Timothy went on beating the eggs. On and on. So, the stupid girl had died. That was her fault. She shouldn’t have fought him. He felt nothing. He didn’t remember much about the incident at all. It had all been the other one, the strange invader who took charge of his body with such confidence, the man who, if he were honest with himself, he would like to have been.
Putting the frying pan on the gas he cut a wedge of butter and threw it in, waited until it melted and poured in the eggs. He had forgotten to grate the cheese. It didn’t matter. He picked up a knife and sliced a few pieces off the lump then tossed them in the pan with the eggs. The smell was marvellous and he felt his mouth watering. On the TV the woman had moved over to a discussion of European economic policy. It was intensely boring. As the eggs cooked he switched over to another station and started to watch an American cartoon.
The man in his head could smell the food too. He was hungry and now he had a way of satiating that hunger, through the taste buds of another. He licked his lips and so, unconsciously, did Timothy.
The Tower House was lonely without Ruth there. Malcolm missed her; the dogs missed her. He had seen Pol plodding upstairs on his own, clearly on a mission, and without checking he knew the animal had gone up to Ruth’s bedroom in the hope she might be there somewhere, hiding. When he came down again he looked at Malcolm with something like reproach. ‘I know!’ he replied.
He looked at his desk and the journal. He was reluctant to read on without Ruth there, but he ached to open it and continue the story. He needed to know what happened.
Sitting down he stared at it for several seconds, seconds that felt like an eternity, then slowly he reached across and opened it.
82
When Thomas came to he was in his berth below, wrapped in several thick blankets that smelt of tar and fish. The motion of the waves had eased slightly but all he could hear was the rush and scream of the wind. There was no more thunder.
‘Are you awake, Papa?’ Davy was there. The anxiety on his face clearly etched. He put his arm round his father’s shoulders and helped him sit up so he could have a sip of brandy. ‘We thought we’d lost you.’
Thomas managed a smile, the heat of the brandy spreading through him. ‘I’m an old sailor! It would take more than a storm at sea to finish me.’ His teeth were chattering. His soaking clothes were gone, he realised, and he was naked under the rugs; his body was racked with shivers and he began to cough.
Davy held the cup to his lips again and he took another gulp of the brandy. ‘The lightning damaged the mast. It knocked you unconscious and you were drenched and chilled to the bone,’ Davy said sternly. ‘I have some dry clothes for you here from your trunk.’ His irritation alternated with anxiety as he saw his father’s pallor deepen. ‘This whole trip was madness! I knew it. I should never have let you come.’
Thomas lay back on the bunk, too exhausted to argue. He felt his eyes close then suddenly they flew open. ‘My jacket!’ he said. ‘Where’s my jacket?’
‘There. Your clothes are all there. I’ve hung them up to dry them. They were all but torn off you.’
‘Bring it to me. My jacket.’ Thomas was fighting to free his arms from the blankets.
With a sigh, Davy reached for it. The small cabin was lit by a single swinging lantern hanging from the bulkhead and grabbing the coat in the wildly leaping shadows, Thomas began to search the pockets. The sea water had made the wet woollen cloth sticky and cold and he fumbled desperately with numb icy fingers, trying to find the inner breast pocket. When at last he found it he turned it inside out, then did the same to all his other pockets. The amulet may have saved him from the figure on the bow and from the lightning, but now it was gone.
Malcolm was sitting by the stove, the journal on his knee. He looked up as a gust of wind blew down the chimney and the embers brightened. He had been picturing so intensely the storm at sea, feeling the wind and the rain, the heave of the great North Sea swell that it was a shock to find himself inside by the fire.
He wondered where Timothy was now. He should be letting the dogs outside to have a final pee before bed but he was reluctant to unlock the front door. As though reading his thoughts Cas and Pol sat up expectantly. They always acted as if this was the high point of their day; but then, bless them, they always acted as though everything was the high point of their day. He put the journal down. It was strange to think he now knew where the missing arm of the doll had gone. And frightening.
