by Pat Spence
Only Father James, enjoying a few moments of silent contemplation in the old village church, saw the mist with any real sense of alarm. Rising to his feet after his late night prayers, he saw the first tendrils of mist curling through a small side window that had mistakenly been left open. For a few seconds he watched, transfixed by the sinewy beauty of the swirling fronds, dancing through the open space like silent wraiths. Then coming to his senses, he hurled himself upon the window, closing it tight in one quick movement. Clutching his crucifix, he watched the mist grow ever heavier, pressing itself against the shut window, but unable to enter.
Later, he was to ask himself why he had been so frightened, after all it was just a heavy mist, easily explained by atmospheric conditions. But at the time, instinct took over and all he knew was a deep sense of unease, a foreboding that all was not well and a feeling that he had to protect himself and his church from this strange, unnatural, creeping entity.
* * *
At two o’clock in the morning, when the mist was at its heaviest, the roads were empty and everyone in the village was sleeping, things began to happen at Hartswell Hall. A car, which had been waiting for hours at the nearby airport for a private plane to come in, collected its precious cargo and made its way, seemingly unaffected by the dense mist, up the High Street and towards the hall.
There, a welcoming committee waited on the front steps. Mrs de Lucis stood alongside a statuesque black woman, tall and straight-backed, like a Somali tribeswoman, dressed in a stunning blue gown.
The car crunched on the gravel and came to a halt, just yards before them. Aquila, the chauffeur, got out of the car and opened the rear door to reveal a handsome blond boy of twenty or so, wearing a crumpled brown linen suit, holding a silver casket engraved with ancient symbols. The boy carefully handed the casket to Aquila, before getting out of the car and shutting the door with a soft click. Seeing Mrs de Lucis, he smiled, then bounded up the steps to embrace her.
“Viyesha,” he murmured, kissing her on the cheek.
“Joseph,” she said softly. “Have you brought it?”
“Yes,” he replied, “but it’s been a dangerous journey and we need to get inside quickly. We don’t know who is watching.”
“Hopefully the mist has provided some protection,” said Mrs de Lucis, looking out into the grounds. Addressing the tall, black woman, she added, “Thank you Pantera. You’ve done well tonight.”
The black woman inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement but said nothing.
“Now, the casket, if you please,” said Mrs de Lucis.
Joseph turned and beckoned to Aquila, who solemnly walked up the steps and handed him the silver casket. He took it, then presented it, with some ceremony, to Mrs de Lucis.
“At last,” she said quietly, under her breath, more to herself than anyone else. She gripped the casket fervently with both hands and for a few seconds gazed at it with a rapt expression on her face. Then, recovering herself, she spoke quickly and urgently. “Come, everyone, we must go inside. Be quick.”
She led the way into the house, and the others followed. Once he’d made sure the car was locked, Aquila gave a last, scowling look round the misty grounds, then went into the house, carefully closing the heavy oak door and locking it with a large antique key. Next, he pulled the great iron bolts into place.
Joseph let out a whistle of approval as he looked around the entrance hall, with its impressive main stairway.
“Wow, this is some place you’ve got here. What a find. You’ve done well,” he grinned at her.
“Thank you Joseph. Yes, we rather like it here. I’m hoping we can stay for some time to come.”
“So, what’s my role to be in this latest charade?” asked Joseph, quizzically.
“You, my boy, are in charge of the gardens,” answered Mrs de Lucis, “Regenerating, maintaining and nurturing them. For someone with your exceptional talents, it’s the perfect job. Now, we have no time to lose. Follow me. Leon and the others are waiting.”
Holding the silver casket tightly, she led the way up the splendid main stairway and along the corridor of the east wing, Joseph just behind her, Pantera and Aquila following.
When she reached the stairs leading to the old servants’ quarters, Mrs de Lucis turned and spoke, “Up here, Joseph. This is where our secret will be kept safe. We believe we’ve found the perfect place.”
