Hiding From the Light (45 page)

It was after midnight. Across the peninsula the mist rolled in out of the cold clammy swelling of the northern seas, its icy fingers curling in between the huts and up the cliffs at Wrabness, drifting between the trees into Stour Wood, crawling along roads, between hedges, across fields. Inside their houses people stirred in their sleep and groaned. In fields and stables horses flattened their ears against their heads, eyes wide with terror; dogs cringed in fear and howled and in the town children cried in the dark.

In Barker’s shop all was still. The cameras in the first-floor room made barely a sound, their red lights the only sign that they were switched on.

The first tendrils of ice-cold mist drifted across the room unnoticed by the cameras. They drifted aimlessly for a while, coalesced and grew thicker.

As the first scream rang out in the silence, Joe’s sound-activated recorder snapped on. A small light moved across the ceiling and danced in front of the microphone for a moment, then it darted on to hover in front of one of the cameras.

The show had begun.

‘Come on, Emma. It’s over. Let’s get you back in the warm.’ Lyndsey took Emma’s shoulders and turned her gently towards the lane. Tears were pouring down Emma’s face and she was shaking violently. For a moment she couldn’t move.

‘Emma, there’s a storm coming. It’s going to rain.’ Lyndsey took her cold hand and gave it a tug.

A movement in the shadows near them distracted her for a moment. She stared towards it, frowning suspiciously. Then she shrugged. The wind must have disturbed some small creature in the hedge. Turning away, she thought no more about it.

It wasn’t until she had Emma wrapped in a towelling bathrobe sitting in a chair drawn up beside the Aga that she tried to speak to her about what had happened. Emma was staring into space. She was still shivering.

Lyndsey knelt in front of her and took her cold hands between her own. ‘That was fantastic. Brilliant!’ Her eyes were shining with excitement. ‘You were amazing!’

Slowly Emma focused her eyes on Lyndsey’s face. ‘What happened out there?’

‘Sarah came through. She cursed the bastard! Wherever he is, whatever happens, however hard he tries to escape, we are going to nail him. He’s a dead man!’ Releasing Emma’s hands, she scrambled to her feet. ‘You and I, Sarah’s descendants, are going to avenge Liza’s death and the death of all those women.’

‘What happened to Sarah? Was she hanged too?’ Emma huddled into her chair.

Lyndsey shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps. Why else is she so full of anger?’

‘But she had descendants. Us. In my dream she couldn’t have any children.’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘I don’t understand. And if they are both dead, she and Hopkins, why doesn’t she deal with him wherever it is they are? Why does she have to come back and do it here?’

‘Because they are not in the same place. He is still full of shit!’ Lyndsey slammed her fist into the palm of her hand. ‘He haunts this place. Not here,’ she waved her arm around the kitchen, ‘but this whole area. He’s using the evil which comes in with the mist. It gives him power. He was frustrated in his ambitions. He didn’t do enough damage. He didn’t have time to kill all the women he wanted to kill, so he wants to come back and continue his campaign of terror.’

‘And Sarah has followed him, by taking residence in my head.’ Emma shuddered. It was all becoming clear at last. ‘And that’s why he’s trying to possess Mike, isn’t it?’

Lyndsey nodded eagerly. ‘That’s what I’ve been warning you about. I knew he was overshadowing him, though I would have thought that the rector would be the last person on earth he would choose! But Mike is a sensitive, I realised that the first time I saw him in the churchyard.’

Emma forced a small smile. ‘Who else would he choose but a man of God? Mike has been having the nightmares, too. He must be in torment. He didn’t understand what’s been happening to him any more than I did.’

Lyndsey laughed. ‘Oh, I think you’ll find he understands by now.’ She frowned. ‘It’s odd though, because Bill Standing said he was on our side. Bill knows about the evil and the energies, too. Old Norse and Anglo-Saxon magic. Prehistoric practices. Celtic curses. This land is soaked in darkness. That is why this is happening. We have forgotten how to keep it all at bay. And Hopkins has returned, feeding on it, because so many people have called him back. The TV crew. The children in the village. The people who own the pub and want his ghost there to entice in the punters; people who think the whole thing is a joke!’

Emma swallowed. ‘But you joined in. You kept on calling him over his grave.’

‘To contain him, not to set him free!’

‘But that is what you have done. And he has possessed Mike!’ She shook her head. ‘And now you have made me a witch!’

Lyndsey nodded. ‘But a white witch, Emma. Never forget that. You and I are fighting the darkness.’

‘And Mike, what does he do?’ Emma bit her lip in her anxiety.

‘That’s up to him. It depends how strong he is.’ Lyndsey shrugged carelessly. She grinned suddenly. ‘You cursed him fairly effectively.’

‘I cursed him?’ Emma was appalled.

