by Sarah Rayne
Theo stared at him, unable to speak, and after a moment, Innes said in a stronger voice, ‘I think that’s why Charmery kept coming back here. She never had what some people call closure.’
‘So she kept coming back for him,’ said Theo, softly.
‘Yes. I think in some odd way of her own she felt he was still there, in that part of the river. Still just under the surface of the water, so that all she’d have to do was reach down to find him. Once she talked about a rusalka – it’s an old folk tale,’ he said, seeing Theo’s questioning look. ‘A rusalka is supposed to be the soul of a drowned infant. I think she’d read the legend somewhere and it stuck in her mind.’ He smiled. ‘There was a lot more to your cousin than all that flippant frivolity, wasn’t there?’
‘Yes.’
Innes made another of the impatient gestures. ‘I had all kinds of responsibilities that I didn’t shoulder that day. I should have tried to – to recover the child’s body, or got the police to try. They could have dragged the river… There should have been an autopsy, the registering of the birth and the death. And I should certainly have reported what Charmery did.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘To protect her,’ he said. ‘You must have guessed how I felt about her. Even all those years ago she was quite simply the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life. I’d have done anything she wanted. Then, years after the birth – this last summer – she and I…’
‘I guessed that,’ said Theo. ‘Did she feel the same about you?’
‘No,’ he said, very definitely. ‘I was a diversion. For a few weeks that was what I was. You were the one she really loved.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Michael Innes left just before half-past eight, and after he had gone the old house seemed to fill up with stealthy creaks and rustlings, and with shadows that moved of their own accord. Theo sat by the fire, watching the rain beat on the uncurtained windows.
At the end of that drowned garden, somewhere below the river’s surface might be the tiny body of a child who had never drawn breath in the world. My and Charmery’s son, thought Theo. David, because it was St David’s Day. And she came back here every year on the anniversary of his birth – letting everyone think she liked Melbray in the spring, but really coming back before spring began so she would be here on the first of March. ‘She never had closure,’ Michael Innes had said. ‘She felt he was still there, in that part of the river.’
Had Charmery left Fenn House to Theo because she thought David was still here? Was that romantic and sad, or was it merely mawkish? Theo could not decide, and nor could he decide if it was an emotion Charmery would have had.
He made himself a sandwich and tried to watch television, but although the pills had stopped the throbbing in his head, his balance had not entirely righted itself, and the flickering screen made it worse.
It was still only a quarter to nine, but the pills were having a slightly soporific effect. Theo lay back on the sofa, staring into the flickering warmth of the gas fire. When they were children there had been an open fire here. They used to sit on the hearthrug, staring into the flames, taking it in turns to describe the pictures they saw. Lesley had been by far the best at it. She could conjure up entire fleets of ships and caves with dragons and rose-red cities half as old as time…
He was aware he was moving into the borderlands of slumber, and he tried to push it back but, as he did so, Matthew and Mara began to come to the forefront of his mind. He was not exactly hearing their voices, but he was starting to see something that illuminated their lives – rather as if he was reading an old, cobwebby manuscript by candlelight, and as if the flickering light showed up fragments of the pages, lighting up sentences and names at random.
Elisabeth and Andrei and Pitesti Gaol… Mara and the Black House… Zoia loving Annaleise with that sad lonely desperation…
Theo was hardly aware of sitting up and getting off the sofa, but he found he was no longer sleepy. He went into the dining room and switched on the lamp and the computer. He began to type, almost without noticing it. At first only disjointed phrases and sentences materialized on the screen, but then whole paragraphs started to form, and he was as deep inside Matthew and Mara’s world as ever before.
Romania, early 1970s
It was very quiet inside the well-house. Mara had remained in a frightened huddle against the wall for so long, her legs were getting cramp. She stood up and tried to bicycle them, like in gym at school, but she was frightened to move too much because of the black lipless mouth that was the well. From time to time she had the impression that it was breathing out, with evil-smelling breath.