Walking over to the window he looked down at the area in front of the house where his car was parked.
He had always resisted the idea of putting in outside security lights but there was a bulb above the front door and its light was enough to show that the weather had deteriorated and it was raining hard. He could see it drumming down on the car roof. If Timothy was still outside on the hill he would be very cold and very wet. Another gust of wind drove the rain sideways, sending ripples across the puddles on the drive. The dogs had got the message and lain down again in front of the stove. He went over and threw on another couple of logs and glanced down at the journal lying on the table, wondering in spite of himself what had happened to Thomas next. He picked it up. There weren’t many more pages that were still legible. The last few had been scorched as though the little book had been burnt.
The mast had been repaired, but by the time the boat was opposite Flamborough Head, Thomas’s fever had set in in earnest. After a hurried consultation with the skipper, it was decided they would put in at Scarborough and Davy would seek medical help for his father from a local doctor. Thomas was furious, but he was too weak to argue and in the end he had to admit it was the right decision.
Two weeks taking the famous waters improved his health enormously and he was certain he knew what he wanted to do next. They argued for hours. ‘You know it would be foolish to go on!’ Davy repeated for the fourth time. ‘For God’s sake, Papa, be reasonable. We can travel back home in comfort, in stages, staying at the best hostelries. I don’t understand your obsession with Scotland. Leave it for now. You can always try again in the spring when the weather’s more clement.’
‘My plans are made,’ Thomas said firmly. He was not accustomed to losing arguments, least of all with his own son. ‘I will travel in stages and in comfort, but I will go north. I will not return to London. I fully appreciate that you need to go back. I’ll be fine to travel on alone. I can hire people to look after me and have every care I need.’
‘You know I can’t let you do that!’ Davy was beside himself with frustration.
‘Then you will need to come too.’ Thomas still had a cough but the fever had subsided and a spell of fine weather had allowed him to take a few short bracing walks along the cliffs. ‘I intend to hire the best conveyance I can find to take me north to Scotland. I plan to stay with your uncle at Dryburgh for a few days, then slowly make my way onwards to stay at Almondell as arranged.’
There was no point in arguing.
They stayed a week with the earl in the great house next to Dryburgh Abbey, visiting Elizabeth’s grave in St Monan’s chapel in the beautiful ruins, walking by the River Tweed, the two brothers reminiscing about their childhood and introducing the younger Davy to family legends and stories of childhood adventures. Thomas was still frail and anxious to continue their journey; he had chest pains that he hid not altogether successfully from the others, and he wanted very much to reach his final destination before the weather deteriorated any further. On the last day of October he set off with Davy along the post roads north.
Ruth was sitting on the edge of her bed. She was, she realised, missing Malcolm more than she could bear. She picked up her phone again.
He answered on the second ring. ‘Ruth? Are you all right?’
She smiled at the sound of his voice. ‘I’m fine. I’m safe here. I was worried about you. Timothy’s loose out there somewhere and it’s dark and you’re alone.’
‘I have the dogs.’
‘They’re a couple o
f softies.’
‘My doors are locked.’
‘But we both know that won’t keep him out. Not Farquhar. The police don’t know what they’re dealing with.’ She realised he could probably hear the fear in her voice.
‘They are dealing with a man in the bodily form of Timothy Bradford, Ruth, and it is Timothy they need to catch. It won’t be long now,’ he added reassuringly. ‘He’s taking insane risks. The police will find him. I’m coming to fetch you first thing in the morning. Stay there now, where you’re safe.’
‘I will. And you. Don’t go wandering off into the woods again.’ There was a catch in her voice as she ended the call.
Snuggling up against her pillows she reached over for the next letter from her pile. At least that would distract her from thinking about Malcolm and the darkness outside his windows.