She started to climb the dusty old staircase, parting the cobwebs where they hung down, and slowly the others followed her.
Outside, the mist swirled in great eddies and currents, seemingly thicker than ever around Hartswell Hall, providing the perfect camouflage. Had anyone been watching, they may just have seen a faint blue gleam emanating from the old Clock Tower. There again, it could just have been a trick of the light, as the glow of the outside coach lamps bounced back against the silvery mist, creating strange effects and patterns. Then, after another half hour, just as quickly as it had mysteriously arrived, the mist began to clear, dissipating into the night air within a matter of minutes. Once again, the Old Clock Tower was clearly visible through the darkness, the three clock faces shining brightly in the silvery moonlight.
Inside, silent figures filed down the stairs leading from the old servants’ quarters.
6. Age Destroys Her
Earlier the same evening, in a neighbouring village a couple of miles away, a very different drama had unfolded. It began at 10.30pm. Ambulance driver, Bob Manners, glanced at his watch, willing the last half hour of his shift to go as quickly as possible. It had been a very quiet evening. One suspected heart attack that had turned out to be a panic attack, all too typical of men of a certain age; one old man who’d fallen out of bed and couldn’t be lifted back in; one bad nose bleed that had required some emergency packing. And that was it. Nothing stressful, nothing threatening, nothing nasty. Then with five minutes to go, and thoughts of steak and kidney pie with gravy and chips and a late night movie running through his mind, they’d had another call. A woman, mid-forties, with breathing difficulties, in a local village.
Heavy-hearted, he set off, blue light flashing, willing it not to be serious.
“We could still be back home within half an hour,” he commented hopefully, to his co-driver, Reg.
“Don’t count your chickens,” said Reg, ominously.
Arriving at the address they’d been given, they gathered their equipment and went into the house. It was a new, detached house on a suburban road, surrounded by other new, detached houses. They were all very similar: red brick square boxes, surrounded by neat lawns and tended gardens, most with two cars on the driveway. Inside, it was all very predictable and suburban too, from the pretty Sanderson fabric curtains to the Amtico flooring and framed Vettriano prints on the walls.
They were met by a man in his early fifties, with wild eyes and a grey complexion, who appeared traumatised. Wringing his hands together continually, tears flowed down his cheeks and he struggled to speak coherently.
“Upstairs,” he managed to say, choking on the words. “In the bedroom… found her ten minutes ago.”
“Okay, sir, don’t panic,” Bob Manners went through the usual drill. “Just show us where she is and tell us what happened.”
“What happened? What happened?” echoed the man, his voice rising hysterically, “I don’t know what happened. How can this happen to anyone? I just don’t understand it.” He fell to the ground, sobbing, clutching his head.
“Right, let’s go and have a look,” Bob indicated to the other paramedic and together they went up the stairs. “Which room is she in?” he called back down to the prostrate man.
“First on the left,” he sobbed, looking up at them with large, fearful eyes. “But there’s nothing you can do. Nothing. You’re too late.”
The two paramedics entered the room indicated. They’d heard all this before. Let them be the judge. She might not be breathing, but there was still a chance they could resuscitate her.
What the
y saw stopped them both in their tracks.
“I thought the call was for a woman in her mid-forties,” said Bob, staring at the scene before him. “This woman’s got to be at least…”
“100?” the other paramedic finished the sentence off for him.
They both paused for a moment, taking in the horror of the situation.
On the bed lay a very old woman, her gnarled fingers curled like claws around a pink, flowery duvet, her thin white hair laying in wisps on the pillow, her mouth open as though trying to suck in air. It didn’t take a professional to see that she was way beyond help. Her crêpey skin was yellowed and brittle, dried out like parchment, her face sunk and gaunt, revealing the bones beneath. The overall impression was of a skeleton barely covered with flesh, that life had departed some time ago.
