The Wind of Southmore (3 page)

All was silent and sharp and watchful, as if something was on
the prowl and the rest of the world was hiding from it. It was a
frightening sensation. She shuddered. All that could be heard were
the continuous cries of the seagulls. Strange, purposeful cries, as
if the birds were calling each other. It was very weird. Alice was
aware of their circling overhead, their constant watching. These
seemed to be no ordinary gulls. Perhaps it was the strangeness of
it all, but Alice couldn’t help feeling that they were
watching
her
.

“
Aye, the birds know,” a voice sounded from somewhere, although
whether it came from the cart driver or something else, she didn’t
know. She clutched tightly to the side of the vehicle, barely able
to distinguish the bumps in the road from the fearsome shaking of
her own body.

And then,
suddenly, the horse drew to a stop and the top of the hill was
reached and Alice gasped. It was the night of the full moon, and
the sky was ablaze with the shimmering glow of stars. All the
constellations were out and visible, and they illuminated the
little village below them as if it were a fairy scene.

To her
surprise, the birds swooping and darting over the crest of the hill
screamed in pain at the starlight, and covered their eyes in a
furious batting of wings, and were suddenly and strangely gone.
Alice hadn’t realised how many there were, for once the tumultuous
retreat had occurred in a blind and angry flapping, the air seemed
very light and clear, and even the heavy seaweed smell of the ocean
seemed fainter.

Then, as
the cart rounded a corner, Alice found herself gasping again at the
wondrous sight which met her eyes. For there, outlined in the
silvery moonglow, was the shape of a castle, grand and glorious
against the starlit backdrop. She stared in amazement as the cart
driver actually turned the horse towards the landmark, glancing
quickly at him for some sign of confirmation that this was indeed
their destination, but his face remained turned from hers, his back
still and straight. Although she may have imagined it, she thought
for a minute that she could see the outline of the castle through
him. She looked away quickly, and concentrated on the horse’s
path.

To her
excitement, the driver did indeed turn into the tall castle gates,
drawing the horse to a standstill outside two heavy oak doors,
adorned by the worn and crumbling image of a dragon. Without a
word, he leapt lightly from his seat and lifted down Alice’s case,
then extended his hand as if to assist her. Remembering the icy
gush of his touch on her shoulder, Alice shook her head, gently, so
as not to hurt his feelings, and swung herself down. She felt very
forlorn, standing by her small case, as he went to pound on the
thick, arched entrance.

No lights
appeared. Alice stood nervously on the step, clearing her throat
and racking her brain in vain for the impressive opening sentence
which seemed to elude her. She heard footsteps, and a tiny peephole
that she hadn’t noticed slid open, the light of a candle making her
squint as two pale eyes stared out at her.

“
What d’you want?”

“
I – I – ” she had hardly time to think of an ending for the
sentence when the door suddenly opened wide, and an old, greyish
looking lady appeared. She was dressed in a thick flannel nightgown
which had probably once been white, but was now yellowed with age,
the lace trim at the collar and sleeves cracked and crusty. Her
ancient matching bedcap slipped to reveal her thin, grey hair as
she threw open the heavy door and angrily pulled Alice
inside.

“
Why,
Arlen
,
what are you doing out of bed? I told you, you need
rest
! You’ll catch your
death of cold.” The old woman was fussing round Alice crossly,
smoothing out her dishevelled elflocks and smothering her cold
frame in a thick, musty patchwork quilt.

“
But I – ” Alice began, confused, when the woman stopped and
seemed to gaze at her with a puzzled, half fearful
expression.

“
Arlen?” she asked, almost timidly.

“
My name is Alice,” Alice explained, feeling more unreal than
ever. “I’ve – ”

“
Alice
?” the woman whispered,
incredulously. “
Margaret’s
Alice?”

“
My mother’s name was Margaret,” Alice replied helpfully,
feeling as though she were in a dream. She brushed her hair away
from her damp forehead. “But I don’t – ”

“
Oh my, my
dear
! Look at you, after all these years!” She seemed genuinely
pleased to see her, and Alice found herself able to breathe a
little.

“
Aunt – Aunt Maud?” she asked, feeling a great need to be sure
of something.

“
Of course, child. But what are you
doing
here – and in the middle of the
night, too?”

And Alice
explained, shortly and bluntly, that her father had tired of her
company and decided that his twelve years of responsibility now
demanded some show of care from her mother’s side of the family.
With those thoughts, he had placed her on a train to Cornwall that
very afternoon, and was planning to go abroad the following
evening.

“
Why, the – ” Aunt Maud began furiously, pulling herself up
short as she remembered that Alice was standing beside her. “You
poor child,” she finished, in a gentle tone that would have
thoroughly surprised Arlen had she been present. “But I told your
mother from the beginning that he was no good,” she continued,
unable to help herself. “I knew it. I told her so.
Men
.” She humphed, then
paused, something seeming to strike her as strange. “But how did
you know to find us at the castle?”

“
A young man – he drove me here on his cart,” Alice replied,
feeling somehow that the words sounded very foolish in the cold,
dark hall.

“
A cart?” Aunt Maud repeated, sounding as though she didn’t
know whether to laugh or worry.

“
Well, yes,” Alice answered. “He didn’t say anything much –
just something about the birds knowing. They were very strange,
though. Flapping and fluttering all around us. They seemed to be
following us. Why, Aunt Maud,” she touched the old lady’s sleeve
timidly, “is anything the matter?”

