The Doll Read online

  She sighed and brushed a stringy lock of hair out of her eyes. ‘Very well, just for you darling,’ she said and sauntered out into the small hall leading to the kitchen. Tamar paused elegantly in the doorway. ‘Of course you could come and help,’ she suggested, fluttering her false eyelashes at Paul. ‘And we could have a nice cosy chat over the kettle without these two old trolls getting in the way.’

  Paul briefly closed his eyes before replying, ‘Thanks, but I think I will stay here and get warm by the fire.’

  She snorted and flounced out into the hall slamming the door behind her.

  ‘What have you got me into?’ he muttered to the sisters.

  Queenie gave him a tight smile. ‘You’ll be alright Paul; after all you have just survived an encounter with the black hunt.’

  Sybil sighed and sat down next to Paul, rubbing a nervous hand over her face. ‘I’m not sure which is worse,’ she said plaintively.

  ‘I have the feeling that she is more dangerous than those mutts!’

  ‘Much more dangerous!’ chuckled Queenie.

  ‘Don’t joke,’ put in Sybil. ‘She’ll hear.’

  ‘You are right, jelly fish, I will hear,’ Tamar said, opening the door. ‘And what was that about the hounds?’

  ‘Somebody summoned the Black Hunt,’ replied Queenie.

  ‘Well it wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re thinking!’ Tamar said quickly.

  ‘I didn’t accuse you.’

  ‘That makes a change,’ she said pettishly. ‘You usually blame me for everything!’

  Paul closed his eyes for a minute as the two old adversaries glared at another.

  ‘It was somebody else,’ he said quickly, desperate to avoid any more conflict.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said sarcastically. ‘There isn’t anybody around here capable of raising those creatures, except for me,’ she added with a conceited look on her face.

  ‘But there is,’ Queenie said slowly.

  ‘Nonsense, I would know!’

  ‘And that’s why we are here, Tamar. I need to look at the Register.’

  Tamar hastily put the tray of mugs onto the table. ‘Absolutely not,’ she said angrily.

  ‘Tamar, stop being such a...’

  ‘Queenie!’ Paul said hastily.

  ‘Such a difficult person,’ she finished then looked at Tamar seriously. ‘There is somebody out there capable of doing that and more and I need her name.’

  She shrugged her shoulders and offered Paul a mug of tea.

  ‘Please,’ he said, giving her what he hoped was a charming smile as he took the tea. ‘It’s true Tamar and we need to stop her.’

  Tamar sank onto the sofa next to Paul and draped an arm about his shoulder. ‘But there is nobody active at the moment who has that much skill,’ she smiled pityingly at him. ‘I would know if there was.’

  ‘Well...that’s part of the problem,’ muttered Queenie as she leant forward and helped herself to a mug of tea. ‘She’s not from this time.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ she said, with a tinkle of laughter. ‘What are you saying, she’s a ghost?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I am saying,’ she replied and watched the woman’s face carefully as she sipped her tea.

  Tamar shook her head and leant into Paul, ‘You poor young man,’ she purred. ‘These silly old women have been leading you astray.’

  ‘No, I have seen them.’

  ‘Them?’ she enquired.

  ‘Yes, three witches! Go on,’ he said turning to Queenie. ‘Tell her about the doll.’

  ‘Yes, go on Queenie, tell me,’ she said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Only if you take that patronising look off your face!’ she snapped.

  A faint smile played at the corner of Tamar’s mouth ‘Me, patronising? But please, go on tell me about this doll.’

  ‘A doll, a poppet in fact, has just come into our keeping. A killing curse is attached to it which was never completed and the witches involved want it back.’

  ‘A killing curse!’ she scoffed. ‘Nobody uses those now!’

  ‘I know that!’ Queenie said angrily. ‘This one was created hundreds of years ago by a coven that frequented The Nine Stones,’ she paused as the smile disappeared from Tamar’s face.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You know, the stone circle at Winterbourne Abbas.’

  Tamar stood up and walked thoughtfully over to the fireplace then whirled around and stared at Queenie.

  ‘Well, well,’ she drawled.

  ‘Have you heard about that particular coven? After all the stones are on your patch.’

  Tamar shrugged. ‘I have heard rumours.’

  ‘That’s why we need their names; then we might stand a chance of stopping them.’

  ‘And you want to look at the book, well, I will tell you now Queenie, that is not going to happen.’ She smirked. ‘You have got yourself into a real mess...but I can’t interfere. It would be bad form.’

  ‘Just let me have a look,’ Queenie pleaded. ‘Then we will go.’

  ‘You could try begging, I might consider it.’

  ‘No! I am asking politely as one witch to another,’ Queenie said, trying to keep her temper.

  ‘Well...’ she began, pretending to consider Queenie’s request while gently tapping her cheek with a manicured fingernail.

  ‘Please!’ Paul said quickly, before she could refuse again. ‘I am begging you...help us.’ He stood up and walked over to her. ‘As a father I am asking for your help.’

  ‘And what do your offspring have to do with this?’

  ‘Those three witches tried to hurt my daughters,’ he said simply, ‘and they killed another young woman. They have to be stopped.’

  She reached out and ran a finger lightly along his jaw line. ‘Well just for you,’ she smiled. ‘I will consult the register. She sauntered into the hallway and disappeared into the room opposite the kitchen.

