Читать книгу The Good Sisters - Helen Phifer - Страница 12

Kate found a narrow, overgrown path that led to a stream, which was bubbling away with the recent rainfall. There were some stepping stones across the stream that were covered in green moss. She had no idea how she’d known this, she just had. As she cautiously stepped onto the first one, she expected her feet to go from under her and land arse first in the freezing-cold water, but she managed to keep her footing. Only four more to go.

She stepped onto the next, then the next until she reached the other side and jumped the last bit. Landing on the slippery banking, she almost fell. After windmilling her arms, she managed to catch her balance and let out a sigh of relief. This side of the river was much darker than the open ground she’d just crossed. There were lots of trees and she could just make out where the narrow path continued. Having no idea where it led – but now intrigued – she followed it, enjoying the silence of the woods around her.

Whoever had lived in the house must have used this path quite a lot. After ten minutes she saw a clearing in the trees and the tall spire of St Mark’s church came into view. She carried on walking and smiled to see the clearing open onto a worn, wooden gate. It was like the book she’d read when she was a girl: The Secret Garden. The gate didn’t look as if it had been used in a long time. The black, cast-iron latch was rusty. Still, Kate had to try. She needed to know where it led. She felt as if she’d been brought here or even as if she’d been here before – a very long time ago.

After jiggling it around, it gave enough so that she could lift it. The gate was stiff, swollen with years of rainwater, and she had to tug it with both hands. It opened a tiny bit – just enough for her to get both hands through the gap. She wrapped them around it and pulled as hard as she could. It didn’t open all the way, but it opened just enough for her slender figure to squeeze through. As she did, she turned around and was surprised to see she was in the vegetable garden of another large house. A long overgrown, neglected vegetable garden. It looked as if the current owner didn’t have a lot of time or love for tending his garden.

This house was almost as big as the one she lived in. It had the same Gothic, arched, tall windows and was built of the same red brick. Whoever had built her house had also built this one. She felt a cold shiver run down the length of her spine and wondered if she should even be here. Was she trespassing? Probably, but she wanted to go and ask the owner if they knew about the house and its history. There was obviously some kind of connection between them.

Taking the least overgrown route to the house, she fought her way through the dense blackberry and gooseberry bushes. Their sharp thorns snagged her jacket and caught the soft skin on her hands more than once. By the time she’d reached the back door of the house she was out of breath and itchy. She didn’t dare to knock on the back door – that seemed so rude – but she couldn’t see a way to get to the front door.

There was a padlock on the gate and she wasn’t about to start climbing over the garden wall. Someone might call the police and think she was a burglar. That was all she needed. Martin would have a field day. She’d come this far. It seemed stupid not to at least give it a knock and speak to whoever owned it. She walked up the three steps and banged on the back door twice, then she stepped away. It didn’t seem as if there was anyone in. She couldn’t hear any noise and the curtains were drawn.

Kate was ashamed to say that she didn’t even know who any of the locals were. They changed almost as often as Martin changed his girlfriends. She lifted her hand to knock again when the key turned in the lock and an extremely good-looking young man opened the door. His expression was one of mild confusion as to how someone was knocking on the back door when the gate was clearly padlocked.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m really sorry to be so rude. I wondered if I could speak with the owner. Is he in?’

‘He is. Why don’t you come inside? Can I ask you, though, how on earth you got here?’

Kate felt her cheeks begin to burn. Answer that without sounding like a complete weirdo, you idiot.

‘I erm, I followed a path from my house through the woods and it led to the gate at the very back of the garden.’

‘Is there a gate out there? I never even knew that. The day I moved in I took one look at that garden and walked straight back inside the house. Gardening has never been my thing. I much prefer playing Call of Duty when I get a minute. Terrible, I know, and not very healthy, but we all have our vices.’

He started laughing and Kate joined in.

‘Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself. I was so shocked to hear someone banging on the back door I thought I was hearing things. Tell me, did you fight your way through all those brambles? That must have taken some doing.’

‘I did and I’m sorry. I bet you think I’m a right weirdo but honestly, I’m not. I’m Kate Parker and I live in the big old house on the other side of the woods.’

She held out her hand, which he took and shook firmly.

‘I’m Father Joseph, but you can call me Joe. I don’t really do all the formalities unless I have to. It’s nice to meet you, Kate from the other side of the woods. Now what can I do for you, because there must be some reason you decided to break and enter into the jungle of my back garden?’

