Mean Spirit

XXXIV

The bulkhead bulb came on, awakening shadows in the castle walls, as if the explosion had summoned to the surface all the violent drama locked into its eight hundred years of history. Grayle stood in the yard in the rain and the irritable wind, hugging herself to squash the shakes. Feeling the banging of her own heart, like an iron bucket against the sides of a deep, deep well.

Marcus stumbled out through the fan of light, slivers of glass shining like snow crystals in his hair, an open cut on his forehead.

‘Just don’t say it, Marcus!’ Grayle’s voice rising like an elevator out of control. ‘Just like the old days. Just like the old freaking school. Only difference is, this time it’s you got to explain to the insurance guys.’

And then she was sorry because Marcus, barely free of the flu, looked like shit. Looked like he’d been beaten up on.

‘Should be some … chipboard.’ He was looking around vaguely. ‘In the old pigsty, round the …’

‘Huh?’

‘To board up the window. Got to keep … keep the rain out.’

A fog behind his glasses. The sour chill in the air, the smell, the sound, the taste of it, and all of it right there in his own back yard, within his own castle walls. The shock of invasion.

Grayle took his arm. ‘We’ll deal with it, Marcus. Bobby and I will handle it. You come back inside. Let’s get you a big glass of something strong. Get that cut cleaned up.’

‘Cut?’ A nerve tweaking his cheek. ‘Where’s … where’s Persephone?’

‘I guess she’s still in there, with Cindy and Bobby. Leave it, huh?’

‘I have to talk to her. She’ll be distressed. She needs reassurance.’

‘No, Marcus,’ Grayle said patiently. ‘That was last time. That was twenty years ago. She grew up. She knows precisely what she did.’

Cindy came out, followed by Malcolm the dog, loosed from the study. Then Bobby.

‘Marcus? You OK? Grayle?’

‘We’re fine, Bobby. Just deciding which of the all-night glaziers in St Mary’s we should call out.’

A bubbling giggle forming. Here we go, that old hysteria, welcome home. Some glass splinters fell out of her hair.

Bobby was looking at Malcolm, who didn’t move. Grayle shook her head hard, watching more glass fall around her feet. Bobby bent and patted his thighs. Malcolm looked uncertain. Grayle thought, What is this? Did Bobby collect something in there?

Malcolm gave a slow wave of his stumpy tail, ambled over. Bobby crouched. He and the dog bonded under the bulkhead lamp.

Cindy nodded. Whatever it was, it was OK now.

‘Where’s Persephone?’ Marcus demanded.

Bobby looked up. ‘I thought she came out with you.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘She was ahead of you. She ran out of the room. When it happened, she ran out, hands over her ears.’

‘Then she’s out here, someplace.’

‘Persephone?’ Marcus stumbled out into the yard. ‘Persephone!’

Stopping and listening and getting no reply. Only the wind against the castle walls. Marcus strode to the dairy. Hammered with a fist on the door.

‘Persephone! Are you in there?’ He turned to them, blood oozing down his forehead. ‘What if she’s in there with … with …?’

He couldn’t say it. But Grayle knew she wouldn’t have laughed at him this time if he had. She breathed in hard to cancel the memory of the feral, male smell.

‘Stand back,’ Marcus said.

‘Aw, Marcus-’

Marcus hurled himself sideways at the door. Bounced off, moaning, holding his shoulder.

‘Bloody hell, Marcus.’ Bobby putting himself between Marcus and the door. Malcolm started barking, figuring this was a fight.

‘She’s in there … don’t you see, Maiden? She’s locked herself in. She’s trying to deal with it herself. Bloody Lewis screwed it up, and she-’

‘All right.’ Bobby pulled hair out of his eyes; he was sweating, anxious. ‘Before we kick it in, you’ve got another key to this place, haven’t you?’

‘Lost it. Months ago. Persephone’s got the only key. Persephone!’ Marcus kicked the door, under the lock. ‘Please …’ He rattled the handle and the door sprang open. Marcus crashed through like an old bull, flung down on his hands and knees inside the dairy.

Bobby moved to help him up. Grayle pushed past them both, putting on the light. Marcus was shaking Bobby off, ramming his glasses into position.

‘Oh,’ Grayle said.

On account of there was no-one else in the dairy.

She saw the bed was half made, the duvet turned back. A lone silk blouse hung limply on a hanger on the closet door.

But there was no sign of Callard’s bags. Grayle went quickly into the other rooms. She opened the closet: empty. No personal stuff in the kitchen, in the bathroom just a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush on the shelf over the basin.

This Mary Celeste feel about the whole place.

‘What’s going on?’ Marcus demanded. ‘What’s happened here. Underhill?’

‘Looks like she checked out.’

‘I don’t understand …’

‘Hold on. Let’s …’

Bobby Maiden had run out into the night, Grayle trailing behind him across the yard, towards the entrance. When they got there, they found the wooden farm gate unlatched, the wind smacking it against the post.

Grayle looked back, rain in her face. She guessed the Cherokee was also gone. They hadn’t heard the motor start up. Probably on account of the wind.