Following procedure, Bob took her pulse, thinking how the old woman’s fragile arm felt just like a brittle twig, and shone a light into her discoloured, bloodshot eyes. “Nothing we can do here,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Looks like a case for the Coroner, unless we can get her doctor to sign the Death Certificate. Let’s go back downstairs and inform the gentleman. We must have misheard her age.”
He went to draw the curtains, determined to give the old lady some last vestige of privacy. Pausing at the window, he stared hard at the large oak tree in the front garden, and more specifically, at a large branch that was momentarily illuminated by the headlights of a passing car. Sitting on the branch, if he was not mistaken, was an enormous bird, with a broad, hooked beak and gleaming feathers that shone in the dim light. A split second later, the car was gone and the tree branches were once more hidden from view.
“Did you see that?” Bob asked his companion, straining his eyes into the darkness.
“See what?” asked the other paramedic, joining him at the window.
“That huge bird, sitting in the tree. It had to be a buzzard, or a hawk, or even an eagle….”
“An eagle? You, my friend, need to go home and get some sleep,” laughed his companion. “It was probably an owl at this time of night. Since when did we get eagles in this part of the world?” And he laughed again.
“You’re probably right,” said Bob, feeling stupid and unsure of what he’d just seen. It was dark outside, the moon still hidden behind clouds and it would be some time before its silver light lit up the sky. He drew the curtains as quickly as he could. “Come on, let’s get this sorted out.”
Together, they went back down the stairs, leaving the skeletal figure on the bed. Finding the sobbing man in the hallway, they followed him into the lounge.
“Sorry, sir,” said Bob. “You were right. There’s nothing we can do for the old dear. She’s passed on. We’ll call for a doctor and see if he’ll issue a Death Certificate, if not we may have to go to the Coroner. But don’t worry, she’ll be handled with respect and dignity. Now, I think we must have got the wrong information. I take it she’s your mother… or grandmother, even?”
“No,” burst out the man. “She’s not my mother or grandmother, although I know she looks like it.” For a moment, he was overcome with grief and couldn’t speak. Then he forced out the words that chilled the paramedics to the bone.
“She was my wife. Her youthful looks were everything to her. She prided herself on keeping young. It was her obsession. She was only 42, and until two weeks ago, she could easily pass for early twenties. Then it all started to go wrong.”
The two paramedics exchanged worried glances. Either the man was clearly delusional or they’d just witnessed something that defied explanation.
“What do you mean?” asked Bob.
“A month ago, she looked amazing,” explained the man, in a choked voice. “Her skin gleamed, her hair shone, her eyes were bright. She seemed to be reversing the ageing process. Whatever she was taking, it was working a miracle. And her energy levels… well, she was unstoppable. Walking, dancing, singing, she could go on forever. Sometimes she put in a twelve-hour day at the estate agency where she worked, then came home, cooked a three-course meal and went out dancing all night. She was phenomenal.” He paused. “Then the nightmares started.”
Both paramedics leaned forward, simultaneously horrified and fascinated.
“Yes,” prompted Bob.
She had a recurring nightmare about ageing,” continued the man, “and the more she had the dream, the more it came true. Age spots on her hands, wrinkles across her face, skin drying out. Over the last couple of weeks, I watched her age. I saw her hair turn white and start to fall out, her body begin to stoop, her face sink in. And then tonight it all happened so quickly. One minute she was drinking tea with me, the next she was on the bed gasping for breath.” He looked at the two paramedics in complete desolation.
“She turned into a living skeleton before my eyes. And now she’s dead. How is that possible?”
The paramedics glanced at one another, not knowing what to say. This was beyond their experience.
Outside, with a near silent flurry of feathers, a large bird rose into the air, its outstretched wings momentarily bathed in the sodium glare of the streetlights, before it disappeared into the night sky.
