The Guardian Stones (8 page)

Chapter Fifteen

By the time Edwin and Grace arrived for the meeting at the pub there was nowhere left to sit. Normally Edwin would not allow himself to be late but on leaving the house he noticed a smudge of dried blood on his shirt cuff and felt compelled to change. It took him a while to button up his fresh shirt because the sight of blood started his hands shaking again. They had shaken as he'd made his way back through the forest and during his talk with Constable Green, even after he'd been relieved of his burden.

Chairs had been pulled around to face Green, who stood in front of the bar. Most of Noddweir's adults were present, their grim faces reflected in the long mirror behind the bar.

Edwin and Grace stood beside the fireplace.

Green was speaking as they arrived. He gave Grace a slight nod which she ignored. “Evacuees running off is one thing,” he was saying. “We can all understand them wanting to get back home, dangerous as home might be these days. Bert Holloway is one example and I'm sure the Finch brothers will be found soon and brought back.”

Edwin thought Green looked as if he were enjoying himself. His newly slicked-back hair glistened and his usual lazy slouch was gone. Edwin was beginning to dislike the man. What kind of person would take pleasure in such a meeting? Then again, he was only a callow youth struggling awkwardly to project an air of authority.

“Be a pity if them troublemakers come back,” someone in the audience remarked loudly. “Why can't we have a whip-round for their tickets if they're desperate to go home?”

Several men nodded and one asked whether Meg Gowdy's blouse had been found yet since it couldn't have run away. The speaker smirked in the direction of Meg Gowdy who was standing with her husband at the end of the bar, but she ignored the remark.

Green's bland, round face flushed. “This is more serious than a missing blouse. But as a matter of fact we have found some clothing. That is to say, Professor Carpenter did, while walking in the forest.”

He reached behind the bar and pulled out a bundle of pale blue cloth displaying large patches of dark red.

“Oh, have some decency for God's sake!” Grace muttered as Green brandished the blood-stained garment.

Edwin decided he did dislike Green. The display went far beyond any clumsy attempt to look like a real constable exhibiting evidence.

Grace's words were extinguished by the uproar from the crowd.

“This is the dress Isobel Chapman was wearing the night she vanished,” Green said when the noise had died down. “Her father has identified it. Isn't that right, Mr. Chapman?”

Jack Chapman, sitting in a corner as far from the bar as possible, acknowledged Green's statement by letting out a dull grunt and lowering his face into his enormous hands.

“Professor Carpenter said he found it in the forest. Would you like to repeat your story for everyone's benefit, Professor?”

“Certainly.” Did Green suspect him of lying? Was he testing to see if Edwin had got his story straight and would not contradict himself in the second telling? Was he trying to impress Grace with his cleverness and command of the situation?

Edwin described looking for the barrow Martha had mentioned to him, and how he'd spotted a crumpled shape. “For a moment it moved. I thought it was one of the children playing a trick again, but it was only a bit of the skirt waving in the breeze.”

“This discovery naturally puts quite a different light on Isobel's disappearance.” Green lifted his bundle higher. Edwin noticed Grace glare at the constable, her gaze smoldering with a disapproval to which Green appeared oblivious.

“You're thinking Issy didn't just run off?” The hoarse voice belonged to Timothy Wilson.

“We can't be certain.” Green dropped the clothing behind the bar. “But judging from the evidence, I'd have to say she's come to harm.”

“Killed you mean! Murdered!” Meg Gowdy screeched. She'd been angry when Edwin first met her and she was still angry. Duncan Gowdy put a cautioning hand on her arm. She shrugged it off, shook her hair, and strode over to Green. “Raped and murdered you mean! By some pervert!” She pointed her cigarette in the constable's face. “Some degenerate lurking out here in this god-forsaken back of beyond!”

“I can assure you there is more crime in your average city than—”

“What do you know about crime in the city?” someone shouted. “You weren't no constable 'till you come here!”

