Dreams of Origami (17 page)

R
IGHT, NOW CAN I TELL YOU
about what Audrey and I found?’ They are back inside the schoolhouse, gathered around the kitchen table. ‘Well, strictly speaking, it was Bob Carter who remembered coming across it a while ago.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry, Lacey.’ Gideon lays a hand on her shoulder. ‘I really wanted you to see the field. The more witnesses the better. Your turn now, go ahead.’

Lacey takes the wad of photocopies from her bag and spreads them over the kitchen table. ‘Look what Bob Carter had stored in his basement. All these letters written by Samuel Gainsborough Street himself to the company of Carter and Histhorp, along with their replies. And look at the dates. It all happened within the first five years of the project opening.’

‘What “all happened”?’ Drew picks up a sheet and squints at it. ‘How the hell did people manage to read each other’s writing then? I mean, it’s beautifully written, copperplate and all that, but I can’t understand a word of it.’ He moves on to the news clippings.

Gideon is also sorting through some of the pages. ‘These are about the schoolmaster’s post. It seems they had trouble retaining staff.’

‘Yes. Thankfully, Audrey is used to reading through that sort of stuff.
It’ll be easier if I tell you what she told me. She managed to piece the full story together while we were driving to Ely. What it comes down to is this.’ Lacey reaches out and takes Triss’s hand, looking directly into her eyes. ‘Matthew is not the first to go missing from this house.’ She can feel shock run through Triss’s body, her hands tightening with hope and fear. ‘At least two other people—children—have disappeared. Come on, sit down and I’ll tell you what happened, or at least as far as we’ve been able to make out.’

Lacey sits beside Triss, Drew and Gideon taking the chairs opposite the two women.

‘Now, as we know, the school opened in 1815.’ Lacey keeps hold of Triss’s hand as she speaks. ‘The firm of Caxton and Histhorp acted as Samuel’s agent in the hiring of staff. The first schoolmaster was a young man, early twenties, but well qualified and with experience and excellent references. It seems that old Samuel’s generosity extended to the wages, but despite good working conditions the young schoolmaster handed in his notice after only one year. Nothing would induce him to change his mind. He said the place was too isolated, and I guess for a young, single man it probably was.’

‘Even so—’ Gideon is thinking out loud, ‘—people were glad of a good position then. A young man wouldn’t relinquish such a prestigious post lightly.’

‘Exactly. Anyway, next time they made a point of employing a married man; thought he’d be more stable. A young couple moved in and all seemed well. Until one of the schoolchildren, a boy, disappeared.’

‘Do they know what happened to him?’ Triss’s voice is quiet and shaking.

‘No. He simply vanished. It was in winter, at midday, and it was so bitterly cold that the kids, about twenty of them, were allowed to remain inside the classroom and eat their lunch around the stove while the teacher went through to the house to have his own meal with his wife. After the break, he returned and they all sat down at their desks. One of them was missing. No one had seen him leave; at least, none of the other children owned up to it. They were probably playing around a bit, letting off steam while Sir was out of the room—you
know what kids are like. So he could have slipped out without anyone noticing. However, they all said that the door hadn’t been opened or they would have felt the draught. And he hadn’t entered the private area of the building either, as the teacher’s wife was in the kitchen all the time.’

‘What about going to the toilet?’ asks Drew.

‘There was an outside arrangement. But apparently the kids were only allowed out at specific times, otherwise they had to ask permission to leave the room. Whenever the teacher left them alone in the class, a monitor was left in charge. Schooling was very strict in those days, very difficult for any kid to clear off unnoticed. Even so, he must have got out somehow. Naturally, there was a search: local houses, the farms, anywhere a child could get to. At first, they thought he’d run off and was hiding in the fields for some reason, and if that was the case he’d soon die of exposure if he wasn’t found. They had people out with dogs searching all night, but they never found a trace; not then or any time later.’

‘How old was he?’ asks Triss.

‘Ten.’

‘The boy I saw coming down the stairs looked younger.’

