The Woman in Black (4 page)

‘Bugger!’ Jim Rhodes stopped the bus, stood up in his seat and pointed out of the window.

‘We’ve lost the tyre,’ he said.

The bus listed to one side. Eve looked out of the window. In place of a tyre was what looked like a huge dead slug.

‘We’re stuck here,’ said Fraser.

It was hard to tell whether he was thrilled or terrified.

The children pulled their coats around them and tightened their scarves. Huddled together outside the bus, teeth chattering, hands deep in pockets, none of them spoke. Eve noticed how Flora held Fraser close to her. The night was bitterly cold but, Eve thought, it was more than the cold that sent a chill through them all.

The village was eerily quiet. Empty. Not like London after the bombings, where there were still plenty of people around, trying to put their lives back together again, stumble on, go forward together. This was the opposite. The buildings were still here; it was the people who had gone. They seemed to be in a ghost town.

‘Everyone stay close by …’

Eve turned. Jean was issuing an unnecessary order to the children. None of them had moved.

Behind her, Jim Rhodes gave the tyre a kick, then, swearing some more, but under his breath this time, he made his way towards the back of the bus.

‘There’s a spare in the boot,’ he announced.

Jean walked in step with him. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

Jim Rhodes stopped walking, stared at her. ‘You?’

‘I’ve changed many a wheel in my time.’ Her eyes twinkled when she spoke, the corners of her mouth turned up, almost a smile. Jim Rhodes returned it. Slightly flustered, she turned to Edward, who was still attached to Eve’s coat. She held out her hand. ‘Edward. Why don’t you help us?’ It was less a question, more a command.

Edward just clung tighter to Eve.

Jean stood her ground, arm still outstretched. ‘Come on. I’ll show you how we change a tyre.’

He shook his head, clinging all the harder.

‘I don’t think he’ll …’ Eve began, then stopped. Jean marched towards Edward, took his hand and pulled him away from her.

‘He can’t stay attached to you all the time,’ she said, dragging the scared little boy away with her. ‘Watch the other children, please.’

Concerned and a little scared herself, Eve walked
round the side of the bus to where the children were huddled. They still hadn’t moved and they were all staring at a field at the side of the road, eyes wide with fear and wonder. Eve hurried towards them, wondering what the source of their fascination could be. A sheep was looking right back at them.

‘I never seen a sheep before …’ Alfie sounded shocked.

Fraser frowned. ‘Why’s it staring at us?’

Flora, Eve noticed, had her eyes closed. ‘Make it stop …’

Joyce turned to Eve, hands on hips, taking charge in the absence of Mrs Hogg. ‘Miss, it’s scaring the younger children.’ Her tone of voice demanded that action be taken.

Eve smiled. ‘It’s only a sheep. It won’t hurt you.’

She turned away from the children and the sheep. The village drew her attention. It rose out of the cold mist like a land-locked
Mary Celeste.

Then she heard something. Faint, but unmistakable. The sound of … what was it? Voices? Yes. Singing. Coming from the village.

There were some empty cottages in front of her. They were old with sagging roofs, weeds climbing mildewed walls. One of the cottages, she noticed, was burned out, but there had been no attempt to knock the rest of it down or to patch it up. It had
just been left. A broken metal sign hung off the front wall:

Eve could read it in the moonlight. Did the sound come from in there?

She listened. Yes. She thought that it did.

She looked at the burned-out house once more. And she felt something. Some pull, some … she couldn’t explain it. Not even to herself. A fascination? A draw?

And there they were again. The voices. They were children’s voices.

Eve looked back at the bus, at the children standing there. None of them was singing, and by now most of them were attempting to pet the sheep. Jean and Jim Rhodes were busy with the spare tyre and Edward was watching them. None of them appeared to have heard the voices.

Eve turned back to the burned-out cottage. To the village, frozen in the mist. She began to walk towards it.

Soon her shoes were echoing on the cobbles of the streets, as she reached the charred shell of the cottage. The whole front was missing, and the two
windows above and the chasm below made it look like a screaming face. She shivered. Listened.

Children were singing again. The words were indistinct, carried on the wind, phasing in and out, but she could make out some of them. It was a nursery rhyme or lullaby.

She kept walking, the voices becoming louder, the words more discernible as she did so.

Eve reached the market square. Stopped.

The voices stopped, the final word echoing round the empty stone dwellings. Eve looked round, expecting to hear footsteps, running. Giggling, even, as the children sped off. Nothing. No one. She was alone in an empty place.

Then she heard something else. A sound. From one of the houses.

Eve turned to face it. This time there was no singing, no voices. Just movement.

‘Hello?’ she called as she walked slowly towards one of the ruined cottages and looked inside.

Although the window was filthy with years of
accumulated dirt, she could just make out a small living room. The walls were damp, the meagre belongings dusty. It looked like the cottage had been abandoned in a hurry. Eve shivered again from more than just the cold.

And then a face appeared in front of her.

Eve screamed.

Eve fell back in shock, lost her footing and hit the cobbles. When she looked up, the face had gone.

Shakily, she stood up and this time she saw the outline of an old man cowering beneath the window. His hands were over his head, and he was whimpering.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Eve, speaking to him through the glass.

‘Go away …’ The old man rocked backwards and forwards.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

He put one hand up, made a shooing motion. ‘Get away. Get away. Before you see her …’ He said more, but the words were lost as he began to mutter to himself.

‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

The old man began to move.

‘Please …’ said Eve.

He straightened up, put his face to the glass, and Eve recoiled slightly. His eyes were huge and white, staring. Like two milky moons. He was blind.

Eve shivered. ‘I’m sorry if I scared you.’

The old man seemed to be repeating Eve’s words to himself. He put his head on one side. ‘You sound sad,’ he said.