“No constable now neither,” added another voice.

“Tell Issy how safe this place is!” Meg's voice trembled. “Tell that to the poor child! And whose child is next?” Meg stuck her cigarette firmly between her lips and stalked away, though not to her husband's side.

“She has a good point.” Timothy Wilson spoke again. “When children start to disappear, you can't help but think of predators.”

Green frowned. “We have no indications any of the others haven't simply run away. Bert Holloway told us he ran off with the Finch boys.”

A severe-looking woman, sitting ramrod straight directly in front of Green, spoke. “Come now, Mr. Green, what about Reggie Cox? Do you really think he could have run away with that leg of his?” She pursed her lips and frowned.

Grace identified her for Edwin as Susannah Radbone, who had taught school in a city before retiring to Noddweir. He had already met Emily Miller, seated beside her, while searching for the missing girl upon his arrival in Noddweir.

“I think maybe he weren't so crippled up as he let on.”

Edwin recognized the big man with the loud voice as the farmer he'd met during his initial foray seeking barrows. Harry Wainman.

“Good excuse for him to avoid doing any farm work,” Wainman continued. “You'd be surprised the places I seen him wandering around, but all of a sudden helpless if he realized someone was watching. Either he run away or got grabbed by this pervert. And if he could wander far enough for the swine to get him, he could've wandered far enough to run away.”

“A most comforting thought, Harry,” Susannah sniffed.

“I'm just a realist, Miss Radbone. Just a realist.” Harry was mopping his big red face with a matching bandana. With so many people packed into the bar, the place was stifling. There was a faint aroma of perfume the women present had worn to church earlier, but the smell of sweat was beginning to overpower it.

Edwin scanned the assembly the same way he scanned the room on the first day of classes, matching faces to names, taking a measure of next semester's group. He wouldn't find the likes of most villagers in the pub in his history class at the University of Rochester. Timothy Wilson would have fit in, and Susannah Radbone, the former teacher.

Susannah put her hand on top of Emily Miller's. “Have you considered, Constable Green, that those hooligans, the Finches, are responsible? Boys who would burn a pet dog are capable of any sort of atrocity.”

“Dammit, she's right!” shouted Jack Chapman. “Why talk about strangers lurking in the forest when you've seen them buggers in action? They tried to drown Violet, and when I rescued her they took a knife after me. Knives is just the thing to draw blood. Why do you think they run off? Because of what they done to Issy. Those monsters come back here, I'll break their necks.”

“Why not? You about broke Issy's neck more than once, Jack. Or maybe you finally managed it, by accident. Maybe you got carried away. She could be a handful, couldn't she?”

Jack leapt up, looking around furiously for the speaker. He found a plain woman with a weathered face.

Now why'd you say that, Louisa Wainman? After all the work I done for you and Harry on the farm? Don't you know me better'n that?”

“I know you, Jack. Everyone knows you. They know you're rough with your daughter.” Lousia's voice quavered and she bit her lip. “Everyone knows—”

“That's enough,” Harry Wainman snapped. His face had gone white with anger. “That's more than enough.” He grabbed his wife's arm and pulled her toward the door. “I think we'd better be going.”

Green didn't ask them to stay. Edwin detected anxiety in the young man's eyes. Clearly if the burly farmer and the even bigger blacksmith got into a fight, Green wouldn't know how to stop it.

“You have to remember there's a war on.” Green's voice sounded a note higher than before. “There's a lot of odd characters loose right now, what with everyone moving about the country. Troops and such, strangers in Craven Arms, and for all we know one might be queer in the head. Some came back from the Great War like—” He broke off. Jack Chapman was giving him a look of hatred.

“Could be a plot by German saboteurs,” Duncan Gowdy suggested quickly.

Someone asked him to explain what he meant.

“It's obvious, innit? They can't bomb every village but they can spread fear by showing nobody, not even children, are safe anywhere. You can't trust a German. Swinish lot, they are. I know, I fought them last time.”

