The Moon Spun Round (25 page)

Claire made it to the bathroom, and Sarah knelt beside her, stroking her back as she retched over the bowl. Abbie wrung a cloth under the cold tap and, when
Claire eventually leaned back against the bath, she gently pressed it to Claire’s forehead and cheeks.

‘You’re still shaking. What happened?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s not the first time. You get used to it. I sometimes react like that when I come up against a negative energy field. Like when you’re flying and you hit a patch of turbulence.’

‘Does that mean something’s wrong in the house?’

‘No, the house is good. The atmosphere is peaceful and you’re right to be here, Sally. It’s just that at one time there were some events that caused high levels of negative emotion. I tuned into it and it came back and bit me, that’s all.’

‘Are you all right now? Is there anything else we can do?’

‘No, I’m fine. A little cold, that’s all.’

‘Yes, you’re shivering,’ Abbie rubbed Claire’s hands between hers. ‘Let’s get you downstairs. Do you think you could manage some green tea? Do you have some, Sally? It’ll help settle her stomach.’

Down in the kitchen, Sally put the kettle on again while Abbie pulled a chair up and settled Claire close to the Aga.

‘So what was it? Who do you think the women were?’

‘I think at least one of them lived here. So she must have been Guardian of the Spring at some time. This place is well protected, almost like it has an invisible wall around it. But at that time, whatever the danger was, it got through. I’ve no idea what happened to them after that.’

‘When do you think they lived?’ Abbie asked.

‘Difficult to say. They were dressed very plainly, no distinct fashion. So it could have been any time over a long period. But I felt it was at least a couple of hundred years ago.’

‘But you don’t think…you know…’ Sally searched for words. ‘I mean, I’ve got to live here. Should I be worried about this?’

‘Absolutely not. Look, any old house has a history and there is bound to have been something unpleasant happening at some time: family arguments, illness, someone dying. Or you could buy a brand-new house on a development estate and the field it’s built on turns out to be the scene of a battle and is saturated with violence and death. We’re surrounded by history, immersed in it. You can’t dodge out of its way. No, this house is fine. It’s interesting, though. I wonder what happened.’

‘Sounds like they were being arrested or something,’ said Abbie. ‘Might be worth doing some research.’

Sally dunked a teabag in hot water and carried the mug over to Claire. ‘Isn’t your Philip interested in local history, Abbie?’

‘Yes, he is. I’ll have a word with him. Though he won’t be home this weekend—too many New Year parties.’

‘Well, whatever it is, it’ll keep a while longer. Strange about the names, though. Mistress Abigail Marchant: your name, Abbie. And my name—Sally’s short for Sarah.’

‘Now, don’t put too much weight on that,’ said Claire. ‘These images I get, it’s not like watching TV. My mind has to unscramble the information and it’s difficult not to influence things to some degree. You two were in the room, I was talking to you, and then trying to decipher that unfamiliar script. I may easily have got my wires crossed.’

‘Even so,’ said Abbie, ‘it was very strange to hear my name like that.’

‘Me, too. For a moment it took my breath away. Literally. Like I’d been punched in the chest.’ Sally laid her hand on Claire’s forearm. ‘How are you feeling now, Claire?’

‘Ow!’ Claire visibly jumped, spilling drops of tea on her lap.

‘What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Slight burn, that’s all. Caught it on the oven shelf.’

‘Here, let me look at it.’ Abbie approached, taking the mug and trying to get hold of Claire’s arm.

‘No!’ Claire snatched her hand away. ‘No, it’s fine, really. Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. Still a bit up in the air, I think. The walk back will help me get grounded.’ She was already pulling on her coat and heading for the door.

‘You sure you’re going to be all right?’ said Abbie. ‘Let me give you a lift. It won’t take a moment to get the car round.’

‘No thanks, I’ll be fine.’

‘Well, let me walk to the corner with you then.’ Abbie grabbed her jacket. ‘See you later, Sally.’ She gave her a look that said ‘we have to talk about this’.

‘Bye, Sally.’ Claire was already halfway out the door. ‘And listen, don’t worry about what might have happened hundreds of years ago. This house has a beautiful atmosphere and it feels so right for you. Enjoy it. But if you do happen to come across a spinning wheel…’

After Claire and Abbie left, Sally went back to the sitting room and switched on all the lights, trying to dispel the shadows the afternoon had cast. Should she light a fire? Yes, that might help to cheer the place up. She set about clearing the grate and laying paper and fire lighters under some logs, then sat back to watch the small flames lick around the edges of the wood. A spinning wheel?
Yes, it would suit the room. A genuine antique would probably cost a fortune, but she had seen modern ones in craft shops. Perhaps she could look into it, get some books out of the library. Plenty of sheep around there, should be easy enough—

Out of nowhere came a volley of loud bangs, like cannon fire shaking the house.

The noise exploded through her body, sending her heart thumping like a trip-hammer. She tried to think what it could be, but all her mind could show her was a group of black-cloaked men pressing against her door, in the flickering light of flaming torches. Her breath jammed in her chest and terror held her limbs like a vice.

It came again, another barrage of sound, this time not so loud, and she realized it was her own doorknocker.

But her heart was still jumping and she was gasping for breath. It was a moment before she managed to scramble to her feet, hoping her legs would carry her across the kitchen. Her hand fumbled the slip chain into place before opening the door a crack.

‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s only me. Fran.’

‘Oh, thank God. Hold on, I’ll take the chain off.’

