Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

She mopped up the spilled medicine and tried to sit up straight, but she was still shaking, and when she spoke her voice was trembly. ‘Oh God, Ella. Your scarf. Oh God, that’s terrible.’

Ella could not see why it was so absolutely terrible as Mum seemed to think, but it seemed to matter to her very much, so she said, ‘I’ll go back in and get it.’

‘No! You mustn’t…’ Mum tried to stand up and half fell against the stile. Her eyes had a foggy look as if she was not seeing properly.

‘Yes, it’s all right.’ The thought of going back in the house filled Ella with horror, but she would rather do that than stay here with her mother being blurry and speaking as if she had a flannel in her mouth. ‘What I’ll do,’ she said, pleased that her voice sounded quite brave, ‘is I’ll peep round the edge of the French windows and if he’s there I won’t go in. I’ll come straight back and we’ll go home before he can see us. But if he’s not there I’ll reach inside and pick up the scarf and my hankie – they were just inside the door. If the gramophone’s still on no one will hear me anyway.’

‘But—’

‘It’s all right, really it is. I’ll run fast and I’ll be back before you know I’ve gone.’

She did not say that by the time she got back her mother might have got over the blurriness. Before she could protest any more, Ella turned and ran as hard as she could back along the lane with the wall of the manor on her right, and then in at the side gate and across the tangly gardens.

She paused at the edge of the overgrown lawn to get her breath back. The curtains were still closed over the windows. Did that mean the man was still in there? She no longer felt so brave, but she remembered how upset Mum had been at the thought of the scarf being left in the house so she tiptoed up to the French window, trying to stay flat against the wall so as not to be seen. If the man was in there she would not go inside, and she and Mum would have to think what to do next. But if the room was empty Ella would dash inside, snatch up the scarf, and be outside again in a trice.

The music was still playing, but it seemed to be scraping over and over the same bit of tune. Had the needle got stuck? That had happened once on Clem’s gramophone and it had sounded exactly like this. Surely if the man – or anyone else – had been in that room he would want to put the needle back in place? That must mean it was all right to go in. Moving very cautiously, Ella peered round the edge of the French windows, trying to see into the room. It was pretty dark but nothing seemed to be moving. And there were the flowers and her scarf, lying exactly where she had dropped them, just inside, quite close to the French windows.

She plucked up her courage and stepped over the threshold.

The too-sweet scent closed round her, but she tried to ignore it and went towards the scarf. In the corner of her eye she could see the chair where the man had been sitting, and she could see the stick on the ground nearby. Next to it was a soft dark cloth, lying in thick folds. Determinedly not looking at anything, Ella bent down to get her scarf, but doing so brought the bottom of the chair into her line of vision. It was then that she realized, with a jolt of new fear, that the man was still here. He was sitting in the chair, silent, not moving.

Ella’s heart seemed to cartwheel up into her mouth, but she reached for the scarf because if she was very quick she could run outside before he could catch her.

Look at him before you run away , said a horrid voice in her mind. Just one glance, then you’ll see what he’s really like… No! thought Ella. No, I mustn’t do that.

But the whole world seemed to have slowed down and her legs were filled with lead like in a nightmare, and she could not move. The dreadful thing was that she really wanted to look at the man, to see him properly, instead of as the shadow he had been in the church.

Already it was easier to see through the dimness. She could make out a big marbly fireplace on the left of the chair, and rugs and tables. There was a door on the other side of the room, which was partly open, and Ella could see a big hall beyond it with pillars and a wide staircase. Should she run out that way? Would it be easier? No, she did not know who else might be in the house. She would go back over the lawn, the way she had come in. She would not look at the man, not even for a second, and in a minute her legs would start to move again. But again the evil little voice said, Before you run away, look at him… You know you want to…

Ella turned her head, and looked straight at the still silent figure. The music swelled maddeningly back and forth and a dreadful sick horror swept over her, because the figure in the chair was staring back at her; it had wide-open eyes that did not blink, and the mouth had fallen open. Hands in their dark gloves dangled down over the chair’s sides.

Ella was absolutely frozen with terror and although she tried to look away she could not. The figure stared and stared at nothing, and Ella stared back. Her mind was whirling with fear and confusion, but she knew why the curtains had been shut and why the thick veil had covered the face earlier. It was a face you would want to cover all the time – a dreadful face, crusted with sores and scabs, the open mouth even showing scabs inside it.

But it was not the man from St Anselm’s. The person in the chair – the person who had raised the stick and called her mother ‘Ford’ in that sneering way – was a woman, a very thin, very old lady, wearing an old-fashioned black frock that went down to her ankles and shawls of thick lace wound round her neck and over the top of her head.

Ella was very frightened indeed, but she managed to say, a bit croakily, ‘I’m sorry to come in without asking, but I left my scarf behind.’

The woman was still not moving and this time, instead of forcing her unwilling legs to run from the room as fast as possible, Ella found she had taken a shaky step nearer to the woman.

‘I need the scarf for school, you see.’ Nothing. Perhaps Mum had been wrong and a doctor was needed after all. Ella said, ‘Um – are you all right?’ She had no idea what to call the woman. At school they called the teachers ‘miss’, but it didn’t seem quite right to call this woman ‘miss’.

The woman still did not move. She did not even seem to hear or realize Ella was there. She must be unconscious, knocked out from when Ella’s mother bounded forward to knock the stick away from her. Only – did your eyes stay open and staring if you were unconscious? And wouldn’t Mum have fetched a doctor to her, no matter how much they should not have been here? Not if she knew the woman was dead, said Ella’s mind. Dead people had their eyes open like this. Clem had seen his grandmother after she died, he had talked about it for days, saying how dead people stared at nothing for ever and you had to close their eyes.

Ella was not going to try closing this old woman’s eyes, but she was becoming terribly afraid that the woman really was dead. Nobody who was living would sit like this, not speaking or moving, not trying to cover up that terrible face…

It was then that, with a teeth-wincing scrape, the music suddenly stopped.

Ella spun round. Standing just inside the room, the light behind him, was the figure of a man. All Ella could see was a dark outline, with a long coat, the collar turned up, but she saw that one hand was still resting on the gramophone on its small table. She could not see his face but she could see it was turned towards her and there was no mistaking him. This really was the man from St Anselm’s. He was here in the room with her.