“For that matter, it could be deserters,” said someone else.

Tinkers and tramps then came under suspicion, as they always did.

Green broke into the conversation as it wandered off the path into the forest. “I have in mind the sort of strangers who aren't usually seen in Shropshire.”

Edwin wasn't certain if Green was looking at Grace again or at him. “You surely don't consider me a dangerous stranger, do you, Constable?”

“You claim to be here studying folklore—”

Grace's eyes narrowed. “And he is, Tom. What's the matter with you?”

Green paused and licked his lips. “What I was saying, Grace, is that he claims to be here studying the stones despite the fact there's a war on.”

“I know you need to consider every possibility,” Edwin said, trying to damp down flaring tempers. “I can easily prove I'm a former professor of history from the University of Rochester. I'm afraid I can't prove I am not a pervert. Perhaps you can prove that you are one, but it is exceedingly difficult to prove a negative.”

Green stared at him but said nothing.

“You've made some good points.” Edwin feared he'd gone too far. “We can't be certain who's wandering around the countryside right now and there's plenty of monsters in the world. I'm sure you've heard of Albert Fish. Who can say how many children he killed? He claimed it was a hundred. And though it was twenty years ago, some of you must recall the Abertillery murders. Two young girls killed by a madman.”

“I'm surprised you heard of that in America,” Green replied. “But then, you are a professor.”

Edwin ignored the sarcasm. “My wife and I were Anglophiles. We planned to move over here after my retirement.”

“I hope you bloody well like it,” snapped Meg Gowdy. “And the murderer of those girls lived in the town, didn't he? He was well liked. They brought him up for one murder, acquitted him, and right away he killed again. Why, our pervert might very well be sitting here in this room, a well-respected resident of Noddweir.” She snickered and blew out a plume of smoke.

Duncan Gowdy stared daggers at his wife from across the room.

“We don't need to start suspecting our neighbors, Meg,” Reverend Wilson said quietly.

“Of course a man of your profession might naturally be inclined to think the best of people,” Green replied. “Those of us on the front lines need to be suspicious of everyone.”

“The Abertillery madman wasn't even a man,” Emily Miller blurted. “He was only sixteen. A child. Just like them Finch boys. Whoever's responsible for whatever happened to Issy doesn't have to be a man. Evil grows up fast.” Her eyes were red and watery and her voice trembled.

“Evil's what it is,” piped up a husky, middle-aged woman Edwin didn't recognize. Her hair was wrapped up turban-fashion in a faded scarf. “Evil has come upon us!”

“Hush, Polly” said Susannah Radbone, swiveling in her chair to face the speaker.

“Don't be telling me what to do, Susannah Radbone. All yer learning's not left room for a lick of common sense in that stubbly gray head of yours!” the other retorted.

Grace, who had remained silent, turned to the woman. “You've been talking to Martha too much, Polly. My grandma's a dear but she don't always know what she's saying.” She whispered to Edwin. “She's a little slow, is our Polly.”

Edwin felt her lips brush his earlobe. As she looked away he could swear she gave Constable Green a mocking smile.

“You need to listen to yer grandma, young lady,” Polly shot back. “She'll tell you straight. It's them stones. They're evil. They're casting their evil over Noddweir. Their curse. There's things in the forest as well. The stones is reaching out, using evil hands.”

“Yes, thank you.” Green spoke loudly. “Your theory has been noted.” He looked directly at Grace. “And how about you, Grace? What does my deputy think about all this?”

Grace flushed, then inhaled and very slowly exhaled. “I will be of assistance if I can, Constable Green, but I am not your deputy.”

Chapter Sixteen

“The nerve of the man,” fumed Grace. “His deputy, indeed!”

“Maybe you're overreacting,” Edwin followed Grace out onto the High Street. The residents of Noddweir had spilled into the twilight and were on their way home. Grace hung behind to talk with the publican, mostly, Edwin suspected, to make sure Green was well away on his blackout patrol. “He probably didn't mean anything more than he sees you as his unofficial deputy, just like you were when your father was constable.”

