The Macbeth Prophecy (11 page)

“I'll collect the key while you put the car away,” I told Philip, jumping out and humping my case from the back seat; and I jauntily rang three sharp notes on the doorbell. But the girl who answered it was someone I'd never seen before. I don't know what it was about her that so completely captivated me. She wasn't pretty in the conventional sense, but she had a stillness, a dignity, that I'd never encountered before, and I was at a loss to know how to deal with it.

“You must be from upstairs,” she said when I didn't speak. “My aunt said you'd be calling for your key. Will you come in for a moment while I find it?”

Numbly I followed her through the hallway into the large kitchen. The obnoxious Deidre, sitting with a glass of milk at the table, simpered up at me. “Hello, Selby.” She'd taken to addressing us both thus, since she couldn't tell which was Dr and which Mr. “Did you have a nice holiday?”

I nodded absently, my entire attention focussed on the other girl as she retrieved the key from a drawer and handed it to me.

“Are you the schoolmaster?” she enquired. “I'm starting there myself next week. My name's Madeleine Peachey.”

“Welcome to Crowthorpe. You say Mrs Staveley's your aunt?”

“Yes, she's kindly invited me to stay here during term-time.”

“That's certainly good news!” With any other girl – any girl at all – the mildly flirtatious remark would have produced an answering smile, but Madeleine merely nodded and moved to the front door to show me out. We reached it at the same time as Philip, and I saw her eyes widen.

“My goodness, you are alike, aren't you?”

“My brother Philip,” I introduced briefly. “Mrs Staveley's niece, Madeleine Peachey.”

Philip put down the case he was carrying, but if he'd hoped for any conversation he was to be as disappointed as I.

“Good afternoon,” Madeleine said, including us both, and firmly shut the door.

Philip glanced at me, pursed his mouth and picked up the case again. In silence we went up the newly painted staircase to our own flat. I think that by the time we reached it, I was in love with Madeleine.

Instinctively I concealed the depth of my feelings from Philip. Though girls we had had in plenty, neither of us had even remotely considered ourselves in love before. We'd always been completely self-sufficient, and now things had changed I didn't know how to tell him. For although I wanted Madeleine with an intensity that alarmed me, Philip had to be my first consideration.

In this necessarily cautious approach I was helped by Madeleine herself. At first she seemed mildly surprised by my attentions, but it was natural enough that we should fall into the habit of walking to and from school together and gradually some of her reserve melted, though her attitude towards me could best be described as one of guarded friendliness.

All I could do was school myself to patience and in the meantime forestall Philip's awareness of my feelings by means of the mental block he had once used against me.

Meanwhile, the exercises in psychic control continued. The Hardacre brothers were of immense help, and under their tuition our powers strengthened considerably. Apparently Fred had been blinded during the war and the trauma reverberated on Tom, who also temporarily lost his sight. When Tom's vision returned, they discovered that Fred was able to “see” with his brother's eyes and this had intensified the deep psychic bond which had always been between them.

Nicola and Claire, now away at boarding school, wrote frequently to Eve, who circulated their letters, and occasionally, in an uncanny way which I could never get used to, we were aware of their “presence” with us at our meetings.

One day that autumn I persuaded Madeleine to come up after school for a cup of tea.

“You and Philip are very close, aren't you?” she said, as we sat at the kitchen table. “I think Aunt Alice is a little frightened of you!”

Alarm bells rang in my head. We were constantly on the alert for any hint of suspicion against us, but I only said lightly, “I can't imagine why!”

“Because you're twins, I think, and so friendly with all the other twins. She says you've both changed since you came here.”

Silently I cursed Alice Staveley and her prattling. I couldn't have Madeleine of all people becoming wary of us. I was having enough trouble getting through to her as it was.

“I know it sounds silly,” she continued, “but I think she expects trouble of some kind. She says there often is when there are twins in the village, and there've never been so many as there are now. Did you know some were burned as witches? And during the Civil War when Crowthorpe was strongly Royalist, the current twins supported Cromwell, which caused fighting actually in the village.”

