Barbara Erskine - Hiding From the Light

‘I am not here to stock the shop.’ There was a slight frown between her eyes. ‘I came because you are here to make trouble for us. For all of us who live here.’

Mark glanced at Colin, who raised an eyebrow and gave a mock scowl. ‘I can assure you, Miss …?’ He paused for her to fill in the name. She ignored the invitation and stood silently, her eyes fixed on his face, obviously waiting for him to continue. He went on, slightly flustered. ‘We have no intention of causing anyone any trouble. And we are here, as I said, with the full permission of Stan Barker.’

‘Stan told me you are here to film the ghosts.’ For the first time her eyes left his face and she glanced past him at the stairs. Mark resisted the urge to turn and follow her gaze.

‘We are making a documentary. One of a series about haunted houses,’ he said guardedly.

‘You have to stop it.’ Her voice was stronger suddenly. She rammed her hands down into the pockets of her trousers – tight-fitting jeans, cut off raggedly below the knee which emphasised the slimness of her figure. ‘You have to!’

‘May I ask why?’ he asked gently. ‘You said we were here to make trouble. I assure you that is not the case. Programmes like this are usually immensely popular –’

‘And stir things up.’

He realised with a jolt that the emotion which was fuelling the brightness of her eyes was anger. ‘It will make no difference to you. You and your friends –’ she glanced witheringly at Joe and Colin – ‘will finish your filming and disappear back to London and never come back here again, and leave us to deal with what you have left behind.’

‘I am sorry you should feel like that.’ Mark kept his voice even. ‘But as I said, the worst you will probably find will happen is an influx of sightseers. I find the locals usually like that. It’s good for the economy.’

‘I’m not talking about sightseers!’ She licked her lips nervously, an infinitesimal darting movement which reminded him of a small reptile. Her tone was dismissive.

‘Then what?’

She held his gaze for a moment, then for the first time she seemed to hesitate. ‘You are stirring things up,’ she repeated.

‘What things?’ Colin put in.

‘The energies …’ She bit her lip. ‘Your interest, the filming, talking about him. It is feeding the energies. I can feel it. The whole town is changing. The atmosphere. The feel of the place. It’s centred here. In this shop.’

‘Why?’ Joe had surreptitiously switched on his mike. The tape was turning.

‘This shop – the site – it has always been a centre. So much happened here.’

‘ What happened here?’ Joe asked.

‘He brought the women here. Some of them. It was the house where Mary Phillips lived.’

‘One of the witchfinder’s accomplices?’ Mark nodded.

The three men glanced up towards the ceiling.

She did not appear to notice. ‘Their fear and anger and confusion permeates the walls of this place!’ she cried passionately. ‘Can’t you feel it? No one stays here. No one can bear it. Those women were dragged from their homes, accused, tortured, terrified and killed on the say-so of one man.’

‘That surely is what makes the story of the witchfinder so fascinating,’ Mark put in slowly. ‘The villain is the man who ostensibly was on the side of the right, and the victims are the women who might have possibly been real witches worshipping the Devil, causing all kinds of mischief.’

‘They weren’t!’ She turned on him, her face suddenly hard. ‘They were at worst silly old ladies, not knowing what was happening to them. And the ones who did know were guilty of no more than using herbal medicine and the harmless spells that were part of the recipes in those days.’

Mark nodded. ‘You would make an excellent contributor to our programme. Why don’t you let us film you so that you can put your point of view …’

‘No!’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Have you understood nothing I’ve said? You have to stop the programme. You have to go away and forget all about it.’

‘You still haven’t told me why.’ Mark found the memory of the scream coming back suddenly as he leaned against the counter, watching her. ‘If the old ladies were innocent, why should telling their story stir up trouble? Surely they would welcome vindication? And Hopkins himself was a sadistic and violent man by our standards but from what I have read he was sincere in what he believed.’

‘He was paid by the head, Mark,’ Colin put in softly. ‘However sincere, the chap had a good incentive to root out anyone even remotely qualifying for his detection methods.’

‘He was not interested in mercy or justice,’ the young woman put in. ‘And he does not sleep soundly. Neither do his victims. Please, please go away.’

‘We are going.’ Joe gave her a reassuring smile and folded his arms. ‘Today. Don’t you worry, love. We’ll be out of your hair by teatime and away, and all your energies can calm down again.’

‘And you will destroy your film?’ She narrowed her eyes.

‘We’ll think about everything you’ve said, very carefully,’ Mark put in reassuringly. ‘I promise.’

She stood for a moment looking at each man in turn, then she turned and ducked out of the doorway. As she hurried away from the shop they heard someone in the street greet her gaily, ‘Hi, Lyndsey!’ and saw her raise her hand in return.

‘Lyndsey,’ Mark repeated. ‘Remember that. Wow! I wish we’d got that little spiel on tape.’

Joe grinned. ‘We did. But whether you can use it is another matter.’

‘Good man.’ Mark stared thoughtfully after their visitor, then he wandered across and pushed the door shut behind her. ‘You know, I’m inclined to agree with her.’

‘You mean we should stop?’ Colin and Joe stared at him.

Mark shrugged. ‘No, not stop. But I think we are stirring things up. I’m even having nightmares about it. Let’s get that shot upstairs and then we can pack up. Presumably once we’ve gone the atmosphere she was talking about – the vibes – will all calm down again!’

Monday evening

‘No!’ Piers was white with anger. ‘I will not see it. I will not talk about it. And I will not – ever – go there. If you go ahead with this, as far as I’m concerned we’re finished. For good!’

Emma was leaning on the rail, staring down across the rooftops towards the distant trees of the garden square. A misty pearlescent light was deepening into darkness around them. She said nothing.

‘Emma?’ Piers’s voice softened. ‘Please, darling. Think. I love you. I don’t want to – I can’t – live without you.’

Wordlessly she turned towards him and he saw that she was crying. He put his arms around her and gently kissed her on the top of her head. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ Her face was buried in his shirt-front, but he felt her nod and he tightened his arms. ‘I tell you what. Why don’t we arrange a holiday in the autumn? Go somewhere really exciting. Your choice.’

Still silent, she released herself from his grasp. She bent to pick up a cat. ‘Have you fed them?’ She sniffed into the dark, silky fur.

‘Of course I have. Did Peggy not want to come in?’

‘No. She was tired. It was a long drive.’ Kissing Max’s ear, she set him down on the ground again. ‘I think I’ll have a bath.’

‘OK. Why don’t I bring you a hot drink in bed later?’

She gave him a faint smile. ‘That would be nice. Thanks.’

It was dark when he went inside and closed the French doors behind him. He wandered into the kitchen, wondering what would cheer her up. Tea. Cocoa. Soup. A stiff whisky. ‘Em?’ he called. The sound of bath water running away had finished ages before. ‘Em? What would you like to drink?’