Mortified to realise the man was a vicar, Kate was about to splutter an apology when he laughed again.

‘Gotcha, I don’t care. If you’re brave enough to enter the back of beyond there must be a good reason.’

‘I just wanted to know if anyone knew the history of that house I’ve bought? It looks very similar to this one, only bigger. I’m in the process of renovating it. I’m turning it into a bed and breakfast, but there have been a couple of strange incidents and it just made me wonder who lived there before. Well, I know it was empty for at least twenty years and I know it was a convent in the 1930s, but I don’t know anything else.’

‘Ah I think I know the place you’re talking about, although I’ve never seen it myself. I’ve only been living in the vicarage three months and I’m still getting my bearings. It’s a shame Father Anthony wasn’t here; he would know. He was the parish priest here for a very long time – over thirty years. Would you believe that he took over from Father Patrick – who was here even longer? I’m sure Father Anthony would know all about your house, but he’s not been very well. He’s in the retirement home.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame, bless him.’

‘If you like I can make some enquiries. I’m going to visit him tomorrow. If he’s well enough I’ll ask him if there’s anyone you can talk to. Have you tried the records office at the library?’

‘No, not yet and that would be brilliant, thank you. I’ll go into town when I have a minute. I’m up to my neck in renovations. The builders are knocking the house to bits.’

‘Ah I see. When you say strange things have happened, what exactly do you mean?’

Kate didn’t want to say that she thought someone who smelt of old leather, burning flesh and garlic was in her house, and that they were possibly putting up crosses on her freshly painted walls like they were going out of fashion, in case he thought she was completely off her head. She wanted to tell him something, however. He had the kind of face that made you want to confess your sins without setting foot inside a church.

‘Earlier on I thought I heard my friend calling my name when there was only me in the house, only she died three months ago. When I’m on my own at night, after the builders have gone, I hear footsteps on the floor above me, but whenever I go and check there’s no one there.’ She stared at him, waiting to see if he would start to laugh at her, thinking she was mad. He nodded his head.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Sit down. I’ll make us a strong pot of tea and then we’ll talk.’

She sat down on the hard wooden chair and watched as he poured boiling water into the teapot. It was very relaxing watching someone else take over for a change. He put a cup and saucer in front of her and took a packet of chocolate biscuits out of the cupboard, shook half of the packet onto a plate and put it on the table.

‘My mum would be so proud if she could see me now.’ He winked at Kate, who laughed. For a priest, he was a funny guy.

‘So, Kate from the other side of the woods, it’s time to talk serious. Do you believe in ghosts? Spirits? Zombies? The undead?’

‘I suppose so. I can’t say I’ve ever really thought about it. What has that got to do with my house?’

‘For want of a better word, I’ve always been fascinated with anything that wasn’t quite normal. I wouldn’t usually disclose that to someone who I’ve only just had the pleasure of meeting; however, I get the impression that you need my help so I’d be grateful if you could keep this between us. I loved reading and hearing about ghost stories when I was a kid, then as a teenager I used to go on ghost hunts with my friends. Granted, most of the time we were pissed and wouldn’t have heard a ghost if it had been screaming in our faces, but we did it. You name an abandoned building and we would go, in the dark with a crappy old camcorder and a torch. Any old hospital, church, cemetery, you name it we went there.’

‘I don’t understand. How do you go from being a ghost hunter to becoming a priest?’

‘Because, Kate, this is where it gets serious. I saw some scary stuff that I couldn’t deny existed and if that exists then so must God. In fact, I scared myself so much I couldn’t stand to be on my own. So I figured the best way to get over it was to become a priest – plus you get a free house and it’s not the worst job in the world.’

He laughed that infectious laugh. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you my deepest, darkest secrets when we’ve only just met, but there’s something about you, Kate. You remind me of myself a little. What I’m trying to say in the most ridiculous way ever is that sometimes things that go bump in the night can’t be explained in a rational way. Of course, we should always, always look for ways to debunk stuff – that’s a given – but when things can’t be explained then we need to look for other explanations. These incidents you’ve told me about, I find a little worrying.’

‘So you think my house is haunted then?’

