by Sarah Rayne
Icy sweat slid between his shoulder blades. Standing at the far end of the corridor was a pale, bowed figure, its long hair heavy as if dripping wet, as if the figure had just been brought out of deep water… Theo, in the grip of horror, blinked several times before his sight adjusted to the dimness. It was not a ghost. The long window at the far end was slightly open at the top and the pale muslin drapes were stirring in the night wind. As he watched, a section of the flimsy fabric billowed out again.
He kicked his mind back into focus and began a systematic search of the bedrooms. They all had shrouded furniture, bare walls and oblong patches on the walls where pictures or mirrors had hung. There was no one hiding anywhere, although Theo was still glad he had brought the poker with him.
The only room he had still to check was Charmery’s, and he was within two strides of the door when the creakings seemed to shift gear. He paused to listen, not exactly frightened, but puzzled. Perhaps the roof timbers were contracting in the night air, or perhaps the open window was rattling. The sounds were curiously rhythmic, but they were not loud enough for footsteps. He pushed open the door of Charmery’s room and it was then that another sound came – a sound that sent his heartbeat skittering wildly.
The old clock – the clock that Charmery claimed was Fenn’s heart, the clock that had not been wound since she died – had just chimed the half hour. The rhythmic sounds that had puzzled Theo a few minutes earlier had been the clock’s measured ticking.
Someone had wound it up.
* * *
Theo came out of his frozen terror and half fell through the door into Charmery’s room, with absolutely no idea what would be waiting for him. But there was nothing. Nothing moved and the room was exactly as it had been on his arrival, apart from the ticking clock. He stood in front of it, hearing the measured tick that had comforted Charmery every night, seeing that the minute hand was moving, slowly but perceptibly. He reached for the small gilt clasp that held the door in place and released it. The door opened with a small soft creak, revealing the brass mechanism. The pendulum with its circular copper striker, swung back and forth, regular and steady, like the good piece of Victorian machinery it was. Theo watched it for several minutes, then looked round the room. There was nowhere anyone could possibly hide in here – even the wardrobe was a small one, with a narrow hanging space and shelves taking up half its interior. He checked it anyway, then drew the heavy curtains back from the deep bay window. Nothing.
It was beyond all logic that an intruder would creep into the house for the sole purpose of starting up an old clock, but it was what seemed to have happened. He went back onto the landing and examined the window with the pale curtains. Was it possible that the faint gust of wind through that open window had somehow disturbed the clock’s mechanism? Along eight feet of corridor and through a closed door? How about mice? Could a mouse have got inside the clock and nudged the pendulum?
Theo found a linen handkerchief in one of the tallboys, and tied it round the copper disc in order to muffle the chimes. He could cope – just about – with ghosts and intruders, but whether the ticking clock was due to an act of God or an errant wind, he did not think he could cope with it chiming the half hour through the entire night.
CHAPTER FOUR
Theo had expected to lie awake, listening for sounds and rustlings. He had even considered whether he should take one of the mild sedatives prescribed to help him sleep after Charmery’s death. ‘Very low dose indeed,’ his GP had said. But Theo preferred to be in charge of his own sleep and had hardly ever taken them. He thought he had better not risk being zonked by pills tonight in case there really was a prowler.
In the event, once in bed he fell asleep almost at once, not waking until half past seven the next morning. Sunlight came in through the curtains and if anything else had tapped on the windows or tinkered with clocks he had not heard it. Last night’s bizarre happenings retreated to the vague, unreal status of a dream.
He was pouring a second cup of coffee and planning how he would unravel more of the intriguing world of Matthew and his Snow Queen, when the doorbell rang. As he unbolted the front door he remembered that hardly anyone knew he was here and experienced a jab of apprehension.
Standing outside was a small figure dressed in the modern version of nuns’ robes: a plain navy coat, flat-heeled shoes, and a small veil like an old-fashioned district nurse. After the eerie incidents of last night, Theo was so relieved to find this unthreatening figure on the doorstep, that he held out his hand and said, ‘Good morning! Do come in.’