It was impossible to know how long she had been here because time seemed different. Several times she stood under the eyeholes and again shouted to be let out, but after a while her voice became cracked. She tried again to get the door open, but her fingers were too bruised and tender from where she had torn the nails, and the door was clearly not going to move anyway.
It was still not absolutely dark, but it was a lot darker than it had been. It might be just that the sun had gone in, but the trees were whispering to themselves in the way they did when it grew dark, and the forest was full of night sounds. Mara did not like these sounds, so she worked her way round the walls until she was facing the eyeholes. If anything was going to climb in through them, it would be better to know about it. The light coming through the eyeholes had taken on a thick bluish tinge; that meant it was nearly nighttime, which was worrying. Mara’s grandmother told tales of wraiths and shadow-beings who could not go abroad in daylight and walked the world after dark. Trolls came alive at night as well, and if they did not go back into their lairs before dawn they were turned into stone. For the first time, Mara had the terrible thought that this building might once have been a troll who had been turned to stone and the stone made into a well-house. Until now she had been trying to be brave, but this was such an extremely bad thought, she put her head down on her knees and sobbed.
She cried for a long time which made her throat even more painful and gave her a headache. She was just trying to dry her eyes on the skirt of her cotton frock, when, somewhere beneath the sobs, a tiny, thin thought nudged its way upwards. It was so light and so frail that at first Mara was not sure what it was, but the more it worked its way through her mind, the more she began to feel it might be important. Was it something that had been part of her grandmother’s tales? It was not anything about trolls or wolves, that was for sure, but it was certainly something her grandmother had once told her. Something about her own village? Something about Matthew’s family? Yes, that was it! She stopped crying altogether, and sat up a bit straighter, trying to imagine herself back in her grandmother’s cottage. There was her grandmother rocking by the fire as she liked to do each evening and there was Mara herself, curled up in the warm little place by the side of the hearth, on the thick rag rug. She could hear the creak of the rocking chair and her grandmother’s voice, and she could hear her saying some of the stories might be true…
The memory was suddenly there, exploding inside Mara’s mind like a huge light. There had been a night when she had been falling asleep because the room was warm and it was nearly her bedtime, so she had missed some of what was said. But she had roused at the sound of Matthew’s name, and she had heard – she could hear it now – her grandmother talking about Matthew’s mother, saying she was not dead as everyone thought – as even Matthew himself thought. Mara had been wide awake by then; she had leaned forward, hugging her knees with her arms, listening intently.
Matthew’s mother was in prison. That was what her grandmother had said. Years and years ago she had done something terrible – no one in the village knew exactly what it was and it had happened when Matthew was a baby – but she had been taken to prison because of it.
‘And she’s still there,’ Mara’s grandmother said in a whisper, almost as if she had forgotten Mara and was talking to herself. ‘Still there, shut aw
ay in the stone cells. Andrei Valk hushed it up to save distressing that poor child, Matthew, and hardly anyone knows the truth.’ The chair rocked downwards, and her grandmother put her mouth close to Mara’s ear so that even if anyone was standing outside the window listening or looking in, her words would not be heard.
‘You must never tell it, Mara, but ever since Elisabeth was taken away, Andrei Valk has tried his hardest to find her. There’s an organization called the October Group who’ve helped him. A few years ago they found out Elisabeth was in Pitesti Gaol, and Andrei and the October Group made a plan to rescue her, but somebody talked and at the last minute she was moved, and no one knows where she is now. Andrei avoided prison by the skin of his teeth, but he’s still trying to find Elisabeth, he still means to rescue her.’
‘How would he do that?’ It was impossible to get people out of prison, Mara knew that.
‘They’ll find a guard who can be bribed,’ said her grandmother. ‘But this must all remain the darkest secret ever, because if the Securitate find out what Andrei’s doing…’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s said there are worse things than prison in this land,’ she whispered.
Mara did not want to know what might be worse than prison. ‘How do you know all that?’
‘Some people know,’ said her grandmother. ‘Sometimes they let things slip without realizing.’
‘What people?’
