Deceit (10 page)

“There’s nothing wrong is there? I only took two tablets. I’m sure two isn’t enough to do any real damage.”

“No, but they weren’t sure how many you’d taken, so they stomach pumped you just to be sure. But no, no damage to you…”

“Well then…?” Claire felt cross. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Matthew was safe and back home. And she was safe and she’d be home soon too. Why was her dad looking so miserable still?

“It’s Micky.”

“Micky? What about her?”

“He took Micky.”

“Who did? Who took her? Where? I don’t understand.”

“That man. Robert. You know, the one who…”

Claire felt confused. “But it can’t have been Micky. She was at school. I took her myself.”

“She wasn’t.”

Oh God. Claire felt the happiness drain out of her. She thought she’d been so clever. That she’d saved Matthew
and
stopped Robert from kidnapping her in exchange. She knew if she took enough tablets she’d be unconscious. And she knew that she’d be as heavy as lead then. Just like her mum had been. And just like Jade, from her old school, when she’d fainted once in assembly. Claire had tried to move her on her own. No chance. It had taken two male teachers to carry her out of the hall. And they’d been properly sweating afterwards.

So she didn’t think there was any chance Robert would be able to move her once she was unconscious. And she’d been right about that. But she hadn’t factored in Micky… and her determination to stick as close to Claire as she could.

“Apparently she never even got through the
school gates. You dropped her off and instead of going in she followed you. I guess she hid so you couldn’t see her and take her back. But when she saw you collapse, she ran to help you and that
man
, Robert Benoit, grabbed her and disappeared. The police are looking for them now.” Her dad was shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite work it all out. “What did you think you were doing, Claire? The police will be in here any minute. They’ve already been giving Joe a hard time… asking how much he knew. His parents are really angry that you got him involved in all this. And I don’t think he’s too happy either. I’d be surprised if you saw much of him from now on. And the police are going to be asking you a shedload of questions too. Did you
know
that this man had Matthew? And if you did, why didn’t you tell anyone? Why did you let us suffer all that time… and risk your brother’s life? None of it makes any sense and if I had any energy left at all, I’d—”

“I’m so sorry, Dad.” Claire felt desperate. What had she done to Micky?

“I didn’t think…”

“No, you didn’t. And now that man has taken your sister.”

The police interviewed Claire without her dad present. He was left pacing up and down outside the door, but Claire had wanted to be interviewed alone in case things came up she didn’t want her dad to know. They’d had a row about it… her dad had wanted a solicitor present, in case the police got heavy, but she’d won.

There were two of them, one male detective inspector and one female sergeant. The woman, Jenny, sat on the bed and held Claire’s hand and acted sympathetic, while the man, Adam, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, looking stern. They weren’t horrible, but they made it quite clear what they thought of her. She’d wasted police time and risked her brother’s life and now her sister’s life was in danger too. Of course, they already knew about Robert’s attack on her at Darke House; following his escape from custody two years ago and subsequent disappearance, the police had him down as some sort of modern-day Houdini. It was still a source of embarrassment to them.

Claire put on a good show of being terrified of the mysterious Robert Benoit, and gained a little sympathy. She had to tell Adam and Jenny about
the casket now. Not what it really did – they would never believe her – just that it was precious and that Robert was obsessed with it… to the point that he would kidnap a small child in order to get it.

She took a deep breath, and hoped against hope that her mum had been too out of it to tell them that she’d actually sold the casket to Robert in the first place. Claire would have a job explaining how she’d got it back.

She didn’t tell them anything about Zac or Jacalyn, or the ring, or the events up on the crane; only that she’d thought Robert must have been dead or he surely would have come after her and the casket again. And he hadn’t. “But then I saw him, after Matthew had been kidnapped, at the café in the park. He said that he’d taken Matthew and if I told anyone else, he would kill him, kill my baby brother! And, of course, I believed him. You have to understand how desperate I felt. But he offered me a simple solution, said if I brought him the casket… he would let Matthew go.”