She smiled a bit warily and said, ‘Thank you very much. Just for a moment though – I don’t want to intrude. You’re Mr Theo Kendal, I think. I’m Sister Catherine from St Luke’s.’ As she stepped into the harlequin patches of sunlight inside the hall Theo saw she was younger than he had first thought – perhaps late twenties – and that she had clear grey eyes, fringed with black.
‘I’ve mostly called to say welcome to Melbray,’ she said as he opened the door to the dining room. ‘You’re the first member of the family to come down here since Miss Kendal’s death, so I’m a kind of emissary to convey our belated condolences at what happened. We’re all truly sorry and very shocked.’
‘Thank you very much. Would you like some coffee? I made a large pot shortly after breakfast and it’s still hot.’
He was surprised when she said, ‘I’d love some if it’s no trouble. Good coffee is one of the things I miss in the convent.’
Theo set the cups on a tray, and carried everything into the dining room. Catherine was standing at the French windows, looking into the gardens. ‘It’s a lovely old house, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I’ve often looked across at it from our grounds. I remember there used to be the most beautiful rose garden here – it was just visible.’
‘It’s still there, but only just.’ Theo handed her the coffee. ‘The gardens are a tanglewood and the house needs a lot of work; I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to deal with that.’
‘Your cousin intended to update it, I think,’ said Catherine, and Theo, who had been adding milk to his own coffee, looked up.
‘Did you know my cousin?’
‘I met her briefly a couple of times. You look surprised.’
‘I don’t really know what was going on in her life over the last few years. I didn’t see much of her,’ said Theo.
‘But you spent holidays here with her? When you were both children?’
‘Yes, we came here almost every summer and for the odd week here and there. Christmas, too, some years. You can’t possibly remember those holidays, though. You’re much too young. Sorry, I probably shouldn’t say something like that to a nun.’
‘Of course you can say it. And it’s true I’ve only been at St Luke’s for about nine years. I’m the baby of the convent.’ She smiled, and Theo smiled back. ‘But I know a bit about your family from the older nuns. Next-door neighbours, you know. I expect you’ve got good memories of this place. Childhood memories are so precious, aren’t they?’ Theo thought there was a faintly wistful note in her voice, but almost without pausing she said, ‘I remember the Bursar saying your family have owned this house for years.’
‘Nearly twenty,’ said Theo. ‘My uncle and aunt bought it as a kind of holiday retreat in the early 1990s, but they began to spend so much time here – and they liked holding open house for the family – that they extended it. They seemed to add a room each year – I think they virtually doubled the size of the original house in the end. Aunt Helen used to say it made it a nightmare to clean and heat.’
‘Some of the older nuns met one or two of your family,’ said Catherine. ‘Mr Frederick Kendal, and also your mother, I think.’
Guff would have rather enjoyed trotting along the lane to St Luke’s, and helping with charity events, although Theo was surprised to hear the nuns had met his mother. But before he could think how to respond, Catherine said, ‘Actually, Mr Kendal, I have another reason for coming to
see you. We wondered if you might have time to come along to St Luke’s one of these days. Perhaps to give a talk to the patients. Do you do that kind of thing?’
‘Well…’
‘No pressure,’ said Catherine and Theo had the impression she used the modernism carefully as if not sure she had got it right. ‘We’re more of a nursing home than an actual hospital. We specialize in bone injuries: severe compound fractures that need manipulation and physiotherapy or osteopathy. Most of the patients are in wheelchairs or beds a lot of the time, but they’re not actually ill so they appreciate as many diversions as possible. I’m sure they’d love to meet such a distinguished writer.’
‘Distinguished is stretching it a bit.’
‘I don’t think so. We borrowed your last book from the local library – we all read it in turn and it’s very good indeed.’
It was nice that the nuns had been sufficiently interested to go to this trouble, but it was also slightly worrying, because Theo had allotted the central character of that book a rather robust appetite with the ladies and had described some of the various bedroom exploits fairly graphically. As if picking this up and almost as if she was finding his discomfiture amusing, Catherine said, ‘We’re really very worldly, you know.’