‘Yes, Audrey and I thought of that.’ Lacey can’t help looking towards the staircase. ‘It could have been him. He lived in one of these cottages. Farm labourers’ children were poorly fed, he probably looked young for his age.

‘Naturally, murder was suspected. Everyone knew everyone else then, and, unlike earlier times, people, especially children, didn’t just disappear. The schoolmaster was the only person new to the area and so was the natural suspect, although nothing was ever proven. The children’s attendance dropped off after that. Within the year, he handed in his notice. He said his wife was unable to cope with the scandal. The disappearance was reported only briefly by the press, then after that everything was hushed up.’

Gideon takes a deep breath. ‘You said that
two
children went missing?’

‘That’s right. It was more or less a repeat of the first time. Another
schoolmaster was engaged, again with a wife. Another cold day, only this was in summer. They were having a freak cold spell, rather like the one we’ve been having over the past few weeks. The schoolmaster left the children unattended for a few minutes. When he came back, a child was missing. Another boy, also about the same age. Nobody saw him go.’

‘They didn’t find him?’ whispers Triss.

‘No, they didn’t. After that, the community was even less enthused about the school. Parents felt that it would be safer for their kids to walk a mile on an isolated road to the village than to attend the schoolhouse just a few yards away. There was a lot of bad feeling, both from the people in Gainsborough Street and from Covington itself. It threw a shadow over the whole project. Samuel Gainsborough was very disappointed, but he had to close it down. He must have felt really bad about it, because he arranged to pay the school fees for Gainsborough Street’s children to attend the village school. The schoolhouse stood empty for a while, then was rented out to a saddle-maker, and it has been changing hands ever since.’ Lacey looks at Triss again. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not very hopeful news. But I feel you have a right to know.’

‘That was nearly two hundred years ago, Triss.’ Drew’s voice is gentle. ‘No reason to think it has anything to do with Matthew.’

Triss nods, but says nothing.

Gideon is quiet for a while, then stands up. ‘Right, well, that’s certainly something for us all to think about. But you’re right, Drew, there’s nothing to connect what happened then with now, except that both the boys and Matthew were last seen in the workshop. Or the schoolroom, as it was then.’ He remembers the first time he went in there, how the air seemed to buckle and nearly swept him over. ‘Still, I think it would be a good idea if we all kept out of there, at least for the time being.’

No one objects, and one by one they get to their feet. Triss locks up the schoolhouse and they all return to the other side of the road. Triss says she’s tired and will have a lie down until Audrey gets back. No one feels much like eating, but Gideon agrees to join Lacey and Drew for a coffee.

As they walk towards Drew’s door, Gideon speaks quietly to Lacey. ‘Well done. The research, I mean. And telling Triss. I know it wasn’t easy.’

‘So what do you think?’ asks Lacey.

Gideon opens his hands, a gesture of helplessness. ‘I have to be honest with you: I have never come across, or even heard of, anything like this before. Unexplained disappearances? Yes. Ghost-like manifestations? Yes. Objects moving by themselves? Yes, but nothing like that bell and the weather vane. Irrational behaviour patterns? Often. But never all of these at once, and certainly not in the same place and seemingly related. And when we consider the road accidents and the crime reports, along with the incidents we’ve experienced here—well, the sheer scale of events is astounding.’

‘What about the lightning?’ asks Lacey.

‘When you mentioned high voltage, Drew, in connection with the ozone smell and what happened in the field, I began to see an overall pattern emerging. Psychic manifestations are invariably accompanied by a displacement of energy. And that’s what we do have here—a displacement of energy, but of huge proportions. First, there is a disturbance in the weather. A cold spell that’s gone on for weeks. Although air currents have caused it to be felt even in the city, its origin seems to be centred on the Covington area. Then we have an electrical storm in which sheet lightning flashes at regular, timed intervals. There’s a coincidental series of disastrous events involving irrational and erratic behaviour. Then at least one incident of historical playback; the ghost sighting, I mean.’

‘But you think it’s all part of the same thing?’ asks Drew. ‘I’ve heard that strong electromagnetic fields can affect thought and behaviour. People living directly under high-power cables can develop psychological problems. Even a badly sited power box in a house can affect the occupants.’