“So why didn’t you just do that? Exchange the casket for your brother? I mean you’ve said it wasn’t worth anything to you. Why the sleeping tablets? What was that about?” The male policeman…
Adam… was looking at Claire as if he knew there was more to the story than she was letting on.

She had to think fast. “I was scared. After he attacked me at Darke House I knew what he was capable of. So I thought if I went suddenly unconscious, it would cause a scene and people would gather round thinking I was ill or something, and that would be the last thing he’d want and he’d be out of there pretty quick.”

Adam was calculating, weighing up what Claire had said and working out whether he believed her. He smiled. “Okay. I can understand that. But it was stupid to do it on your own. Now we’re dealing with it and we’ll have your sister back in no time. We’re hoping Matthew will be able to help.”

“He’s only fifteen months old!”

“You’d be surprised. We’ve taken the clothes Matthew was wearing. There might be some clues… strands of hair… traces of perfumes, aftershave. Something. And we’ll be checking Robert’s old house again.”

Claire could have told them they’d be wasting their time at the house. But the busier they were, the longer she’d have to work out what to do next.

“Is there going to be a press conference? Are you going to be putting out a photo of Micky and a photofit of
him
?”

“Soon.”

Claire was released from hospital quickly, once the interview was over. The TB epidemic was gathering pace now and hospital beds were at a premium. A police car took her and her dad back home to Grandma’s house. It had been a tense drive. All Claire could think of was the letter she’d left for her mum and dad. They couldn’t have found it yet, or her dad would have said something.

The minute she was inside the front door, she rushed up the stairs, grabbed the unopened envelope and ripped up the letter and put it in the bin. Relief. But as for the ‘delayed’ email she’d sent to Jacalyn, there was nothing she could do about that, because Jacalyn would have it by now and she was going to be furious with Claire for trying to go it alone and making such a hash of it.

She took out her mobile, steeled herself to take the flack that she knew would be coming, and keyed in Jacalyn’s number. “Hi. It’s me…”

When I awake we are still on the cart. I can hear the rumble and squeal of its wheels turning, the steady whiffle of the horses’ breath and the flick and crack of the reins across their backs as the carter gently urges them on. It is not yet morning and though the wool fleeces ought to keep me warm and dry, I feel chilled. Cold as ice. My body begins to shake. My teeth chatter and I feel Christophe’s hand on my forehead and hear his sharp intake of breath.

“I should like some laudanum,” I whisper. “J-just a sip. That is all I need… a little … s-sip. Then I will be well again… you will see.”

“The bottle is broken,” he says. “Do you not remember how it cut your leg?”

I do remember it now. And I am rubbing and rubbing and rubbing my hands together. Will they ever be warm again?

I plead with Christophe, “May we not stop soon… in a town, at an… apothecary’s? P-please, Christophe. Ask the carter to stop. Please.” Now I am pulling and pulling at his sleeve and I cannot desist; my hands have a life all their own. I hear
how shrill my voice has become. How desperate I sound.

Christophe’s voice is urgent and sharp as he turns to the carter, “
Vite! Vite!
”

Now the cart is moving very fast, the horses’ breath is loud and I can smell the sweet, hot scent of their sweat. Christophe’s face becomes blurred and it feels as if I am enveloped in a freezing fog of noise and I do not emerge from it until just before daybreak, when we reach a crossroads outside the little town of Ardres.

Christophe lifts me down from the cart and the carter hurries away without a backward glance. I am weak and my leg is throbbing and painful. I cannot stand, so Christophe must carry me in his arms like a child, along the road and into the town.

In the backstreets he is quick to find us cheap lodgings: a little attic room four floors up. The stairs are so steep and so narrow he struggles to climb them, with me a dead weight in his arms. And the room, when we reach it, smells like cabbage rotting on a dung heap… or perhaps it is not the lodgings that smell so bad… for what follows are the worst days of my life.

