James had the secrets of how to find the treasure; all he needed was a way into the house. The secret entrance would be of no use, for its location was not indicated in the journals, and would most likely take months, if not years, to find.
Whatever force had drawn his daughter into Dead Man’s Wood that morning, supernatural or not, James was grateful to it, for it had opened up to him the very opportunity he sought.
By openly encouraging Matilda to court the young man, Obadiah, he might yet gain entry to the house, and so the treasure.
It was the perfect plan and could not fail.
He had reckoned without the desires of the heart.
Though Matilda and Obadiah fell in love and announced their betrothal, neither foresaw the coming of Luke Gaines.
A stranger to the village, he completely bewitched Matilda, though he frightened her at times without her knowing why, and beneath the ignorant noses of her betrothed and their mutual families, she began a clandestine courtship with Luke.
He was the complete opposite of Obadiah. Matilda’s betrothed was slightly built with dark hair and eyes, and short in stature; Luke was tall and muscular, blond-haired with blue eyes. He was powerfully built, and could easily have crushed the life from Obadiah’s body with one hand.
It was not his physical strength alone that so frightened Matilda. Something else unfathomable about him unnerved her whenever she set eyes on him, yet when he touched her as even her betrothed had not touched her, the excitement she felt outweighed her fear; when he pressed his exposed manhood against her wanton nakedness, the thrill she felt intoxicated her and she was submissive to his very will.
She would do anything he asked of her without question.
Which was why, on the day that she and Obadiah intended to marry in Elendale, Matilda and Luke were in the neighbouring village of Ashfield with two villagers witnessing their nuptials.
Nobody from Elendale knew where Matilda was that day; her parents were worried sick, her intended in-laws furious at her non-appearance.
Obadiah was humiliated.
Later in the day, when she hoped the furore might have died down, Matilda paid a visit to her parents’ house to try to explain her decision, to try to make peace with them, for she knew they would be furious.
James Wystan’s fury knew no bounds. Never once in his life before that moment had he raised his hand to a woman, yet he struck out at his daughter, his face puce with unrepressed rage, as he totally disowned her with devastating finality. To humiliate the family in such a public manner was one thing, but to place such an obstacle in his way when he at last had the hidden treasure within his sights was unutterably unforgivable.
In tears, Matilda fled the place she had called home, and with caution in her mind, but hope in her heart, she made her way to Four Oaks, where she hoped Obadiah would be more forthcoming with forgiveness.
Obadiah was even more apoplectic with fury than James had been. With several witnesses to his wrath, he verbally laid into Matilda, sparing her not one harsh word as he told her in no uncertain terms precisely what he thought of her and the unladylike manner with which she had whored herself to the bastard Luke, and he finished with further condemnations towards Luke himself.
As the wronged man, Obadiah felt completely vindicated in stating that should he ever set eyes upon the other man, then he would cheerfully kill him with his bare hands – and if Matilda ever dared to set foot inside the boundary of Four Oaks again, then he simply could not be held accountable for his totally justified actions.
The following morning, Matilda lay dead upon the honeymoon bed she had shared with her new husband at the local inn.
No one appeared to have seen or heard anything during the night. Luke claimed to have stepped from the room for a few minutes during the night, finding his young bride stabbed to death upon his return. His screams roused the other guests, his grief so insurmountable that he was never a suspect.
Sole suspect was Obadiah, missing from Four Oaks, discovered later that morning beneath a tree at the edge of Dead Man’s Wood in an inebriated condition, with no recollection of how he got there, and no idea whether he actually committed the crime.
Secured by the evidence of his outburst to Matilda outside Four Oaks the previous afternoon, his guilt was incontrovertible.
The date for his execution was set – and nothing could save the neck of an innocent man that day.
2002
Violence was unheard of in modern-day Elendale; the yob culture that seemed to have swept aside the last bastion of public decency across the rest of the country had yet to reach the peaceful village. Yet gossip was rife amongst the locals that the father of the newcomer, Matthew Silverthorne, had been knifed at Four Oaks, and that the perpetrator of the terrible crime was one of their own.
Nobody seemed to know whether the man was alive or dead, and nobody actually knew who amongst their number stood accused, yet the village equivalent of Chinese Whispers spread rapidly through the community until everyone at some point had been accused.
Those in the know put the blame squarely upon the house of Four Oaks itself. It was cursed, so they said, and haunted by countless ghosts of those who had lived and died there through the centuries; people consumed with madness by the curse; people scared literally to death by the lingering spirits; people ravaged and doomed by their avarice.
Greed had brought many people past the gates of Four Oaks over the centuries; greed for a fabled treasure that was rumoured to be buried somewhere in the grounds of the house. All those who sought the treasure immediately perished under mysterious circumstances, their spirits cursed to join the legions already lingering there.
That same greed brought no one through the doors of the house itself.
After Old Woman Ridley’s death many years ago the house had lain empty and undisturbed, until Elaine Oakhurst purchased it last year.
If someone from outside of the village had made the purchase and the rash decision to live at the house, the villagers might have accepted it; that one of their own number had done so – and not just anyone, but the oldest and most respected inhabitant of the village – remained inconceivable.
