Читать книгу The Good Sisters - Helen Phifer - Страница 9

Kate Parker pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and stood with her hands on her slender hips, admiring the building in front of her. It was huge, old, a complete wreck – and all hers. This was going to be her home for the foreseeable future, hopefully for ever. The acre of land surrounding the building was overgrown and neglected, but there was a lot of potential. The one thing that Kate had always had since she was a child was vision. She knew that this sad, unloved building – once the work had been completed – would make an amazing boutique bed and breakfast, as well as the perfect home for her daughters.

‘What do you think, Amy? Does it meet with your approval? I hope so because I’m going to be investing everything that you left to me, and every penny I get from the prick when the divorce is finalised, to turn it into our dream.’

Her voice echoed then fell flat in the clearing and she had to blink back the tears. Amy – her best friend, and the sister she’d never had – had also shared this dream with her. Ever since they’d met fifteen years ago this had been their plan. She would have loved it. They had spent two years looking for the perfect property to renovate, but had never found one that quite ticked all the boxes or was within their price range. Then came the devastating news that Amy had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

The pain in her heart always took her by surprise, the grief a sharp sting that would take her breath away. It was so ironic that now Amy was no longer here, and Kate was on her own, she had enough money to buy this property. She’d heard about it from one of the girls at the estate agent’s where she used to work before her perfect life had been washed away from under her feet.

Sam had phoned her up the same day that she’d been asked to visit and make a valuation ready to put it on the market. Luckily for her, Sam hated Kate’s ex-husband Martin – who owned the estate agent’s – almost as much as Kate did. She had come and picked Kate up, driving her to view the property. They hadn’t been able to go inside because it was boarded up at every door and window, but Kate had fallen in love with its Gothic structure, large arched windows and overgrown, neglected grounds.

Sam had handed the owners’ details to Kate and told her she would give it a few days before she rang them back to double check they wanted Parker’s Estate Agents to go ahead and market it. Kate had phoned the owners the minute she got back to her cramped, one-bedroomed flat and told them she was prepared to make them a cash offer, saving them the extortionate estate agent’s fees, if they agreed on a private sale.

Not only did the owners agree there and then that she could buy it, they told her they would accept her offer, which was substantially lower than the three hundred thousand they had told Sam they were looking for. Six weeks later, she was now the proud owner of the house and not only had she got it for a bargain but she had also managed to swipe it from under her greedy, soon-to-be ex-husband’s feet. She didn’t know what was more fulfilling: getting the property before he did or the fact that she was about to make her lifelong dream come true.

The sound of tyres crunching along the gravel broke her trance and she turned to see a battered grey van that belonged to the cowboy heading towards her. Amy had nicknamed him ‘the cowboy’ because of his love of checked shirts, faded jeans and rigger boots. Oliver Nealee worked for Martin at the estate agent’s, doing all his property maintenance, and Kate was hoping she could convince him to take over the project management for the renovations on the house. She didn’t know any other builders, and he was always such a polite, funny, hard-working man. She knew she could trust him. It was probably the meanest nickname anyone could call him – the cowboy – but it just suited him.

He parked behind her, narrowly missing her pushbike, which she’d left discarded in the long grass, and she had to grab it and drag it away from the front tyres. He swung his legs out of the van and for the first time ever she caught a glimpse of his tanned, muscled calves. The denim shorts he had on were faded just like his jeans always were.

‘Sorry, Kate, I didn’t see your bike there.’

‘My fault, I just dumped it when I got here.’

He looked at her and she hoped he wasn’t thinking what a mess she was. Her blonde cropped hair was badly in need of a cut. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and since she’d left Martin she hadn’t bothered to keep up with the Botox and fillers – all the money she’d spent the last three years trying to look much younger than her 45 years and he’d still had an affair with the office junior who was 23.

‘It’s been a while. How are you? You look great.’

She began to laugh and felt her cheeks burn. ‘Always such a gentleman. I’m okay, thanks. I know I’ve looked better, but I have no one to please now so I don’t bother.’

‘Well, you look lovely. I think you look better than you have in a while.’

There was a pause. She hoped he wasn’t going to mention her drinking. She didn’t drink as much as she used to when she was with Martin. She knew one day she would be brave enough to try and stop. In fact, she was so excited at the thought of getting her life back on track she had decided to try and cut it down once she moved into her new house. It wasn’t something she was proud of and until now she hadn’t had much reason to stop. Martin had taken her job, home, children and life away from her, leaving her with nothing. Who could blame her for drowning her sorrows in a bottle or two of wine every night?