When I am conscious, I suffer sweats and
cramps and have a nose that runs until it is red raw. My bowels are in flux and I have no appetite. I find myself yawning uncontrollably and my skin itches like fire. I find it hard to believe that Christophe can bear to come near me. But he does and he washes me with cool water. He changes the bed sheets and empties the chamber pot. The smell makes me retch even more… how can he bear it? And all the while I am begging him to fetch laudanum.

There is no respite in my torment, for even when I slip into unconsciousness, I am woken again by such visions that I think I must be in Hell.

First a fiery demon plucks at my thigh with his talons, the pain of it like glass shards being pulled from my flesh. Then the Devil himself leans over me with a red-hot brand in his cloven foot, his skin red and glistening, acrid with the smell of fire and brimstone. I swear I feel my flesh sizzle and burn and I cry out so loudly and with such anguish that Christophe has to hold me down on the bed until I am calm again. I have no sense of time passing… a day… a week… a month?

Then I wake at last from a deep and dreamless sleep. All is peaceful and the sun is slanting
through the window and for a long while I am content just to lie there and watch the motes of dust drift and swirl in the light. And the Devil has clearly tired of me and gone back to Hell. Christophe is there in his place now, asleep on a chair by the bed, his fair hair fallen across his face and his arms and legs akimbo, as if he has no worries in the whole wide world.

I push myself up in the bed. My arms are weak and tremble furiously under my weight and a sweat breaks out on my lip. Then I remember the fall and the glass cutting my thigh. I push back the covers and lift up my shift gingerly to take a peek, expecting to see what…? A demon’s brand? But the cuts look clean and are healing; they have started to scab over. And when I look up, Christophe has woken and is watching me. He smiles and comes to sit on the bed and, taking my hands in his, he kisses them.

“How long have I been…?” My voice sounds thin and hoarse.

“
Une semaine
…
dix jours
… I lose count…”

“Ten days! And there has been no sign of…?”

“
Non
. No sign of Nicholas… and your ring has not once been hot. Mine too has stayed loose and
cool on my finger. I am also sure that the baby is safe; when I place my hand on your belly I feel her kick as if she is saying, ‘Let me out at once!’”

She… I catch my breath as I feel her turn and kick inside me. A girl child… I am sure of it now. My heart leaps up… then tightens in my chest at the thought
he
could take her from me. He has caused me to lose one child already. I will not lose another.

I pull my hands from Christophe’s and swing my legs onto the floor to stand up, saying, “We must move on. We have stayed too long in one place. It is not safe…” But I am so weak my knees buckle under me and Christophe has to catch me. He lays me back on the pillows.

“When you are strong again we will move and find my family. But now that I can safely leave you, I must go and earn some money if I can.” There is no fear now that Christophe will be knocked down from the rope and beaten as a filthy Frenchman. But he told me once his father fell from the rope and died. What if the same should happen to him?

I say that I do not want him to leave me, but every
day after that he goes out into the streets and, with the poles and rope he has bought, turns somersaults and dances for money. And every day he comes back with food and drink, but he refuses me laudanum. I ask for it constantly at first, but the burning need I felt for it now seems past. Every day I feel more at peace and lighter of heart. I even begin to imagine that we might live safely here in France, Christophe and I; that Nicholas has forgotten me and the casket and the quest for his one true daughter.

I lie safe at night in Christophe’s arms and, as the candlelight flickers and casts shadows across the walls and ceiling, we plan our lives together just as any ordinary lovers might do. How we will live, how many children we might have, how soon we can marry…

And Christophe talks of the baby I carry as if it is his own child. He will teach her, he says, to dance on the rope as soon as she is old enough. And, in memory of my father, I will teach her to love books. We will live in peace and obscurity. All thoughts of Doctor Nicholas Robert Benedict will fade until he seems nothing more than a dream and the Emerald Casket will lie in the orchard
undisturbed and forgotten. If you desire something enough then surely it is possible to make it happen…?

T
he police had been watching Claire’s every move since Micky’s kidnap. She was pretty sure her mobile was being monitored too. So she went out, wearing unremarkable blue jeans and a dark T-shirt, carrying an H&M bag and trying to look casual.

