The Macbeth Prophecy (29 page)

“Not really. Philip and Mrs Braithwaite went out just after lunch in his car. I was in the garden when they left and they seemed on edge. I haven't seen them since.”

“At least that's two fewer twins for the moment! Darling, I'm at Keele. I should be back in about two and a half hours, all being well. Is it raining up there?”

“It's just starting. It's been getting darker all afternoon.”

“How's my friend Deidre?”

“Fine. She's staying the night in Barrowick with a couple of school friends.”

“So you're alone with Matthew?”

“Hardly! He's at the top of the house and I'm at the bottom.”

“Keep it that way, for heaven's sake. I don't know why, but I have a persistent feeling you're in danger.”

“You, Jason? A ‘persistent feeling'?”

“All right, it's illogical but please indulge it. Lock the doors and keep out of sight, and with luck he'll think you've gone to Barrowick too.”

His advice came just too late. As she put down the phone there was a tap on the front door, which immediately opened to admit Matthew.

“All alone? I thought I heard voices.”

“I was on the phone, but I'm – just going out.”

“Where?”

Desperately she searched for somewhere plausible but he was continuing, “Unless it's urgent I shouldn't bother. The rain's getting heavy now and there's thunder in the distance. We're overdue for a storm.”

He walked past her into the living-room and stood at the window.

“Where's Philip?” she asked uneasily. His patent restlessness, combined with Jason's uncharacteristic anxiety, brought the first positive wash of alarm.

“He's gone to collect the Carters. They should be back any minute.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Those two old ladies you used to visit? Why on earth?”

“They have a forty-eight hour pass. It sounds like the army, doesn't it?”

“But why, Matthew?”

He turned from the window, and with his back to the light she couldn't see his face clearly.

“They want to see Crowthorpe again. They haven't been here for about nine years.” He came towards her, put his arm round her and held her tightly, his face in her hair. She could feel the excitement moving in him, a tingling current of anticipation, and sought frantically for some means of escape.

“Oh Maddy,” he said softly, “it seems an age since we were together. Have you been avoiding me, or am I just imagining it?”

“You must be.” It seemed imperative not to upset him and she stood without moving as his lips moved across her face to find hers. Oh God, if only Jason were here, just across the garden in the cottage! She started to tremble and as Matthew's arms tightened round her, gently pushed him away. “Something's going to happen, isn't it?”

“Yes, my darling, it is.”

“Tonight?” Hurry, Jason!

“Tonight. It's the feast of the Crow goddess.”

“But you hate crows!”

“And you know why? Because, thousands of years ago, they took away my kingdom, mine and Artio's.”

She moistened her lips. “You think all these ancient forces are still here?”

“Of course, locked in the stones.”

“And the Crow goddess?”

He let out his breath in a long sigh. “Granny Lee.”

Oh God, he really was mad and she hadn't the slightest idea how to deal with him. Keep him talking wasn't that one of the basic rules? She said vibrantly, “And you're going to use the power you've stored in the stones to overthrow her?”

“Good girl! Exactly that! I knew you'd understand but the others said I shouldn't tell you. You'll come with us tonight, won't you? If you agree it won't be necessary to hypnotize you.” He smiled into her face. “We had a dress rehearsal last week and you were all there. Does that surprise you? Douglas and George, the Marshalls, Mabel –”

Her mouth was dry again. “Why did you need us with you?”

“The extra energy was useful. We could harness it, even without your knowing.” The clock on the mantelpiece struck six. “Come upstairs with me, Maddy. Philip'll be here soon and we can spend the evening together till it's time to go. It'll be like old times.”

“I've some letters to write,” she began hopelessly, but he caught her hand and pulled her with him to the door. With a last despairing look over her shoulder, she followed him into the slanting rain and up the outside staircase to the flat.

The rain was sluicing down the windscreen and there was thunder in the air. The car radio crackled, reminding him of the Selbys' television when the psychic messages flashed. How much of that welter of suggestion and myth had any basis in fact?

