Dark Places Page 8

  The following day, Michaela soaked up the brilliance of the sun's rays and relaxed in the makeshift patio. The wooden table and chairs were of a simple design with clean lines and a walnut finish, and upon each hard-backed seat was a small flat cushion. Appreciative of Sam’s agreement to make a swift purchase, she leaned back into the chair and absorbed the tranquillity of the countryside, willing herself to draw energy after suffering hours of intense pain the day before.

  Sam placed the plates of food onto the table, pulled his chair away from the table and sat down.

  The salad looked scrumptious and comprised of crispy tofu pieces, couscous, and a selection of mixed salad leaves, including her favourites, watercress, rocket, and mizuna. There was also cauliflower florets, tomatoes, and cucumber, all enhanced with a tasty dressing. Chewing upon her first mouthful, she reached for a carton of pineapple juice, poured it into the two glasses, and took a refreshing gulp. It was a wonderful meal, made even more special by their ability to eat outdoors. She complimented his efforts.

  Anything for you, my darling.’

  She pulled a face at his attempts at smooth talking and then turned her attention to the skies. Overhead swallows twisted and turned, playing, chasing, and feeding. Startled, as they dropped to the table skimming her head, Michaela shrieked and ducked. They lifted to the cloudless sky.

  ‘Are they nesting yet?’ Sam asked.

  ‘They weren’t a couple of days ago.’

  ‘Isn’t it the male that builds the nest?’

  ‘I believe so. I heard that if the female has chicks in a nest that he hasn’t built he may remove the young and force her to start again.’

  ‘Remove as in . . .?

  Drops them to the ground.’

  ‘That seems cruel.’

  ‘It’s nature, I suppose.’ She prodded a floret of cauliflower. ‘Humans are just as cruel, even more so.’

  ‘You’re right. Late last night there was a case on the news - a man was proven guilty of killing his stepchildren. Maybe it was like the swallows - perhaps he couldn’t accept they weren’t his.’

  ‘That could have happened to Catherine. Perhaps she was pregnant with another man’s child and her husband killed it.’

  ‘It’s a possibility.’

  ‘People say she killed children. It must have come from somewhere. Maybe one of her own died.’ She paused. ‘We have to find out more about her Sammy. I think she wants my help.’

  Help? How?’

  ‘I don’t know – it’s a strong sense I have. There’s a plea for help in the barn wall. When I touched it, I saw her.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Shortly after we moved in. That’s how I knew she’s innocent.’

  He narrowed his eyes and stuffed a large piece of tomato into his mouth. He didn’t look like he believed her; either that or he didn’t agree that Catherine was innocent of her supposed crimes. Disappointed, although not in a mood to argue, she placed a piece of tofu in her mouth and all the time he held his guilty pose.

  A vehicle sounded on the drive, filling her with instant dread.

  ‘It sounds like your mother’s arrived,’ Sam said, standing up.

  ‘Please don’t tell her of the pregnancy or the vision.’

  He gave her a curious stare and turned the corner passing onto the drive.

  Banishing his puzzlement, Sam greeted Judith as she exited her car, and guided her to the patio where Michaela was finishing her lunch.

  ‘Hello darling,’ Judith said.

  ‘Mum.’

  Judith removed her sunglasses and her gaze wandered. ‘The view is still as spectacular, but the house hasn’t changed much.’

  ‘We’ve done a lot of work to it!’ Michaela said.

  ‘I never said you hadn’t darling.’

  ‘We’ve replaced the roof and windows but we are struggling to get a plumber and electrician.’ Sam said.

  Unblinking Judith stared at the upstairs windows.

  ‘We’ve been working hard,’ Michaela added.

  ‘I’m sure you have.’

  ‘Why can’t you just be happy for us?

  Judith glanced between them. ‘Forgive me, but I think you’ve both taken on far too much.’

  Sam swallowed and looked to the concrete.

  ‘We like it here,’ Michaela replied, ‘It’s what we wanted.’