‘Yes, well, theories have been put forward claiming that fluctuations
in the Earth’s natural energy fields could account for some ghost phenomena. However, we shouldn’t discount the possibility of it causing a slip in the flow of time.’

‘What?’ Lacey gasps. ‘You’re joking?’

‘There’s an awful lot we don’t know about the nature of time itself. It may not be the straightforward progression we assume it to be. There may be bends or folds in time which occur, allowing events to jump from one point to another.’

‘Oh, come off it, Gideon!’ Drew actually laughs. ‘You don’t seriously expect anyone to swallow that, do you?’

‘No, seriously. There have been many instances of people claiming to have stepped back into previous events, even if only for a moment. All I’m saying is it would be unwise to dismiss anything at this stage.’

‘These disappearances,’ says Lacey. ‘Whatever’s happened to Matthew, it could have happened to the children, too. But it was such a long time ago. Surely this energy thing, it couldn’t have been going on all this time, could it?’

‘No, obviously not. At least, not at this level of activity.’

‘Perhaps it’s something that happens periodically,’ suggests Drew. ‘No, on second thoughts, forget I said that. This is getting more farfetched by the minute.’

‘So, what do we do now?’ asks Lacey.

‘The honest answer is: I don’t know. I’ve been in touch with various people, experts in my own and associated fields. That’s why I need my computer online. So far, no one’s identified a similar series of events, but there are people out there looking.’

‘Could it be something the government’s doing?’ Lacey looks alarmed. ‘You know, some sort of military research. You do hear of things going wrong—’

‘Now, that is totally over the top,’ says Drew. ‘We’ll be getting into conspiracy theories next.’

‘I very much doubt it.’ Gideon shakes his head. ‘Although we can’t rule anything out, it’s highly unlikely to be anything manmade. Not on this scale. It’s more likely to be some form of naturally occurring aberration. But what we do know is: whatever is happening, it’s
dangerous. People are being affected, directly and indirectly. That’s why I’m anxious that we keep quiet about the crop-circle activity. The place would be swarming with researchers and sightseers, and we couldn’t begin to explain the danger they’d be putting themselves in. The whole place is a potential minefield. By rights, none of us should be here at all. In fact, the entire Covington area should be evacuated.’

‘I can’t see the authorities falling for that.’

‘No, and I can also imagine what the press would make of it, can’t you Lacey?’ At least he’s able to make her smile.

‘But we’re not affected, are we?’ she asks.

‘Not as far as we know—at least not yet. But Abercrombie was, and I’m rather concerned about Tom.’

‘Yes, I was around there earlier. His aunt’s going to go spare when she sees what he’s done to her walls. Mind you, we don’t really know him, do we? I mean, being an artist he could be naturally weird to start with.’

‘Oh, stop it, Drew: this is serious. Ignore him, Gideon.’

‘Actually, Drew’s right. It is difficult to monitor changes in people we don’t know well. In fact, there are so many unknowns—’

‘What I don’t understand,’ says Drew, ‘is why it should it affect one person and not another.’

‘You might ask why one person is psychic and another not. If we could identify the factors, the vulnerable among us could be persuaded to move out for a while.’

‘You won’t persuade Triss to move,’ says Lacey. ‘She wants to be near Matthew.’

‘And I know Lacey won’t budge, will you love? She’s on to a good story here, and she’ll stick to it like Velcro.’

‘I’m a reporter; it’s what I do. And what about
you
moving?’

‘Well, I don’t believe any of it anyway. I’m hardly going to be frightened out of my home by a load of hysterical nonsense. And I can’t imagine Audrey moving, either; she’s only interested from the local history angle. I know she’s taken it on herself to look after Triss, but she doesn’t believe any of this psychic business any more than I do.
I suppose you could always try explaining it to Mr and Mrs Tiverton. If you can get a word in edgeways.’

‘So,’ Lacey sighs, ‘I guess we all stay put and see what happens next.’

