Pushing open the front door, Paula paused and listened. Silence. For a moment she thought the house was empty, then she spotted Alex through the back window. He had been mowing the lawn. She saw his face red with effort, his hands stained green from grass cuttings. The mower blades must have jammed again. Dropping her briefcase and bag she went out. ‘Hi there! Guess who has skived off from the office early!’
Alex smiled absent-mindedly. Wiping his forehead with the back of his arm he left an endearing green streak behind as he leaned over to kiss the air about four inches from her cheek. ‘Just thought I’d give it the last cut of the year. So, how was the day? It’s not like you to walk out.’
‘No, well, I was feeling a bit stressed. Where are the kids?’
‘Lyndsey’s got them. There is some project on at the library. Then they’re going to look for driftwood or something.’ He opened his mouth as though about to say something and paused.
Paula raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’
He gave a reluctant shrug. ‘We are right to trust her, aren’t we?’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘You were the one telling me she was OK, Alex.’ Paula unbuttoned her jacket. She looked out of place in her City clothes and high heels. ‘What’s happened?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing, really. I’m not worried about the kids. No,’ he considered, head on one side. ‘No, of course I’m not. Not for one single second. Actually, it’s Emma.’
‘Emma?’ Paula stared, immediately suspicious. ‘What has Emma got to do with anything?’
‘I saw Lyn this morning. She was coming out of the post office and I stopped to make sure she’d remembered about the kids. She …’ he hesitated. ‘She and Emma had some kind of altercation and – ’ he paused again. How could he tell her that he was convinced Lyn had put a spell on Emma’s car! He shook his head. ‘She is convinced Emma is in some sort of danger,’ he finished awkwardly.
‘Danger?’ Paula echoed him again. ‘For God’s sake, what kind of danger?’ She turned on her heel and headed back towards the French doors. ‘What nonsense! The trouble with Lyn is she lets her imagination run riot. I suppose this is all her witchy rubbish.’ She paused and turned round. ‘It is rubbish, isn’t it?’
Alex nodded. ‘Of course it is! No rational person believes in all that. I just don’t like the way she’s winding Emma up. The trouble is, now she’s working up at Oliver Dent’s she cycles past Liza’s every day. Emma finds it a bit disconcerting. She’s putting so much into that cottage.’ There was a pause. ‘She was very upset, by the way, that you talked to Piers.’
‘Upset?’ Paula stepped inside with Alex behind her. ‘You’ve seen her today, I gather.’
‘Of course. I went up to discuss setting up the herb garden business. There is so much potential up there. Oh, I told her you didn’t mean to interfere. After all, we all got on so well at the dinner party it would have been quite normal for you and Piers to be in touch. You have so much in common.’ He paused. ‘In fact, Piers might have rung you to thank you for the meal.’
‘But he didn’t.’ Paula absent-mindedly headed for the stairs. ‘I’ll go and change, Alex, OK? Then I want to pop into the village before the shops shut, so if you want to finish the mowing, I’ll pick up a bottle of wine for us while I’m out.’
It was only as she pulled on her thick sweater and jeans that she realised that was a stupid thing to say. They had racks of the stuff.
The bottle of red wine was for Emma. Pulling her car in at Liza’s, Paula climbed out and stared round. It was an idyllic spot, up a quiet lane, with views over the hedges towards the broad estuary and in the distance to the sea. She sighed, for a moment quite envious.
Emma had just lit a fire in the living room.
‘I wanted to apologise.’ Paula followed her in and offered the bottle. ‘A peace offering. I never meant to upset you by ringing Piers. I really didn’t. It was wrong of me and I’m very sorry.’
Emma gestured her towards the sofa. ‘Alex shouldn’t have told you. I over-reacted. The relationship is a bit dodgy, as you probably gathered.’
Paula grimaced. ‘Everyone goes through bad patches.’
‘Not this bad.’ Emma smiled sadly. ‘Alex has been really kind. It’s a bit scary when one moves to a new place not knowing anyone.’
‘And lonely, I expect.’ Paula tightened her lips for a second.
Emma glanced at her. She was still holding the wine bottle and she held it out. ‘Shall we open this?’ She fetched the corkscrew and two glasses. ‘Paula, you don’t mind Alex coming over here, do you?’
Paula looked away, embarrassed by her directness. ‘Of course not. It’s just – oh, you know, he finds it hard to resist beautiful women. I don’t mean he has affairs or anything – he doesn’t. At least, I don’t think so. It’s just – oh, hell! I’m not dealing with this very well.’
