House of Echoes. Barbara Erskine

‘All old houses have legends, and we should be pleased this one is no exception.’

      ‘It’s a very old site, of course,’ Janet said thoughtfully. ‘I believe it goes back to Roman times. Houses with a history as long as that always seem very glamorous. They collect legends. It doesn’t mean there is anything to be frightened of. After all Laura lived here for years practically on her own, and I believe her mother did before that, when she was widowed.’

       My fear makes him stronger

      The words in Joss’s head for a moment blotted out all other conversation. Her mother, alone in the house, had been terrified.

      ‘Have the family owned the house for a long time then?’ Luke was carrying round the dish of sprouts.

      ‘I should think a hundred years, certainly. Maybe more than that. If you look in the church you’ll see memorials to people who have lived at the Hall. But I don’t think the same name crops up again and again the way it does in some parishes.’ Roy shrugged. ‘You want to talk to one of the local history buffs. They’ll know all about it. Someone like Gerald Andrews. He lives in Ipswich now, but he had a house in the village here for years, and I think he wrote a booklet about this place. I’ll give you his phone number.’

      ‘You said my mother lived here practically on her own,’ Joss said thoughtfully. Everyone served at last she sat down and reached for her napkin. ‘Did she not have a companion, then?’

       He came again today without warning and without mercy

      The words had etched themselves into her brain. They conjured for her a picture of a woman alone, victimised. Terrified, in the large, empty house.

      ‘She had several, I believe. I don’t think any of them stayed very long and at the end she lived here quite alone, although of course Mary Sutton always stayed in close touch with her. I don’t think Laura minded being alone though, do you Janet? She used to walk down to the village every day with her dog, and she had lots of visitors. She wasn’t in any sense a recluse. People used to come down from London. And of course there was the Frenchman.’

      ‘The Frenchman?’ Luke’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That sounds definitely intriguing.’

      ‘It was.’ Janet smiled. ‘My dear, I don’t know if it’s true. It was just village gossip, but everyone thought, in the end, that that was where she had gone. She went to live in France and we guessed she’d gone to be with him. She was a very attractive woman.’

      ‘As is her daughter!’ Gallantly Roy raised his glass.

      Joss smiled at him. ‘And the house stayed empty after she left?’

      ‘Completely. The village was devastated. It was – is – after all the heart and soul of the place, together with the church. Have you made contact with Mary Sutton, yet?’

      Joss shook her head. ‘I’ve tried every time I’ve been into the village, but there is never any answer. I wondered if she’s gone away or something?’

      The four guests glanced at each other. Sally Fairchild shrugged. ‘That’s strange. She’s there. She’s not ill or anything. She was in the shop yesterday.’ She shook her head. ‘Perhaps she’s nervous of answering the door to a stranger. I’ll have a word next time she comes in. Tell her who you are. You must speak to her. She worked here for years. She would remember your mother as a child.’

      ‘And she would presumably remember the devil if she’d met him face to face.’ Joss’s words, spoken with a seriousness which she hadn’t perhaps intended, were followed by a moment of silence.

      ‘Joss –’ Luke warned.

      ‘My dear, I’ve upset you.’ Alan was looking contrite. ‘Take no notice of me. It’s a silly tale. Suitable for round the fire, late at night, well-into-your-third-brandy sessions. Not to be taken seriously.’

      ‘I know.’ Joss forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to sound so portentous.’ She reached for her wine glass and twisted it between her fingers. ‘You knew Edgar Gower, presumably, when he was here?’ She turned to Roy.

      He nodded. ‘Great fun, Edgar. What a character! Now he knew your mother very well indeed.’

      Joss nodded. ‘It was he who put me in touch with the solicitor; it was through him I found out about Belheddon.’ She glanced at Luke and then turned back to the Goodyears. ‘He tried to dissuade me from following it up. He felt the house was an unhappy place.’

      ‘He was a superstitious old buffer,’ Janet snorted fondly. ‘He used to encourage Laura to think the house was haunted. It upset her a lot. I got very cross with him.’

      ‘So you didn’t believe in the ghosts?’

      ‘No.’ The hesitation had been infinitesimal. ‘And don’t let him get to you, either, Joss. I’m sure the bishop thought he was going a bit dotty at the end and that’s why he retired him. Keep away from him, my dear.’

      ‘I wrote to him to say we’d inherited the house. I wanted to thank him, but he never replied.’ She had also phoned twice but there had been no answer.

      ‘That’s hardly surprising. He’s probably too busy having apocalyptic visions!’ Roy put in.

      ‘No, that’s unfair!’ Janet turned on her husband. ‘They go off to South Africa every winter since his retirement to spend several months with their daughter. That’s why he’s not been in touch, Joss.’

      ‘I see.’ Joss was astonished for a moment at her disappointment. She had seen Edgar as a strength, there in the background to advise them if ever they should need it. His words returned to her suddenly – words she tried to push to the back of her mind whenever she remembered them; words she had never repeated to Luke. ‘I prayed you would never come to find me, Jocelyn Grant.’

      The conversation had moved on without her. Vaguely she heard Alan talking about village cricket then Sally laughing at some anecdote about a neighbour. She missed it. Edgar’s voice was still there in her ears: ‘There is too much unhappiness attached to that house. The past is the past. It should be allowed to rest.’ She shook her head abruptly. He had asked her if she had children and when she had told him, he had said nothing; and he had sighed.

      Pushing her chair back with a shiver, she stood up suddenly. ‘Luke, give everyone second helpings. I’m just going to pop upstairs and make sure Tom is all right.’

      The hall was silent, lit by the table lamp in the corner. She paused for a moment, shivering in the draught which swept in under the front door. The kitchen was the only room in the house they had so far managed to heat up to modern standards, thanks to the range.

      She needed to think. Staring at the lamp her mind was whirling. Edgar Gower; the house; her mother’s fear; there had to be some basis for all the stories. And the devil. Why should people think the devil lived at Belheddon?

      Pushing open the heavy door into the great hall she stopped in horror. Tom’s piercing screams filled the room, echoing down the stairs from his bedroom.

      ‘Tom!’ She took the stairs two at a time. The little boy was standing up in his cot, tears streaming down his face, his hands locked onto the bars. The room was ice cold. In the near darkness of the teddy bear night light in the corner she could see his small face beetroot red in the shadows. Swooping on him she scooped him up into her arms. His pyjamas were soaking wet.

      ‘Tom, what is it, darling.’ She nuzzled his hair. He was dripping with sweat.

      ‘Tom go home.’ His sobs were heart rending. ‘Tom go to Tom’s house.’

      Joss bit her lip. ‘This is Tom’s house, darling. Tom’s new house.’ She cradled his head against her shoulder. ‘What happened? Did you have a bad dream?’

      She held him away from her on her knee, studying his face. ‘Tom Tom? What is it?’

      ‘Tom