Placing the spoon into the empty bowl, Scarlet rose from her chair. ‘Thank you, Shelagh,’ she said, ‘and you’re right… I really didn’t know how hungry I was. These past few days, I’m afraid I’ve eaten very little.’ The rich aroma of the broth lingered in the air: mutton, all manner of vegetables and herbs. And something undefinable.
‘The broth is an old, cherished recipe.’ The smile froze on Shelagh’s face and her eyes glittered like those of an artful fox. ‘It was one of the few things my mother taught me.’ Each word seemed to cut the air like a knife. ‘Are you content, Scarlet?’
‘More than I have been for a very long time. It’s a wonderful thing, Shelagh… to know that you belong.’ A wave of weariness engulfed her. ‘But there is still so much I need to know. Where is my father’s room?’
‘Go to the top of the stairs. The room is lit by candlelight. You won’t go astray.’ In a moment she had lit a small oil lamp, which she handed to Scarlet. ‘Hurry, my dear. Your father has waited so long. Go to him… stay with him. You two have much to talk about… I promise I won’t disturb you.’
At the top of the stairs, Scarlet glanced towards the sheaf of soft yellow which emanated from a room some way along the landing. Her stomach was churning. She felt strange – as though her senses were slipping away. ‘Calm yourself,’ she murmured, going stealthily towards the light, her hands trembling and her whole body bathed in a film of sweat. Suddenly she found herself wishing that she had never returned. She was shocked by the thought. With each step, the high dark walls of the corridor seemed to close in on her. She couldn’t breathe. The gloom enveloped her, becoming darker as she groped her way nearer to the light; the light flickered, first it was blinding, then it was not there at all. Exhausted, she leaned against the wall, eyes closed, waiting for her strength to recover. Her eyelids were like lead weights pressing against the eyeballs beneath; her head was pounding in keeping with a frantic heartbeat. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a voice, a woman’s voice, softly singing. Thoughts of her mother invaded her mind. ‘Hannah… Mammy, is that you?’ She knew it was not. Agony wormed up inside her. Stubbornly, she dragged herself onwards, towards the quivering beacon that taunted her, beckoning her, confusing her.
Suddenly, the whole corridor was bathed in a brilliant hue. She was travelling down an avenue, a long, meandering tunnel where faces from the past leapt out at her: Shelagh… Hannah, Silas. They were all there, leering and tormenting. ‘I love you, Scarlet… Silas loves you… loves you.’ His voice was soft in her ear. She felt the frightening strength of his passion inside her. Holding onto his image she looked deep and long into those beseeching violet eyes. They were a mirror, reflecting everything that had gone before; the whole of her life played out in his eyes. ‘Oh please… leave me alone!’ Her voice cried out, broken, terrified. She saw it all! Like a terrifying spectacle it paraded through her senses: all the evil, the horror, the sinister bondage of her past. She was a child again. He was there. Touching and molesting. John knew! Her mother knew! Pain. Helplessness. Panic rampaged through her. ‘Cassie, CASSIE!’ But Cassie was gone. Garrett and the boy, they were gone too – over the cliff, dead, MURDERED! It was SILAS. NO! NOT SILAS. Realisation paralysed her. Silas loved her. SHE LOVED HIM.
Suddenly the solid wall gave way beneath her, and Scarlet found herself inside the room where the soft light played tricks in her fevered mind. Now she could hardly see for the pain and darkness that invaded every corner of her being. Stumbling towards the dresser, she put down the oil lamp, her senses swimming as she glanced around the room. Horror gripped her. It was his room! SHE HAD TO GET AWAY. But she could not move. ‘Help me, oh please… Shelagh, help me!’ The sound of her own voice startled her. She clawed at the dresser, feeling her way back towards the door. Her legs were like jelly beneath her, and her life was ebbing away. Don’t give in! DON’T GIVE IN. She slithered to the floor, the tears rolling down her face, bringing with them a strange sense of relief and contentment. In that instant, Scarlet looked up. HE WAS THERE! Vincent Pengally looked down on her: a grisly corpse hanging from the beams, his bulbous eyes staring fixedly in a piercing look of astonishment. The smell of his wasting form enveloped her; a scream rose like torment from her soul, echoing against the walls, and Silas’s name shaped itself on her lips. There was no one to hear. Only him. ONLY THE DEVIL.