‘No, I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is just because it doesn’t sound rational don’t discount it. You’re doing a lot of renovating by the sounds of it so it could just be the house settling at night or it could be that all this work you’re doing has disturbed something that had once been at peace. However, there are different types of haunting. There are your benign spirits who just want to stay where they were the happiest, or they might not even realise they’re dead. I look at it this way: they are still living their life in a different time frame to you and I. Sometimes we get caught up in each other’s worlds, usually only for the briefest of moments, but it does happen. And then there are the real, scary, serious hauntings of either a person, place or even an object. I don’t want to scare you, but if there is something in your house calling your name and mimicking your friend; well then, you need to be very careful because this isn’t a residual haunting. It’s intelligent.’

Kate shuddered. The thought that she might have spent her money on a haunted house was not an attractive one. She sipped her tea, wondering if she’d made a mistake coming here or whether she’d been led here by someone who was looking after her. Her first thought would be Amy; her friend wouldn’t want her putting herself in any danger, be it spiritual or conventional.

‘I can see by your face you’re not impressed with me, Kate, and I’m sorry. I just believe in being honest. I don’t want you to spend months hoping it will go away if there’s another reason for it.’

‘No, it’s not that at all. I just never expected my walk in the fresh air to clear my head to end this way. It’s all a bit bizarre.’

‘Maybe you were meant to find me. After all, that took some determination to cross the jungle out the back. Why don’t I give you a lift home – save you ripping what skin you have left on your hands to bits – and I can take a look at the house for you? I’ll make some enquiries and be back in touch as soon as I find something out. How does that sound?’

‘Bloody marvellous. Thank you so much, Joe.’

He nodded and stood up. ‘To be honest, I was stuck and was just about to lose my life, so maybe you were sent to save me from that bloody game that has taken over everything.’

He picked up his keys from the dresser in the hall and she followed him to the front door. An old VW camper van painted pale blue and cream was parked outside.

‘Wow, I’m impressed. You don’t see many priests driving one of those.’

‘Thank you; to be honest, you don’t see many priests like me. I like to be different and besides she’s been on many a ghost hunt with me. She knows how things work.’

He opened the door for Kate and she climbed in, wondering what exactly Ollie would think when he saw her getting dropped off in this by a man half her age who wasn’t wearing anything that remotely resembled a vicar’s outfit. Joe jumped in and started the engine, which sounded like a tank.

‘She’s a bit noisy, but you soon get used to it.’

Kate nodded. Her hands were stinging now. She needed to go home and wash the scratches before they got infected. She just wanted to put her pyjamas on and drink a bottle of wine to blot today out. Clear her mind of what happened earlier, of thoughts of her ever-growing crush on Ollie and of her newfound, slightly crazy friend. Could today get any stranger? She hoped not. She didn’t think she’d be able to cope with it.

As she directed Joe to the drive of her house, she saw Ollie hanging out of the first-floor window shouting up at Ethan who was hanging out of the one above. Her heart lurched. Good job health and safety didn’t visit often. She watched as Ollie turned to see who was driving the camper van. He lifted his hand to cover his eyes and squinted. As they got nearer, the surprise on his face when he realised she was in the passenger seat made her heart beat faster. Stop it now, woman.

‘I see what you mean. This house does look a lot like the vicarage. I didn’t even realise it was here. There’s certainly some connection. Don’t you think?’

‘Yes, now that I’ve seen it I think there is. Are you coming inside?’

She looked at his face, which had lost all the ruddiness from earlier; there was a fine film of perspiration on his forehead as they drove nearer to the front door.

‘No, I can’t. Not this time. I’ll just drop you off if you don’t mind. I’ll be in touch as soon as I find something out about the history of the house. Is that okay with you?’

Puzzled, she nodded her head. Why wouldn’t it be okay? She barely knew the man; he didn’t owe her anything. He stopped the van to let her get out, some distance from the entrance.

‘Thanks again for the lift and erm, I’m sorry about the trespassing.’

He smiled at her then began to reverse, not even answering. Strange young man, she thought to herself. Then again you didn’t get many men his age wanting to become priests, did you? She stood watching as he drove away in a plume of black exhaust fumes.

The sun was beginning to set in the sky and she wondered how late Ollie would stay tonight. She wished he would stay here all night. How nice would it be to know he was there? Hell, she wanted him to stay in her bed. She wanted to make love to him then lie next to him, just knowing that he was there. It had been so long since she’d had anyone to snuggle up with. Martin had never been the snuggling type.