‘So what’s all this about then? Dragging me away from unblocking a toilet for Martin?’

‘I see he still has you doing all his glamorous jobs then? I wanted to know if you would help me – well, not help me, I mean work for me. I’ll pay you more than what he pays you. I need someone to sort this out for me and I’d like it to be you.’

He looked around the building and the grounds then whistled. ‘That’s some restoration project you have there, Kate. It’s going to be a big, messy job and it won’t be cheap. I can tell you that without going inside and taking a look. Are you sure you want to do this?’

Kate stared at the house – her house – then turned and glanced at the gardens before looking him straight in the eye.

‘I can live without modern conveniences. I already have been in the crappy flat that I’m living in now. What I can’t live without is this house. I can’t explain how it makes me feel. I actually tingle inside when I look at it. I’ve never really believed in fate, but I truly believe that this house is supposed to belong to me. I knew it the very first moment I set eyes on it. And if not driving a fancy car or having my nails manicured or my hair cut and coloured every month means that I can afford to renovate it, then those are just a few of the sacrifices that I’m willing to make. So yes, I’m sure I want to do this. Do you think it’s really bad? I haven’t even been inside, but I got it for a complete bargain after I fell in love with it. It’s the only time I’ve ever felt love at first sight. Would you be able to take the board off so we can get in the front door and take a look around it?’

‘If I take the board off the door the house is going to be open and insecure for anyone to get in, unless the door actually works and it’s just been boarded up to keep it secure.’

‘Please can you take it off – and then can you fix the door for me if it needs it? Because I need to move in, today, and I don’t want it to be insecure.’

He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. ‘You want to live here, on your own, when you haven’t seen the inside? It might not be in a fit state to live in. How long has it been empty?’

‘Twenty, maybe forty-odd years, I think. I’m not too sure, but yes, I hate it where I live at the moment. It’s a cramped council flat. Last night the flat opposite mine was broken into and set on fire. The drug dealer above me had his door kicked in and seven bells of shit kicked out of him the day before, so yes living here has got to be a better option than living there.’

***

Unable to speak, Oliver shook his head, thinking that she was either insane or plain stupid for buying this house without even looking inside it. But he’d always had a soft spot for her and if he was honest with himself a bit of a schoolboy crush. He used to watch Martin treating her like a second-class citizen, openly flirting with anything in a skirt and generally being a bastard to her. If he hadn’t had enough problems in his own life he would have liked to take him to one side and teach him a thing or two about how to treat a lady, but Martin paid his wages. So until the day he didn’t need the money, he’d been stuck and unable to have his own opinion.

Oliver grabbed his toolbox from out of the back of the van. Opening it up and taking out his cordless drill, he began to unscrew the board off the front door. He wondered if she was still drinking as much. He wondered if the purchase of this house had been when she was in an alcohol-fuelled haze or whether she had it more under control now. She was such an attractive woman; it would be a shame to watch her lose her sparkle as the alcohol dulled it until she looked like all the other alcoholics her age. It made him so angry inside to see her drowning her life away inside a bottle, when Ellen – his wife – had fought for every minute of hers.

***

Kate stood watching him with her fingers crossed behind her back. This was going to be amazing. She had such a good feeling about it and just knew that it was. As he took the last screw out and prised the board from the door frame, she let out a small whoop of delight. Behind the faded board was a big, arched stained-glass door that would have looked at home in a church. It was beautiful. The dark oak looked in good condition and pretty solid. The brass lock was rusted and he held his hands out for the keys. Kate passed them to him and watched him fiddle around with them for a few minutes. It wouldn’t turn. He looked at her over his shoulder and must have seen the disappointment that was etched onto her face.

‘I’ve got some WD-40 in the van.’ He walked over to retrieve it and returned a minute later with a can of spray-on grease and two huge torches. He handed them to her then sprayed the grease in and around the lock. He tried once more and this time with a bit of twisting the key gave in and turned. He shoved his shoulder against the door, which was stuck, pushing it open to reveal the darkness inside. It smelt damp, and fusty, and it was very black inside.

