She went back to the living room and stood looking down at Alison. The girl’s face was unchanged, her muscles somehow frozen in the same look of astonished terror. She was not blinking. Her pupils did not appear to be reacting to the dim light of the sitting room. They were still pinpoint small, staring. Reaching into the blankets Kate felt her hand. Was it marginally warmer? She thought so. What was one supposed to do with cases of hypothermia? No alcohol. Wasn’t that what they said? Hot water bottles. She had no hot water bottle and she was pretty sure that she would have seen one if there was one in the house. Somehow she did not think it was something that Greg, or even his parents would consider a necessity. So, what else could she use? A hot brick. Wasn’t that what people used in the old days? A hot brick wrapped in flannel. She gave a grim smile. There was neither brick nor flannel in the cottage that she had seen. Then she remembered the stones outside, edging what had once been the drive. Large smooth stones, pebble shaped, perhaps off the beach. One of those would do, surely, wrapped in a towel. She turned and ran back to the front door. Pulling it open she stared out at the storm. The clear morning had turned into a vicious darkness lashed by squalls of hail and sleet which tore at her clothes, reminding her that she, too, was chilled to the marrow and wet through. She dived out and heaved at one of the stones. About ten inches long and shaped like a pillow, for a moment she thought it was stuck fast. Then it came up out of the icy ground with a small sucking noise and she carried it back inside, staggering under its surprising weight. She laid it gently on top of the woodburner, and opening the doors, stacked in some more logs. ‘Not long, now,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I’m getting something to warm your feet. Would you like a hot drink?’ She glanced round at the girl. ‘You’re safe now, Allie. Come on. Try and wake up.’ Sitting down on the edge of the sofa she put her hand on Alison’s shoulder. The girl flinched. The movement was so sudden and so violent that Kate jumped. She frowned. ‘You’re safe, Allie,’ she repeated gently. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ She found herself looking towards the window. Outside, beyond the streaming sleet as it slid down the glass, she could see nothing. What had happened out there in the dune? She wished fervently that Greg was still around. Or that he would remember something and come hurtling back in his Land Rover. Perhaps she should try the phone again.

As she stood up Alison grabbed her wrist. Kate gave a little cry of fright. The girl was staring at her now, her eyes suddenly fully focussed in her white face. ‘Don’t leave me.’ Her voice was hoarse, barely audible.

Kate breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You’re all right. You’re safe.’

‘No.’ Alison shook her head. The movement seemed to hurt her and she flopped back, her eyes closed for a second. Kate frowned. She was relieved that the awful horrified stare had gone, but the monosyllabic answer had chilled her. ‘Why are you not safe?’ she asked softly. ‘What happened? Do you want to tell me?’

For a moment she thought Alison had not heard her but slowly the girl’s eyes opened. ‘They’re free,’ she whispered. Her fingers clutched with surprising strength at Kate’s hand. They were still ice-cold. ‘I’ve released them.’ Her words were slurred, as though she were slightly drunk. ‘They’ve been waiting. Claudia. Claudia wants her revenge.’

‘Claudia?’ Kate stared down at the white, pinched face, puzzled. ‘Who is Claudia?’

Alison smiled shakily, but her voice when it came out was surprisingly strong. ‘Claudia is a whore; a traitor. She’s an animal. She deserved to die.’

Kate stared at her in horror. ‘Alison, do you know where you are?’

The green eyes opened. They roamed the room unsteadily then they focussed on Kate. For a moment the girl said nothing, then abruptly she burst into tears.

‘Oh, Allie, love, don’t. I told you, you’re safe.’ Kate was astonished at the strength of the wave of compassion which swept through her. Leaning forward she put her arms around Alison and held her close. The girl suddenly seemed as frail as a bird, every bone sticking out beneath the warmth of the dressing gown, her body still radiating a terrible chill. ‘Listen, let me go upstairs to fetch a towel. I’ve heated a stone up for you. I can put it near your feet to warm you up once I’ve wrapped it.’ Glancing at the stove Kate began to rise.

‘No!’ Alison clutched at her again. ‘Don’t leave me.’

Kate subsided onto the sofa beside her again. ‘There is nothing here to frighten you, Alison,’ she repeated gently. ‘You’re safe.’

As though to emphasise her words an extra loud gust of wind shook the cottage. A puff of smoke blew out of the open stove into the room, bringing with it the pungent aroma of burning oak and apple. Kate glanced at the window, wondering for a moment if it would hold against the force of the storm. Something moving on the sill caught her eye. Water. There was water on the sill. The window was leaking. She moved slightly, without letting go of Alison’s hand and craned sideways to see better. Sure enough, a puddle had formed on the wood. She stared. Floating in the puddle were bits of leaf and soil and there, wriggling around the edge were several maggots.

