Blue Moon (Book One in The Blue Crystal Trilogy) (8 page)

She led the way into the house,
and the others followed. Once he’d made sure the car was locked,
Aquila gave a last, scowling look round the misty grounds, then
went into the house, carefully closing the heavy oak door and
locking it with a large antique key. Next, he pulled the great iron
bolts into place.

Joseph let out a whistle of
approval as he looked around the entrance hall, with its impressive
main stairway.

“Wow, this is some place you’ve
got here. What a find. You’ve done well,” he grinned at her.

“Thank you Joseph. Yes, we
rather like it here. I’m hoping we can stay for some time to
come.”

“So, what’s my role to be in
this latest charade?” asked Joseph, quizzically.

“You, my boy, are in charge of
the gardens,” answered Mrs de Lucis, “Regenerating, maintaining and
nurturing them. For someone with your exceptional talents, it’s the
perfect job. Now, we have no time to lose. Follow me. Leon and the
others are waiting.”

Holding the silver casket
tightly, she led the way up the splendid main stairway and along
the corridor of the east wing, Joseph just behind her, Pantera and
Aquila following.

When she reached the stairs
leading to the old servants’ quarters, Mrs de Lucis turned and
spoke, “Up here, Joseph. This is where our secret will be kept
safe. We believe we’ve found the perfect place.”

She started to climb the dusty
old staircase, parting the cobwebs where they hung down, and slowly
the others followed her.

Outside, the mist swirled in
great eddies and currents, seemingly thicker than ever around
Hartswell Hall, providing the perfect camouflage. Had anyone been
watching, they may just have seen a faint blue gleam emanating from
the old Clock Tower. There again, it could just have been a trick
of the light, as the glow of the outside coach lamps bounced back
against the silvery mist, creating strange effects and patterns.
Then, after another half hour, just as quickly as it had
mysteriously arrived, the mist began to clear, dissipating into the
night air within a matter of minutes. Once again, the Old Clock
Tower was clearly visible through the darkness, the three clock
faces shining brightly in the silvery moonlight.

Inside, silent figures filed
down the stairs leading from the old servants’ quarters.

6.
Age Destroys Her

Earlier the same evening, in a
neighbouring village a couple of miles away, a very different drama
had unfolded. It began at 10.30pm. Ambulance driver, Bob Manners,
glanced at his watch, willing the last half hour of his shift to go
as quickly as possible. It had been a very quiet evening. One
suspected heart attack that had turned out to be a panic attack,
all too typical of men of a certain age; one old man who’d fallen
out of bed and couldn’t be lifted back in; one bad nose bleed that
had required some emergency packing. And that was it. Nothing
stressful, nothing threatening, nothing nasty. Then with five
minutes to go, and thoughts of steak and kidney pie with gravy and
chips and a late night movie running through his mind, they’d had
another call. A woman, mid-forties, with breathing difficulties, in
a local village.

Heavy-hearted, he set off, blue
light flashing, willing it not to be serious.

“We could still be back home
within half an hour,” he commented hopefully, to his co-driver,
Reg.

“Don’t count your chickens,”
said Reg, ominously.

Arriving at the address they’d
been given, they gathered their equipment and went into the house.
It was a new, detached house on a suburban road, surrounded by
other new, detached houses. They were all very similar: red brick
square boxes, surrounded by neat lawns and tended gardens, most
with two cars on the driveway. Inside, it was all very predictable
and suburban too, from the pretty Sanderson fabric curtains to the
Amtico flooring and framed Vettriano prints on the walls.

They were met by a man in his
early fifties, with wild eyes and a grey complexion, who appeared
traumatised. Wringing his hands together continually, tears flowed
down his cheeks and he struggled to speak coherently.

“Upstairs,” he managed to say,
choking on the words. “In the bedroom… found her ten minutes
ago.”

“Okay, sir, don’t panic,” Bob
Manners went through the usual drill. “Just show us where she is
and tell us what happened.”

“What happened? What happened?”
echoed the man, his voice rising hysterically, “I don’t know what
happened. How can this happen to anyone? I just don’t understand
it.” He fell to the ground, sobbing, clutching his head.

