Hiding From the Light. Barbara Erskine

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ loved the barn. It had obviously been the centre of activities when the place was a business and boasted water and electricity that worked, two benches, shelves of pots and broken tools, labels, jam jars, all the stuff which she assumed had not been worth saving.

      Two sides of the gardens were enclosed by an old brick wall, some eight feet high. On the third side where she had come in, most of the wall was hidden beneath ivy and wisteria and once-trimmed espaliered pear trees. The shelter the walls gave from the wind created a wonderful fragrant haven. This had once been, she understood, one of the kitchen gardens for the manor house up the road. On the fourth side of the herb garden the wall had almost gone completely, to be replaced by a high untrimmed hedge. Beyond that lay the two-acre paddock – wind-sewn with thistles and ragwort. Wandering between the beds, she snapped off a piece of rosemary and rubbed it between her fingers. Next spring would be the time to start some sort of project here. Until then she would spend her energies on the house itself and on finding her way around the district. Another spontaneous wave of out and out happiness swept over her. At whatever cost, she knew it was right to have come.

      When she returned to the kitchen it was with a posy of herbs and roses which she put into a glass and carried through into the living room. Frowning, she glanced round. It was still too dark, even with all the lights on. And there was a strange feeling in the room, as though someone had just walked out of it. She frowned, looking out of the window, but the front garden was empty, the gate closed. There was no one there. She tried to push the sensation aside. Perhaps if she moved the table-lamp closer to the chair and threw another log on the fire the room would cheer up a bit.

      It was as she was standing there, at the window, that she became conscious suddenly of the piece of red cord in her pocket, nestling against her hip. It felt hot. Unpleasant. With an exclamation of disgust she pulled it out and stared at it, frowning. What on earth was it? She glanced round for Min. The cat had spat at it. Why? She walked over to the fire. Whatever it was, there was only one place for it. As she threw it onto the smouldering logs, the flames hissed and flared almost angrily. In seconds they had devoured it totally. Suddenly the room seemed lighter.

      When the phone rang that evening, she was standing at the sink, washing earth from her hands. She had been weeding the old flower pots on the terrace, dragging them into new positions, working out where a garden table and chairs would go.

      ‘Em?’ Piers’s voice rang in her ear. ‘Just checking to see how you’re getting on.’

      She closed her eyes, fighting the pang of anguish his voice provoked. ‘I’m fine. Really happy.’ She realised that there were sudden tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘You will come down and visit us one day, won’t you?’ She took a deep breath, steadying her voice with difficulty.

      Their parting had been so hard. Nothing had been said to emphasise that this was the end of their relationship, but what else could it be? Piers had not relented. He had helped her pack up sadly, resigned to her going. He had helped her load the cat baskets into the seat beside her, he had kissed her goodbye and waved as she drove away and then – nothing.

      She had waited and waited for him to ring, her pride preventing her from being the first to pick up the phone in case she cried.

      ‘The cats are missing you, Piers.’

      ‘Just the cats?’

      She couldn’t tell if he was smiling or irritated.

      ‘Not just the cats. Me, too.’

      There was a moment’s silence. ‘I’m missing you lots, too. No one’s scratching the sofa any more.’

      She gave a wistful chuckle. ‘You know I tried to stop doing that.’

      There was a fractional pause. ‘You are sure you’re OK?’

      ‘Quite sure. Peggy and Dan are coming down at the weekend with another load of stuff from Waitrose. They seem to think I’m going to starve. Which is silly. There are a couple of lovely food shops here.’

      She stood staring out of the kitchen window for a long time after he had rung off. She felt bereft.

      Max jumped up onto the window sill beside her and she fondled his chin. ‘He said he’d come,’ she whispered. ‘But I don’t think he will.’

      The nights were colder now as late summer pitched into autumn and lately they had been very foggy. She switched on an electric fire in her bedroom. Central heating would be necessary at some point soon. She must find a good local man to work on the cottage. The cats were both asleep on her bed and she had locked the doors downstairs. Time enough for night-time excursions when they had grown used to the place and found their way around and she had found someone to put in a cat flap.

      Clutching her dressing gown around her, she tiptoed down the landing into the bathroom. It was irredeemably cold, with cracked linoleum on the floor and chipped white enamel fittings. The hot water however came from an electric immersion heater in the linen cupboard which blessedly and unexpectedly worked with enormous enthusiasm. She ran a bath and added some shower gel beneath the taps. Carpet, bathroom fittings, shower, hot towel rail – they were all on her list.

      She rubbed steam off the mirror with the corner of a towel and peered at her face. It looked grubby: dust and earth had transferred from hands to nose, hair, eyes, and she was grey with fatigue. She frowned. That did not look like the face of someone living out their dream. She peered closer. For a moment it had not looked like her face at all. Frightened, she glanced behind her. But of course there was no one there.

      Exhausted, she slept the moment her head touched the pillow, one cat at her feet, the other in the crook of her elbow. In the bathroom the steam slowly cleared. As the temperature dropped one by one the old oak floorboards creaked, settling into place.

      Quietly, Min extricated herself from Emma’s sleeping arms and, jumping from the bed to the window sill, sat staring down into the dark garden.

       22

      The dream was there lying in wait for her. One moment she was drifting in and out of consciousness as she tried to get comfortable on the new unaccustomed mattress, still missing the solid reassuring form of Piers beside her, and the next she was standing, dressed in a long gown and embroidered shawl, in a strange room, by a heavy oak table staring at an open window where someone had called her name.

      ‘Mistress Sarah! Hurry!’ The figure at the window looked surreptitiously over his shoulder, clearly afraid. ‘Hopkins and his madmen have gone for Liza. You’ve got to come!’

      She felt her stomach turn over with fear.

      It was Hal. His father Tom managed the Bennetts’ farm. She hurried to the door. ‘Hal? Where are you?’

      But he had already run away.

      Her breath came in short gasps; her mouth was dry with terror. It was only when she could see the thatched roof of the cottage that she slowed down and began to think. Hopkins was a dangerous man. She knew how he worked, setting neighbour against neighbour, encouraging spite, subtly enflaming suspicion and engendering hatred. Anyone who crossed him or questioned his methods was liable to be arrested. Everyone despised him, but with the country at war with itself and everyone afraid, and with him claiming to have Parliament’s СКАЧАТЬ