Lyndsey glanced at her. ‘Don’t you remember what happened out there? You were – or rather Sarah was – magnificent. I should think Mike Sinclair is feeling pretty ill by now. As would be anyone hosting the spiritual cesspit which was once the Witchfinder. And not just Mike Sinclair, either. You should have heard yourself cursing Mary Phillips and Judith.’ She paused. ‘Judith, the rector’s lick-spittle. She’s been trying to destroy me; she deserves everything she gets.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If you were as good as I think, they might even be dead by now!’

‘No! No, I don’t believe you!’ Emma was horrified. She stood up and threw off the rug which Lyndsey had wrapped around her knees. ‘I can’t take any more of this. Stop it, Lyn! This is all nonsense. Horrible, horrible nonsense. I don’t want anything to do with it.’

‘Too late. You can’t back out now.’

‘I can and I will. I want to get out of here. I’m going to go back to London. I’ll ring Piers. He’ll let me stay with him …’

‘You can’t leave, not now!’ Lyndsey stood up, too. Her smile had vanished. ‘You have to see this through. You have to!’

‘No, Lyn. I can’t. I won’t. This is sick. Horrible! I want to get away from it all. If I thought for one single second that what you’ve told me is true – that I could hurt Mike, or Judith –’ She stopped, unable even to finish the sentence, and threw herself towards the phone. ‘I don’t want to be in this house any more. I have to get out of here.’ Grabbing the receiver, she punched in Piers’s number.

Lyndsey tried to snatch it from her. ‘Emma, don’t do this!’

‘I have to.’ Emma turned her back, dodging Lyndsey’s flailing hands. ‘Leave me alone, Lyn. I don’t want to be part of this, I really don’t.’

In Piers’s flat the phone rang on and on unanswered.

‘Piers!’ Emma bit back a sob. ‘Answer, damn you. Please!’

Lyndsey fell back. She folded her arms. ‘He’s not there, is he.’ She waited in silence as Emma stood, the receiver clamped to her ear.

At last Emma broke the connection. Her back still towards Lyndsey, she redialled. Piers’s mobile, this time. The answer service picked up the call. ‘Piers, I need you! For God’s sake, come. Please. Come soon.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Where are you?’ Sobbing, she put down the phone. For a moment she stood still, staring down at it.

‘You don’t need him, Emma.’ Lyndsey was leaning against the Aga rail, watching. ‘You sounded pathetic! You are an empowered woman. Why should you need a man?’

Emma turned and stared at her. ‘Does it occur to you that I might love him?’

Lyndsey shook her head. ‘You’ve grown out of him. You made that decision when you came here. People move on, Emma. There is no point in trying to cling to a relationship that has become hollow. You shouldn’t and he probably hasn’t. He’s probably in bed with another woman at this very moment!’

Emma stared at her. Her shoulders sagged. ‘You’re probably right.’ For a moment she was silent. ‘Perhaps I could go and stay with Alex and Paula.’ The suggestion was only half-hearted. She did not believe it herself.

‘You don’t want to stay with anyone!’ Lyndsey was growing irritated. ‘This is your home. Here. This is where your destiny lies.’ She sighed. ‘Look, if you’re afraid of being here alone, why don’t I stay the rest of the night? You should go to bed. You look exhausted. I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa. You’ll feel stronger after you’ve had some sleep. Honestly.’ She smiled again.

Emma shook her head, defeated. She didn’t want Lyndsey there. She was afraid of her, of what Lyndsey had made her do, but there seemed to be no way out. It was easier to give in. Within half an hour both women were upstairs, Lyndsey in the spare room under the thatch, Emma sitting on her bed staring at the dark window panes between the undrawn curtains. She was shivering again.

Of course Lyndsey was right. Piers had gone. He would not be there for her now. She couldn’t – shouldn’t – call him in the middle of the night. Now that Lyndsey had gone to bed, Emma was thinking straight again. But there was someone she wanted to talk to very badly indeed and that was Mike Sinclair. She had to make sure he was all right. To convince herself that what Lyndsey had said was rubbish. To warn him – convince him – that he was in danger.

And that the danger came from her.

Cautiously, with a glance at the door, she lifted the receiver from the phone by her bed and dialled the rectory. The answer machine had been switched off, but there was no reply. Frowning, she tried his mobile. That at least was on. Sitting on her bed in the darkness she listened to it ring. It was still ringing as she lay back against the pillows, exhausted, the receiver to her ear.

When the call cut off she was already asleep.

Sarah woke suddenly and stared up into the darkness at the embroidered tester above her head. Her heart was pounding as she sat up, listening. There it was again. A shout, outside in the grounds of her father’s house. Slipping out of bed, she ran to the window and stared out. She could see nothing, but downstairs her father’s dogs had begun to bark.