‘The nuns at your school,’ said her grandmother, and Mara stared in surprise.
‘People like Sister Teresa, d’you mean?’ This was a very sad story but it was also pretty exciting, much better than wolves and giants.
‘Oh yes, people like Sister Teresa. Trust nuns to know secrets. And the Church has a long history of helping people escape oppressors, always remember that, Mara.’
Mara was not sure what an oppressor was, and she was not sure if she believed Sister Teresa was part of all this. She wanted to know more, but her grandmother refused to say anything else. She told Mara she had said too much already, but as she rocked in the chair she was smiling. Mara knew this was not because Matthew’s mother was in prison, but because her grandmother loved secrets.
Secrets…
Huddled inside the well-house with the light fading, Mara thought how Zoia and Annaleise had wanted to know about Matthew’s father. ‘You’ll be here until we know all we need to about Andrei Valk,’ Annaleise had said. Was this the thing they wanted to know – this plan about finding Matthew’s mother and bribing a guard and rescuing her? It was an enormous thing to suddenly remember, and Mara was still trying to put it into shape in her mind when there was a sound from outside. Was it Annaleise or Zoia coming back to let her out? She scrambled hopefully to her feet, and as she did so, the thick old door made a soft groaning sound and a thin line of dusklight appeared round the edges. The door was pushed further inwards, and light fell across the floor, showing the yawning cavern at the centre. Annaleise and Zoia stood in the doorway; Annaleise held a big electric torch which she shone all round the well-house, before directing its beam onto Mara. After the hours of dimness the light was dazzling and Mara had to put up a hand to shield her eyes.
‘Well, Mara,’ said Annaleise, ‘we’re sorry to say that your friend Matthew hasn’t told us what we want to know.’
‘Which is a pity,’ said Zoia, ‘because we really do want to know about Andrei Valk.’
Mara said, ‘Matthew hasn’t told you because he can’t. He doesn’t know.’ She thought, I’m sorry, Elisabeth, I’m really truly sorry, because if I tell them what I know something dreadful might happen to you. But if I don’t tell them, they’ll leave me here. ‘I’ve remembered hearing things about Matthew’s father and his mother. I can tell you what you want to know.’
She saw they did not immediately believe her. They looked at one another, then Zoia said, ‘Why is it you’re only telling us now?’
‘We don’t like children who lie to get away from a punishment,’ said Annaleise.
‘It’s not a lie. I remembered it while I was here,’ said Mara. ‘Just a few minutes ago. It’s true, I promise.’
‘Lies can be checked,’ said Annaleise.
‘Tell us and we’ll see,’ said Zoia.
‘It’s not lies,’ said Mara. ‘Years and years ago Matthew’s mother – her name’s Elisabeth – was put in Pitesti Gaol.’ For a dreadful moment she thought this might all be just a story after all and they would say she was lying, but they did not.
‘We know about that,’ said Annaleise, glancing at Zoia.
‘Matthew’s father tried to rescue her,’ said Mara. ‘Only he was found out and Elisabeth was moved. So he’s looking for her now, and when he finds her, he has a plan to rescue her. The October Group are helping him.’ Neither Annaleise nor Zoia spoke, so Mara said, ‘They’re going to find a guard at the prison who can be – um – bribed. That’s the plan.’
Annaleise said slowly, ‘If Matthew doesn’t know all this – if hardly anyone knows it, how is it that you know?’
For a moment Mara could not think what to say. If she said her grandmother had told her, they might take her grandmother away and her brother would be on his own. Would they put him inside the Black House, in one of the cages? The thought of Mikhail helpless in that dreadful place was not to be borne. She would sacrifice anyone else to save him. She had already sacrificed Matthew’s parents anyway. So she looked Annaleise straight in the eye, and said, ‘The nuns at school know about it.’ It was not quite a lie because her grandmother had said the nuns knew, but Mara knew it was very nearly a lie. But as long as her grandmother and Mikhail were safe that was all that mattered.