“Your aunt doesn't blame us for that, I hope?” She smiled very slightly. “I shouldn't think so.”

I said unwisely, “Is that why you're always so careful to keep me at a distance?”

She looked up, startled, and her face flushed. “No, Matthew, that isn't the reason.”

Philip's key sounded in the door and I had never in my life been less pleased to see him. His eyes went from Madeleine's pink cheeks to me. “Sorry to interrupt the tête-à-tête. Have you left me any tea?”

“Of course,” I said smoothly, “bring another cup and saucer.”

“You're getting very pally with the little schoolteacher, aren't you?” he remarked when she'd gone.

“Why not? She's a nice girl.”

“Not your type, I'd have thought.”

“Meaning she's not yours?”

“I dare say she could grow on you. She's different, anyway.”

“She's unique!” I said, and feeling his quick glance, regretted the indiscretion.

One November Sunday, when the hills above the lake were blanketed with mist, Madeleine accompanied Philip and me on our walk to the Circle. It was dank and cold, the ferns withered, the grass wet with heavy dew. Philip took his leave of us and strode away as usual towards the camp. Madeleine stood looking after him.

“Why does he want to see those children?”

“He feels responsible for them, having delivered them.”

“But it's more than that, isn't it?”

I didn't reply and she shivered suddenly.

“Cold?” I drew her towards me, and suddenly knew I could hold back no longer. She stood quite still while I kissed her, her lips cool and soft under mine. It wasn't the ecstatic surrender I was used to, but I had not expected that from Madeleine. Above the pounding of my heart, I said as lightly as I could, “Well, at least you didn't slap my face!”

“Did you expect me to?”

“It was on the cards. You haven't exactly been encouraging. Madeleine, that day at the flat I asked you why you kept me at arm's length. You didn't have a chance to reply.”

She stirred and moved out of my arms. “At first I thought you were just fooling about and I was determined not to be added to your scalp belt.”

She hesitated and I prompted gently, “And later?”

“Later, it occurred to me that although we were together quite a lot, you seemed to be holding back too, and I wondered why. It didn't seem in character.”

So that was all it had been! I drew a sigh of relief. “It was because of Philip,” I said.

She looked at me blankly. “Philip?”

“I couldn't think how to tell him I'm in love with you.”

Her eyes flew to my face. “Oh Matthew, don't say that – please!”

“Whether I say it or not doesn't alter the fact. I've loved you since the first day I saw you. I'm sorry if I confused you, darling, it was only because I was so terrified of putting a foot wrong. I've never felt like this in my life, and I didn't know what –” I broke off because unbelievably her eyes had filled with tears.

“Oh Matthew,” she whispered, “I'm so sorry.”

“
Sorry
?” Alarm sharpened my voice. “What is there to be sorry about?”

“Well, I – you see, I don't love you.”

I stood staring at her, panic rising inside me and she went on rapidly, “I was sure I'd fall for you, that's why I held back really. I couldn't believe you were serious, and I was afraid of being hurt. It was the strangest feeling, waiting to fall in love. But to my surprise it didn't happen and didn't happen, and I couldn't understand why not. I told myself it would all come right when you kissed me. But it didn't.” She looked up at me helplessly. “I'm sorry,” she said again.

Part of me – a very small part – wanted to laugh aloud. There was an ironic justice here, that at last I should be paid back for the havoc Philip and I, knowingly and uncaringly, had been causing for the last twelve years. And though I'd had a dozen reasons to account for Madeleine's reserve – some of which she had herself given me – that she didn't love me had never once entered my head.

“Matthew?” She raised a hand and tentatively touched my face. “Don't look like that. Please.”

“Perhaps you just need more time.” It was the only hope I had.

“Perhaps.”

“There isn't anyone else?” At least that might have salved my pride.

“No-one. And I am very fond of you.”

