Ever so glad, that Jack would be close by.
9. Waiting for Evil
Jack tapped on the door that linked the two bedrooms. Sarah opened it — still dressed in jeans and fleece.
“You settled?” he said, following her into her room and looking around. Like his, it was furnished sparsely with old brown Victorian furniture. Threadbare rugs on a wooden floor. A single lightbulb, with a pull cord above the bed.
And lead latticed windows that rattled in the wind and presumably gave the same view out onto the garden as his own room.
“Good as I’ll ever be,” she said. “You manage to get your radiator going?”
“Nope. Was thinking maybe I’d head down to the car, pick up my hat and gloves to sleep in.”
Sarah laughed. “So much for my thoughts of a glamorous country house sleepover.”
“Found the bathroom yet?” said Jack.
She shook her head.
“I’ve been putting off that little treat.”
“Wise choice. It’s about half a mile down the corridor there. Turn on the taps and you can hear the water sputtering all the way up through the house. Takes about a minute for it to arrive.”
“Thanks for the warning,” she said, sitting on the bed. Then: “So what’s the plan? We going to take shifts?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking on that. And I kind of think it’s not necessary.”
“You don’t believe anything’s going to happen?”
“Put it this way. I’m a pretty light sleeper. If anything does happen, I’ll wake for sure. And then — if need be — I’ll wake you.”
“Sounds like you’re not too concerned about the threat?”
Jack shrugged. “Skulls. A noose. Phoney blood. A snake that doesn’t bite. I might be wrong — but this is beginning to look to me like somebody’s got a PR budget to spend.”
“You thinking McCloud?”
Jack nodded.
“Could be. Someone tipped off the journalists, didn’t they? And he’s got all their phone numbers I’ll bet.”
“And the rest of them? Basil? Val? The women of the house? Totally innocent?”
“Ha, well now you’re getting into the detail. I wouldn’t trust my life to any of this lot — would you?”
“So what are we doing here?” said Sarah. “No crime committed as far as I can see.”
“Good question,” said Jack. “Let’s put it down to experience.”
“Like being in one of those luxury country house mysteries — but without the luxury. Or the mystery, come to that.”
“Something like that,” said Jack, laughing. “At the very least, I now have some ideas on my costume for Lady Repton’s Halloween party.”
“Let me guess,” said Sarah. “The mummy from the tomb?”
“Ah, you’ll have to wait. Don’t want to spoil the effect.”
“I should have brought Daniel,” said Sarah. “He’s writing an essay on Gothic horror and he’s actually seen some of Basil’s films at school. Staying here would be, quote, ‘awesome’ apparently.”
“I’m sure Basil would be happy to meet one of his fans. You should arrange it tomorrow.”
“Might well do that,” said Sarah. “Anyway — if I’m going to get any sleep at all tonight — I think I should turn in now.”
“Enjoy the expedition to the bathroom,” said Jack, heading for the door to his room. “And see you in the morning.”
“Night, Jack.”
“And you.”
Jack went into his room and shut the door behind him. Then he went over to the bed and lay down, still fully clothed.
He picked up the biography of the great horror director William Castle that he’d brought with him, and settled back against the pillow.
It was going to be a long, cold, night.
*
Some time around two in the morning, Jack woke. He looked around. The light was still on and his book had fallen to the floor.
But it wasn’t the book that had woken him. There’d been a noise, he was sure.
He got up and padded across the bedroom in his bare feet. Opened the door into the corridor.
Listened. The old house creaked and moaned in the wind.
Then he heard — from somewhere — low voices.
He stepped out into the corridor and looked down it towards the stairs. A single nightlight burned on an old chest of drawers, casting a flickering light in the darkness.
Gently closing his bedroom door behind him, he walked down the corridor in the wavering candle light, sticking to the side to avoid creaking floorboards, until he reached the staircase. He peered over into the darkness.
From up here, he could only get a glimpse of part of the hallway. But enough to see a sliver of light from the kitchen corridor.
More whispered voices now from downstairs. Men’s voices? Hard to be sure. The shaft of light that carved into the darkness of the hallway broadened — and disappeared. Kitchen door opening and closing again.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a shape move from the kitchen corridor across the hall. Then he heard the front door open and shut with a clunk.
He turned and walked fast, back down the corridor until he reached a window that he figured would look out onto the front drive.
He peered through the dusty glass into the night. He could just make out the big iron gates and, beyond them, the dim shape of a vehicle.
Some kind of small van. Dark coloured. Blue? Black?
Impossible to tell.
A light flipped on in the front seat as the door opened. He briefly saw a figure settle at the wheel before the light went out again.
Then the engine started and the van drove away, its headlights only coming on further down the drive.
In the reflected light from the trees, the faint glimmer of writing on the side of the van. Too dark to really see.
And then the mysterious visitor was gone.
Jack went back to his room and lay on the bed.
Thinking: Who? Why?
Somebody didn’t want to be seen, for sure.
He turned the light out.
No way he’d get the answer to that question until morning.
And then he saw the faint flickering light of fire through the open windows of his bedroom.
