Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

Daniel felt a kick on his shin. Louise, fretting that he’d tested Oz’s hospitality to the limit. Just as well the trident was made of plastic, otherwise he might end up gored by the prongs.

He said, ‘Melody goes along with the consensus, that Craig Meek was guilty.’

‘Naturally. By all accounts, Meek was a big man with an ego to match, but a conscience the size of a pea. If something didn’t suit him, he used brute force to get his own way. The case was open and shut. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better circulate. Do come and meet some of our friends.’

Oz beckoned over a stringy-haired zombie and a toothy vampire, who proved to be the Knights’ accountant and solicitor, before disappearing into the crowd. The lawyer evidently fancied sinking his fangs into Louise, and his drink-lubricated small talk soon had Daniel’s eyes glazing behind his mask, but regular refills of Bollinger helped deaden the pain. He wanted to talk to Miriam and Robin Park. At last he spotted Jeffrey Burgoyne, a hooded Grim Reaper stuffing canapes into his mouth, and edged in his direction, leaving Louise to fend off her admirer. She was more than capable.

‘Robin has cried off,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Taken poorly today, and confined to bed. But his mother’s here, and so is his partner.’

He waved to two women in the corner of the room and motioned them over. ‘Ladies, a chance for you to meet one of our local celebrities! This is Daniel Kind, the historian. You must have seen his television programmes, he’s one of the country’s leading historians.’

A sturdy witch gave him a brisk nod. Her companion, an extravagantly attired black widow, exclaimed with delight.

‘Miriam Park.’ The witch kept a tight grip on her broomstick as they shook hands. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘You don’t recognise me, do you, Daniel?’ the black widow demanded. ‘Is it the wig or the mask that’s my best disguise?’

Or perhaps the daringly cut dress, with jewelled belt, three-quarter length arms flaring out into cobweb lace-effect sleeves, and fishtail silhouette formed by another cobweb? A woman who liked to be noticed, and yes, there was something familiar about her cheerful voice. But she was wearing a full-face mask, and out of context, he couldn’t place her.

‘Sorry,’ he confessed with a grin. ‘You’ll have to give me a clue.’

‘This is my prospective daughter-in-law,’ Miriam Park said.

The black widow whipped off her mask with a theatrical flourish and crowed with laughter at his astonishment.

‘Terri Poynton, Daniel. You remember — Hannah’s friend?’

Hannah lost track of time as she lay curled up on the sofa, staring at the fire through half-closed eyes as the flames flickered and died. Each time she shifted position, she felt as if she was dragging a ball and chain. She was too exhausted to make a drink or switch on a soothing CD. Her brain resembled the mushy peas congealing on the plate in front of her. Disconnected thoughts buzzed around her head, irritating and pointless as mosquitoes.

The Doctor Who theme roared.

Surely this wasn’t Terri? Had Stefan tracked her down to the party and started making a nuisance of himself? Back aching, eyes gummy, she hauled herself off the sofa and picked up the phone.

‘Hannah?’ Greg Wharf, sounding like he’d never sounded before. Despairing. Fearful.

‘What is it?’

‘Something has happened. I need to come back to the house to tell you about it.’

‘Tell me now.’

‘It’s better face to face.’

She wanted to scream. ‘Greg! Don’t do this to me!’

‘I’m sorry, Hannah. It’s Marc.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s … had an accident.’

‘How could I forget?’ Daniel’s head was spinning: the shock of meeting Hannah’s best friend when he least expected to, plus generous quantities of mulled wine and champagne. A funeral knell tolled through the hidden speakers: Symphonie Fantastique , ‘Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath’. ‘Though wasn’t your surname …?’

‘Poynton’s my maiden name. I went back to it only a few weeks ago.’

‘So you’re getting married?’ Somehow he managed to avoid saying again . Hannah had regaled him with tales of Terri’s matrimonial misadventures. ‘Pity Robin isn’t here, I could congratulate him in person.’

‘My fault, I’m so sorry. I jumped the gun.’ The elderly witch bowed her head in apology. ‘Do forgive me, Terri, dear. I’m simply getting carried away. I’ve always dreamt of having a lovely daughter-in-law.’

‘No worries, Miriam,’ Terri said. ‘I’m so lucky that you’re Robin’s mum. When I think of one or two of my mothers-in-law … let’s just say, they wouldn’t have needed to wear a mask for this party. But Robin and I haven’t named the day just yet. It’s a bit soon, even by my standards.’

‘A match made in heaven!’ Jeffrey’s tone implied: I give it six months, tops.

‘We have Oz and Melody to thank, we’d never have got together without them,’ Terri announced. ‘I’ve only worked for the company since August. I went to a jazz concert, where I met Melody, and Robin was one of the performers. The rest, as you might say, is history.’

‘Robin is poorly tonight?’ Daniel asked.

Terri swallowed a mouthful of popcorn smeared with red food colouring and butter to look as though it was covered with blood, and refilled her glass with punch from a hollowed-out pumpkin.

‘He’s got the runs — yuck! Thinks he’s on his deathbed, but he’ll live. A real shame, he was so looking forward to the party, but he insisted we came along anyway. I offered to stay with him and do my Florence Nightingale bit, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I ought to text him, see how he is, but someone has nicked my mobile.’

‘Stolen it?’ Miriam was aghast. ‘Not in Ravenbank, I’m sure. You’ve mislaid it, that’s all. It’ll turn up tomorrow, when you least expect.’

Terri put an arm round the old witch. ‘You always like to think the best of people. “Hear no evil, see no evil” ought to be your motto.’

Miriam shook her head. ‘I’m not soft, Terri. That foreigner you used to know, for instance. He’s rotten, through and through. If I had anything to do with it, he’d be thrown out of the country. Never mind all this human rights malarkey.’

‘He’s also history, thank God.’ Terri turned to Daniel. ‘You remember Stefan, my ex? I’ve made it clear I want nothing more to do with him, but he takes no notice. Even though he knows I’m with Robin now.’

‘Borrow my phone to text him if you like, dear,’ Miriam said. ‘Not that it does half the things yours can. I can’t keep up. One of these fine days, they’ll make a phone that cooks a fried breakfast, mark my words.’

‘Thanks, but not to worry. Robin’s probably fast asleep by now, if he isn’t still squatting on the toilet. I couldn’t do much if I’d stayed back. Besides, I didn’t like to think of you here on your own. I wanted to keep you company.’

Daniel half-closed his eyes, spellbound by Berlioz’s dark masterpiece. No wonder people said the composer, in De Quincey fashion, gorged on opium as he wrote the music. The witches danced, their cauldron bubbled beneath the blasts of wind.

‘I hope Robin gets better soon,’ he murmured. ‘I’d like to meet him.’

‘Oh, you must!’ Terri said. ‘He’s gorgeous. And he plays a mean piano too. I’m so lucky. Without him, I’d never have discovered Ravenbank. Brilliant, isn’t it? Full of history!’

‘I’ve heard about the legend of Gertrude Smith.’

‘Ravenbank’s very own ghost? Yeah, she’s walked the lanes ever since she was murdered, hasn’t she, Miriam?’