The Piper (16 page)

Peter returned his attention to the words on the wall. ‘What does it say?’ he asked.

The reverend looked at the words again, as though he’d forgotten they were there. ‘It’s a familiar enough phrase in English: Who pays the piper, calls the tune.’

‘What does that even mean?’

The reverend considered for a moment. ‘Well, basically, it means … whoever pays the musician gets to choose the songs that are played. And I suppose, if you haven’t paid then you don’t have any right to complain if you don’t like what you hear.’

Peter thought about that. About the music he’d heard in the night. What would you call a man who plays the French pipe? Why, a piper, of course.

‘Micheaux wasn’t paid,’ he murmured.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Captain Micheaux. He was supposed to be paid for all the work he and his men did on the canal, by being allowed to go home to his family in France.’

‘Yes, but, Peter…’

‘But Jeremiah Sheldon refused to pay him what he’d promised. So Sheldon got the music for free, didn’t he? Maybe … maybe Micheaux decided to play a different tune, one that came with its own price. Sheldon had to pay for the music with the … the life of a daughter…’

‘Now you see, this is exactly why I was reluctant to bring you down here in the first place. That’s nothing but fanciful nonsense!’

Peter pointed to the date. ‘Seventh of September,’ he said. And another realisation hit him. ‘The professor thinks he probably carved this on the night he died. That’s why he always comes back on that date. To claim his fee.’ He looked at Reverend Latimer. ‘All the girls died on or after the seventh. I think the music starts before then, but the seventh is when it’s at its strongest. The first time I heard it, it was faint, but it seems to get louder every time I hear it. I suppose some of the girls were able to hang on a bit longer, but the music kept calling to them and, in the end, they had to go out and face it.’ He took a breath. ‘Tonight is the seventh,’ he said, ‘Tonight, Micheaux will come looking for an eight-year-old girl …’

An image flashed into Peter’s mind. A picture of Daisy, her expression one of terror, her hands held up in a vain attempt to ward off an attack. He felt as though somebody had pumped his veins full of cold water.

‘I have to go,’ he said.

‘Peter, are you all right? You’ve gone quite pale.’

Peter ignored the reverend. He turned and walked away from him, heading back round the corner and moving past the head-high stack of bones. His heart was beating like a sledgehammer in his chest and his mouth was dry. Reverend Latimer came after him, trying to get him to stop.

‘Peter, hold on a moment. Let’s talk. Let me at least get you a drink of tea or something …’

But then Peter was pounding up the short flight of steps and he was running across the nave, back towards the entrance doors.

‘Peter!’ The reverend’s voice echoed around the church as Peter burst out from the doorway and ran back along the path to the street. He went straight downhill. When he got to the
Smuggler’s Retreat
, there was still no sign of Adam, so he threw open the door and went inside. It was packed in there and heady with the smells of alcohol and pipe smoke. Adam was sitting on a stool at the bar, chatting happily with a red-faced man on the other side of the counter. Peter ran straight at Adam, grabbed his arm and nearly pulled him off the stool. Adam lurched round, his mouth open, the smell of whisky coming off him.

‘What’s up with you?’ he shouted. ‘Can’t a fellow ’ave a quiet drink without somebody…’

But Peter was already pulling him towards the door.

‘We’re going back,’ he snarled, his eyes burning into Adam’s. ‘We’re going back right now, or I’m going without you.’

‘Bless me, what’s got into you, boy? ’Ave you gone stark raving mad?’

Maybe I have, thought Peter. Maybe that was exactly what had happened to him. Maybe he’d imagined everything he’d seen and heard since he arrived here and maybe Reverend Latimer was right about the professor’s book. He didn’t care about any of that. He only knew that he wasn’t going to leave Daisy alone for a minute longer than he needed to. He managed to get Adam to the doorway.

People in the bar were calling out good-natured taunts.

‘Where you off to, Adam? Mrs B needs you, does she?’

‘Is that your new foreman? He looks young to be givin’ the orders!’

‘Hey, it was your round!’

‘Sorry,’ Adam shouted back. ‘Gotta get back,’ he grunted.

‘But I thought you said you and the lad was staying ’ere tonight?’ said the man behind the counter.

‘Change of plan,’ muttered Adam, and he glanced guiltily at Peter, as though he regretted him hearing that.

