The Macbeth Prophecy (21 page)

“Only partly. It's a little involved.”

“You're not writing a play at all? That was just a cover?”

“Most certainly I'm writing, or shall be, when the research is complete.”

“Research on the twins and the school?”

“Among other things. Now, I've taken up enough of your time. Good night.”

At last he was gone, but he'd left her with a lot to think about. When she finally turned back to the sink the water was quite cold.

Jason had decided to call at the Lakeside Hotel that evening. He would have liked to see the chambermaid Sharon again but wasn't sure how that could be achieved. He could hardly ask for her, nor, as a non-resident, would it be possible to prowl along the upper corridors where she was most likely to be found. As a preliminary measure he went first to the cocktail lounge where, last month, he and Tania had seen their first Crowthorpe twins.

He settled himself at a small window table and took out his note pad. It was time he started to be more methodical about his enquiries and he began to list the points which interested him in the order in which they had come to his attention.

Firstly, the mysterious letter. He copied out the names Madeleine had given him, putting a cross beside her own. He had no proof that she'd not lied to him but there was a directness about Madeleine Peachey which made it seem unlikely. Which left Selby, Ellis and Miss Davey.

However, the problem could be approached from another angle. Who had issued the Macbeth prophecy in the first place? The obvious assumption would be a fortune-teller and since the youngest set of twins were gypsies, there would be more of them about. Which conveniently led him to the second point of interest: Ted's alleged experience on the hill. Why, if indeed he hadn't dreamt it, should two seven-year-old boys cut the throat of a sheep and drain away its blood?

“Good evening.”

He looked up, startled, to find a tall, grey-haired man standing at his table.

“Forgive me for intruding, but it is Mr Quinn isn't it?”

Not another damned autograph hunter! “It is.”

“I'm Geoffrey Marshall.” He glanced down at the note pad on the table. “Forgive my curiosity, but are you really here to write, or is it something else that interests you?”

Jason leant back in his chair. “Perhaps you'd better sit down, Mr Marshall.” The name sounded familiar but he couldn't quite place it.

“Thank you.” He smiled suddenly and Jason saw that he was younger than he'd first thought: probably only a couple of years older than himself. “I thought you'd tell me to mind my own damn business!”

“I have a reputation for old-world charm.”

“But you see, Mr Quinn, unlikely as it may seem, it could very well
be
my business.”

Jason signalled to the waiter, aware of a flicker of interest. “What are you drinking, Mr Marshall?”

These priorities sorted out and a couple of glasses in front of them, Geoffrey Marshall went on: “I have twin daughters, you see. Does that mean anything to you?”

Of course – the pair who were at boarding school. “It very well might.”

“Look, I know it's a bloody cheek approaching you in this way, but we're desperate, my wife and I. You've made quite a name for yourself debunking the so-called supernatural and exposing it as fraud. I hope to God you can do it this time.”

“You think something supernatural is going on?”

“There's certainly something unusual and it's a threat to my daughters. The worry's made my wife quite ill. We thought they'd be safe if we sent them away to school but unfortunately that hasn't been the case.”

“If it's as serious as that I'm surprised you haven't moved right away.”

Geoffrey Marshall met his eyes. “It wouldn't do any good. It's not – physical presence that's important.”

Jason stared at him and the other man smiled. “Yes, I know, I sound like a crank myself. That's why I need a sounding board. I might as well confess that I came here specifically hoping to see you. The second half of my mission is to ask you to dine with us at the earliest opportunity. Would you do that? It's impossible to go into everything here.”

“I should be pleased to.”

“How about tomorrow, or have you other plans?”

“Tomorrow would do admirably. I shall look forward to it.”

Jason was thoughtful as he walked back up Fell Lane. Geoffrey Marshall had struck him as a sound, clear-headed businessman, not given to looking over his shoulder or listening for bumps in the night. Yet something had frightened him badly and it was something he didn't understand. It would be interesting to learn what it was.

