The Eighth Witch (30 page)

Wright riffled through the pages and then found what he was looking for. He lay the book down on the table in front of him and started to read from the spidery script that filled the pages. “‘I worry about the child. She is excluded from society and has become withdrawn and isolated. There has been talk that she spends most of her time playing with the animals in the forest, moreover, that she can become as one with them, taking their shape, and running with them on all fours across the forest floor. I take such stories lightly, brought about by fear and ignorance. I will persevere and bring her back into the fold and make her one of us.’” Wright shut the book. “You see what I mean?” he said.

Bailey was nodding slowly. “Is there more?” he said.

“Yes, unfortunately there is.” He flicked over a number of pages, finding a place near the back of the book.

“‘Barker’s men finally caught up with Elinor Yardley last night and killed her in a horrible manner, too horrible to be recorded here in this journal. That this atrocity was perpetrated in the name of Christ is an obscenity. Elinor was a true convert, a woman who eschewed her past and who had made her peace with God. The manner of her death is a violation of all that is holy. I pray to my Lord, our Savior, that her daughter does not meet the same fate. I have had it vouchsafed to me that the men hunted for the child as they had hunted for her mother, but were unsuccessful in their quest. Another of Elinor’s neighbors told me that the girl changed her form to evade Barker’s men. That statement I will take with a large dose of skepticism. The belief that anyone can change their shape, can take on the form of another, goes against every teaching of the Holy Scriptures. Unless the child is the offspring of the Devil himself, I have to treat such fancies as the twittering of deranged minds.’”

“So another reference to her being able to change her shape,” Bailey said.

“Indeed,” Wright said, closing the book.

“What do you think happened to her?”

“There were rumors that she was smuggled out of the country by some of Elinor’s old friends. France, maybe Spain, but we’ll never know for sure.”

“Did you give Henry Norton this information when he came to see you?”

Wright shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because the church failed Elinor Yardley, and I didn’t want him broadcasting that failure in a book,” Wright replied candidly. “Also, I didn’t much care for the professor. I found him to be arrogant and rude. I had no desire to help him.”

“But you’re telling me.”

Wright clasped his hands together. “I think I made the wrong call with Norton and now he’s dead. I’m assuming the reason you’re here is because there’s a link to Norton’s death and the Yardley sisters. Am I right?”

“We think there is.”

“Perhaps if I’d told him what I know he might still be alive?”

It was a question Bailey didn’t know how to answer. Peter Wright seemed like a good man and Bailey didn’t want him to have Henry Norton’s death on his conscience. “It’s too early to make that assumption,” he said.

“Thank you for that,” Wright said. “If I thought I had in some way contributed to a man’s death… Well…”

“Did Elinor’s daughter have a name?” Bailey said, cutting him off.

“Of course,” Wright said. “Diana. The child’s name was Diana.”

Abruptly Bailey got to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Reverend,” he said, extending his hand.

“Have you finished your research then?” Wright said, surprised at Bailey’s apparent rush to leave.

“For the time being,” Harry Bailey said. “For the time being.”

Wright watched him leave the vestry and then stared down at the vellum-bound book. He placed it back on the shelf. He then sat back down at the table, clasped his hands together once more and began to pray.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Well?”

In the kitchen Carter, Lacey and Annie were watching Jane Talbot as she flicked over the pages of Lacey’s files, stopping every few minutes to do the same with the book on the Yardley sisters. She was scribbling notes on the large pad at her elbow. She ignored them for a few moments more. Finally she laid down her pen, stretched and rubbed her eyes.

“I guessed right,” she said. “Annie, any chance of more coffee?”

“Of course,” Annie said and went to switch the kettle on.

“Well?” Carter said again, craning his neck so he could read the notes Jane had scribbled, but the scrawl was impossible to read upside down.

“The dates of some of the killings coincide with the deaths of the Yardley sisters,” Jane said. “Helen Brown supposedly hanged herself on the 21st of January 1999. Elizabeth Yardley was caught and hanged by Jacob Barker’s men on the 21st of January 1599. Susan Grant apparently drowned herself on the 13th of August 2001. Ruth Yardley was captured by Barker’s men and subjected to a prolonged death on the same day in 1601. They used a ducking stool.”

“So she was drowned as well?” Lacey said.

“Oh yes,” Jane said. “The manner of deaths all seem to match. Amy Clarke, killed in a mysterious house fire, Alice Yardley, burnt at the stake. Sylvia Allyn, decapitated by a wayward hedge trimmer, Megan Yardley, beheaded by Jacob Barker’s men. On the 14th of October 1608 Elinor Yardley was flayed alive by her captors. Three years ago, again on October 14th, Sophie Gillespie was killed, the thinking being that she was skinned alive by her husband, Mark, who then went on to electrocute himself.”

“Does the husband fit into this theory of yours?”

“This is about the women, not the men,” Jane said. “There are probably many more deaths that don’t fit any particular pattern, but you can’t ignore the fact that, so far, five women have been killed, and the dates and manner of their deaths mirror the deaths of five of the Yardley sisters.”

“Four hundred years apart,” Lacey said.

“Absolutely,” Jane said. “All we’re left with are the twins Rachel and Rebecca, and they were killed by Barker’s men on the first of May 1611.”

Annie put a fresh pot of coffee on the table. “To follow your theory, Jane, that gives us two days.”

“May the first. Beltane,” Jane said.

“And you think that’s when Diana will claim her next two victims,” Annie said.
 

“It seems the most likely scenario,” Jane said. “And I think it’s safe to assume that Holly Ireland is one of those victims. Diana went to extraordinary lengths to lure Holly away.”

“By shutting Sarah Bennett in the freezer, you mean?” Carter said.

Jane nodded.