  Sam tightened. It was clear from the rising sound of her voice that her tension was increasing. Willing her to stay calm, he flung her a stare, but she paid no attention and the bickering continued. Folding his arms and lowering his head, he tried to think of something positive to say. However, Judith was right; despite the weeks of hard manual labour there was little to show for their effort. The house had shoddy kitchen units, broken plastered walls, and cracked dipping ceilings. If he didn’t know better, he would think that they had achieved nothing at all.

  ‘I am not sure it’s right for you,’ Judith said, ‘It’ll take ages to renovate. Then there’s the cost to consider. It’s not going to be cheap.’

  ‘We have thought it through,’ Michaela said, ‘and Sam’s still running his business.’

  She puffed out. ‘And doing the renovations?’

  ‘I help too.’

  ‘I’m sure you do darling.’

  ‘I do!’

  ‘What do you know about building work?’

  ‘I’m a quick learner.’ She turned to Sam. ‘Tell her.’

  ‘She’s done a lot of clearing. In fact, she never stops.’

  Unconvinced, Judith held her frown and the strained conversation continued. Every so often Michaela would pass Sam a meaningful glance, indicating to him that she had been right to keep her mother away. Guilt-stricken, he agreed; it was wrong that he had invited her without her approval, and it was wrong he had trivialised her concerns. Not everyone had understanding and supportive parents. Gulping the distaste in his mouth, he gathered the dirty plates and mugs and headed into the house. He returned moments later to a stony silence.

  ‘Can we show you around?’ Sam asked.

  Judith responded with a gesticulation.

  He led the way through the rooms and chatted, feigning as much enthusiasm as he could generate. Judith listened but she said little, causing his unease. Hoping Michaela would share her dreams regarding their venture, he looked to her pleading for support. Her expression was tight, she was not going to divulge even the slightest of optimism, and it was disappointing. He may have made a mistake with the invitation, but she was here and they should at least attempt to enlighten her.

  When Sam reached the top of the staircase, his hand dropped onto his botched repair and he turned to Judith. No longer was her face expressionless, she looked fearful and panic-stricken, and her eyes flitted and her fingers turned.

  ‘I was just making this safe,’ he said.

  ‘I am not sure you can make this house safe.’

  He gave her an enquiring look.

  ‘Bad things have happened in this house,’ she continued.

  ‘We know about the child falling down the steps,’ Michaela said.

  She stared straight through them.

  ‘You know what happened, don’t you?’ Sam asked.

  ‘It’s best forgotten.’

  ‘We’ve heard about other children dying too,’ Michaela said.

  Judith’s head jerked and her eyes widened. Sam felt her fear creep through the air and he got goosebumps. Michaela reacted too and folded her arms across her body in a defensive pose.

  ‘What do you know about it?’ Sam asked.

  ‘I don’t know anything.’ Judith turned and rushed down the stairs, almost bowling Michaela over. ‘I need some fresh air.’

  Baffled they followed on behind. Determined to do his utmost to soothe the atmosphere and glean something from Judith’s visit, he suggested a stroll to the garden pond.

  Judith shuddered. ‘Not the pond!’

  Why ever not?’ Michaela asked.

  ‘You ask far too m
any questions.’

  ‘Well, how about we go the other way then,’ he suggested, determined to at least try to keep the peace, ‘we’ll go to Michaela’s vegetable patch.’

  She nodded her agreement and Michaela led the way. The vegetable plot, a short distance from the border with Grace’s house, was about ten metres by three metres and had been painstakingly worked over, leaving no evidence of weeds or poor quality soil. The potatoes were emerging with fresh and verdant growth, and the onion stems were thickening. His face was alight with pride.

  ‘I’ve planted potatoes, onions and runner beans.’ Michaela said, ‘next year I want to do much more.’

  ‘It seems a lot of work for little return if you ask me,’ Judith said.

  Michaela gawped. ‘It’s satisfying.’

  As is your wish.’

  ‘I’m clearing another patch over there for fruit bushes.’