Then Annaleise said, ‘Which nuns were they?’
‘I don’t know.’ Mara had no idea where the courage came from to say this but somehow it came out. ‘I heard some of them talking about it,’ she said. ‘But only about the plan – they weren’t going to help with it.’ This was better, it made it sound as if the nuns were not involved.
‘If you won’t tell us names, we shall have to visit the convent and question them all.’
Questioning did not sound too bad. It just meant they would ask the nuns what they knew, and the nuns would say they knew nothing. People believed nuns, so it would be all right. Anyhow, she could not go back on what she had said.
‘I can’t remember, truly I can’t. There was a group of them talking in a classroom. I heard some of what they said, but I didn’t see who it was.’
It seemed as if Zoia and Annaleise accepted this. They exchanged looks, and Zoia nodded slightly. ‘Mara, you will stay here until we have made sure this is true.’
‘No!’ said Mara at once. ‘Oh please, no! I’ve told you the truth, I really, honestly have.’
‘Then,’ said Zoia, ‘you don’t have anything to worry about.’
They turned and the torchlight moved away and darkness closed down once again. Angry despair flooded over Mara. She might have to be here until the morning, or even longer. I can’t bear it, she thought. I hate them! With the hatred came a spurt of fierce strength and courage, almost as if it was being poured into her like hot water. It boiled up, threatening to scald her. She screamed at them, ‘You shan’t shut me in here, you shan’t!’ Her screams echoed round the walls, ‘Shan’t… shan’t… s-s-shan’t…’
She bounded forward, round the edge of the gaping well mouth, her hands reaching for the door’s edge before it closed on the precious threads of light. Annaleise was half through the door, but she turned back, lifting the heavy torch defensively. Mara sobbed with fury and lunged straight at her. Her clenched fists hit her in the centre of her stomach, causing Annaleise to gasp and double over. The torch fell from her hand and rolled into a corner; light skewed round and shone straight onto Annaleise’s face.
Zoia now barred Mara’s way. Mara flew at Zoia who dealt her a blow across the face so that Mara fell back, colliding with Annaleise who was still winded by the punch and half blinded by the glare of the torch
. The force of the collision sent Annaleise toppling backwards. Zoia shouted a warning, but it was too late. Annaleise stumbled against the low surround of the well itself. She flailed wildly at the air with her arms, trying to regain her balance, but the brick parapet was old and crumbling, and it gave way. She fell screaming over the edge of the well and down into its greedy black depths. The sound echoed with dreadful shrillness inside the well’s shaft. The noise she made when she hit the bottom was terrible, a squelching smashing sound, but what was far worse was that she went on screaming after she had fallen. Mara wanted to clap her hands over her ears to shut it out. She wanted to run away as fast as she could – she did not care where, just somewhere she would not have to hear the screaming.
Zoia was shouting something about getting Annaleise out, something about rescuing her. She grabbed Mara’s hand and dragged her across the ground to the parapet.
‘You evil wicked bitch!’ shouted Zoia as Mara sobbed and struggled and tried to prise her hand free. Zoia snatched up the torch, and still holding Mara tightly, knelt at the well’s edge and shone it down into the blackness.
‘There!’ cried Zoia. ‘See there! See what you’ve done. She’s dying! Oh God if she dies! I can’t bear it!’
Mara, in an awkward painful heap on the ground, stared into the well and sick horror washed over her. It was terrible. What she saw was the worst thing she had ever seen in her life – the worst thing anyone ever could see.
The well was a dark narrow shaft, and at the very bottom of it was the small, faraway figure lying on its back. Mara could not think of it as a person; it had the shape of a person but it was no longer human. Its mouth was stretched wide, and it was screaming like a trapped hare, over and over, the sounds echoing and bouncing inside the well. Blood was coming out of the ears and there was blood in other places – over the legs and arms. Bones stuck out from the body – legs and ribs and wrists. I did that, thought the horrified Mara. I made her fall down there and I made all those bones break and stick out through her skin. And there’s something else – something about the face…
