She loved him, too, although sometimes she never fully understood why. She used to see him staring out of the window and wonder what was going on inside his mind, and if she would ever be able to find out. She had given up asking him what he was thinking about, because he always said, ‘Oh. Nothing much.’
She closed her eyes. She felt hungry but her tongue felt as if it were coated with fine sand and she didn’t think she would be able to swallow anything.
She was starting to slide into darkness when she felt fingers gently touching her hair, and a voice whispered, ‘Kathy?’
For a second she thought she was dreaming, but then the voice whispered, ‘Kathy? Are you asleep?’ and she jerked her head up off the pillow. It had sounded like Martin, but there was nobody there.
She sat up, her eyes flicking from one side of the master bedroom to the other. It was still raining and the water that was gurgling in the gutter outside the window sounded like a child choking.
‘Kathy, it’s me. I know you can’t see me, but I’m here.’
‘Martin? Am I dreaming this? Where are you?’
‘You’re not dreaming it, Kathy. I’m still here in the house.’
‘Where? I don’t understand. We looked everywhere for you.’
There was a long silence, and then it sounded as if Martin had crossed the room and was standing next to the door. ‘I have to be careful. I don’t want the others to hear me. I don’t know how many of them are sleeping.’
‘What others? What are you talking about? How can I hear you but not see you?’
‘Kathy, you have to find a way to get me out of here. That witch-woman that Rob was talking about. Maybe she knows how.’
‘Martin, if it’s really you, you’re doing my head in. How can I find a way to get you out of here if you’re not here?’
‘I am here. I’m shut up in that priest’s hole, along with the rest of them. You have to get me out, Kathy, or else I’ll never get out. And I mean never. I’m begging you.’
‘Martin, this is scaring me to death.’
‘Shhh!’
Katharine was about to ask Martin how he had become trapped when she heard whispering outside in the corridor. Sharp, persistent whispering, between at least three or four people. She sat up in bed and drew back the quilt as quietly as she could. The whispering went on and on, and it sounded like an argument.
‘So where is he?’
‘How should I know? I’m not his keeper.’
‘You could have fucking waited. Both of you.’
‘Stop fretting, will you? It’s the first of the fulness tomorrow. If we don’t find him tonight we’ll find him then.’
The whispering continued, although the whisperers must have been walking away along the corridor because Katharine could no longer distinguish what they were saying. Eventually their voices faded altogether, and apart from the rain and the sibilant whistling of the wind down the chimneys, Allhallows Hall was quiet again.
‘Martin?’ said Katharine. She began to wonder if she was asleep and having a nightmare, although she could feel the bobbly stitching on the quilt and the lumpy mattress that she was sitting on, and she could make out the looming mahogany wardrobe and the outline of the door. She hesitated to reach over and switch on the bedside lamp in case she saw that Martin really wasn’t there, or in case he suddenly appeared. She didn’t know which would frighten her more.
‘Martin? Say something.’
There was no answer. She waited a little longer and then she clicked on the lamp. Even if Martin had been nothing more than a watery outline, she couldn’t see him.
She said, ‘Martin? Are you still there?’ but he didn’t reply. Suddenly she felt deeply cold, all the way down her spine, and she started to shiver. She tried to say ‘Martin’ again, but her teeth were chattering and she couldn’t even pronounce his name.
After a minute she stood up, went to the window and drew the curtains. Outside, over the moor, the sky was beginning to clear. She went back to the bed and sat down again, still shivering. She had never felt so helpless in her life.
24
Rob called Sergeant Billings at Crownhill police station, but was told that he wouldn’t be back for at least an hour because he was attending a serious car accident on the A388 at Polborder. He had only just put down his phone, though, when there was a brisk knock at the door. Vicky went to answer it and found John Kipling standing outside, brushing the rain off his crimson anorak.
‘John, come in,’ said Rob. ‘Has Francis been in touch?’
John entered the hallway and prised off his wellingtons. It had stopped raining now, and three DSR volunteers were standing outside in the courtyard having a smoke. A black-and-white border collie in a waterproof dog parka was sitting patiently beside them, its tongue lolling out, next to the headless cherub.
‘Yes…’ said John. ‘I was halfway up the side of Cox Tor when he called me. I don’t know what to think. I gather there’s been no sign of her?’
‘No. We’ve searched the house all over again, every nook and cranny, believe me, but she’s totally vanished. And I’m supposing that there’s no trace of Timmy, either.’
‘Sorry, no. We’ve had three drones circling all around for most of the morning, but nothing. Only a few stray sheep.’
He paused, and then he said, ‘Francis told me all about that hammer that was used to kill your dad – how the police found your DNA on it and everything. I mean, how weird is that?’
He paused again. ‘Have you told them about Ada yet?