B
Y ARRANGING EVENTS
into a logical pattern, Gideon had started to convince even himself that he was gaining a grip on what was happening. Now, back in the silent cottage sitting in the one and only armchair, his confidence is fast ebbing away. He is staring out of the window at the schoolhouse, which, to all appearances, is empty and lifeless. But Gideon’s senses touch more than bricks and slate. The very air here is alive with energy, that and the thrumming sound that has again surfaced in his consciousness.

Lacey’s right. Nobody’s going to leave. And so far they all seem to be unaffected, with the exception of Tom. Gideon’s sure he’s aware of the sound, too, and is somehow feeding off that energy. Chances are he’ll simply burn himself out physically, end up exhausted and be able to sleep it off. Still, perhaps he should go around there later and make sure Tom’s OK. And he must get another look at whatever it is Tom’s painting. It should have progressed by now, at least far enough to be able to make some sense of it.

But is the distortion in the aether that is causing energy to somehow leak something imposed by some external agency, or is it a natural phenomenon? And if something, or someone, is causing it to happen, then why? That is Gideon’s immediate concern. And what the hell
does it have to do with paper? Because this is the reason for all those nights of patient repetition, of the seemingly pointless folding and unfolding. Of that one fact he is convinced. Everything—the research, his writing, his whole life, right back to that first dream—this is what it was all about.

‘Cassandra. I need some answers!’ His voice echoes around the empty space. If she hears him, she gives no sign.

The last part of the exercise began just over a year ago. He was journeying up from Italy through Switzerland to northern France, travelling by train, a pleasurable experience in which he occasionally indulged. An excellent meal in the dining car was followed by a bottle of burgundy, rich as velvet. He then fell asleep whilst watching the carriage windows growing dim and the mountains forever slipping away into the soft blue of evening.

When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on a grassy slope by a river. Cassandra was nearer the edge, leaning over to trail her hand in the water. As the current parted around her fingers, the blue surface split into silver and pewter strands. ‘You see how the water moves, Gideon? It is never still, always progressing. Yet the river does not move. It is like the flow of time. You see how it flows around my hand. Although this water—this particular water—is already gone, already rushing towards the sea even as I touch it, the current is still here around my fingers. We could come here again tomorrow and the next day and the river would look the same. If we touched the water, we could feel the same pressure.’

‘You’ve said often that time is not a progression.’

‘Time is a contradiction. We are carried with it, like a leaf caught on the surface and swept along, unable to turn back to experience what we have left behind. But if we step out of the current and stand on the bank, we can look in either direction, the past and the future, where the river has been and where it is going next. We can even walk along the bank to catch up with the past and to meet the future before
it has arrived. Do you not, in your thoughts, move back and forth in time?’

‘But, surely, that is a subjective experience to do with memory? And of course all forms of clairvoyance could be thought of as projecting mentally backwards and forwards through time. But time travel—the actual, physical moving back and forth in time—that can’t exist. It doesn’t stand up to any form of logic.’

‘Oh, no, it’s not logical.’ Cassandra smiled sweetly. ‘Next time you see a bumblebee, ask it how it flies.’

‘A bumblebee? What do you mean?’

‘Never mind. Now, Gideon, back to work.’ She moved away from the bank, shaking her hand and scattering droplets of water.

‘Hey, careful, you’re soaking me.’

She laughed, flicking water at his face. He snatched at her wrist, holding her wet hand away from him. Her laughter softened to a smile as she lowered her eyes. They both looked at their joined hands. Her fingers were long and white, the nails pink as a seashell. He relaxed his grip, allowing his hand to slide over hers. It was warm, despite being held in the cool water. Why did he think she would not be warm?

She caught her breath, looked up at him for a moment, and then slowly drew away. ‘I have one last thing to teach you.’ She produced a sheet of paper, red this time. That in itself was different. ‘First, I want you to fold the sheet in half, corner to corner. No hands, please; use your mind. That’s right.’

‘That was suspiciously easy. I have a feeling you are planning something fiendish as an encore.’

‘Of course. Your capabilities deserve a worthy challenge. I am going to attempt to unfold it. Your task is to prevent me.’

‘And how do I do that?’

