House of the Lost

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Catherine heard Sister Miriam go out because she was staying awake to check on a patient who had had an abscess drained that morning and would need the dressing changed. At first she did not take much notice of the sound, vaguely thinking Sister Miriam was going to the bathroom. But she did not go along the corridor to the bathroom at the far end, she came past Catherine’s own door and went towards the main landing. After a moment, Catherine opened her door and looked out, wondering if anything was wrong. As she listened, she heard sounds from outside. At first she could not identify them, and thought she would just go to the main hall to make sure everything was all right. She slipped into her house shoes, reached for her cardigan, closed her own door and went quietly down the stairs.

It had begun to rain again and the strong wind was lashing the rain against the window panes, but through it Catherine heard the sound again, louder and more regular: a rhythmic clanging. She paused on the half landing, wiping away the condensation from the window to look out. The narrow window looked out over the side of the building, and through the driving rain Catherine saw that the wrought-iron gate leading out of the kitchen gardens was open and swinging back and forth in the wind. The latch was an old one and had probably worked loose in the buffeting winds. It would keep banging against the garden wall all night like this, and there were a couple of patients on this side of the convent who were suffering fairly bad pain. Dr Innes had given morphine to one of them. It would be better if both of them could sleep as much as possible. It would not take a minute to slip outside and close the gate.

There was no sign of Sister Miriam, but the side door, which was usually methodically bolted with all the others, was unbolted. Surely Sister Miriam had not gone outside in this storm? But whatever she had done, the gate had better be closed. When Catherine stepped outside the coldness of the night wind made her gasp and the rain came at her like driving knives. She ran across to the gate, and was just pushing it firmly back into place when a darting movement made her turn sharply. Someone there? Catherine stood very still, scanning the darkness, wishing the wind was not quite so wild. She was just deciding the movement had been her imagination, when she glimpsed a figure like a dark shadow going between the thick bushes.

Sister Miriam.

For a moment Catherine could not think what to do. If she went back into the convent to get help, Sister Miriam would have vanished into the darkness and anything might happen to her. Catherine had no idea where Miriam was going, but she could at least go a little way after her to find out. She wrapped her cardigan round herself and went after the cloaked figure.

Her hair was flattened to her head in minutes and her thin house shoes were soaked through before she had gone a dozen paces. Sister Miriam was some way ahead, and wherever she was going it looked as if she was trying not to be seen. She was keeping off the drive, moving through the thick bushes that fringed it towards the main gates. Catherine hesitated, then saw Miriam turn left. Could she be going to the village? But it was a four-mile walk and it was ten o’clock at night. The only other place leading off this road was Fenn House. Theo! thought Catherine, remembering how someone had broken in and attacked him, and how he had told her to be careful because people were not always what they seemed. Had he meant Miriam? She glanced back at the comforting outline of St Luke’s, trying to decide whether she should go back and get help. But that would take too long. If Sister Miriam really had attacked Theo two days ago for some mad, unfathomable reason, it might be too late.

Trying to ignore the lashing rain, Catherine went after her, keeping well to the shadows of the high hedges so she would not be seen. In this weather she certainly would not be heard. And if Sister Miriam really was going to Fenn House, Catherine could surely bang on the door and shout a warning to Theo.

As Mara went along the lane towards the turning to Fenn House, she had the strong feeling that something waited for her there. Was it the lost child Charmery had talked about that afternoon? The rusalka, trapped for ever in the cloudy river? Or was it Charmery herself?

Unmask the sin, Mara, they had said in Jilava. Let it into the light, see it for the evil it is, confront it and be absolved. Be absolved. Tonight Charmery was saying the same thing. Did Charmery want Mara to join her? Was the child with her – the rusalka? Yes, they were calling to her – they were saying that what she was about to do was right, it was the only way to atone.

Mara began to hurry so as not to keep them waiting.

As Catherine went into the drive, Sister Miriam was already going round the side of the house and down the path. She’s not going into the house at all, she’s going to the river! thought Catherine in sudden panic, and without pausing, she ran the rest of the way to the house. She half fell against the front door, banging hard on the knocker, not waiting for anyone to open it, but shouting above the rain.

‘Theo – it’s me – Catherine! I need help. Sister Miriam’s going towards the river!’

She saw lights come on in the hall, but she was already running along the path after Miriam – along the path she had used all those years ago when Charmery called for help from the boathouse, the night David was born, the night he died. Was Charmery calling now, was that what she was hearing inside the wind and the rain? Don’t be ridiculous, she thought.

Twice she slipped on the wet stones, and she could have sobbed with frustration, but each time she managed to scramble to her feet again and go forward. Behind her she could hear doors opening and voices: Theo’s and a woman’s voice, and another man’s that sounded like Dr Innes. She half turned and shouted to them to follow her, hoping they would hear and see her in the darkness and understand. Theo’s voice called out something, but the wind snatched it away. Catherine could not tell what he had said.

Here was the boathouse, dank and dismal, water dripping everywhere. Catherine stopped in the doorway, trying to see through the thick gloom. On the very edge of the landing stage, was a figure, not moving, just staring down at the black river. She’s going to jump, thought Catherine in horror, and called Sister Miriam’s name.