I pulled her against me, more roughly this time, and started to kiss her, forcing her lips apart and trying with increasing desperation to instil some of my own passion into her. She made no attempt to push me away, but nor did she respond. Despairingly I let her go. My eyes went hungrily over her face with its wide, caramel-coloured eyes and polished skin.

“I'm not going to give up, you know,” I said abruptly. “God help me, I'll
make
you love me.”

Her eyes held mine. “I hope you can. I think I must be out of my mind not to.”

“I'm certainly out of mine.”

She reached up and kissed me gently, and on a wave of despair I turned away and rested my forehead against the nearest stone. Immediately, a sense of calm flowed comfortingly into me. Since meeting Madeleine, I hadn't been giving the stones enough of my time. Unresentful, they had waited until in my hurt I turned to them, and then had consoled me. Perhaps in time they'd give me Madeleine.

During the Christmas holidays Madeleine returned to her home in Lancaster and grimly I tried to hide the sense of loss that afflicted me. Once or twice I felt Philip's eyes consideringly on my face, but he made no comment. Then, with the blustery new year, she was back and life became bearable again. From time to time she came up and had supper with us and those evenings were especially happy ones for me. With both Philip and Madeleine beside me, I was complete.

It was on one of these occasions that Philip, looking in the paper to see what was on television, remarked, “I see Jason Quinn's a guest on this new current affairs programme. They'll be discussing his latest play.”

“Surely you don't want to watch that!” Madeleine exclaimed. “Personally, I can't stand the man – far too opinionated and full of himself.”

“If you don't mind,” I said, “I'd rather like to see him. With luck, the interviewer might give him a taste of his own medicine!”

“Not a chance!” she retorted. “They'll kow-tow to him as they always do, and make him more conceited than ever!”

But I had not forgotten the curious reaction Jason Quinn had aroused in me, and despite Madeleine's protest, I switched the programme on, interested to find out if he still affected me so strongly.

A brief synopsis of his play,
Clouded Crystal
, revealed that the plot centred on the exposure of a charlatan fortune-teller.

“Typical!” said Philip under his breath.

“I should have thought, Mr Quinn,” continued the interviewer smoothly, “that with your well-known views on the supernatural you would regard all fortune-tellers as charlatans?”

“In a sense yes, I suppose that's true. However, quite a large number sincerely believe they have this power. I consider them deluded rather than actual fakes.”

“But you don't yourself believe the future can be foreseen?”

“Of course not. Does anyone, seriously?”

“Perhaps you'd like to answer that, Professor.”

The camera switched to the guest at the other end of the table.

“I should explain to our audience that Professor Hudson from the University of Denver, Colorado, is a leading psychologist. His latest book deals with an exhaustive study of brain-waves in connection with telepathy, clairvoyance and so on. Now, Professor, since clairvoyance is presumably synonymous with future gazing, what is your reply to Mr Quinn?”

The Professor cleared his throat. “Firstly, if you'll pardon me, that last assumption is not necessarily correct. Clairvoyance
can
be linked with precognition but it can also be contemporary – a momentary flash of something which is happening at the same time some distance away. I must assure Mr Quinn however, that there is sufficient evidence on all these subjects for them to be taken very seriously indeed. With regard to so-called fortune-telling, for instance, I wonder if you've ever come across the phenomena known as ‘Macbeth prophecies'? In such cases, a forecast is made which actually
causes
what it predicts to take place.”

Across the room Philip moved suddenly. I didn't look at him but I knew of course precisely what he was thinking. All at once this mildly entertaining programme had assumed enormous significance.

“In effect,” the professor was continuing, “they're not so much prophecies as conscious or even unconscious suggestions – a primitive but very effective method of brainwashing. The person allegedly foreseeing the future plays on the known weaknesses of his subject – egotism, for example, or greed – to instil an idea in the form of a prophecy. I guess that's where the Macbeth reference comes in: if Macbeth hadn't been told he'd become Glamis, Cawdor and King, his ambitions might never have crystallized in that direction. But once the idea was implanted, everything he did was directed towards fulfilling the prophecies. You could say the witches' prediction was responsible for the whole tragedy.”