by Neil Spring
‘Very well, then it’s settled!’ he had said confidently, and that was when he had stepped towards me, when his hand had brushed mine. I had felt eager to get started. I had wanted excitement, wanted to do good. What could go wrong?
Now I knew the answer to that question. A suppressed scandal, a secret pregnancy. A child I would never know.
‘There’s something you haven’t told me,’ Price said suddenly, bringing me back to the moment – to the jagged edge of the quarry. I looked up at him steadily, more steadily than I felt anyway, and he nodded. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know . . . could he? A wave of trepidation broke over me.
Our son.
Heart-stricken, I felt a stab of self-reproach. Price was one of the proudest people I had ever known. What would it do to him if he knew I had given birth to his son and then chosen to give him away? That sort of truth could break a man like Harry, and I cared too much for him to stomach the alarming idea that he had somehow discovered the lie. But when he spoke next, it was clear I had been mistaken. ‘You said you had an item you wanted me to examine. An object you brought with you from London, yes?’
The hand-painted projection slide I had found in the Brixton Picture Palace. I still felt unsure about sharing it with him.
‘Forget about it.’
‘You made me agree to examine it, to give my view. Remember? When you telephoned me at the laboratory?’
My gaze dropped to the bottom of the chalk pit.
‘You said it was a lantern slide you found at the Brixton Picture Palace.’
My head snapped up and I glared at him. ‘I still don’t think it was a coincidence we met that night. How could you have known I was there? Unless, well, unless you’d been following me. Were you following me? Harry?’
‘No. But . . . that’s not to say someone else wasn’t.’
My breath caught. ‘What?’
‘I received a letter. Typed. Anonymous. Telling me where I could find you, and when.’ He shrugged. ‘Clearly, whoever wrote that letter wanted us to meet again.’
‘I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to follow me?’
‘I wish I knew.’
A cold wind sighed. I pulled my coat tightly around me, huddling into the collar. ‘Harry, that night I experienced a . . . well, I suppose you’d call it an altered state of consciousness. Extra-sensory perception. Like what happened to me in the woods just now.’
He nodded.
‘I feel I have a connection with this village that goes beyond my father’s training here,’ I went on. ‘A psychic connection that also explains the vision I had of Sergeant Edwards. But, tell me honestly – could what I’m telling you even fracture that armour of scepticism you wear so proudly?’
‘Fracture?’ He made a show of considering this. ‘Never. But I suppose such a story might dent my armour – just a little.’
‘This quest you’re on . . . If you did ever experience something unexplainable, what would it do to you?’
His eyes flickered with irritation.
‘You get your thrill from the chase, Harry. Applying your scientific methods. Proving other people wrong. It’s like a drug to you. But what if the witnesses are right? What if these woods and the old mill are haunted, and you find yourself with the proof in your hands?’
He went quiet for a moment and his gaze moved past me, down into the plummeting pit. ‘A discovery like that? Well, it would change everything. And everyone. Millions of people, their religions, how they live their lives.’
‘Then you’d embrace it?’
His eyes locked on mine. ‘You know I would. There could be no greater revelation, Sarah, for a scientist. For any human.’
Not since the night we met had I heard him sound so impassioned about his search for truth. His sustained and intense obsession with occult phenomena. His passion.
Once more, I suffered the pull of attraction towards him, except now the feeling was more intense. His gaze was moving slowly, delicately, to my lips. My chest tightened, my heart fluttering. I took a shaky breath.
All at once, Price cocked his head, as though he had heard something, and looked furtively around.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
The moment was lost.
‘Listen. A dog. Barking. You hear it?’
I did.
His eyes shifted excitedly to mine.
‘Williams did mention his soldiers had reported a dog, didn’t he?’
With a heavy sinking in my stomach, I remembered the commander had indeed mentioned a dog. A ravenous black one. All at once I had a vivid image of a wild and giant mongrel with matted fur leaping out at us, teeth bared and snarling.
‘It’s probably a stray,’ I said quietly.
Price jumped up. ‘Come on. We had better keep moving.’
*
My wristwatch told me it was now two o’clock. The giant mill wheel was immobile, the iron rusted, its lower spokes submerged in a stinking and vast pond that looked unfathomably deep, clogged with weeds and algae. There must have been a stream somewhere very close by, because I could hear it gurgling and bubbling, but the mill wheel hadn’t turned for decades.
I halted abruptly, a prickling sensation sweeping over my skin.
‘Sarah, what is it?’
‘I know this place,’ I told him.
Price frowned. ‘You mean you’ve been here before?’
‘I don’t think so . . . but somehow I recognise it.’
‘Do you indeed?’
He turned a rather unsettling gaze upon me.
My palms were clammy, my heart beating too fast. With apprehension, I stepped forward, keeping my eyes on the ancient and imposing mill – a lonely, leering shack of mouldy boards and gritstone. It was guarded by discarded flour barrels, clumps of bushes and more of the plants with the trumpet-shaped flowers, white with purple hearts.
The prickling at the base of my neck intensified. I felt a vein throbbing in my throat. Pain pulsing behind my eyes. Pain in my chest.
‘Sarah?’
