House of the Lost

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The present

The shrilling of the phone sliced violently across Theo’s consciousness, splintering Mara’s world, and causing the images of the well-house and the feeling of Zoia’s bitter grief to vanish. He reached for the phone, hoping it would be Lesley.

But it was not Lesley, it was DS Leigh. ‘Just checking you’re all right.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Theo, forcing himself to climb out of 1970s Romania. ‘No more disturbances.’

‘Good. Has your cousin Lesley called?’

‘No.’ Theo did not say he was starting to feel slightly worried about this.

‘Well, let us know when she does. I’d like to be sure that other key is where we think,’ said Leigh. ‘I spoke to the nuns. They haven’t seen or heard anything out of the way, but they were very sorry to hear about your attack. The Bursar said you could have a room in the hospital wing if you don’t want to stay at Fenn on your own tonight.’

‘That’s kind of her,’ said Theo, ‘but I’ll be perfectly all right.’

‘Call if you need us,’ said Leigh.

Theo put the phone down, suddenly aware the room was cold. He switched off the computer, thinking he had had enough of that strange other-world for the night. It was half past ten, and he supposed at some stage he should go to bed, but he was reluctant. He knew he would keep seeing that dark crouching figure on the stair and lie awake listening for the creak of footsteps treading stealthily across the landing towards him… Because whoever he is, he’s got a key.

To counteract the deep unease this thought churned up, Theo made himself go round the house to check the bolts were still firmly in place, then made a mug of tea and returned to the warmth of the sitting room. He scanned the bookshelves, hoping to find something fairly undemanding to read, and saw the glossy booklet about St Luke’s hundred years, which the Bursar had given him. Just right. He took it to the sofa, pulled the rug back over him, and opened the pages.

The Bursar’s style of writing turned out to be pleasantly readable: light and informative without being dull or teachy. Theo found himself drawn into the little tale of how a pioneer group of six nuns had come to Norfolk in the opening years of the twentieth century to found an English convent for their Order, and how they had struggled on slender funds and against considerable distrust from the local people. They had been shunted from pillar to post for several years – living in old schoolrooms, virtually camping out, sharing one set of plates and cups between all six of them. After about eight years they had somehow managed to acquire their present house which had belonged to a local wool merchant, and had built it up until it was a small but busy orthopaedic clinic and convalescent home.

Old photographs were reproduced, depicting various stages in the convent’s life. There were group photos of WWI soldiers who had been wounded and come to St Luke’s to recuperate, and of Belgian nuns who had fled the siege of Antwerp and been given sanctuary in Melbray. There were descriptions of how the nuns had later coped with WWII, helping with coastal defences, raising money for the Spitfire Fund and again taking in wounded men, mostly fighter pilots this time. The photographs were clear and well displayed and the whole book was professionally presented. The cover was particularly good: a really lovely colour shot of the convent against its grounds in spring. Theo wondered if the nuns had done their own photography and whether the printer who’d had to decipher the Bursar’s typewritten text was a local man.

The last section in the book gave a brief history of the Order of St Luke itself. It was primarily a teaching and nursing order apparently, with a number of other houses around the world – Theo remembered the recent visit of nuns from Poland. The founder of the entire Order, it seemed, had been an indomitable-sounding lady from Central Europe.

Central Europe. The words jumped up off the page, and Theo sat up, all sleepiness vanished. He began to read with more attention. And there it was, halfway along:

Romania. And two of the Romanian sisters had been imprisoned. Theo read on.

Sister Teresa. Theo could hardly believe what he was seeing. So Sister Teresa, too, was real. Not only was she real, she had brought twelve children to England exactly as he had written. He turned to look at the photograph. It was a large black and white shot of a big stone building standing against a backdrop of pine trees, with distant, smudgy mountains beyond. There was no caption and no date, but the nuns stood in what was clearly a school playground, smiling self-consciously. The children were grouped in three rows, the smaller ones cross-legged at the front, the older ones standing behind.

There were three ladies and one man who must be the friends referred to in the text. All were dressed in ordinary modern clothes. The man was the youngest but his face was slightly turned away so his features were not very clear. Of the three ladies, two looked to be in their fifties; they had conservative hairstyles and rather dowdy, tweedy-looking suits. The third was much younger. She had slightly untidy dark hair, worn loose and shoulder-length, and had on a light jacket with a gauzy scarf wound round her neck. The photo was a bit grainy and did not look very recent, although it was difficult to tell its age. It might have been blown up from a smaller snapshot. But grainy or not, the details were clear enough for Theo to see the features of the young woman with the gauzy scarf.

