‘I’m afraid this place is too happy,’ said Jeanne to Olivier. ‘I suspected as much as soon as I arrived.’
‘Damn,’ said Olivier. ‘That can’t be tolerated.’
‘Then why’d you do a seance?’ Peter persisted, certain he’d caught her out.
‘Well, it wasn’t exactly my idea. I’d planned to spend tonight here having the
Jeanne looked directly at Peter, her smile fading.
‘Except one,’ said Monsieur Beliveau. Peter tore his eyes from Jeanne and looked at Beliveau, expecting to see the kindly grocer pointing a crooked Jacob Marley finger at him. But instead Monsieur Beliveau’s hawk-like profile stared out the window.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Jeanne, following his gaze but seeing only the warm lights of the village homes through the lace curtains and the old leaded glass.
‘Up there.’ Monsieur Beliveau jerked his head. ‘Beyond the village. You can’t see it now unless you know what to look for.’
Clara didn’t look. She knew what he was talking about and begged him, silently, to go no further.
‘But it’s there,’ he continued, ‘if you look up, on the hill overlooking the village, there’s a spot that’s darker than the rest.’
‘What is it?’ Jeanne asked.
‘Evil,’ said the old grocer and the room grew silent. Even the fire seemed to stop its muttering.
Jeanne went to the window and did as he instructed. She lifted her eyes from the friendly village. It took her a moment, but eventually above the lights of Three Pines she saw it, a spot darker than the night.
‘The old Hadley house,’ whispered Madeleine.
Jeanne turned back to the gathering, now no longer lounging comfortably with each other, but alert and tense. Myrna picked up her Scotch and took a swig.
‘Why do you say it’s evil?’ Jeanne asked Monsieur Beliveau. ‘That’s quite an accusation, for a person or a place.’
‘Bad things happen there,’ he said simply, turning to the others for support.
‘He’s right,’ said Gabri, taking Olivier’s hand but turning to Clara and Peter. ‘Should I say more?’
Clara looked to Peter who shrugged. The old Hadley house was abandoned now. Had been empty for months. But Peter knew it wasn’t empty. For one thing he’d left part of himself in it. Not a hand or a nose or a foot, thank God. But things that had no substance but fantastic weight. He’d left his hope there, and trust. He’d left his faith there too. What little he had, he’d lost. There.
Peter Morrow knew the old Hadley house was wicked. It stole things. Like lives. And friends. Souls and faith. It had stolen his best friend, Ben Hadley. And the monstrosity on the hill gave back only sorrow.
Jeanne Chauvet floated back to the fire and dragged her chair closer to them so that she was finally in their circle. She placed her elbows on her thin knees and leaned forward, her eyes brighter than Clara had seen them all night.
Slowly the friends all turned to Clara, who took a deep breath. That house had haunted her ever since she’d arrived in Three Pines, a young wife to Peter, more than twenty years ago. It had haunted her and almost killed her.
‘There’s been a murder there, and a kidnapping. And attempted murder. And murderers have lived there.’ Clara was surprised how distant this list sounded and felt.
Jeanne nodded, turning her face to the embers slowly dying in the grate.
‘Balance,’ she finally said. ‘It makes sense.’ She seemed to rouse herself and sat up straighter, as though moving into another mode. ‘As soon as I arrived here in Three Pines I felt it. And I feel it tonight right here, right now.’
Monsieur Beliveau took Madeleine’s hand. Peter and Clara moved closer. Olivier, Gabri and Myrna inched together. Clara closed her eyes and tried to feel whatever evil Jeanne was sensing. But she felt only –
‘Peace.’ Jeanne smiled a little. ‘From the moment I arrived I felt great kindness here. I went into the little church, St Thomas’s I think it’s called, even before booking into the B. & B., and sat quietly. It felt peaceful and content. This is an old village, with an old soul. I read the plaques on the walls of the church and looked at the stained glass. This village has known loss, people killed before their time, accidents, war, disease. Three Pines isn’t immune to any of that. But you seem to accept it as part of life and not hang on to the bitterness. Those murders you speak of, did you know the people?’
Everyone nodded.
‘And yet you don’t seem bitter or bound by that horrible experience. Just the opposite. You seem happy and peaceful. Do you know why?’
They stared into the fire, into their drinks, at the floor. How do you explain happiness? Contentment?
‘We let it go,’ said Myrna finally.
‘You let it go,’ Jeanne nodded. ‘But.’ Now she grew very still and looked Myrna directly in the eyes. Not challenging. More imploring, almost begging Myrna to understand this next part. ‘Where does it go?’
‘Where does what go?’ Gabri asked after a minute’s silence.
Myrna whispered, ‘Our sorrow. It has to go somewhere.’
‘That’s right.’ Jeanne smiled as though to a particularly gifted pupil. ‘We’re energy. The brain, the heart, run by