Shelagh was still softly singing when the knock came on the door. It was Silas. ‘I’ve come for Scarlet.’ His voice was ragged. ‘Don’t send me away, Shelagh. I know she’s here.’
‘What makes you think Scarlet’s here?’
‘You can’t deny it. I saw her arrive. I’ve been waiting, you see. Watching from the ridge these two hours and more.’ He took a step forward.
‘Oh, then I can’t deny it, can I?’ She stepped aside, beckoning him into the hall. ‘You’re right, of course, Silas.’ She was composed, her thoughts racing ahead. ‘Scarlet is upstairs with her father. They have a great deal to talk over. Must you disturb them?’
‘I’m taking Scarlet away from this house… from him. You don’t know, Shelagh. You can’t know how he’s crippled her since the day she was born.’ Awful visions of the cellar loomed in his mind: of two babies. Of blood and… he stopped himself. He must not dwell on such things. ‘You can’t know how evil he is.’
‘You think I don’t know?’ Her voice sliced through him like a knife. He shuddered. But then she was charming again. ‘Come in, Silas. You can see her, if you insist. But you won’t take her from Greystone House… from her father. I can’t let you do that. She belongs here… with him.’
‘We’ll have to see what Scarlet has to say about that, Shelagh! Which is Vincent Pengally’s room?’ He had a distant memory of it, but that was long ago. And yet, wasn’t it only yesterday?
‘At the top of the stairs… first to your right. Please… go up, Silas. I’ll be along shortly.’ She watched him go, a man in his prime, handsome, desperate in his love for Scarlet. She sighed, murmuring after him, ‘You just won’t let her go, will you, Silas? How unfortunate that you also were touched by him… that you crave after a Pengally.’ Slowly, she turned and withdrew the axe from the stair cupboard. ‘Scarlet will be pleased to see you,’ she called out in a weird, shrill voice. ‘Why!… only just now, she was calling your name.’ An insane look twisted her features. She started after him.
His gentle tap on the door seemed to echo like thunder over the eerie silence of the house. He waited, then when no sound came from within, he tremulously pushed open the door. At first he could see nothing in the half-light. Over on the window ledge a candle flame was wafted by the spasmodic breeze that forced itself in through the warped and ancient window frame. The oil lamp on the dresser cast a subdued glow that fell in shadow all around. Slowly his vision adjusted to the semi-darkness. The bed was empty; neatly made up. Like a coffin. Had he come to the wrong room? Irritated, he began to withdraw. Suddenly, he swung his gaze downwards. What in God’s name was that? There was a groan, low and pitiful. He fell to his knees, his heart stiffening with fear as he came to recognise the misshapen bundle. ‘SCARLET!’ He could not believe what his eyes were telling him. Swiftly, he cradled her into his arms. In that moment, she opened her eyes; dark spears of pain tearing him apart. He saw the colour of death in them. ‘Silas… forgive me,’ she whispered.
He heard the soft tread of footsteps behind him. Clinging to Scarlet, he looked up, preparing to lift his precious burden; even though he had seen the mantle of death cover her eyes, dulling the brilliance there.
The axe came down with astonishing swiftness, slicing into his shoulder and felling him to the ground. His scream mingled with her laughter. Through a sea of pain, he glanced up to see the blade glinting in the lamp’s orange glow. The flickering light made a sinister pattern of his own scarlet blood on her white blouse. He made a desperate effort to recover, before he heard the curiously melodic whistle as the axe sped through the air, embedding itself in his screaming skull. The la
st thing he saw was Scarlet’s wide-open eyes. Familiar. BECKONING. Lovingly, he sank into them.
Part 7
1937
The Circle Closes
Life is an imprisoned thing.
Only death can give it wings.
J.C.
20
‘So there you have it, miss.’ John Blackwood leaned back in his chair, exhausted and unsettled by the dark tale he had recounted to the young American girl. ‘Every word I’ve told you is God’s truth.’
‘A cruel tale, Mr Blackwood.’ Cassie was subdued by what she had heard. ‘My heart goes out to Scarlet Pengally… to have such a heartless man for a father. Then to lose her mother in such a shocking way.’ She shook her head, turning her forlorn gaze towards the window, then beyond, to the house. Its shadowed limbs were almost lost to the darkness. Only the rising moon betrayed its grey, formidable presence. ‘You say she loved Silas… and that the daughter she gave to the American couple might well have been conceived in that love. Yet she married another, and even then happiness eluded her.’ She was lost for a moment, tortured as she imagined Scarlet to have been. ‘How terrible that she should lose both her husband and her son in such a tragic way. No wonder she felt compelled to leave the area, where she had known such great sorrow.’