‘Concentrate on the crease. Think of it as a line of form that is resisting an applied force. Are you ready?’ At first he felt nothing, then a weight that bent the paper out of shape. He compensated with an opposite pressure, pulling against Cassandra’s push. She changed tack, pulling so that he had to push this time; a mental tug-of-war which
accelerated until the paper crumpled and they both fell back onto the grass, laughing. ‘Well done, Gideon! Oh well done. For a first attempt, that is. But be ready next time. I shan’t make it easy for you.’

‘But why? What’s it supposed to achieve?’

‘Another discipline, an extension of that which you have already learned. Have you not felt your mental control increase since we have been working on these exercises?’

‘Well, yes, of course I have—’

‘And you will become even stronger, more powerful. You’ll see.’

And then he woke up.

Time had moved on, and the train was travelling through the blackness of night, with only stars to show where the forest ended and the sky began.
Time has moved on,
he thought,
like me and the train I am travelling in. Yet the mountains that passed my window at sunset will still be standing when the sun rises again, even though I will have left them behind and to me they are no more than a memory.

It was a while before the realization hit him.
One last thing to teach you,
she had said. Did that mean…He did not want to think about what that might mean, because the pain of it could not be borne.

Cassandra continued with the new exercise, making the shape progressively more complex and the tug-of-war more arduous. Gideon felt his mind grow in strength, like a fighter preparing for a contest, finding new muscles, flexing them. They wrestled over the same square of paper; he trying to fold a bird, she bending it into a lotus. By the end of it they had usually, between them, created a crumpled mess. Eventually, he began to win the tussle. When she looked at him, her eyes glowed with pride—and something else he refused to think about, because that’s what it was: unthinkable.

At some point during this past year, he was introduced to a man who said he was a beekeeper. It was at a dinner party, and the man had bought a bottle of mead he had brewed from his own honey. They fell into conversation, and Gideon asked him if there were some oddity about the way a bumblebee flies.

‘Oh yes,’ the man replied. ‘By rights they shouldn’t fly at all.’

‘What do you mean?’ Gideon asked.

‘They’re not aerodynamic. Their weight and body shape and the way their wings move. It has been scientifically proven that bumblebees can’t fly. They’re just not built for it.’

‘But they do. How come?’

The beekeeper shrugged his shoulders. ‘Damned if I know. Next time you see one, ask it.’

There is a loud knock at the door. ‘I’ll get it.’ Drew is already halfway across the room. ‘Hello, Audrey. Come in. You caught the train back all right, then?’

‘Yes. I took a taxi from the station. It dropped me off just now. Triss is asleep so I thought I’d better come and report to headquarters, so to speak.’

‘Audrey, hi. That didn’t take you long.’ Lacey emerges from the depths of the sofa. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

‘Well, almost.’ She puffs into the room, wielding her wicker basket.

‘Here, sit down.’ Drew clears newspapers off an armchair. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps a glass of wine? No sherry, I’m afraid.’

‘The wine sounds very acceptable.’ Audrey settles herself while Drew heads for the kitchen and the wine bottle, throwing a sly wink at Lacey on the way.

‘I didn’t know if that Gideon chap was around. Perhaps he ought to hear this. I take it you’ve told everyone about the missing boys, Lacey?’

‘Yes, I have, including Triss. Gideon’s back—shall I give him a knock?

Gideon joins them, and a few minutes later Drew is handing out glasses of merlot.

‘Er, not for me, thank you.’ Gideon would welcome a drink, but he needs a clear head. ‘So?’ He turns his attention to Audrey.

‘Well now, the chap Bob Carter sent us to see turned out to be
the Rev. Daniel Griffith. Charming man. Our paths had crossed several times when I was working for the Fitzwilliam. He’s part of the establishment at Ely, and, among other duties, he’s one of their archivists, and so, as I hoped, he was willing to assist with a personal query. His particular interest is the Ely diocese and the religious houses that came under it.’

‘Religious houses? Is that what Bob Carter was talking about?’ Lacey turns to Drew and Gideon. ‘The solicitor we saw this morning thought that there may have been an older building here at one time, but he didn’t know any more than that.’