Elaine Oakhurst knew perfectly well about the curse, indeed, she had perpetrated the retelling of the curse whenever possible. When she had made the purchase, the usual village equivalent of Chinese Whispers prevailed, and the villagers unanimously decided that perhaps they did not know Elaine Oakhurst quite as well as they thought.
Was it at all possible that she knew the rumour of treasure to be true, that she had maintained the tale of the curse over the years to ensure nobody bought the house when Old Woman Ridley died intestate? Was it possible the tale of the curse was in fact false, and that during her short time at the house, Elaine Oakhurst actually employed someone to search for the treasure at her behest? Had she perhaps left the house to that very person in her will, to carry on the search for the treasure? Was one of their number privy to this plan, eliminating Matthew Silverthorne’s father because he had uncovered the plan?
Whatever was actually going on up at the house, it was suddenly very clear that the curse really did exist and had indeed struck with impunity once more.
Nobody knew the identity of the attacker, though it had most assuredly not passed unnoticed that The Green Woman Inn had been closed since the incident. A notice pinned to the doors claimed personal problems, and though neither Chloe nor Ainsley would elaborate, it was noted that both of their children were conspicuous by their absence.
The village equivalent of Chinese Whispers struck again, and it did not take very long for these rumours to reach the ears of the landlord and landlady of The Green Woman Inn.
*
Chloe Samwell buckled her seatbelt as Ainsley put the car into gear and drove through the quiet back lanes that would take them to Crowborough. As they left Elendale behind, they both sighed aloud, relieved to be out of the social scrutiny, if only for a short while. They decided to make
the most of it, because when they returned to the village later that day, hopefully with their errant child in tow, they knew the barrage of questions would become an onslaught.
When they had visited their daughter yesterday as she languished in the cells at Crowborough Police Station, she had tearfully informed them she could not bear seeing the confusion, anger and pain in their faces, and so did not want to see them again until it was all over.
Chloe was so furious as what her daughter had done that she had no problem adhering to Lucinda’s request. She had busied herself cleaning the pub from top to bottom over the past few days, avoiding the probing questions of the locals by keeping the pub closed, because she could not face the recriminations and accusations with which she was sure they would barrage her. She was certain someone must have witnessed Lucinda being taken away in the police car, and when Ainsley informed her of the rumour he had heard, she feared her supposition was correct.
Ainsley could deal with the questions: he merely denied everything, claiming to know as much as the locals, which amounted to nothing, and which was not altogether far from the truth. What he could not deal with, however, was the unavoidable shame that his daughter had been arrested.
So far, her name had been kept out of the papers, but it was only a matter of time before the truth came out, and he simply was not equipped to deal with that scenario.
Because of their shock at Lucinda’s actions, their preoccupied minds did not immediately register the fact that Liam had not been around since that fateful evening.
Chloe recalled that he had been asking questions about Elaine Oakhurst on the night in question. Why on earth should he have thought Elaine might have had a son? Even in itself, the question had been odd, but coming from Liam, who had never once shown an iota of interest in any of the inhabitants of Elendale, or indeed the history of the village, made it even more curious.
And then Liam had seemingly vanished into thin air.
When he had ventured out yesterday, a couple of villagers commented to Ainsley that they had seen neither of the children around, but he had ignored the questions. Short of asking around the village to find out whether anyone had seen Liam, there seemed little that either he or Chloe could do to ascertain his whereabouts, and Chloe was not yet ready to face the villagers.
Ordinarily, Chloe would not have been unduly concerned about her son. He was an adult after all, and it was not the first time he had disappeared for a few days, and was unlikely to be the last. He had something of a wanderlust, but always came home safe and sound when he was ready; however, with all that had happened, maternal paranoia kicked rational thought into submission and she could not help fearing the worst.
Ainsley acted with a distinct lack of concern, which was not entirely unexpected by Chloe, but then earlier that morning he finally admitted he was actually becoming a little worried about the safety of their wayward son.
‘I expect he’s at Four Oaks!’ he had snapped, the moment of concern apparently gone, to which Chloe had countered with the supposition that that scenario was most unlikely given the circumstances. Neither she nor Ainsley made any effort to contact Matthew at Four Oaks, sensing their questioning about their son would not sit well upon his anguish.
Therefore, they decided it might be prudent to raise the issue with the police upon their next visit with Lucinda, and then that very morning they had received the most unexpected yet welcome phone call.
‘I hope we don’t bump into Matthew,’ Chloe sighed as she twisted her wedding ring nervously around her finger. She was unable to concentrate her thoughts on anything much of note, save the humiliation she would feel if she bumped into Matthew at the hospital, where both Roger and Liam now lay, comatose to the world, one fighting for his very life, the other with nothing very much wrong except several deep lacerations and concussion.
‘Stop worrying about it, dear,’ Ainsley muttered, even though he felt the same shame. ‘We cannot be held accountable for the actions of others, not even our own children. Both are adults, and both are capable of making their own decisions. Their culpability for their actions is entirely their own. Perhaps it’s time we stopped hiding behind worry and faced our fears… and prejudice. This afternoon, once we get home, I think we should open the pub again for business.’