  Michaela continued to chatter about her efforts and plans, but Sam became more interested in Judith. Every few seconds, when Michaela was not looking, her gaze would wander to Grace’s garden. He sensed something more than curiosity, but could not determine what it was she felt or what she hoped to see. When Grace appeared from the rear door of her house and their eyes met, Judith’s body tensed.

  ‘Enough,’ Judith said, interrupting Michaela’s enthusiasm, ‘I’m tired and I need to sit down.’

  She elbowed past him and hurried along the path. He frowned at Michaela and then hurried to Judith’s rear.

  ‘I think Michaela wanted to introduce you to our neighbour,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘I’m not here to be sociable with your neighbours!’

  His gaze locked with Michaela’s, and he felt her anguish pervade the air. Why was Judith so disinterested in everything Michaela valued, and why hadn’t he noticed it before? Sam strained his memory, recalling past events, and concluded that Judith hadn’t always been this edgy. Primrose Cottage unsettled her, and he was determined to find out why.

  ‘It’s obvious you don’t approve of our plans,’ he said, ‘but we are grateful you’ve visited. It means a lot to us both.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. I am interested in what the two of you are doing. I just wish it were somewhere else. This place gives me the creeps.’

  ‘It is my life, my choice!’ Michaela said.

  Arriving at the house, Judith turned to her daughter and removed her sunglasses. ‘I think it is about time I told you what I know. A long time ago, Jack and Catherine Cooper lived here. Over the years, they had many children, but most of them died. Catherine killed them all.’

  Michaela’s jaw dropped. ‘No! That’s not true.’

  ‘I am afraid it is darling. Locals believe her spirit still roams, and children are not safe.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ Sam asked.

  Judith looked to Michaela, who bowed her head. ‘My daughter can be stubborn. She had made her mind up and didn’t want to hear anything I had to say.’

  Because you always put me down!’

  She gave her a pitying look. ‘It’s not too late to back out.’

  ‘We won’t do that! I don’t care what rumours you’ve heard, because that’s all they are, rumours. It’s just a house.’

  ‘Make sure it stays that way.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Let the past be, Michaela.’

  She shuffled and pouted. Clearly, at least as far as he believed, it was going to be a difficult request.

  ‘There was a time when I wanted to live here myself,’ Judith continued. ‘Once upon a time, it was such a wonderful place . . . and the view is spectacular.’

  So why the secrecy?’ Michaela asked. ‘It’s clear you’re hiding something.’

  Judith jolted. ‘There’s no secrecy. I told you what I know.’

  ‘No, you haven’t. You knew about the staircase incident and refused to talk about it.’

  Michaela . . . darling. I read about it in the papers years ago. I doubt I know as much as you do.’

  ‘And what about the child that drowned, or the one that was ill? It was around the time I was born.’

  ‘When your father and I got married we lost contact with his family for a while.’ She brushed her finger across her nose. ‘I don’t know anymore.’

  ‘Whoever died must have been a relative of Dad’s. I don’t believe you don’t know who it was.’

  ‘Your father and Jim fell out. We never saw him again after that. Nor did we visit this house again.’

  ‘So you know nothing about the drowning?’

  Michaela! Please stop this! I will not be interrogated!’ She stood up. ‘Now, are you going to make me a drink or do I have to make my own?’

  After a moment of hesitation, Michaela rushed into the house, her head low, her face distressed. Sam looked to Judith, seeking an explanation.

  ‘You understand, don’t you Sam?’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘She wants to know about her family history. Why is that so terrible?

  ‘The past is ugly. Please make her see that. It’ll be best for the both of you to stay well away. I can promise you that.’

  ‘I’m not sure Michaela will be able to disregard it.’

  Judith frowned. ‘She has to. She can’t change the past. If she probes into things that aren’t her concern, it will affect her. I know my daughter. It will eat her up.’

  ‘Can you promise me there’s nothing we need to know?’

  ‘I can.’