The top window of Rowan House was a rectangle of light as he turned up the path to the cottage and the outline of a man stood silhouetted against it. Was it chance, or were the Selbys keeping note of his movements? As he closed the front door behind him, Jason reflected that his first full day back in Crowthorpe could not be considered unfruitful.

Waking the next morning to lashing rain, Jason wondered how best to occupy the day. Madeleine and Matthew would shortly be leaving for school, Philip no doubt for the surgery. Might Mrs Staveley, with her knowledge of “the old stories” be of any help to him? He had an excuse for going over, since he must tell her he would be out for dinner; which also meant foregoing his daily sparring match with Madeleine. A pity; he quite enjoyed their confrontations.

He bathed and dressed leisurely and carried the newspaper to the kitchen where he partook of slightly burned toast and instant coffee. But London news might have been from another planet for all the interest it held for him. He turned to the arts page.
Clouded Crystal
was still playing to full houses. There was a boxed advertisement for it: “Third Phenomenal Year”. He thought back to the week it opened when he had taken part in that TV programme with the American professor. But for that chance appearance his unknown correspondent would never have contacted him, nor in all probability would he himself have come to Crowthorpe.

He rinsed his coffee cup under the tap and left it on the sink to drain. It would be as well to go over to Rowan House straight away, before Mrs Staveley embarked on any preparations for his evening meal. He pulled on his raincoat, turned up the collar, and went over the perpetually wet grass to the house.

“Come in, Mr Quinn. I'm just making some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

The smell of the freshly ground beans expunged the memory of the tepid liquid he had just consumed. And how better to involve her in conversation? “I'd love one, Mrs Staveley.”

He hung his dripping raincoat on the back of the door and sat down at the table. “I really came to tell you I shan't need feeding tonight. Mr and Mrs Marshall have invited me for dinner.”

“At the Grange? That'll be nice.” She poured the steaming coffee into a mug and put it in front of him.

“No milk or sugar, thanks. I believe their daughters are away at boarding school.”

“That's right; have been for some time now, but they were never at the local school. Went to St Margaret's in Barrowick. Not that they're Catholics, mind. Their father's our church warden. Pretty girls. Must be about sixteen now, just a bit older than our Deidre.”

“Your niece was telling me there's a long history of twins in Crowthorpe.”

“Yes, we've had them since way back. They haven't always behaved themselves, either, not by a long chalk. Burnings at the stake, court cases, running off with other people's wives. There's usually some kind of trouble attached to them.”

“And this time it might be murder?”

She looked startled. “Oh, now I wouldn't say that, Mr Quinn. That wasn't what I was getting at at all. Far more likely to be one of those gypsies if you ask me. There's a permanent camp on the hill, more's the pity. The women come round selling clothes pegs and wheedling money out of you to tell your fortune. I don't like it but I'm afraid something might happen if I refuse them.”

Jason took a sip of coffee and burned his tongue. “They tell fortunes, do they?”

“Well, you'd expect it, wouldn't you? What I say, though, is they shouldn't come round the houses touting for business. I've no objection to the tent at the fair. It's up to you then whether you go in or not. Mind you, who would, in their right mind, beats me! That Janetta Lee'll tell you anything.”

“You mean she's not a very good fortune-teller?”

“She's not a very good anything, if you ask me! Married to Jem, but it's common knowledge the three little girls were fathered by Luke Smith. Pretty, mind you. That I will say, with her bold black eyes and come-hither looks.”

Out of this spate Jason selected the fact that most interested him.

“And who is Luke Smith?”

“Her brother-in-law, Nell's husband and father of the twins. They're in Madeleine's class at school, though she was saying this morning they haven't turned up for some time now and their brother and sister aren't saying anything.”

“There must be quite a colony up there.”

“Only three caravans but it's enough, what with Granny Lee and that ugly great bird.”

“Bird?” Jason repeated, more sharply than he'd intended.