He frowned, putting his foot hard on the accelerator, aware of the suddenly sluggish response. If the thing should break down now – And as the thought formed in his mind the engine stuttered and he felt the power drain away as the needle of the speedometer swung down to 60 – 50 – 40.

Swearing, he steered the car up on to the hard shoulder and came to a halt. Holding the choke out he tried again and again to restart the engine, with no result whatever. Resignedly he reached for his mackintosh on the back seat and, shrugging it on, stepped out into the driving rain.

Five minutes later he straightened, staring down into the body of the car with a feeling of helplessness. There were no plug leads missing, nor were the leads from the distributor loose. Yet the bloody thing still wouldn't start. Despairingly he looked up and down the road. Only one car had passed since he'd stopped and there was no sign of any others. His only choice was to set off in search of an emergency telephone and pray the nearest wasn't too far away.

“Right, sir,” said a voice reassuringly in his ear. “We'll be with you in about half an hour.”

“Can't you make it any quicker?”

“We have to come from Preston, sir, but we'll be there as soon as we can.”

Swearing under his breath, Jason went back along the verge. It was years since he'd had any trouble with his car and this could hardly have come at a worse time. He slid inside and lit a cigarette, churningly aware of the passing of time. It seemed an age before the breakdown van pulled up just ahead of him, but the upsurge of hope did not last long.

“I'm afraid this won't be a quick job, sir. I've checked the plugs but there doesn't seem to be any electrical fault. The next thing will be to remove the carburettor. If a jet's blocked that could be the cause of the trouble.”

“How long will it take?”

“Depends what's wrong. Could be under an hour, could be longer.”

“God, I can't wait that long! Have you any cars for hire?”

“Yes, we can arrange that for you.”

“Then for God's sake let's tow this thing back to the garage and I'll hire one. I have to get to Crowthorpe urgently.”

“That's a good hour and a half's drive you've got.”

“I know, and I should have been there some time ago.”

Even with the decision reached, everything seemed to happen at a snail's pace: the fixing of the tow rope, the crawling journey back to the garage, the signing of papers. By the time he regained the motorway it was almost two hours since the breakdown and during the enforced delay his fears for Madeleine had escalated. Particularly since there had been no reply when he'd tried to phone from the garage. Please God she'd gone out as he'd suggested, and was out of harm's way. He put his foot down and shot forward. The rain showed no sign of lessening and the thunder was now much closer. Jason gritted his teeth and concentrated on his driving.

It was as he approached Penrith that his fiercely submerged disquiet momentarily surfaced and he was convinced he heard Madeleine's voice. Just once, above the roar of the car's passage and the onslaught of rain – taut with fright and calling his name.

He swerved dangerously, fighting the wheel to straighten the car. Imagination! he told himself through clenched teeth, yet it had sounded as clear as if she'd been in the car beside him. Oh God, don't let those maniacs harm her!

The Keswick road stretched ahead of him, and in the hills to his right the lightning stretched and died. If this was indeed the night the twins had chosen, he thought grimly, he couldn't fault their stage-management.

Philip said, “All right, Madeleine?”

She forced her eyes to meet his.
Where was Jason?
He should have been back hours ago. Could something have happened to him? Driving conditions must be appalling. “Yes. I'm all right,” she answered.

“Then I think we'd better be going.”

Panic clutched at her. Not yet! Give him just a few more minutes! “Aren't you going to wait till the rain stops?”

“We have to stick to schedule. We said ten forty-five and the others will be setting out now.” He put an arm round her and across the room she saw Matthew stiffen. “Don't look so apprehensive, love! It'll be an experience you'll never forget, but nothing can go wrong.”

Matthew said curtly, “You can't go up the hill in those sandals. I'll come down with you to get your boots. We'll meet you at the gate, Philip.”

