Hiding From the Light (47 page)

As Emma’s strength wavered, so for a moment did Sarah’s. It was all Ruth needed. All her pain and sorrow coalesced into a moment of strength as she saw her husband’s face transfigured by the light. Standing over Mike’s slumped body she turned to the shadowy figure before her and raising her hand she made the sign of the cross. Already Sarah was disappearing. In a fraction of a second she had gone.

It was dawn when at last Mike groaned and cautiously began to move. His head was thudding and his mouth tasted vile. Somehow he managed to open his eyes.

‘Ruth?’

He could see her sitting huddled on the floor by the altar. Near her Tony was lying on the ground.

For a moment she didn’t react to the sound of his voice, then slowly she turned her head. ‘Mike?’ It was a whisper. Her face was streaked with tears.

He managed to lever himself to his feet. He examined himself, and the floor around him. There was no trace of blood. No physical sign of his fight for life.

He stood for a moment, dazed, then he limped to her side. ‘Tony? Have you called an ambulance?’

‘No need. He’s dead, Mike. A heart attack.’ She gave a small, bleak smile.

‘Oh, Ruth.’ He knelt beside her, looking down at Tony’s face. It was serene. He looked as if he were asleep.

‘She was too strong for him, Mike. He had a weak heart. We knew that. But I thought he was going to be able to fight it.’ Ruth reached out to touch her husband’s cold hand. ‘I saw him, you know. He helped you. He brought the light of God into the church and it drove them out. I saw Hopkins. I saw him leave. He drifted away like the lost soul he is. He won’t return. Or if he does, one day, it won’t be to you, my dear friend. You and Tony were too strong for him.’

‘And Sarah?’

She shrugged. ‘Ah, she is different. She disappeared. I don’t know where she’s gone. But I am afraid she may be back, Mike.’

Mike glanced round with a shudder. ‘Oh, Ruth, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t called you – ’

‘It’s what Tony would have wanted. He lived to fight evil.’ Her face was white and the tears had begun to fall again, but somehow she managed a wan smile. Gently she rested her hand on her husband’s hair and stroked it. ‘I hoped we would have more time together, but it was not to be. And I’ve seen him.’ She looked up. ‘I saw him, Mike.’

The church was growing light.

Mike stood still for a moment, unsure what to do. He shrugged. ‘I’d better phone for help.’ He went to find his mobile. The screen was blank, the battery flat. With a sigh, he tossed it aside and turned back to her.

‘Say a prayer for him.’ Ruth reached out for his hand. She had begun to shiver. ‘Please.’

He nodded. Kneeling beside Tony’s body he began to pray. As the words of blessing and comfort filled the church, the sun sent its first beam of light through the delicate tracery of stone and glass in the tall south window.

Paula was doling out cornflakes to Sophie and James when the police car pulled up outside. The excited children were banished into the garden with Alex as Paula was interviewed in the kitchen.

‘I understand you attended a meeting at the rectory yesterday evening, Mrs West?’

Paula had gone pale. She nodded. ‘Why? Has something happened to Lyndsey?’

‘Lyndsey?’ The policeman shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about a Lyndsey. If you could just answer my question, madam.’

Paula nodded. ‘Yes, I was there. There were about twelve of us.’ Why not just say thirteen and be done with it?

‘May I ask what you were doing?’

She frowned. ‘It was a prayer meeting, officer.’

‘I see.’ He was looking at his notebook. ‘In the presence of the rector, Mr Mike Sinclair?’

‘No. He’s away for a few days. The meeting was arranged by Judith Sadler.’

‘I see.’ The policeman made a note. ‘The rector is away, you say. Do you happen to know where?’

‘No, I haven’t a clue. You should ask Judith. She would know.’

‘I regret to inform you, Mrs West, that Miss Sadler is dead.’ He looked up at her, studying her face.

Paula’s mouth fell open. ‘No. She can’t be. She was fine – ’

‘What time did you leave the rectory, Mrs West?’

‘About nine. We all left together, more or less.’ She paused. ‘What happened? Has there been an accident? Oh, God!’ Reaching into the pocket of her trousers she brought out a tissue. She stared down at it as though not knowing what to do with it. ‘She wasn’t murdered?’

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘Because you are a policeman,’ she snapped. ‘And you are interrogating me! Why are you here? How did you know I saw her yesterday?’

‘There was a list of the ladies who attended the meeting,’ he replied calmly. ‘They are all being questioned, Mrs West. Cause and time of death have not yet been established for certain, but at present you ladies seem to have been the last people to see her alive.’ He stood up, closing the notebook. ‘So, I gather you haven’t seen the rector for several days?’

‘No.’ Paula shook her head.

‘He is not answering his mobile at the moment. If you do see him, or think of anywhere he might be, will you ring the station?’ He was halfway to the door when he paused. ‘You assumed something had happened to someone called Lyndsey, Mrs West. Why was that?’

