The Darkest Hour

by Barbara Erskine

  Lucy found herself laughing with them as Maggie bent and lifted the cat onto her lap, stroking its head. It started to knead her knees with its paws.

  ‘And are you able to tell me what or who this energy is?’ Refusing to be distracted, Lucy brought the subject back to the negativity around her. She was feeling apprehensive and vulnerable.

  Maggie put her head to one side. ‘I can’t at the moment, no. I can’t see beyond a swirl of angry colours.’

  ‘So does that mean it is definitely a ghost?’ Lucy said after a moment’s pause. She couldn’t hide her discomfort. ‘It definitely isn’t a real man who has been doing this? Setting me up.’

  They both looked at her solemnly. ‘Someone may be threatening you, Lucy,’ Maggie said after a moment, ‘but this energy around you, I would say is so diffused, so strange, my guess is that it is what you call a ghost, yes. The anger of a live person you have encountered would contain a different pattern of colours, it would be structured differently.’

  ‘So, is this what they call an aura?’ Lucy couldn’t quite keep the scepticism out of her voice.

  ‘I am trying to avoid the word.’ Maggie smiled. There were deep laugh lines at the outer corners of her eyes and Lucy found herself liking the woman more and more. ‘It usually turns people off although it is a perfectly good word for describing what is in essence indescribable.’

  Huw cleared his throat. ‘I should at this point be saying that I don’t believe in all this and that only the power of prayer can intervene, but I believe that God has given some people the ability to see beyond the norm, and that he gives some of those people the power to heal this sort of situation just as he gives some people the vocation to be doctors.’

  ‘So, what I need is healing,’ Lucy said thoughtfully, ‘but not before I have discovered who is haunting me and what he can reveal about Evie’s story?’

  Maggie burst out laughing. ‘Oh, my dear, you are only asking for miracles! But I like your attitude. You are prepared to suffer for your art, even if it puts,’ she hesitated for a fraction of a second, ‘if it puts your peace of mind at risk.’

  ‘As long as it is just my peace of mind,’ Lucy murmured. She looked up in time to see husband and wife exchange a quick glance. ‘Which is not what you were going to say, was it?’

  ‘No.’ Maggie’s face lost all trace of humour. ‘No, I was going to say, your sanity, or even your life.’ She grimaced. ‘But I thought better of it because it would never come to that. Whatever is going on here, it is not the stuff of life and death, I am sure. It is sadness and anger – normal human emotions – which have for whatever reason become trapped in our space and time. We can work with this, and sort it, I promise.’

  She smiled again and Lucy tried to return the smile. Why when Maggie sounded so reassuring did she not feel the least bit reassured?

  November 4th 1940

  Eddie stared at the young man who had brought the note. ‘Who gave you this?’ he said sharply.

  ‘One of the airmen. He said it was urgent.’ The messenger was no more than a boy, Eddie saw now. Too young to enlist.

  ‘You did right to bring it straight away,’ he said, suppressing a smile. He reached into his pocket and brought out a sixpence. The boy had bony shoulders, angular wrists sticking out from rolled-up sleeves, scraggy knees protruding from threadbare shorts. ‘Keep your eyes open. There might be more messages for me.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ The boy had bright intelligent eyes. No, not intelligent. Knowing. Eddie smiled again. ‘Good lad. Off you go.’

  He slid his thumb under the flap of the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Near miss. Better luck next time. It was unsigned.

  Eddie scowled. Tearing up the note he held his lighter to the pieces and dropped them on the ground, grinding the ashes into the mud with his heel.

  Thursday 15th August

  Mike’s mother stepped out of her small bright blue Volkswagen Lupo and surveyed her nephew’s abode with an expression of quizzical distaste. In coming to see Christopher, she was about to interfere and she knew Mike would be furious with her, but interfering was what she did best! With a sigh she slammed the car door and turned towards the house. The front door opened as she mounted the steps.

  ‘Juliette!’ Frances Marston smiled at her. ‘How lovely to see you after such a long time.’

  The two women air kissed and Frances led the way inside.