It was Charmery.

Theo stared at the photo, his thoughts in turmoil. What on earth had Charmery been doing in a Romanian convent? When had she been there? The words of Mara’s grandmother re-played in his head. ‘Some people know,’ she had said, whispering her stories to the listening Mara. ‘Trust nuns to know secrets…’ But what were the secrets? How did they tie up with Charmery? He leaned his head against the cushions, and tried to slot the pieces of the jigsaw into a logical pattern, because this could not be coincidence.

The room had warmed up and the gas popped softly to itself; it was a soothing sound in the quiet room. Theo closed his eyes, and after a while drifted into a shallow, uneasy sleep, in which the jigsaw pieces whirled maddeningly around, refusing to slot into place. He had the vague impression that someone was standing outside the French window looking in at him, but he was not sure if it was Charmery’s murderer or whether it was Charmery herself. Because Charmery’s still here, he thought, she might have died four months ago, but she’s still here. ‘The murdered always walk, remember?’ said a soft voice inside his dream, and for a moment he saw Charmery. She was smiling at him, and standing at her side, his hand in hers, was a small boy with Theo’s eyes.

Theo was trying to see the boy’s face, when a sound jerked him back to full consciousness, and he sat up, his heart pounding. Someone was in the house. He slid his feet to the floor, pushing aside the cushions. The phone was on the table, just three paces away, and the note with Leigh’s number was next to it. He stood up and began to edge towards it, trying not to make any noise.

The sounds he had half heard came again, and this time he identified them. It was not someone inside the house after all – it was someone outside. Someone was walking along the gravel path towards the French windows. Theo looked towards them, knowing they were firmly locked and bolted, but knowing, as well, that all it would take was a stone smashed against the glass pane, and a hand reached through to the bolt.

He picked up the phone and began to move back towards the hall, his eyes on the windows. A shape, man-sized, appeared and a hand came up to rap hard on the glass. Theo was halfway across the room, but at this he froze. He had no idea if the man could see into the dimly lit room, and he had no idea if he would be heard if he made a run for the hall and the front door.

Then Michael Innes’ voice said, ‘Theo? Are you there? For pity’s sake, are you all right?’

For a split-second doubt stabbed at Theo’s mind, but then he called out that of course, he was all right. ‘Hold on, Innes, I’ll let you in.’

‘Thank goodness,’ said Innes, coming into the room as Theo unbolted the window, then re-bolted it. He shook raindrops off his overcoat. ‘I rang the doorbell but there was no reply, and I could see a light on so I came round the side to see if I could make you hear. I was afraid you’d passed out or succumbed to concussion after all.’

‘I fell asleep on the sofa,’ said Theo. ‘Those pills were stronger than I realized. I probably didn’t hear the bell through the closed door.’ Then, still faintly suspicious, ‘Why didn’t you phone?’ he said.

‘I haven’t got your number on my mobile. I got called out to a child with appendicitis – except it wasn’t – and I was driving past the end of the lane on the way home, so I thought I’d check on you.’

‘Are you off duty now?’

‘What time is it? Quarter to eleven? Near enough. Enough to accept a whisky if that’s what you were thinking.’

‘It was.’ Theo gave him the whisky, and ostentatiously poured plain soda into his own glass.

‘Thanks. God, that tastes good. Has anything else happened?’

‘Nothing.’

‘That’s all I wanted to know. I’ll head home when I’ve drunk this – unless you want me to stay the night in case your assailant comes back. Or come back to my place. I can easily make up a bed for you.’

‘I don’t really think he’ll come back tonight,’ said Theo, ‘but thanks for the offer.’

‘In that case, I’d better get back, in case there’re any messages.’ He was just putting down his glass when the phone rang.

Theo did not jump quite so much this time, but the sound still unnerved him.

‘Theo?’ said Lesley’s voice, when he answered. ‘I know it’s very late, but your voice sounded a bit panicky on the answerphone.’

‘It’s not that late,’ said Theo, ‘and I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you. Are you all right?’

‘Of course I’m all right. My mobile’s out of charge and when I got home the people in the flat downstairs were having a party and they dragged me in. I threw my case into the flat, dumped the sketch on the bed, and went straight down for a couple of hours. So I’ve only just picked up your message. What on earth’s wrong?’ ‘Nothing earth-shattering,’ said Theo. ‘It’s just that I need to know about the key.’

‘Key?’ she said a bit blankly, and Theo guessed she was having difficulty bringing her mind back from her unexpected party to Fenn House.

