by Sarah Rayne
He went back to The Swan and considered what to do next. It was just on four, and if the hotel receptionist’s information could be relied on, Nell had been gone since nine o’clock. Seven hours. That was a long time, particularly on foot. At what point did you alert the police to the possibility of a missing person, and that person an adult? Michael thought he would make a search of as much of the village and the surrounding areas as he could, and if he had found no clues by, say, quarter past five, or had not reached Nell’s phone by then, he would call the police. After that he would think what to do about Beth. He would not worry her yet, though.
It would obviously be quicker and more practical to search for Nell by car, and her car was here in the car park. What about the keys? She usually had one set with her, but she tended to leave a spare key in her luggage when she was away in case her handbag should be lost or stolen. It felt like the worst kind of intrusion to open her case, but Michael did so and was relieved to find the spare set. He checked his jacket to make sure he had his phone, then went out of the hotel, leaving a message of explanation at the desk.
‘I think if I haven’t tracked her down in the next hour, I’ll have to contact the police,’ he said, and the receptionist nodded sympathetically, and made a note of his mobile so they could call him if Nell returned in the meantime.
‘I got the impression she was going out on the cliff road, Dr Flint.’ She found a small local map of the area, and indicated. ‘It’d be worth trying there first.’
‘Thank you.’ Michael took the map gratefully.
As he drove out of The Swan’s car park the dashboard clock was showing twenty-past four.
TWENTY
After Nell West was safely imprisoned in the bell tower, Maeve went back to Cliff House.
It was long past what most people regarded as lunchtime. Maeve often did not bother about food and she was not hungry, but she made a cup of tea, which she drank sitting at the kitchen table. She and Aunt Eifa always had their meals at this table, to the measured tick of the old-fashioned kitchen clock on the mantelpiece. It had belonged to an ancestress of Aunt Eifa’s – she had told Maeve that its original owner had vanished from this house one night. She must have taken some of her belongings with her, Aunt Eifa said, but she had left the clock.
Maeve was washing her cup and saucer – Aunt Eifa would have been very shocked to think of an unwashed cup and saucer lying on the table – when a car drew up outside the house, and a moment later there was the sound of the door knocker. This was deeply worrying, because no one ever came to this house and knocked on the door. But now a stranger – a man – was out there, and it was no good ignoring him because he might walk round to the back of the house and even look through windows, and realise there was someone inside. So she opened the door, but only part of the way, which should appear sufficiently discouraging.
The man was well-spoken and courteous, and at first Maeve thought he was only a tourist who had lost his way. But he introduced himself as Dr Flint – Maeve had no idea if he was a real doctor or not – and said he was looking for a lady called Nell West who seemed to be missing. She had not been seen since early that morning, and he wanted to know if Maeve had seen her walking along the cliff road. He provided a description, which Maeve listened to politely. But the name had already smacked against her mind like a blow. Nell West. This man, this Dr Flint, was concerned about her. He was looking for her.
‘It isn’t like her to simply go off without letting someone know,’ Dr Flint was saying. ‘The hotel think she was coming out here to look at the cliffs and an ancient bell tower, so I’m trying to retrace her steps before I call in the police.’
‘I understand.’ Maeve forced herself to speak in an ordinary, vaguely concerned tone, because he must not realise that hearing Nell West’s name had thrown her into such panic. But he could not be allowed to investigate the tower – not until tomorrow’s low tide at any rate – and he could not be allowed to call in the police either.
So, as he turned to go back to his car, Maeve said, ‘Wait a moment, I believe I might have seen your friend. Shortly before lunch I think it was.’ She tried to remember what Nell had been wearing, and said, ‘Did she have on a brown jacket and a gold-coloured scarf?’
‘Yes,’ he said, eagerly.
‘It sounds like her.’ Maeve thought quickly. ‘I have an idea she was going towards the bell tower.’ She indicated the direction in a deliberately vague fashion. ‘A remnant of the area’s medieval past,’ she said. ‘But it’s a bit lonely out there. The ground’s very uneven – she could have tripped and sprained an ankle and not been able to get back.’
‘Her phone doesn’t respond.’
‘Oh, the signal’s dreadful out here. Everyone complains about it. But,’ said Maeve, in a carefully worried voice, ‘the tide will be coming in, and if she’s fallen she could be in trouble.’
‘I’ll go out there at once.’ He turned to go, and Maeve said, ‘You won’t get your car down there, not all the way to the tower. There’s a footpath, though. I could come part of the way and point you towards it, if you want.’
‘Thanks, but I’m sure I can find it. I won’t trouble you.’
‘It’s no trouble. I often take a walk around this time of the afternoon anyway. And we haven’t any too much time before high tide, and if you miss the path—’ Before he could say any more, Maeve reached for her raincoat hanging on its usual peg, thrust her feet into the rubber boots that always stood beneath it, scooped up the door keys and came out of the house, slamming and locking the door. It was twenty minutes to five.
A plan that had worked once, should work twice.