Oh, why hadn't she thought to lock the front door earlier? Yet even if she had, even if she'd gone, safely as she thought, to bed, they'd have roused her as they had before and she would still have been compelled to make this fantastic journey up the hill. Since there could be no escape, it was better that she should at least know what was happening. Oh Jason! Again the twist of fear. Even allowing for the weather, he couldn't be as late as this unless something had gone wrong. Perhaps in his anxiety for her he had driven too fast on the wet roads.

The heavy knot of misery dulled her more personal fear as they turned into Upper Fell Lane. Could she perhaps, fully conscious as she was, break away, run and hide somewhere? But Philip and Matthew had hold of her and there was nothing she could do. In her confused state she no longer knew which of them was on her right and which on her left. They both held tightly to her hands and in this alien landscape on this fateful night she was glad even of their human contact.

As they rounded the top of the lane they came face to face with a small group of people, but her brief spurt of hope was stillborn. It was only the Hardacre brothers with Mabel. Meeting her alert gaze under the street lamp, Tom exclaimed and turned to Matthew.

“You've not put her under?”

“There was no need. We can blot it out later if need be.”

Tom nodded and turned into the darkness between the cottage walls. As they set off after him a sudden soft babbling reached them from the foot of the alley, chilling and inhuman. Madeleine stiffened and would have turned but the Selbys kept her moving forward.

“The Carters,” Philip said briefly, “with the group from the vicarage.”

White lightning momentarily spotlighted the strange procession and a crash of thunder echoed painfully down the narrow chasm they climbed. Stumblingly, linked together, they came out on to the exposed hill and, with heads bent against the rain, turned in the direction of the Circle.

It was not until she felt a simultaneous tightening on both her arms that Madeleine realized their arrival had been forestalled. Gathered round the Wedding Group of stones, motionless in the driving rain, stood the gypsies: Luke and Nell, Jem and Janetta, Buck and Nan and poor gangling Benjie, and, just in front of them, the bird as always on her shoulder, the slight bent figure of Granny Lee.

Still holding on to Madeleine, taking her with them, Philip and Matthew went forward to meet her, the others clustering behind them. The opposing camps had met at last and battle was about to be joined.

 

When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning or in rain?

 

The words rang in Madeleine's ears with superstitious dread. In a last effort to free herself she turned her head and as another flash knifed through the darkness, encountered the blank gaze of Douglas Braithwaite immediately behind her. Hope died. There would be no help forthcoming; he was as powerless as the rest of them.

Philip's voice rang out exultantly, making her jump. “It is over, Macha! Your long tyranny is ended. We have come to claim our own!”

“Nay, Artio o' the Dark Hills. You'll never be free.” She turned and scrabbled with surprising agility on to one of the lower stones so that she stood some three feet above them.

As Madeleine fearfully raised her head, she saw to her horror that the beady black eyes were fixed unblinkingly on herself.

“Which one of you claims the Bride?”

Philip raised Madeleine's hand, clasped in his. “I do! My brother had his chance and lost it. I claim her!”

Matthew turned swiftly. “Damn you, Philip, let her go!”

They faced each other across her, protagonists in some ancient play outside of time yet part of it, helpless to extricate themselves from the fate already decreed.

Matthew dropped her hand, swinging round to challenge his brother, and in the same moment a voice rang out: “Take care! Divided we fall!” One of the Carter twins, lucid for the only time in her life, but the warning came too late. Above their head the gypsy shrieked a command – in Celtic? Romany? – and the huge bird came swooping down on the tableau.

Matthew twisted round as its great wings beat into his face and his scream filled the whole storm-ridden night. His body arched in a paroxysm of terror, went slack and slumped to the wet grass.

Philip hurled himself forward and began to claw dementedly at the gypsy's long black skirt, and to Madeleine's fear-crazed eyes it seemed in that moment that the shabby material and his own drenched coat blurred into the fur and feathers of a far more ancient conflict. The illusions was transient and even as she blinked, nature or a force almost as old played the final hand. A tongue of lightning snaked to earth, splitting the stone in half and sending both the old woman and the man who clutched her crashing to the ground.