His Name Was Walter Read online

Walter had suffered much, and faced death not just once, but many times. Years of seeing the best and the worst of human nature had toughened him and at the same time made him more sensitive to common evil. And far away from Sparrow, far from the pleasant little town of Long Rest and the fixed opinions of its good citizens, memories had drifted unrestrained in his mind till they formed a different picture from the one he thought he had seen before. He knew the truth. Sparrow felt cold dread settle deep into her bones.

  ‘I want you to leave here with me tonight, dear love,’ Walter said quietly. ‘Tomorrow there will be trouble, and you had best be away from it. Your father cannot stop you if you wish to go — you are over twenty-one, and an adult in the eyes of the law.’

  He touched Sparrow’s lips, perhaps expecting her to argue, but she did not say a word. She knew it would be no use.

  ‘Widow Bonnet will take us in,’ Walter said. ‘I spent an hour with her and her son Tom on my way here, and it is all arranged. The farm hand, Dorothy, is away visiting her parents, and you can have her room. Tom has gone on into town, but he will be back this way as soon as he has done what he has to do. He will meet us on the road.’

  He smiled wryly at the startled look on Sparrow’s face. ‘Do not be afraid,’ he added. ‘Wear your hood and gloves if you want to, but, believe me, Tom has seen far stranger and more terrible things in the past few years than the feathers on your beautiful face. And I think that after an hour in Widow Bonnet’s company you will come to trust her and feel you can show yourself to her as you really are.’

  ‘Widow Bonnet has great respect for my father,’ Sparrow murmured. ‘I have heard her speak of him in the town. She thinks he is a great man.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Walter agreed dryly. ‘She thinks so still, and will not hear a word against him. But she is a warm-hearted soul and was very pleased to find me at her door, apparently returned from the dead. She knows that Lord Vane will be angry if he finds out she has given us shelter, but she wants to help the cause of true love. Besides, it seems that she and Tom have little left to lose. Like so many others in the valley.’

  His eyes grew sombre then, and the cold in Sparrow’s bones turned to ice. She began to shiver.

  ‘You are cold, Sparrow,’ said Walter, as he felt her tremble. ‘We had better go inside.’

  ‘My father has dinner guests,’ Sparrow whispered, turning and pointing to where a strange carriage stood in deepest shadow beside the palace. ‘I saw them arrive just after sunset.’

  ‘All the better,’ said Walter. ‘Witnesses can be useful, as you know.’

  And dumbly, numbly, Sparrow went with him up the driveway and through the palace door.

  ‘No!’ Colin muttered. ‘Don’t go in!’

  His heart gave a violent thud as there was a scuffling sound behind him. He jerked his head round. Grace was standing there, leaning heavily on her crutches. It seemed incredible, but he’d been so absorbed in the story that he hadn’t heard her crossing the entrance hall. Grace’s eyes were puffy with sleep but she was breathing hard as if she’d been running.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, through chattering teeth. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—’

  ‘Sshh! Go back to bed, Grace,’ Colin whispered, glancing at Tara, who had also swung round in fright. ‘We’re only reading.’

  Grace blinked rapidly, biting her bottom lip. ‘I had the worst nightmare,’ she said. ‘Something was chasing me, and I couldn’t run properly. I couldn’t wake up — you know when that happens? There was this terrible growling. I just wanted …’

  Her voice trailed off. She glanced uncertainly at Tara and back to Colin again. Colin felt a pang of unwilling sympathy. Grace had woken in fright, seen the torchlight and come looking for company, confident that she’d be as welcome as she always was, wherever she chose to go. Instead she’d found herself feeling like an outsider, an intruder on a group that had been doing very well without her.

  It was never a nice feeling, but most people had to deal with it now and then. Colin had lived with it over the last two weeks, and from what he had seen, Tara lived with it all the time. For Grace Leslie, however, it was probably a totally new experience. She didn’t know how to deal with it.

  ‘Stay if you want to,’ he said quickly, though he could feel Tara silently objecting. ‘As long as you don’t mind us not talking. We’re trying to finish the book.’

  Grace stared down at him, rocking backwards and forwards on her crutches. ‘What book?’ she asked.