Christ, she needed to stop comparing him with the useless idiot who was her soon-to-be ex-husband. Ollie was nothing like him. There was no comparing the pair of them. She let out a loud sigh. Instead she would spend tonight on her own, trying not to think of what Joe had been talking about, scaring her half to death. She would lock herself in her room with her earphones in listening to music or watching a nice, romantic film until she fell asleep and couldn’t hear any footsteps or smell old leather or burning flesh. Then she would wake up in the morning, ready to start the day again. Groundhog Day had nothing on the way her life was going at the moment.

5 January 1933

Agnes towel-dried herself, relieved to be rid of the coppery smell of Mary’s blood. Her hands still smelt faintly of bleach. She didn’t mind that smell so much – at least it was clean. She thought about going to church to pray for Mary. It was dark outside now and the ground was treacherous with black ice. She would never make it across the river. The stepping stones would be like walking on ice. Instead she decided to go the prayer room downstairs and spend the next hour praying for Mary’s soul. By the time she’d done that her appetite might have returned and Father Patrick should be back.

Agnes had managed almost her whole life without a man to take care of her, but tonight it was what she needed, what they all needed. A strong male presence might be enough to deter Lilith from whatever her plans were; she just hoped that Patrick would see through the woman’s sob story. The more she thought about it the more she was convinced Lilith wasn’t who she seemed. The woman scared her, but Agnes wouldn’t let her see that. She wasn’t stupid.

Dressed in a warm jumper and slacks, she went downstairs to find Edith and see if she wanted to come and pray with her. After checking the kitchen, front room, library and dining room she finally found her huddled by the fire in the parlour, her head bent close to Lilith’s. They were talking in hushed tones and didn’t notice her walk into the room. She coughed and Edith jumped away from Lilith as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

‘Sister Edith, I think you and I should go to the prayer room and pray for Sister Mary’s soul.’

Edith stood up, her cheeks burning. ‘Of course, Mother Superior.’

Edith scurried out of the room, but not before turning to look at Lilith and smile. Agnes felt every hair on the back of her neck stand on end. What had they been whispering about and why the secrecy? If Agnes wasn’t wrong, Edith’s cheeks were flushed as if she’d been caught doing something forbidden. Agnes led the way to the prayer room and opened the door for Edith, who darted inside.

‘Is everything okay, Edith? You looked a little perturbed back there when I walked in. Is there anything you would like to tell me?’

‘Yes, Agnes; no, I mean. Everything’s fine. We were just discussing Lilith’s ex-husband. We didn’t want to upset you any further than you already are. He’s a terrible man – so violent and so sadistic towards poor Lilith. I can’t believe she’s not dead because of him.’

‘You do know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you? I might look old and past it, but I did have a relatively normal life until it kicked me to the gutter and I turned to God. I’m not just a frail, old maid.’

‘Of course I do, Agnes, and I don’t think that at all. Thank you. I will if I need to.’

But Agnes couldn’t push it out of her mind. Edith was the most impressionable of them all, and she wanted to know what that woman had been whispering to her about – more than ever.

***

Edith could feel her cheeks burning because Lilith had been talking about sex – something that she could never in a million years discuss with Agnes. Something that she’d never discussed with anyone. Lilith led such an exciting life. She had been telling Edith how it felt to kiss another woman and Edith had been enthralled. It had made her skin tingle just thinking about it. The whole reason she had joined the convent was because of her fascination with women.

Of course, she’d never acted on her feelings. Her parents would never have forgiven her if she had. She would love to know how it felt to kiss and do immoral things with another woman. She had pretty much managed to stop thinking about it the last twelve months, but Lilith had stirred something in her tonight and she had a warm, tingly feeling between her legs. She wondered what it would be like if Lilith – with her small, slender hands and long, red painted nails – was to touch her between there.

‘Edith.’

Edith jumped and looked to see Agnes’s outstretched hand. She couldn’t concentrate. This was terrible. She tried to think about poor Mary and her body, which had been ripped into pieces, but she couldn’t get past the thought of Lilith’s small, perfectly formed mouth. How would it would feel just once to press her lips against it and push her tongue inside?

‘Sorry, I just can’t concentrate. I feel so bad about poor Mary and I can’t settle.’

‘Very well, you can go and do what you like. Maybe you should go to bed, have an early night. I’ll pray for us both and Mary.’

‘Thank you, Mother Superior, I think I’ll do just that.’

Edith turned to leave and as her fingers reached the doorknob, Agnes turned to look at her.

‘Oh, and Edith… I wouldn’t get too close to Lilith. I don’t trust her and I don’t know why she’s still here. Surely she has family or friends she can go and stay with? Has she mentioned anyone to you?’