‘Scarlet Pengally was born to sorrow.’ There were tears in his voice.
‘But from what you say she had one friend at least… Shelagh Williams?’
‘I thought so… for a long time. Now, I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘Shelagh Williams is reckoned by some to be no better than a fortune-hunter. There are those who say that Vincent Pengally has a tidy sum hidden away, and that his will has been changed to favour her… then o’ course there’s Greystone House.’ He shuddered. ‘But I wouldn’t want it, I can tell you!’
‘Surely, she deserves whatever comes to her, Mr Blackwood. Especially since, according to you, she’s cared for Vincent Pengally these many years.’
‘Aye,’ he looked at her with sharp, quizzical blue eyes, ‘and why would any woman want to do that for a stranger, eh? Oh, I’ve often asked myself the very same question. Moved into Greystone House, she did… with one purpose in mind. To get her claws into Vincent Pengally. But in God’s name, why? Y’know… there’s something about that woman,’ he murmured, gazing out at the house again, ‘some strange quality that I haven’t yet been able to fathom. Who is she? Where did she come from afore she turned up in Dunster? Nobody seems to know.’ He raised his brows and threw out his hands in exasperation. ‘I dare say there’s things to do with that house, and that family, we’ll never know.’
‘You say that Scarlet Pengally returned some eight weeks ago?’
‘Aye, that’s what I said. Went right past the cottage without even glancing its way. I weren’t sure at the time, what with it being dark an’ all, but it were Scarlet alright. In no time at all, it were all over the village… as how she’d come back poorly. Folks reckon she’s med off again, with Silas.’ A look of sadness crept into his lined face. ‘All the while she were gone, that poor soul pined. Broke your heart to see it. Demented, he was.’
The news was disturbing to Cassie. It would be cruel if she had come so far, only to find that Scarlet had eluded her again. ‘Do you think she and Silas have gone away together?’
‘I don’t know, miss… I ain’t set eyes on Scarlet since the night she came back, and I ain’t seen Silas in a longer while. But I’ll tell you this! I hope to God the two of ’em have found each other, because they’ll never know happiness with anybody else, that’s for sure!’
‘Don’t you ever visit the house?’
Her question shocked him. He turned to look at her, his eyes round with fear. ‘Visit? Not me! Decent God-fearing folk don’t “visit” the devil’s lair.’ He straightened his back, groaning a little as he regarded her with impatience. ‘Trent’s late home tonight,’ he said absent-mindedly, quickly adding, ‘It’s pitch black outside. Best if you don’t venture out on your own… sit tight till my son comes. He’ll see you safely back to the inn.’ When she made no response he went on, ‘I don’t expect you’ll be staying round these parts, eh? Back to America soon, is it? Or have you got other places to see afore you end your travels?’
‘Mr Blackwood, you’ve been very honest with me.’ Cassie felt the time had come to explain the real reason for her being here. ‘I think it only fair that I’m just as honest with you.’ She watched him closely, gauging his reaction as she told him, ‘I did not come here out of idle curiosity. My name is Cassie… Cassie Thornton.’ She saw the light kindle in his eyes. ‘Yes. The child that was given to the American couple. Scarlet Pengally is my mother, and if what you say is true… Silas is my father.’ She was astonished to see him turn away, his whole attention gripped by what he had glimpsed outside. Suddenly, he was making the sign of the cross on himself; at the same time shouting for her to ‘Look out of the window! Jesus, Mary and Joseph… what in God’s name?’ He rose from his chair, blundering backwards and pointing a quivering finger into the darkness beyond; strange noises emitting from his throat and his cracked blue eyes staring ahead.
Caught up in the old man’s fear, Cassie tore back the curtain. Her frantic gaze was instantly drawn to the flickering halo of light in the upper window of Greystone House. At first she could not understand what had so terrified the old man, but then she saw the dark sombre shape that was silhouetted in the light; a hooded figure, swaying from side to side, its arms raised high as though in a posture of prayer. Cupped in its hands was a lit candle, the hazy glow drawing an arc high up in the window as it went from side to side. Suddenly the figure was still. It seemed to Cassie as though the sinister hidden face was staring directly at her. She watched, mesmerised, as the arm reached out to touch the naked flame against the curtains. She heard the old man gasp, saw him clutch his chest. ‘Pengally!’ The word was a cry of horror. She heard him calling after her as she ran, ‘Come back, you little fool!’