Behind her there was a sudden urgent rapping on the door. ‘Mistress Sarah!’ It was Agnes. She pushed open the door and came in, a shawl around her thin shoulders, a candle in her hand. ‘Quickly! With your father from home we are undefended. John Pepper is downstairs, he said Hopkins is coming up the lane with a whole group of people. They are coming for you!’ Her eyes were huge and frightened, the candle throwing black shadows across her face as she stared at Sarah. ‘They say you are a witch!’

For a moment, Sarah was so paralysed with terror that she couldn’t move.

‘Hurry!’ Agnes was almost hysterical. ‘If you stay here you will be trapped.’ She glanced towards the window. ‘Here, put on your shoes. And take a thick shawl. Take mine.’ She tore it off and wrapped it around her mistress’s shoulders. ‘There is no time to dress. John is at the back door. He knows somewhere you can hide.’

Bustling and fussing, Agnes ushered her out of the room and down the back staircase into the huge echoing kitchen, empty now, the centre table scrubbed and bare, the dressers and shelves laden with pots and pans neat and ready for the early start, baskets of fruit and vegetables brought in from the storerooms stacked around the walls. The cook and the kitchen maids slept upstairs in the attics, but the sleepy turnspit boy was curled up on the flags by the smouldering fire. He looked up blearily as they passed and then fell back onto his sleeping mat. In another hour they would start baking the bread for the day. When they questioned him later he would remember nothing of who had passed and he was soundly beaten for his lack of memory.

‘Here!’ Agnes pulled open the door. The night air was cold and fresh after the warm cooking smells of the kitchen.

John Pepper was standing in the darkness with two horses. ‘Hurry,’ was all he said.

Sarah glanced beyond him across the courtyard to the narrow gateway which led out into the park. ‘Where are they?’ She was so frightened she could hardly speak.

‘They are coming up to the front of the house from the lane.’ He bent to take her foot and threw her up into the saddle. ‘They know Master Anthony is away with most of his men and they thought they could take us by surprise. He would not dare try to take you in Colchester and he has been planning to catch you these last few weeks, so they say.’

They were in the saddle now and he turned and led the way at a trot across the yard. Behind him Agnes shut the door and bolted it. Within minutes she was in her own bed, the covers pulled up over her head.

John drew his horse to a standstill under the archway and leaned forward, listening. Behind him, Sarah held her breath, steadying her horse with a gentle hand on its neck. They could hear nothing.

‘Follow me!’ He set the horse at a canter down the hill, and she followed, aware that the white of her nightgown was billowing round her under the heavy grey shawl.

Behind them Hopkins and Stearne, surrounded by a group of some dozen men, had reached the front door of Overly Hall and were beating on it with their staffs. When there was no answer a group, led by Stearne, separated off and ran along the side of the house towards the back. As they came round the corner they spotted the two horses in the distance, the flicker of white from Sarah’s gown clearly visible in the moonlight.

‘She’s gone. She’s escaped!’ Stearne turned and yelled back at Hopkins. ‘This way. We’ll cut them off below the hill.’

John Pepper turned in his saddle and looked over his shoulder. ‘They’ve seen us!’ He raised his hand and thwacked the horse’s flank. ‘Faster, mistress, we’ll turn up beyond the wood. Don’t fear. They won’t catch us.’

Sarah leaned forward, crooning in the horse’s ear. ‘Faster, sweetheart! Faster.’ She couldn’t breathe. Some of the men behind them were on horses too. They were galloping across the meadow, leaving the crowd on foot far behind, skirting round the shoulder of the hill. Below them the estuary lay, a streak of silver.

‘This way!’ John leaned over and caught her rein, wrenching the two horses sideways onto the track. ‘Here.’ Galloping fast, he led the way across a second meadow and into the trees, guiding them into the deep shadows of the wood. There, he pulled his horse back onto its haunches and slid to the ground. Running to her side, he put his hands up to her waist and pulled her off. ‘There. Let the horses go. We can’t ride in here. They won’t find us, if we send the horses home.’ Turning Sarah’s mare, he pointed its head back towards the house and smacked its rump.

‘John, we’d do better on horses. They can’t catch us on horses!’ Sarah screamed, but it was too late. The two animals were cantering back up the slope into full view. In the distance they heard a shout of triumph. The men had spotted the riderless animals, and had turned at once towards the trees.

‘Gone to ground!’ She thought she heard the call, echoing round them.

‘This way!’ John was racing back towards the lane. The high hedges on either side cut out the moonlight and they ran on. Both were gasping for breath. He had her hand now. He was dragging her after him, desperate to find a way through the hedge as the sound of horses behind them grew closer. Sarah slipped, her foot in a puddle, and her shoe flew off. They couldn’t stop. He dragged her on, aware of the horse gaining on them, aware of her terror. The horse was nearly upon them, and he heard her scream just as a gap showed for an instant in the high thorn hedge beside them. Pulling her through it, he glanced round and gasped with relief. They were back in the wood. Dodging through the trees, they made their way further and further into the darkness. The warm sweet smell of leaf-mould surrounded them. They could no longer see the moon. Overhead the leaves were a thick canopy against the sky.