‘I gave you one of the new keys while you were here.’

‘Oh yes, so you did. Oh Lord, I didn’t give it back to you, did I?’

‘No, but that doesn’t matter. Have you still got it?’

‘Well, if I didn’t give it back, obviously I’ve still got it.’

‘Would you make sure? No, I’m not fussing, it’s important.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ she said. ‘I put it in the zip compartment of my bag so it wouldn’t fall out.’ There were rustlings and scrabblings as she searched, then she came back. ‘Theo – I’m sorry, it’s not there.’

‘Sure?’

‘Positive. I must have lost it somewhere – I really am sorry.’

‘I don’t think you’ve lost it,’ said Theo. ‘I think it was taken out of your bag.’

‘Who took it?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Lesley, listen, everything’s fine, but I’ll have to ring off now and sort out a problem.’

‘What sort of problem? Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Yes. I’ll call you in the morning and explain everything.’

‘If you don’t, I’ll turn up on the doorstep.’

Theo put down the phone and looked across at Innes.

‘Your cousin Lesley?’

‘Yes.’

‘She hasn’t got the key, has she?’

‘No.’

Innes frowned, then said, ‘In that case, I don’t think you should stay here tonight on your own. Whoever your attacker is, we now know he’s got a key to this house.’

‘Well, whatever I do, I think I’d better call Sergeant Leigh and let him know what’s happened,’ said Theo.

He was not sure if Leigh would still be on duty, but he answered immediately, and Theo said, ‘Lesley’s just phoned. The key’s gone.’

‘Ah. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. She’s all right, is she? I mean – she wasn’t attacked or her bag snatched or anything?’

‘No.’

‘The key could have been lost,’ said Leigh. ‘But it’d be a whopping coincidence. It didn’t have the address on it, did it – no label or anything? Good. But we’ll need to check everywhere she’s been, certainly until she got on the train. You were at St Luke’s for part of the day, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t think we should jump to any wild conclusions about that,’ said Theo. ‘Lesley walked into the village in the morning. She went into a couple of the shops, I think.’

‘We’ll check everything and everywhere. What I’m not liking is this news that your attacker’s almost certainly got a key and you’re in the house on your own.’

‘The doors are all bolted,’ said Theo a bit doubtfully. ‘But if he really did go to the trouble of stealing a key—’

‘It means he’s very determined to get to you,’ finished Leigh, ‘and he might try again. I’ll try to send someone out to Fenn, but we’re dealing with a massive smash on the by-pass at the moment.’

‘Michael Innes is here,’ said Theo. ‘He’s suggested he could stay here or I could go to his house for the night.’ He looked at Innes, who nodded.

‘That’s a very good idea,’ said Leigh. ‘Dr Innes isn’t your attacker, if that’s what you’re discreetly trying to ask.’

‘It was.’

‘He can’t be. You were able to be fairly exact about the time it happened because of getting your cousin to Norwich for her train. A few minutes before or just after seven, you said. Dr Innes had a late surgery until seven, then spent at least fifteen minutes dictating some notes to his secretary. She was with him when you phoned, we’ve talked to her. And your call was logged at seven nineteen – we’ve checked it with your phone network.’

‘Oh, I see. Then,’ said Theo, ‘I think I’ll take up his offer.’

Innes drove them to his house, which was about ten miles beyond Melbray.

‘You’d better not drive yourself,’ he said, as Theo went upstairs to collect night things. ‘You’re still recovering from the bump on the head. I can bring you back to Fenn in the morning – I’ve got some calls to make in the village anyway.’

Innes lived in one half of a pair of cottages, which looked as if they had been converted from old farm cottages. The sitting room was warm and comfortably untidy, and there was a second bedroom with a single bed.

‘Spare duvet in the airing cupboard,’ said Innes. ‘The bathroom’s through there – I’ll put a clean towel out for you.’

Theo liked the house and the tiny study off the sitting room, where Innes kept his patients’ notes and medical books. As Innes checked his answerphone, Theo prowled round, looking at the bookshelves.

‘No calls that can’t wait until the morning,’ said Innes, coming back. ‘I’ve put the kettle on for a last cup of tea, or coffee if you’d rather.’

‘Tea’s fine. I see the sisters gave you one of their centenary booklets,’ said Theo, still looking along the rows of books.

‘Yes, but I daren’t admit to them that I still haven’t got round to reading it.’

