The Macbeth Prophecy (26 page)

“Good evening,” he said formally. The old woman nodded and the great bird fluttered its wings. Steeling himself not to look round, Jason walked along the pavement to his own gate.

But however enjoyable the meal had been, he could not seek refuge at the Greystones every evening, and the next day braced himself to face Madeleine. Her hands trembled as she laid down the tray, which caused him to speak more harshly than he'd intended.

“Don't look so apprehensive, I shan't attack you again.” She made no comment and he added stiffly, “I owe you an apology for the other evening. I hope you'll accept it.”

“Of course.”

“I'm still concerned about you, Madeleine. You know my opinion of the Selbys. Will you at least tell me if anything worries you?”

She said quietly, “They're my friends. They won't hurt me.”

He turned abruptly and stared out of the window. “For God's sake be careful, that's all.”

Her eyes moved over him, the thick shining hair, the square shoulders, the hands driven deep into his pockets, and she remembered the rough caress of that jacket beneath her cheek. Not trusting herself to reply, she left the room.

Jason stood motionless watching her hurry back across the garden. Well, he'd apologized and the status quo between them was more or less restored. Sourly, he supposed he could be thankful for that.

During that week, the Marshall twins returned for the summer holidays. Jason met them in the High Street with their mother. On the face of it they were perfectly normal schoolgirls, yet their eyes held that awareness common to all the Crowthorpe twins, not least blind Fred Hardacre, and he felt a tightening of the muscles in his stomach.

Felicity was watching his reactions nervously. “Geoff and I were wondering how your – play was coming along. We didn't have much chance to speak at the social.”

“It's going quite well, thank you, though I still have a lot of research to do.” He was aware that the undercurrents of their conversation were transparently obvious to the girls quietly listening.

“You must come for dinner again. Nicola's interested in writing – I'm sure she'd be grateful for any advice you could give her.”

He had no way of knowing which was Nicola, but both girls smiled politely and made no comment. With a further exchange of pleasantries, they went their separate ways.

The meeting was reported at the next conclave of twins.

“Mother thought she was being so subtle, bless her, but it's obvious she's confided in him.”

“He's been asking a lot of questions,” Philip said shortly. “Matthew, Fred, Eve and Anita, the Smiths. He's gradually working his way round all of us. Much good it'll do him!”

“All the same,” Eve said with a frown, “if Geoff and Felicity are on their guard, the girls might find it hard to slip away when the need arises.”

“Aye,” Tom Hardacre agreed, “folks are getting suspicious all round. Mrs Braithwaite's just said as the vicar's watching her more closely and even old Mabel played up when we came out tonight. If there's to be that much bother getting away, I reckon we'd do better taking 'em with us. Anyroad, it would be a back-up of energy, like.”

The others stared at him in consternation. “But what reason could we give?”

“They'd never come!”

“Not voluntarily, no.”

“Mass hypnotism!” Philip said softly. “It shouldn't be any problem. How many would be involved, would you say?”

“Only those closest to us – Mabel, in our case, and the vicar and Mr Barlow, Mr and Mrs Marshall, and maybe Miss Peachey. No call to bother with Luke and Nell, they pay no heed to the boys anyroad. So it'd only be six between the ten of us.”

“Twelve of us,” Fred corrected quietly. “Mustn't forget the Carters.”

Eve nodded. “We're keeping in touch with them. Philip has suggested they be allowed a weekend pass to visit their old home. I don't think the authorities would object if he accepts responsibility.”

“That ties us to a weekend, then?”

“Or a Friday,” Matthew replied, “and August the first happens to be the feast day of the Crow goddess. Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?”

“Next week?” Claire's voice shook.

“But suppose something went wrong?” Anita broke in jerkily. “Suppose at the last minute we couldn't put someone under? The whole project would be jeopardized!”

“She's right,” Philip said. “This is all too important to be left to chance. We must have a dress rehearsal. The Carters won't be here but we should still manage. How about later tonight? There aren't any extensive preparations to make.”