He was trying to convince himself as much as Grace. Constable Green's attitude irritated him intensely.

“You can see the way he looks at me.” Grace screwed her face up in disgust. “Ugh!”

As they walked slowly up the street Edwin said, “You can't blame a young man for looking. If I were younger…well, I'm not, of course.” He stopped himself. What a stupid thing to say. What was the matter with him lately?

Grace's expression was unreadable in the growing darkness.

When they reached the house, Grace cried out in dismay. The door was ajar.

The front room was dark but the door to Martha's room was wide open.

Grace stuck her head through the doorway. “Grandma's not here. Damn! She's taken to wandering at night. Green had to bring her home the night before you arrived.”

“Maybe she's visiting a friend?”

“Perhaps.” Grace sounded dubious. “She just gets it in her mind to wander.”

They went out to look for her. It was dark. Houses, blackout curtains drawn, were masses of black. There was no sound except for the atonal music of summer insects. A door slammed somewhere.

Their search dragged on, Edwin now wondering if adults would start disappearing.

A dim flash of light drew their attention as they came back up the High Street. Susannah Radbone gestured from her open front door to the kitchen where Martha sat at the table, a black cat on her lap.

“When I pulled the curtains I saw her walking in the street, talking to herself,” Susannah whispered. “I persuaded her to come in for a visit. I was about to fetch you.”

Grace shook her head wearily. “Thanks, Susannah.”

Susannah gave a wave of her hand that meant never mind. “No one should be out walking by themselves after dark with what's been going on, let alone Martha. Whatever it is that's going on.”

Martha frowned as Grace came into the kitchen.

“You have to stop going about at night, Grandma,” Grace scolded.

“So now my little granddaughter is ordering me around?”

“You had us worried. What were you doing?”

“Just gathering plants for my persuasions.” She tapped at a bunch of greenery on the table in front of her. Edwin could only recognize foxgloves. “And visiting.”

“With Susannah?”

Martha smiled. “Oh, and others. And others. They was calling me, you see.”

Grace closed her eyes for an instant. “All right, Grandma, but we need to be getting home now.”

“I only just got here! I was explaining about my persuasions to Susannah.”

“And a lot of old rubbish it was too, Martha!” Susannah said.

Martha scratched the cat's ears. “You may think so, but you don't know country ways. I could tell you a few things that would surprise you. I've got my suspicions about what's happening here in Noddweir.”

“I'm sure you do, Grandma.” Grace sounded tired. “Come along, it's getting late.”

“Her suspicions are probably as good as any Tom Green has,” Susannah put in. “I've never seen anyone so hopeless at their job, unless it's the vicar.”

“The vicar does the best he can,” Grace pointed out, “Consider how ill he is. He's never recovered his full strength.”

“At least he has some excuse,” Susannah admitted. “What's Tom Green's? Why is he bumbling around Noddweir rather than shooting at Germans? Not that he'd hit any.”

“He hasn't confided in me, I'm pleased to say.”

Susannah's narrow lips threatened to smile.

“Neither of them's worse than Issy's father,” Martha growled. “A Johnny-knock-softly, he is.”

“He may be a bit idle but at least he doesn't spout supernatural nonsense,” Susannah responded.

“I hope you don't think that of me and the vicar,” Martha retorted.

“If the hat fits, wear it,” Susannah replied.

Edwin kept quiet, feeling abashed, as if he were listening in on a domestic conversation that was none of his business. Which, in fact, was the case.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Grace said. “Have you met Professor Carpenter? I almost forgot to introduce you. It seems like he's a villager already. He's here to study our local customs. His wife taught school too.”

Edwin and Susannah made the usual polite acknowledgements. Standing straight as a soldier at attention, with her cropped battleship gray hair, a cigarette between her thin lips, Susannah looked formidable. She must have kept her students in a perpetual state of terror, the opposite to Elise's approach.

