Chapter Eighteen #2
‘My grandfather believed they made a pact of some kind.’
‘With whom?’ Callum asks.
‘With what , Mr Jefferies,’ she answers mysteriously.
She stops and takes a sip of her iced tea, her eyes dancing between me and Callum. I get the sense that she’s enjoying herself.
‘My grandfather believed there was someone or something they were beholden to,’ she continues.
‘Something that required regular sacrifices. He believed they started the witch trials themselves, installing Alistair in a position of power on the court so they could murder without suspicion. Legally sanctioned murder.’
I have to stop myself from yelling, ‘I was right’ at Callum.
‘They must have been bitterly disappointed when a magistrate from Connecticut swooped in and finally put a stop to proceedings,’ Martha adds.
‘Did you know the hangings took place not far from here? The site of the old tree is on one of the trails off the highway. Not much to see now but a stump, but it’s a pretty walk. ’
‘Are we close to where the original village was?’ Callum asks.
‘Yes. So you know about the fire?’
Callum and I nod.
‘After the fire destroyed so much of the town,’ she says, ‘they wisely rebuilt closer to the ocean, where East Mill town centre now sits. That fire was an awful business. Many lives were lost.’
‘What did your grandfather think about the rumours that Alistair and Garrett set the fire?’ I ask.
‘My grandfather had two thoughts on that. One, that the Western brothers wanted the town records expunged to make any past illegal activity harder to trace – no population records, no missing people, no suspicion of murder. The other was simply money. They owned a lot of the land where East Mill was eventually rebuilt, and for some years leased it back to the town.’
‘Ms Parish, do you believe your grandfather’s stories?’ I ask. ‘About the fire, the murders?’
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. But my grandfather could certainly weave a good tale.’
Callum sits forward. ‘So if we go with your grandfather’s theories, the Westerns were willing to kill innocent people for power, land and money?’
‘Not much has changed in the world.’ Martha takes another sip of her iced tea. ‘Then there was the business with Garrett Western.’
‘Do you mean the disappearance of Elizabeth Howell?’ I say.
‘Yes. After the girl vanished, Garrett returned to England, never to be heard from again. Then members of the Western household began to die. The family says an illness swept their estate, which it probably did, but people began to believe the Westerns themselves were cursed. Longtime locals still do. No one was sad when old Brendin Western passed away. We were all hoping the town would be asked to manage the estate, but apparently Edward wasn’t happy with that idea. ’
‘What about Edward?’ Callum says. ‘Do you know him particularly?’
‘I know Edward a little and I’ll be honest, I’m not fond of him.
He has always been aloof and self-important.
He didn’t grow up here. His father moved to England and married a nice English girl, and that was where Edward was born and grew up.
He returned sometime in the sixties with his brother Cillian.
I didn’t see Cillian out here much. Maybe only once or twice.
Now, Edward regularly visited his Uncle Brendin,’ Martha goes on, ‘right up until the moment the man died. To my knowledge, Edward is the last Western standing, at least in this country. Mr Jefferies, would you mind passing me another piece of cake?’
Callum stands and places another slice on Martha’s plate. ‘What about female relatives, Ms Parish? No one seems to talk about them?’
She hmms as he sits back down. ‘There were wives, of course. A few daughters. But the only female relative I ever remember hearing much about was Margaret. I didn’t know her personally, obviously, she was dead before I was born.
But by all accounts, she was a tough one.
Her husband was the Western, but though she might have only married into the family, she took their legacy in this town very seriously. ’
Callum’s phone dings, and he pulls it out and glances at the screen.
‘Excuse me, Ms Parish.’ He shows the phone to me.
‘It’s from Ola,’ he whispers, and then smiles at the old woman as he slips his phone back into his pocket.
‘Sorry about that. Ola Hutchings is pulling a few things together for us on the Western and Rosing families.’
‘Now there’s an odd bunch,’ Martha says, dusting cake crumbs from the front of her sweater. ‘Those two families are intertwined. The Rosings have worked in some form or another for the Westerns for several generations, at least.’
‘What are they, like the Renfields to the Westerns’ Dracula?’ Callum grins.
Martha chuckles. ‘Are you an expert in such things, Mr Jefferies?’
‘I read a bit. Some of the vampire myths from Eastern Europe are quite persuasive.’
I scoff. ‘You can’t believe in vampires.’
‘Why not? There are some weird things in this world.’
I flick him a sceptical look. ‘Ms Parish, what else can you tell me about Elizabeth Howell? Are there any other stories about her?’
