She tried to look away, but it seemed to take a supernatural effort to drag her eyes from the woman’s remains.
She glanced around the room, judging people’s reactions. Hugh Walsey was peering at the display case hungrily, as if weighing up how he might somehow use this whole situation to his advantage. Sally and Iain were speaking in hushed tones, both beaming at the audience’s response, while Jenny had retreated temporarily to one side of the stage, to allow people to see.
Daisy had come out from behind the tea stand and was peering up at the skeleton with something that looked like terrified fascination. She had one hand to her mouth, and was stock still, like a little island in the midst of the milling crowd.
Elspeth tugged Peter’s sleeve. “I’m going to have a word with Daisy. I’ll catch up with you in a bit, okay?”
He eyed her warily. “Just remember what I said.”
“Yeah, and you too.”
She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, and then wove a path through the locals, trying not to bump people with her elbows. She saw mums and dads lifting their kids up onto their shoulders to get a better look, and wondered whether Dorothy would ever have brought her along to such a thing. She supposed it was no different, really, from a trip to the museum to look at the remains of Ancient Egyptian mummies, or bog people. Somehow, though, this seemed more personal. Perhaps it was because the skeleton had a name and a story, a deep connection to many of the people in the room, whose relations had been the ones to condemn the woman to her pitiful death. To that end it felt more like a wake.
Daisy was still standing by the side of the stage, transfixed by the skeletal remains.
“Seems sad somehow, doesn’t it?” said Elspeth, coming to stand beside her. “All these people staring at her like she’s some sort of celebrity, rather than a victim.”
Daisy turned, her eyes settling on Elspeth. For a moment she looked at her vacantly, and then seemed to snap out of it, blinking as if having been lost in thought. “Oh, hi,�
� she said, smiling. “Yes, I know what you mean. There’s something a little exploitative about it all. I can’t help thinking she deserves more dignity than this.”
“I think that’s exactly it, yes,” said Elspeth, “although the dark, commercial side of my brain understands why they’re doing it this way.”
Daisy nodded. “I wonder what Lee Stroud would have made of it all.”
“I dare say he’d be on the stage right now, trying to say his piece.”
“Or as far away from here as he could get. He always seemed so scared of what the witch might do if she were set free.”
“I wonder if she really has been set free? Or is this just a different sort of prison?” said Elspeth. “Stuck in a glass case, everyone peering down at her.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Daisy.
“How are you, anyway? Feeling any better?” asked Elspeth.
“I… not really, no. I had another funny turn last night. I was wondering, could you spare any time later for a chat? I feel like I’m going out of my mind at home alone, and I just want to get it all off my chest. I know it’s an imposition, and we barely know each other…”
“Not at all,” said Elspeth. “I’d be happy to. We had a good time the other night, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, it was great,” said Daisy. “Just what I needed.”
“All right. Well, I can’t do this evening, I’m sorry. I’ve been away so much, and I promised Peter – but what about tomorrow morning? What time’s your shift?”
Daisy tried ineffectually to hide her disappointment. “I’m on lates tomorrow, so the morning’s good. We could go for breakfast?”
“Perfect,” said Elspeth. “I’ll pick you up, and take you to my favourite place in Heighton. How does that sound?”
“Thanks, Ellie. I really appreciate it.”
Elspeth was about to respond with another platitude, when she heard someone calling for quiet from the back of the room. People around her were turning to look. She turned to see Avi Dhiri standing in the doorway, his face drawn.