  ‘It seemed foolish to come to Midhurst and not look in if you were at home,’ Juliette said cheerfully. She proffered a small box of handmade chocolates as a peace offering. Today she was wearing a vivid green tunic over black harem pants with open-toed red sandals. As she handed over the chocolates her bangles rattled noisily.

  Taking the sweets, Frances turned and gave her a bleak smile. She had, Juliette noticed suddenly, a black eye, fading, and well covered with make-up, but nevertheless obvious as she moved into the beam of sunlight which fell through the French windows. Frances sat down on the sofa and Juliette followed suit, positioning herself opposite her, on the far side of the coffee table with her back to the window.

  ‘Is Christopher home?’ Juliette enquired after an awkward pause. She tried to keep her voice nonchalant.

  Frances shook her head. ‘Just me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Juliette said firmly. ‘If I remember rightly Christopher has a tendency to take over every conversation and I wanted to see you.’

  ‘What you really mean is, that you want to talk about this woman who is writing Evie’s biography,’ Frances said with a grimace.

  No need for oblique approaches to the subject, then, Juliette thought dryly. ‘The topic was bound to come up,’ she said. ‘I gather Christopher is not happy about it.’

  ‘No. He’s not.’

  Juliette clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Why?’

  The directness of the question appeared to take Frances aback for a moment. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she said after a moment.

  ‘Not to me.’

  This time the silence stretched out for what seemed to Juliette like minutes. ‘Is there some kind of a problem here I don’t know about?’ she said at last, her voice gentle. ‘If I don’t know what it is, how can I help?’

  ‘It just needs for everyone to mind their own business!’ Frances cried. She rammed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets for a moment as though trying to stem her tears.

  ‘But Evelyn Lucas is everyone’s business, Frances,’ Juliette remonstrated softly. ‘She is a national treasure. You can’t pretend she is of no interest to the world. If Lucy Standish hadn’t decided to write her biography, someone else would, and someone a lot less sensitive than Lucy. If you tell me why there is this huge problem, then perhaps I can mediate in some way between you all. Mike doesn’t seem to know what the problem is. He is happy for the book to go ahead. I haven’t spoken to George, but I am sure –’

  ‘Don’t!’ Frances looked up furiously. ‘Don’t speak to Chris’s father. You mustn’t. Chris would be livid.’

  ‘OK. But why not?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Suddenly Frances’s fury had dissipated. Her words came out as a wail. ‘I don’t know about any of this. Chris won’t tell me. When I asked him he was livid with me. He said it was none of my business. He was so angry when I said Lucy had been here I thought –’ Again she stopped. ‘I thought he was going to kill me,’ she finished in a whisper. ‘The children were due back today. They’re in Scotland with my parents. He rang them up last night and said they couldn’t come home. He said we had to go away and they should stay there till the end of the holidays.’

  ‘And your parents were happy with this?’’ Juliette asked tentatively.

  ‘Oh, yes. They love the kids, and Hannah and Ollie will be very happy there. And safe.’ Frances wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver.

  ‘And are you going away?’ Juliette had long ago stopped feeling impatient with this poor fragile woman. Her sympathy was mounting with eve
ry second.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Frances stood up suddenly. ‘I think you’d better go, Juliette. It was nice of you to drop in, but I never know when he, when Chris, might come back suddenly. I would hate him to find you here.’

  ‘Why? I am his aunt!’

  Frances smiled. ‘I don’t think he is a great one for family loyalties.’

  ‘Although he loves family inheritances.’ Juliette was tight-lipped as she levered herself off the sofa.

  Frances gave a small nod. She led the way out of the room into the hall. ‘I liked Lucy,’ she whispered as she pulled open the door. ‘She seemed a nice person.’

  ‘She is.’ Juliette stepped outside then she turned. ‘You do know where I live, don’t you, Frances? I want you to remember you can come to me any time, my dear. Any time at all.’ She reached over and kissed Frances’s cheek then she turned away, but not before she saw the other woman’s eyes flood with tears again as she stepped back inside and shut the door.

  At the gallery in Westgate Huw and Maggie followed Lucy up the stairs. They had turned the Closed sign over on the door, and Lucy had bolted it. The flat was hot and airless and very quiet. Lucy found she was clenching her fists as she stopped on the landing.