Eve was slightly taken aback. ‘I’m … I’m not sad.’

‘You are. You’re like
her.
’ He raised his voice and his hand flew out in a gesture, pointing to someone neither of them could see.

‘Who?’ asked Eve. ‘I’m like who?’

‘Go away!’ The old man slammed his fist against the filthy window. The glass shattered.

‘Go away …’ He slumped down, curling in on himself once more. His hands covered his head and he began to cry.

Eve looked back to the bus, then back to the old man. She didn’t know what to do for the best. The old man was keening to himself, saying the same words over and over again.

‘Go away … go away …’

Holding her breath and trying not to cry herself, Eve hurried back to the bus as quickly as she could.

‘Look! Look! That’s a Lancaster bomber! And that’s a Halifax! And a Spitfire! And …’ Alfie turned to Eve. ‘Can we go and see them, please, Miss? Please?’

‘Sit down, Alfie.’ Jean spoke before Eve could answer.

The boy sat down, a hurt expression on his face.

Eve looked out of the bus’s grimy window at the same silhouettes of planes that Alfie had seen, the same glow of red lights. But she didn’t see them. All she saw was an airman. A handsome captain in his RAF uniform. She remembered his good humour, his easy smile. How he had made her feel. And she smiled.

The mist thickened, became a curling, rolling, almost living entity. Within a few seconds it had completely engulfed the bus.

Jim Rhodes concentrated on the narrow strip of road ahead of him.

‘Where are we?’ asked Eve.

‘Nine Lives Causeway,’ he said, still peering ahead. ‘Don’t worry about this, it’s just a sea fret. I’m used to it.’

Eve could hear something under the rumbling of the engine. A whispering, susurrating noise.

‘What’s that?’ she asked. ‘Can you hear it?’

‘Hear what?’ said Jim Rhodes.

‘A kind of … I don’t know. Swirling noise. Swishing. Sliding.’

‘Must be the eels,’ Jim Rhodes said. ‘They live under the water.’

Eve felt a lurch of fear. She had never liked eels.

He saw her expression, gave a sharp, barking laugh. ‘Or the tyres on the wet road. Take your pick.’

‘Shouldn’t you put your headlights on?’ asked Jean.

Eve noticed there was an edge of tension to her voice that she was struggling to control.

‘Can’t do that, sorry,’ Jim Rhodes said. ‘Blackout rules still apply here.’

‘But … but …’ Jean was staring out of the
window, apparently transfixed by the wet, choking mist. ‘We could come off the road …’

‘We could also be underneath a German bomber.’

A tense silence fell as they all found something else to worry about.

Eve looked for Edward and noticed he was sitting at the back of the bus next to Flora, who was holding his hand.

She turned her attention back to the outside world, just in time to see a cross jutting out of the mud by the side of the bus. She was going to ask Jim Rhodes about it but immediately forgot as, rising out of the mist right before them, she saw a huge old mansion.

Jim Rhodes breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Welcome to Eel Marsh House,’ he said.

Ominous and desolate were the two words that came into Eve’s mind as she stared up at the front of Eel Marsh House. It stood imposing and resolute, an ancient monolith from a previous age, wreathed in mist and fog, like the last standing tombstone in a decaying and crumbling cemetery.

She stepped backwards, tripping over a thick black cable.

‘Careful,’ said Jim Rhodes, catching her. ‘There’s an outhouse round the side where we’ve put the generator.’ He pointed to the cable.

Jean had been walking around, familiarising herself with the new surroundings. ‘Look at that,’ she said now, pointing to the perimeter of the grounds. ‘Barbed wire.’ She turned back to him. ‘Is that really necessary?’

Jim Rhodes shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me. Home Guard put it there.’

‘To keep the Germans out, or us in?’

Jim Rhodes sighed as he shepherded the children towards the house. Glancing uneasily at the barbed wire, Eve followed him.

Eel Marsh House looked no better from the inside. If anything, it looked worse. No one had lived in it for decades – possibly not even this century – and it had clearly been left to decay. The paint on the woodwork was blistered and mildewed, the paper on the walls torn and peeling. Old, rusted oil lamps stuck out of the walls, cobwebbed and disused. Patches of black mould were everywhere, like the darkness outside was trying to get in. The walls felt wet to the touch, the air was chilled, and the damp made Eve’s skin itch and prickle. It was a place she knew she could never be warm in.

The thick black cables she had stumbled over in the driveway outside were everywhere. Snaking up the walls, connected to dusty bulbs, bringing a dim, flickering illumination to the house when Jim Rhodes flicked the switch.

Eve and Jean stood before the big central staircase and looked round. Both were speechless.

Jim Rhodes nodded, misreading their expressions
of horror for ones of amazement. ‘Big, isn’t it?’ he said.

Neither of them answered. The children, huddled behind them, were also peering around.

Jim Rhodes walked over to a set of old wooden double doors and tried to pull them open. The wood was so damp and warped that it took him several attempts, but eventually he managed it. Inside the room, two rows of made-up wrought-iron beds were facing each other. All were unoccupied.

‘Children’s quarters,’ he said.

Jean scanned the hall, glanced into the children’s room, then back to Jim Rhodes. ‘Where are the others?’

Jim Rhodes frowned. ‘Others?’

Jean looked exasperated. ‘The others. The other school parties.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘They don’t arrive until next week. You’re the first.’ He smiled, as if this made them special.

‘And you expect us to live like this?’

Jim Rhodes shrugged, looked apologetic. ‘Well, it’s …’

‘Derelict is what it is, Dr Rhodes,’ said Jean. She moved up close to him, her voice dropping. Eve knew that was never a good sign. ‘My husband is a brigadier in the Army and he wouldn’t let his
men stay in a place like this, let alone a group of children.’