Paula shrugged. ‘She was – is – someone we were praying for.’ She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. ‘She’s a witch.’

The policeman’s face remained impassive. ‘I see, madam. And do you happen to know her other name and her address?’

When he had gone, Paula stood in the hall, lost in thought.

Lyndsey.

Surely not. Things like that didn’t happen. Not for real. Did they? Lyndsey wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Could she? Lyndsey the witch, the servant of the Devil. Judith’s enemy. For a moment Paula stayed immobile, deep in thought, then her face hardened. Grabbing the car keys off the kitchen table, she reached for her jacket and let herself out of the house. When Alex came in from the garden ten minutes later looking for her, there was no sign of her.

Emma finally drifted into an uneasy sleep at about five. She had been awakened by her dream and had sat on the edge of her bed, rocking backwards and forwards miserably for an hour, her arms clasped across her breasts before lying down again, hugging the pillow to her as she stared up into the dark. It was nearly ten when a car drew up outside the cottage and the sound of the engine nudged her into wakefulness. Her head ached, her eyes were sore from lack of sleep. Automatically her hand went out to the pillow near her to feel for Min or Max. The pillow was empty.

Sitting up slowly, she pushed her hair back off her face and stared round. The events of the night before were coming back to her. The churchyard.

Lyndsey.

Sarah.

She shivered. Oh God, what had she done?

Staggering to her feet, she limped across to the window and pushed back the curtain. Piers was just opening the gate.

Gasping, she turned away from the window. Searching frantically for her dressing gown and dragging it on, she ran downstairs on bare feet.

She reached the front door as Piers put his hand up to the knocker. ‘Oh Piers, thank God!’ She threw her arms around his neck.

He kissed her hair lightly. ‘Em! How are you? What’s wrong? Your call sounded completely panic-stricken.’ He pushed her away and stared down at her. ‘God, you look awful.’

She rubbed her hands wearily over her face. There was a reserve in him that had never been there before. It chilled her. ‘The cats are missing.’ She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I haven’t seen them for two days, Piers.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘You called me here, in tears, to tell me that?’ He took a deep breath. ‘OK. Of course, that’s awful. I take it you’ve looked everywhere? They haven’t got themselves locked in a shed or something?’ His arm round her shoulder, he was guiding her towards the kitchen. ‘Could they have gone on a spree and got lost? They are still townies at heart, you know.’ He gave a wry grin.

She shrugged. Automatically she walked over to the Aga and reached for the kettle. ‘I’m sorry I left such a panicky message. I needed to talk to you so much.’ The details of the night before were coming back to her now with more and more clarity. ‘Where were you?’

He frowned. ‘Out. I have a life, Emma.’

‘Of course.’ She turned her back on him, leaning on the Aga rail, clinging to its warmth. ‘You didn’t have to come rushing up here.’

‘Thanks! Now you tell me. For God’s sake, Emma, I left London at eight o’clock this morning and got clocked by God knows how many speed cameras, and you say I didn’t have to come.’

‘I’m glad you did.’ She turned back to him. ‘Really glad –’ She broke off suddenly in mid-sentence. Lyndsey had appeared in the doorway, her hair rumpled; she was wrapped in Emma’s bathrobe. She glanced from Emma to Piers and back, and raised her hands in mock surrender. ‘There are things I have to do. I’ll come back later, Em, OK?’ She smiled, raised a pained eyebrow in Piers’s direction and ducked back out of sight. They heard the sound of her footsteps running up the stairs. When she reappeared a few minutes later she was dressed in her jeans and sweater and she was carrying her bag.

‘Your resident witch?’ Piers’s voice was heavy with dislike. ‘I recognise her from Paula’s description.’

‘She stayed over because I was upset.’ Emma heard the defensiveness in her own voice and despised herself for it.

‘Whatever.’ He was dismissive. ‘Em, we have to talk. You and I are finished. You know that, don’t you? There is no future for us like this. So many miles apart. It can’t work. I’m enormously fond of you, always will be.’ He wasn’t looking at her now. ‘And I love the cats, but, that’s it. You must look to other people to rely on now. Lyndsey was obviously there for you. The Wests too, no doubt. I can’t keep coming up here.’ He glanced at her at last.

‘I suppose you’ve found someone else.’ She wasn’t sure how she felt. Hurt. Lost. But not surprised. Deep down she had known after their last meeting, and parting, that it was over.

He grimaced. ‘I might have. It’s early days. I don’t want to hurt you, Em.’ He got up and came to stand beside her. He rested his hand on hers for a moment. ‘Look, I’m lying. I could never turn my back on you. You can always count on me. We’ll always be friends.’ He glanced at her, inviting a response.

She shrugged miserably. ‘I hope so.’

‘There will be someone else for you, Em. Someone better than me. Someone who loves the country; someone who can grow to love this place.’

She nodded. ‘I know.’

‘For a start, what about that vicar of yours?’ He grinned. ‘I rather gathered from Alex West at that dreadful dinner party that he was smitten.’