“Right, let’s go and have a
look,” Bob indicated to the other paramedic and together they went
up the stairs. “Which room is she in?” he called back down to the
prostrate man.

“First on the left,” he sobbed,
looking up at them with large, fearful eyes. “But there’s nothing
you can do. Nothing. You’re too late.”

The two paramedics entered the
room indicated. They’d heard all this before. Let them be the
judge. She might not be breathing, but there was still a chance
they could resuscitate her.

What they saw stopped them both
in their tracks.

“I thought the call was for a
woman in her mid-forties,” said Bob, staring at the scene before
him. “This woman’s got to be at least…”

“100?” the other paramedic
finished the sentence off for him.

They both paused for a moment,
taking in the horror of the situation.

On the bed lay a very old
woman, her gnarled fingers curled like claws around a pink, flowery
duvet, her thin white hair laying in wisps on the pillow, her mouth
open as though trying to suck in air. It didn’t take a professional
to see that she was way beyond help. Her crêpey skin was yellowed
and brittle, dried out like parchment, her face sunk and gaunt,
revealing the bones beneath. The overall impression was of a
skeleton barely covered with flesh, that life had departed some
time ago.

Following procedure, Bob took
her pulse, thinking how the old woman’s fragile arm felt just like
a brittle twig, and shone a light into her discoloured, bloodshot
eyes. “Nothing we can do here,” he said, shaking his head sadly.
“Looks like a case for the Coroner, unless we can get her doctor to
sign the Death Certificate. Let’s go back downstairs and inform the
gentleman. We must have misheard her age.”

He went to draw the curtains,
determined to give the old lady some last vestige of privacy.
Pausing at the window, he stared hard at the large oak tree in the
front garden, and more specifically, at a large branch that was
momentarily illuminated by the headlights of a passing car. Sitting
on the branch, if he was not mistaken, was an enormous bird, with a
broad, hooked beak and gleaming feathers that shone in the dim
light. A split second later, the car was gone and the tree branches
were once more hidden from view.

“Did you see that?” Bob asked
his companion, straining his eyes into the darkness.

“See what?” asked the other
paramedic, joining him at the window.

“That huge bird, sitting in the
tree. It had to be a buzzard, or a hawk, or even an eagle….”

“An eagle? You, my friend, need
to go home and get some sleep,” laughed his companion. “It was
probably an owl at this time of night. Since when did we get eagles
in this part of the world?” And he laughed again.

“You’re probably right,” said
Bob, feeling stupid and unsure of what he’d just seen. It was dark
outside, the moon still hidden behind clouds and it would be some
time before its silver light lit up the sky. He drew the curtains
as quickly as he could. “Come on, let’s get this sorted out.”

Together, they went back down
the stairs, leaving the skeletal figure on the bed. Finding the
sobbing man in the hallway, they followed him into the lounge.

“Sorry, sir,” said Bob. “You
were right. There’s nothing we can do for the old dear. She’s
passed on. We’ll call for a doctor and see if he’ll issue a Death
Certificate, if not we may have to go to the Coroner. But don’t
worry, she’ll be handled with respect and dignity. Now, I think we
must have got the wrong information. I take it she’s your mother…
or grandmother, even?”

“No,” burst out the man. “She’s
not my mother or grandmother, although I know she looks like it.”
For a moment, he was overcome with grief and couldn’t speak. Then
he forced out the words that chilled the paramedics to the
bone.

“She was my wife. Her youthful
looks were everything to her. She prided herself on keeping young.
It was her obsession. She was only 42, and until two weeks ago, she
could easily pass for early twenties. Then it all started to go
wrong.”

The two paramedics exchanged
worried glances. Either the man was clearly delusional or they’d
just witnessed something that defied explanation.

“What do you mean?” asked
Bob.

“A month ago, she looked
amazing,” explained the man, in a choked voice. “Her skin gleamed,
her hair shone, her eyes were bright. She seemed to be reversing
the ageing process. Whatever she was taking, it was working a
miracle. And her energy levels… well, she was unstoppable. Walking,
dancing, singing, she could go on forever. Sometimes she put in a
twelve-hour day at the estate agency where she worked, then came
home, cooked a three-course meal and went out dancing all night.
She was phenomenal.” He paused. “Then the nightmares started.”