“Going to change this.” She waved it in the air. The policeman nodded. She heard the crackle of his radio. He said something, but she was too far away to hear. Would someone follow her?

A young black man in jeans and a leather jacket got on the bus behind her. Claire took a surreptitious peek at him. Then she sprinted upstairs, checking over her shoulder for signs that he might follow her. He didn’t look like an undercover policeman… but what did one even look like?

She slipped into a seat at the back of the bus and quickly tucked her hair up in a grey beanie hat. It would look odd, because it was hot outside, but her red hair was a dead giveaway if anyone was trailing her. Out of her backpack she took a checked shirt and slipped it on over her T-shirt. She put the H&M bag into the backpack and put the backpack into a black bin liner to disguise it. She could carry it over her shoulder like a swag bag.

Then the bus began to slow down and pull in at the stop outside the tube. She waited until she heard the whoosh of the doors opening, then ran down the stairs and jumped off. The doors shut behind her and the bus started to pull away.

The young man in the jeans and leather jacket was still on the bus. Their eyes met for a split second before she turned and started to walk quickly away. But the squeal of bus brakes and a flurry of car horns made her look back. The bus had screeched to a halt and the young man was getting off. Whoops.

She ran, threading her way through the crowds of shoppers. Each breath was agony but she didn’t stop running until she thought her heart would
hammer out of her chest. She slipped into a doorway and stayed there until she was sure she’d shaken him off.

As soon as it was safe, she found the nearest newsagent and bought a phonecard. Then she headed towards the busiest place she knew, the shopping mall and, checking there were no CCTV cameras pointing her way, she called Jacalyn from the bank of payphones outside the toilets.

There was noise in the background at Jacalyn’s end and she sounded breathless too, as if she was hurrying. There was the sound of doors slamming and whistles blowing. A tannoy announcement, echoey and distorted, but with an unmistakable French sing-song intonation.

“Where are you?”

“
Gare du Nord
. On my way to London. I’ll be with you very soon.”

“Oh.” Claire’s breath whooshed out of her like a popped balloon. Part of her was relieved Jacalyn was coming – she was the guardian after all. But part of her was remembering what Robert had said… that for Jacalyn the casket and the spells were all that really mattered.

“You know I don’t have the casket any more.”
Claire felt truculent… combative. “
He’s
got it. You do believe me?”

“
Mais oui
. Of course I do. But why aren’t you ringing from your mobile? I nearly didn’t pick up your call.”

“I think the police have it tapped. They said I’ve got to let them deal with this now, but I don’t think they trust me to stay out of it…”

“Mmm.” There was silence, then Jacalyn said pointedly, “I can understand that, Claire,
parce-que tu etais vraiment stupide
. Okay, I need to think about what we should do. Robert is going to come after you. The casket is no use to him without you. He needs to be stopped and we need to get the casket and the spells back.”

“And Micky!”

“And of course Micky.”

But the microsecond’s pause before she said it made Claire think,
If it came to it… the spells and the casket or Micky’s life… which would Jacalyn choose?

“We can stop him,” Claire said quickly. “We did it last time didn’t we, up on the crane? I’ll exchange myself for Micky and then open the casket and use the power inside to blow him away.”

“Oh yes, that worked really well,
n’est ce pas
? When my brother died and Robert survived.” Jacalyn’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“I thought you’d be on my side!” Claire answered, hurt, even though she understood Jacalyn’s anger.

“I will be in London very soon. Go home. Keep safe. We will talk about it then. All I am saying is, we need to think it through. Don’t jump in and do anything
stupide
again. I know you are desperate for Micky, but I don’t think he will hurt her. I really don’t… not while he still needs you to help him. And he didn’t hurt Matthew, did he? Promise me you won’t do anything. I will ring you the minute I get to London and then we can meet tomorrow. I will come to your house. You can say the truth to your family: that we are friends and I am in London on circus business. Okay? Claire… okay?”

“Yep. I’ll see you soon… but…”

“Claire!” Then the signal cut out. The phone went dead. The phonecard had run out of money.