  Tara gave a little gasp, and as she started scrabbling around in the folds of the sleeping bag Colin realised that while she’d been distracted by Grace the book had slipped from her lap again. This time the book was harder to find. Somehow it had slid right under the sleeping bag and was lying hard against the library wall, in deep shadow.

  ‘Oh, that one!’ said Grace, as Tara wriggled back to Colin’s side with the book clutched tightly to her chest. ‘Why are you two so—?’

  She broke off with a little squeak as somewhere at the back of the house a light went on and the corridor that led into the entrance hall became a softly glowing tunnel.

  Colin’s skin crawled.

  ‘The kitchen!’ Tara whispered. She looked terrified, but she held on to the book as if her life depended on it.

  Grace laughed, clapping her hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. ‘The electricity’s come back on, that’s all,’ she spluttered through her fingers. ‘We never turned the kitchen light off. Were you scared that burglars had got in, or something?’

  Colin swallowed his irritation and said nothing. He wondered how Grace would react if he told her that any burglars who broke into this house would wish they hadn’t when they saw the nightmare waiting for them inside. Would she laugh, would she stare at him dubiously, or would she remember her bad dream and the growling sound, and start asking frightened questions?

  As the thought crossed his mind, he became aware that the growling had stopped. He had the feeling that it had stopped some time ago. Had it faded away when Grace came on the scene, or when the kitchen light went on? It was a relief, anyway — for as long as it lasted.

  Tired of waiting for an answer, Grace had started limping towards the light, but after a couple of steps she stopped and looked over her shoulder. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ she whispered fretfully. ‘You’ll be able to read much better in there.’

  We can’t let her go by herself, anyway, Colin thought, getting up. It isn’t safe.

  Tara was already on her feet, the book still clutched to her chest. ‘Try to get in front of her, Colin,’ she breathed. ‘If she sees … anything … she’ll scream and wake Mrs Fiori.’

  Yes, well, that’s another way of looking at it, Colin thought, and wondered how someone who seemed as frail and shy as Tara Berne could be so single-minded.

  ‘The growling’s stopped,’ he whispered.

  ‘That doesn’t mean he’s gone,’ Tara whispered back. ‘I can still feel him watching.’

  Colin could feel it, too. His skin was prickling as they moved silently through the entrance hall, past the evenly breathing lump that was Mrs Fiori and on to the foot of the stairs. Ahead was the corridor leading to the lighted kitchen. The dining-room door on their right gaped wide, and crystals jingled softly in the creaking darkness. Grace limped stiffly past it, keeping as far away from it as she could and looking straight ahead. Colin couldn’t help a quick, nervous glance, but saw nothing. He followed Grace into the corridor. Tara was moving so quietly behind him that he had to look round to check that she was there. She frowned and nodded towards Grace, who’d almost reached the kitchen. Colin broke into an awkward, tiptoeing run.

  ‘Let me go first,’ he said to Grace, catching hold of her arm. ‘Just in case.’

  She gave a little snort of laughter, but good-naturedly stood aside to let him go into the kitchen ahead of her.

  The light seemed dazzling after the dimness of the corridor. It made the kitchen seem almost friendly. There was nothi
ng unusual to be seen. Colin breathed out.

  ‘So, no axe murderers!’ said Grace, who was looking much happier now she was where she wanted to be. ‘What a surprise!’

  Colin wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and tried to smile.

  Tara came in, shutting the door behind her. Without a word she sat down at the table, opened the book and found the place where she and Colin had stopped.

  ‘Hey, look how much you’ve read!’ said Grace, going to look. ‘You’re nearly at the end.’ She glanced down at the text and read the last few lines. ‘So Walter’s going into a palace with this girl Sparrow. Is that bad? Is that why you were saying “No” when I came up, Colin?’

  Colin nodded shortly, watching as Tara turned the page. Tara glanced up at him. Her eyes were anxious, and he saw that her hands were trembling. He slid onto the bench beside her wondering what she could feel, what she could hear. Suddenly the kitchen didn’t seem as friendly as it had when he first came in. For one thing, it was colder — much colder. The light swung on its cord and shadows jumped and flickered as the wind rattled the window and whistled eerily in the chimney.

