‘Come back here, you little bitch.’ He was after her in a flash, much faster than she would have thought possible for a man of his girth. He caught her at the bottom of the stairs and pushed her to the floor. A desperate fight ensued, with Sibell using every weapon at her disposal, including a nearby three-legged stool, but he won in the end and used the piece of rope he’d found upstairs to tie her hands behind her back. Breathing heavily, he went to fetch a gag, which he wasted no time in tying into place. Hardly able to breathe, Sibell was left in a heap by the bottom step.
Next, her father began the task of clearing away the evidence of the foul deed committed by his sons. The floor of the hall had only recently been covered with planking and he had great difficulty in mopping up the blood, which had soaked into the grain of the new wood. He wasn’t used to such menial tasks and muttered under his breath all the while about being cursed with idiots for offspring. Sibell laughed behind her gag at his inefficient methods, which didn’t help his temper in the least. Red in the face and heaving with the effort, he finally gave up and covered the spot with rushes. No sooner had he finished, however, than all hell broke loose.
The front door crashed open to admit Sir Gilbert and his men. They came swarming into the room and Sibell saw her father blanch before he apparently recollected that his neighbour couldn’t possibly know what had just occurred at Ashleigh.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he blustered, before being seized by the throat by Sir Gilbert, who shook him like a terrier with a rat. The smaller man was shoved up hard against the wall and had to stand on tip-toe to avoid being throttled altogether.
‘What … have you done … to my son?’ Sir Gilbert snarled, sparks of hatred shining in his eyes. ‘Where is Roger?’
‘I-I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, my lord,’ Sibell’s father stuttered in a croaky voice. ‘There is no one here but me.’
‘I can see that, you lack-wit. But I have it on good authority that you have murdered my son, and by God I’ll have the truth out of you!’ His grip tightened and he shook the smaller man repeatedly until his teeth rattled.
‘Put me down, I haven’t done anything,’ her father protested, gasping for breath. ‘There’ve been no visitors today.’ He was visibly quaking with fear, but still defiant in what he must have thought of as the sure knowledge there was no evidence against him.
‘Hah! You lie. I have it from the mouth of your own serving woman, Ingirith Waite, my son was here this afternoon, and that he was foully murdered by your sons in this very house. She hastened to Idenhurst to inform me; says she witnessed the deed through a crack in the door. Now tell me where I can find him or I’ll break every bone in your miserable body, so help me God …’ Sir Gilbert was obviously in the grip of intense fury and was breathing hard. The veins on his neck stood out and his face was a blotchy red colour.
‘My lord, Mistress Sibell …’ One of Sir Gilbert’s men had been trying to attract his attention to her sorry plight and finally managed to get a word in edge-wise. Gilbert rushed over and knelt by her side.
‘Sibell, my dear …’ He untied the gag, then ordered one of his men to fetch her some water.
‘I’m … all right. Just … see to my father. Make him … pay. Roger, he … I … my brothers …’ She couldn’t continue. Her throat seized up and her entire body was shaking with the reaction to the shock.
Gilbert needed no further bidding and after asking one of his men to keep an eye on Sibell, he returned to question her father further.
‘Where have your despicable offspring taken him? And why did they kill him in the first place, hmm? What had he ever done to you?’ Each question was punctuated by a heavy blow to the solar plexus, and Sibell’s father gasped for air, like a landed fish. ‘Tell me, you scum.’
The smaller man only shook his head.
‘Roger came here with honourable intentions. He didn’t deserve to be treated badly, let alone killed. Why? Why did you do it? Was a son of mine not good enough for you this time? You must needs throw in your lot with the likes of Sir Fulke?’
The beating continued in time with each question. Blows rained over her father: to the stomach, the face, the nose. Sibell flinched as a sickening crunch told her his nose had been broken, but still the man remained stubbornly silent. She realised then that no amount of threats would make him admit what his sons had done. Safe in the knowledge they were by now far away, he knew the only way to save them was to keep quiet.