Almondell was a week’s drive away, and the turnpikes north led across wild hilly country. The days were growing shorter when they finally arrived at Harry’s dream house in the valley of the River Almond and Thomas was exhausted. Harry’s widow, Kate, greeted them on the doorstep and ushered them in herself, shocked at Thomas’s obvious weakness. ‘Why didn’t you stay on with David at Dryburgh?’ she scolded. ‘Men are so foolish!’
She led Thomas indoors, taking him by the hand, leading him straight into the drawing room where a huge fire was burning. She ordered tea and scones and cakes and sat him down close to the hearth before turning round and giving Davy a piece of her mind. ‘How could you let your father wear himself out like this? Why did you let him set out on this visit at all? I’d no idea he was ill!’
It was later, when Thomas was feeling more restored, that she brought over a salver on which were piled some letters. ‘Frances has been writing to you. She must have thought you would have been here long before this. Shall I leave you to read them while I show Davy round the house? Harry would have so loved to show you both himself …’
Thomas heard her voice retreating into the distance as he pushed aside his teacup and sipped from the glass of whisky she had put on a small table beside him.
There were three letters on the pile. He looked at the dates and broke the seal on the earliest which had been written only four days after they left London.
All is well here, Papa
Sam and I have been talking and we have decided to bring your little children down to Poynings. I am taking the liberty of thinking that you would agree that it would be nicer for them to stay with us here and our brood has agreed with alacrity. The girls particularly are looking forward to taking care of baby Hampden. When you return you can take them with you to Buchan Hill if that suits you, or back to London to keep them at Arabella Row.
The autumn colours here in Sussex are wonderful and the weather is still clement. Sam and I will drive up to London tomorrow or the next day to collect them.
With all my love from your dutiful daughter, Frances
Thomas put the letter down with a smile. ‘Dutiful, eh,’ he murmured. He had guessed this might happen, indeed had hoped it would, but the suggestion had to come from them.
He took another sip of whisky, savouring its strength, wishing he didn’t still feel so weak, then he reached for the next letter. It was dated three days after the first.
Papa, something terrible has happened. When we reached Arabella Row we found the house in complete disarray. Sarah’s brother Charles had come and taken the children away. The servants didn’t dare argue with him; he did not allow the nursery maids to go too and carried the little ones off in much distress at leaving their toys. He had a note from a magistrate entitling Sarah to take them, apparently. Obviously the man didn’t know who you were. Samuel went round at once to the house you rented for Sarah but she had gone. The house is closed and there is no one there. A neighbour said the new housekeeper was sent away without notice or character. He went on to the magistrate who had dealt with Sarah and the man was appalled at what he had inadvertently been a party to, and he has suggested we notify the Watch to look for them, and take all legal steps to get the children back, which Sam did at once. I am so sorry to have to tell you this. Please let us know by return if we have done the right thing and if there is anyone else we should contact …
The glass slipped from his hand to the rug. He lay back in his chair too stunned to move for several minutes, his heart thudding uncomfortably, then he took a deep breath and reached for the third letter. It was dated a full week after the last and headed Arabella Row.
I hear from Uncle David that you stayed with him at Dryburgh and are only now on the way to stay with Aunt Kate. Oh, Papa, I am so sorry to have been the transmitter of such terrible news. We are no nearer finding the children. The whole of London is in ferment and looking for them. The Watch went to Stonecutters Court where Sarah’s family live and searched the place for them but the children weren’t there and the Bucks say they know nothing of the matter. Sam and I went back to Sarah’s house to see if we could find any clues. There is nothing there to say where they are or what their plans were but oh, Papa, I felt such discomfort when I went there. It was as if that dreadful man who speaks through her mouth had infiltrated every room. I saw nothing, I am pleased to say, but it was as though he had left an echo of evil there. I had brought the doll with me to Arabella Row and left it there in my writing box. I went back and held it in my arms, praying that it would watch over the little ones, and keep me free of such a tainted spirit. I trust you still have your special piece of her magic safe, Papa, and that you are now feeling much better. I wish I could give you better news. I am sure that Sarah would never knowingly hurt them, and if her brother is with her perhaps he is able to guide her to a more sensible way of life.