Miriam turned sharply, and although it was too dark to see her face properly, Catherine was aware of a distortion – of eyes blazing with madness.

Trying to keep her voice gentle and soothing, she said, ‘Sister, what on earth are you doing out here in the rain? Let’s go back to the convent.’

She moved forward, hoping to take Miriam’s arm and pull her back, but Miriam put up a hand in defence.

‘I’m not coming back with you,’ she said, and Catherine heard with horror the spiralling madness in her voice. ‘This is the only thing I can do. I have to pay for what I did, you see.’

‘Sister, you haven’t done anything—’

‘I’m a murderess,’ said Miriam. ‘They said I was all those years ago, when they made me confess.’

‘I don’t understand. But come back with me now…’ She edged nearer, hoping she could take Sister Miriam’s arm and pull her back.

‘I killed her,’ cried Miriam. ‘I killed Charmery Kendal! And now I have to atone.’

Her voice rose in a cry of such pain that Catherine flinched. She went forward, grabbing Miriam’s arm. There was a moment when she thought she had firm hold of her, then she felt her own balance tip and realized Miriam had been about to jump and was taking Catherine with her. She fought for stability but it was already too late. The rain-swept night tilted all round her and the dark and treacherous river came up to meet her.

The icy water hit her like a massive blow and she went under almost immediately, fighting and gasping, trying to strike back to the surface, but her clothes were instantly sodden and even the flimsy shoes were dragging her down. The world became a green choking cloudiness. Catherine gasped helplessly, and felt the water go into her lungs. There was a moment when she thought; I can’t die, not like this, and with the thought she was at the surface again, coughing and retching. Incredibly and blessedly, Theo was there, with Dr Innes behind him, both of them reaching out to her. Catherine felt Theo’s hands, strong and safe, pulling her to the landing stage. Somehow she scrambled up onto the wooden planks, and as she fell against him his arms went round her. There was the feeling of masculinity pressed hard against her and the scent of his hair and skin. Something seemed to explode inside her mind. There was a moment of the purest mental clarity she had ever experienced – as if she was drinking light or being caressed by colour.

He released her and stepped back, looking down at her, still holding her hands. His hair was misted with rain and he looked pale although that might have been the cold night and the shock of what had just happened.

‘You’re safe,’ he said.

‘I know.’ She broke off to cough and half retch, spluttering up muddy water. ‘Sorry – disgusting.’

‘Come back to the house,’ he said. ‘Lesley’s fetching a blanket. But you’ll be all right – you were only in the water a few minutes.’

‘It felt like a lifetime,’ said Catherine, still coughing up river water. ‘Theo – what about Sister Miriam? Did you get to her?’

‘Innes tried to reach her,’ said Theo and glanced back at the dark waters behind them. ‘He didn’t reach her in time.’

The funeral service for Sister Miriam, once Mara Ionescu, took place in the chapel at St Luke’s.

‘It’s semi private and it’ll be very brief and unfussy,’ said Michael Innes. ‘But if you could bear to come.’

‘We’ll all come,’ said Lesley. ‘Of course we will.’

‘Even though she confessed to killing Charmery?’ Michael looked at Theo as he said this.

‘Even then,’ said Theo.

‘The Bursar has managed to imply that her death was an accident,’ said Michael. ‘Suicide is very much frowned on within the Church.’

‘I think I knew that in a vague way. Isn’t it something to do with suicide being the product of despair, and despair being the ultimate giving up?’

‘Yes. In medieval times, the monks called it accidie. It’s still regarded as a very deadly sin, a weariness of the soul, a kind of spiritual sloth. So they’re trying to avoid Mara being given that label.’

‘The Church looking after its own,’ said Theo, half to himself.

‘It always has done,’ he said.

After he had gone, Lesley said, ‘What a nice man. So gentle. But you have the feeling that under the surface he might be capable of being very ungentle indeed.’

‘I think he was probably quite fiery in his youth,’ said Theo, glancing at her.

‘I should think he’s still got the capacity for being fiery now,’ said Lesley quite sharply. ‘And I don’t know what you mean about “in his youth”. He’s not very much older than you.’

As she went out of the room, Theo, slightly startled, looked across at Petra, who grinned at him. ‘Hadn’t you seen that coming?’ she said.

‘No, but – there must be fifteen years between them,’ said Theo.

‘About that,’ she agreed. ‘So what?’

The funeral was as brief and unfussy as Michael had said.

Reverend Mother read the famous passage from Ecclesiastes: ‘To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die, a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. A time to kill, and a time to heal. A time to break down and a time to build up…’

The familiar words spun round Theo’s head, as he tried to visualize the child of his story: Mara who had loved and tried to protect her brother so fiercely; who had sat in the fire lit cottage and listened with absorption to the old legends and stories of her darkly romantic country; who, inside the grim sunken gaol of Jilava, had been made to believe she was a murderess, and in the end had become one. He wondered if he would ever come to terms with what Mara had done to Charmery. He wondered if he would ever understand why she had done it, or if Michael would understand. He glanced at Innes, quietly seated in the front pew, his face shuttered.

