The Winter Folly

by Taylor, Lulu

  To Ophelia Field

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Part Two

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  A strange, ghostly figure moved silently through the darkness, its white gown billowing out behind as it trod lightly along the stony path, never looking down but drifting onwards as easily as though it were a sunny afternoon and not the dead of night.

  A large cold white moon shone hard above, casting a chill light and making the inky night sky around it glow navy. Stars glittered like scattered ice and beneath them the world had been leached of colour, leaving only gradations of grey and black.

  The figure skirted the lawns of the big house where the grass was the colour of granite, and drifted past the walled kitchen garden. It went down the yew walk where the shadows were thick and huge hedges loomed on either side, then passed through the old wrought-iron gates that never closed, the ones flanked by high pillars with stone owls sitting on top. It walked out onto the bridle path and on into the woods. There were hoots and flurries in the high branches of trees, and brushings and shakings in the undergrowth, the snapping of twigs and rustling of dead leaves. A pair of eyes flashed eerie green and yellow, and there was the dark outline of a fox. The woman in white went on, moving without haste but with utter determination.

  She turned off the bridle path and into the thicker darkness of the woods where the beams of the moon could not penetrate, then came out again into a clearing where a large dark form stood on the brow of a low hill – the ruins of an old tower that still reached high into the sky. The woman walked towards it, through its empty doorway and into the darkness beyond. She ascended the rickety broken staircase that wound upwards against the ruined walls, going slowly but surely, taking one careful step after another until she reached the highest point of the folly, where a few floorboards remained, blackened, sodden and slippery. The woman paused and then walked slowly over what was left of the floor to where a missing wall had created a gaping hole in the side of the tower. She stood there, luminous in the dark, her white expressionless face turned outwards, gazing over the trees, her hands still clutching the sides of her nightgown, which lifted and billowed gently against the night sky.

  She seemed to stand there for an age. Then she turned her face up to the stars, her chin lifted with something that was either defiance or surrender. She looked outwards again, her eyes blank. Slowly, deliberately, she took one step out into the void and then plummeted, her nightgown fluttering like a flag, her hair spreading upwards. Her arms flew out, her fingers splayed, her mouth opened but no sound came out. Then she vanished, swallowed by the shadows at the base of the tower and there was a hard thud and a crack, sharp as a whiplash.

  A deep and dreadful silence followed.

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  1969

  Alexandra called out: ‘John! John! Come back here!’

  John turned to glance at her, his eyes sparkling as he giggled. Then he carried on running, his fair hair bright against the dark foliage. He was fast, considering he was only two years old, and the excitement of the chase only made him dash on more quickly.

  She couldn’t help smiling at his merry little face; his soft plump cheeks, button nose and round blue eyes that were gradually changing to grey always softened her heart. All she wanted to do was pick him up and smother that sweet peachy skin with kisses. But she ought to be stern with him if he was going to learn to obey her. ‘John, do as you’re told!’ she said firmly. ‘Be a good boy for Mummy.’ She walked quickly after him, wishing she’d worn something sturdier than her smart square-toed buckle-fronted leather pumps, which were pretty but not at all designed for speed. They’d only come out to wander about the lawn, John on his new plastic tractor, but he’d climbed off and started exploring. After a time, he’d trotted off down the yew walk, stopping to inspect anything that took his interest, while she followed. Whenever she got near, he would straighten up and set off again, his pace surprisingly fast considering his short legs and little feet. At the end of the walk, those blasted gates were open, of course, the old wrought-iron ones flanked by high pillars with stone owls sitting on top. Alexandra had asked for them to be replaced and given orders that until then they were to be kept shut, but the gamekeeper claimed that they had rusted into place and could not be closed.

  ‘Can’t you oil them?’ she’d demanded, exasperated. ‘It’s dangerous with a small child running about.’

  But the gamekeeper had simply looked at her with an expression that seemed to imply the child would be better off for being able to escape her smothering and run away into the freedom of the woods. Her orders still carried little weight, even now.

  ‘Don’t go through the gates, darling!’ she called, but he ignored her and wandered out between them, singing to himself. Alexandra upped her pace, picking her way along the muddy walk as quickly as she could. She didn’t like him being on the bridle path alone. Once she was through the gates, she could see him further on, quite a way down it already. He was probably remembering the way from walks with his father, perhaps when they’d taken his bucket and spade down to the river to dig up mud and pebbles, which he loved doing. He was far too young to fish yet and Alexandra had forbidden him being taken out on the river in the row boat. She herself hadn’t been down to the river for a very long time. Not even the swimming expeditions in the summer, when it was cool and refreshing, could tempt her. She stayed up by the pool near the house instead, perfectly happy to swim in the turquoise chlorinated and overwarm water, and sunbathe on a lounger on the concrete surround, like a tourist at a hotel. The gamekeeper thought she was afraid of the woods, like some of the old men in the village who claimed that ghosts of Roman soldiers were clanking around in there. Somebody’s legions had marched through and the Saxons had ambushed them and cut them to ribbons. They were supposed to be on the march still, homesick, bloodied and bent on revenge. But she didn’t believe all that, of course. Ghosts were absurd, and the wails and screeches that came from the woods at night were those of unfortunate rabbits, caught by a fox or in the metal teeth of those awful traps the keeper put out. The stories had no doubt been spread to scare away poachers.