I will write to you at once when I have further news,
Your loving daughter, F
When Kate and Davy came in some half an hour later they found Thomas lying unconscious in his chair. Davy picked up his sister’s letters and read them later when Thomas had been put to bed and the best doctors in Edinburgh had been called. Davy and Kate concocted a letter to be sent at once to Frances, but in his heart Davy knew it would reach her too late. Whatever happened to those children, they would never see their father again.
Timothy could hear the rain lashing against the kitchen window. He had finished his meal and put the plates and the pan in the sink. April could wash them up when she returned. He wondered again, briefly, where she was as he made himself a mug of instant coffee.
Time to go out.
The voice was back.
Let’s find another girl.
‘No.’ Timothy spoke out loud. He surprised himself at how forceful he sounded.
He banged the coffee mug down on the table. It slopped everywhere and he stood looking down at the brown puddle, transfixed. ‘That girl died.’ It was as if he had only just realised the significance of what had happened.
Shall we go and find Ruth then?
‘No! I said, no!’ Timothy was growing agitated. ‘Leave me alone!’
Let’s take the knife you used on the floorboards. That would be perfect. In case the police come.
Timothy’s head was splitting. ‘Leave me alone!’ There was a roaring in his ears. He clamped his hands against them and shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the intruder.
Now. Let’s go now!
The knife was lying on the table. As Timothy watched, it slowly began to spin round in circles. He stared at it, mesmerised for several seconds and then he pounced on it. He waved it in the air. ‘Where are you? I can’t see you.’
Here!
The voice was behind him.
Here!
Now it was near the door. Then it was all round him, reverberating in his head. He began to turn round and round and suddenly he was shouting in a frenzy of despair and fear and lust.
Outside, April inserted her key in the lock. She hesitated as she heard him yell. All her instincts told her to run. It wasn’t too late. All she had to do was reach for her ph
one and dial 999. His shouts died away and for several seconds there was silence, then she heard him give a heart-rending sob. That was it. He needed her. Turning the key, she pushed open the door and, slamming it behind her, ran across the hall towards the kitchen as his screams of fury began again. ‘Tim? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ She stood in the doorway and stared at him in horror.
He didn’t recognise her. He didn’t even think. The man who had hold of him, mind and body, launched himself towards her, and slamming her against the fridge, began to tear at her clothes.
‘Tim! Tim, it’s me, Tim! It’s April!’ She clawed at his eyes. ‘Let me go, you bastard!’ She grabbed his wrist, twisting it as hard as she could. ‘Let me go!’
He didn’t hear her. The roar in his ears was deafening, the blinding pain in his head overwhelming.
He was far too strong for her. She never stood a chance. She didn’t even feel the knife go in under her ribs. For several seconds she stayed standing but she was no longer fighting.
The knife fell to the floor with a clatter and Timothy stood back as April slid down into a sitting position, leaning against the fridge door.
‘April?’ He was looking down at her in horror. ‘April? What’s wrong? Stand up!’
Blood was pooling in her lap. Her eyes were open but they were strangely vacant.
Timothy stared round the kitchen in a daze. The house of his dreams, the future. It was gone. In an instant. All gone. Without April, he was nothing but an echoing void; a blank man in an empty shell. The voice had deserted him.
‘Damn your eyes, you vicious cowardly monster,’ he screamed. ‘I hope you burn in hellfire for this. I shall make sure you do. I shall take you there myself!’
Staggering across the floor he scrabbled for a box of matches from the drawer and, grabbing the newspaper, he tore it to shreds. He struck a match with a shaking hand, lit the paper and as it flared held a handful of blazing strips to the curtains. Then he turned on the gas. April had had the guts to burn a house; he could do no less for her. Turning back to her he knelt beside her body and kissed her on the top of her head.