Mother said they would make sure Sister Miriam, the convent’s librarian, got a couple of Mr Kendal’s books from the library van when it came round, and the Bursar said Sister Agnes must be asked to provide an extra-nice afternoon tea. Mr Kendal would be glad of a substantial tea after talking to them all.
Catherine remembered the empty wine bottle on the dining room table at Fenn House and thought, but did not say, that after facing the community of St Luke’s, Mr Kendal would probably prefer a large drink.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Theo went back to the dining room, he was smiling at the prospect of plunging back into Matthew’s world. And as he switched on the laptop, that other house and its atmosphere were already closing round him.
Matthew’s story seemed to be shifting focus and his small friend was insinuating herself more definitely into the plot. This was the girl who accompanied him to school each morning. She apparently lived in a small cottage, and each evening she liked to curl up by the fire with her back to the brick chimney breast. The firelight spun garnet and black shadows in the room, and an elderly lady sat in a rocking chair, her own shadow falling blurrily on the walls as she rocked and talked. The girl’s grandmother? Yes, of course.
Theo typed all this, then stared at it in surprise, because he seemed to be going back into the land of fairytale once more. Small girls and grandmothers who rocked by fires, and views of thick trees through the window, suggesting the house was in the middle of an old forest . . . Once again he was aware of puzzlement as to where this was coming from.
The girl was swept along by the tales grandmother wove in those fire lit nights. ‘Tell more,’ she said eagerly, leaning forward, her small face alight.
‘They’re only stories,’ said the grandmother. ‘Some of them written by clever men, but they’re all stories made up out of people’s minds, remember that, Mara.’
‘But some bits might be real,’ said Mara. ‘You can’t be absolutely sure, can you?’ She leaned forward, her eager little face vivid in the firelight. ‘Annaleise is real.’
Annaleise . . . The shadows seemed to shiver at the sound of the name.
‘Yes, Annaleise is real,’ said the grandmother. ‘You must keep out of her way, though, Mara. You must keep your brother out of her way, as well.’
‘I do,’ said Mara earnestly. ‘I truly do. Tell me about Annaleise. Why does she come here?’
‘To watch people. To listen to what they say. That’s why you must always be very wary of her, Mara. She’s not watching you, not at the moment, but one day she might.’
‘Who is she watching?’
The old woman glanced round the room again, as if making sure no one could be hiding and listening. Very softly, she said, ‘Your friend Matthew’s father.’
Mara sat up very straight. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I listen to what’s said. I know what happened in that family once, and I can guess why Annaleise sends the men to that house. Others might know as well – we have long memories hereabouts.’ The shadows shivered again, but this time it was the movement of the rocking chair and of the old woman’s head as she nodded to herself.
Mara leaned forward eagerly. ‘What is he trying to keep secret?’
The grandmother paused, and then said, ‘The truth about what happened to Matthew’s mother. Elisabeth her name was.’
‘But Matthew’s mother died when he was a baby,’ said Mara, puzzled.
‘Did she? Are you sure about that?’
‘It’s what Matthew thinks,’ said Mara after a moment.
‘It’s what Matthew was told ,’ said her grandmother, and again the shadows seemed to twist themselves into eager, listening shapes as if they, too, wanted to know about this. ‘It’s what his father wants everyone to believe.’
‘But what happened to her? Where is she?’
‘No one really knows what happened to her, and no one knows where she is, either, not now, not for
Catherine remembered the empty wine bottle on the dining room table at Fenn House and thought, but did not say, that after facing the community of St Luke’s, Mr Kendal would probably prefer a large drink.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Theo went back to the dining room, he was smiling at the prospect of plunging back into Matthew’s world. And as he switched on the laptop, that other house and its atmosphere were already closing round him.
Matthew’s story seemed to be shifting focus and his small friend was insinuating herself more definitely into the plot. This was the girl who accompanied him to school each morning. She apparently lived in a small cottage, and each evening she liked to curl up by the fire with her back to the brick chimney breast. The firelight spun garnet and black shadows in the room, and an elderly lady sat in a rocking chair, her own shadow falling blurrily on the walls as she rocked and talked. The girl’s grandmother? Yes, of course.
Theo typed all this, then stared at it in surprise, because he seemed to be going back into the land of fairytale once more. Small girls and grandmothers who rocked by fires, and views of thick trees through the window, suggesting the house was in the middle of an old forest . . . Once again he was aware of puzzlement as to where this was coming from.
The girl was swept along by the tales grandmother wove in those fire lit nights. ‘Tell more,’ she said eagerly, leaning forward, her small face alight.
‘They’re only stories,’ said the grandmother. ‘Some of them written by clever men, but they’re all stories made up out of people’s minds, remember that, Mara.’
‘But some bits might be real,’ said Mara. ‘You can’t be absolutely sure, can you?’ She leaned forward, her eager little face vivid in the firelight. ‘Annaleise is real.’
Annaleise . . . The shadows seemed to shiver at the sound of the name.
‘Yes, Annaleise is real,’ said the grandmother. ‘You must keep out of her way, though, Mara. You must keep your brother out of her way, as well.’
‘I do,’ said Mara earnestly. ‘I truly do. Tell me about Annaleise. Why does she come here?’
‘To watch people. To listen to what they say. That’s why you must always be very wary of her, Mara. She’s not watching you, not at the moment, but one day she might.’
‘Who is she watching?’
The old woman glanced round the room again, as if making sure no one could be hiding and listening. Very softly, she said, ‘Your friend Matthew’s father.’
Mara sat up very straight. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I listen to what’s said. I know what happened in that family once, and I can guess why Annaleise sends the men to that house. Others might know as well – we have long memories hereabouts.’ The shadows shivered again, but this time it was the movement of the rocking chair and of the old woman’s head as she nodded to herself.
Mara leaned forward eagerly. ‘What is he trying to keep secret?’
The grandmother paused, and then said, ‘The truth about what happened to Matthew’s mother. Elisabeth her name was.’
‘But Matthew’s mother died when he was a baby,’ said Mara, puzzled.
‘Did she? Are you sure about that?’
‘It’s what Matthew thinks,’ said Mara after a moment.
‘It’s what Matthew was told ,’ said her grandmother, and again the shadows seemed to twist themselves into eager, listening shapes as if they, too, wanted to know about this. ‘It’s what his father wants everyone to believe.’
‘But what happened to her? Where is she?’
‘No one really knows what happened to her, and no one knows where she is, either, not now, not for
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