Phil nodded. ‘Come inside, we’ll discuss it with Louise over a coffee and see if we can come up with some kind of plan.’
I
Matthew and Margaret both turned as they heard the sound of several pairs of feet running down the corridor towards them, and they gasped in horror to see two nurses rush into Roger’s room.
With almost as much speed, the pair ran the short distance and threw themselves into the room, half expecting to hear the steady whine of the heart monitor, fully anticipating to witness the nurses trying desperately to revive Roger.
They stopped in their tracks, for the very last thing they expected to see was the two nurses, with startled looks of incomprehension on their faces, struggling to restrain Roger, who struggled desperately to get out of the bed.
He glanced up as he sensed their presence. ‘Margaret, will you kindly tell these two young women to let me go! I don’t know what they think they’re doing, trying to restrain me.’
‘Mr Silverthorne,’ gasped one of the nurses, ‘you have been injured in a stabbing incident, and suffered concussion from a fall down the stairs. I really don’t think it’s wise to try to get out of bed the second you wake up.’
At her words, Roger ceased his struggling, and the nurses cautiously released him, straightening their uniforms as they did so. Roger looked from one to the other, searching for some indication that they were misleading him in a vain attempt to keep him in the bed, but everything about them, from their demeanour to their gentle faces, told him they were telling the truth.
‘A stabbing incident; falling down the stairs – I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘It’s true, Dad. Lucinda Samwell attacked you. Don’t you remember?’
Roger shook his head. ‘I don’t feel like I’ve been stabbed.’ He winced as a wave of pain washed over him, and he clutched his head. ‘Though my head hurts terribly.’
‘That’ll be the concussion,’ said one of the nurses, ‘I can give you something for the pain if you like?’
‘Yes, I think that’ll be a good idea,’ gasped Roger with a grimace. He gradually recalled the young woman lunging towards him with the knife, how he had stepped backwards, feeling the floor vanish beneath his feet as he tumbled down the stairs. As the nurses fussed around him, he glanced at his son with curiosity. ‘I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here, Matthew.’
‘He’s been a constant bedside companion, darling,’ muttered Margaret. ‘He’s been very concerned about you.’
Roger closed his eyes, and he inhaled deeply as in a split second of pure clarity he recalled everything that he had witnessed whilst unconscious.
It had all seemed so real, even though in that dreamscape he had thought himself dead. In a muddle of jumbled thoughts, he wondered whether it was all a hallucination, brought on by the concussion.
No.
He remembered too much, in detail far too vivid to be any dream. He remembered Matilda, Obadiah and Luke with such clarity that it was almost as though they were there in the room once more with him.
Only one of them is here with me, he thought as he opened his eyes and fixed his gaze upon Matthew. In the past he had been unable to fathom his son, but he had a sudden inkling as to why Matthew had been such a disappointment to him. The fact that he was stuck with a female spirit in his mind, as far as Roger was concerned, explained a great deal.
Which is the more dominant, he wondered, Matthew or Matilda? Matilda, obviously, and when all this is over I shall have my son back, finally. We might yet get the big white wedding and grandchildren!
It was a nice thought, but the rational part of Roger’s mind, unencumbered by the effects of painkillers, concussion and the other spirit, told him that was not about to happen, and that he was to remain disappointed.
So, I am Hrothgar, and Matthew is Matilda, and if I don’t stop the past from repeating itself in this time, we are all doomed to relive our lives yet again in the future.
Would that be such a bad thing, he thought? Next time, Matilda might be in a girl’s body again; that would be the right time to set things straight.
He mentally shook his head. No, he had been selected to visit the past to witness the truth, not some future reincarnation. Therefore, whatever power had propelled him back to that time wanted the grave injustice to be set right in this lifetime, not the next.
Lucinda Samwell.
He remembered how she had attacked him at Four Oaks, and yet at the same time he had witnessed her struggle against whatever inner demon had possessed her.
Was that demon Luke? Was it Hrothgar’s turn to be the innocent victim this time around? That was unlikely, since Matilda had made it clear he was the saviour in this lifetime. Had Hrothgar perhaps been a victim before? It was curious, he mused, that Hrothgar was peculiarly quiet within his mind at that moment.