This time the smile narrowed her eyes, and Theo, who normally ran a mile from giving talks and lectures, smiled back, and said, ‘Of course I’ll come to talk to your patients. For about an hour?’
‘That would be exactly right.’
‘D’you want anything in particular touched on? Anything you think they’d like to hear about?’
‘Well, just about writing books in general, I suppose,’ said Sister Catherine. ‘How you go about it, how you deal with research.’
‘The whole process,’ said Theo. ‘Yes, I can do that.’
‘Could you? Would one day next week be all right? You can phone us to arrange it – we’re in the directory. Afternoons are a particularly good time, but I expect you’re very busy so we’ll fit in with whatever you can manage.’
‘How about next Wednesday afternoon?’ He had not been intending to make such a definite arrangement, but again the words were out before he realized.
‘That would be lovely. Come about two o’clock if you can. They’ll be so pleased.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t know the etiquette for this, but we’d be happy to pay a fee if that’s customary.’
‘No fee’s needed,’ said Theo at once.
‘Well, thank you very much. Oh – is there anything special we should provide for you on the day?’
Theo thought for a moment, then said, ‘A blackboard or whiteboard would be quite good if you have one. Or just an ordinary flipchart.’
‘There’s a flipchart in the library,’ said Catherine. ‘You can use that. There are twenty or so patients at the moment and most of them are reasonably mobile so you’ll probably get a full house. Dr Innes will probably come along, as well.’ There was a pause as if she expected a reaction to the name.
Theo said, ‘Innes? The man who found my cousin’s body?’ Damn, he thought, why can’t I say Charmery’s name aloud?
‘Yes. It was a dreadful shock for him – he admired her very much.’ This was said quite ordinarily and openly, but Theo thought she glanced at him a bit warily. Had there been something between Charmery and the local GP?
Sister Catherine took her leave smoothly and easily. ‘Thank you for the coffee, Mr Kendal.’
‘I’ve enjoyed meeting you,’ said Theo, accompanying her to the door.
‘So have I. God bless.’ It came out naturally and unselfconsciously. Since Theo could not think of a suitable rejoinder he merely nodded and waited until she had walked back down the overgrown drive and into the lane beyond.
Rinsing the cups in the kitchen, he considered that remark about some of the nuns having known his mother. It was vaguely surprising, because Petra had never spent much time at Fenn House. She had certainly shared one or two of the Christmases there, but they had been brief holidays and no one had ventured much out of the house because Norfolk in winter was about the bleakest place imaginable. And during Theo’s school years she had usually driven him to Melbray in July, stayed a night or two, then left him to it.
‘Too many Kendals,’ she always said, with the smile that Theo sometimes found painful although he had never quite known why. ‘When I married your father I didn’t realize I was marrying an entire clan, and I’m not very good at family gatherings. But you stay and riot with your cousins, darling, and I’ll collect you well before term starts so we can have a bit of time together in London.’
She had always arrived at Melbray punctually to pick him up, usually with gifts for everyone. Guff, who was a regular visitor to Fenn, said happily that she lit up the house the minute she came in, but Nancy said sourly it was Petra currying approval as usual. ‘Playing fairy godmother,’ Nancy said. Nancy never seemed to come to Fenn because she enjoyed the house or the company of the family; she apparently came because the drains had packed up at her house, or because she wanted peace and quiet to work out next term’s assignments for her sixth-formers, or she was recovering from flu.
They had all enjoyed the presents from Petra’s travels, though. There were generally clothes for Charmery who said delightedly that no one had such exquisite taste as Aunt Petra, books for Lesley, who would seize them eagerly and vanish for hours on end, and unusual toys for Lesley’s small twin brothers, whose birth had taken everyone by surprise, including Lesley’s father. Charmery’s mother and Lesley’s would be presented with frivolous designer silk scarves or perfume, and there was vintage port or brandy for the men. Once Petra brought a pair of embroidered Turkish slippers with curved toes for Guff who trotted delightedly round the house in them, refusing to listen to Charmery’s father, Desmond, saying he looked like an escapee from a harem.