For a fleeting moment Kate felt an overwhelming sense of despair wash over her, but no sooner had she questioned what was going on and it was gone, leaving her feeling excited once more. They switched on the torches and stepped inside, sweeping the beams around the entrance hall that was now covered in a thick layer of dust. It had obviously once been very grand. The walls, which were all oak-panelled, were covered in thick, grey dust. The staircase was huge and from what Kate could see underneath the dirt and debris, the floor was made up of ornately tiled mosaics.

What stood out the most was the huge crucifix draped in thick cobwebs hanging on the wall directly opposite the front door. She shivered. Church and religion had been her worst nightmare when she’d been a kid. Her mother used to make her go every Sunday without fail. She’d have to listen to Father Joe deliver the longest, most boring sermons. She looked across at Oliver’s face, trying to work out if he was impressed or not.

‘Well, what do you think?’

‘I think that you have taken on a huge task and you’re a braver person than I am, but it doesn’t seem as bad in here as I thought it would. I’m surprised to be honest, although for all we know the floors could be dangerous and full of dry rot.’

He picked up a piece of discarded wood spindling, which was lying on the floor, and banged it down hard on the tiles to make sure they were safe to stand on.

‘Follow me, Kate, I mean it – don’t walk off on your own. This place could be a death trap for all you know.’

She squealed and grabbed his arm. ‘It’s beautiful though, isn’t it? I mean it has so much potential. I can’t wait to get it cleaned up and started.’

***

He couldn’t help smiling to himself in the darkness. Her enthusiasm was catching. It did seem to be a pretty remarkable building.

They were so busy looking down at the floor, making sure it was safe to walk on, that neither of them saw the faceless, black, hooded figure hovering at the top of the stairs watching them. Kate’s torchlight caught the corner of the thick, silver crucifix that hung around its neck, making the light reflect a little. It disappeared back to where it had come from. Back into the shadows where it had dwelled for far too long.

As they walked further into the house, Oliver just hoped that Kate had the money to turn it from this into something habitable. He knew that Martin had taken everything away from her after the court case and he couldn’t help wondering where she had got the money to buy it from. Maybe it was a severance gift from Martin.

***

They walked from room to room. There were a lot of broken windows, which was why it was boarded up, and there were also an awful lot of crosses on the walls. They were everywhere and Kate felt a cold draught run down her back. It was creepy to have so many in one house. Even the church didn’t have so many of the damn things plastered around. Whoever lived here must have been some kind of religious nut. She made up her mind that her first job would be to take them all down when she came back with boxes, bags and a huge skip to fill with all the junk from inside.

She was also going to do some digging and find out the house’s history. When she had a minute, she would go to the records office attached to the local library and see what information they had on it. She wanted to make a scrapbook about the house now and what it would be like when it was finished. Something for her girls to treasure and that guests who stopped by might find interesting. This was her house now and whoever lived here before her had left years ago. She would turn it into the kind of home she’d dreamt about since she was a teenager.

There were still a lot of pieces of furniture that had been left behind, which was a nice bonus. Most of them were covered in dirty, grey dust sheets and she lifted the corners to take a peek at what was hiding underneath. Although some of it was no good, there were some pieces that were still okay. She would put them all in the outhouse and either sell them or have a go at restoring them herself to use in the bedrooms. Once they’d been painted white or grey instead of the dark, almost black oak they would be much brighter and look a lot better.

***

Oliver and Kate cautiously made their way from room to room. The ground floor was pretty solid. There were a couple of holes in the floorboards in three of the rooms, but the other five were not too bad. The plaster was falling off some of the walls and the wiring wasn’t very good. Oliver didn’t think it would be a huge job to knock out walls and add en-suites to the bedrooms. Years ago, he’d owned a thriving building business which had refit offices, hotels and pubs, so this wasn’t going to be anything that he couldn’t do. The only reason he’d sold the business was because his wife Ellen had been diagnosed with motor neurone disease and he’d wanted to take care of her.

He felt excited at the prospect of some real work, a proper project to get his teeth into. Martin Parker was an egotistical prick, but he’d come in handy and Oliver had needed something to do to keep his mind from dwelling on Ellen’s illness and her awful, drawn-out death. The odd jobs he’d done for him had kept him busy enough that it kept some normality in his life.

***

It was much colder on the first floor than downstairs and Kate found herself wishing she’d worn her jeans and not a pair of cut-off shorts and a strappy vest top. It was dark and gloomy, and there were even more of those bloody crosses. She couldn’t wait to rip them all down. They came to the smaller staircase that led up to the second floor and attic. Oliver went first and she followed close behind.