I need to find out who Hrothgar was, he thought to himself, aware that Matthew was saying something to him. He chose to ignore his son as he went through his thoughts.
I must protect Matilda, and I must prevent innocent blood being spilt this time, which means I cannot let Matthew or Margaret know what is going on. They might be safer if they are ignorant of the facts. I must get out of this place and find Elen, whoever she is. She is the key to it all.
‘Did you hear me, Dad? I asked you what exactly happened at the house. Why did Lucinda try to kill you?’
‘She wasn’t trying to kill me, Matt. It was all just a misunderstanding. How is she?’
Matthew stared at his father uncomprehendingly. ‘How can you say she wasn’t trying to kill you? I saw her , and so did Theo.’
‘You are mistaken. I fell down the stairs, that’s all. I would know if she had tried to kill me. Is she all right?’
‘As well as anyone can expect to be, locked up in a police cell.’
Roger pondered this. Perhaps it would be better – not to mention safer – if Lucinda remained locked up for the moment, where she could do no harm to anyone, and where a watchful eye could be kept on her. Better to know exactly where she was without having to worry about her trying to kill again.
Some inner voice informed Roger that this was not the plan. Lucinda’s freedom was required; Lucius needed to have the opportunity to strike again freely if he was to be defeated this time.
Who is Lucius?
The answer was given the very instant the question formed within his mind: Lucius was Luke from his original lifetime.
Roger was about to mentally question further, but the opportunity was taken from him as the spirit took charge.
‘I should like her to be released,’ he said sharply. ‘She is innocent of this crime. I shall have no more innocent people hurt in any way.’
‘What do you mean more innocent people? Dad, what’s going on? Why are you protecting her? I clearly saw–’
‘I care not what you believe you witnessed!’ snapped Roger irritably, cutting him off abruptly. ‘I shall not explain myself to you. Now leave me alone a while, I grow tired.’
One of the nurses ushered Matthew and Margaret rather bossily from the room, closing the door behind them. They were just in time to be greeted by Ainsley and Chloe as they came out of Liam’s room.
‘Seems your daughter has luck in her favour,’ said Matthew with rather more iciness than he intended. ‘Dad’s woken up and says he’s not pressing charges. He wants her released.’
Chloe dried her eyes. ‘Well, that’s good news about one of my children, now we need good news about Liam.’
Matthew’s features softened at the mention of Liam’s name. ‘Yes, we noticed he was in here. What happened?’
‘Nobody seems to know for certain, but it appears that he fell down a rock face somewhere. He was struck down by a car as he stumbled out of Dead Man’s Wood, and was brought here unconscious.’
‘Is he badly hurt?’
Chloe shrugged, ‘The doctors say it’s severe concussion, along with cuts and bruises and a few broken bones, but who kno
ws? We won’t know for certain until he wakes up.’
‘Well let’s hope he wakes up as rapidly as my dad did. He seems none the worse for wear, apart from a broken arm, concussion and a few knife wounds.’
Chloe glanced at Matthew. ‘Be honest with me, did you really see Lucinda stabbing your father?’
Matthew nodded. ‘From the front door it appeared quite frenzied, but I have to admit that his injuries contradicted what I saw, and now Dad’s woken up he won’t talk about it. He just says Lucinda is innocent and that she should be set free.’
Matthew stared at Ainsley, who fixed him with an un-blinking stare. ‘You’re very quiet on the subject, Mr Samwell.’
‘What is there to say on the matter? Lucinda was locked away because of what you told the police, and now your own father contradicts your story. It wouldn’t surprise me if you set upon Liam personally and threw him down the rock face, leaving him for dead. You clearly have it in for my family, and I’d like to know why.’
‘That’s enough, Ainsley!’ snapped Chloe. ‘It’s no use pretending anguish at this late stage. Matthew knows how you feel about Liam, so there’s no point in taking your prejudice out on him.’