“But it doesn’t make much sense,” Lacey said. “If she was just looking for victims, why didn’t she just take Sarah Bennett? She was going to kill her anyway.”

“That’s part of the puzzle,” Jane said. “But you’re right, she could have used Sarah Bennett. Instead she went after Holly Ireland, killing Sarah in the process. There must be a reason for that. I personally think she’s hand-picking her victims. Maybe they’re people she knows. Women she’s built up some kind of relationship with, not necessarily in her Diana persona. Remember that as far as Holly was concerned it was Sarah who picked her up in the car last night. Not Diana.”

Carter glanced across at Annie who was sitting at the far end of the table, fat tears running down her plump cheeks. He reached across and covered her hand with his. “Are you okay?”

“I was just thinking. Diana needs two more victims. She has Holly. It seems likely that Laura is the other one. She had a relationship with Diana. The evil bitch has probably been holding Laura somewhere all this time, just waiting for the first of May. Waiting for Beltane.” She blew her nose.

There was silence around the table. Everyone was thinking much the same and no one could offer Annie any words of comfort.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Annie said after a long pause.

Carter finally nodded. “I said I’ll do my best to find her, Annie. We all will. We’re making progress. We’ve made the connections.”

“All we have to do now,” Lacey said, “is to find out where she’s keeping Holly and Laura.”

“And find out who the hell Diana actually is,” Carter said.

“That’s the easy bit.”

They all turned at the sound of Harry Bailey’s voice. He was standing at the top of the stairs, wiping the remains of a brief April shower from the sleeves of his jacket. “Elinor Yardley had a daughter who escaped Jacob Barker’s men,” he said as he walked down to the kitchen. “Who’s this?” he said, gesturing to Lacey.

“Detective Inspector Ian Lacey,” Carter said. “Ian, this is Harry Bailey.”

“Yes, I know. We’ve met before.”

Harry Bailey stared at Lacey for a few seconds, trying to place the face. “Charlie Fulford,” he said at last. “You were his sergeant.” He stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“And you,” Lacey said.

It was Carter who voiced the others’ puzzlement. “Would one of you care to explain?” he said.

“It must be ten years ago,” Bailey said.

“Fifteen. My boss at the time, Charlie Fulford, called Department 18 when we were struggling with a series of vampire-like murders. The department sent Harry here to help us out.”

“How is Charlie?” Bailey said.

Lacey shook his head. “No idea. I lost touch with him once they booted him off the force.”

“And it looks like Ian could be following the same path,” Carter said. “He’s been suspended for his extracurricular activities.”

“Is that right?” Bailey said.

Lacey shrugged. “Let’s get on. You say Elinor Yardley had a daughter. What happened to her?”

“It seems likely she was given help to leave the country. After that, who knows?”

“Jane has a theory about the deaths,” Carter said to Bailey. “The dates of the deaths coincide, albeit with a four-hundred-year gap between them.”

“And the way they were killed echo the way each of the Yardley sisters were killed,” Jane said. “Fire, water, hanging…it goes on.”

“So. What do you think? A descendent of Elinor Yardley’s daughter?” Bailey said.

“Or the daughter herself,” Carter said, making the leap.

“That would make her over four hundred years old,” Lacey said.

“Yes, I know. But we’ve encountered stranger things over the years. Isn’t that right, Harry?” Carter said.

Bailey nodded. “It’s a possibility we have to consider. And the daughter’s name was Diana.”

“We have to find out why she’s killing these women,” Jane said. “And why now, after all this time?”

“I might have a few ideas about that,” Harry Bailey said.

“Are you awake?” Holly whispered.

Laura turned to look at her. “Of course,” she said, her voice loud in the confines of the small bedroom. She was very pretty, with clear skin and dark chestnut eyes. Her brown hair was cut in a short, blunt bob, giving her the appearance of a 1920’s flapper. “You’re Holly Ireland,” she said in the same strident voice.

Holly was taken aback. “Yes. Yes I am. How do you know that?” she whispered.

“I bought a pendant from you. Opal and titanium.”

Holly hushed her. “Keep your voice down. She’ll hear us,” she whispered.

“She won’t. She’s not here,” Laura said.

“Not here?”
 

Laura shook her head. “She always leaves as early as she can.”

“I don’t understand. I thought she’d drugged you or something, to make you sleep, to keep you here.”
 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Laura said. “Meditation. It’s my way of coping with what’s happening.”

“So why are you still here?” Holly swung her legs to the floor and sat up. “You must have had plenty of opportunities to get away, to escape.”

“I’ve tried, believe me. You’ve seen the dog?”

Holly nodded. “At least I think I did. I may have dreamt it.”

“You weren’t dreaming. It’s real enough. It’s my guardian. With that thing outside I’m going nowhere. Diana knows it, that’s why she’s content to leave me here alone.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“I’m scared out of my wits for most of the time, but I won’t show her that. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. The meditation helps. I used to teach yoga, so I find it fairly easy.” Laura sat up and stretched, running her hands through her short, bobbed hair. Holly watched her. There was defiance in Laura’s demeanor, an inner strength that showed in the set of her face.
 

“We have to get away from here,” Holly said.

“If you get past the dog I’m sure Diana will have cast a few spells to ensure you won’t get very far.”
 

“You speak about her like she’s some kind of witch.”

“Because that’s exactly what she is. To be precise, she’s the eighth witch. The seven Yardley sisters and her.”

“So what does she want with us?”
 

“She intends to kill us,” Laura said flatly.

“But why? What have we done to her?”

Laura got off the bed and walked across to the window, staring out through the grimy pane of glass at the surrounding countryside. A watery sun was painting the tops of the trees with silver and reflecting in the puddles of the muddy track. “We’ve done nothing to her. We were just unlucky enough to be chosen.”