It was a little lighter up here because there were a couple of gaping holes in the roof. There were fewer rooms up here, but they were huge. This floor would be perfect for her to have a large en-suite bedroom and the girls could each have a large room. Not to mention their own living quarters if they decided that’s what they wanted – and if she could afford it after the work had been done on the rest of the house.

There were some crumpled boxes shoved into one corner and she pushed one open with the tip of her torch. Inside were piles of old leather Bibles and psalm books. Whoever had lived here must have been a travelling Bible salesman. The thought made her smile. Either that or some kind of religious fanatic. She wondered what the previous owner would have made of a woman buying this house all on her own. She did the same with the next box, which had an old, wooden cigar box inside it. She pulled it out to take a closer look.

Oliver was studying the holes in the roof and had dragged a wooden trunk over that he could stand on to get a better look. Kate opened the cigar box and smiled to see a thick, navy book with gold edges on the pages and the word ‘Diary’ stamped in gold on the front. She picked it up, wondering who it had belonged to and if whoever it was had loved this house the way that she did.

Across the room, Oliver was making lots of ‘ah’ noises. She stood up and walked towards him. Halfway across the huge, open space she heard the sharp sound of scratching coming from one of the darkened corners and paused. Her heart began to race. Oh God. Mice, she didn’t mind, but that sounded loud. Too loud to be a mouse. She’d die if the house came with resident rats.

She waited and listened to see if it happened again. Relieved that it didn’t, she put it down to a bird or maybe one of those nuisance grey squirrels that everyone kept saying were vermin, but that she found cute. She could cope with mice, birds and even squirrels. She wasn’t even going to acknowledge that bigger things with long tails and sharp teeth could be behind the noise. That way it wouldn’t be true, would it? She reached Oliver and shone her torch at the gaping hole, not really understanding what he found so fascinating about it.

‘So here’s the big question: what do I need to have fixed first and would you be willing to come and work for me full-time?’

He stepped down off the trunk. ‘The roof. You need to make the building waterproof before you even think about doing anything else in here. As keen as you are to get started, if we don’t seal these holes you might as well take your money and throw it on a bonfire.’

‘Can you do it for me, or if not do you know someone who could?’

‘I can do it. I’ve got a few jobs on for Martin, but they’re only small so I can make a start. I know a couple of lads who’ll labour for cash, but this isn’t going to be cheap, Kate.’

‘I know, don’t worry. I have the money. I’ll pay you a lump sum up front and the rest on completion. Can you draw me up some plans or do I need an architect?’

‘It’s up to you. I know a very good architect if you’d like me to give him a ring and get him to come out for a site visit. I can’t really give you a proper price until it’s all been taken into consideration.’

They made their way back downstairs and she breathed out a sigh of relief. She didn’t like the attic as much as the rest of the house. Even though it was open in places it felt as if the air was much heavier up there. She was sure once the roof had been fixed and there was working electricity it wouldn’t feel so dark and oppressive. Back on the ground floor she returned to the large room, which was off the huge room she assumed had been the lounge. It was in pretty good condition. The windows in here weren’t broken and the floor had no holes in it.

‘Please can you take these boards off for me now? I want to see what this room looks like in the daytime. I might have to set up camp in here until there’s a room upstairs ready.’

‘Kate, are you being serious? I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you really can’t live here, in this house, with it in this condition.’

‘Yes, I am – and why can’t I? As far as I can see it only needs a couple of new windows, doors, electrics and the roof fixed. It looks structurally sound. You said so yourself. The rest is all cosmetic work.’

‘I did, but it’s a wreck. It hasn’t been lived in for how long? There’s no heating or hot water. How will you manage?’

‘I have a bed, sofa, camping stove and a cool box. I’ll be fine; I might look like a complete wuss, but I can assure you that I’m not. I’m not saying I’ll like it, but I’m desperate to get started and I can’t stop in that flat another day. If I check into some hotel while I’m waiting for a room to be ready I’m wasting money, far too much money. I can be clearing up whilst I’m here and getting on with jobs that aren’t too difficult.’

‘You’re braver than I am. I like my home comforts too much.’