Ainsley hissed and stomped off in an overly melodramatic manner that reminded Matthew of a pantomime villain.
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ Chloe muttered. ‘I’m afraid the tension has got to us all. I don’t disbelieve what you told the police, Matthew. As far as I can tell, you have no reason to lie.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Samwell. Something odd is going on around here, and I have a really bad feeling about it. You say Liam was knocked down by a car on the edge of Dead Man’s Wood. Tell me, are there any rock faces on Wicca Hill?’
‘I believe so, though I have never actually been up there myself. Why do you ask?’
‘Because Liam and I had planned to go up there, but Dad’s attack put the kibosh on that. I was just thinking it was possible he went up there himself, anyway.’
‘And someone pushed him?’
‘Perhaps.’ Deep in thought, it seemed likely to Matthew that Liam had indeed gone up to Wicca Hill alone. The place had been calling to him for years, ever since his first ill-considered childhood visit. What if like a sailor drawn by a siren song he was compelled to return to that place on his own after Matthew had abandoned him?
Roger’s insistence that Lucinda was innocent confused Matthew, as did the attack he had witnessed. The results of such a frenzied attack should have resulted in Roger’s death, and yet he was very much alive. It was almost as if someone else had wanted Roger dead, while Lucinda had resisted, trying to save him.
All of which implied yet another spirit, which had perhaps attacked Roger as a diversionary tactic, in the hope of getting Liam up to Wicca Hill alone and defenceless.
‘I think you should remain at your son’s bedside, Mrs Samwell,’ said Matthew suddenly. He turned to his mother. ‘How do you feel about a trip through haunted woods and up to a haunted cave?’
Slightly afraid, Margaret chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Anything for a quiet life.’
*
Glory sat in silence for a long time after her mother finished speaking. She was not exactly sure what to say. Her fourteen-year-old mind struggled to digest and comprehend all the fantastic things she had been told about her Aunt Gloria and Uncle Allan, whom she so longed to have known personally, and about the events at Ravenscreag Hall before her birth. Her mother had also told her about the history of the local area, which had centuries ago been a haven for witches, but which now seemed to be a home for dispossessed spirits.
Louise came back in from the kitchen carrying coffee and biscuits. ‘You’re very quiet, Glory,’ she said as she perched on the edge of the sofa opposite her daughter. ‘Am I to take it you don’t believe the things I have told you? Is the truth too fantastic to credit?’
Glory held up her hand. ‘You’re going to have to give me a minute here, Mummy. You’re asking me to believe in ghosts and witches, warlocks and spirits. You want me to accept that spiritual possession is not only possible, but that it’s rife in your life.’
Her daughter’s reaction was exactly as she had anticipated, precisely the reason Louise had thought long and hard about ever revealing things to her. However, Glory was the one who brought up the subject, asking about the truth in both Gloria’s novels and Daniel’s. Since the girl had already pretty much accepted what she believed to be the truth anyway, that had gone some considerable way to assuage any doubts Louise still held about the validity of telling Glory the whole truth, so the girl’s doubts, though not exactly unexpected, were nonetheless also not entirely anticipated.
‘I did try to warn you, darling. I said I didn’t think you were completely ready for the truth.’
Glory picked up a biscuit and nibbled it thoughtfully in between sips of coffee. She maintained her silence a while longer before trusting herself enough to speak. ‘Look, Mummy, I read grandad’s book, and Aunt Gloria’s just as I said, and I guess I kind of worked out the most fantastic elements were the bits that were true, and it’s not that I doubt you, but how about some kind of proof?’
Louise sighed deeply, knowing precisely what Glory was inferring, though she nevertheless feigned ignorance – after all, was ignorance not supposed to be bliss. ‘What do you mean, sweetheart?’
Glory tilted her head to one side. ‘Come on, Mummy, don’t play coy. I want to hear the truth from your guest, Thelma What’s-her-name.’
My name be Thaumaturgia Anathemas, my child.