  It was as if fear had entered the room with Tara. No, Colin realised suddenly. Not with Tara, but with the book. Yet there was something else as well — the gentle but insistent urging he’d felt before, warring in his mind with the fear, drawing his eyes down to the pages lying open on the tabletop.

  CHAPTER

  21

  The painting that began the new chapter was a scene glimpsed through a doorway, as seen by someone standing just outside. In the doorway stood a shadowy figure — a tall man in black whose face couldn’t be seen. He was partly hidden by the door, which he seemed to have just pulled open. Behind him, brightly lit by a sparkling chandelier, two foxes in evening dress sat opposite each other over the remains of a meal. The foxes were both holding coffee cups. Both were staring at the doorway in surprise. So vivid was the picture that Colin felt he was standing just outside the doorway himself, looking past the dark figure and into the foxes’ yellow eyes.

  ‘I hate that picture,’ Grace muttered, and Colin realised that she was still standing behind him, fidgeting. ‘It should be funny, but it’s not — it’s horrible,’ she added when he turned round to look at her. ‘I don’t know why you want to go on reading that book. It’s depressing. It’s going to have a bad ending. It makes me feel sick.’

  Don’t be distracted, Colin told himself. ‘Grace, you don’t have to—’ he began, but the words dried in his throat as the kitchen door clicked and slowly creaked open.

  Lucas sidled through the gap. He took in the sight of three faces turned to him in shock. ‘Something woke me,’ he said, for once choosing to explain himself. ‘Must have been the light under the door.’

  No, you’re being used to take our minds off the story, Colin thought, exchanging anxious glances with Tara.

  ‘It’ll be Mrs Fiori next,’ she murmured, barely moving her lips.

  Lucas’s eyes slid to the book lying open on the table under Tara’s hands. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  Grace’s fright instantly turned to irritation. ‘Don’t come in here to use your phone or whatever you’ve got, Lucas!’ she snapped. ‘We don’t want to get in trouble! Go somewhere else!’

  Lucas just raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Lucas!’ Grace insisted, her voice rising. ‘Just—’

  ‘Sshh!’ hissed Tara. ‘You’ll wake—’

  ‘Lucas hasn’t got anything, Grace,’ Colin cut in, suddenly sure he was right and knowing Grace wasn’t going to stop unless he did something.

  ‘Course he has,’ Grace said scornfully. ‘You could tell by the look on his face when Mrs Fiori asked on the bus. And look at him now!’

  ‘That’s just …’ Colin hesitated. He didn’t know how to explain what it was that made Lucas Cheah refuse to give anything away, even if it made life harder for him. Was it just plain contrariness? Was it a game? Or was it something about keeping himself private?

  He gave up thinking about it and looked directly at Lucas. ‘Just tell her, will you? This is a waste of time.’

  ‘You sound like my brother,’ Lucas remarked unexpectedly. ‘Anything for peace.’ Then he shrugged, and suddenly gave in. ‘My mother took Fiori’s note seriously,’ he said, in a level voice that didn’t quite disguise an edge of bitterness. ‘She worries too much. She frisked me before I left. Went through my pack. Took my laptop and phone. Satisfied?’

  Grace stared. ‘But why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Now you sound like my brother.’ Lucas shrugged again and strolled to the table. He glanced down at the open book, and his eyes sharpened with interest. He pointed at the fox painting.

  ‘That’s the chandelier in the room across from the stairs here,’ he said. ‘The old dining room.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’ Grace snapped.

  Lucas didn’t bother to argue with her. He knew he was right, and one casual look at Tara and Colin had told him that they knew it, too.

  ‘Anything else the same?’ he asked.

  Colin nodded shortly.

  ‘We want to keep reading,’ Tara said in a low voice.

  Lucas actually smiled. His smile was amazingly sweet and infectious. It changed his whole face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. ‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’

  He thinks he understands why we got spooked before, Colin thought. He thinks it’s because there are things in the pictures we recognise. It’s made him curious about the book — about how it affects us.

  Strangely, he found he didn’t resent this. In fact, he was glad to have Lucas in the kitchen, standing close, for whatever reason. He was even happy to have Grace. They seemed to help, somehow.