Edith shook her head. She couldn’t tell Agnes what she’d been thinking. That she wanted to do nothing more than get close to Lilith. Her cheeks flamed bright red at the thought and she rushed from the room. Her head down, she ran up the stairs and along the hall to the very last door at the end of the long corridor where her bedroom and sanctuary was. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Breathless, she opened the door and slammed it shut, then turned the key in the lock.

She gasped as she turned around to see Lilith lying on her bed, completely naked. Edith wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Instead she crossed the room, shedding her own clothes until she was as naked as Lilith, who patted the empty side of the bed next to her. Edith climbed in. Her last thought before she touched Lilith’s pale, white skin was God forgive me for being weak. I’m so sorry.

***

Agnes prayed long and hard. She heard the front door slam as Patrick came in, but still carried on praying. Edith was acting strange. She had no idea where that woman was – probably in her room, or so Agnes hoped. It seemed that everyone had taken to meek and mild Lilith and fallen under her spell, except for her. Agnes felt repulsion fill her entire body every time she looked at her.

When she finally finished she stood up and kissed the cross around her neck, then she went to the kitchen where she found Patrick removing the emergency bottle of brandy from the back of the cupboard. She sat down, crossing her hands on her lap. He put the bottle and two glasses down onto the table. She watched as he poured both himself and her a drink. She liked Patrick. He didn’t expect anyone to wait on him hand and foot like the last vicar who’d rarely made the effort to visit the nuns. When he’d finished he sat down and smiled at her.

‘Agnes, can I be frank with you?’

She nodded.

‘You look tired; today has been a very long day. How are you?’

She thought about saying the usual: ‘Oh I’m fine, Father. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow,’ only she couldn’t. Her shoulders felt so heavy with the physical weight of sorrow for Mary that she didn’t know where to start. Her eyes were stinging with unshed tears that were threatening to spill: tears of sorrow, pain and loss. Not to mention horror at what had happened.

‘The truth, Patrick, is I don’t know. I feel as if something has changed in this house and I know I sound like a crazy old woman, but I’m not. I’m still the same as I was before I went to bed last night. I haven’t lost my mind even though I feel as if I have. Something is wrong. I can feel it in the air and I know how ridiculous I sound because I have no idea what it is or what to do.’

‘What do you mean something has changed in the house?’

She leant in close to him. ‘The atmosphere, can you not feel it?’

He shook his head. Agnes felt a wave of anger wash over her. This was no good. He didn’t see or feel anything wrong. She could. It felt to her as if the house had come alive, as if it were some giant, slumbering beast that had slowly woken up after a very long time. If she strained her ears she was convinced she could hear its heartbeat, very faint, but it was there: a steady thud, thud, thud, which seemed to reverberate throughout the entire house.

‘Today has been a very long one. We’ve all had a huge shock. What happened to Mary? Well, I have no idea, God rest her soul. I’m sure he’s taken her into his arms and she’s at peace now. I think perhaps you should take yourself to bed and get some rest, Agnes. I’m here. I’ll sleep in the lounge. Don’t worry, I’ll listen out and if you need anything then shout and I’ll be there.’

‘Yes, Father, thank you.’

She pushed her brandy away. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach made it churn at the thought of drinking any more of the sweet liquid. As she stood, she saw Mary’s reflection staring back at her from the kitchen window. Her head hung limply to one side and her arm was missing. Blood was dripping from her mouth and the front of her nightdress was covered in the bright red liquid.

The room began to swim and Agnes heard the sound of a chair being scraped back against the parquet floor. A strong pair of arms caught hold of her before she fell to the ground. Patrick scooped her up and carried her upstairs to her bedroom as if she were no heavier than a feather. He laid her on the bed and stepped back.

‘Agnes, should I phone for the doctor?’

‘No, thank you; I think you’re right, Patrick. I’m very tired and I haven’t eaten much today. I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.’

She watched him leave, closing the door behind him. As soon as her legs felt strong enough to carry her weight she would lock it, then drag her heavy chest of drawers across to put in front of it. What good that would do was beyond her, but it would make her feel better. A voice whispered in her ear: It didn’t help poor Mary, did it? She’s still here, stuck in this house with nowhere to go. Agnes could no longer keep her eyes open and she closed them, sinking down into a deep sleep. So deep that she didn’t make it off the bed to lock her door.