Glory knew her mispronunciation of the Seer’s name would prompt her into speaking. She had not anticipated the Seer actually showing herself, and as the ethereal white figure manifested an appearance and floated suddenly out of Louise’s body, hanging like some horrible spectre above her head, Glory gave a shriek and scrambled backwards over the sofa, putting some distance between the spirit and her.
‘Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.’
The ancient visage – oddly female despite the wispy white beard – smiled down at Glory, pink eyes penetrating her very soul, and as the girl blinked, she was astounded to see that the wizened old face had transformed into that of a beautiful young girl, skin unblemished and paler than the purest flawless alabaster. Her hair and flowing white robes seemed to blow on a non-existent breeze, and those eyes, which in the face of the old hag were threatening, now in the features of the girl at once friendly and reassuring, radiated the only colour in her features.
Since the child-like voice had accompanied the ancient face rather menacingly, Glory half expected the old woman’s voice to accompany the girl’s appearance, She was somewhat relieved that it did not, but was more than a little perturbed that each time she blinked the creature shifted appearance.
Be not afeared, my child, I mean no harm to thee or thy mother. I be aware my appearance doth disturb thee, but thou must trust me on this matter.
‘I do,’ whispered Glory. She glanced down at her mother, who appeared to be in a trance, sitting bolt upright on the sofa, unblinking eyes fixed on nothing. ‘Mummy is all right, isn’t she?’
Aye child, she be quite all right. When I take my leave, she shall return to her own state of being.
‘Have you been with her all these years?’
I come and go, for my task be not yet complete.
‘By that, you mean this Sawyl Gwilym person?’
Aye child, he amongst others who linger still.
‘Do you know whose body he inhabits?’
Alas no. He be close by, of that I be certain, but he has grown more devious since last he inhabited this world. He has better learned to hide himself. We must remain patient. He shall reveal himself soon enough.
‘Well we’ll have to hope it’s not too late when he does that.’
He be coming.
‘Sawyl Gwilym is coming here?’ squealed Glory in alarm.
My apologies, child, I meant not to startle thee. Peter Neville be coming.
&nb
sp; Glory sighed with relief as she realised the Seer meant her father was approaching. She turned, glancing through the window to see her father and Rachel coming up the path towards the front door. She rushed to open it and threw herself into Phil’s arms.
‘Glory, whatever is the matter?’ gasped Phil as he felt his daughter trembling. He pushed her away slightly and looked into her haunted eyes, which brimmed with apprehension and fear. ‘Louise?’ he shouted, suddenly pushing past his daughter and dashing into the cottage.
Rachel wrapped an arm around Glory’s shoulder. ‘What happened, my dear?’
Glory wiped her eyes. ‘Thaumaturgia.’
Rachel understood the girl’s reaction perfectly. She had witnessed the ghostly apparition of Thaumaturgia Anathemas only once, and had hoped never again to set eyes upon the creature that had instilled such fear within her.
She took hold of Glory’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Come on, let’s go in and hear what she has to say.’
Although she was clearly still a little apprehensive about returning to the same room as the Seer, Glory’s fear was lessened by the fact that two others accompanied her.
They entered the cottage straight into the sitting room, to find Thaumaturgia still floating above Louise’s body. Phil was speaking to her, though not in his voice. The Seer’s appearance froze Rachel to the spot, whilst her father speaking in someone else’s voice unnerved Glory still further.
‘Is it time?’
Aye, the truth must finally be revealed.
‘Where are the others?’
Some be with Mother; the others shall join them shortly.
Glory nudged Rachel. ‘Is that Peter Neville speaking?’
Rachel nodded, keeping her voice as low as Glory’s. ‘He was my daughter’s guardian angel in the past, and it would seem he is here to protect us all this time.’
‘Does Elen know in whose body Sawyl has manifested himself?’ demanded Peter.
I know not the answer to your question. We shall learn that answer when we visit her.
‘And the other three?’
All be prepared. Mother be ready for them. She shall make them see the error of their ways. It be not good though that Sawyl Gwilym doth remain undetected. His continued freedom shall pose a most serious threat.
The Master of Prophecy (The Sawyl Gwilym Chronicles Book 2) Page 25