Emma shook her head. ‘You don’t have to worry, Paula. He’s been kind, but there’s no’ – Emma shrugged – ‘you know, attraction, not on my part, at least.’ She handed Paula a glass. ‘I still love Piers. I don’t know if we can ever work this all out, but I’m not looking for anyone else. Honestly.’
Paula nodded. ‘I believe you.’
‘I’m glad, because it’s true! You should trust Alex more.’ The comment came out more harshly than she intended, and she saw Paula’s lips purse angrily. She was about to try and soften the remark when the door opened and Max pushed his way in. He stopped and looked enquiringly at Paula, who shrank back into the sofa cushions. ‘Oh, God, can you make it go away? I hate cats.’
Emma frowned. ‘Of course. Go on, Max, out you go.’ She shooed him out and shut the door behind him.
Paula relaxed. She took several sips of the wine. It was too cold and it hadn’t breathed but it was nice. It loosened her tongue. She decided to change the subject. ‘I gather, while we’re all being so very honest and swapping gossip, that Lyndsey Clark has been pestering you.’
‘Pestering is a bit strong.’ Emma sat down beside the fire, thankful that they were no longer discussing Alex. ‘She unnerves me.’
‘She’s told you she likes to think of herself as a witch?’ Paula took another sip. ‘It’s all nonsense, of course. She enjoys shocking people. Take no notice. Actually, I’m not much better, am I. I know I told you there was a ghost here, but there’s no such thing. All old houses lend themselves to ghost stories.’ She glanced round critically as though assessing the potential for ghostly activity in the room. ‘You mustn’t let me scare you. I don’t think I had appreciated that you were living on your own. I thought Piers was here at least some of the time …’ She sighed and raising her glass, took a large gulp of wine.
Emma was staring at the fire. ‘The trouble is, I think I am a bit spooked. I’ve been having nightmares.’
‘Nightmares?’
Emma nodded. ‘Horrid ones. Had another last night. It’s getting so bad I’m kind of afraid of going to sleep.’ She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh.
‘Emma, that’s awful!’ Paula stared at her, for the first time taking in the drawn weariness on the other woman’s face. ‘Look, have you got a doctor here? If not I’ll recommend ours. He’s really good. He can give you some sleeping pills. Real knock out bombs. He gave me some and they were brilliant.’ She hesitated. ‘What are they about, do you mind me asking?’
‘My dreams? They are about witches. This place. Death. Torture.’
Paula drew back in distaste. ‘That’s ghastly.’
‘Yes.’
‘But it’s nothing to do with Lyndsey. Is it?’
Emma shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There’s something odd going on.’ She stopped and then went on. ‘Lyndsey and I have found out we’re cousins.’
‘You’re joking!’ Paula seemed genuinely shocked.
‘No.’ Emma glanced at the table where the albums and letters sent by her mother were spread out. She had spent the whole morning studying them.
‘Well,’ Paula went on thoughtfully, ‘of course Lyndsey is far more well-heeled than she lets on, isn’t she? Rich posh parents. So, I suppose, if I think about it, I’m not all that surprised.’
‘She doesn’t seem very happy.’
‘No.’ Paula frowned. ‘Although I don’t know why. She’s terribly good with our kids. They adore her. And she always used to seem happy. Painting. Writing. I think she’s working on some kind of book about plants. That’s what she was reading at Cambridge. Botany.’
‘She must be clever.’ Emma was picturing the small dark room, the shabby possessions. She did not remember seeing any books. ‘The point I was making, though, about our being cousins. It’s actually made quite a difference to me. I don’t feel quite so alone, even though we don’t get on.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘It’s tough moving, isn’t it? Until the vicar calls.’ She meant it as a joke, but somehow the words sounded all wrong.
Paula scanned her face thoughtfully. ‘What do you think of him?’
Emma took a deep breath. ‘Well, Lyndsey worries him.’
‘So she should. That’s his job, to worry about witches.’ Paula laughed. ‘He’s quite dishy, don’t you think?’
Emma smiled. ‘I find him …’ She paused, looking for the right word. ‘Unsettling. Yes, he’s good-looking. Very. But he makes me feel uneasy. There’s something – ’ she hesitated again, her eyes fixed on the middle-distance. ‘It’s tied up with all this. The witches. Liza’s. Lyndsey. Ghosts. My nightmares.’ Her voice faded to a whisper.