7. Family Conference
The next day was beautiful. At Hartswell Hall, sunlight streamed in through the windows, pouring into every room and illuminating each shadowy corner as if making up for lost time and all the years it had been unable to penetrate the grimy, dirty panes of glass. The house itself seemed to breathe with new life, its walls vibrant, the furniture spotless and furnishings pristine. The chandeliers glistened and sparkled in the early morning sun and everywhere a fresh energy filled the air.
Outside, the grounds teamed with new growth. Late spring bulbs that had been dormant for too long burst into life, daffodils and crocuses flowering alongside bluebells, primroses and polyanthus to create a riot of colour, set against a lush green backdrop. Buds on the trees pushed forth small green leaves, shrubs were fuller and leafier, and the great main lawn leading down to the ha-ha was once again restored to its former glory, stretching like a soft, green carpet to the rear of the house.
Joseph walked through the grounds, smiling at the scenes unfolding around him.
“You’ve been neglected for far too long,’ he murmured under his breath. “Well, the barren times are over. Winter is gone and you’re in good hands, now.”
As if in reply, birds sang from the trees and squirrels jumped from branch to branch. A vixen ran across the lawn, followed by six small, red fox cubs, and in the paddock beyond the rose garden, rabbits jumped and hopped in sheer delight.
Hearing a voice call his name, Joseph looked up and could just make out the figure of Mrs de Lucis, standing on the top step by the French windows to the rear of the ballroom.
“Joseph, we need you in the library. Can you come?”
He strode back along the pathways, now edged with bluebells and snowdrops, and reaching the house, followed Viyesha through the French windows into the drawing room. From there, they went via the main hall, into the library, where he found Theo and Violet seated on a shiny leather Chesterfield sofa and Mr de Lucis sitting opposite them. Pantera and Aquila stood to one side, both looking ill at ease. Mrs de Lucis sat down next to her husband and indicated for Joseph to sit.
“What’s this about?” asked Joseph, curiously, looking around.
“Family conference,” said Aquila, in his rasping voice. “A small matter of security that needs sorting out. Sit down.”
“I see you haven’t lost any of your legendary charm,” said Joseph, grinning and sitting in the nearest chair. “What’s ruffled your feathers, Aquila?”
The chauffeur glowered at him and Mrs de Lucis spoke.
‘Aquila’s right. We do have a small issue to sort out, but I don’t believe it’s a problem.” She addressed Theo. “It’s about your friend, Emily, Theo, as I think you know.”
“Yes,” said Theo, tersely, looking down at the carpet.
“Don’t you mean my f
riend Emily?” asked Violet, indignantly.
“I didn’t think….” began Theo, but was silenced by his father.
“I think we all know what the issue is,” said Mr de Lucis, standing up. “A school friendship is one thing, Violet, but this has the potential to get out of control, wouldn’t you say, Theo?”
Theo studied the carpet for a moment longer, before looking up at his father.
“Look, I know she showed up here yesterday, but I didn’t invite her. In fact, I’ve gone out of my way to push her away.” He looked pleadingly at his mother. “I am not putting things in jeopardy, believe me.”
“But there is an attraction between you. You can’t deny it,” cried Violet. “I’ve seen how she reacts to you. And how you react to her.”
“This ‘attraction’ needs nipping in the bud,” said Aquila menacingly. Pantera glanced at him anxiously.
“No, Aquila,” she said quietly. “We don’t want that. Leave the girl alone.”
Theo stared angrily. “What are you saying, Aquila? I’ve told you. Emily isn’t a problem. I can handle it.”
“The question is, Theo,” said Mr de Lucis, talking slowly, “can she handle it?
Just how serious is this attraction? And could it get out of hand?”
“We don’t want to risk everything we’ve worked for, everything we believe in….” added Violet. “The stakes are too high.”
“Honestly!” said Joseph, looking round at everyone incredulously. “We’ve only just got here, and already there’s a problem. Can’t you just tell this girl to take a running jump?” He looked questioningly at Theo.