Michael could not have said why he felt uneasy with this unknown woman. She had introduced herself quite pleasantly – she was Miss Eynon, she said, Miss Maeve Eynon – and she had lived in Cliff House since she was a child.
‘Which is more years than I care to count,’ she said. ‘Are you in Rede Abbas for long?’
‘Only a couple of days,’ said Michael, trying to join in this polite small talk, but his mind taken up with finding Nell. ‘Is this the path now?’
‘Yes. It winds all the way along the cliff, but just along here there’s a fork that goes down to a ledge. That’s where the bell tower is.’
The path sloped steeply downwards and the ground was rutted. It would certainly be easy to slip or twist your ankle here. The sea was directly below them – a lashing, sullen sea storming in over the rocks, sending up showers of spray. As the tower came into view, Michael felt something flinch deep within his mind. Rede Abbas’s medieval remnant of the past was like a decaying stump, blackened with age and covered here and there with crusted sections that might be from the constant lashing of the sea, or that might simply be the ravages of the centuries. Nell would have found it interesting, but it was doubtful if she would have walked out to it on her own. Still, Maeve Eynon had been definite about seeing her on this path, so it had to be checked.
‘It’s a strange-looking place,’ he said.
‘It’s supposed to have been part of an ancient monastery – built by the original monks when they came here to spread Christianity,’ said Maeve. ‘In 700 or 800, I think. But most of that building was eroded by the sea – huge chunks of the cliff fell away, so the monks built a safer home further inland. The tower is the only bit that’s left of the original.’
Michael said, ‘How close does the sea come in?’
‘At high tide it’s a good halfway up the cliff face.’ She pointed. ‘It submerges the lower part of the bell tower. So you can see we haven’t got much time to search.’
‘Perhaps I’d better call the police after all.’
‘We’re almost there now. Let’s check first, then you can call them. I can give you the local station’s number. Calling them would be as quick as anything.’
They were near enough to the tower for Michael to see there was a small door set into one of the walls. He was about to ask if they could get right u
p to it, when Maeve said, ‘Dr Flint – up there. Look.’
‘What? Where?’
‘The window halfway up. Can you see it? There’s a figure up there – she’s wearing an orange scarf. I’m sure it’s your friend. Yes, look, she’s waving.’
‘I can’t see anyone.’
‘Can’t you? No, I can’t now, either. But I’m positive I saw her.’
Michael did not pause to think that he was on his own with a complete stranger in a remote and vaguely sinister place. He thought only that Nell might be in this grim old place and that she might be injured, and he went as quickly as possible across the few yards of scrubby, uneven ground towards the tower.
‘She must be trapped,’ said Maeve, at his side. ‘The door might have jammed – there was some story years back about some children getting stuck; not able to get the door open from the inside or something.’
She was not exactly ahead of him, but somehow she reached the deep-set door first, and reached for the handle. She pulled on it, then frowned.
‘You try,’ she said. ‘I think I was right – it seems to be jammed.’
Michael grasped the handle, prepared to tear it off with his own hands if necessary. But it turned at once and the door swung inwards. He stepped inside, calling Nell’s name, and with overwhelming relief heard her say, ‘Michael?’ with disbelief and delight.
There was just enough light to see she had been sitting on a stone stairway and also to see that she appeared unharmed. She came towards him at once, but before Michael could say anything, the door swung back into place, and clanged shut.
‘Oh God, no,’ said Nell, in a voice that shook with tears and despair. ‘She’s shut us both in. She trapped me in here earlier – Michael …’
Michael was already at the door, searching for a handle, but Nell said, ‘It’s no use. There’s no handle on this side – I’ve tried and tried.’
‘But that woman—’
‘She shut me in here this morning,’ said Nell, and he heard the sob of panic in her voice. ‘I have no idea why, unless she’s mad. Michael, I’ve never been so glad to see you, but I wish you weren’t here. I wish you were outside, calling out the rescue teams. Is Beth all right? Have you seen her?’
‘I checked at the hostel,’ said Michael, pleased that he could at least alleviate this concern for her. ‘They were all about to scoff down a meal then set off for some entertainment or other. I haven’t said you’re missing.’
‘Good. We’ll probably get out before Beth even notices.’
‘You’ve tried phoning, of course,’ said Michael, nevertheless delving into his pocket for his phone.
‘Yes, but there’s no glimmer of a signal. And the tide’s coming in fast, and it’ll submerge this room, and we can’t get up the stairs to where it’s safe, because the sodding stairs have fallen away halfway up …’ This time her voice broke properly. ‘And I think we’ve only got about half an hour left.’
Maeve was extremely pleased with how well her plan had worked, particularly since there had been hardly any time to think about it. There was a pleasing symmetry about imprisoning Dr Flint and Nell West together. The tide was coming in, and they would not be able to open the door. They would not be able to use a mobile phone to call for help, either – those boys trapped there a few years ago had said there was no phone signal, and Maeve could remember people talking about how the thick stone walls would have blocked it.
Dr Flint’s car was still on the track, of course, but, if questioned, Maeve did not need to know anything about it. At worst, she might say that yes, someone had knocked on her door asking about a missing friend, but she had not been able to help and she had not seen where he went.