  There was another reason altogether why she never went there.

  ‘John!’ she called. ‘Come here, darling! Wait for me!’

  He laughed again, his short legs moving even faster. He turned off the bridle path and began to fo
llow a track. His red dungarees and white jumper were vivid among the dull wintery colours of the dead bracken, the black-leafed brambles and bare branches, and she saw his fair hair in bright flashes as he ran. She stepped in a patch of mud and slipped, catching her balance just in time to stop herself falling. Her snakeskin pumps and their gold buckles were spattered with black. She should have slipped on her boots and usually would have but they’d come out of the French windows instead of through the boot room. If they’d done that, they’d be wearing coats as well. She shivered. Her cardigan was too thin against the winter wind, and John didn’t have enough on, he ought to be inside. They ought right now to be climbing the stairs to the nursery, where the fire would be burning and Nanny would have set out his tea: boiled eggs probably, and golden-brown toast shiny with melted butter.

  ‘John! Come back!’ She began to make larger strides to catch up with him but he sensed her approach and put on another burst of speed. ‘Now, don’t be naughty, I shall be cross with you!’

  But it was a game to him, she could tell. He had an innocent recklessness; he could run and climb easily enough but had no idea of danger or hurting himself. Only the other day, someone had left the picket gate by the pool unlatched and she’d found John about to take a step onto the tarpaulin that covered the swimming pool, unaware that it would give under his weight.

  Now here she was in the woods, the place she disliked so much. Her skin prickled and goosebumped. The undergrowth seemed to be crowding in on her, reaching out to grab her with hundreds of long thorny fingers. She shrank away from it as she went down the path that was mushy under her feet from the recent rain, and gasped out loud when she felt something pluck at her. Turning, she saw she’d snagged her cardigan on a spike of a branch and she fumbled with it until she’d freed herself. When she looked back, John had gone.

  ‘John, John!’ She began to hurry along the path, fearing that if he turned off it and scrambled away into the undergrowth, he could be lost, disappearing in a moment into the thickets and bracken. She could see him at once, hiding for fun at first, curled up in a little nest beneath a bush like a dormouse, waiting to be found; then, as the cold grew greater and the darkness came down, he would whimper for her, sobbing out that he wanted Mummy as the animals of the night began to sniff around him. ‘John! Where are you?’ Her voice quavered but she tried to inject into it as much command as she could. ‘Come back at once, do you hear?’

  She emerged suddenly into a clearing and stopped short, staring wide-eyed at what she saw before her: a folly, half in ruins, but still imposing, reaching into the afternoon sky. It had once been a high, handsome tower with arched windows and battlements, like a place where Rapunzel might have lived, but now it was mouldering and decayed, swathed in ivy, the few remaining battlements like jagged broken teeth. Most of the front of the tower had fallen away, and old masonry lay in heaps and hillocks, overgrown now, about its foot. It was possible to see that there had once been five floors, the bottom two now vanished but remnants of the others remaining, the fifth being mostly intact, though the old boards were no doubt soft and mushy with years of rainfall, frost and mildew. An old staircase twisted up the inside of the tower, treacherous with its broken and missing treads, perilous where the wall had fallen away. It was dark without and within, dank and cold, the breath of decay all around it, its stones thick with moss.

  Horrible, rotten old thing! she thought, filled with a fearful revulsion. I wish they would knock it down!

  The sight of the old ruin repelled her, and she was overcome with a sense of suffocation that made her want to run away. She saw it often in her dreams, a recurring nightmare in which she was forced to climb it in order to stop something dreadful happening, but she was never able to reach the top in time to prevent it. She hated seeing it in her dreams. The festering reality made her shudder.

  She saw a flash of red from inside. John was in there.

  At once a horror possessed her, the one she knew from her nightmares: choking panic and a desperate urgency to stop something terrible taking place. She began to run towards the tower. She heard his laugh again, and saw through the gap in the wall that he was climbing the staircase. She knew those stairs from childhood games when she’d been made to go inside: in some places they were as brittle and fragile as a thin layer of ice, ready to snap at any moment, and in others damp, turned spongy and yielding in the centre. A foot could sink down as easily as in wet sand, only below it was nothing at all. She wanted to scream and yell but her heart was pounding in her chest as she gained the interior of the tower. She looked up. It was open to the sky, which showed blue through the remains of the upper floors. Ivy swagged and hung from the old boards and joists, and branches crisscrossed where they had penetrated from outside. It smelt of sodden wood, wet stone and the bitterness of mould.

