‘Minerva! Oh you lazy cat,’ she murmured. ‘Always sprawled out somewhere as if the estate were you own.’
Walter was clutching the folds of his crimson coat about his legs with one hand. In the other he clasped, what was it, a bouquet of flowers?
She pressed her eyelids closed. It wasn’t enough just to breathe this air, she had to feel its fingers on her skin as well. Skin that felt softer and plumper than ever before.
‘Good evening! I trust you’re well!’ Lord Hartreve cried out, saluting her with his stick.
‘So well. And our boy has a new tooth on his bottom gum. I found it this morning; he hasn’t complained one bit about it. Ah peonies, my favourite flowers. Thank you so much Walter!’
She pressed the fluffy blooms to her face. ‘Heavenly.’
‘He’s a very brave boy my grandson. Never complains. I still haven’t seen him cry properly, did you know that?’ he asked, turning to Walter.
‘You have mentioned it, several times.’
‘Mrs Hubbard’s been making all manner of things for us with some of the new ingredients Walter’s been showing her. I think she’s rather flustered about it all so I’ve left her to it for a few minutes.’
‘Ah excellent!’ Lord Hartreve patted his stomach. He was refilling that portly figure of his again and looking more like his old portrait in the library with each passing day. ‘Is it to be that exquisite mousse again with, what were those things in it?’
‘Cardamoms.’
‘That’s it!’
‘No, it’s a raspberry flan. And she’s put some of the wild garlic into a hotpot. I don’t know how Walter managed to persuade her to do that. We’ve had the windows open all day with it.’
Walter bowed his head with a smile. ‘It’ll keep the chills away. Strengthen you all for the winter.’
‘Tell me, how was your visit to London?’ she asked, her lip trembling a little beneath the question.
A dark cloud passed across Walter’s face. ‘It was... illuminating. Perhaps we three should sit down for a few minutes before we bother Mrs Hubbard?’
A small dry cough rose up in her throat. It was still there in her lungs, that grey cloud. The golden country air hadn’t quite killed it off yet. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, that smile, that... grimace, flashed back at her against her lids.
‘You visited the Whitestone property?’ Lord Hartreve’s voice was low and hushed.
‘Yes.’
‘And what state did you find it in?’
‘Desperate.’
‘My nephew Charles and his family have settled into Lucinda’s place?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how do they regard the house beside them?’
‘They do not appear to notice it, very few do now.’ Walter’s brow wrinkled and he solemnly drew his bony fingers through his hair. ‘My Lord... as Miranda knows well, that house positively groans with the pungent aroma of wasted life. I’ve never encountered such a sorrowful place before!’
‘Is that so? Is that so?’
‘I have brought many experts there now, some have refused even to go in. It seems to be the loneliness in the air that horrifies them the most. Several leading occultists have already failed to notice the building at all.’
‘Your power is immense; I knew you could make it all go away!’ cried Lord Hartreve.
‘Oh it isn’t me. No. It is revulsion that seems to blind them. Even I have walked straight past the place without realizing on several occasions.’
‘Have you seen... him... there?’ The words scratched drily against her throat.
‘Yes.’
Walter bit deeply down into his lip, turning it white. ‘I have witnessed the wretch several times now. He stalks the corridors, lunges unsuspectingly through mirrors and weeps like a child in the darkest corners. He has begun to speak to me as well: muttering constantly about his loneliness and yet grinning through his tears in a most disconcerting way. He even attacked me on one occasion.
I was quite fascinated by him at first but now I’ve reached a stage where I no longer want to see. Yesterday I found myself collapsing out of the front door in a bid to escape the vileness. It has a peculiar way of latching onto you, drawing you in, sapping you of strength.
I’m afraid that for the sake of my own health there is little more I can do. Misery is consuming that house and before long no unsuspecting individual will even be aware of its presence at all.’
The sun was sinking low now. Two hares sprinted and played at bullying each other at the far end of the meadow.
