I was about to assure him I’d be fine, but looking at the eerie burial ground before me, I felt a shiver of apprehension. I’d visited plenty of cemeteries in the course of my research, Highgate in London being my favorite just because it had such an atmosphere, but I’d never been completely alone or so far from civilization. There was nothing manmade as far as the eye could see, not even a remote farmhouse or a church spire rising above the trees.
Waving to Alastair as he drove off, I walked into the cemetery, wishing I’d asked Kyle to come with me. I would have been glad of his reassuring presence.
Chapter 30
After walking around for nearly an hour and squinting at the weathered stones until I thought my eyes would bleed, I finally found several graves with the name Bailey. There were William and Janet Bailey, who had both died before 1639 and might have been Alys’s parents, and William and Elizabeth Bailey, whose dates of death were difficult to make out, but the first two numbers put them squarely in the seventeenth century. There were several smaller gravestones next to them, presumably those of their children. There were also some newer-looking headstones, all dating back to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. None for the twentieth century that I could see. Perhaps the Baileys had died out or moved away from the area in search of a better life. Bailey was a common enough surname, so I wouldn’t find their descendants unless I had first names and dates to work with.
Despite retracing my steps twice to make sure I didn’t miss anyone, I did not locate a grave for Alys Bailey, which was not to say it wasn’t there. It could have been any of the graves with illegible writing, or perhaps no one had bothered to put a headstone on her grave, given that she’d been hanged as a witch. Had her family mourned her, or had they felt shamed by the association and distanced themselves from her to protect themselves from undue scrutiny?
Looking around, I wondered if anyone ever came here. Perhaps the remains had been moved to such a remote spot because the people who were buried here had died so long ago that no one would care to visit them. It’d been years since I’d visited my grandparents’ graves, and my mum’s ashes still lived on the mantel in my flat. Perhaps that was a bit morbid, but having her there made me feel like she wasn’t truly gone. When at home, I often spoke to her, and sometimes, if I was perfectly quiet and still, I thought I heard her reply. I knew it was grief talking, but I decided to allow myself the time I needed to deal with my grief. I’d know when the time came to let go, and then I’d take Mum’s ashes to Australia and scatter them on Bondi Beach, where she had been happy.
Having finished at the cemetery, I left the same way I’d come and stood by the gates, waiting for Alastair to come for me. I looked around for something to sit on, but I supposed it made no sense to put benches in a place where no one lingered. I leaned against the gatepost, pulled out my notebook, and noted my findings before starting a list of ideas for further research. I had yet to search for information on Alice Bailey, spelled the traditional way, and I thought it might be interesting to consult the Lockwood family tree. I was curious how Lisa fit into the picture and why she’d never been to Lockwood Hall before her uncle’s illness. Surely, since she was his beneficiary, she would have visited the grand house at least once.
The vibrating of my mobile distracted me. I thought it might be Alastair, ringing to tell me he was on his way, but it was my agent, Angela.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Angela said. “I know you’re hard at work, but I wanted to get an update on your progress.”
That was Angela all over, fishing for information. What she really wanted to ask was had I come up with an idea for the new book and was it marketable enough for her to start shopping it around to publishers.
“I haven’t written a word,” I said, my statement greeted by loaded silence.
“Do you at least have an outline?” Angela asked at last.
“No, but I do have an idea. I’m still doing research, though.”
“So, what is it, this idea?” Angela asked warily. She didn’t like dealing with theoretical situations. Angela was a businesswoman, and flighty writers were the bane of her existence. She liked clients like Len, who put out a bestseller every year like clockwork.
I told her about Alys, and Angela instantly perked up. “Witches are hot,” she announced. “Did you know they’re making that bestselling trilogy about witches and vampires into a television series? You know the one I mean.” I did. I’d quite enjoyed it, even though it wasn’t the sort of thing I normally went for in my reading material. “Well, do hurry up. Once I have an outline, I can get to work.”
“I’ll have an outline for you by the end of the week,” I promised, confident that I would.
“So, who else is there?” Angela asked. I could hear the eagerness in her voice. Angela was always looking for new clients, and if I could put in a good word for her with someone she thought desirable, she’d be thrilled.
“Well, there’s Kyle Walsh and Len Farrell, Paul Scanlon, and Anna DeWitt. Yvonne Denton was also there, but she left.”
“Yvonne Denton was there?” Angela echoed. “What I wouldn’t do to get my hands on her,” she said dreamily.
“Have you heard of the others?” I asked, in no rush to end the conversation, since