“Eleven-thirty, then. Agreed?” Matthew's voice rang with exultation. “By that time not many people will be about. We'll start exerting pressure at eleven-fifteen – wake those who might be asleep and give them time to dress. The trance must be total, so they remember nothing; and I think it would be better if we made our way there separately, so as to attract as little attention as possible.” He looked round at their excited, apprehensive faces. “After all these years, my friends, the time is almost here. If we all keep faith, nothing can go wrong.”

It was very close that evening. Even with all the windows open, Jason was uncomfortable and found it hard to concentrate on his work. As his attention wandered he found himself staring across the garden towards Rowan House. The Selbys appeared to be entertaining: he could see figures moving behind the wide expanse of picture window, and wondered if Madeleine were there. He seemed to spend most of his time these days thinking about Madeleine, which, as he repeatedly reminded himself, was a singularly useless exercise.

He went through to the kitchen and took a can of beer from the fridge, the coldness of it numbing his fingers. He drank it slowly, cursing the restlessness which had hold of him. It was after eleven but he was still too unsettled to contemplate either going to bed or returning to his typewriter. On an impulse he decided on a walk. There might be a breath of air towards the top of the lane and perhaps the exercise would clear his head.

The light at the Selbys' window had gone out. The sky was fairly bright, the moon three-quarters full. As he closed the gate behind him, he was startled to see three figures emerge from the corner of Ash Street some hundred yards ahead of him, and with a jolt recognized them as Madeleine and the Selbys. Apparently he wasn't the only one unable to settle tonight. He started to walk after them, resentful of the possessive way the men had hold of her arms. So much for his words of warning; he should have saved his breath.

The familiar road was alien in the moonlit darkness, trees and cottages well known by daylight taking on a sinister
alter ego
as though he walked some cosmic landscape. His rubber soles compounded the illusion since he made no sound while the footsteps of the three in front echoed in the stillness. As, suddenly, did others from behind. He had rounded a slight bend in the road and his quick turn revealed nothing. Acting purely on instinct, he moved back into the shadows of a tree to let whoever was behind him pass. He had no wish to appear to be following Madeleine.

Two figures rounded the bend and passed within six feet of him, identifying themselves as Anita Barlow and her husband. Jason stood staring after them, wondering whether they knew the other three were ahead or if this general ambulation was pure chance. He stood listening for a moment, but no further sounds came from lower down the hill. More cautiously this time, keeping well in against the cottage walls, he continued up the road and reached the final curve in time to see the three figures in the lead turn up the alleyway. They were going to the Gemelly Circle!

A shaft of primitive fear ran through him and he dismissed it instantly. It seemed he'd absorbed more than he realized of the myths and legends he'd been indoctrinated with since his arrival; but much more worrying was the fact that Madeleine, despite her alleged reservations about the Selbys, should accompany them up there after dark. Mr and Mrs Barlow had also turned into the alley and he was about to start after them when, from the direction of the High Street, yet another little procession appeared. The Marshall family. In the shadow of the wall, Jason stood stock-still. One group, possibly two, but three?

Did all the inhabitants of Crowthorpe take to the hills after dark? And Geoff had been so adamant about his mistrust of the twins.

Suddenly, the sweat still on his body, Jason went very cold. For this must surely be a meeting of the twins. Every group that had passed him had contained at least one of them. A social gathering, with their next of kin?

He quickened his pace, passing the entrance to the passageway and continuing to the top of the High Street where the descent began. Ahead of him the long street lay bathed in moonlight. No-one else appeared to be coming. Almost running now, he retraced his steps to the alley and started up it. In here between the walls it was darker and a primeval animal awareness took over. He could almost feel nostrils flaring and ears pricking as he made his way stealthily up the cobbled path. Out on the hillside he recovered some of his twentieth-century equilibrium and paused for a moment to take stock. There was no cover up here, and once he started to move he would have to crouch as low to the ground as possible. Though he had no intention of going too near the Circle, he was determined to find out how many people were up there and what they were doing.

