The Good Sisters. Helen Phifer
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Название: The Good Sisters
Автор: Helen Phifer
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Религия: прочее
isbn: 9780008209568
isbn:
The room was beginning to smell much better. The harsh, coppery stench of the blood was being wiped away by the strong-smelling ammonia. There was another smell coming from the corner of the room where Agnes felt as if someone was standing. It smelt like electricity. Agnes would describe it to Father Patrick as the smell in the air when there was about to be a thunderstorm. She waved her hand in front of her, expecting the air to crackle and fizz, but it didn’t.
She hummed to herself, one of her favourite hymns. She was too old to believe what her mind was trying to say. It was being ridiculous. She was being silly. For whatever reason, Mary had done that to herself. Agnes didn’t know why or even want to know how, but there was no evidence that suggested any other explanation.
She turned back to the floor and felt her heart miss a beat to see the book that had been on the bedside table moments ago now on the floor, next to her mop bucket. How? There had been no noise, no draught. Agnes knew that she hadn’t knocked it over herself; with a hand that was shaking so much she found it hard to get her fingers to pick the book up, she gripped it as tight as she could. The icy-cold leather stuck to her fingers and she shook them, almost dropping it with revulsion.
She started to read the words in front of her and the room began to spin. Frankenstein’s monster had just killed Victor’s new wife Elizabeth. Tucking the book into her pocket she left the room, unsure of what or who was watching her, but certain that someone was. She went to the bathroom to clean herself up. Her clothes were ruined and smelt terrible. She turned on the taps and began running herself a bath. As she undressed, she looked into the mirror, asking herself: ‘Are you going mad, woman?’
She didn’t feel as if she was. Her face didn’t look much different. Well, apart from the few new wrinkles that had appeared around her eyes and forehead overnight. Once more the feeling she was being watched made her shiver. She turned around to check the door was still locked. Then she slowly bent to look through the keyhole and make sure that there wasn’t anyone peering through it; although what anyone would want watching a 60-year-old naked woman was beyond her.
She squinted; all she could see through the tiny lock was the landing outside the door. Wondering where Lilith was, Agnes straightened up and walked across to step into the bath. This wouldn’t be a quick in and out like usual. She would be spending as long in here as she could. She needed to soak away the smell of dear Mary’s blood, not to mention her aches and pains from being scrunched up on the floor scrubbing.
As she sunk into the steaming water she wondered what had happened to change the dynamics of this house of God, and try as she might the only conclusion that she could come up with was the arrival of Lilith Ardat. Why did she feel such revulsion towards the woman? Agnes didn’t dislike many people; it wasn’t in her nature. Why had they let her in? What was it that she had said to Agnes earlier? ‘Thank you for giving me permission to come in.’
Agnes had her own horror book tucked away in her bedside table drawer. She had read Bram Stoker’s Dracula many years ago. Her copy had been a gift from her sister – just before she’d died – so even though Agnes hadn’t particularly enjoyed the story, the fact that the book was more sentimental to her meant that she kept it close to her. Agnes had been terrified of the vampire Count Dracula and his wicked, evil ways when she’d read it, but she knew it was only a story. All this talk of not having a reflection and needing to ask permission to enter someone’s house was plain ridiculous. Or was it?
The house no longer smelt old, damp and empty. It now smelt of plaster, wood filler and paint. There were two bedrooms finished and the en-suite bathrooms were plumbed in so that Kate could have a hot shower after a hard day’s graft. She had begun reading the old diary that she’d found on the very first day and had to stop because it was terrifying her. She’d discovered that the house had been a convent at one time, which explained the crosses when she’d moved in.
The first few pages had been written beautifully. Then the writing had changed as if the writer, Agnes, had been in a hurry to document what was going on. Kate read about a nun who had died here, in her house. She shuddered as a strange feeling washed over her. She had a great-great-aunt called Agnes who had been a nun. What if this book belonged to her? She pushed the thought away. Agnes was probably a popular name back then. It was just a coincidence.
The death of the poor woman sounded so violent. After she finished reading, Kate had then gone upstairs. She had gone into each bedroom, studying the floorboards for bloodstains. Unable to distinguish any from the paint splatters and dust, she’d given up after Ethan had asked what she was looking for. Kate had laughed and gone back down to put the small diary away because it had terrified her. She was just relieved that all of this had happened such a long time ago.
To take her mind away from the terror in that small book, she had spent hours poring over the magazines that her friend Sam had dropped off for her. Kate was trying to decide on a practical yet perfect kitchen. She didn’t want to spend a huge amount of money. Because of the size of the room, it was going to be expensive – even if she picked a cheap one.
Ollie had been a godsend. She didn’t know what she would have done without him these last few weeks. He always stayed later than Jack and Ethan – the lads who worked for him. Kate often wondered what his wife thought about the amount of time he was spending here, but it wasn’t any of her business. For all she knew, they could be on the brink of a divorce and his wife was glad to see the back of him. She wished she knew because the more time she spent with Ollie the more she liked him.
Kate sat down on the top step, an overwhelming feeling of tiredness taking over her. As exciting as this project was, it was taking it out of her. Today she hadn’t been able to shake the headache that she’d woken up with. She decided she needed strong painkillers washed down with a mouthful of vodka. She crept down to the kitchen for a shot of the ice-cold alcohol that was in the freezer compartment. After glugging down the tablets she went straight to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. Ollie was hardly going to find a 45-year-old alcoholic attractive, was he? And she still felt embarrassed by the need to use alcohol to get her through the day, although she wasn’t drinking as much now. She was making a conscious effort to reduce her intake.
As she patted her mouth dry, she looked into the mirror. Her life had gone almost full circle and she was lucky it didn’t show on her face. The wrinkles she had feared so much in her thirties hadn’t put in much of an appearance, except for the laughter lines around her eyes – although the last twelve months she hadn’t really had much to laugh about. Maybe they were crying wrinkles because she’d spent a whole lot more time crying than she’d done laughing.
The air, which was normally full of minute particles of plaster dust, smelt different. As Kate turned around to open the bathroom door, she inhaled again. What was that smell? It smelt like old leather, burnt skin and garlic all mixed together and it was rank. She looked around the bathroom then opened the door out onto the corridor. It was stronger out here.
The lads had all gone into town for their dinner – even Ollie had gone with them and he normally ate a packed lunch, but all they’d been talking about during the morning had been meat and potato pies and cream cakes from the bakery. She stood and listened to the house. It was so silent and still without the workmen banging around and singing.
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