Spook's Secret (wc-3) (25 page)

    'Emily, eh?'

    The Spook ignored him.

    'What's done is done and I wish Morgan had never taken the grimoire and it was still safe under lock and key.'

    'So do I!' Andrew said, raising his voice and becoming angrier by the second. 'Your duty is the County. You've said that often enough. What you've done in keeping that book rather than burning it amounts to a dereliction of that duty!'

    'Well, brother, I thank you for your hospitality but not for those harsh words,' the Spook said, an edge of anger in his own voice. T don't interfere in your business and you should trust me to do what's best for everyone. I just called here to let you know the situation we're in, but it's been a long hard day and it's time we were off to our beds before we say things we'll really regret!'

    With that, we left Andrew's in a hurry. As we walked down the street I remembered why we'd visited in the first place.

    'We didn't ask Andrew to fix the lock,' I said. 'Shall I run back and tell him?'

    'No you won't, lad,' said the Spook angrily. 'Not even if he were the last locksmith in the County! I'd rather fix it myself.'

    'Well, now the weather's improved,' I asked, 'could we start searching for Morgan tomorrow? I'm really worried about Dad ...'

    'Leave that to me, lad,' the Spook said, his voice softer. 'I've thought of a few places Morgan might have gone to ground. Best thing is if I set off well before dawn tomorrow.'

    'Can I come with you?' I asked.

    'Nay, lad. I've more chance of catching him napping by myself. Trust me. It's for the best.'

    I did trust the Spook. Although I could see some sense in what he was saying, I still wanted to go with him. I tried one more time to persuade him but realized I was just wasting my breath. If the Spook makes up his mind, you just have to accept it and let him get on with it.

    The following morning, when I came down into the kitchen, there was no sign of the Spook. His cloak and staff had been taken and, as promised, he'd left the house long before dawn in search of Morgan. After I'd finished my breakfast my master still hadn't returned and I realized that his absence provided a chance just too good to miss. I was curious about Meg and decided to pay a quick visit to the cellar to see how she was doing. So I helped myself to the key on top of the bookcase, lit a candle and went down the steps. I went through the gate and locked it behind me, continuing downwards towards the cellar, but when I reached the landing with the three doors a voice suddenly called out from the middle cell:

    'John! John! Is that you? Have you booked our passage?'

    I came to a sudden halt. It was Meg's voice. He'd released her from the pit and put her in a cell where she'd be more comfortable. So he had softened. No doubt she'd be back in the kitchen within days. But what did she mean by 'booked our passage'? Was she going on a voyage? Was the Spook going with her?

    Suddenly I heard Meg sniff loudly three times. 'Well, boy, what are you doing down here? Come to the door so that I can see you better ...'

    She'd sniffed me out so it was no use creeping back up the steps. No doubt she'd tell the Spook where I'd been. So I walked up to the cell door and peered inside, taking care not to get too close.

    Meg's pretty face smiled at me through the bars. It wasn't the grim smile she'd given when we'd struggled. To my surprise, it was almost friendly

    'How are you, Meg?' I asked politely.

    'I've been better and I've been worse,' Meg replied. 'No thanks to you. But what's done is done and I don't blame you for it. You are what you are. You and John have a lot in common. But I will give you one piece of advice - that's if you're willing to listen.'

    'Of course I'll listen,' I told her.

    'In that case heed what I have to say. Treat the girl well. Alice cares about you. Treat her better than John treated me and you won't be sorry. It doesn't need to end up this way'

    'I like Alice a lot and I'll do my best.'

    'See that you do.'

    'I heard you ask about 'booking a passage',' I said, turning to leave. 'What did you mean?'

    'That's none of your business, boy,' Meg replied. 'You could ask John but I don't think you'll bother because you'd only get the same answer from him. And I don't think he'd want you prowling about down here without his permission, would he?'

    With that I muttered 'goodbye' and set off back up the stairs, taking care to lock the gate behind me. So it seemed the Spook still had his secrets, and I suspected he always would. No sooner had I put the key back in its rightful place than he returned.