“Enormous great crow it is. Goes everywhere with her, humped up on her shoulder. I've even seen her take it out in a boat, though why she wants to go rowing up and down at her age, I couldn't say.”

The Crow goddess lives at the bottom of the lake,
said a voice in Jason's head, and he almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it.

“Anyway, the police have told her to keep it chained up,” Mrs Staveley was continuing. “They think it might have killed the Lennard girl, and if so it'll have to be destroyed.” She shuddered. “I wouldn't like to be the one to tell Granny that.”

She drained her mug of coffee and, pushing back her chair, started moving round the kitchen collecting her basket and shopping list. Jason realized the conversation had come to an end. He couldn't ignore the hint, but there was so much more he wanted to ask, and each question resulted in a wealth of additional information.

“Well, I mustn't hold you up,” he said reluctantly. “Thanks very much for the coffee.”

The rain showed no signs of stopping, and he spent the rest of the day typing such information about the village and its occupants as he had so far managed to glean. With luck, the evening should add considerably to that knowledge.

Crowthorpe Grange, a small manor house in Lakeland stone, was approached by a long drive leading off the High Street. Geoffrey Marshall greeted him at the door and his wife came forward to be introduced. From the hopeful look in her eyes, Jason had the uncomfortable feeling that they were looking to him for deliverance of some kind.

The drawing-room was large and attractively furnished, with white walls and some interesting modern paintings displayed on them. On top of a piano stood a framed photograph of two girls and Jason went over to study it.

“Claire and Nicola,” said his host quietly.

Jason glanced from him to his wife's tense face. “What exactly is worrying you?” he asked.

Slowly, hesitantly, it all came out, starting with the inexplicable visit of the little girls to the vicarage where the other twins were gathered, and the gradual development of the telepathic bond between them all.

Jason said quietly, “I believe Crowthorpe is noted for its twins. Have you any idea why?”

Geoff smiled, motioning him to a chair. “Rationally, no, I haven't, none at all. Irrationally – well, there's the legend of the Circle.”

“The Bear Twins being turned to stone?”

“You're well informed! But it goes on to claim that one day, when there are sufficient twins around, they'll unite to overthrow the Crow goddess.”

Jason moved incredulously. “You're surely not suggesting –”

“I'm suggesting nothing, merely repeating the legend. Nevertheless, there are a lot of twins at the moment and I'm sure they're building up to something. You probably won't accept this – I hope you don't – but they contact each other by means of the television.”

After a moment Jason said, “When it's switched off, you mean?”

Geoff nodded and drained his glass. “If you can convince me it's all imagination, I'll be more than grateful!”

Jason looked at him consideringly. “I had a letter from Crowthorpe a few months ago.”

Geoff looked blank. “A letter?”

“Inviting me to come here and see – something working itself out.”

“Well, I'm damned. Who was it from?”

“It wasn't signed.”

“You think it was referring to the legend?”

Jason said slowly, “That hadn't occurred to me, but it might have been.”

“Well, all I can say is that if that letter brought you here, I'm grateful to whoever wrote it.”

Felicity appeared at the door. “Dinner's ready, if you'd like to come through.”

Conversation was determinedly light and inconsequential throughout the meal, but when the coffee had been served, Jason reverted to the subject uppermost in their minds. “Hasn't the old gypsy woman a pet crow?”

“She has. The locals swear she takes it out on the lake and they slip over the side of the boat and disappear under the water.” He gave a brief laugh at Jason's expression. “It constantly amazes me, the hold that superstitions and old beliefs still have in out-of-the-way communities.”

Jason smiled. “And I used to think the country was dull!” He turned to Felicity. “Was there any one thing in particular that made you decide to send the girls away?”

“It was really a combination of things,” she answered slowly, “but we'd been having a very bad time with Nicola. A boy had been pestering her on the school bus and when he suddenly had a stroke of some kind, she seemed to imagine she was to blame. For months we couldn't do anything with her at all and I thought she was heading for a complete breakdown. When at last she began to pull round, it seemed wisest to get her right away.”