‘Your world is too complex for me,’ murmured Lord Hartreve at last. His cheeks had drained to white.
‘I’m afraid that we are all forced to share this world you speak of,’ he replied. ‘But most human beings are simple and optimistic beasts; they don’t want to interrupt the mechanics of their day-to-day lives, or sully the innocence of their outlook with visions of pain and lunacy.’
Lord Hartreve laughed gently to himself. ‘And I think that I’m beginning to understand why. Why should I strain my already old and fading eyes with the stuff of nightmares, when I can so easily gaze at beauty such as this in my own back garden?’
‘Is that you, Mr Balanchine?’
The shrill voice cut through their reverie like a welcoming firework – it was Mrs Hubbard, calling from the cottage behind them. And then her face suddenly popped up in one of the windows, framed between two potted orchids. Miranda smiled gratefully at her. The cook’s usually tidy hair had come quite loose with all her flustering and her cheeks had turned scarlet in the heat.
‘I need your expertise! The rest of you can wait a few minutes.’
‘At your service.’
But Lord Hartreve clutched onto Walter’s arm before he could leave. ‘One more thing. Did you take care of the other business?’
Walter nodded, his eyes soft and reassuring.
‘I’ve eliminated every document I can find sir: death certificates, birth certificates. Everything that might possibly link the boy to his father.’
‘Well done. Well done.’
Miranda watched Walter lope off towards the cottage with a lighter spring in his step than before. Perhaps he’d needed to unburden himself of his dark story, make space for the golden light to fill him.
The countryside seemed to suit him just as much as it did her: his figure cut against the landscape like a reminder of a bygone era. He’d have fitted in well with the Druids who’d once populated this place. She could just imagine him, gathered up with such a company around a blazing night fire, his face lit up by the glow and his eyes as tender and searching as ever across the flames.
She turned to Lord Hartreve. ‘May I ask, how on earth did a man like you fall into the company of Walter Balanchine?’
A low laugh escaped from between the old man’s lips and then he shook his head heavily.
‘My family had all more or less abandoned me,’ he began. ‘My wife died, my son went overseas and my daughter, well, you know that ending. I have strived all my life to be good, to serve my family and my tenants well. In return however I’ve received nothing but derision and strife. I turned to the church and was greeted by empty words, fawning priests and the undeniable absence of God. So, rejecting the ghastliness of the world about me, I turned in upon myself and commissioned the building of what I have often described as my cocoon, my library.
‘I had heard tales of Walter’s brilliance for some time: The Conjurer of the East End as he was known. After some difficulty I eventually tracked him down in a London opium den, where he lay glassy-eyed and inebriated on a filthy divan. I walked away, thinking that I’d never see him again, and returned straight to my club where, as I was told on entering, I had a visitor. And there he was, waiting for me, freshly shaven and with his wits about him.
‘Walter’s ways have never failed to astonish and confound me, but he gave me my library, as well as his friendship and love. He is a faithful and true servant and has don
e more to convince me of the innate spirituality governing our world than any man of the cloth. He is my family, just as the two of you are now.’
‘And you are mine,’ she said. ‘I would never have believed that happiness had a place left for me until I came here.’
‘Come on in, dinner is served!’ Mrs Hubbard’s face rose up from between the orchids again. ‘And the young Master’s awake and gurgling for his tooth inspection.’
‘Then we cannot possibly leave him waiting, or your good self!’ Lord Hartreve laughed heartily. ‘Now help an old man up, take me to my boy.’
Walter was balancing the baby in the crook of an unnaturally angled arm as they squeezed into the cottage.
‘Don’t breathe!’ exclaimed Mrs Hubbard. ‘In case the garlic suffocates you. I never thought I’d find myself cooking with such a thing.’
‘It smells marvellous. Hello my little man, shall I take you now?’