The world tilted. I began struggling for breath. An onrush of something . . .
‘Hello?’ I called, blinking, clearing my head.
No reply.
Harry stepped right up to me. I sensed he was about to ask me, eagerly, if I was on the verge of another vision, but I brushed his arm away.
‘Leave me, Harry. If I need your help, I’ll ask. Understand?’
He nodded; his eyes held mine for a moment, then they slipped away.
I was glad.
Once again, in his eagerness, he had made me feel like one of his laboratory subjects, something to be studied, when what I really needed was to understand why I was responding to the landscape in such a peculiar way. Why, too, did I still have a nagging doubt that Price was holding back on me?
Was it possible Price did understand my visions, and wasn’t telling?
It seemed unlikely. It was in his interests as well as mine to ascertain what had happened to Sergeant Edwards, and understanding my vision might help us understand more about how Edwards had succumbed to his fate. No, the idea that Price knew more, and deliberately wasn’t saying, made little sense. But then, I pondered, neither did his earlier explanation for my vision.
Harry Price and his secrets. It was impossible to have one without the other.
We walked on slowly, skirting the edge of the fetid pond. Behind us, in the woods, the dog began to bark again, louder than before.
‘Wait.’ Price sniffed the air, his eyes darting around. ‘Can you smell that?’
He wasn’t referring to the pond’s fetid smell. The closer we got to the mill, the more we noticed another scent, a nauseating chemical odour.
‘We have to get a look inside,’ he said. Still, as we approached the boarded-up mill, I thought I saw the sli
ghtest flicker of apprehension on his face.
‘Locked!’ he said, grasping the handle and rattling the door. I saw that the padlock preventing us from gaining access wasn’t just sturdy, but shiny and new. And what need was there for the new iron bars that covered the windows?
As if hearing my thoughts, Price placed his battered briefcase on the ground and from his overcoat pocket produced a small torch, which he shone through the nearest window.
I stepped up to it. Peering between the bars, the first thing I noticed in the white pool of Price’s spotlight wasn’t the rank, earthy floor, or the leaves, or the dank, stained walls, but what was nailed into those walls.
Wooden crucifixes.
‘I don’t understand,’ Price said, but there was a note of vindication in his tone. With almost instinctive certainty he had insisted the army hadn’t disclosed to us the full details about this old mill, and now it seemed he had been right.
Some small, some large – there were crucifixes everywhere. A battered oblong table. Candles, too. But these didn’t have the appearance of age, like the schoolbooks we had seen in the village, or the grimy bottles. These candles looked new, the wax drippings fresh.
‘No wonder the commander didn’t want us to come up here,’ said Price.
‘What does it mean, do you think?’
‘Nothing good.’
This time, the dog didn’t just bark again. It howled. It could have been my imagination, but it sounded nearer. Much nearer.
‘Harry, perhaps we should go now?’
‘Yes, yes. First, let me take some photographs of the whole building.’
He went to his briefcase, took out his camera, and began making a circuit of the mill, leaving me to wait next to the millpond.
I couldn’t see the rest of Imber from here, but I glimpsed the spire of the church jutting up into the grey sky. And, deep in the woods from which we had come, an indistinct and dark shape was moving.
Squinting, I tried to work out what it was. An animal? I gave a tiny shudder as I imagined that wild black dog.
‘Harry!’ I called out, peering harder at the form.
Not an animal. A figure.
It flickered unsteadily and seemed to grow larger.
‘Harry, come quickly and see!’
I needed him to see. Otherwise, I feared I might really be losing it.
‘What in heaven’s—’
It was Price, suddenly at my side. And, thank goodness, he could see it too.
‘Is that a . . .’
Woman. Flesh and blood, dressed in a flowing black dress.
She was standing at the line of trees, maybe one hundred yards away. Her eyes were deeply set, and she regarded us savagely from beneath furrowed brows.
‘Hello there, madam!’ Price called out to her.
The woman did not move; did not reply.
Cautiously, Price said, ‘I think perhaps we should approach and ask—’
She broke into a run. Tearing towards us, hands clutching the skirt of her black dress to prevent her from stumbling. Her face was painfully gaunt, her hair dark and dishevelled, her eyes wild. I knew, the moment I saw those eyes, that I would never forget them.
‘Stop! Stop! Get away! Do you hear me? Get AWAY!’
Her French accent was unmistakable; and so was the fiery rage in her voice. What happened next seemed to occur in slow motion, but must have happened in a matter of seconds.
Suddenly, she was upon us, throwing herself towards Price as she shouted, ‘Did you see him? Did you scare him away? DID YOU?’
Looking astounded, Price’s hands flew up involuntarily, but her hands went to his throat, and with a cry he tripped backwards, his feet just inches away from the edge of the filthy millpond.
‘Harry!’
Forgetting my fear, I sprang forward to help, but even before I reached him he had prised the woman off him. Her face was contorted with rage.
‘Miss, calm down,’ I spoke up, but she kept her gaze locked on Price, and in her ferocious expression I saw that she meant to go for him again.
‘This is where he lives,’ she said hoarsely. ‘He is not to be disturbed!’