He held out against his assailants, despite a severe beating, and in the end Sir Gilbert was cheated of his revenge. Her father’s heart, already abused by years of good living, gave up its fight. With a horrible gurgling noise, he slid to the floor clutching his chest, his features twisted in agony. ‘Go … to … hell,’ he gasped, before collapsing completely. Sir Gilbert looked at the contorted face without a trace of compassion, then turned away in disgust.
‘Search this house, men, and bring anyone you find to me,’ Sir Gilbert ordered. ‘There must be someone here who knows where they’ve taken Roger.’
The search produced only a cook, a kitchen maid and a young boy, all quaking in their shoes. All the other servants were working out in the fields, helping with the harvest. Gilbert gave up on them and returned to question Sibell, who had watched everything in mounting despair.
‘Can you tell me what happened, my dear?’ he asked gently. He stared at the huge bruise on her swollen jaw and reached out to cup her cheek. Sibell rubbed her wrists and answered with difficulty, tears flowing freely down her pale cheeks.
‘Y-yes. My brothers, well, three of them … killed Roger, my lord. I-I couldn’t stop them. I tried to help, but Henry …’ She shook her head, unable to go on. She glanced over towards her father, who was lying on the floor. On unsteady legs she stood up and walked over to look down on him, nudging him with her foot. ‘Is he really dead?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not.’ She aimed a vicious kick at the corpulent body and swore at him. ‘It was all his fault, even if he didn’t actually commit the deed. May he rot in hell.’
Sir Gilbert came and put his hands on her shoulders and shook her slightly to stop the rising hysteria. ‘Sibell, I need your help. Where do you think they might have taken Roger? I want to find his body so we can give him a decent burial. Someone will pay for this, I swear, and locating him might lead us to their trail.’
Sibell looked into his blue eyes, eyes the same colour as Roger’s, and saw the deep sadness in their depths. This reminder of what she had lost proved too much for her, and she threw herself onto his broad chest in a storm of weeping, unable to control herself. He said nothing, just held her close, stroking her back in a soothing motion.
Finally, she calmed slightly, and managed to speak. ‘I don’t think you’ll find him. I didn’t see which way they went. My brothers will be long gone by now and they’ll make sure they have left no tracks.’
‘Be that as it may, I have to try.’ Sir Gilbert was still grimly determined. ‘Will you be all right on your own here for a while? I’ll send someone to fetch Maude to you.’
‘Yes. Go, Sir Gilbert. Find him if you can.’
But she knew in her heart that he never would.
The storm broke without warning just after lunchtime, and claps of thunder shook the foundations of the house with frightening regularity. Melissa huddled in front of the fire in the sitting room, cradling a mug of tea. A storm was brewing inside her too, but there was no one around to help. She knew the time had come for her to face this particular tempest. Alone.
Dorothy had gone to visit a friend for the afternoon, taking Russ with her, and the two girls were at Ashleigh Cottage playing with a new Playstation game Amy had been given for her birthday a few days earlier. Melissa was glad, but scared at the same time. The feeling of foreboding had come back with a vengeance, and last night her sleep had been broken by nightmares again and again. As usual she remembered very little, there were only snatches
of conversation and snap-shots of horrendous images. A tremor slithered up her spine.
The rain-soaked world outside the windows was dark and gloomy, and the dim interior of the sitting room was lit only by the light from the fire. The flames cast eerie shadows onto the walls, where they danced sinuously in an uneven rhythm. Concentrating on the white-hot, glowing cave in the heart of the fire, Melissa took a fortifying sip of sweet tea, then tried to clear her mind. She narrowed her eyes and stared at the precise spot by the fire where Roger had appeared once before, willing him to return.
‘Roger, if you’re here, please show yourself.’ The command sounded pitiful, and she almost laughed at herself, but this was no laughing matter. She needed to end this now, if she was to have any chance of happiness herself, and she was sure the key to the mystery was in this room. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.