    'Did you find Morgan?' I asked, disappointed. I already knew the answer. Had he done so, Morgan would have been with him, bound as a prisoner.

    'No, lad, sorry to say that I didn't. I thought I might find him lurking in the abandoned tower at Rivington,' said the Spook. 'He's been there recently all right - no doubt up to no good. But it seems to me that he never settles in one place for long. Still, don't worry yourself, I'll search again first thing tomorrow. Anyway, in the meantime you can do something for me. This afternoon, have a wander down into Adlington and ask that brother of mine if he'd mind coming up to fix the back door,' said the Spook. 'And tell him I'm sorry that heated words passed between us and that one day he'll understand that I did things for the best.'

    The afternoon lessons went on later than usual and it was less than two hours before dark when, carrying my rowan staff, I finally set off for Adlington.

    Andrew made me welcome and his face broke into a smile when I passed on the Spook's apology: he quickly agreed to fix the door within a day or so. Later I spent about fifteen minutes talking to Alice, although she seemed a bit cool. It was probably because she'd been sent to bed the previous night. After saying my goodbyes, I set off back towards the Spook's house, eager to get back before it was quite dark.

    I hadn't been walking more than five minutes before I heard a faint noise behind. I turned round and saw someone following me up the hill. It was Alice, so I waited for her to catch up. She was wearing her woollen coat, and as she approached, her pointy shoes made neat footprints in the snow.

    'Up to something, you are,' Alice said with a smile. 'What was it that they didn't want me to hear last night? You can tell me, can't you, Tom? We don't have any secrets. Been through too much together, we have.'

    The sun had already set and it was starting to get dark. 'It's very complicated,' I said, impatient to be off. T don't have much time.'

    Alice leaned forward and gripped my arm. 'Come on, Tom, you can tell me!'

    'Mr Gregory doesn't trust you,' I told her. 'He thinks you got too close to Morgan. Mrs Hurst told him that you and Morgan spent lots of time together in his downstairs room ...'

    'Ain't nothing new in Old Gregory not trusting me!' Alice exclaimed with a sneer. 'Morgan was planning something big. A ritual, he said, that was going to make him rich and powerful. Wanted my help, he did, and nagged and nagged until I couldn't stand the sight of him. That's all there was to it. So come on, Tom. What's going on. You can tell me . ..'

    Finally, realizing that she was never going to let it go, I gave in, and Alice walked by my side while I reluctantly explained what had been happening. I told her about the grimoire and how Morgan had wanted me to steal it and how he was torturing Dad's spirit. Then I told her we'd been burgled and were now searching for Morgan.

    Alice wasn't best pleased with what I told her, to say the least.

    'You mean we went into Old Gregory's house together with no mention of what you planned? No mention at all! You meant to go up to the attic and you didn't tell me. It ain't right, Tom. Risking my life, I was, and deserved better than that. A lot better!'

    'Sorry, Alice. I'm really sorry. But all I could think of was Dad and what Morgan was doing to him. I wasn't thinking straight. I should have trusted you, I know'

    'Bit late to say that now. Still, I think I know where you could find Morgan tonight...'

    I looked at her in astonishment.

    'It's Tuesday,' Alice said, 'and on Tuesday night he always does the same thing. Been doing it since late summer, he has. There's a chapel on the hillside. Set in a graveyard, it is. People come from miles around and he takes their money. I went there with him once. He makes the dead speak. He ain't a priest but he's got a congregation to put lots of churches to shame.'

    I remembered the first time I'd met him - when the news came about Dad and I'd been on my way home. That had been a Tuesday too. I'd taken a short cut through the graveyard and he'd been inside the chapel. He must have been waiting for his congregation to arrive. He'd also asked me to bring the grimoire to him on a Tuesday just after sunset. I could have kicked myself. Why hadn't I put two and two together?'

    'Don't you believe me?' Alice asked.

    'Course I believe you' I said. T know where the chapel is. I've been there before.'

    'Then why don't you go that way on your way home?' suggested Alice. 'If I'm right and he is there, you can go and tell Old Gregory. Might just get back in time to catch him! But don't forget to mention that I was the one who told you where he was. Might just make him think better of me. Ain't holding my breath though.'

