Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

As I stood there, the attempts to break the window abandoned, I heard the church clock chiming from St Anselm’s. Midday. As the last chime died away there came a sound from above: a soft purring as if some huge invisible animal was approaching. The plane, with its terrible cargo, was heading towards Priors Bramley.

I don’t know – and I never will – what took place in the manor between those children and Saul. I do know that after a short time there was a vivid flash of colour from the side of the house as the children ran helter-skelter towards the old garden wall. They vanished from my sight, but it didn’t take much intelligence to guess they had climbed over the crumbling wall into the lane, and gone across Mordwich Bank.

Of Saul there was no sign. I never saw him again. I never saw anyone again.

And so now my story is told.

The plane has flown away and beyond the windows a misty golden dust is billowing everywhere. Where it touches, it leaves an amber glaze. I know it for what it is, of course. I know what it will do to me. What I don’t know is how long it will take me to die.

The ticking clock that has marked the passing hours over the last week shows that it’s seven o’clock. Normally I would be preparing a meal now, drinking a glass of wine. But half an hour ago my skin began to prickle and burn, and when I looked in the mirror I saw blisters forming on my neck and along my hands and arms.

The Present

Jan came out of St Anselm’s, stopped by the lich-gate, and looked down the village street. There was no sign of the person he and Amy had heard – the person who had given that unmistakable cry of startled fear at hearing the music a few minutes earlier.

He walked towards the village itself, until he could see round the curve in the road, but everywhere looked deserted and whoever they had heard must have gone in the other direction, towards Cadence Manor. Jan looked back at the church. Amy would be out in a minute; she would see him walking up to the manor.

He had thought the police would still be working in the grounds, particularly since that second body had been found, but there was no one around. There were tapes saying ‘Police Crime Scene’, as there had been at the other end of the village, but that was all. Jan was about to retrace his steps when he saw a blur of movement within the grounds. Had it been someone whisking out of sight? Or only an animal – an inquisitive cat or even a stray dog? He thought the movement had been too big for an animal, though, and he paused, unsure whether to go up to the house. There had been some peculiar things happening around here – the finding of the two bodies and then the murder of that woman Veronica Campion and the arrest of Amy’s grandfather. But that cry of fear they had heard surely could not be connected to that. He stepped through the gates and began to walk along the driveway.

Cadence Manor, when he came into full sight of it, really was the forgotten mansion amidst the poisoned fields. Jan found it sad. It was not even the classic ghost-ridden manor; it was simply a derelict house that had outlived its era – that era of weekend parties with elaborate dinners, and of race meetings and shooting parties. Once, thought Jan, people wandered through these gardens on scented summer evenings, carrying drinks onto a terrace, the younger ones giggling in the shrubbery as kisses were snatched. It was a privileged age, as long as you had money. Presumably in those days the Cadences had plenty of money.

Directly ahead was what must be the original main entrance. Jan thought he would take a quick look inside, call out to see if anyone really was here, then go back to the church. He stepped inside, trying to avoid the worst of the damp and the puddles. There were dozens of muddy footprints, presumably from the police and forensic people, but they had dried out. He wondered how far the police had got with their enquiries. And then he saw that there were recent, wet footprints. Someone had come in here within the last few minutes.

Jan called out. ‘Hello? Is someone here?’ His voice echoed eerily and the words bounced back at him. He tried again. ‘Are you in here? I wanted to say sorry if we spooked you with the music in the church.’

There was absolute silence, but Jan had the impression that someone was very close to him, listening, perhaps even watching. He looked round, but nothing moved. Probably whoever he had glimpsed had gone out again. But the footprints went in and did not seem to come out again. They crossed the big hall, and went into a room on the left. Was that where the person was? Perhaps it was a child, frightened by the music, and hiding.

Jan went towards the doorway and called out again. ‘Don’t be frightened. I only want to reassure you that I’m not a ghost.’

The room was a large one with the remains of tall windows and a French window at the far end. There was a massive fireplace on the inner wall, with a gaping hole where the hearth had been, full of broken bricks. The feeling of being watched increased, but that would be his imagination. As Amy might say, it was pretty spooky in here. And whoever had come in here could have gone out through that opening. He would go back and tell Amy he had not been able to find anyone.

He paused for a moment by the chimney breast, interested in the carvings, wondering if they might once have depicted a family coat of arms and whether Amy would like to see them. As he stood there, from out of the sour dank blackness of the chimney shaft, arms reached out and hands with fingers like steel closed around his neck. Before he could do anything, something came round his throat like a whiplash – something orange and brown faintly scented – and was jerked tight.

Jan struggled and clawed at the thing round his throat, but his attacker held on. A dreadful pressure began to build up in his head and his lungs felt as if they were being crushed. Crimson-shot darkness closed down on him.

As Ella stood up, looking down at the prone body at her feet, she was aware of a soaring triumph. She had done it. Finally and at last she had killed this man who had haunted her dreams, this man who played the threatening music, and who knew all the secrets. She went on looking at him, wanting to prolong the feeling. He was lying face-down in the rubble, his hair tumbled forward. She could not see his face, but she did not need to. He was the man who had stood in this very house and seen her mother kill Serena Cadence. The knowledge that she was finally free of him made her feel light-headed.

Strangling him had been a strange experience. Two things had been in her favour. One was the element of surprise, and the other was that she was wearing the scarf, which she had been able to twist round his neck from behind. He had clawed frantically at the scarf, trying to loosen it, but he had not been able to, and he had gone down as if pole-axed. This was very good indeed; Ella certainly could not have strangled him with her hands, and Veronica’s scarf had worked splendidly.

She bent to retrieve it and the memories swirled forward again, because she had had to retrieve a scarf that other time. She had come running through the French windows into this very room to get it because it had her name on it and Mum had said no one must ever know they had been at Cadence Manor today. But he had known, this man. He had stood there watching. That was why he had to die.

Ella put her hand up to her head because it was starting to ache dreadfully and she was beginning to feel confused. But the scarf would not give her away today, any more than it had that other time. She put it back on and went out of the house, using the main door. Now she could go home.

As she drew level with the lodge, a faint doubt came into her mind. There was something else she had to do. Someone else she had to deal with. Who? Ella frowned, but could not think who this person might be. Someone who knew something, was it? Yes, there was someone who knew something – who had seen her do something. She went on thinking about this, hardly noticing where she was going, but aware of the shocking state of the manor’s grounds. Mum always said the Cadences were irresponsible, though.