‘And also, how come Sir Barber didn’t follow this up?’ Grayle demanded now. ‘Apart from to send the cheque … like, he actually sent the cheque.’
‘Perhaps they’d had what they wanted out of her,’ Marcus said. ‘A few moments of paranormal excitement. Something for them to gossip about for weeks.’
Grayle wrinkled her nose in disbelief.
‘And anyway’, Marcus said, ‘she sent it back. Tainted money.’
‘Tainted career. Let me get this right — in the following ten days or so, she tries two other sittings, one for this regular circle she holds in London — rich matrons and like that — and no sooner does she hit trance than …’
‘The inference being that whatever came to her in Cheltenham, she took it away with her. Like a disease. A virus.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, but … and you know this is unlike me, Marcus, to go looking for the psychological answer … but could we not be getting a mental projection of this woman’s own increasing negativity? She admitted that when she came out of it she felt a wave of self-disgust, right?’
‘Yes, but, Underhill-’
‘Marcus, you have a good hard think about this before you blow me out the sky. Could not that scarred, evil face be an image of her own soiled inner being? A realization of herself as a psychic trickster preying on the sick and the lonely and the frightened and the bereaved?’
‘Good God, Underhill!’
She spread her hands. ‘I just throw this in, Marcus, for the sake of argument.’ And for the sake of a night’s sleep. ‘Curious that it all comes to a head the night she takes a pile of money — against even her own better judgement — for putting on a psychic sideshow.’
‘And the smell?’
‘Like a dirty dick? Interesting to think what that might be saying, hmmm?’
‘And the cold? And the Chinese vase?’
‘Look, I’m not gonna deny she may have psycho-kinetic powers. Sure, it could be coincidence, but let’s not argue about that. Think about the central issue — what do we have? We have a big karma crisis. Nervous exhaustion resulting from a major guilt trip. Of course it went with her when she left the party. It’s a part of her — an ugly reflection of her dark side. And every time she sits down to contact her friends, the dead folks, out it comes again. Wooh, gross!’
Marcus started to say something and dried up. She heard him breathing like an old steam train in an echoey station yard. Then he came heavily to his feet.
‘She really has nobody to turn to, you know, Underhill. Her father’s abroad. She has no siblings. She isn’t in a relationship. No friends she can count on. She doesn’t even trust her own agent. And now this physical assault …’
‘She still puts on an act. Like when I first found her, you’d’ve thought she was an alcoholic, the way the place stank of booze. But is she drinking that way now? Uh-huh. See, I guess that was because she thought you were gonna come in person, and you’d be like, Oh my God, Persephone, how did it come to this? How can I help? What can I do to save you from this degradation? You want my opinion, Marcus, I think there’s still major stuff she isn’t telling us. Too many things that just don’t meet in the middle. But right now I’m not thinking too hard about the big mysteries. All I want is my car back out of Justin’s garage and for Justin, whatever kind of bastard he is, to still have a face, you know?’
‘Yes.’ Marcus bent and shut the woodstove. ‘Think I’ll go to bed.’
‘Good.’
Grayle awoke under a woollen rug on the sofa, listening to the wind in the eaves and Malcolm snoring.
A cold, silky moonbeam filigreed the books on the high shelves.
She turned her head and saw by the darkness that the stove was out. She felt the weight of all the books on the walls. All that knowledge. All that speculation. You couldn’t trust anything in a book. You couldn’t trust your own memory, your own eyes, your own ears.
She’d woken up thinking, Maybe I said it out loud. Maybe I actually spoke the words.
THE BITCH IS MAKING THIS UP.
Maybe she’d said it under her breath and Callard’s hearing was incredibly acute. Whatever, twice now, the first time at Mysleton Lodge, the woman had seemed to repeat to her her own thoughts.
God-damn.
Grayle thought, We need you out of here, Ms Callard. You’re an unhappy presence. A poltergeist. Marcus can’t help you with your problems. And me — I need my car back and you out of here.
Throw that one back at me.
XVIII
Under an oyster-shell sky, Grayle approached the stones through stiff, yellow grass.
A big vista from up here. Over to the east you could see the Malvern Hills, a line of small bumps. But there was no sunrise. No big, red, rolling ball today.
‘So, OK, what happened … one morning — it was midsummer — a young girl called Annie Davies came up here from Castle Farm. This was about 1920 and I think it was her birthday. She would be thirteen, and I guess all her hormones were churning up like the inside of a washing machine, so maybe she was ready for anything.’
Grayle laid a hand on the collapsed capstone.
‘This monument is about four thousand years old and was oriented, we think, to the midsummer sunrise. A shaft of first light would pass through a slit in the stones and into the chamber. Though with the capstone collapsed, it’s hard to see precisely how that worked now, but you get the idea.’
Persephone Callard nodded. Perhaps faintly bemused about why Grayle had insisted on bringing her up here, banging on the dairy door in the morning mist.
Bemused — that was no bad thing.
‘So Annie Davies is up here — we don’t know whether she was standing on top of the capstone, which was already partly collapsed by then, or if she was inside. It’s still possible to get inside, if you’re small.’
‘Like you,’ Callard said.
‘Yeah, I did it, once. It was … strange. A strange experience. Anyhow, this is where she had the vision. On midsummer morning the sun came down in a giant red ball and settled on the ground and it rolls towards her along the hills, and out of the sun strolls this … lady. It’s hard to get a picture of it on a dull day in the wrong season, but-’
‘It isn’t hard at all.’ Callard wore jeans and a black, hooded sweatshirt. No time for make-up and her hair was still loose. ‘These places were very carefully sited according to the landscape and the heavens and the effects they have on you. Can we see Castle Farm from here?’
‘Down behind those trees. You can see the village over there, St Mary’s … the church … Uh, the legend of High Knoll is not too well known on account of the villagers, for all kinds of reasons, covered it up about Annie Davies. The Border temperament: play it down, don’t draw attention. No way did they want another Bernadette. Plus, the Anglican Church was apparently suggesting the kid was either lying or evil.’
‘Typical.’
‘Yeah. And when Marcus heard about it, he was … well … You know Marcus.’
‘Furious.’ Callard looking amused now. The wind blew her tobacco hair across her face.
‘See, for Marcus, this story … these stones, symbolized a whole lot of things about how it all went wrong. About people closing their eyes to the miraculous — turning a blind eye to the Big Mysteries. The establishment clamping down on whatever it can’t fit between its own cramped parameters.’
‘’Twas ever thus, Grayle.’
‘He hasn’t had a lot of luck, Persephone. His wife and his little daughter both died; there was some talk of medical negligence, which is how come he hates doctors. Doctors and lawyers and politicians and scientists and … teachers.’
‘Yes. A teacher who hated teachers. I remember.’
‘So when The Phenomenologist came up for sale … and also Castle Farm, which at the time was even more rundown … Marcus grabbed the chance to get out of formal education and into … into finding out stuff, undermining received wisdom, spreading a sense of wonder. He likes to be called a crank, an anarchist, an old curmudgeon. And maybe … maybe a crank is a fine thing to be, you know?’