Then they were walking back along the narrow streets, Adam weaving unsteadily as he went, grumbling about how they were going home much earlier than they needed to, how they’d both be better off leaving the owners of the Grange to their own fanciful notions and getting away for one night. But Peter was horribly aware of how low the sun already was above the rooftops and he had no idea how long it would take them to get back to the Grange.

He had the distinct impression that something bad was coming, something that he couldn’t see or hear or smell yet, but it was there all the same, just over the horizon, a heavy brooding malevolence that seemed to come closer with each passing moment. He was sure now that Daisy was in terrible danger and he prayed they’d be back at the Grange before it got dark.

Peter and Adam strode across the Marsh, following the winding tracks that led through the riddle of bogs and lakes and waterways. Adam had clearly drunk quite a lot of whisky while Peter was in the church. His face was flushed red, his gait unsteady. Once or twice he even stumbled and had to throw out a hand to Peter’s shoulder to steady himself.

It was getting late, the sun perilously close to the horizon. Peter kept thinking about how it had been the evening they’d arrived, the evident terror that Adam and Mrs Beesley had shown as darkness crept over the Marsh. He had no wish to repeat that experience. Especially since Adam had told him about the other ghosts out here.

‘How much farther?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Not too far,’ muttered Adam. ‘Though I don’t know what she’ll have to say about it when we turn up out of the blue.’

‘
She
? You mean, Mrs Beesley?’

Adam grunted. ‘She’ll be mad with me.’ His former bravado seemed to be evaporating as they got closer to home. He was looking fearfully around, as though expecting to see something approaching. ‘We shouldn’t have come back so late.’

‘I heard what that man said back at the pub,’ Peter told him. ‘He thought we were staying the night.’

‘Did he say that?’ Adam made a pathetic attempt at looking puzzled. ‘He … probably thought it was too risky coming back in the twilight.’

‘I thought you said ghosts can’t hurt you?’ said Peter.

‘I don’t mean that. It’s just that it can be treacherous out here.’

‘But you’re supposed to know your way better than anyone, aren’t you?

Adam could only shrug his shoulders. ‘I’m just saying … in the dark and all that … it can be tricky.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to be puttin’ you in ’arm’s way, that’s all. I didn’t think that one more night was going to make any difference.’

‘So we
were
going to stay at the pub?’

‘They’re very nice rooms,’ said Adam defensively. ‘Like a proper ’otel. Mrs B said she’d take care of the bill. I fancied a spot of luxury for one night. Sleeping in a soft, clean bed with proper pillows. Just for the novelty of it.’

‘You said you’d get me back tonight. You
promised
.’

‘To be fair, I never actually promised nothing.’

‘You said we’d be back by nightfall.’

‘I meant nightfall
tomorrow
! Look, you’ve got yourself all worked up over nothing. You surely don’t think for one minute that your sister is in any kind of danger, do you? Mrs B might be an old nag, but she wouldn’t harm anyone, especially a little girl.’

‘I wish I had your faith in her. Don’t you know what’s been going on around here over the years? The drownings.’

‘Yeah, I know about all that and I’ll tell you what, I’m fed up with hearing about it. It’s all anyone’s ever talked about since that book came out a year ago. I told Mrs B, “It’s just a load of made-up twaddle!”’

‘But it’s not twaddle,’ insisted Peter. ‘The things the professor said about Micheaux and the prisoners of war. It really happened, didn’t it?’

‘How would I know?’ protested Adam. ‘That was hundreds of years ago. Nobody knows what ’appened, people are just … guessin’.’

Peter looked at him. ‘While you were drinking, I went into St Leonard’s Church. I saw what was down in the crypt. Have you ever been there?’

Adam shook his head. ‘Never ’ad much time for religion,’ he admitted.

‘That’s not what I mean. The professor knew what he was talking about. Something bad did happen down there.’

‘Who can say? There was a war on. The war against Napoleon. Bad things ’appen in a war, everyone knows that. And … there’s some things that should be let lie. But busybodies like the professor, they goes poking their noses into the past and they opens up a whole bloomin’ hornets’ nest.’

‘So you don’t believe any of it? You don’t believe that the music we hear at night is him – Micheaux?’

‘Oh, for goodness sake …’

‘Is that why you came to the Friends’ Meeting House looking for children in the first place? So you could pay the Piper?’