And smelt smoke …
*
In the next room, Sarah tore the curtains open and peered out into the night, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing.
Down on the terrace below, a wicker man, ten or more feet high, was burning — flames billowing and sparks churning and twisting into the black night. The garden flickered bright in the light from the fire — and, as far as she could see, nobody in the house had yet gone down to put it out.
The smell of smoke had woken her, but was the whole house still asleep?
Behind her she heard Jack wrench open the door.
“Sarah — do you see?”
“I know,” she said, turning. “Like some kind of a giant scarecrow.”
“Not a scarecrow,” said Jack, joining her at the window.
And now, as she looked more carefully, she realised …
Horns; a winding wooden tail …
The Devil.
“Come on, you can’t stay here,” said Jack heading for the door. “Through the kitchen. There’ll be fire extinguishers.”
She turned, squeezed her feet quickly into her trainers, and raced after him.
*
By the time they reached the fire, most of the occupants of the house were also out there.
Everyone apart from Basil.
Gordon and Karina stood together in dressing gowns, looking suspiciously as though they had arrived at the same time.
To one side of the house, Sarah saw Val struggling with a garden hose and failing totally to get any water out. Alyssia sat on a stone bench on the terrace, ordering the others about.
“Gordon, you idiot! Help Val! Karina! Ring the fire brigade!”
She watched Jac
k turn an extinguisher on the fire and within seconds the dry powder had killed the flames.
“Oh Jack!” said Alyssia, rising from her bench and rushing over to hug him. “What would we do without you! You have saved the house!”
“Think it would have burned out eventually,” said Jack, disengaging, then kicking over the remains of the wicker Devil and spraying it again. “Just twigs and branches, really.”
“I take it you’d like me to stand down the fire brigade, Mummy?” said Karina, pulling her dressing gown tight.
“What? Yes of course, silly girl!” said Alyssia, turning to Val and taking the hose out of his hands. “Oh, Val — thanks. You did your best too, didn’t you?”
Val stepped into the light from the house that now spilled across the terrace.
Sarah saw that he was still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing the day before. Had he not gone to bed at all? Or had he thrown the clothes on quickly when he saw the fire?
She turned to check what Gordon was wearing. Under his dressing gown, she could see bare legs. And bare feet.
Not what you’d wear to start a fire — but then easy enough to kick them off and give the appearance you’ve just come from bed, she thought.
Jack stepped away from the smouldering embers and turned to face the family. “Don’t think that fire’s going to catch again,” he said. “Think perhaps a cup of tea might be in order? We go inside out of this cold?”
“Yes of course,” said Alyssia. “The sitting room will be the warmest place.”
Sarah stood back, watching with Jack as Gordon, Val and Karina trooped up the steps of the terrace behind Alyssia and through the French windows into the sitting room.
“New York’s finest,” Sarah said, grinning at Jack. “And also, it seems, a firefighter! My hero!”
“What is it with women and firemen?” he said, grinning. “What they got that cops don’t?”
But before she could answer, a scream from the sitting room tore the night air. Then Alyssia’s voice, sharp, piercing, horrified.
“Basil! My Basil!”
Sarah looked at Jack who shrugged. Then she ran up the steps and through the French windows into the house to see …
Val sitting in one of the armchairs, head in hands, muttering to himself.
Gordon standing at the window, hands in pockets, staring out into the night.
And, in the centre of the room, Karina crouching over Alyssia, who lay sprawled on the carpet … with Basil in her arms.
The one-time movie starlet sobbing, running her fingers frantically through Basil’s white hair, kissing his forehead.
Basil, looking so incongruous in this frozen scene — fully clothed in red velvet smoking jacket, black trousers, shoes on.
His cane lying on the carpet to one side.
A crystal tumbler lying on the other, spilt whisky staining the carpet brown.
Basil Coates. Grey-faced, eyes open, unmoving, in his wife’s arms.
And … without a doubt …
Stone cold dead.
Sarah watched as Alyssia raised her head and stared at her and Jack.
“Death will visit tonight! That’s what it said — didn’t it? And that is what has happened! Basil was right!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “This is the work of the Devil for sure!”
10. A Long Night
Jack stood with Alan Rivers at the gates of Hill House and watched the undertakers slam shut the rear doors on the anonymous grey van that would take Basil Coates to the mortuary.
He could just see glints of the rising sun through the woods.
He checked his watch — seven o’clock.
It had been a long night. First the ambulance, then the local doctor and the police.
The doctor — with the usual caveats — pretty certain that the cause of death was a heart attack.
Death from natural causes.
Because of the threats and recent pranks, Alan Rivers had stayed to interview everybody in the house. And there would have to be an autopsy.
Finally — the undertakers had arrived to take the poor old actor away.
While the family seemed frozen in shock, Jack and Sarah had found themselves doing all the immediate organising, greeting, explaining, guiding — making teas and coffees until finally Mrs Foy had been summoned to take over.
“You coming back up to the house?” said Jack.