Theo, Charmery and Lesley always stayed up later than usual when Petra was there. ‘She turns it into an occasion,’ said Lesley’s father, rather wistfully. Lesley’s father was Desmond’s younger brother, and Theo often thought he seemed a bit over-shadowed by the genially successful Desmond, just as Lesley so often seemed over-shadowed by Charmery.
Charmery had loved those evenings; even from the age of nine or ten she flirted with Guff and any other uncles who were there, laughing and making a fuss of them, coaxing her father to let her have a sip of wine in water like French children and usually getting her way. Lesley, three years younger than Charmery, always sat quietly, listening to the conversation. ‘Only speaking when she’s spoken to,’ had been Nancy’s approving observation, and Petra had told Theo she sometimes wondered which century Nancy lived in because her outlook was positively Victorian at times. ‘But then Helen and Desmond are Edwardian anyway,’ she added. ‘Nursery tea and children being allowed to eat with their parents, my God, it’s archaic. D’you suppose they’re really time travellers from about 1900?’
‘I don’t know, but there’s a peculiar machine in the shrubbery, labelled, “Property of H. G. Wells”,’ said Theo, and was pleased when she smiled appreciatively and made a joke of her own about the Tardis parking in the cabbage patch.
Time machines or not, there had been something remarkably restful about Fenn House in those days. As Theo put the coffee cups away after Sister Catherine’s visit, he was deep in the memories of those summer evenings round the big cherry-wood table in the dining room. There would be huge bowls of roses everywhere – Sister Catherine had been right about the rose garden. Helen had planted a rose called Charmian to mark Charmery’s tenth birthday. ‘Because it’s clear no one’s ever going to use the correct version of her name,’ she said, ‘so this is a reminder of it.’
The French windows would be wide open and people would be relaxed from the wine and the huge suppers that were served. Aunt Helen fussed about the food which was always perfectly all right – it was a bit of a family joke, Aunt Helen’s fussing – and Uncle Desmond became genial after a few drinks, exchanging
bluff jokes with the other men, but doing so sotto voce if Nancy was there, because Nancy did not approve of coarseness. Guff listened to the jokes and always laughed, although Charmery said he probably did not understand half of them. Theo thought Charmery probably did not understand half of them either, but he did not say this.
Catherine got back to St Luke’s shortly before twelve. Even at this time of year she enjoyed the walk along Boat Street. Old trees fringed the lane that wound up to Fenn House so that even with the branches bare the house was hidden from most people’s view. Local legend said it had originally been built by a recluse who had wanted to hide from the world but had liked having the tributary to the Chet at the end of his garden. The Bursar was going to compile a history of the area on account of it having so many interesting fragments of gossipy lore. Catherine had been at St Luke’s for nearly ten years and the Bursar had still not got any further than saying at intervals they really must get down to drafting some ideas. The murder of Charmery Kendal had daunted even the Bursar from putting pen to paper, although it had certainly added another layer to the legends.
Mr Kendal had been very polite and welcoming, and it had been companionable to sit drinking coffee with him. It was the kind of thing people in the outside world did all the time without so much as thinking about it, but for Catherine, who had entered the convent at eighteen, it was sufficiently unusual for it to occupy most of her thoughts as she walked back. It would not be occupying any of Theo Kendal’s thoughts, of course; he would most likely have dismissed it as soon as she had gone, because he would be used to drinking coffee and stronger substances than coffee with all kinds of females. He was very nice-looking with that dark hair and those deep blue eyes. There had not seemed to be a wife or girlfriend in the picture, but there would surely be one somewhere. Catherine caught herself thinking that his wife or girlfriend would not wear a plain navy woollen dress with flat-heeled lace-ups; she would be smart and modern, with glossy, well-cut hair. This was a thought that was dangerously close to vanity, so she pushed it firmly away.
