Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

As she went back through the old gates, someone came walking towards her – someone vaguely familiar. A girl – a young woman – with a tumble of dark hair, a bit untidy, and an odd set of features, a bit like a cat. Who… ? The throbbing pain in Ella’s head suddenly cleared and she felt the world wrench itself back into its correct place. Behind her were the ruins of the old manor, and it was derelict because it had been empty for fifty years, the air all round it diseased from Geranos. How could she have been so confused? She had been thinking about her mother and the scarf, and how they had gone home to watch Ella’s television serial.

The girl coming towards her was Amy, and she was the one Ella had to deal with next, because she had found those things Ella had buried: the sweater with Veronica’s blood on it, and Clem’s diaries. That was what she had been trying to remember, only the past had become mixed up with the present. But she knew it all quite clearly now and she knew Amy must not be allowed to tell anyone what Ella had buried in the garden.

Amy had seen Gran coming from quite a long way off, but she had not immediately recognized her. At first she thought it was a gypsy or a semi-vagrant, someone who had been scavenging through the ruins. This was deeply sad. Amy had a five-pound note in her bag; when the woman got nearer, if she looked really down and out Amy would give her the money. She was not very good at doing that kind of thing and she could not really afford to give away five pounds, but she would mumble something about having had a windfall and please share it with her.

It was a huge and sickening shock to realize suddenly the woman coming towards her – the woman to whom she had been planning to give money – was Gran. Amy stopped dead in the middle of the road. Was it Gran, though? It was certainly Gran’s waxed jacket, and that was her leather bag slung over one shoulder. For a wild moment Amy wondered if her first assumption had been right, and this was a vagrant who had mugged Gran and stolen all her things. But as the figure came up to her, she saw it really was Gran, although Amy had never seen her like this. Her hair was all over the place and it was powdered with what looked like brick dust. And there was a dreadful look on her face – a kind of mad, staring-eyed look.

Amy managed to say, ‘Hi,’ in a rather wobbly voice, and Gran came up to her and stopped. Amy saw her dart a look up and down the deserted street. She said, ‘Gran, what on earth are you doing out here? Is anything wrong? It’s not Gramps, is it?’

‘No. I’ve just been looking round. Interesting to see the place after so long.’

‘How did you know I was here?’ said Amy, trying to convince herself that Gran was sounding perfectly normal.

‘What? Oh, I thought you might have gone down to the Red Lion to find that man you’ve been seeing. But they thought you might be out here.’ She took Amy’s arm. ‘Let’s walk up to the manor before we go home. You’ve never seen it, have you? It’s an interesting old place. And there’s a wonderful view from the lodge.’

Amy did not really want to go up to the manor, but Gran was propelling her along, and it seemed better to humour her. As they went, Gran talked, not in her usual way, but in a half-mumble, almost as if she had forgotten Amy was there. Most of it was inaudible, but once she said, very clearly, ‘You have to silence people, you know. It’s not always a very nice thing to do, but sometimes it’s necessary.’ But before Amy could think how to answer this, she said, ‘Here’s the manor gates,’ and they were inside.

‘It’s a bit sad here, isn’t it?’ said Amy as they approached the lodge. ‘A bit lonely.’

‘Yes, but we’ll be able to see the whole village from upstairs. We might even see traces of Geranos. It’s like amber, you know. A kind of dirty copper glaze. It smothered everything all those years ago.’ She did not quite look at Amy. She slewed her eyes round very slowly, then finally focused on the top of Amy’s head.

Amy said, ‘But have the police finished here? Is it all right to go in?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Gran pushed open the door and went in, and after a moment of uncertainty, Amy followed her.

It was dim and chilly inside the lodge, but Amy hardly noticed it, because the minute she stepped through the door a wave of such intense unhappiness hit her she flinched. Whoever lived here had been deeply, deeply , unhappy. Or was it simply that she knew a dead body had lain here for a great many years?

Gran seemed to be sensing the atmosphere as well, and Amy said, ‘Are you all right? You don’t look very well.’

‘Of course I’m not all right,’ said Gran sharply. ‘And I shouldn’t think I look well at all, with your grandfather in prison for murdering that bitch Veronica Campion.’

Amy was standing just inside the door, in a narrow hall. She forgot about the aching despair in here, and said, ‘But we don’t believe he really did it, do we?’

Gran had been looking towards a staircase with carved banisters, but when Amy said this, she turned her head very slowly. ‘Why don’t you believe it?’ she said, and as Amy was trying to frame a reply, Gran said, ‘You found the things I buried, didn’t you?’

Amy was still not exactly frightened but she suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that the lodge was very remote and very quiet. No, it wasn’t so remote at all – Jan was somewhere nearby.

She said, ‘What things? Let’s walk back to the car and go home and talk about it. There might be some news from the police station.’

‘You found the things I buried,’ said Gran, as if Amy had not spoken. ‘The sweater with that slut’s blood on. And the diaries – Clem’s diaries with all the things about the past.’ She moved back to the doorway, and stood there, blocking the way out. The light was behind her and Amy could no longer see her expression.

After a moment, she said, ‘Yes, I did find them. I absolutely wasn’t prying, but I saw you bury them. I couldn’t sleep that night, so I got up. I know there’ll be an ordinary explanation, of course.’

‘People always want an explanation,’ said Gran. ‘That’s always the danger. And people remember things. Things they mustn’t be allowed to talk about.’

Clearly Gran was having some kind of breakdown or suffering from nervous reaction to finding Veronica’s body and Gramps being arrested. It was hardly surprising. But there was still the question of that sweater and she had just said something about Clem Poulter’s diaries…

‘It’s important to stop them talking, you see, Amy. But I’ve always been very careful to be considerate. I was even considerate with Veronica…’ She seemed to suddenly recollect herself. ‘It’s Veronica’s blood on that sweater I buried,’ she said.

Summoning up her courage, Amy said, ‘From when Gramps killed her?’

‘It served her right,’ said Gran. ‘Forty-two years of marriage and he goes to bed with my oldest friend.’

‘Shouldn’t we get back… ?’ If Gran would only move, Amy could scoot out through the door.

‘Let’s go upstairs to see the view. I came in here to see it a little while ago. Oh, the stairs are a bit slippy, though, and they’re quite steep. You’ll need both hands for the banister – put your bag down here. You’ve still got Derek’s camera, I see. It was a very expensive one, so you hadn’t better drop it.’

Amy was starting to feel very uneasy, and the last thing she wanted to do was go up the dark stairway, but Gran was still standing in the doorway, so perhaps it would be better to humour her. She slung her bag over the end of the banister and went up the stairs, Gran following. There was a square landing at the top with several doors opening off it. A smeary light came in through the grimy windows, showing the marks of recent footprints, and debris left by their investigations. A coil of tape with ‘Police Investigation’ on it lay in a corner.