  Sam folded his arms and gazed into the distance. It wasn’t going to be easy convincing Michaela to let it rest, and it wasn’t something he wanted to do either. Judith had behaved in such a manner that had aroused his curiosity, more than he dared let on. What was she hiding, and why was she adamant they should forget the past? Ignoring it, as he had implied he would, was not going to be an easy task.

  Chapter 10

  Michaela was slumped in the living room, unable to fight her lethargy and listlessness, and without her usual desire to be motivated. Instead, she flicked through the television channels searching for something vaguely entertaining. Her racing mind prevented her concentration, and even though she saw the pictures and heard the sounds, she was none the wiser as to what was on offer.

  Since her mother’s announcement that Catherine was a murderer, she had sunk into a depression. It was almost as though she had received the conviction, as she experienced such a strong array of emotions, from desperate loss and betrayal to a generalised pain.

  There was no doubt in Michaela’s mind that Catherine was innocent of the accusations, and it made it all the harder to accept her mother’s words. Catherine had been happy with her pregnancy and marriage. She would not have ended little lives in such a despicable manner.

  Michaela’s attachment to Catherine grew stronger with each breath. Wanting to find out more, she prayed her visions would reoccur. Perpetually, she touched objects and trod paths that would have once been familiar to her distant ancestor. When nothing happened, she started to doubt her ability as psychic. It was a disappointing turnaround.

  Despite this minor setback, her greed for information remained as intense as ever, and the questions continued to trail her mind. What had led Catherine to kill her children? No mother would do that. What was the evidence? What were the circumstances? Her head pounded with a growing list of questions, and she began to relate it to her own arrival to motherhood.

  Her pregnancy should have lifted herself out of her melancholic state, but it did not. It seemed like a dream - too far into the future to be real. However, such a realisation did help her make a connection to Catherine. Her ancestor would not have started her pregnancy with the intention of killing her child. Something must have happened, and what if, God forbid, the same happened again? She shuddered at the prospect.

  Logic said that her thoughts were nothing more than
wild fantasies. History could not repeat itself. Michaela was not Catherine; their lives were a world apart. Nevertheless, she still grasped her attachment to the stranger who had lived in this house, convincing herself that Catherine had been happy, in love, and pregnant, just as she was.

  Loud banging drew Michaela away from her ponderings and she drifted into the next room. Sam was demolishing the front of the brick fireplace. Dust was everywhere, and infiltrated her nostrils and coated her skin and clothes. She raised her hand to her mouth as she looked at Sam, absorbing the sight of his lean body in ragged clothes, face mask, and woollen hat.

  ‘Sammy, you look gorgeous,’ she said.

  He turned, frowned, and removed his mask. ‘I’d like to see you doing this.’

  ‘Not a chance. I’m pregnant remember.’

  ‘That’s never stopped you before.’

  She passed a twisted smile. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘You can see the alcove here,’ he said pointing to the gap in the old brick wall, ‘it should get easier now I’ve made a way through.’

  She looked into the dark dingy space and imagined Catherine and Jack by the fireplace absorbing the heat and reading newspapers. Their small children would have played on the floor, entertaining themselves with simple toys; they would have chatted and laughed, sharing simple pleasures.

  ‘We could decorate the room to reflect Victorian times,’ Sam said, as though reading her thoughts.

  ‘No, I don’t want that.’

  ‘I thought you liked the idea of adding a bit of history.’

  ‘I do, but not Victorian. I don’t want any reminders of the past.’

  ‘Fair enough . . . I hope you are not worried about the deaths. I know your mother acted a bit strange, but I think that now we know the facts we can rule out ghosts and curses.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘What Catherine did was shocking. It would have been hard to come to terms with and would have lingered over the village for years. Every time something bad happened in this house, she would spring to mind.’

  ‘I can’t believe that she would do that.’ She folded her arm across her front. ‘Not given what I saw.’

  ‘I’d be worried if you could. I wouldn’t try to understand it. If Catherine was guilty. Maybe she had her reasons. Regardless, I doubt we’ll ever find out what they were.’