‘But he said if anyone would know anything, it would be Daniel Griffith.’ Audrey takes a sip of her wine. ‘And according to him, it appears that there was a monastery here, although very little’s known about it. Nevertheless, I think he was able to tell us something of interest.’ Aware that she now has everyone’s attention, Audrey straightens her back and looks around the expectant gathering.

‘You’re probably aware of the historical background of Ely. Goes right back to 679AD. The original religious house was dedicated as a shrine to Saint Etheldreda. Then, after the Norman Conquest, Abbot Simeon began to rebuild the church into what was to become the cathedral we have now. Anyway, about that time the new diocese of Ely was formed—vastly wealthy as you can imagine, partly due to the shrine being a centre for pilgrimage.’

‘Was that why they built all the monasteries around here?’ asks Drew.

‘One of the reasons, yes; although generally speaking it was an age when religious establishments were springing up all over the country. It went on over a five-hundred-year period, right up until the Reformation when King Henry put paid to the Catholic Church and seized most of its property. The cathedral itself escaped destruction, although sadly much of the medieval ornamentation was destroyed.’

‘Yes, I remember: we saw it in the Lady Chapel.’ Lacey turns to Drew. ‘You know, all the carved figures with their faces broken off.’

‘What about this local building?’ asks Drew. ‘Was that a monastery? If so, it was probably destroyed by Henry.’

‘Well of course many of the monastic buildings did survive, but this one didn’t make it even as far as the Reformation. Apparently it shut down at the end of the thirteenth century.’

‘Shut down?’ Gideon looks surprised. ‘Surely that was a time when most religious houses were flourishing?’

‘What’s more, there are no surviving records of it being built or who founded and financed it. Obviously documents disappear over time, but it’s unusual to find nothing. We only know of it because it is referred to by travellers and pilgrims who broke their journey somewhere between Cambridge and Ely just north of a settlement called “Covintone”—no “g” and with an “e” on the end. That could place it in this very location.’

‘Indeed it could. Was there nothing written by the monks themselves?’ asks Gideon.

‘One letter. There would certainly have been many more, of course, but one survived and made its way to France, perhaps to the Mother House. At some point it was sent back to Ely. It appears to have been written by a monk and concerned their community. It seems they were preparing to leave, and he wrote about the chapel having being dismantled.’

‘Dismantled?’ Gideon sounds surprised. ‘He probably meant disbanded.’

‘Buildings were often dismantled,’ Drew remarks. ‘Most of the old ruins have been pillaged at one time or another. Any good building materials would be a target for recyclers. Though, being Church property, people were a bit wary. Even so—’

‘No, not this one,’ Audrey cuts in. ‘Griffith assured me that it refers to the physical dismantling of the building before the monks’ departure. The letter definitely gives the impression that it was taken apart piece by piece before they left for France, which was probably where the monks came from. But before they left, they made sure that not a stone of the place was left standing.’

‘Why would they do that?’ Lacey looks from Audrey to Gideon and back again.

‘I may find out more about that tomorrow. The letter itself is kept
safely under lock and key, but Griffith is going to ring the custodian and arrange to get access.’

‘But if there was nothing left of the building, we’d have no way of telling how near it was to here.’ Lacey is obviously disappointed.

‘Well, it may be a coincidence…’

‘What, there
is
something?’

‘When the ground was cleared for the schoolhouse, the workmen discovered what appeared to be a row of foundation stones just below the surface. It was made of clunch—you know, the local stone. They couldn’t understand why a solid building should be out here in the middle of nowhere and right on what had been, until relatively recently, the edge of the fen.’

‘Yes, that
would
be unusual,’ says Drew. ‘Clunch was used as a building material right up until the eighteen-hundreds. It’s very porous, causes terrible problems with dampness, but it does last. A lot of the more substantial houses in Covington are made of it, and the church of course. But only the very poor lived outside the settlements, and they’d use wattle and daub if they were lucky. So I can’t understand why anyone would have used it to build a big house out here—’