The Little One

Chapter Ten

‘You won’t believe what just happened this afternoon,’ Barbara said when Kevin opened the front door.

He picked up one of her cases.

‘I’ve got a damned good idea. You’re not welcome here, Barbara, so take your cases and get out.’

‘But just let me tell you.’

Kevin hurled a case out on to the front step.

‘Let me tell you something. I talked to your editor. You don’t have a commission! You lied to me! You lied to Alan! I won’t have anything to do with your seedy, nasty attempt at writing about Margaret. She’s had enough of the press.’

Alan had joined Kevin by now. He chipped in that he blamed himself for being so naive.

The second case was hurled out, then Kevin shoved Barbara’s laptop into her arms and slammed the door shut.

Barbara burst into tears and rang the bell again, keeping her finger on it until Alan opened the door.

‘I left my mobile on charge.’

Alan and Kevin waited in silence as she marched upstairs and down again, stuffing her phone and charger into her pocket.

She turned a sullen face towards Kevin.

‘There are other photographers. I was only doing you a favour.’

The door slammed shut a second time. With little choice, Barbara stumbled off down the road with her heavy cases. After a while, she stopped and took out her mobile to ring Margaret. There was no reply, so she picked up her cases again. There was nowhere else for her to go but back to the manor house. She was confident of a welcome, especially after learning about Margaret’s will.

It was eight that evening when Alan received a call from Edward Sullivan, who sounded anxious. He said that he needed to speak to Miss Hardy urgently concerning the whereabouts of Miss Reynolds.

Alan replied that he only had the address and phone number for the manor house.

‘I have called the landline and Miss Hardy’s mobile phone numerous times, but there is no answer.’

Alan said he was sorry but could not help any further.

Meanwhile, Barbara was on the train heading back to the manor house. She had tried to call ahead when she got on the train, but there was no reply. After that, she turned her mobile off.

At the station Margaret’s Land Rover was parked, unlocked, where she’d left it. Barbara felt beneath the driver’s seat for the keys. She didn’t question why Margaret had made sure that she knew where they could be found. She was just grateful that the engine turned over.

Barbara drove carefully, as it was dark by now. She recalled Margaret giving her details of the route as they had driven to the station. The church and vicarage were in darkness as she went by on her way to the narrow, bumpy lane.

She had to get out and heave open the white wooden gate that blocked her path. She then continued up the winding drive until she reached the old manor house that waited, dark and foreboding. She fumbled with various keys before she found the one that opened the heavy front door. It was not until she was in the dark hallway that she began to feel uneasy. When she attempted to switch on the lights, there was an ominous click. Nothing. The house felt very cold and very obviously empty.

Without a fire, the kitchen was colder than she remembered. Only the Aga was warm. Barbara found the firelighters and made a fire in the grate. It caught quickly and lit up the room. Next she found some candles. As soon as the room began to warm up, she felt less afraid. In the flickering candlelight, she fetched her suitcases.

She found a tin of tomato soup in the pantry and emptied it into a pan. She then cut two thick slices of bread and lifted up the Aga’s hot plate to make lovely crisp toast.

Barbara ate hungrily, and after the thick buttered toast and tomato soup she began to feel more relaxed. She even opened one of the screw-top wine bottles in the rack.

She moved closer to the fire and sipped her third glass of wine. It was almost ten o’clock and still no word from Margaret. She wondered if she should call Alan to see if they had heard from her, but decided against it. As they’d thrown her out, it probably wasn’t advisable.

It was the silence that she found disconcerting. No noise from the water pipes or the old central-heating system. It was very, very quiet.

She tried the light switch again, but still nothing happened. She turned on the radio but couldn’t find any programme without static. She checked the batteries, but if they needed to be replaced she hadn’t the slightest idea where the new ones would be.

Then she remembered the notebook that Margaret had left. Even with the light from the fire and the candles, it was very difficult to read the scrawled lists. Barbara licked her thumb, turning page after page. By holding a candle closer, she was able to make out instructions for checking the generator in the basement. But she didn’t know where that was. She wondered if someone had simply turned off the electricity. It seemed to be as temperamental as Margaret had said.

There was no way she was going to look for the basement tonight. It was scary enough being alone in the warm kitchen. But she did need to use the lavatory.

Holding a candlestick aloft, she headed for the downstairs bathroom. It was inky black in the hallway. The sounds of the old house creaking and groaning unnerved her. Outside the wind blew eerily, rattling the windows.

She had just reached the bathroom when she heard the telephone ring. The sound made her literally jump. She pulled the old lavatory chain and snatched the candlestick, causing the flame to flicker and die. She swore. The loud ringing of the telephone continued as she headed slowly back down the hallway. It was so dark that she had to feel her way along the wall. The light shone beneath the door but it seemed to take for ever to reach the kitchen.

She sighed with relief as she made it. But just as her hand reached out for the receiver the phone stopped ringing.

‘Hello? Hello?’

Barbara tried to remember what to dial to check the caller but couldn’t, so she hung up.

She was certain it had to be Margaret. Was she at the station, waiting to be collected? Barbara checked the book hanging on the old piece of string. The train station was listed, but there was no reply when she rang. By now it was after eleven, so she tried the taxi service. If Margaret had arrived and found the Land Rover missing, perhaps she was getting a cab home.

‘Hello. I’m calling to see if Miss Reynolds has booked a taxi for this evening.’

A sleepy voice said that she hadn’t.

‘Do you know if there are any trains due?’

‘No, miss. The last train came in at nine.’

Barbara put more logs on the fire and then noticed the blanket she’d used the previous night. It was folded over the arm of the big Chesterfield. Beneath was the white nightdress, also neatly folded. It was as if Margaret had expected Barbara would be staying another night.

She wrapped herself in the blanket and lay down on the sofa. At one point she was sure that she heard someone knocking at the window. She made herself get up and check, but it was a branch tapping against the glass. She locked the kitchen door and lay down again.

Eventually, she was forced to pull the blanket over her head, because another sound was making her tremble. She couldn’t really make it out. Was it a child crying or the wind outside? Finally, she fell asleep.

And because she was asleep, Barbara didn’t hear the sound of continuous weeping. Didn’t hear the footsteps. Didn’t hear or see the handle of the kitchen door turning.