Martha stood reluctantly. The cat, dislodged from her lap, hit the floor with a loud thump and cast a malevolent gaze around the kitchen.

While Martha gathered up her plants, Susannah spoke quietly to Grace. “I saw Martha at church this morning. She looked pretty sprightly. Are you sure she's in as poor health as she lets on?”

“She has good days and bad, like all of us. Her mind's less reliable than her legs.”

Susannah studied the end of her cigarette. “Is she taking advantage of your good nature, Grace, letting you wait on her hand and foot? She's family, I know.”

Grace shrugged. “You heard her, saying someone was calling her. You said she was talking to herself in the street. What can I do? She isn't fit to live by herself.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Martha finally joined them, moving unsteadily. “Are you sure I didn't bring my hat?”

“Yes, Grandma.”

When they went out the door Susannah followed. “I told Emily I'd check up on her.” She dropped her cigarette butt on the garden path. “Emily keeps telling me I ought to give up the habit. That's what I told my students when I caught them at it. They didn't listen to me, and I don't listen to Emily. Anyway, the shape the world's in these days, we may as well enjoy ourselves as much as we can.” Her gaze moved to Edwin. “Nice to meet you, Professor. I'm sorry you had to find Issy's dress. Not a very pleasant introduction to our little village. Be careful.”

***

Edwin opened his eyes in the dark, disoriented. He lay on his back, seeing only blackness. Once he was awake, it took him several seconds to remember he was in a strange room in an English village and not in his own bedroom in Rochester.

A throbbing noise made the air vibrate. He could almost feel it inside his head.

Is that what had awakened him?

“Edwin, are you awake?” Grace rapped at his door “There are planes coming.”

He muttered an acknowledgement.

He should have recognized the sound immediately, the distinctive throbbing of the engines of German bombers. He'd heard it often enough in London.

He fumbled to light the lamp, illuminating the photograph of Elise on the bedside table, smiling unconcernedly. On the wall the Victorian Jesus held his own lantern.

Edwin grabbed his clothes and dressed quickly as possible, straightening his collar as he hurried down the stairs.

The throbbing was louder. An insistent, senseless, repetitive noise. He heard voices outside.

It looked as if most of Noddweir had gathered in the street to stare into a starry sky, faintly lit by a half moon. No one sought shelter or wore gas masks. Adults kept a hand on their children.

“Ain't coming for us.”

“Headed for Swansea, likely.”

He found Grace and Martha and stood silently beside them. Planes took shape against the dark sky. Stars blinked as planes occluded them.

They wouldn't bother with Noddweir. The village was in no danger. Unless some German got nervous and ditched his bombs prematurely.

A few villagers hurled ripe curses upwards.

The deep throbbing continued. Edwin had heard the Germans deliberately de-synchronized their engines to create the nerve-wracking fearsome sound when bombers flew in formation. Whether that was true or not, he couldn't say. In his imagination, a monstrous subterranean gate had been thrown open to the distant engines of Hell.

He listened for the familiar eerie whistling of falling bombs. It was a sound you didn't want to hear because it meant the bombs were nearby. In fact, it might be the last sound you heard.

Edwin remembered the M.R. James ghost story, “Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad.” It wasn't the same sort of whistling, but the terror it engendered was the same.

After a long time he heard only summer insects chirping and smelled grass and earth wet with night dew. The planes were gone. Somewhere else innocent people might already be dying.

The crowd dispersed.

The red end of a cigarette flared.

He felt a light touch on his arm.

“It must have been worse in London,” Grace said.

“Yes.”

Back in his room undressing, he discovered he'd had his shirt wrongly buttoned.

He couldn't sleep. He was the only patron in a darkened movie theater watching
The Perfect Life of Edwin Carpenter
.

He knew the last reel was missing.

He watched the film anyway, over and over.