Seven
Although it was a clear, cold night when Hope had set out, a sea fog was now rolling in obscuring the light from the moon and cloaking the incoming tide. How had she not noticed? She’d been so captivated by Tom’s voice yet again that it was as if she had been in another world.
‘Lady E!’ she shrieked, panic rising in her voice as the beach was quickly becoming enveloped by the fog. ‘Lady Elizabeth! Come!’
She ran towards the sea but there was no sign of the little dog so she turned and ran back towards the cliffs. What with the fog, and the only available light given off by the moon now hidden, Hope couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. And just when she needed the torch on her mobile phone, it lasted all of two minutes before the battery died. She hadn’t charged it at all today and it had been in constant use.
Fortunately she knew Betancourt Bay like the back of her hand and could find her way home in the pitch black if necessary. But she wasn’t going anywhere without Lady E.
She called out again, even louder this time, and her heart swelled with relief when she heard a muffled yap. A moment later Lady E trotted towards her with what appeared to be a length of seaweed in her mouth.
‘Where did you go?’ Hope said, scooping up the little dog and hugging her, seaweed and all. ‘I think we should get home, don’t you?’
Hope hurried up the three hundred steps to Lookout Point and only then did she deposit Lady E on the ground, keeping a tight hold of the lead, just in case. The sea fog followed steadily behind her, creeping inch by inch over Betancourt Bay.
The grass on Lookout Point was still sodden in places from the torrential rain on Sunday so Hope made for the road; the risk of being seen by Laurence Lake as she hurried past his cottage being slightly preferable to muddy paws and little legs, not to mention her own boots.
She made it along Betancourt Street and had just turned into Folkestone Road when she heard the footsteps behind her. She knew it wasn’t a mugger – unless another had come to the village, which of course was highly unlikely, and she knew it was probably someone she knew, but nevertheless it unnerved her for some reason. No doubt due to the fog and the fact that even though she was less than fifty feet from home, she couldn’t see The White House.
The hand on her shoulder made her scream and she turned and lashed out instinctively.
‘Oww!’ her assailant moaned. ‘That hurt.’
‘Laurence?’ Hope peered at him as he held his nose.
‘Is it bleeding?’ he tilted his head up.
‘No. But it would serve you right. What were you thinking, creeping up on me in this fog?’
‘I wasn’t creeping. I was running. But I’ve got my slippers on.’
He glanced down at his ‘Grandad’ slippers and Hope sniggered as she followed his gaze, taking in his striped pyjamas, and the vintage smoking jacket over the top of them.
‘Very chic,’ she said.
He pulled a face. ‘I was working, okay? I like to be comfortable. I was just thinking about you, and suddenly there you were, right outside my window.’
‘And you felt you had to come and tell me that?’
‘No. I saw you in the fog – only I wasn’t sure it was you at first and had to do a double take. I realised sea fog – or any fog – is the perfect cover. But even better. What if I killed the wrong person? Maybe you have the same coat as them, or something? What do you think?’
‘I think you’re slightly insane. But that happens in that old movie, Footsteps in the Fog. It’s one of Granny Joy’s favourites. The man tries to kill his maid in the fog, but he kills someone else by mistake.’
Laurence ignored her, ‘I think it would be an added twist. I’m planning to kill you off with poisonous fungi. You’ll be foraging in the woods for mushrooms to make a soup. Or to add to a stew. I haven’t decided on the menu yet.’ He waved a hand dismissively. ‘My killer has been watching you, and follows you home, and waits, then adds the lethal ingredient to the pot that’s sitting on the stove. Maybe through an open window. Or the killer could sneak into your kitchen when you’re in another room.’
‘I’ll remember to close all windows and lock all doors in future,’ Hope said.
‘Death cap or destroying angel would do the trick. I’ve done some research on both. Just one bite is enough to do the job. Death cap causes most deaths, worldwide, but destroying angel has that certain ring, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, absolutely. It’s all in the name.’
‘I agree. And it would make a good title too.’ He held his hand up like a sort of claw and slowly traced a banner in the air, the swirl of fog as he did so made it all seem slightly surreal. ‘Destroying Angel by Laurence Lake. I can see it now.’
‘Me too. But I really must get home.’
‘I’ll walk with you.’ He dropped his hand and linked his arm through Hope’s, ensuring he was on the side closest to the road, Lady E being nearest to the houses. ‘Death cap causes kidney and liver failure. Severe abdominal pain, vomiting, and diarrhoea occur within six to twenty-four hours after ingestion, and that’s followed by jaundice, seizures, coma, and finally, death.’ His smile was far too wide for someone discussing such a grizzly demise of another human being. ‘Destroying angel is similar but symptoms are usually within eight to twenty-four hours, and after the pain, sickness and diarrhoea, there’s often a period of time when the person thinks they’re going to be okay. And then … WHAM!’ he clapped his hands together like a pair of cymbals. ‘Liver and kidney failure kick in and you’re a gonna.’
‘How delightful!’ Hope threw him a suitably disgusted look.
‘Only a few people have survived. Sadly, you won’t be one of them. I do so love it when one of the main characters is bumped off. Don’t worry. You’ll live for most of the book. I was going to use the little devils in a previous book, but changed my mind because it was set in a city. This one’s set in a village like Betancourt Bay, and there’s a lot of woodland, and hills, so it’s perfect for foraging.’
Hope snorted derisively as they reached the pink front door of her home, barely visible in the fog.
‘It’s as if you don’t know me at all, Laurence. Me? Foraging? The only foraging I do is for biscuits and cakes in my parents’ kitchen. That’s about as wild as it gets. But hey. You do what you’ve gotta do. The less like me this character is, the better. Good night, Laurence.’
‘Pleasant dreams, Hope.’
‘Yeah right,’ she said. ‘I’ll probably be having nightmares after all of that.’