As she reached the upper footpath, she looked down at the tower. If she stayed here she would be able to watch the sea come in – the waves were already scudding across the last strip of pebbly shore and the sharp tang of the wind, salt-laden, stung her face. Aunt Eifa had liked this part of the cliff. She used to come out here to watch the tide engulf the bell tower. It was where she had been on that last day – the last time she had ever gone out of the house.
The memories of that day closed around Maeve. She would never forget a single detail of it. It had been the day she had played ‘Thaisa’s Song’ again.
It had been soon after the essay competition at school, marking the demolition of the monastery. She had found herself thinking about the song more and more – how her mother had found it in this house. The more she thought about her mother making that recording, the more she wanted to hear it again. It was strange and sad and she did not entirely understand it, but there was no reason not to listen to it again – to hear her mother laughing and her father teasing her.
She waited until a Saturday afternoon when Aunt Eifa set off on one of her long walks. A good brisk walk, she said, and Maeve should come with her. Maeve said she had homework to finish, and Aunt Eifa said homework was all very well, but if Maeve insisted on frowsting indoors, she could mop the kitchen floor and clean the mirrors. They were shockingly smeared with all the damp.
Maeve finished her tasks as quickly as possible, then went up to her bedroom and took the cassette player from its hiding place. There was a plug in the corner of the bedroom, but Maeve carried it down to the music room. Theodora might have played the music to Andrew in that room – he had known about it, and he had written about copying it – and Maeve wanted to hear it in the place where Andrew had heard it.
She was nervous but she was also excited, although she would not be surprised if her parents’ voices had been wiped from the tape as completely as if their lives had been wiped from existence. But the recording was still there, exactly as she remembered. The second voice – the odd, flawed echo that had spooked her so much last time – seemed to have vanished, though. It must have been a fault on the tape after all.
It was far easier now to understand the words her mother was singing.
Who is this, knocks on my tomb?
Asks where and what I am,
Who is this who calls to me?
I cannot see nor hear.
Maeve wound the tape back to the start, and sat down on the piano stool. When the tape began to play she sang with her mother, stumbling once or twice, but managing to keep up. It felt as if her mother had come back to be with her – it felt as if she had taken Maeve’s hand and as if they were singing this together. But when she reached the line where the singer was asking who called from outside the tomb, a cold fear began to steal over her. The second voice was there again. It was soft, but it was unmistakably echoing her – a beat or a half-beat behind, almost as if correcting her, wanting her to get it right. She pressed Pause, then released it. The second verse began, and at first Maeve thought it was all right. Then the other voice came back, and this time it was so close she thought someone was standing behind her chair. She turned sharply, but there was no one else in the room. Or was there? Had the curtains moved just then, as if someone was standing behind them – someone who might at any moment draw them aside and look out at her …?
Maeve wound back to the start again, praying that this time the voice would have gone.
I cannot see, I cannot hear
Who knocks upon my tomb.
I cannot speak, I cannot reach
The one stands by my tomb.
The voice seemed to have gone and Maeve began to sing again, so deeply immersed in the music that she did not hear the door of the room open. It was only the loud gasp that made her spin round.
Aunt Eifa was standing in the doorway, her eyes on the cassette player. But there was a dreadful blankness in her face, as if something had reached behind the eyes and scraped out all trace of Aunt Eifa, leaving only emptiness. The stone look, thought Maeve.
She sprang up as if to shield the tape from her aunt, and the blank look vanished from her aunt’s face. She reached out a hand as if to clutch at Maeve.
‘“Thaisa’s Song”,’ she said, and even her voice w
as different. It was hoarse and dry as if she had to fight to form the words. ‘My grandmother said the last copy was destroyed. “Burned,” she said, “and the words torn to unreadable shreds”. But she said that, even though it disappeared at times, it was always found again. And she was right, because you’ve found it … A recording … I didn’t think such a thing existed …’
Something was happening to Aunt Eifa’s face – it was as if huge, invisible hands had seized it and were dragging it out of shape. She said, ‘Maeve, you must never play that again. Never …’
Maeve was terrified. She had never seen her aunt like this – she had never seen anyone like this – but she went forward, and put an arm around her and led her to the nearest chair. Even this felt strange, because Aunt Eifa was not a person you touched; she had never given Maeve a hug or a goodnight kiss, even at Christmas or on her birthday.
But she said Aunt Eifa must go up to bed, and she would fill a hot-water bottle and make tea. The first-aid classes at school said you should give people hot sweet tea for shock.
Aunt Eifa seemed not to hear. She began tearing at her throat as if trying to fight off unseen hands. Maeve pulled her towards the stairs, to get her up to her bedroom, and it was then that the side of her aunt’s body seemed to sag and become heavy and hard, as if it was a slab of stone. She slipped from Maeve’s grasp, falling in an untidy sprawl on the hall floor, one hand still clutching at her throat, the other hand lifeless and flaccid.
‘I’ll get a doctor,’ said Maeve, terrified, having no idea what had happened.