‘Yes, well, so did I, but since Martin decided to take away everything I had, I’ve sort of got used to doing without. Except for the wine – I can’t do without that. My life wouldn’t be worth living if I couldn’t have a glass or two to numb the pain.’

She started to laugh and he joined in, only they both knew that she meant it. Although she would never admit it to anyone, Kate knew she was an alcoholic. It had all stemmed from her teenage years of drinking every weekend down the park with her friends, then when she was old enough, nights out in the pub. It got even worse after her miserable marriage to Martin, when he would tell her he was working late and she knew he was out wining and dining his latest conquest.

Then the shock of Amy’s terminal cancer diagnosis had tipped her over the edge and turned her into a full-blown, can’t-get-through-the-da-without-a-drink alcoholic. Maybe one day when this place was finished and her life looked as if it might get back on track, she would get some help to tackle it. For now, she would try her best not to drink too much, even cut it down to one bottle a night instead of the usual two.

‘That’s emotional blackmail, making me feel sorry for you – you know that, don’t you? Right then, I’ll take these boards off and we’ll see what we can do. Where’s your stuff?’

‘Back at the flat. I’ll have to find someone to help me bring my bed and clothes here. I don’t think they’ll fit on the back of my pushbike.’

‘Well, let’s see how bad this room is and then if you decide you’re going to do this, I’ll drive you in the van to see what you need and bring you back.’

‘Really? Thank you so much, Oliver. I’ll pay you for your time.’

‘No, you won’t. I’ll do this because I think you’re mental and also because you’re a friend.’

She squeezed his arm. ‘Aw, you’re such a sweetie. Thank you.’

4 January 1933

Mother Superior Agnes Nicholas looked outside the window at the snow-covered garden and shivered. It was cold enough inside the convent and they had roaring fires burning in the lounge, kitchen and upstairs bedrooms. To be outside in this weather didn’t bear thinking about. She hated the cold. It made her swollen, arthritic bones ache.

Sisters Mary and Edith had spent most of the morning filling up the wood baskets so they wouldn’t have to go out into the garden when it got dark. Now that only the three of them lived here, the convent was far too big. Poor Sister Emily had died of pneumonia in the hospital three weeks ago, and Agnes couldn’t shake the sadness that filled her entire being, every minute of every day. Emily had been far too young to die. In turn it had made Sisters Bernice and Joanna realise life was far too short to waste on God, and they had decided to leave the next week. Leaving just the three of them to it.

Agnes wouldn’t be surprised if the church shut this place down and moved them somewhere else; it was far too big of a house for three women to run. Since that strange woman had turned up at their door that night, hammering on it as if the devil himself was chasing her, things hadn’t been quite right. The woman, who finally told them her name was Lilith Ardat some hours after she had been inside their home, had been crying and begging for their help. All three of them had been loath to turn her away, despite Agnes’s nagging feeling inside the pit of her stomach that she was bringing trouble to their door.

Edith had silently pleaded with Agnes, imploring her with those huge, blue, innocent eyes until she’d relented. Agnes had nodded her permission at Mary, who had then ushered the woman inside and down to the kitchen, wrapping her in a thick woollen blanket. She had sat her down by the crackling fire. Edith had fetched the woman a small glass of sherry and then they’d all sat down and asked her what was wrong and how they could help her.

The story the woman confided in them was one of horrific abuse, which had sent shivers down Agnes’s spine, but despite the horror she was hearing and the fact that she was a nun, there was a part of Agnes that didn’t like Lilith Ardat. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the sly smile that would spread across her face after she finished each sentence had something to do with it. Agnes got the impression the woman was enjoying sharing her tale of violence and woe with the three of them.

If Lilith was telling the truth, then the poor woman had been severely mistreated, but Agnes wasn’t convinced that she was. Although Agnes had no idea why Lilith would turn up at the convent so late on such a cold night if it wasn’t true, she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling from the back of her mind that Lilith wasn’t entirely what she seemed, or that she wasn’t the person she was trying to portray.

Mary loved a good tale of woe and despair, however. She had been sucked in wholeheartedly, gasping and making loud noises of objection throughout the woman’s tale of horror at the hands of her husband. Edith had only just said she was bored of not having anything more exciting to talk about than what Father Patrick might preach about in his Sunday sermon. She sat transfixed by the small, raven-haired woman in front of them.