Chloe felt clammy at the mere thought of facing the villagers. ‘I’m not ready for that, Ainsley.’
‘I know,’ Ainsley replied with gentle compassion, ‘and neither am I, but I don’t think we’ll ever be really ready to face them, and the longer we hold off putting our lives back on track, the harder it’s going to be.’
He was correct, of course; Chloe could see that only too well. ‘All right,’ she said tremulously, ‘let’s get this over with, and we’ll face whatever this afternoon brings together.’
*
Joyce stood before the French windows of the rear sitting room, staring up at the imposing edifice that was Wicca Hill. She regarded it solemnly as her eyes searched out the movement she had witnessed at this time yesterday morning. She had already decided to investigate if she saw the movement again, and although something nagging in the recesses of her mind warned that this was perhaps not a wise course of action, she nevertheless felt it was the right thing to do.
As a visitor, she had been in the area only a short length of time, but already knew well enough that anything moving on that particular hill could not possibly be any of the locals – not the sane ones, anyway.
Though consumed with concern for his father as he lay in his hospital bed, Matthew also confided in her that he was concerned for Liam, the young man from the village who had visited the house at the beginning of the week. Of old, Theo would have viewed such concern with petty jealousy, but as a newly reformed character, he knew he had nothing to worry about where the local lad was concerned and therefore worried along with Matthew about his wellbeing.
It was incredible, Joyce thought, how quickly rumours spread within the small community. Many of the rumours were patently ridiculous of course; spreading them was a good way of getting denials, rebuttals and confirmations; an excellent manner in which to surreptitiously obtain the truth about certain events.
It was clear to her that neither Chloe nor Ainsley had made any statements concerning their daughter’s unprovoked attack on Roger, and the villagers were fishing for information. Joyce and Theo, on instruction from Matthew, maintained their own silence about events; he would himself tell the locals what he wanted them to know when he had all the relevant facts.
Unfortunately, neither party involved in the frantic struggle, which Matthew and Theo had arrived at Four Oaks to witness first hand, were in any fit state to say anything: one mentally, the other physically. Until either Lucinda decided to talk, or Roger awakened from his comatose state, nobody would understand what had provoked Lucinda into such a frenzied attack on Roger.
When they had arrived back at Four Oaks following Rachel’s pleasant soiree, having walked off the effects of the wine in the cold evening wind, they had found Lucinda standing over Roger’s prostrate bloodied body at the foot of the stairs, brandishing a knife, clearly intent upon killing him.
Matthew had shouted; Theo had thrown himself at Lucinda, and she had merely dropped the knife where she stood, remaining quiet with acquiescence. She did not struggle as Theo subdued her, restraining her with his belt, whilst Matthew dialled for an ambulance and the police.
From the blood on the landing and on the stairs, it seemed likely that Roger had been attacked first up there, struggling down the stairs in an effort to get away from the knife-wielding maniac. Lucinda had obviously been determined to inflict as much pain upon Roger as possible before dealing the final fatal blow – which Matthew and Theo’s arrival had prevented.
When Matthew and Theo gave their statements to the police, claiming Lucinda had seemed like a woman possessed, they meant it metaphorically, but realised it might also be a literal interpretation of events, though of course they could
not divulge that information to the police.
Matthew went with his father to the hospital, spending much of the following day by Roger’s bedside along with Margaret, who had travelled the long distance from Portsmouth by taxi, whilst Theo and Joyce fielded the rumours and questions from the village with the deftness of seasoned pros, revealing nothing.
That night, when Matthew and Margaret returned to Four Oaks, both were pleased at the continued presence of Theo and Joyce Lockridge, who were a constant source of comfort and compassion in their time of need.
Joyce felt great sadness for the parents of the girl, who must surely be wondering where they went wrong, feeling much like pariahs within the community. She could not actually put herself in their position, for she did not know how she would react had the crime been committed by Theo. Her first instinct, she felt, would most likely be to disown him, but then at the end of the day he would still be her son: would she love him any less no matter what he did? She did not know, and prayed he would never place her in such a situation to find out.
Matthew grew concerned when the rumours rapidly spreading throughout the village started to include word that Liam Samwell was apparently missing. He told both Theo and Joyce what he and Liam had talked about a few nights ago, and how they had intended to climb Wicca Hill together to finally lay to rest the ghosts of Liam’s past.
Joyce was a little selfishly pleased that events had prevented Matthew from making that ascent. She had learned enough about Wicca Hill to know it was not a place she wished to visit, and could well understand why the locals avoided it, given its rather colourful history.
However, yesterday morning, when she saw movement up near the crest of the hill, she at first believed it to be merely a trick of the morning light. Whether it was her imagination or not, she was convinced she had seen the figure of a man standing there, looking down at the house before turning and entering the darkened entrance of the cave that was only barely visible through the winter nakedness of the trees.
The Master of Prophecy (The Sawyl Gwilym Chronicles Book 2) Page 20