‘Madam, if you would allow me to explain—’
And with an alarming lunge, she charged at Price again. His fedora went flying as he leapt out of her way. He didn’t see the gnarled tree root protruding from the bank of the pond. Perhaps she did, but by then it was too late.
She stumbled, tripped, fell. And splashed into the stagnant pond.
I stared, astonished. Instead of trying to get out of the water, she was wading in deeper. Then she began to splash and flail.
Price gaped. I saw what he was thinking. The pond was deep. Very deep. There was little chance of her getting out on her own.
‘Stay back, Sarah! Under no account follow me.’
Throwing off his coat, he darted to the edge of the pond and took a breath. He looked determined to rescue her as he plunged into the thick water.
In the water, the woman appeared stricken with fear and with panic.
I heard Price gasping as he stroked through the water.
There was a moment when I thought he wouldn’t reach her in time – she began to flail more urgently, her dress blooming out around her like a black cloud.
But then, just as the water covered her mouth and nose, he reached out. Grabbed an arm.
Thank heavens!
Except something was wrong. The horrified breath caught in my throat as I realised what it was: now, treading water, Price was struggling.
‘Sarah!’ he gasped.
He was out of his depth, entangled with weeds, probably. Perhaps they both were.
Think, Sarah, think!
Looking madly around me, I saw what I needed: sprouting from the earth was a long, exposed tree root. It was some ten metres away. I could throw it to them – if I could work it free from the ground in time. But even at this distance it was obvious that the root was tough.
The Swiss army knife!
In the pond, the woman was flailing and splashing and shrieking: ‘Leave me! Do you hear? I want to be with him.’ It was clear that she had meant to do this. She meant to drown herself. Even if it meant taking Price with her.
‘Hang on, Harry!’ I shouted, bolting for his briefcase. ‘Keep moving, kick your legs!’
On my knees, hands shaking, I flipped the briefcase open, raking frantically through its contents: screw eyes, pocket torch, adhesive tape. No sign of the knife. Where was it?
His coat?
It was ten feet away. Regaining my feet, I pitched forward. Next instant, I was on my knees again, raiding his pockets.
There, suddenly, was the bright red Swiss army knife. Hope surged through me, pulling me to my feet.
‘Sarah!’
I darted to the gnarled tree root and dropped down beside it. Then I got to work on the root, sawing at it with panicky strength. It split. Came away in my hand. I leapt to my feet, and hurled it into the water.
‘Grab it, Harry!’
He threw out one hand, his fingers groping the air. Just inches away.
Then, with titanic effort, he lunged, reaching . . .
His fingers closed around the root.
Thank God! Oh, thank God.
Slowly, he made it back to the bank of the pond, struggling to keep both their heads above the water. The woman was silent now and her eyes were fluttering, as if she was slipping in and out of consciousness.
As Price reached the bank and staggered up and out, struggling for breath, I saw he was covered in pond scum. He hauled the woman out and I stepped closer to help steady her, but she had already crumpled onto the filthy pond bank, her dress sodden.
‘My baby,’ the woman gasped between laboured breaths. ‘My precious boy. Don’t you see? He ne
eds me. He’s all I have now.’
Right then I was too shocked to focus on her words. Price and I were kneeling over her. She was shivering violently, her skin grey gooseflesh, her eyelids quivering. Who was this woman? How had she gained access to the range?
She tried to speak again but her chattering teeth defeated her effort.
‘Now, now. It’s all right, we’ll get you dry,’ said Price. He was looking for his overcoat.
Suddenly, from behind us, came a furious voice. ‘That’s quite enough!’
Our heads snapped up. Standing rigidly at the edge of the forest were the commander and Sidewinder. Other uniformed men, three or four of them, were marching towards us. A powerful-looking Rottweiler trotted along beside them.
‘Explain the meaning of this intrusion!’ Price demanded.
He stood to face them, his face full of confrontation, but the soldiers didn’t answer; they went to the stricken woman and hauled her off the ground. One of them slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her.
Stunned, Price turned to the commander. ‘Who is this lady? She needs help.’
‘No, she needs to leave,’ the commander said. He addressed the soldiers who were helping – restraining – her. ‘Get her out of here, now!’
She resisted, struggling against them with impressive strength.
Williams turned and stared at Price and me. ‘We told you both to stay away from this location.’
‘You also said we’d be alone on the range,’ Price retorted angrily. Standing there next to the black pond, drenched, he looked freezing. ‘How long have you been trailing us?’
‘Since the moment we spotted her,’ the commander said, nodding at the woman, who was now being led away towards the woods, ‘following you.’
‘Murderers,’ she shouted back over her shoulder. ‘You can’t hide what’s happening here, especially not from me. I have rights! I’m entitled!’
‘Wait! What’s she talking about?’ I asked. I ran after the soldiers, with Price following quickly behind.
The woman’s desperate eyes locked on me. ‘Did you go inside the mill?’ she asked. ‘Did you see him? Tell me you saw him.’
‘Saw who?’ Price asked.
‘My angel,’ she said. ‘My boy. He left us, he died, two years ago, but I tell you now, he’s right here. This is where he comes.’