Agnes had kept her distance. She didn’t know whether it was her intuition or her basic mistrust of most human beings that had stepped in, but she hadn’t gone too close. The woman had skin that was whiter than the driven snow, and lips that were red – blood red. There was a blue and yellow bruise beginning to form across her left eye and forehead.

She told them it was where he’d hit her, but Agnes thought it looked more like the kind of injury you got when you were in one of those motor cars and it stopped suddenly. As if the woman’s head had hit the steering wheel with force; although why this woman would be out driving a motor car at this time of night in this weather God alone knew the answer. This was not the sort of weather to be out gallivanting around in. It was far too cold and dangerous with the ice that covered the roads and paths.

‘She can stay in Sister Emily’s room. I’ll go and make up the bed myself.’

‘No. I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mary.’

‘Why not? It’s not like Emily is going to need it anytime soon is it?’

Agnes stared at Mary in horror; the girl was so insensitive at times. It didn’t seem right to put her into Emily’s room so soon after she had passed away.

‘She can stay in Sister Bernice’s room, Mary, and I’ll have none of your petulant arguing. Have some thought about you.’

‘Yes, Mother Superior. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll go and make the bed up.’

Edith glanced across at Agnes. She too seemed glad that they weren’t about to move a complete stranger into Emily’s room so soon. It wasn’t right and she would tell Mary this when they were alone, but she wouldn’t say anything in front of their guest. It wasn’t the time or the place.

‘Whilst Mary makes up your bed, would you like something to eat? A sandwich perhaps, or some toast?’

‘No, thank you, I’m not hungry. I don’t eat an awful lot. I have a very small appetite.’

As the woman said this she glanced across at Edith, who was the complete opposite and had a very big appetite with a fuller figure to complement it. Agnes noted the faint redness that crept along Edith’s cheeks. The girl had major issues with her weight and her even larger appetite. Not that it mattered to Agnes; everyone was different. The world would be a very strange place if everyone looked the same. Lilith stood up, shrugging the blanket from her shoulders.

‘Would you mind if I used your bathroom? I need to clean myself up a little. I must look a complete mess. I’m so embarrassed because I never leave the house looking like this. What on earth must you think of me?’

Edith smiled and stood up, leading the woman from the kitchen to the first-floor bathroom. Agnes couldn’t help but shudder when Lilith passed close by her. The woman didn’t seem to notice and she was grateful to God for that small mercy. Agnes had no idea what was wrong with her, but every single nerve in her body was screaming at her to stop the clock and make the woman leave, only she couldn’t do it. How could she send such a small, slight thing out into the subzero, freezing temperatures? She would more than likely freeze to death before she reached the village; in fact, it was nothing short of a miracle that she hadn’t frozen to death before she’d reached the convent, because it was so far off the beaten track that most people who were looking for the place in broad daylight couldn’t even find it.

Agnes could hear the muted whisperings of the strange woman and Edith’s voice as she led her along the first-floor corridor to the bedroom that had once belonged to Sister Bernice. After what felt like for ever, Mary came downstairs, followed by Edith.

‘I trust you’ve made our guest comfortable for the night?’

Both women nodded in unison.

‘Good, I’m tired so I’ll be off to bed now. Make sure that you double check all the locks on the windows and doors. I don’t want any more unwelcome visitors tonight. Do you hear what I’m saying? I don’t care who is knocking on that door – we don’t let anyone else in. Especially in case it’s Lilith’s angry husband. I’m too old and too ugly to be fighting drunken bullies at this time of night. Goodnight, Sisters. Let’s hope we all get some sleep.’

Agnes caught the look of fear that passed between the two much younger women in front of her and was glad. They were no match for a violent bully of a man and she would rather scare them into making sure they were safe than have them opening the door for every man, woman and child. She slowly shuffled up to bed; there would be no kneeling on the cold, hard, wooden floor tonight for her to say her prayers. She’d never be able to get back up again; instead she would climb between the heavy cotton sheets and pray. Surely God wouldn’t mind an old cripple seeking a bit of comfort on this cold, bitter night?

When she finished in the bathroom, Agnes went into her bedroom and for the first time in for ever she locked her door. Unable to shake the feeling that Lilith wasn’t quite what she seemed, it had made her unsettled and at a loss for what to do. Maybe a trip into the village – if the roads were clear – to speak with Father Patrick or Constable Crosby would help her decide what to do. If not, first thing in the morning, she would telephone them both and ask them to pay her a visit.