‘What’s up? What’s with all the security? It’s the middle of the afternoon.’

‘Yes, sorry. You startled me, that’s all. No, actually you scared the shit out of me.’

‘Christ, you scare easily. I only knocked on the door.’

‘I know. It’s been a strange afternoon. Claire’s been around. I think I got a little bit spooked.’

‘You’re not kidding—you’re as white as a sheet. Come and sit down and tell me about it. That’s what I came around for, anyway: to find out what happened.’

‘Right, but let’s go into the other room. I’m trying to light a fire.’

Sally recounted the afternoon’s events right up to Fran’s knocking and the reason it frightened her. Fran knelt by the hearth, building up the fire and listening intently.

‘And they were right here, you say, in this room? No wonder you got spooked. But Claire’s dead straight you know. If there were anything to worry about, she would have said.’

‘No, she was very reassuring. I suppose it was the connection: you know, me living in the cottage and the names. And then the door banging. Still, the room looks cosy enough now.’

‘Where’s your cat?’

‘Probably outside. She was quite interested in what Claire was doing, but she ran out of the room when things started getting fraught.’

They fell into a moment of silent thought, both watching the flames. Sally touched the moonstone at her neck, stroking its curved surface. Then she said, ‘I’ve just realized, isn’t it one of Claire’s afternoons at the shop. I hope I didn’t deprive you of your assistant?’

‘Not at all. Pleased to help. It’s a good cover for her if she needs to go anywhere. If Ayden had come looking for her, I’d have told him she was on some mission for me.’

‘It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, I realize they have problems, but surely she doesn’t have to account for everywhere she goes, does she?’

‘Oh, you don’t know the half of it. As you’ve probably gathered, she won’t talk about it; covers it all up, and it’s like we all have to pretend we don’t know. However, I’ve worked in enough women’s refuges to know a battered wife when I see one.’

‘I touched her arm earlier and she nearly jumped through the roof. Said she’d burned it on the oven. I don’t understand. Why does she stay with him? There are no children to be responsible for. She’s got a circle of good friends who are ready to help her. If you could have seen her this afternoon, she was a capable, self-possessed woman meeting head-on something that would scare the life out of most people. Even when it made her physically ill she just carried on and dealt with it.’

‘That might be part of the problem, that she
is
strong. It’s something I’ve seen in those women. A sort of perverse heroism that keeps them living in hell, trying to hold their lives together, in the hope that some day it’s going to get better.’

‘Why doesn’t she just get out? I know lots of women do find a way. I suppose she believes that one day he’ll turn into the man she thought she’d married.’

‘Don’t we all, my love? Don’t we all?’

In the grate, the burning logs shifted. There was a snap and a small puff of smoke as some impurity ignited in the wood. Fran took up the poker and pushed the logs back.

‘Domestic violence is very complicated. Usually it’s all about power and control. Once the pattern of physical violence is established, just the threat of it is usually enough to keep the victim in line. That’s emotional abuse, and in some ways it’s worse—the threat of violence along with the constant undermining of the spirit.’

‘Yes, that’s what Ayden’s all about: power and control. That time he came here, I knew straight-off he was a nasty piece of work, but there was something
mesmerizing about him that made me feel helpless. It was like being shut in a room with a cobra. You know how they sort of hypnotize their victims until they can’t move and then they strike? I can see how someone could be taken in by him, even end up being married to him. But once they’d realized what he was really like, they’d want out. It just doesn’t fit with Claire, though. I can’t imagine her allowing herself to be intimidated into being a virtual prisoner.’

‘No, I know what you mean. But with Claire I think there’s more to it. It’s like he has some hold over her. If only she’d damn well talk to us.’ Fran jabbed at the fire with the poker. ‘It makes me so angry. At times I feel like shaking her. I’ve thought about confronting him, but I know that would only make things worse. He’d put a stop to her working with me, and that’s one of the few freedoms he lets her have.’

‘Perhaps Naomi’s got it right. She seems to manage without a man. Or at least if there is one in her life she never lets on.’

Fran turns to Sally, her face full of surprise. ‘Oh, good grief—you don’t know, do you? I’d have thought you’d have caught on by now.’

‘Caught on to what?’

‘Naomi. She’s not interested in men. Not at all. Didn’t you realize she’s gay?’

‘Oh.’ That was all Sally could find to say. Her mind turned around slowly, thinking about the times she’d been with Naomi: their work on the computer, that evening they walked to the pub, how Naomi looked, moved, how she was when she was with her.

‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘No, no, I didn’t know. I mean, it never occurred to me. She never said anything.’

‘Well, no reason why she should, I suppose, unless someone actually broached the subject. Then, like everything else, she’d be very open and straightforward about it.’

‘Oh.’

‘And don’t get any wrong ideas. It’s Claire she’s interested in, not you.’

‘Claire?
And does Claire know that?’

‘I very much doubt it. She’s got enough to worry about as it is. But I’ve seen the way Naomi is around her. And I’ve heard what Naomi says about Ayden and what she would like to do to him.’

‘Christ, what a mess.’

‘What a mess indeed. The Goddess only knows how it’s going to work out. But some nights I lie awake and weep for the pair of them.’

It’s that time between Christmas and New Year; a time between times.

This year it coincides with the waxing of the moon as it passes through the first quarter of the cycle and begins to swell towards fullness. As New Year’s Eve approaches, the Goddess presents a gibbous face, a lopsided face, the face of a mad woman. This is the season of misrule, when the walls of order and sanity break down and the world is turned upon its head.