Walking up the road towards Grandma’s house, Claire pulled off her beanie and her hair fell down
over her shoulders, like a cascade of red rippling water. There was a police car parked outside. The window was open. She could hear the crackle of the radio and a voice drift out, “It’s okay. She’s back. Yep, I’ll talk to her. Nope. Won’t happen again.” Then a young man in a leather jacket, with skin the colour of polished ebony, unfolded himself from the passenger seat and stood in front of her on the pavement.

“Oh.” Claire recognised him. He was the young man from the bus.

“My name’s Daniel. You can call me Dan. I’m going to be your minder and I’ll be sticking to you like glue from now on. You won’t lose me next time.”

Damn
, thought Claire.
This is going to make things really, really difficult
.

Saturday morning. Early. Jacalyn had rung last night and she said she would be round at Grandma’s house as soon as she could the next morning. There were just a couple of things she had to do first. It was a comfort knowing Jacalyn was in London. But even that wasn’t enough to dispel the dark and ugly feeling of dread that woke Claire every day now, would only leave once she
was up and doing something. Anything. She was afraid of it. Afraid that it might never go away.

She forced herself out of bed and slumped downstairs, lank and weary. Out of habit she put on the TV. Anything to fill the aching void, block out the ceaseless black thoughts flooding her brain. But that was never going to work, was it? Because Micky always cuddled up beside her on the sofa when they watched TV, leaning on Claire and twiddling a piece of her fringe round and round her finger.

Claire flicked aimlessly through the channels, settling on one that was screening a bumper edition of her favourite soap. She’d just started watching when it was interrupted by a sudden newsflash. Headlines scrolled on a loop across the bottom of the screen. She read them, but her brain didn’t take them in. At least not at first… not until the word ‘epidemic’ broke into her consciousness. She flicked over to a news channel.

“
There has been an unexpected rise in the number of patients suffering from a rare form of TB admitted to London hospitals over the last few days. While it’s too early to predict an epidemic, a few cases reported in east London have risen to a few hundred and doctors
are advising people to take sensible precautions. Here’s Jan Jefferies reporting live from Newham University Hospital
.”

Fear began to bloom inside Claire, like some horrible stinking weed. It started from around her belly button… she could feel how strongly it was growing… and it pushed its way up, up until it reached her throat.

Claire thought,
If only I could squeeze it out of my body, squeeze it up and spit it out for good
… But there was no way that would happen now that another plague was starting. The best she could hope to do was swallow the fear back down again. But she knew that was only a stopgap. She’d be in control of it, just, but for how long?

No one else was awake yet. Not even Matthew, who slept with Mum these days. They wouldn’t be parted from each other. Claire had tiptoed into the room and looked down at them. Mum lying on her side and Matthew folded up inside her arms. His little cheeks were red with heat and his thumb was falling loosely from his mouth. Claire had leaned in towards them and breathed in the smell that rose up from their bodies. Comforting, familiar. She’d considered climbing in with them,
cuddling up against their bodies, peaceful in sleep. And yes there would be a moment’s relief, but then the darkness would rise up again and she wouldn’t be able to keep still. Would turn and twist and wake them to their own darkness and fears.

Dad was asleep on a makeshift bed in the study. She’d heard his snoring, loud and porcine. She’d wanted him to come home for so long. And now he was here. Alone. He always seemed to be alone these days.
Maybe it’s like me and Joe
, Claire thought.
A relationship would need to be really strong to survive all this mess
. Perhaps her dad’s relationship with Lindsay just wasn’t strong enough.

Later that morning, the front door bell went. Claire ran to answer it… expecting Jacalyn, but there was Lindsay instead, beautifully dressed as always and with her hair sharply cut and immaculate. She wouldn’t come in, so Claire stepped back into the hallway and called for her dad. Then she stood awkwardly by when he appeared and Lindsay slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

“I’m not sure I ought to be here really… so much to do… but I just needed to see you.
Work! Honestly, I sometimes feel like jacking it all in and just staying with you. Shall I?” Claire looked away quickly, embarrassed to see her dad looking so pathetically pleased.