‘Mike?’ She stared at him, shocked. ‘I don’t think so.’ The irony in her voice meant nothing to him.

She stared at her feet, her misery intensifying.

‘I saw an ambulance and a police car turn up Church Street as I came past,’ he went on. ‘Has some down and out come to grief on his doorstep?’

Emma froze. She closed her eyes. Inside her head she sensed Sarah’s cold amusement and she took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps. I … I should ring up. Make sure he’s all right.’ She could feel herself shaking with fear. But how could she ring? She was an initiated witch. A would-be murderer. A practitioner of the black arts. What was she going to say? Hi, Mike. I tried to kill you last night by black magic. How are you feeling? Why is there an ambulance there? Why the police? Had she succeeded? Oh God! Was he dead?

‘Em?’ Piers was touching her hand again. ‘It won’t be him. I’m sure he’s OK.’ He was frowning. ‘Look, why not sit down? You look really rough. I’ll make us some coffee before that kettle boils dry and then I’ll give you a hand hunting for the cats.’ He guided her to a chair and pushed her into it gently. ‘You really did have a bad night, didn’t you.’

On the contrary, I had a good night. A successful night. A triumphant
night!

Emma didn’t say the words. They weren’t hers. But they were drowning out every other thought in her head but one.

Revenge!

He had spared her any more torture. Her confession was too complete, too absolute. Instead he had ordered her to be taken to Colchester Castle and there they had locked her in a cold cell far below the ground.

Liza was not there. She had already been taken to Chelmsford.

Still in her stained, torn nightgown without even a shawl to protect her, Sarah lay on the dirty straw, shivering. She could already feel the rope around her neck. The cold triumph in Hopkins’s eyes haunted her, as did the nearness of his body as he had bent over her and almost tenderly given her that last sip of wine.

Her only hope now was the gaoler’s boy. Without money she could obtain no food, no candles, not even an old blanket in this stinking, ice-cold hell, but the child was used to running errands for the prisoners and his father turned a blind eye. When the prisoners were without cash, there were no bribes, no possibility of selling them black market goods. If there was a chance that money could be begged, borrowed or stolen from relatives or friends, then it was worth a shot; the boy was sent for.

Normally no one would have spared even a glance for a witch, but this one was different. She was young. Her hands were soft and white, her nails tended – he noticed things like that – and the address she gave him in the town was in a rich quarter. There was a chance she had rich friends.

Sarah Paxman.

The boy repeated her name to himself as he ducked out of the postern gate and disappeared into the darkness of the Colchester streets. Sarah Paxman. If there was anyone who would stand by her, he would find them and offer to tell them where she was. For a fee.

All around she could hear the screams and groans from other prisoners behind the heavy oak doors. From time to time a hand appeared desperately clutching at the iron grille, illuminated by someone else’s candle. Then all would go dark again. She could hear the scurry and squeak of rats along the walls. They found pickings in the filthy straw. As she huddled into the corner, trying to pull the remains of her nightgown around her, they were coming closer all the time.

She didn’t know how long she had been there. There was no difference between day and night in the dark, but it was on the second day that the gaoler dragged open the door of her cell and stood there, the lantern swinging from his hand and throwing wild shadows across the walls.

‘Come on. Out.’ He beckoned her roughly.

Dazed, she stared up at him, afraid.

‘Well, do you want to go or not?’ His voice was gruff, but the bag of gold in his pocket was soothing his temper unaccountably effectively.

Sarah scrambled to her feet and staggered towards the door. Outside it, in the foul crowded outer prison, was a face she recognised. ‘John Pepper?’ She stared, unable to believe her eyes. ‘I thought you were dead!’

‘Miraculously revived by God’s good rain,’ he replied dryly. ‘And as well. If they had thought me alive they would have killed me for sure. But as it was they must have left me lying where I was when they took you, mistress, and I woke to find you gone.’ He was staring at her, taking in her bare feet, the torn blood-stained nightgown, which she clutched across her breasts. ‘Luckily for you, Mistress Sarah, your father returned home last night. He and your husband’s friends here in Colchester raised the money to get you free, and with them John Butcher and some of the folk from Manningtree who have had enough of Master Hopkins and his ways, so it was relatively easy to acquire an order for your release.’ An order from the Justice, which had been accompanied by a hefty bribe for the gaoler.

He guided Sarah towards the steep narrow stairs. At the top he glanced at her face, lit by the flames of the flares in the wall near the guard post, and he recoiled. Anger and hatred were stamped on every feature.

She turned to him. ‘Hopkins shall pay for this, but first we have to rescue Liza. John, you must ride to Chelmsford. Will you do this for me? Please, for my sake? For my father’s sake? Liza served him faithfully in bringing up his children. He would want this. I know it. It is not too late to save her. Then when you have brought her home I will make him pay. I will make him suffer as we have suffered.’

It was the Devil who had saved her. Of that she was in no doubt at all. He had saved her because she had sworn herself to his service.