    'Come with me' I suggested. 'You could keep watch while I go for the Spook. That way, if we don't get back in time we'll know where he's headed.'

    Alice shook her head. 'No, Tom. Why should I after what's happened? I don't like not being trusted. It ain't nice. Anyway, you've got your job and I've got mine. The shop's been really busy. Worked hard all day, I have, and now I'm going to warm myself by the fire, not spend my time shivering out here in the cold. You do what you have to do and let Old Gregory sort Morgan out. But leave me out of it.'

    With that, Alice turned on her heels and set off back down the hill. I was disappointed and a bit sad but I could hardly blame her. If I kept secrets from her, why should she help?

    By now it was almost dark and the sky was starting to glitter with stars. So, wasting no time, I chose a route that took me up the moor and circled back to the drystone wall, at the exact place in the copse where I'd climbed over it that Tuesday night, when I was on my way home. I leaned against the low wall and looked towards the chapel. Candlelight flickered against the stained-glass window. Then I noticed something far beyond the graveyard. Scattered points of light were moving up the slope towards me.

    Lanterns! The members of Morgan's congregation were approaching. Although I couldn't be sure, he was probably already inside, waiting for them to arrive.

    So I turned and set off through the trees, heading directly back towards the Spook's house. I needed to get my master and bring him back in time to catch Morgan. But I hadn't taken more than a dozen paces before somebody stepped out of the shadows ahead of me. A hooded figure in a black cloak. I came to a halt as he strode towards me. It was Morgan.

    'You've disappointed me, Tom,' he said, his voice cruel and hard. 'I asked you to bring me something. You let me down so I had to go and get it myself. Wasn't much to ask, was it? Not when so much was at stake.'

    I didn't answer and he took a step nearer. I turned to run, but before I could move, he caught me by the shoulder. I struggled for a moment and tried to raise my staff to strike him but suddenly I felt a heavy blow to my right temple. Everything went dark and I felt myself falling.

    When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the chapel. My head was hurting and I felt as if I were going to be sick. I was sitting on the back row of benches with my back resting against the cold stone wall, facing towards the confessional box. On each side of it were two large candles.

    Morgan was standing in front of the box, facing directly towards me. 'Well, Tom, I've business to attend to first. But we'll talk about this afterwards.'

    T need to get back,' I said, finding it hard to form the words. 'If I don't, Mr Gregory will wonder where I am.'

    'Let him wonder. What does it matter what he thinks? You won't ever be going back ... You're my apprentice now and I've got a job for you to do tonight.'

    With a smile of triumph, Morgan walked into the confessional, using the priest's doorway on the left. I could no longer see him. The candles cast their light outwards into the chapel but the two doorways were absolutely dark oblongs.

    I tried to stand and make a run for it but I felt too weak and my legs weren't working properly yet. My head pounded and my vision felt blurred after the blow to my head, so all I could do was sit there, trying to collect my wits and hoping that I wasn't going to be sick.

    After a few moments the first of Morgan's congregation arrived. Two women came in, and as each one crossed the threshold, I heard the clink of metal upon metal. I hadn't noticed it before, but there was a copper collection plate to the left of the door and each dropped a coin into it before taking their seats. Then, without a glance in my direction, keeping their heads bowed, they sat down in one of the front benches.

    The benches began to fill but I noticed that everyone who came into the chapel left their lantern outside. The congregation were mostly women - the few men present were relatively old. Nobody spoke. We waited in silence but for the clink of coins and the rattle of the plate. At last, when most of the seats were full, the door seemed to close by itself. Either that or somebody outside had pushed it.

    Now the only light came from the candles at either side of the confessional box. There were a few coughs, somebody in front cleared their throat and then came an expectant hush in which you could have heard a pin drop. It was just as it had been in the darkened room at Moor View Farm. I felt as if my ears were going to pop. Suddenly I shivered. A coldness was creeping towards me from the box. Morgan was drawing upon the power he'd gained by trying to raise Golgoth.