“
Well, dear, it’s just that – well – nobody around here has
used a horse and cart for years. I can’t imagine who gave you a
lift.”

“
Or what,” Alice muttered under her breath, and shuddered. She
hardly had time to dwell on the strange worry of who had brought
her to the castle when Aunt Maud jumped quickly towards another
problem – of where to put her for the night.

“
Come, dear, you must get to bed,” she insisted, after
confirming that no one who lived in the village fitted Alice’s
description of the mysterious stranger. “I’ll just have to put you
in the tower room with Arlen. It’s rather cold and bare, but it’s
one of the few
liveable
rooms in the place. The castle may be large, but it’s sadly in
need of repair.”

This
struck Alice as very strange. It had seemed glorious to her upon
arrival.

After a
long, winding, tiring trip up a dark, musty, crumbling spiral
staircase, Aunt Maud threw open a heavy wooden door. It was adorned
with a large iron ring and several huge bolts and hinges, and
looked to Alice just the sort of door she had read about in fairy
tales when she was younger. Curiously, she found herself holding
her breath as she peered inside.

The room
was indeed cold. There appeared to be no glass in the narrow stone
windows, and the furniture, consisting of a wooden chair, a small
chest and a large mattress, was sparsely arranged in the tiny round
area. The sea could be plainly heard, knocking against the rocks on
the shore below the window.

Aunt
Maud, who had vanished, suddenly reappeared behind her dragging
another mattress, upon which she placed the thick patchwork quilt.
She positioned it a little across the way from the other one, and
Alice started suddenly as she realised that this meagre bed
contained a small figure, which was curled on its side beneath a
worn, dark blanket, and was breathing heavily with the drugged
sound of fatigue.

She
hadn’t realised just how tired she was until she lay down. The poor
excuse for a bed wasn’t what she was used to, but she found that
she didn’t have the strength to complain, and almost welcomed the
thin pillow Aunt Maud had provided. As the starlight faded from her
eyes and she drifted into a helpless, possessive sleep, she heard
the cry of a lone gull, and barely noticed the shadow of a wing
beat over her white face and that of the girl on the other
mattress, as the stars sank slowly into oblivion.

Arlen
awoke early that morning. She felt refreshed after her deep
slumber, so much so, in fact, that she began to wonder if the
events of the day before had been nothing more than a very strange,
very terrifying dream.

As she rolled over, her breath clouding like puffs of smoke in
the cold mist of morning that bled through the paneless window, she
saw, to her surprise, another mattress in the room, occupied by a
small sleeping form. As if to answer her confusion, the being
yawned and stretched from beneath the patchwork quilt that Aunt
Maud had fashioned as a teenager (
many
years ago, Arlen had always
thought), and Arlen found herself staring into her own
face.

Chapter Four

“
Now, now,” Aunt Maud fussed around, the tension in the small,
cold room drawing her like a moth. She seemed almost to be enjoying
herself, the growing sparks of hostility bouncing off her like
electricity and animating her dull, grey eyes with a curious red
gleam.

At first Arlen had sat staring, her mouth a little agape, her
eyes growing wider and wider. Alice, as she gazed back, could not
help wondering whether she had missed seeing a mirror in the
darkness of the room. But something was different. She could see –
actually
feel
it.
Those eyes weren’t hers. Her eyes didn’t know the fear encompassed
in the wide, dark pupils, so like her own, that were directly
opposite.

Arlen was
terrified. Was it the girl - ? The drowned girl she had seen on the
beach? But this girl was younger, around her own age, and her face,
glowing with health and life, was exactly the same – What trick
were they playing? Fear and hostility snapped within her in the
same breath, and she faced her double, hands clenched, the nails
biting into her palms like crescent shaped teeth. “Who are you?”
she whispered savagely. “What do you want from me?”

They were
bristling like aggressive cats when Aunt Maud found them, having
suddenly remembered Alice’s arrival the night before, and dashing
upstairs to “see to sorts”, as she put it.

“
Arlen,” she said, the hint of a smile taunting her face.
“Arlen?” But Arlen tore herself away and hurled herself into a
corner of the room, retching. Embarrassed, Alice knelt down and
retrieved an old telescope from the floor. She was angry – why
should the other girl think that
she
wanted a live reflection?

Aunt Maud
was grinning now, and she somehow marched them downstairs to the
kitchen, where she laid out their cold, greasy breakfasts, and
proceeded to explain the situation. Reaching for a high cupboard,
she removed a picture and turned it face towards the two
girls.

“
Your parents,” she explained bluntly. “You’re twins –
separated by two people who think more of themselves than is decent
for any living person to think.” She paused, and nodded to the twin
on the left. “Alice, meet Arlen, your older sister by ten minutes.”
She jerked her head from Alice to Arlen. “Arlen, Alice. You’re not
alone any longer.” And with those few words, she lay the picture of
the girls’ parents face down on the table and left the
room.

It was a
strained few minutes. Both girls sat in silence, looking anywhere
possible but at each other. It was a very strange sensation –
coming face to face with your own face – but not yourself. Like
some science fiction work, Alice thought. Of course, if you were
used to it –

Arlen had
been waiting to speak. To say something – anything – that might
convince her that this was real and that she wasn’t having some
strange nightmare. But the girl was real. Aunt Maud had said so –
she had seen her touch her arm and it was firm and solid. Then who
had she seen on the beach? She had been so tired lately, watching
and waiting, and the gaze of the phantom dancer bored like fear
into the pit of her stomach. Yet the question faded suddenly as the
realisation hit her.