Adam laughed but it sounded a little hysterical. ‘The Piper! That’s just a … bloomin’ fairy tale.’

‘So why were you there?’

‘Mr Sheldon sent us. He said he wanted a companion for Miss Sally, somebody to keep her company, what with her being so ill and everything. What’s so bad about that?’

‘But you got me as well. And that made things awkward, didn’t it?’

‘No, I … I was glad to see you. It was Mrs B who wasn’t so happy about it. I don’t know why. That woman … sometimes I think she’s not the full shilling, if you know what I mean.’ He shook his head. ‘But I have to go along with her,’ said Adam. ‘I told you, she rules that house with an iron rod. And she’d throw me out without a moment’s hesitation.’

‘You don’t even
live
in the house,’ said Peter.

‘The stable then! I’m an old man, Peter. I ain’t got no family. Where would I go? How would I make a living?’

Peter didn’t have an answer for that. ‘Daisy had better be all right,’ he said.

‘Course she’ll be all right,’ Adam assured him. ‘Why wouldn’t she be? Look, whatever Mrs B and Mr Sheldon think is going to happen, and whatever you think you’ve found out, it’s all nonsense. Imaginings. People putting two and two together and making five. I said it before and I’ll say it again. Ghosts can’t hurt you. They’re just … puffs of smoke … bumps in the night. They aren’t anything real.’

‘But they
are
,’ Peter said. ‘I’m sure of it.’

Adam shook his head. He pointed, evidently relieved for a chance to change the subject. Off on the horizon there was the dark smudge of a building. The Grange.

Peter quickened his pace. ‘Come on,’ he said.

But Adam didn’t hurry himself. He hung back allowing Peter to move further and further ahead of him. ‘I’ll go straight to the stables,’ he called out. ‘I wants to check on Bessie.’

Peter ignored him. He walked faster and faster and then, as he drew close to the house, broke into an impatient run. He raced in through the gates and up the track to the front door. He paused for a moment in the yard and turned to look back. The western sky was reddening as the sun began to slip out of sight and he had the distinct impression that out there something was gathering its strength, flexing its muscles, readying itself to return. He opened the door and stepped inside.

He strode along the hall, moving past the doorway of the sitting room. Mr Sheldon was slumped in his usual seat by the fire, but he lifted his head to look at Peter and his expression changed momentarily to one of dismay. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. The two of them stared at each other in silence for a moment. Peter became aware of the sound of a clock ticking. Then he began to feel uncomfortable, so he turned away. He continued along the hall and pushed open the kitchen door. Mrs Beesley was standing at the worktop, slicing a joint of meat with a huge knife. She turned in surprise at the sound of the door and, when she saw Peter, the knife slipped from her hand and clattered onto the tiled floor.

‘What you doing back ’ere?’ she asked him. It sounded like an accusation.

Peter stared defiantly back at her. ‘Weren’t you expecting me?’ he asked, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

‘I … I thought Adam was going to stay overnight in Hythe. I thought it would be … nice for you to see what the town was like.’

‘The town?’ Peter sneered. ‘Or do you mean, the pub?’

‘Where
is
Adam?’ she asked, her voice steely.

‘He’s gone straight to the stables,’ said Peter. ‘Didn’t seem keen on showing his face in here. Hiding from you, I expect.’

Mrs Beesley turned away and he got the distinct impression that she couldn’t bring herself look him in the eye. She stooped, picked up the knife, wiped the blade on her apron, then went on with slicing the meat. ‘Well then, since you’re back, I … suppose I should do a little extra for supper,’ she said. She was trying to sound as though everything was normal but failing badly. ‘I imagine you’re ’ungry?’

Peter continued to stare at the back of her head. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of an answer. ‘Where’s Daisy?’ he asked.

‘She’s upstairs.’

‘With Sally?’

‘No, Miss Sally needed a bit of a rest. Daisy’s in her room.’

‘I’ll go up and see her, then.’

‘Suit yourself. I’ll give you a call when supper’s ready.’

Peter went back out into the hallway and headed for the staircase. He went up to the first floor. Miss Sally’s door was shut and he could hear the muted sounds of a wireless playing within. He moved on to Daisy’s room and began to open the door. He hesitated when he heard her voice. She seemed to be chatting happily to somebody.