    Into the silence Morgan's voice suddenly called out very loudly. 'Sister of mine! Sister of mine, are you there?'

    In answer came three loud raps on the floor of the chapel, so loud that the whole building seemed to quiver, followed by a long-drawn-out shuddering sigh that came from the darkness of the penitent's doorway.

    
'Leave me be! Let me rest!'
came the plaintive plea of a girl. This was hardly more than a whisper, but filled with anguish, the source of the girl's voice again that dark confessional doorway. Morgan's sister was a lingerer and was under his control. She didn't want to be here.

    He was making her suffer but the congregation didn't know that, and I sensed the nervousness, anticipation and excitement of the people about me as they waited for Morgan to summon family and friends they'd lost to death.

    'Obey me first. Then you may rest!' boomed the voice of Morgan.

    As if in response to those words, a white shape drifted forward out of the darkness to be framed in the penitent's doorway. Although Eveline had drowned herself when she was about sixteen, the spirit looked hardly older than Alice. Her face, legs and bare arms were as white as the dress she was wearing. It clung to her body as if saturated with water and her hair was limp and wet. That drew a gasp of astonishment from the congregation, but the thing that attracted my gaze was her eyes. They were large and luminous and utterly sad. I'd never looked upon a face so filled with grief as that of Eveline's ghost.

    
'I am here. What do you want?'

    'Are there others with you? Others who wish to speak to someone in this gathering?'

    
'There are some. Close at hand is a child-spirit who goes by the name Maureen. She would speak with Matilda, her dearest mother...'

    At that a woman in the front bench came to her feet and held out her arms in supplication. She seemed to be trying to speak but her body was shaking with emotion and only a groan escaped her lips. The figure of Eveline faded back into the darkness and something else moved forwards.

    
'Mother? Mother?'
cried a new female voice from the penitent's box. This time, it was that of a very young child.
'Come to me, Mother. Please, please! I miss you so much...'

    At that, the woman left her place and began to stagger towards the confessional box, still holding out her arms. There was a sudden intake of breath from the congregation, and immediately I saw why. A pale shape was just visible in the darkness of the right-hand doorway. It looked like a young girl, no older than four or five, with long hair falling down over her shoulders.

    
'Hold my hand, Mother! Please hold my hand!'
cried the child and a small white hand came out of the darkness of the doorway. It reached towards the woman, who fell to her knees and seized it, eagerly pulling it to her lips.

    'Oh, your little hand is so cold, so bitterly cold!' cried the woman and she began to weep, her anguished sobs and wails filling the whole chapel. This went on for long minutes, until at last the hand was withdrawn into the doorway and the mother returned unsteadily to her seat.

    After that there was more of the same. Sometimes adults, sometimes other children materialized within the darkness of the penitent's doorway. There were glimpses of shadow shapes, pale faces and, more rarely, a hand outstretched into the candlelight. And almost always there was a strong emotional reaction from the relative or friend who made contact.

    After a while I began to feel sickened by the spectacle, wishing for it to end. Morgan was a clever, dangerous man, using the power of Golgoth to bind these poor spirits to his will. As I listened to the anguish of the living and the torment of the dead, in my head I remembered hearing the clink of money as it rattled into the copper collection plate.

    At last it came to an end. The congregation filed out of the chapel and the door slammed shut behind them, seemingly as if propelled by an invisible hand.

    Morgan didn't come out of the confessional box immediately but gradually the cold began to fade. When he did walk out and approach me, there were beads of sweat on his brow.

    'How's that father of mine after the wild goose chase I sent him on?' Morgan asked with a smirk. 'Did the old fool enjoy his walk to Piatt Farm?'

    'Mr Gregory isn't your father,' I said quietly, coming shakily to my feet. 'Your real father's name was Edwin Furner, a local tanner. Everybody knows the truth but you can't face it. You just tell lie after lie. Let's go down to Adlington now and ask a few people. Let's ask your mother's sister - she still lives there. If they all say the same then I might just start to believe you. But I don't think they will. You're a father yourself - the father of lies! And you've told so many that now you're starting to believe them!'