Cassie was halfway over the bridge when she heard the running footsteps behind her. ‘My father will raise the alarm.’ Trent Blackwood raced ahead, his long, lean legs quickly covering the ground. ‘You go back,’ he screamed, ‘Go BACK!’ His words fell on deaf ears. Cassie sped after him, her heart bursting. Above her the flames licked at the window, paling the moon with their red brilliance. She could hear the glass panes splitting in the heat. They made a weird squealing sound. As if the house were screaming!
The scene of carnage that she witnessed that night would stay with Cassie for ever. It was strange how the house seemed to be waiting for them. The front door was wide open. Cassie followed Trent into the darkness, aware of the eerie silence all around. Rushing deeper into the bowls of the house they could hear a low, rhythmic chanting permeating the air. It sent a chill down Cassie’s spine. As they fled up the stairs, the smoke clung to them, choking, blinding. She ignored Trent’s frantic instruction for her to ‘Go back’. The only thing on her mind was that Scarlet might be trapped here. Her mother. The smoke was drifting, surrounding them. Cassie convinced herself that there was no immediate danger.
‘Stay back I tell you!’ At the bottom, Trent lunged his arm outwards, barring Cassie’s entrance. For a moment her vision was impaired by the brilliance of the flames and the spasmodic coils of grey smoke that billowed outwards from the window. The heat was intense. She was suddenly aware that the wailing chant had stopped. Trent stood rigid, staring frantically into the room, uncertain as to whether anyone was in there. Cassie pushed forward, the thick dry air causing her to gasp. There was pain now, and a feeling of panic. Pulling the neck of his jumper over his mouth, Trent moved forward. Cassie’s hand touched his back and she felt it stiffen. ‘Jesus Christ!’ His cry struck dread into her heart. She felt him pressing her backwards; groaning when she resisted. He was staring at the far side of the room, at the hooded figure bent to its knees, head bowed, hands joined together in prayer. The chanting started again and the head swung upwards, it
s eyes raised to the figure hanging above: a grisly, rotting carcass, naked, its bones dripping with flesh. Only the eyes were preserved. Bulging, colourless eyes, fixed in a dead, piercing stare. Looking at me, Cassie thought. AT ME! Terror rolled up inside her. She heard her own scream echoing round the room. The chanting stopped and into the awful silence that followed there crept the sound of laughter: wild, insane laughter.
What happened next took place so swiftly that, even many years after, Cassie could not recall every detail. Suddenly the figure leapt forward, snatching the oil lamp from the dresser and rushing to the window, where in the same instant the ravaged tapestry curtains fell to the floor in a crush of dust and flame. Directly above the window the ceiling was alight, the spreading fire fanned by the incoming breeze. Raising the oil lamp high into the air, the figure snatched the hood from its face. Trent’s whisper was a shock of disbelief. ‘SHELAGH!’ The flames licked across the room as he started forward. ‘NO! Stay away. It’s too late… they’re dead. ALL DEAD!’ Her mad eyes danced in the light as the flames played all round her. The maniacal laughter reached a terrifying pitch as she looked across the room to where the two figures lay huddled together. ‘It’s done at last,’ she screamed. ‘The devil is hanged and all that he touched will burn in Hell beside him!’
A swear of terror seized hold of Cassie when she heard Trent’s horrified cry, ‘God above! It’s Silas… and… Scarlet?’ He burst forward, but then began reeling backwards when the lamp came hurtling through the air, gushing oil in its trail, and exploding in a fireball at his feet. The laughter reached a crescendo, before erupting into agonised screams as the flames licked her body.
Cassie recoiled from the raging heat that scorched her eyeballs. Suddenly there were hands clutching her, wrenching her away; pandemonium everywhere.
In that split second before she and Trent were plucked from the creeping flames, Cassie saw the two figures. They made a pitiful sight huddled together; Silas, with his arm flung protectively over the woman’s shoulder and his broken, bloodied head pressed to her breast. Scarlet’s magnificent opaque eyes seemed to gaze on his face, her long black hair entwined with his and the two of them locked forever in each other’s embrace. There was no pain in Scarlet’s quiet eyes. Only contentment, and a look of serenity that cut Cassie to the heart.
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