‘I read it earlier,’ said Theo. ‘It’s quite an interesting story. There’s an odd thing in it though – can I open this? Thanks.’ He turned to the page with the photo of Charmery, and passed it to Innes. ‘Curious, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Did you know Charmery was ever in Romania?’

Innes studied the photograph with interest. ‘No, I didn’t,’ he said. ‘But there was a lot about her I didn’t know.’

‘Me too,’ said Theo, dryly.

‘It wouldn’t be very surprising if she did find her way out there, though. Specially if she became friendly with any of the nuns at St Luke’s.’

‘The Romanian convent’s the Founder House, of course,’ said Theo.

‘Yes, and one of the nuns at St Luke’s has a strong link to Romania. In fact— Theo, what have I said?’

Theo’s heart had begun its fast-paced rhythm. ‘Which one?’ he said. ‘Innes, which of the nuns has a link to Romania?’

There was a moment when he waited, his heart thudding, then Michael Innes said, ‘Sister Miriam.’

It was the last name Theo had been expecting to hear. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, completely. She’s originally from Romania. Her real name is Mara Ionescu, and— Are you sure you’re all right?’

Theo scarcely heard him. The name had exploded inside his head and it was continuing to explode. Mara. All the time his strange, ill-starred girl had been in St Luke’s. I talked to you, Mara, he thought, without knowing who you were. I even sat at table with you and ate lunch.

He dragged his mind back to Michael Innes. ‘How do you know that about – about Sister Miriam? Because of medical records, or something?’

‘Not medical records. Quite simple. Sister Miriam – Mara – is my sister.’

This time the mental explosion was more gentle, but once again Theo had the impression of a hand reaching from the past to clasp his. He stared at Innes, and heard himself say, ‘My God, you’re Mikhail.’

‘Yes.’

Theo’s thoughts were in a confused tumble. This is Mikhail, he thought. This is the small shadowy boy who trailed after Matthew and Mara on those walks to school, who hid in the attic when the Securitate took Mara away. It’s the brother for whom Mara would have done anything if it meant keeping him from the Securitate’s clutches.

From somewhere beneath the tumult, he became aware that Innes was not surprised at the recognition, but he could not spare any energy to wonder about this. Forcing himself to speak as normally as he could, he said, ‘Michael, later, I’ll explain what I’ve found, but I do know a bit of Mara’s story, and some of yours too, I think. I’d like to know how Mara – and you – ended up in an English village and how she came to be at an English convent.’

‘You’re seeing a link, aren’t you?’ said Innes. ‘You’ve discovered Charmery was in Romania and you think there’s a connection between the convent and her death. Perhaps even between your own attack and the convent.’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite so strongly,’ said Theo. ‘But I think it’s something that would bear looking into.’ Nuns know secrets, he was thinking. Secrets…

‘If you’re focusing on Mara you’d be wrong,’ said Michael Innes. ‘She could never use violence of any kind. She couldn’t be Charmery’s killer. If I ever thought that for a moment, don’t you think I’d have warned the police?’

‘I don’t know. Would you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, angrily. ‘Yes, of course I would. But if the police were to start digging up her past life after so many years – it would cause her so much distress.’

‘All right. But, listen, I’d like to know about Mara. I’ll respect whatever confidence you give me, and I’ll explain it all properly later. But if you can bear to talk – and if it isn’t too late… Michael, this is like the child Charmery had: it’s something I need to know!’

For a moment Innes seemed unable to speak, but eventually he said, ‘Mara had a truly appalling time when she was a child and a teenager. And I’d have to admit it damaged her – mentally, I mean. She’s managed to distance herself from what was done to her when she was very young, but it’s been a hard fight for her.’

Theo said cautiously, ‘The damage – was that because of the Black House?’

‘So you know about that, do you? No, not so much the Black House, but what came afterwards.’

Theo, listening with every nerve-ending, thought, he knows about the Black House. He would have seen it – heard the whispers. Oh God, this really is my book coming alive.

‘I don’t know how much you do know,’ said Innes, ‘but Mara spent her most of her teenage years in a remote convent near the border between Romania and Hungary. I never knew exactly why she was sent there. I was very small when it happened. And although I never saw that convent, Mara wrote to me quite a lot while she was there. I’ve still got the letters. It sounded like such a bleak place – absolutely in the middle of nowhere. Later I thought those years created a solitude within her mind, as if the silence and the detachment of the life closed her off from the normal world.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ said Theo softly, not daring to say any more in case he broke the spell being woven.

‘When she left that convent, she could have adjusted to ordinary life again, I think. I could have helped her adjust. But it was what happened to her when she came out that damaged her so deeply.’