Paula stared at her. She took another quick gulp of wine. ‘Do you go to church?’
Emma shook her head.
‘Perhaps you should. If you don’t like Mike Sinclair, you could always go to our church up here.’
Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘I think I shall take a rain check. I am relying on myself rather than divine intervention at the moment.’
Paula drained her glass and stood up. ‘Well, if you come from a family of witches, perhaps the church would be better off without you.’ She gave a forced smile. ‘Who knows how much has rubbed off? OK. I have to go. Just remember, don’t rely too much on my husband, because if you do, you and I are not going to get on.’
‘So, you see, the shop is a centre, though from our walk around the town I’d say this problem spreads over the whole area.’ Tony was sitting in the worn leather chair opposite Mike. The answer machine on the desk was blinking again. So far the message count had reached seven. ‘My guess is that there are places round here where this sense of evil is strong and those places attract paranormal phenomena. And probably always have.’ He frowned. ‘Maybe that is what caused the witch mania to focus here in the first place.’
‘What do you mean by evil?’ Mike stared at him. ‘Where did it come from in the first place if not from the witches themselves?’
Tony leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. ‘I’ll explain. The phenomena disappeared completely after you had gone, you know. We prayed for a while and then left.’ He linked his fingers over his stomach. ‘I have come across this before in different parts of the country, but never so strongly as here. There are strong energies in the land here, at the edge of the sea. These are natural energies of some sort, which seem to come up out of the ground as a neutral force which can then be harnessed for whatever uses by whoever knows how. They are just there. And people in past times who had the correct esoteric training knew how to use them. The Templars, for instance.’ He nodded wisely. ‘There are incredible energy sources under their round churches and towers. And the Vikings and Norsemen and Anglo-Saxons harnessed this force too, for their darker northern magic.’ He glanced at Mike. ‘My guess is that your problem here has roots across the North Sea. But, whoever they were who operated in this area, their magic was strong. They knew how to harness the energy and they used it for what we would call evil purposes; and when they went away they left their evil behind them to swirl in and out with the tides, to drift in and out in the mist and it is still there, to be used by whoever knows how.’
Mike shivered. ‘I’ve seen that mist. And sensed it. It was even there in the shop today.’
Tony nodded.
‘And the witches use it?’
‘I suspect so. But so can we. We can go to the source of the energy and harness it ourselves in the service of the light.’
‘If we know how.’ Mike grimaced.
Tony got up and stood in front of the fire. ‘If we know how. The energy comes and goes, Mike. I don’t know why – perhaps it’s something to do with the seasons or the stars or something. But at the moment here, things are bad. People all over the area will be feeling it. They will be unhappy. Jumpy. The crime rate is probably going up. Violence will be escalating beyond the local norm and I’m afraid I have the feeling that you are in some way one of the catalysts, Mike. The shop is acting as some kind of vent hole for the energy at the moment and you are in some way involved. Clergymen often are targets, of course, just because of who they are. I was interested to see if the atmosphere changed after you left. To see if it followed you.’
‘It?’ Mike felt the short hairs on the back of his neck stir.
‘It for now.’ Tony nodded thoughtfully. ‘It might be an energy, no more than that, or the unpleasant atmosphere itself. Or it might be a he, or a she, or possibly both.’
‘Great!’ Mike folded his arms across his chest. He shivered. ‘And did it follow me?’
Tony smiled. ‘On this occasion, no.’
‘Thank God for that!’
‘Amen.’ Tony nodded. ‘Now, tell me, who have you told about this, Mike? Have you discussed it with anyone?’
Mike shrugged. ‘One or two people, that’s all. Judith, of course. A chap called Mark Edmunds. He’s one of the TV people making the film. Emma Dickson.’ He hesitated. He needed to talk about Emma, but at the same time, for reasons he couldn’t quite work out, he was reluctant to do so, even with Tony. ‘I get the feeling she knows more about all this than she’s told me,’ he said cautiously. ‘And she knows Lyndsey Clark. She caught her in the act, as it were.’
‘Have you discussed all this with your spiritual adviser?’
Mike shook his head.
‘Or the bishop’s deliverance team?’
Mike grinned. ‘I spoke to John Downing and was told to leave it to them. It was also suggested that a psychiatrist might be useful! For me! That is why I came to you, Tony. I’m sure they are excellent chaps, but I want advice.’