Miranda squeezed the child’s soft body against her, burying her lips into his cheek. Walter rolled back his shoulders; he seemed relieved to have his arm free again although he still watched the child intently. And when those round blue eyes met his he clutched onto them so heavily with his gaze that the poor little thing suddenly stuck out a quivering bottom lip.
‘You’re scaring him!’
‘My apologies,’ he murmured. ‘I just find the child a little puzzling, that’s all.’
‘Puzzling!’ chimed in Lord Hartreve. ‘I’ll tell you what puzzles me: the fact that all the inner doors of this cottage seem to have unhinged themselves and run off.’
Miranda felt herself go pink. ‘Ah, let me explain. You see, I just don’t like the things – doors that is. I’ve always said that one day I’d live in a house without any doors in it at all, and well, here I am.’
‘Extraordinary! And what in heaven’s name is this?’
‘Oh, you’ve spotted my new carving, the one I was telling you about. The carpenter in the next village finally finished it.’
Lord Hartreve’s eyes bulged up at the thing. ‘Rather crude, isn’t it?’
He was right. It was far larger than she’d expected and it did swell out rather lumpily above the small mantelpiece.
‘And I thought you’d wanted kingfishers?’
‘No, I changed my mind; the turtle doves are so much more peaceful. I know it’s crude, but I like it anyway. The last few months have taught me that I am a simple person at heart, that I desire nothing more in life than a small corner of peace. Being here has brought me untold happiness and we all know what a rare and precious thing that is.’
By the time the two men had left the sky was deep blue velvet and glimmering with stars.
‘Like one of Walter’s cloaks, don’t you think?’ she murmured to Mrs Hubbard.
‘Hmm, never thought a man would teach me how to cook.’
‘And it really was so delicious. Thank you.’
The temperature had dropped just a little; a few goose-pimples had risen up on her arms, but she couldn’t bear to drag herself inside just yet. Somewhere behind her she could feel the presence of the little church beyond the cottage, prodding up at the sky with its pointed steeple. She’d found it impossible to pray there; it filled her with so much more warmth to look out like this in the other direction instead, towards the fields. The horizon was her altar now, the grass her pew.
‘Come now, let’s go in,’ urged Mrs Hubbard. ‘You’ll catch a chill out here. Come and watch the boy sleep. He’s as peaceful as I’ve ever seen him.’
A single lamp in the corridor was enough to fill the entire cottage with a soft glow. She bent over the crib, stroking his feathery hair with her fingertips.
‘I never thought I’d see him sleep like this. Not in his own home anyway. We did the right thing, didn’t we?’
‘Oh yes Mrs White,’ and Mrs Hubbard smiled down from the other side with a face so full of love and patience that it made her want to lean across the crib and embrace the woman then and there.
‘You know, I’d very much like it if you started calling me Miranda. Formality doesn’t really work out here and you’re the closest and dearest friend I’ve ever had.’
Mrs Hubbard started slightly at the words and began to untie her apron with hurried fingers.
‘Oh dear, have I embarrassed you? I hope not. And I’ve made you cry!’
‘Not at all!’ She brushed her apron hurriedly across her eyes. ‘It would be a pleasure to call you by your true name, Miranda. But you must do the same as well. Please, call me Gladys.’
The baby sighed gently in his sleep, flexing his fingers in the air before burrowing his head to one side against the pillow.
‘He’s our boy now, isn’t he, Gladys?’
‘I’d follow him to the ends of the earth. I think I already have!’
She laughed under her breath, reaching for Gladys’s hand across the crib.
‘My little man! Our little man. Our Sebastian.’
SERENA’S STORY
‘I’m going to Sasha tonight.’
‘No, don’t please.’
Their voices were quite clear although I felt as if I was miles away from them, on the other side of a mountain range, listening through the pure air. I tried to force my eyelids apart.
‘Look, she’s stirring,’ said Eva. ‘I better leave you two together.’
‘Try to change your mind,’ came Seb’s low voice.