‘Roger, do you hear me? Show yourself!’ she yelled, anger and frustration giving her vocal cords additional strength. ‘If you want me to help you, then for God’s sake come and tell me how. I’m sick and tired of your games.’
Nothing happened. For long minutes she sat and listened to the sound of the rain beating against the windows. Roger didn’t materialise next to her, nor did he bang the door or even make the tiniest of draughts. Had she imagined it all? Was she really going crazy? Tears of helplessness poured slowly down her cheeks and she put her face in her hands.
‘I can’t live like this, Roger. Please, stop interfering with my life …’ The tears ran more freely, accompanied by great hiccoughing sobs. She was so tired of this. So tired of waiting for an answer.
The light from the fire caught the emerald eyes of the little dragon on the ring she was wearing, making them twinkle at her. It felt warm to the touch and she held up her hand to look at the dragon’s face. His lips were drawn back to show off the sharp teeth, but it looked more like a smile than a snarl to her.
‘I don’t know what you’re smiling at, you were supposed to help me, he said,’ she whispered mournfully. ‘I wish you would.’ But how could an inanimate piece of metal possibly help her? She laughed bitterly. The idea was ridiculous in the extreme. The emerald eyes gleamed once more with a fire in their green depths, and she thought she felt a strange jolting electric shock zig-zag up her arm.
‘Ouch!’ She scowled at it, then realised she was being silly. Pieces of jewellery didn’t give people shocks. ‘Is there no end to my imagination these days?’ she wondered out loud, then closed her eyes with a resigned sigh.
‘Sweeting, help me …’
Melissa jumped and twisted this way and that to see where the voice was coming from. ‘Roger? Are you there?’
‘Sweeting, help me …’
The words echoed around the dimly lit room with an intensity that was almost painful. Melissa wasn’t sure whether anyone else could have heard them, or if they were just audible inside her head, but she was absolutely certain about one thing – they were driving her insane.
‘Stop it, leave me alone. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how,’ she shouted. ‘God knows I’ve tried …’ She searched the room with narrowed eyes to locate her Nemesis, but there was no one there. She clenched her jaw in frustration. ‘Show yourself, damn you. I know you’re here.’
His reply was to taunt her with silence.
She could feel his presence now. A prickling sensation on the back of her neck alerted her to his possible whereabouts, but when she swivelled round to look behind her right shoulder, there was only thin air.
‘Look, I can’t take any more of this. Either explain what you want me to do, or go away. Otherwise I shall have to move out of here, and don’t think you can stop me.’ It was an empty threat and she knew it, but did he? She hoped not.
A cold invisible hand caressed her cheek as if mocking her defiance. ‘Sweeting, help me …’ The voice was close this time, so close.
A violent shiver went through Melissa. She’d heard those words so many times over the last few months. As long as she remained in the house, there was no escape from them. Or him. She was enthralled, ensnared, enslaved – his prisoner and his only hope. But hope of what?
‘If only you’d tell me!’
Rain attacked the windowpanes with a ferocity that made Melissa happy to be indoors, and the occasional drops found their way down the chimney to land with a hissing sound in the fire. The dying embers stirred and made a curious rustling noise as they swirled around the hearth. Melissa watched them and waited. Did they herald his appearance? she wondered. Unconsciously, she held her breath, but she remained the room’s only visible occupant and the embers settled down once more.
She slumped in the chair, depression settling over her like a heavy cloak. The ultimatum she had issued was obviously useless. His hold over her was such that she knew she couldn’t break free. And she’d come to love the manor house. It was all she could have wished for in a home and more, and she desperately wanted to stay. Was it really just a few short months since she had first set eyes on the place? It felt like an eternity.
Melissa had coped with a lot during the last two years, but the situation she now found herself in was completely beyond her scope. Desperation welled up inside her, choking her.
‘Please, I beg you, tell me what to do and I’ll be happy to help you.’ She meant it. She would do anything for him, anything at all, if only he would stop tormenting her.