  Safety in numbers, he thought, and wondered if it was true.

  ‘It’s freezing in here!’ Grace complained. Restlessly she swung herself away from the table, limped over to the little desk and began fiddling with it, trying to open the secret drawer.

  ‘Leave it, Grace,’ Colin called in a low voice. ‘Don’t try to force it. You’ll break it!’

  Grace took no notice of him. She just kept pulling and pushing at the desk, banging at it with her fists, her bottom lip stuck out stubbornly.

  She can’t help it, Colin thought suddenly. She’s being used to distract us.

  But he couldn’t bear to stand by and see the desk damaged. And he couldn’t bear to see Grace being used. It was horrible to see Grace — beautiful, clever, confident Grace — stupidly beating at the exquisitely crafted wood because she was bewildered and scared and didn’t know why.

  ‘Stop it!’ he ordered, jumping up from the table and crossing the room to the desk. ‘Here, I’ll do it.’ He pushed Grace out of the way and pressed the catches that opened the secret drawer. It slid open, and Grace pounced on it, feeling for the gold object in the back corner.

  ‘Colin!’ Tara called anxiously.

  ‘Read it aloud!’ Colin called back over his shoulder. ‘I’m listening!’

  The window rattled. Wind moaned in the chimney. The room seemed to darken. With a crow of delight, Grace pulled a gold locket from the drawer, and prised it open.

  Two faces in tiny oval frames stared out from the open locket. They looked alive. They almost seemed to blink. Grace’s hands began to shake.

  ‘This isn’t right,’ she said in a dull voice. ‘Why do they look like that? Why do they look so real? Who are they?’

  ‘They’re Aidan and Abby — Magda’s children.’ Colin looked down with fascination at the tiny works of art. ‘This locket’s described in the book. After Magda died, Walter brought it here and gave it to Abby’s daughter, Sparrow, who lived in this house. It was Sparrow who wrote and illustrated the book. That’s why we want to read it.’

  ‘No!’ Her face crumpling, Grace dropped the locket as if it were red hot. It bounced and skittered away across the greasy floorboards. ‘I don’t believe it. I don’t believe any of it!
And what does it matter, anyway? It’s just a stupid fairytale. It’s got nothing to do with us.’

  Colin bent and picked up the locket. He looked down at the open drawer, at the long black book lying at the back. He pulled the black book out and began to leaf through it. As he had expected, the pages were filled with delicate paintings of herbs, with their names and uses written beneath them in fine, cramped handwriting.

  Near the end, he came to one particular painting, felt a flash of recognition, and showed it to Grace. ‘Ever seen this before?’ he asked.

  Grace looked down at the picture of a purple violet. Her lips quivered. She swallowed, and nodded. ‘The witch was painting this in one of the pictures in the book,’ she admitted slowly. ‘But that doesn’t mean—’

  ‘It means the person who wrote the fairytale used things from her real life, or things other people told her about, in the story,’ Lucas drawled, looking round from the table. ‘So?’

  ‘It’s not a fairytale,’ Colin said soberly. ‘It’s all true. It’s just been written in a kind of code.’

  ‘Code?’ Lucas’s eyes grew alert.

  The lights flickered. The room seemed to tremble.

  ‘Tara, read!’ Colin urged, suddenly afraid.

  ‘No!’ shrilled Grace. ‘I don’t want to hear it!’

  ‘Go on, Tara!’ Lucas said, his face alive with interest. ‘Or — give it to me! I’ll read it, if you want.’

  Tara gripped the book possessively and shook her head. She blinked down at the page in front of her and began to read in a high, shaking voice.

  ‘Inside the palace—’ she began, then broke off. She swallowed, and lifted a hand to her throat.

  There was menace in the room. It was there in the moving shadows, in the sour, sweaty odour that hung thickly in the cold air, making it hard to breathe. Colin could feel it. Grace could obviously feel it, too, though she was trying hard to pretend she couldn’t. Tara could feel it most of all.

  Only Lucas felt nothing. Lucas was shifting impatiently from foot to foot. He probably thought that Tara was putting on some sort of hysterical act, after what she’d said about a bad spirit haunting the house.