  ‘Let me go first,’ Huw said quietly. He stepped past her, opened the kitchen door and went inside. The studio beyond was empty, tidy. They saw him standing still and looking round.

  Maggie turned to Lucy and smiled. ‘Me next,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.’

  Lucy remained where she was. Her heart was thudding in her chest as she strained her ears. She could see Huw and Maggie standing in the middle of the floor in silence. Both appeared to be listening intently. Huw put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small book. A Bible? She saw Maggie reach out and touch his shoulder. She pointed to something and Huw turned to look. He nodded and moved towards whatever it was. Lucy took a step forward. The board creaked under her foot and she caught her breath in fear. Neither Huw nor Maggie seemed to have heard.

  She could see Huw’s face now. He was murmuring something, the book held in front of him in both hands. Maggie was watching him intently. Slowly Huw moved forward, towards the studio door. He put out his hand towards something she couldn’t see. Lucy bit her lip. The tension was becoming intolerable.

  Suddenly, sunshine flooded in through the skylight and Lucy heard Huw’s exclamation of surprise.

  He was looking shaken. ‘He was here,’ he said. ‘The other one. The stronger one. The angry one.’

  Lucy cringed away. ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘I couldn’t see, not clearly. Red. He was a swirl of red. He was angry.’

  Maggie had moved beside her husband. Her face was white.

  ‘Has he gone?’ Lucy whispered.

  Huw nodded. ‘He’s gone. For now.’

  Downstairs in the gallery the doorbell rang suddenly.

  ‘Ignore it,’ Huw commanded.

  ‘Lucy!’ A woman’s voice rang through the shop downstairs, presumably calling through the letterbox. ‘It’s Juliette. Mike’s mother. Can I come in?’

  ‘It’s up to you, Lucy,’ Maggie said sternly. ‘The moment has passed here for now. Our visitor has gone.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Lucy was shaking visibly.

  ‘I’m sure.’ Maggie smiled. ‘Maybe someone else here would be a good thing. It will clear the air.’

  Lucy ran downstairs and pulled open the door. Juliette was standing on the doorstep. For a moment they stared at each other in silence. Lucy found she was incapable of speech, then abruptly her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Juliette was horrified. ‘You are the second person I’ve made cry in as many hours. Oh, Lucy, my dear. I am so sorry. Shall I go away?’

  Wordlessly Lucy shook her head. She caught Juliette’s hand and pulled her inside.

  Maggie appeared on the staircase behind her. ‘Lucy, dear, are you all right?’

  ‘It’s a friend of mine,’ Lucy stammered. ‘From Brighton.’

  ‘Which sounds a bit like Coleridge’s person from Porlock!’ Juliette said cautiously. ‘I’ll disappear.’

  ‘No. I would like you to stay. I want you to know what has been happening. Please.’

  ‘Juliette?’ Maggie Redwood recognised the newcomer first. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ She ran down the last few steps, holding out her arms.

  ‘Maggie?’ Juliette let out a gurgle of delight. ‘My God, what a small world!’ She turned to Lucy. ‘Maggie’s husband, Huw, married Rick and me. Maggie offered to organise the flowers in the church and we realised we had known each other years ago in London when we were carefree and young.’

  ‘Which we aren’t any more!’ Maggie said with a grimace. ‘Lucy, my dear. Whatever serendipity this might appear to be, it is up to you whether Juliette stays.’

  ‘I would like her to,’ Lucy said again. ‘She is Mike’s mother! I want her to know about the picture. I am so tired of all the secrets and misunderstandings, and there is something so awful going on here.’ She turned to the stairs and led the way up.

  As they sat down in the sitting room Lucy launched into an explanation.

  ‘I didn’t tell Mike I had an oil painting by Evie Lucas and now he thinks I have been lying to him because I kept it from him. Christopher found out first and is furious and he told Mike.’ She looked down at her hands, linked together on her lap.

  ‘So, this picture is why Christopher is so angry and wants to stop you writing about Evie?’ Juliette asked slowly. ‘I’ve just been to see Frances. Poor love, she is terrorised by that man.’ She pushed her bangles up her wrists in a businesslike way. ‘But I’m not sure how you two fit in?’ She glanced at Maggie. ‘Am I being obtuse?’