‘Sweeting, help me …’
His voice rang out, strong and clear, circling the room as if projected in stereo surround sound. It came at her from all directions and shook her to the core. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt tears prick her eyelids.
‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘please, no. Don’t do this to me.’
But the words just kept echoing around the walls and Melissa buried her face in her hands and cried.
Some time later, her crying bout at an end, Melissa had to admit defeat. Roger hadn’t done anything except torment her, repeating those three words endlessly, and all hope had died inside her. She would have to resign herself to the fact that she’d never know the answers to her questions, and the only way she could stay sane would be to leave Ashleigh Manor. She had threatened him that she would, and somehow she’d find a way to do it. If I don’t have the strength to leave of my own accord, I’ll get someone to take me away.
As she leaned her weary head back, her eyelids felt heavy and she nodded off. At one point she opened her eyes and saw a tall, blond figure bending over her solicitously, his hand caressing her hair with infinite gentleness. But she thought he must be a part of a dream and the words he whispered into her ear didn’t register until much later.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sir Gilbert returned after dark, entering the hall at Ashleigh with a dejected stoop to his shoulders. Sibell looked up from her position by the fire, but said nothing. Instead, he was greeted by Maude and Katherine, who had come over to support her. Their expressions were grave and changed to sorrow when he shook his head in answer to their unspoken question. He sat down in a carved chair and accepted a cup of wine from Katherine.
‘You found nothing at all?’ Maude’s question was more a statement of fact.
‘No.’ The one word said it all, but he continued stating the obvious anyway. ‘Sibell’s brothers have vanished without a trace. Those whoresons probably took the body with them and have dumped it somewhere along the road, perhaps in a river or lake. We won’t find it now.’ He took a deep draught of the wine. ‘But John of Ashleigh is dead, so at least we needn’t worry about Sibell’s safety. I shall leave some men here to keep watch in case any of her brothers return. You won’t come to any more harm, my dear.’ He sighed, then clenched his jaw as he added, ‘And I’ll see to it they’re declared outlaws so that this manor will belong to you from now on. You’ve no other close male kin, have you?’
Sibell shook her head.
‘Good. We have a reliable witness to say your brothers are all murderers. They’l
l never dare show their faces here again so they can’t challenge your right to Ashleigh.’
‘But Godwin …’ Sibell began.
‘Has sided with the others, whether he wanted to or not. He’s made his bed and must lie in it.’ It was a harsh verdict, but Sibell didn’t have the strength to argue. And Sir Gilbert was right; Godwin should have remained firm and stayed out of it.
‘Oh, Gilbert …’ Maude came over to lay her arms round his neck and leaned her cheek against his. ‘It is too much. To lose two sons in a year, and in such a manner. I can’t bear it …’ Her voice broke.
Sibell had returned to feeling numb, but Lady Maude’s words made the tears prick her eyelids once more. She saw Katherine surreptitiously wipe a tear off her cheek with her sleeve and blink furiously.
Everyone sat in silence for a while, contemplating the events of the day. Finally, Sir Gilbert stood up and came to stand in front of Sibell.
‘I’m so very sorry I was such a stubborn fool, denying Roger his rightful place until it was too late. He told me he was going to ask for your hand in marriage and you know I would have welcomed you as a daughter-in-law once again. Nothing would have pleased me more.’
‘They were already married,’ Maude interjected.
‘What?’
Maude nodded forlornly. ‘Yes. They’ve been married for nearly two months. Isn’t that right, Sibell?’
‘Yes.’
‘But … How do you know that?’
‘Katherine and I witnessed the plighting of their troth and signed the marriage contract. It is hidden, but I’ll show it to you.’
‘I don’t know why I am surprised. You seem to be vastly more observant than I am.’ He dry-washed his face with a tired sigh. ‘I should have known Roger would make sure everything was done properly. He was a good man.’ He paused before adding, ‘A son to be proud of.’ His voice hoarse, he fought for composure. ‘A shame we had so little time together. What a waste. What a dreadful waste. And for what?’
The Silent Touch of Shadows Page 29
