Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

At one level of her mind – the level that was still maintaining a fragile hold on the present – she registered the signs of the police investigations. There was a kind of Portakabin parked alongside the lodge with ‘Police’ on it, but there was no sign of life from within the lodge, and everything was silent and still. Ella looked back down the village street again, then, taking a deep breath, stepped through the stone pillars.

As she did so, the remaining gate moved slightly with a groaning creak that sounded as if a hoarse voice whispered the word ‘murder’. The past closed around her.

‘You see the problem,’ said Amy, sitting on a dusty window ledge of St Anselm’s church.

‘Yes, certainly.’ Jan had prowled round the edges of the ruined church while she talked, but his absorption in what she was saying was unmistakable.

When she stopped he came to join her on the window ledge. He was wearing the herringbone greatcoat again and the hem was dusty where it had trailed on the ground. His hair flopped over his forehead and Amy wanted so much to reach out to smooth it back that she had to sit on her hands.

‘Amy, I’m desperately sorry about what’s happened,’ he said. ‘You must be utterly shell-shocked.’ He did not proffer meaningless conventionalities; he did not say he was sure it was all a mistake and not to worry because it would all turn out all right. He said, ‘It’s polite to say I’ll do anything to help, isn’t it? And I will, of course. But maybe the best help I can give you at the moment is to see if we can find an innocent explanation for the sweater and the handbag you found.’

‘And the notebooks.’

‘I’m not forgetting the notebooks,’ said Jan, ‘but let’s deal with the bloodstains first. Could your grandmother have cut her hand or had a nosebleed? Then been afraid the bloodstains on the sweater would be misunderstood if the police found them?’

‘She hasn’t got any signs of a cut,’ said Amy. ‘And I don’t think she suffers from nosebleeds. There were a lot of bloodstains, Jan. Really a lot . And I can’t think how bloodstains would get on the inside of a handbag.’

‘Fair enough. Neither can I, but we’ll look at all possibilities. How about the notebooks? They could be old ones she’s getting rid of.’

‘At two in the morning? When your husband’s in jug suspected of murdering your oldest friend? I know I’m sounding negative, but you have to admit it’s pretty flaky behaviour.’

‘They could be old diaries,’ said Jan, frowning as he considered this. ‘Again, it might be that she’s afraid of something being misinterpreted – something she wrote in the past, or something she didn’t want anyone to know. Not necessarily anything criminal.’

‘I know,’ said Amy. ‘And I could accept Gran getting rid of old diaries if they had scandalous stuff in them, though the handwriting didn’t look like hers. I could accept the bloodstains as well. But not the two things together on the same night.’

‘It is stretching it a bit.’ He paused, frowning, then said, ‘I think you’re going to have to ask your grandmother right out why she buried that stuff, and what it’s all about.’

Amy had been hoping he would not say this. ‘I’m not sure if I can,’ she said.

‘You can. Say you found the stuff because you saw her burying it, and you’re sure there’s nothing wrong – you trust her completely – but with everything that’s been going on you’d appreciate a bit of reassurance.’

‘I suppose that’s a reasonable way of putting it,’ said Amy, rather unwillingly. ‘That couldn’t upset her, could it?’

‘No. Do it as soon as you can, before you have chance to get cold feet. And…’ He paused, then said, ‘I’d like to say come down to the Red Lion and have dinner with me. But I think you’ll have to stay with your gran until this mess is sorted out – until your grandfather is let out. You can’t leave her on her own at the moment.’

‘I know that.’

‘But you could phone to tell me the results,’ said Jan, ‘because I’d like to stay until – well, until I know you’re all right. You’ve got my number, haven’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Amy glanced at her watch. ‘I should get back.’

‘If you can give it another five minutes, I’ll come back with you.’

‘It’s not far. And I’m not likely to get lost,’ said Amy, looking round for her tote bag.

‘No, but the ground’s slippery from the spraying and there’s rubble everywhere. Please wait for me. If you tripped over or slipped in the mud at least I could pick you up.’

‘Is that what you’ve done anyway?’ said Amy, who had not realized she was going to say this. ‘Picked me up?’

A sudden smile lightened his face. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Oh, Amy, no.’

‘Well, good.’

His hand came out to push a strand of hair back from her face. ‘You look,’ said Jan softly, ‘like a small Victorian ragamuffin, perched on that windowsill amidst all the rubble and dust. Amy, let’s have that dinner together when this is all sorted out.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Good.’ He still did not move away, and the moment lengthened. Amy thought: he’s going to kiss me. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. Oh hell, yes, of course I am.

But he did not. He merely said, ‘Give me another five minutes then we’ll go. I just want to see if the organ loft is still intact. I should think it’s somewhere through those stone arches.’

‘Where did you park?’

‘On that lay-by on Mordwich Bank. I wanted to walk down the bank and see what the village looks like from above.’

‘I parked on the edge of the street at the other end,’ said Amy.

He picked up his battered briefcase, which had been lying on a pew, and went towards the stone arch. Amy was wondering if he wanted her to follow, or if he would prefer to be on his own, when she became aware that someone was outside the church. There was the faint sound of footsteps and she turned to look towards the porch, not exactly apprehensively, but certainly a bit startled. The village had seemed deserted, but the police might still be around.

But no one seemed to be there. Amy thought she might have heard a stray dog or an inquisitive cat. What else prowled round ruins? Oh God, don’t let it be a rat. She went towards the door and called out, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ But this sounded so ridiculously like the hammy old question people asked at séances that she followed it up at once by saying, ‘I’m just having a look round. We were told it was OK to come in.’ The ‘we’ was deliberate, meant to indicate she was not on her own. She was about to call out to Jan when she heard his voice.

‘Amy, come and look at this.’

‘What is it? Where are you?’

‘In the old organ loft. Through the archway near the window and there’s a flight of steps. They’re a bit battered but perfectly sound.’

Amy abandoned the quest for the footsteps and went over to the arch. There was a smallish alcove beyond it, with half a dozen narrow steps, enclosed by stone walls. She went cautiously up, and as she reached the top, light poured in from a tall glass-less window. After the dimness the brightness, even on such a dull morning, was unexpected and Amy blinked, momentarily dazzled, but through the brightness aware of a curious feeling of loneliness. When her eyes adjusted, she made out a towering structure with a bench drawn up to it.

‘What—’

‘It’s the church organ,’ said Jan, softly. ‘The one donated by the unknown Cadence. We still don’t know who he was, and I’m not sure we’ll be able to find out, but I think this is where he found his still, sad music of humanity.’