‘Why? What have I got to lose now?’ she yelped back and the image of a lost wounded fox swam through my mind. ‘He’s already started talking to the papers. They’ll have a field day with this and so will he... God knows what he might tell them about Raphael now. If I go to him, just once, then maybe he’ll leave my family alone, with all our pain. We need some privacy.’
I winced through the glare of the light and found her drawn face staring right at me.
‘You know he won’t do that,’ Seb answered.
‘She’s awake now... I’ll see you later.’
I heard the muted click of a door closing. To my left I saw the outline of windows with curtains on either side and a patch of sky. It looked remarkably like my room.
‘Hello. You’re back.’
I turned my groaning neck to discover a blur sitting on the edge of my bed. Slowly it turned into Seb.
‘What happened?’ I croaked.
‘It’s alright, you’re safe. I came when I heard all the noise and got you out of there. You’ve been asleep for ages.’
I listened to the sound of my own breathing, calm and rhythmic like waves, and then a sudden needle of fear clawed its way into my guts.
‘And Raphael?’ I whispered.
Seb’s face went dark. ‘No. He’s dead.’
My head began to throb. I felt Seb take my hand and kiss it softly with his cool lips.
‘I want to be alone,’ I said, closing my eyes to him.
When he was gone I slowly eased my creaking body off the bed. Every bone felt as if it had been removed and rearranged and I gripped the bedpost at first to find my balance. My room looked sparse, all my belongings gone apart from a few clothes flung onto a chair in the corner.
When I could feel the warm flow of blood moving around me again I put the clothes on and ran my fingers through my dishevelled hair. In the mirror my face looked hollow and pale and different somehow.
Downstairs the air felt silent but inhabited. I reached Arabella’s office and her door was open, the Bacchanalian revellers urging me in. She was in there, staring out of the window with her back to me, a large butterfly clip clasped in her hair. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of my step, drank me in with swollen eyes and then turned her back on me again.
‘You know I knew it wasn’t normal, living here as we do, but I never quite predicted this,’ she said in a quiet and considered voice.
‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured.
She laughed softly. ‘Oh it’s not your fault. It’s this stinking goddam place. That ghost, thing, whatever y
ou care to call it, feeds off fear. And my Raphael had plenty of that.’
‘So you’re awake at last then!’ bellowed a voice I barely recognized.
I jumped and turned to find Edward looming in the doorway, red cheeked and glowering like a drunk.
‘Now get out,’ he spat. ‘Hurry up, your things are downstairs.’
I tried to back away from him. ‘Can I at least say goodbye to Beth?’
‘No you certainly cannot!’
‘The girl’s done nothing wrong,’ said Arabella, calmly.
Edwards’s fists curled up into punches. ‘Oh no. No! Only lead my son to his death. And who let her in this house in the first bloody place?’
He grasped me by the shoulders, forcing me out of the room.
‘It’s not my fault!’ I yelled as he pushed me forwards down the stairs.
‘I never want to see you in my house again. Do I make myself clear?’
My face felt livid. ‘You don’t understand! He tried to... to...’
A small face from somewhere between the banisters blinked back at me like a scared shadow.
‘Beth!’
‘There is no Beth,’ snapped Edward’s voice. ‘Take your things and get out of my house.’
A rectangle of light appeared as the front door swung open. Edward forced me through it, his knuckles firmly wedged into my spine and then my bags followed, one by one, strewn like pieces of rubbish across the pavement.
The door slammed shut again behind me, black and glossy and impenetrable. I lowered myself slowly onto the step. A box of art pencils had exploded from one of the bags. They lay around my feet, flashing their bright colours up at me from the grey stone. I picked them up carefully and put them away.
‘Are you alright?’
I looked up to find Robert staring down at me from the pavement. He was wearing a long grey coat, his hands thrust deeply in his pockets.
‘I’ve been thrown out of your house.’
‘I can see. I did try to warn you.’
The Room Beyond Page 29
