Wild Wood (52 page)

Panting, I sprinted to the alcove beside the altar, but I had no candle and could not find the door.

Help me!

Perhaps I called to the woman who had given me life, perhaps to Flore, but I was blind as I ran my hands along the panels.

I heard the voice of the child, faint and distant.

Then I found the unblocked door.

Who had opened it?

I did not care. The baby was singing me home.

51

O
AK IS
heavy, and Jesse’s panting as she moves the last piece of carved wood aside. On her knees, she picks up the flashlight and shines it at the wall behind.

A hole opens like a mouth—it eats the light. Humming, she who could not sing, Jesse bends forward, and another voice joins her own—it’s the same song. Jesse stops, turns off the flashlight to listen better. The song fades to nothing.

It wasn’t a voice. Was it? Wind, maybe, or water falling—somewhere distant.

Jesse flicks on the flashlight, lets it play over the entrance,
because that’s what it is.

And hears it again. Faint, but someone singing. Yes, a voice.

Jesse enters the void on her knees. Ahead, there’s a tunnel. If she stands, she can touch the wall on both sides; yes, it’s narrow, but not so narrow she can’t walk down the slope of the passage. Jesse splashes light as she goes. The air is sweet, and a breeze brings with it the smell of water and earth.

The song is louder. Without thought, she joins in and speeds up, flashlight bouncing and flaring. Ahead, there’s . . . something.

The small woman in the cardigan dings the bell. She puts her case down. Modest and old-fashioned, it says she doesn’t travel often. Waiting for service, she wanders from the reception desk. Not far.

“Mrs. Marley?”

She startles easily. “Oh. Yes, that’s me.” She hurries back.

“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you. Jesse called.” A large young man with a streak of white hair smiles from behind the counter.

Janet Marley manages a nod.

“I’m Mack, by the way. The manager of the Hunt.”

Another timid nod.

He clears his throat. “So, if you’d care to fill in a few details, I’ll take you up to your room.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

It occurs to Mack that Jesse’s mum must be tired. Australia’s a long way away, and she’s just endured a bus trip of some hours; no wonder her face is strained. “Can I get you a cup of tea?” He gives her a form to sign, and a pen.

“That would be lovely. You don’t get real tea where I live.” Two actual sentences.

Mack smiles encouragingly. “Sydney?”

“How did you know?” Janet’s expression flicks to frightened.

“Jesse’s a good friend. She mentioned she’d been brought up in Sydney.”

“I talked to her earlier.” Janet swallows. “I wasn’t sure if all was well with her. You can tell with your child.” She bites her lip.

Mack hesitates. “I’ll get that tea. Five minutes, tops.”

Janet watches him go. She looks down at the form. And drops the pen. Her hands are shaking.

“Hello, Janet.”

Janet Marley wheels at the sound of that voice. She stands straighter. “Hello, Helen. I thought . . .”

“What did you think?”

Janet swallows. “That you might be at Hundredfield.” She quivers like a rabbit in a snare. “Silly me.” The twitch of that smile is ghastly.

Light bounces from step to step, but Rory and Alicia are still not talking.

Alicia calls from the doorway, “I’ve got the book.” She stops. Flashlight shines on dripping walls.

Rory adds his voice: “We’re both here.”

Alicia’s puzzled. “Jesse?”

“Maybe she’s outside.”

“We’d have seen her.” Alicia hurries to the grave slabs in the floor. She jiggles the beam across the wasteland of family rubbish. Nothing seems different.

Rory’s beside her. “Tell me the last thing you talked about.”

“The graves. And the alcove, where the Madonna was supposed to be.” She points the beam to the wall. “It’s in the book.”

“What else?”

“The stuff on the tape—the woman you heard. No, that was earlier—in the kitchen garden, before her mother rang.”

“Her mother?” Rory grabs the flashlight, sprints to the stairs.

“Hey!” Alicia runs after him.

He flings over his shoulder, “We need to find her. She could be suicidal.”

“No. Listen, Rory. Stop!” Alicia barks the word, and the sound rings through the chapel.

He pauses on the top step. Flashes the light on her face.

“You’re wrong. Her mum said
she’ll tell Jesse the truth. No way she’s going to kill herself. Not now.” But Alicia’s not sounding as certain as she was.

“Okay. So, where is she?”