Alan shook his head. “Got statements from everybody,” he said. “If there’s any kind of causal link between the threats and the death then there might be a case to be built. Against someone. Right now, I’ve no idea who.”
Jack watched Alan climb into his police car.
“You find anything suspicious, Jack, you’ll let me know, hmm?”
“Course.”
“Kind of sad, really, isn’t it?” said Alan, pausing before closing the car door. “I remember watching Basil Coates on TV when I was a lad. Made a great vampire, he did. Scared the life out of me. But really — in the end — he was just a harmless little old man.”
“Guess we’re all the same when we go, Alan,” said Jack, not expecting this sudden sentimentality from the policeman.
Alan nodded and turned on the engine. “Be in touch,” he said.
Then he drove away.
Jack looked around. Silence. Not a soul about.
No TV crews. No reporters.
So, whoever had been tipping them off hadn’t done it yet this morning, he thought. Interesting …
So far, it would seem, the world hadn’t learnt of the departure of one of its greatest horror film actors.
As soon as they did, for sure, this driveway would be full of reporters.
Sarah and I need to make sure we’re well out of here before that happens, he thought. Or they’ll be on our backs too.
He pulled his jacket tight against the bitter wind and headed back through the gates up to the house. It looked even bleaker in the grey morning light.
*
“There’s more toast for them as wants it,” said Mrs Foy, placing a fresh teapot on the table. “And one last rasher of bacon here that’ll only go in the bin if it isn’t eaten.”
“I’ll have it,” said Gordon. Then: “If nobody else wants it, of course?”
Sarah watched as Gordon eagerly held up his plate for more breakfast. Nobody else seemed interested in the bacon.
Not surprising, she thought, looking around the kitchen table at Basil’s family.
Val sat at one end staring into space, a cup of coffee in front of him that must be cold by now.
Alyssia sat next to him. Her hand next to Val’s on the table.
Interesting, thought Sarah. Those two hands, almost touching …
On a bench in the corner by the open window, Karina smoked a cigarette, having ignored Alyssia’s repeated orders to put it out. The young woman seemed more annoyed at all the fuss, rather than grieving, interspersing puffs of smoke with loud sighs.
Sarah looked up as Jack entered and stood by the door. He gave her a slight nod. She took the gesture to mean “they’re gone”.
“Cup of tea, Mr Brennan?” said Mrs Foy, pouring him a mug and handing it over without waiting for a response. “I’m sure you’ll be needing one.”
“Thanks,” said Jack. Then he turned to the whole table: “Just wanted to say that the police have gone, and Mr Coates’ body has been taken to the mortuary in Oxford.”
Sarah looked around. Not a word, not a response from anyone. Though Gordon did for a second put down his knife and fork.
“Sarah and I will be heading back to the village now. Leave you all in peace.”
“You’ve been marvellous, Jack, I can’t thank you enough,” said Alyssia, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Least we can do,” said Jack.
Sarah watched him put his mug down on the table. Then he turned to the others: “I know this hardly seems the time, and everybody’s obviously upset, but you ought to know that at some stage today or tomorrow,
the police will want to ask you more questions about the fire last night,” said Jack. “So, I would suggest to everyone here — if you do know anything that maybe you failed to mention already …?”
Sarah watched Jack look around — both their gazes ending on Gordon, who sat frozen, fork full of bacon half way to his mouth, a dab of ketchup dripping now onto his plate …
… but it was Val who broke the silence.
“Oh, God,” he said. Then he stood up, his chair scraping loudly on the tiled floor — and walked across to the window.
“God, God, God, God, God.”
Sarah waited. Everyone around the table sat back, surprised at this outburst.
“This is all my fault,” he said, turning, sitting back down at the table again.
Sarah’s eyes went to Jack.
The look: This … is surprising.
“Val, hang on. How so?” said Jack, moving to the other end of the table and sitting so he could face Val head on.
But Val didn’t answer. Alyssia got up, put her arm around his shoulder and crouched next to him.
“My dear Val, how is it your fault? What nonsense is this?”
Sarah watched Val as he took a pristine handkerchief from his top pocket, wiped his eyes and dabbed his nose.
Then he took a deep breath: “I should have been with him. Not outside trying to get that damned hose to work. Poor Basil, I just can’t bear to think of him … alone …”
Sarah caught Jack’s eye.
Time to go? his expression seemed to say …
“Nobody could have known that was going to happen, Mr Rayment,” said Jack. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for Basil’s death.”
Sarah watched Alyssia put her hand on Val’s.
“Jack is right,” she said, “you were always such a good and loyal friend to Basil. His heart was weak — we all knew that. There was nothing any of us could do.”
Sarah looked up at Jack. He shrugged.
“Don’t think you need us around anymore,” he said. “Just got to grab my bag from upstairs, and then — Sarah and I — we’d best be heading back to Cherringham.”
She got up and followed Jack to the door. He turned.
“Just one last thing,” he said.
The room froze, and from the expressions on their faces, for a second Sarah thought: Maybe this isn’t so cut and dried …
Cherringham--Scared to Death Page 6