Reverend Mother was nearing the end of her reading. ‘A time to love and a time to hate…’

Love and hate, thought Theo. I loved you, Charmery, and then for a while I hated you, he said to her memory. Every feeling I ever had for you was so intense, so exhausting. Even when you died, I couldn’t free myself from your ghost. I thought you were going to stay with me for ever. But I don’t think you will, not now. I think I’m letting go of you at last. And I think I’m glad, because you were burning me up.

‘…a time for war and a time for peace…’

War and peace… Elisabeth and Andrei Valk had waged their own war; they had fought communists and believed so strongly in justice they had both endured imprisonment. But they had found some kind of peace in the end.

And what of Matthew? Had Matthew found peace?

As the mourners were ushered across the hall and into the refectory, Theo looked across at Matthew’s sketches still hanging in the same place. He gave them a half nod of acknowledgement. I know you so much better now, Matthew, he thought. We’re still talking about what my book will be called, but I’ll stick out for Matthew’s Story. He had not yet asked Petra or Michael where Matthew had ended up, but it had sounded as if he was still alive in the world. Theo was hoping one of them would know where. And unless it was somewhere impossible, like the far reaches of the Amazon, or the wilds of Tibet, Theo would try to meet him.

The mourners were dispersing and the sun was sinking over the fens when Catherine, who had been helping hand round cups of tea and coffee and plates of sandwiches, summoned up the courage to say, ‘Theo, can we talk for a moment?’

‘Of course. Here?’

‘Let’s go out to the garden – it’s not all that cold.’

‘You look fully recovered from the dousing in the Chet,’ he said as they went through the side door.

‘I am. It’s four days ago anyway.’ Catherine looked at him and, with the feeling of plunging into treacherous waters of a different kind to the Chet, said, ‘Theo—’

He stopped her. ‘You’re staying here, aren’t you?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Catherine, startled. ‘How did you know?’

‘I think I knew when we got you out of the river that night,’ he said. ‘That’s when you made the decision, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it was. I thought I was going to drown,’ said Catherine. ‘And when I thought that—’

‘I wasn’t the one you reached for in your mind.’

‘No.’ She looked at him, grateful that he understood.

He made a gesture with his hands, as if he was letting go of something. ‘We’ve sort of missed each other, haven’t we?’ he said. ‘One of us should have been born earlier, or later, or in a different place or something.’ He stood looking down at her. ‘If we had met when you were eighteen…’

‘But at eighteen I wanted something different,’ said Catherine. ‘And when I was eighteen, you were – I don’t know how old you were, but you were probably still in love with Charmery.’

‘Yes, I was.’ Some strong emotion showed on his face for a moment, then he suddenly said, ‘Catherine, since we’re exchanging all these confidences – you met Charmery, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Just once.’

‘When?’ And, as Catherine hesitated, he said, ‘Was it nine years ago?’

‘Near enough.’

‘You were the one who helped Michael when David was born.’

‘Yes,’ said Catherine, seeing there was no way out of admitting this. ‘How did you know about David?’

‘Michael told me a couple of days ago,’ said Theo.

‘We agreed we’d never talk about it,’ said Catherine. ‘And I never have. But I’ve remembered David each year on the day of his birth.’

‘Have you? Thank you.’

Catherine thought for a moment, then said, ‘Charmery said something, after it was over. I don’t think she intended either of us to hear it, but I did. She looked at the baby and said, “I’m sorry, Theo… I loved you so much.”’

For a moment he could not speak and Catherine thought she had gone too far. Then he said again, ‘Thank you, Catherine.’

As they walked back towards the main doors, he was silent, but as they crossed the hall, he suddenly said, ‘Shall you have any second thoughts about all this?’

‘About us, d’you mean? Yes,’ said Catherine, ‘I’ll have second thoughts, and probably third thoughts, too. But this is where I belong.’

As he left, she stood for a moment watching him walk down the drive. It’s all right, she thought. I’ll probably have a few bad moments thinking about what might have been, but this really is where I belong. Here in St Luke’s, doing the work I studied and trained to do, seeing the years wheel by, fulfilled and deeply content.

With a brisk squaring of her shoulders to shake off any might-have-beens, she went back into the convent to help Sister Agnes with the washing-up.

Heathrow Airport was its usual seething mass of people and luggage trolleys, blared announcements in several languages and bewildering arrival and departure boards.

Theo had checked his luggage in and gone to the departure lounge. Unless there were any delays, in about ten minutes’ time he would be called to board the plane and in three or four hours he would be in Switzerland. Petra had made the arrangements, and had promised that a car would meet him at Geneva.

He sat back, enjoying watching the people for these last few minutes. Who were they and where were they going? A lot of them would be holiday-makers, even at this time of year, and almost as many would be travelling on business. Some would be families going to meet up with relatives.

But none of them would be going to meet the grown-up ghost of a small boy who had haunted an old house in a remote Norfolk village.

As his flight was called, Theo smiled, picked up his hand luggage, and went to board the plane that would take him to meet Matthew.