  ‘John!’ she called. He was going steadily up the staircase, one small hand pressed against the wall as he went, his tongue out between his lips as he concentrated on each step. He was making fast progress, his path keeping him close to the wall where the treads were strongest, and he instinctively avoided the gaps.

  She gasped, her hands prickling with fear. He was surrounded by danger and with every step he took, its consequences grew greater. Below him were heaps of fallen stones, broken beams pointing upwards and worn to spearlike sharpness, rusty nails protruding from them. She imagined him fallen on one, impaled, and a grim nausea swirled in her stomach.

  The little boy was higher now; he’d passed the empty first and second floors and was on his way up to the third. She had no choice. She ran to the staircase and began to climb as fast as she could but her progress was hampered by her need to take care. She was heavier than John – what supported him might not support her. Perhaps he was protected by his childlike faith in his own safety, but she was not and her imagination painted quick scenes for her: she lay with a broken leg or smashed ankle, helpless to reach him. No one knew where they were, no one would know where to look. Panic was threatening to choke her and her fingers trembled with adrenaline as she scrabbled for support on the slippery wall. Damn these shoes! she thought. Their soles had no grip, no tread, and she hated them with all her heart. If only she’d been wearing her blasted boots.

  ‘Stop, John, stop!’ she called.

  For a moment he did stop, looking back over his shoulder and smiling at her, his big blue-grey eyes shining with amusement at their funny game. Then he turned back and lifted his little knee with determination to take the next step.

  ‘John! Please!’ Her voice broke on the words. She wanted to cry but there was no time for that luxury. She knew she had to stay in control. She went on from step to step, fearing that at any moment one would disappear from under her. Ahead of her John had reached the fourth floor and was still climbing. She was gaining on him, she was sure, but progress was so painful and slow. Now he was at the fifth, the staircase ended. He stopped again and looked down at her. The fact she was still coming seemed to propel him onwards and he trotted out across the floor.

  She pulled in a sharp breath of panic; the floor was broken in places, and there was no telling where it had lost all strength. At this height the entire front wall of the tower was gone. John was walking towards the gap, at least thirty-five feet above the ground, where there was nothing to prevent him falling.

  She found speed from somewhere, flying up the staircase two treads at a time, making split-second decisions about where to place her weight, hoping that her pace would not give the boards time to break beneath her. She heard ominous creaking and cracking as she went but there was no time for that now. All she knew was that she had to reach John as quickly as possible.

  He was standing at the edge, one little fist on an outcrop of broken stone, looking out over the woods, his red and white figure bright against the black masonry and the dark trees beyond. A buzzing sensation filled Alexandra’s head and she felt sick and dizzy. The frightfulness of her beloved boy standing on the edge of the tower went b
eyond the immediate danger and into a more primal place, a pit where something so awful lurked she couldn’t bear to look at it. She was there, at the top of the stairs, on the landing, stepping out onto the boards. She advanced slowly, not shouting now but talking sweetly, calmly to the child as she took each shaking step across the black and slippery floor.

  ‘Now, John, what did Mummy say? This is very silly. Come away now, come back to me. Come on, shall we go home and find Nanny? Shall we go to the nursery for eggs and toast? You know how you like to dip the soldiers in and give them yellow helmets, and Nanny will let you have your favourite little spoon, won’t she?’

  Each step took her closer. In a moment she would be able to reach out and grab him.

  He stared up at her, smiling. ‘Neggs,’ he said contentedly. ‘Boil neggs.’

  ‘That’s right, darling, boiled eggs. Shall we go home and get warm? That’s enough playing for now, isn’t it?’

  He nodded his fair head and turned towards her. He looked cold. A bitter breeze was invading the tower and bouncing off its broken walls. It ruffled his soft, straight hair and he gave a little shiver. He was ready to come home.

  She smiled with relief and held out her arms to him. He let go of the stony outcrop and made to come towards her. His stout little shoe landed on a slippery wet patch and he lost his balance, beginning to topple. He was going to fall backwards on to his bottom, as he usually did when he stumbled, but this time he would not land with a little jolt, none the worse for it, ready to scramble up and totter off.

  She saw his outline against the bare emptiness beyond the absent wall. She knew that he would fall out of the tower. The moment stretched and lengthened as he wavered, his arms held out stiffly, and then began to fall backwards. His eyes opened wide with shock and surprise. With the speed of reflex, Alexandra reached out, strong and fast, and seized the shoulder strap of his dungarees. Hold, hold, she told the little buckle, as it took John’s weight. It was all that was stopping him plummeting to the earth. It held as she yanked him towards her and the next moment he was safe in her arms.