  ‘It appears that the painting is at the centre of some kind of psychic attack. Huw and Maggie have come over to help me deal with it.’ Lucy gave a helpless smile at Juliette who was staring at her open-mouthed.

  ‘For the first time in my life I am speechless,’ Juliette said at last. ‘I take it you are all being perfectly serious?’

  Maggie leaned across and put her hand over Juliette’s. ‘Lucy has been in great distress. She needs your support.’

  ‘And she will have it.’ Juliette said firmly.

  ‘I didn’t mean to lie to Mike,’ Lucy said in anguish. ‘It has all got so complicated. I so nearly told you. I wanted to tell you. I didn’t know which way to turn.’

  ‘Can I see the painting?’ Juliette asked. She glanced at Huw, who was sitting next to his wife in silence. The Bible was still clutched between his fingers.

  ‘I was too frightened to let it stay here,’ Lucy replied. ‘Awful things were happening. Robin, my assistant in the gallery, has taken it away and hidden it somewhere safe. The picture was being attacked by someone. Something. That’s why Huw and Maggie have come over.’

  ‘My God!’ Juliette looked taken aback for a moment, then she smiled. ‘I remember Maggie in the old days. She was always doing the Tarot cards and crystals. But Huw?’

  ‘Huw has come to pray for Ralph’s soul. You remember you told me Mike’s father was haunted by him?’

  Juliette paled. ‘It never occurred to me that this had affected other people. I thought it was just Johnny.’

  ‘Would you rather go, now you know the situation?’ Lucy smiled sadly.

  ‘No way.’ Juliette said. ‘I am part of this. Or I think I am. And, Lucy,’ she paused, looking Lucy in the eyes, ‘I think it’s up to you to tell Mike about this painting. I think you should do it soon, but I won’t say anything until you’re ready, OK? And I would like to stay, as long as you don’t think I will be in the way. I’d like to think that I might be able to help in some way. I am not psychic, but I firmly believe in these things. I couldn’t have lived with Johnny all those years and not have felt that it was all terribly real, at least for him. I never saw anything, but he did. I know he did.’

  ‘Perhaps Maggie and I shou
ld go back into the studio, Lucy,’ Huw put in at last. ‘To say a final prayer.’

  They stood up. Maggie reached over and touched Lucy’s hand gently. ‘It will be all right,’ she whispered.

  When they were alone Lucy looked at Juliette. ‘I’m not afraid, not when there are other people here. But when I’m on my own –’

  ‘I don’t blame you.’ Juliette pushed her bangles up her wrists with a sigh. ‘And you must come and stay with me. You can’t stay here.’ She raised her hand as Lucy started to protest, then she interrupted herself. ‘But Ralph would never harm anyone, I’m sure he wouldn’t.’

  Lucy sighed. ‘I don’t think it’s Ralph,’ she whispered.

  They both looked at the studio door. Huw had left it ajar and they could hear voices talking softly.

  ‘He’s praying,’ Lucy murmured.

  Juliette nodded.

  ‘It’s kind of you to ask me to stay,’ Lucy went on. ‘But I want to stay here. I have to stay here. I don’t know if you can understand, but this is my home. I am not going to let them chase me away.’

  Behind them the phone rang.

  Lucy turned towards it. She hesitated then picked it up.

  ‘Lucy!’ It was Robin. ‘Something terrible has happened. The storehouse where we left the painting. It’s caught fire.’

  17

  November 12th 1940

  ‘You did know Tony took one of the WAAFs to a dance last night?’ Eddie dropped the remark casually into the conversation.

  ‘What?’ Evie dropped the potato knife into the sink and stared at him, her hands dripping with muddy water. He was seated at the kitchen table, his briefcase beside him on the floor.

  ‘I was surprised, I must say.’ He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, his face carefully neutral. ‘He seems to have got over his relationship with you very quickly.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I assume he has stopped creeping around you in the middle of the night, or is he still pretending you are the only woman in his life?’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ Her face was white.