Behind them the door opened. Ruth appeared, carrying a tray. She and Tony had called in at the deli on their way back to the rectory and brought with them a wonderful selection of cheeses and pasties plus some organic bread and a four-pack of lager.
‘Think of it as grounding,’ Tony grinned and reached for one of the cans. ‘You’ve got some hard work ahead of you, Mike. Spiritual work. I would like you to ask the owners of that shop permission to hold a requiem Eucharist up there. But I’m afraid that may just concentrate what is going on elsewhere.’ He glanced at Mike, who was licking pâté off his fingers and missed the look. ‘In the meantime we must try to defuse the situation. Can you get them to give up on the TV show?’
Mike shook his head. ‘I doubt it. I’ve already asked.’
Tony pursed his lips. ‘Right. Then we have a fight on our hands. Even without this extra dimension you must take witchcraft seriously, Mike. The church is very worried about its spread and its popularity. When I was training for the priesthood they used to warn us to be aware that in certain places, and Essex was one of them,’ he grinned wryly, ‘there might be people who would try to palm the host at Communion so they could sell it to a witch later. We may find we have a widespread problem.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Now, Ruthie and I have to go, I’m afraid.’ He drained his can of lager. ‘I’m going to think and pray and I want you to do the same, and arrange if you can a time for us to hold a service in the shop – ASAP. Pray hard, Mike. The Lord will protect you, you know that, but He will expect you to be strong for yourself as well!’
Mike found himself staring at the empty plates for a long time after they had gone. He picked at a sliver of cheese. The house suddenly felt deserted.
Think and pray, Tony had said.
The church was shady, lit only fitfully by the watery afternoon light filtering through the windows. Walking slowly up to the altar he stared up at the stained glass above his head.
‘Dear Lord, as always I need your help and advice. Give me strength and protection against the forces of darkness. Fill this town with your light and your love. Give your strength to those involved – Emma, Mark and his colleagues, Judith, Tony and Ruth, and particularly bless and save Lyndsey from her dalliance with the Devil. Make her understand the danger. Hold her in your love …’ Slowly he knelt down. Closing his eyes he whispered the Lord’s prayer.
Behind him the church slowly grew darker.
When the door opened with a clank of handle and squeak of hinges, Mike jumped. He paused a moment, realising that the window was now completely dark and, standing up, he turned as a light came on by the door.
‘Sorry to interrupt.’ It was Mark Edmunds. ‘I tried the rectory, so I thought I’d pop in here on the off chance and see if you were in the office, so to speak.’
Mike smiled. ‘And you were right. But I was about to go home. How are you?’
‘OK. I’ve been doing some more homework about the Witchfinder and his friends and I wondered if you would be interested in it.’
Mike glanced over his shoulder. Sometimes even he was astounded by the quick response from ‘Him upstairs’.
As they strode up the lane side by side through a freshening wind, Mike was considering how to broach the subject of cancelling the film once he got Mark into his study for a serious talk. He was counting without his parishioners, however. As they walked up the drive a figure stepped out from the porch. ‘Is that you, Rector?’
Mike recognised the hunched figure of Bill Standing. ‘What can I do for you, Bill?’
‘I’d like a word, if you please.’ Bill glanced at Mark without recognition.
Mark took the hint. ‘Why don’t I go for a walk, come back when you’re free, Mike?’
Bill refused a seat. He stood with his back to the empty fireplace, twisting his cap between his hands. ‘There’s sommat wrong, Rector.’
Mike frowned. ‘What’s happened, Bill?’
‘It’s more what’s happening. You seen the local paper?’
Mike glanced at a pile of newspapers on a chair nearby. ‘I haven’t had much time …’
‘There’s been another mugging. This one down by the sailing club.’
‘A mugging?’ Mike echoed. ‘Here?’ The crime rate. The violence. Just as Tony had predicted.
Bill nodded. ‘And vandals. Worse than usual. I bin watching the papers. Listening in the pub. The balance has gone. You know what the Ward was?’ He chuckled.
Mike shook his head.
‘Every town and village round these parts had a Ward in the old days. The spirits of the dead and the fairises – fairies, if you like – who protected the place from the evil. They patrolled the old trackways, the rivers and brooks, the crosses, all over the place. They kept watch at night, Rector. Kept the Devil away. Kept him out of the town. No one believes in them now, of course, and they’ve mostly gone.’