Both paramedics leaned forward,
simultaneously horrified and fascinated.

“Yes,” prompted Bob.

She had a recurring nightmare
about ageing,” continued the man, “and the more she had the dream,
the more it came true. Age spots on her hands, wrinkles across her
face, skin drying out. Over the last couple of weeks, I watched her
age. I saw her hair turn white and start to fall out, her body
begin to stoop, her face sink in. And then tonight it all happened
so quickly. One minute she was drinking tea with me, the next she
was on the bed gasping for breath.” He looked at the two paramedics
in complete desolation.

“She turned into a living
skeleton before my eyes. And now she’s dead. How is that
possible?”

The paramedics glanced at one
another, not knowing what to say. This was beyond their
experience.

Outside, with a near silent
flurry of feathers, a large bird rose into the air, its
outstretched wings momentarily bathed in the sodium glare of the
streetlights, before it disappeared into the night sky.

7.
Family Conference

The next day was beautiful. At
Hartswell Hall, sunlight streamed in through the windows, pouring
into every room and illuminating each shadowy corner as if making
up for lost time and all the years it had been unable to penetrate
the grimy, dirty panes of glass. The house itself seemed to breathe
with new life, its walls vibrant, the furniture spotless and
furnishings pristine. The chandeliers glistened and sparkled in the
early morning sun and everywhere a fresh energy filled the air.

Outside, the grounds teamed
with new growth. Late spring bulbs that had been dormant for too
long burst into life, daffodils and crocuses flowering alongside
bluebells, primroses and polyanthus to create a riot of colour, set
against a lush green backdrop. Buds on the trees pushed forth small
green leaves, shrubs were fuller and leafier, and the great main
lawn leading down to the ha-ha was once again restored to its
former glory, stretching like a soft, green carpet to the rear of
the house.

Joseph walked through the
grounds, smiling at the scenes unfolding around him.

“You’ve been neglected for far
too long,’ he murmured under his breath. “Well, the barren times
are over. Winter is gone and you’re in good hands, now.”

As if in reply, birds sang from
the trees and squirrels jumped from branch to branch. A vixen ran
across the lawn, followed by six small, red fox cubs, and in the
paddock beyond the rose garden, rabbits jumped and hopped in sheer
delight.

Hearing a voice call his name,
Joseph looked up and could just make out the figure of Mrs de
Lucis, standing on the top step by the French windows to the rear
of the ballroom.

“Joseph, we need you in the
library. Can you come?”

He strode back along the
pathways, now edged with bluebells and snowdrops, and reaching the
house, followed Viyesha through the French windows into the drawing
room. From there, they went via the main hall, into the library,
where he found Theo and Violet seated on a shiny leather
Chesterfield sofa and Mr de Lucis sitting opposite them. Pantera
and Aquila stood to one side, both looking ill at ease. Mrs de
Lucis sat down next to her husband and indicated for Joseph to
sit.

“What’s this about?” asked
Joseph, curiously, looking around.

“Family conference,” said
Aquila, in his rasping voice. “A small matter of security that
needs sorting out. Sit down.”

“I see you haven’t lost any of
your legendary charm,” said Joseph, grinning and sitting in the
nearest chair. “What’s ruffled your feathers, Aquila?”

The chauffeur glowered at him
and Mrs de Lucis spoke.

‘Aquila’s right. We do have a
small issue to sort out, but I don’t believe it’s a problem.” She
addressed Theo. “It’s about your friend, Emily, Theo, as I think
you know.”

“Yes,” said Theo, tersely,
looking down at the carpet.

“Don’t you mean
my
friend Emily?” asked Violet, indignantly.

“I didn’t think….” began Theo,
but was silenced by his father.

“I think we all know what the
issue is,” said Mr de Lucis, standing up. “A school friendship is
one thing, Violet, but this has the potential to get out of
control, wouldn’t you say, Theo?”

Theo studied the carpet for a
moment longer, before looking up at his father.