She can hear water. The sound a stream makes falling from a height. The breeze is stronger on her face, but Jesse doesn’t feel cold anymore. She strips her jacket off one-handed. She’s silent. Listening.

The song is louder.

If Jesse half closes her eyes, it’s almost as if she’s seeing the light beside her bed, that comforting, welcoming, rosy glow; and she remembers when she saw sounds, in color, at the hospital.

She gropes forward, pushes out into space. And gasps. In the dark, there hangs a glimmering man, his body twisted on a great cross. Light flares on that contorted form; it finds the gemstones: the trails of scarlet that cross the metal torso, the wounds on the feet and on the hands.

Jesse’s transfixed. She hurries closer. And trips. The flashlight rolls and bumps against something else, something tall and white, draped in rags.

Before the light blinks out, and the song stops, Jesse sees the bats, a squeaking black cloud. They bloom like a storm from the back of the cave. She screams. And screams. And is engulfed.

Mack’s back with the tray. He nods to their guest. “I see you’ve met my mother.” He puts the pot and cups on a small table. “Like a cup, Mum?”

“No tea for me, Mack. Welcome to the Hunt, Mrs. Marley.” A nod and Helen strides away to her office. And closes the door.

“Sugar?” Mack’s pouring. Looks up. And drops the pot as he darts to catch their guest. “I’ve got you.” He lowers her carefully to a chair. “I’ll get Mum to call the doctor.”

“No. No!” Janet’s breathing hard. Her voice cracks. “Where’s Jesse? Please. I . . .” She’s finding it hard to speak.

Mack’s worried. The poor woman looks so ill. “She said to call when you arrived and she’d join you here. I was just about to do that and—”

“Oh, please. Can we just go to her?” Janet clutches his sleeve.

He sits beside her. “Um . . .” He’s got a clear view into the dining room. The lunch service is finished, and Rachel and Jewel are setting the tables for dinner. “Just a minute.”

Janet watches him sprint to the dining room and talk to the girl with the capable expression. They both look back at her. The girl hesitates. And nods.

Mack sprints back. “Right. All fixed.”

Janet stares into the face of this giant with such kind eyes. “This means so much to me.”

“This way. Car’s in the square. Always happy to see Jesse.”

Janet gets up. She leaves her suitcase without another glance.

From inside her office, Helen hears the
ding!
of the bell on the reception desk. It sounds again, and she half rises.

Voices murmur as Helen picks up the phone to dial.

A woman. A man. Another woman’s voice.

Helen puts the phone back. Gets up. Goes to the door and opens it.

Behind the reception desk, Rachel is handing registration forms to the couple checking in.

“Where’s Mack?”

“He asked me to cover for a couple of hours, Mrs. Brandon. It’s no trouble.” Rachel can read the signs. Helen’s angry.

“Did he say where he was going?” But Helen knows; Janet Marley’s suitcase is an orphan, dumped beside one of the chairs. Her eyes widen at the sight of the teapot on the carpet.

“Hundredfield, I think.” Rachel points helpfully at the form. “Yes, your home phone number would be good, Mr. Dean. Just for our records.”

Helen goes back to her office. In less than a minute she exits and strides to the front door, shrugging on a jacket.

“The teapot, Rachel.” Helen points on her way past the desk.

“Certainly, Mrs. Brandon. I’ll clean it up right away.” Rachel watches her employer leave.

“Miss? The keys.”

Rachel jumps. “Yes. Here you are, Mr. Dean. It’s just to the right at the top of the first flight of stairs. Lovely view of the Beast Market. Enjoy your stay.”

“For your trouble.” Mr. Dean extends a pound coin.

“Oh, no need at all.” Rachel refuses nicely. Americans, always so courteous; not like some.

The front doors of the Hunt are glass, and Rachel watches with interest as Helen throws open her car door, then backs from the space at speed.

Jewel hurries from the dining room. “That’s done. Anything else?”

“Take the bags, would you? Room eight. Name of Dean.”

Jewel’s not happy. “Can’t Mack take them up?”

“He’s already gone.”

“But my shift’s about done.”

“Just you and me here, now.”

“Why?”

“Mrs. B’s out too.”

They both watch as Helen honks at a pedestrian who dares to get in her way.

“Good thing, from the mood she’s in.” Jewel looks nervous. Her normal response to almost anything.