For a moment she thought she was going to be sick.

‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Her voice rising shrilly in panic Alison clutched at her harder. ‘What have you seen?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ Wincing at the pain of the girl’s clawed fingers Kate tried to free herself. ‘Some rain leaking in, that’s all. It’s hardly surprising, the wind’s so strong.’ Somehow she forced herself to sound calm. ‘Listen, I must go and get something to mop it up. I’ll stick a towel on the sill. There must be a leak in the window frame. Then why don’t I make us a hot drink. I’m sure you’d like something, wouldn’t you?’ How she kept her voice steady, she didn’t know. Firmly she tried to unfasten Alison’s fingers. She was like a child, clutching desperately at her mother’s skirt. The moment Kate managed to dislodge one hand the other grabbed at her again. ‘Allie, there’s nothing to be frightened of,’ she repeated.

Allie nodded frantically. ‘There is. There is, don’t you understand? Claudia is free. Claudia and…’ she hesitated, frowning, her head suddenly cocked to one side as though trying to hear something from far off, in another room. ‘Claudia and… and… Claudia and…’ Her voice was fading. A look of puzzlement appeared on her face. ‘What was I saying?’

‘Nothing, Allie. Nothing at all.’ Kate forced her voice to a calmness she did not feel. The child was hallucinating. Was that a symptom of hypothermia? She did not know. The vagueness, the fear, were they all part of it? Oh God, they needed a doctor. ‘Allie, I want to go and ring your mother. You’ll be quite safe here. I’ll only be in the kitchen. Look if I leave both doors open you’ll be able to see me all the time – ’

‘No!’ Alison’s voice slid up into a scream. The sound made Kate’s skin crawl.

Alison was fighting with the blankets. ‘I’ll come with you. I don’t like it here. That window. She is going to come through that window.’ She flung out her arm. Kate looked where she was pointing. There was more earth in the puddle now. Earth and peat and – she could feel the bile rising in her throat as she saw a movement at the edge of her vision.

Suddenly her mind was made up. ‘OK. Let’s go into the kitchen. Come on. I’ll help you. We’ll make a hot drink and I’ll try and phone.’

Please let it work. Please God, let the phone work.

Her arm around Alison, she helped the girl shuffle through to the kitchen and sat her, still cocooned in the blanket, on a stool.

Quietly, she closed the door and turned the key, then, her hand shaking with fear, she picked up the phone.

The line was still dead.

XXVI

Defiantly leaving his car in a parking space reserved for the disabled right next to the castle gates Greg strode towards the entrance. He glanced at the sky. Snow and sleet showers, they had forecast, turning to unseasonably heavy snow later. That probably meant sleet out at Redall Bay, but you never knew. Sometimes it settled. Whatever happened it would be worse in Colchester. It always seemed to snow heavily there.

It was a long time since he had been in the museum. He stared round, confused. The huge hall with its peripheral exhibits had vanished. Instead it was sectioned, partitioned, intimate, the lighting low and seductive and from some distant corner he could hear the tinny insistent blare of videoed commentary. He frowned. Why couldn’t the buggers leave things alone? He could have found his way to Marcus blindfold before. Now, God knows where he was.

He was upstairs, near yet more video crap. With an impatient glare at the booth from which sounds of massacre were emerging, Greg stood in front of the statue and stared long and hard at its face. Then he, as Kate had done, moved to the exhibit and looked down at the man’s skeleton. She had been right. It was not Marcus himself who was buried at Redall. So who was it? His eyes strayed to the other remains. Smaller, though not significantly so; Marcus’s wife had strong, well-formed bones. His art school study of the skeletal form had been fairly rudimentary, but it was thorough enough for him to give an educated guess that she had been young when she died. How, he wondered. Illness? Injury? Childbirth? He glanced at the inscription. There was no clue there, no notes beyond the bare minimum. He stared down at what was left of Marcus’s skull. Was his story written there, in the imprint of his bones? His loves, his hates, his triumphs, his disasters? He brought up his hands and rested them against the cold glass of the display case. ‘Come on, you bastard, cough.’ He hadn’t realised he had spoken out loud until he saw a woman near him turn and stare. She caught his eye and hurriedly turned away. He grinned absent-mindedly but already his attention was back on Marcus. Rich, successful Marcus who had made good after the Boudiccan defeat; who had returned to Colchester and to Redall and bought land, probably when prices were rock bottom, like today – he grimaced – was that how it had been? Or had he just helped himself to some property he fancied and marched in? Had Redall’s former owner died in the rebellion, leaving his lands wasted and deserted, or did he sell at a profit? He leaned closer to the glass, resting his forehead against it and closed his eyes.