Mike found his mouth had dropped open. He closed it. ‘You don’t believe this, Bill?’ But of course Bill believed it. After everything Tony had said, he believed it himself!
The old man frowned. ‘All I know is that there is nothing protecting this place now. The dark is coming in off the sea. The town is going bad. And it’s up to you and me, Rector, to put it right. You’re going to have to help me after all.’
‘I see.’ Mike stared at the old man affectionately. Was this ‘Him upstairs’ again, sending him more help and advice in response to his prayer, or just a coincidence? But then what were coincidences but answers to prayer?
‘Young Lyndsey has felt it. She’s trying to fight it in her own way, I reckon, but she’s playing at it. She thinks it’s all to do with Hopkins.’
Oh God, you have sent him to me. Mike took a deep breath. ‘And isn’t it?’
‘Naa!’ Bill shook his head. ‘It goes back centuries before him. Back to the old days.’
‘And what do you think we should do?’
‘I don’t reckon I know. In the old days the church knew how to deal with these things. I don’t reckon your fancy colleges teach you about it any more.’
‘Not about the Ward, no.’ Tony knew. Perhaps he should bring these two wise old men together.
Bill chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. ‘I know about it from my dad, and his dad before him. Cunning folk. Heard of them?’
Mike nodded. ‘A bit, yes. Local wise women and men. Witches of sorts?’
‘Not witches. They helped people against witches.’ Bill was twisting his cap again. ‘I tell you one of the things that’s happened, Rector, which might have helped set all this off. You know old Spindles, down in Ferry Lane?’
‘The house that burned down in the spring?’
Bill nodded. ‘They left that ruin right there in the street. No one’s pulled it down.’
‘They can’t. It’s a listed building. Once all the insurance stuff is sorted out I expect they will rebuild it.’
‘Ah.’ Bill scratched his head. ‘Well, I reckon some of this bad stuff is coming from there. It was like Liza’s, that old place. A witch’s house once. On a site where I reckon something bad happened, back in the Dark Ages. Bad on bad, you see? It all built up and exploded into fire. That should have neutralised it. Calmed it down again. They should have finished the job. Pulled it down. Cleared the ground and blessed it. But they didn’t.’
Mike was astonished. Was this what should have happened at Barker’s? ‘You make me feel as though I haven’t been doing my job, Bill!’
‘Not your fault, Rector.’
‘What do you suggest I do?’
‘Say your prayers a bit harder, I reckon. Do you have any holy water, like they Romans?’
‘Holy water is ordinary water and salt that has been blessed, Bill.’
‘Well, chucking some of that around would probably do no harm.’
‘Down at Spindles?’
Bill nodded. ‘And all round the place while you’re at it. At Liza’s, there’s stuff going on there, and up at old St Mary’s – but you’ve been up there already.’ Bill cocked a shrewd eye at him. ‘Yes, of course you have. Then there’s Barker’s shop and one or two others in the High Street, and the Thorn.’ He grinned. ‘You’ve got the right idea but I reckon you need to work a bit harder, Rector.’
Closing the door after him, Mike walked thoughtfully back into his study. Outside the evening had brought in a misty darkness which had swallowed Bill’s shambling figure almost as soon as he’d stepped out of the range of the porch light. Of Mark there was no sign.
Closed curtains. Roaring fire. Safe. Mike shivered. When someone stood here in his study and started talking about fairies and demons and holy water, he knew things were indeed out of balance. At least he now knew why Bill never stepped over the threshold of the church. A cunning man. He had read somewhere that it was hereditary, hadn’t he, and Bill had admitted that was what his father and his father’s father called themselves. He had had no idea that such people still existed. But he had had no sense of evil. Whatever gods or spirits Bill served, they were all on the same side.
Sitting down, he leaned towards the fire holding out his hands, suddenly weary. He was remembering when Spindles had burned. It had been a lovely old house, a cottage in a lane running down to the river. The fire investigators had said that the cause had been an electrical fault. The family, luckily, had escaped, although, if he remembered right a family pet had died. A dog? A cat? Locked in one of the rooms. He sighed. Bill was right. Fire was a cleanser. And so was water. But now that they had allowed the evil to come back and gain a hold, they were going to have to work very hard to bring back the light.
Leaning back in his chair, he stared down at the flames licking the bricks at the back of the fireplace. A log split in half with a bang and sparks flew up the chimney into the dark, but as he fell asleep, exhausted, his dream was not of fire but of water.