Yuk
, she thought.
It’s so over the top. How NOT like the dad she knew
. But then perhaps she was just feeling jealous because although Joe had visited her once in hospital – hadn’t brought even a bunch of flowers – he had stayed well out of reach since then. And he never called now, hardly even texted.

Claire was about to turn away and go back up to her room when her mum came downstairs with Matthew in her arms. Matthew took one look at Lindsay and buried his head in his mum’s neck. He’d never done that before. He usually smiled and clapped his hands when he saw Lindsay, which made Claire’s mum really cross. Now he was making a horrible, nerve-jarring, grizzling sound which made Lindsay stiffen and step back behind Claire’s dad, as if she were using his body as a buffer against the noise.

Can’t imagine Lindsay and Dad ever having kids
, thought Claire.
Can’t imagine snot on Lindsay’s designer skirt… or sick down the back of her expensive jacket
.

Claire felt a momentary stab of shame because her mum was looking so dreadful. She was wearing saggy tracksuit bottoms and a bleached out T-shirt. And her hair was wild and uncombed. It was hard to remember that once she’d taken pride in her appearance. Before Dad had left and made it clear he didn’t intend coming back. Before Matthew had been born.

Claire could see a whole range of emotions flitting across her mum’s face as she looked at Lindsay and then at Claire’s dad. It was painful to watch and even more painful when her mum lost it and started shouting obscenities… not at Lindsay but at Claire’s dad.

He actually flinched, but then he disengaged from Lindsay and stepped forward, enfolding her and Matthew in his arms. Claire’s mum struggled for a second but then her body went limp and she started to sob. And sob. And sob.

Claire couldn’t bear to watch, because it was
her
fault that everything was ruined. She ran from the hall, up the stairs, and flung herself face down on Grandma’s bed.

“Oh, Claire,” Lindsay had slipped past Claire’s
mum and dad and darted upstairs after her. Now she was sitting on the bedside and tentatively reaching out a hand to stroke Claire’s hair. Talking in whispers. Soothing. Gentle. Claire could smell her perfume, sharp and cool and citrusy.

Claire turned her face, ugly and blotchy and tear-stained, up towards Lindsay. Looked up into her startling blue eyes. “Oh God, Lindsay, I’ve made such a mess of everything. I’ve totally messed up. It’s all my fault. First Matthew and now Micky. But I can sort it. I can get Micky back. Then maybe my mum will be herself again and you and my dad can be happy. You want that don’t you?”

Lindsay dropped a kiss down on Claire’s forehead. “You don’t need to worry about
me
. But if there’s anything I can do, you just have to ask. I’ll do anything for you. You are so important to us. You’ve no idea how much.”

If I wake early… which I do often, now that the baby grows so big and presses down on my
bladder… I like to lean out of our attic window and look over the grey stone roofs of Ardres to the lakes and marshlands beyond. Watch the mist that hangs low over the water disappear as if by magic, as the sun moves higher in the sky. The trees that border the fields, or gather together in little copses or woods, have leaves that are turning all shades of red and yellow.

It is warmer here than in London… and it is only now, late in November, that autumn comes on apace. But I have to be careful and not let my thoughts wander, for if I am careless, I start to think about Nicholas; how I was in truth his prisoner and the view from my window in Darke House my only freedom. I am not a prisoner now… of laudanum at least. But it worries me that I cannot rid myself of Nicholas so easily.

I look back over my shoulder at Christophe asleep in bed. His face is open and peaceful and he slumbers as if he fears nothing or no one. Which is only right, for he is a truly good man. A blissful happiness bubbles up inside me as I watch him… even though I know that soon we will leave the safety of this little room in Ardres and travel south.

Christophe returned to our room last night in high spirits. He has heard a rumour that a troupe of acrobats, rope-walkers and jugglers is in Abbeville. A description of one of the older women makes him hope that he will find his mother and the rest of his family there.