‘There was one story. Elizabeth’s mother died when Elizabeth was a young girl.
But the child insisted she could still see and speak to her mother long after she died.
Neighbours would see her talking to thin air in the local graveyard, too, apparently communing with the dead, or so the story goes.
You can imagine how well that went down in a puritan society.
No wonder she was caught up in the witch trials. ’
My mouth is suddenly bone dry. I pick up my tea to take a sip, but the glass trembles in my hand.
Callum gently touches my arm to steady me, takes the glass and sets it on the table. He shifts closer until we touch.
‘Sh-she saw spirits?’ I ask. ‘She was gifted?’
‘It’s just a ghost story, Ms Daniels.’
I nod, but my head is spinning. If we are family, could Elizabeth have had powers like me?
‘Are you gifted, Ms Daniels?’ Martha studies me with a shrewd eye.
I don’t answer her.
‘I see,’ she says.
‘What about you, Mr Jefferies? Are you gifted too?’
‘Not in the way you mean,’ he says, tossing her a crooked grin.
Martha throws her head back and laughs.
‘Callum,’ I whisper harshly.
‘What?’ he whispers back.
I frown at him and nod to Martha.
‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Ms Parish,’ he says. ‘I can be—’
‘Please,’ she interrupts, ‘I rarely get to flirt with a young man these days, especially one as handsome as you.’ She looks him up and down, her keen gaze taking him in. ‘You know, you could almost pass for a Western yourself. Such pale skin and pretty golden eyes. Where are your people from?’
‘My eyes are green, not gold,’ Callum corrects. ‘But thank you for calling them pretty.’ He smiles cheekily at her. ‘I’m originally from California. My folks died when I was a kid, and I came to New York after that to live with my aunt in the city.’
‘My condolences, Mr Jefferies. That must have been difficult for you.’
Iris enters the room and whispers into Martha’s ear.
‘Good idea, Iris. Mr Jefferies, we seldom have a man around the house, especially one who’s as able-bodied as you appear to be.
’ Wrinkles cluster at the corners of her blue eyes as she smiles broadly.
‘Would you be kind enough to give Iris a hand? We have a stubborn light bulb in the kitchen that, try as we might, neither of us can budge, and we risk our lives every time we step onto a ladder.’
A grin tugs at Callum’s lips. ‘I’m always glad to offer my assistance to a lady.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you are,’ Martha says dryly. Her eyes follow him as he leaves the room. ‘I think he might be a handful, that one,’ she says, once we’re alone.
I laugh. ‘He can be. But he’s good at what he does.’
Martha quirks an eyebrow. ‘You two are not a couple then? I thought by the way he touched—’
‘We’re colleagues,’ I quickly say.
She narrows her gaze as she sizes me up. ‘I never married,’ Martha says. ‘I’ve had a full and wonderful life, and I loved my freedom too much to sacrifice it for a man. But do I wish I’d taken another route? Sometimes.’
I frown, not sure where she’s going with this. ‘I see,’ I say, not seeing at all.
Martha sighs, fixing me with a look that suggests she thinks I’m stupid. ‘What I’m saying is, I think Mr Jefferies is sweet on you. He enjoys flirting, that’s obvious, but he’s tender with you, and you seem a good match.’ She places her hands in her lap and raises her brows.
‘Oh… um.’ I realise I’m supposed to answer her. ‘I mean, the thought has crossed my mind once or twice. But right now, we have a job to do, and everything else has to take a back seat.’
‘How very mature of you,’ she says, frowning.
We sit in awkward silence until Callum and Iris reappear.
‘All done,’ he says. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with while I’m here?’
‘Not today, but perhaps, given time, Iris and I might come up with a good reason for you to return.’ Her eyes twinkle at him.
‘We’ll leave you in peace, Ms Parish,’ I say. ‘Thank you so much for your time. If we have any more questions, may we call you?’
‘Of course, Iris will give you our number. And Mr Jefferies, if you’re ever in this area again, please don’t inconvenience yourself by staying at a hotel. I have plenty of rooms spare, and I suspect I might enjoy seeing you gracing my halls for a day or two.’
My chin drops, but Callum doesn’t miss a beat.
‘Thank you, Ms Parish,’ he says, ‘but if I take you up on your offer, I’m going to have to insist that you call me Callum.’
‘Then I’m going to have to insist that you call me Martha.’
‘Okay then…’ I grab Callum’s arm and drag him towards the door.
‘Good luck, you two,’ Martha says. ‘And be careful. Watch yourself around Edward Western. If even half of the stories are true, evil is in his blood.’