Cautiously he began to make his way forward until he could see the figures fairly clearly. They seemed to be forming themselves into a ring round one of the groups of stones. Crouched in the bracken, Jason was conscious of a feeling of unreality, as though the scene he was watching had been enacted through countless centuries against the same backcloth of moon-bright sky. Only the fact that Madeleine was among the participants anchored him to the present and filled him with sick foreboding.

A soft, united cry reached him over the still air and he tensed as the distant figures raised joined hands high above their heads. The ceremony appeared to be ending, and if they were about to return to the village he would be directly in their path.

Keeping close to the ground he retraced his steps, wondering where he could conceal himself to watch them pass. At the foot of the alley a solution presented itself. A tall wooden gate had been let into the high garden wall of the cottage fronting on to the main street. It was old and fitted badly, leaving a six-inch gap down one side. Jason swung round the corner of the alley into Upper Fell Lane and pushed open the cottage gate. His luck held; there was no fence dividing front and back garden, and a moment later he had positioned himself behind the wooden gate with his eye to the gap.

He was only just in time, because footsteps were already echoing between the alley walls. The moon had moved round in the sky, so that it now shone directly into the passage, illuminating the faces of those who were coming down it.

In the lead were the Hardacre brothers arm-in-arm with a woman – the pub landlady, at a guess. Then Eve and Douglas Braithwaite. (The vicar, taking part in such pagan ceremonies?) Madeleine passed next, still with Philip and Matthew closely at her side, followed by the Marshalls, and, bringing up the rear, Anita and George Barlow. No doubt the gypsy boys had also been present, but their route home lay over the hillside.

For long minutes Jason stood in the dark garden. Had it all been an elaborate hoax, then, Douglas and Geoff seeming so anxious for his help? Were they hoping to throw him off the scent with their fake anxiety? And Madeleine. Had she reported back his worries on her behalf? Even, perhaps, his reaction to them in the old playground?

The coldness inside him no longer owed anything to the supernatural. They had all made a fool of him, and no doubt enjoyed much amusement at his expense. Hurt turned to anger. To hell with the lot of them! At least they'd given him his play, and perhaps its eventual success would compensate for this moment of bitter humiliation.

He let himself soundlessly out of the garden and started back down the long, empty street to Rowan Cottage.

Matthew said furiously, “You didn't have to paw at her like that!”

Philip spun round in the act of unbuttoning his shirt. “She's not your property, you know! She's made it pretty clear she doesn't want you!”

“That's not true. She needs time, that's all.”

“Another three years? Look, Matthew, it's time you came out of cloud cuckoo land! She'll never marry you, and the sooner you face up to the fact and settle for Liz Davey, the better.”

“You want her yourself, don't you? I've known that for years, but it turned my stomach the way you took advantage of her when she was in a trance and couldn't push you away.”

Philip's eyes were flint-hard. “It might interest you to know, dear brother, that she doesn't push me away when she's not in a trance, either. Or at least, not quickly enough to be convincing!”

The colour left Matthew's face. For the first time Philip, with a sense of shock, saw naked hatred in his brother's eyes. “I'm waiting for an explanation of that remark.”

Philip's tongue moved nervously over his lips. “I'm only trying to make you see –”

“
Have you been with Madeleine?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Matthew moved swiftly, grabbing his twin by the collar. “In
what
manner of speaking?”

“God, Matthew, calm down! I haven't slept with her, if that's what you are worrying about. It was only a kiss!”

Matthew's fist swung, and as Philip reeled against the wall he heard the door slam. Swearing, he straightened, feeling his already-swelling jaw. Matthew had struck him! After all those carefree years of girl-sharing, it was inconceivable that a woman could come between them. Still, Matthew had had ample time to win her round and he'd failed. Now Philip had every intention of making a bid for her himself. Moving painfully, he made his way to the bathroom.