‘Where are we going? How can you see?’ Sarah gasped.

John chuckled. ‘A misspent youth poaching your father’s game, I fear,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t speak now, mistress. Just follow as quiet as you can. And if you know any spells to hide us, now is the time to use them.’ She thought she caught sight of the whites of his eyes as he flashed her a nervous glance. ‘I go in danger of death as much as you, so do as I say.’ He had her wrist in his hand now, as he stopped. He seemed to be searching around for something in the dark. Sarah could suddenly hear the sound of shouting again in the distance. The men hunting them had doubled back. They had found the gap in the hedge. The sounds of pursuit were growing closer. ‘They are in the wood, John!’

‘Shh!’ He tugged at her wrist and she stepped after him blindly.

Suddenly he swore. ‘We have to cross that clearing in the moonlight. I had forgotten it was so open.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘Hurry, it’s all we can do. Once we are over it, there are places to hide a month and none will find us.’ Without pausing, he launched himself out into the open, running low and fast, dragging her after him. Behind them there was a shout of triumph, followed by a sharp crack. ‘John, they have muskets!’ Sarah screamed. She faltered.

His grip was firm and she had no choice but to run with him.

‘Run!’ He dragged her on.

There was another bang, a spurt of fire from behind him in the dark, and John let out a cry of pain. He dropped her hand, clutching at his shoulder.

‘John, you are hit!’

‘It is nothing.’ His teeth were gritted. ‘Come on, we can’t stop or all is lost. Only another few yards and we are safe!’

Somehow he made it, forcing himself to run the last few steps, and they were once more in the thick shadow. This time the wood was far denser, the old oaks interspersed with holly and bramble and dark-red dogwoods. He ducked sideways and pulled her with him into the shelter of an old hollow tree. There he collapsed onto the ground. ‘I’m done. If they come, you must run alone.’

‘They won’t find us, John. They have no dogs and they can’t see anything in here.’ Crouching beside him on the ground, she could smell his blood. Cautiously she reached out in the dark and touched his shoulder. ‘You are a brave man, John Pepper. You risked your life to save me.’

‘For your father’s sake!’

‘And for mine! I will remember this, John.’ She paused. They could hear the shouting again. The voices were quite close, in the clearing now, but they were growing no closer. The men were casting about, trying to find their trail, searching for the place they had entered the wood. They were coming closer. Beside her she felt John slump lower to the ground. His breathing was coming in short, painful gasps. If their pursuers came any nearer they would hear him.

Nearby an owl hooted. She glanced up. Judging by the sudden attentive silence, the men following them had heard it too. They were trying to read its message. Had it seen the fugitives in the wood? ‘Lead them away, sweetheart. Lead them away,’ she murmured. In the dark she could not see the suddenly spread wings, the silent flight, the circling, but the men in the clearing saw it swoop low over their heads and with one accord they turned the way the owl had come, plunging into the trees on the far side of the clearing. Within minutes the sound of pursuit had died away into the distance.

‘They’ve gone.’ Her voice was barely audible. She reached over and touched his sleeve. There was no answer. ‘John?’ Gently she nudged him. In the dark she felt him slump forward to the ground at her feet. He was no longer breathing. ‘John!’ She shook him. ‘John, don’t die!’

Silence.

She stared round helplessly. Who could she turn to now, what could she do?

Sarie, my dear
.

It was Liza’s voice. Liza, from her dungeon under Colchester Castle.

You can’t do this alone, my Sarie. Avenge me. Avenge us all. And help
John Pepper. Call on the Lord Lucifer, Sarie. He will help you
.

‘Liza?’ Sarah had gone cold with fear. Around her the rough, weathered bark of the old oak was a shelter against the breath of icy wind off the estuary.

Gently she touched John’s face. It was growing colder every second.

‘Lord Lucifer,’ she whispered. She paused, sick with fear. ‘Help me now and I will serve you for the rest of my life. Save my good servant, John. Save him and make him well again.’

Her hand was on John’s cold forehead. He did not stir. She waited, half expectant, half terribly afraid. In the distance the owl hooted again. Nearby a twig cracked sharply. She held her breath. There was someone there. Hardly daring to move, she craned her neck out of their hiding place to look out into the dark. It was lighter now. A glimmer in the sky to the east bled pale shadows into the darkness of the wood. A black-and-white shape moved quickly out of the corner of her vision and again she heard the crack of twigs. It was a badger.

And then they were upon her, materialising out of the mist which had curled in amongst the trees, cold cruel hands pulling her from her hiding place, a pike stabbing at her shoulder, the night loud with shouting and with fear and pain.