  ‘Well done Paul,’ whispered Queenie, then quickly sat back as Tamar reappeared holding a bulky leather bound book. She laid it reverently on the table and began flicking through the stiff crackly pages. A piece of frayed ribbon acted as book mark and she absently wound it around her finger as she scanned the writing on the page.

  ‘Well?’ asked Queenie.

  ‘Hmm?’ she murmured. ‘Oh... of course the names.’ Her finger paused for a fleeting second halfway down one of the pages then replaced the bookmark and quickly closed the book. ‘Nothing,’ she announced. ‘No mention of a coven that used the stones.’ A slight smile hovered across her mouth as she saw the irritation on Queenie’s face. ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t help,’ she said blandly.

  ‘Let me see!’ Queenie demanded.

  ‘No!’ Tamar snatched up the book and clutched it to her chest. ‘This isn’t your book.’ She smiled again. ‘They must be registered somewhere else. Perhaps you should have consulted your own register before you pestered me.’

  ‘I know mine backwards,’ Queenie said angrily. ‘And they are not in there.’ She eyed Tamar suspiciously. ‘If I find you are lying to me...’

  ‘You’ll do what? You pink haired old troll!’

  ‘You painted harlot!’

  They would have come to blows but Paul quickly stepped between them. ‘That’s enough. She can’t help us Queenie.’

  ‘That’s right Queenie,’ she smirked. ‘I can’t!’ And turned on her heel and carried the book back down the hall.

  ‘Thank you for your help,’ he said when she returned, ‘and for the tea.’

  ‘Oh please don’t go,’ Tamar purred, turning her back on the sisters. ‘We could spend some time getting to know each other.’

  ‘Perhaps another time,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Do you think I could use your bathroom before we go?’

  She pointed to the door at the end of the hall. ‘Help yourself, darling.’

  He smiled at her and stepped into the hall closing the door behind him.

  ‘Darling!..
. listen to yourself!’ scoffed Queenie. ‘Disgusting...you’re old enough to be his great grandmother!’

  Tamar spread her arms wide and struck a pose. ‘You’re just jealous because I still have it!’

  ‘Have what?’ she said scornfully, ‘The only thing you’ll get is a nasty little rash if you carry on like this.’

  ‘You dried up old prune!’

  ‘Oh stop it,’ Sybil cried out in distress. ‘Stop being so horrible to each other.’

  ‘Oh stop...’ she mimicked. ‘Pathetic!’

  ‘Don’t you start on Sybil,’ warned Queenie. ‘Or I will knock you into next week!’

  ‘That’s your answer for everything, isn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ replied Queenie, a look of fury on her face. ‘Do you want to see what I can do?’

  A light bulb popped behind Sybil and she flinched. The rest of the lights began to flicker and the atmosphere suddenly filled with static electricity as the two furious women faced up to one another.

  ‘No!’ pleaded Sybil, pulling at her sisters arm. ‘Let’s go before somebody gets hurt.’

  ‘Good idea, listen to little sister.’ Tamar stood back and laughed. ‘You have enough trouble coming your way without picking a fight with me.’

  ‘I can deal with you easily, you old fraud.’

  The door opened behind them and Paul, casting a perceptive eye around the room, bustled forward. ‘Thank you,’ he said quickly, gathering up Queenie, Sybil and the coats. ‘We will be off now.’

  ‘But darling...’ Tamar protested.

  ‘No, no, we must go but thank you. It has been very interesting meeting you. Come along Ladies!’

  The two women were pushed out of the front door and standing in the cold before they realised.

  ‘Hey!’ Queenie protested, trying to reach the door. ‘I haven’t finished with her yet.’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ Paul said firmly. ‘Goodbye.’ He nodded to Tamar and firmly closed the door in the astonished woman’s face then grabbed the protesting Queenie, firmly steering her towards the Land Rover. ‘Time to go. Come along Sybil.’

  She didn’t need telling twice, she climbed quickly into the back seat and slammed the door.

  ‘Obnoxious woman,’ growled Queenie, stomping around to the passenger side where she halted and glared up at the house. Stepping forward she aimed a vicious kick at the parked car in front. The alarm blared into action and she grinned with satisfaction at the sight of the dent in the side.

  ‘Take that, you old harpy!’

  ‘Get in the car!’ he ordered.

  She scowled at him but did what she was told and climbed awkwardly into her seat. ‘Okay, okay, I’m in!’

  ‘Good, then I think we had better be on our way,’ he said, letting the handbrake off and quickly easing around the car in front. ‘Careful,’ he said to himself, ‘wouldn’t want to hit it again.’ Once it had cleared he changed into a higher gear and drove as quickly as possible down the snowy slope.

  ‘You’re in a hurry,’ muttered Queenie, ‘and you are going the wrong way.’

  ‘Nope, I just don’t like the idea of facing those creatures again so I am going to drive down into the town and rejoin the main road there.’ By now the storm had passed and a weak sun was shining on the newly fallen snow. He pulled the sun visor down against the glare and smiled to himself. ‘What a beautiful day!’

  Queenie, her arms folded, stared moodily out of the window. ‘What a waste of time,’ she muttered.

  ‘I told you she wouldn’t help,’ Sybil said miserably. ‘I swear she has a screw loose.’

  ‘Probably has,’ agreed Paul and started to slow as a pub appeared on the left hand side of the road. ‘How about a well earned drink?’ Without waiting for an answer he eased the car into the snowy car park.

  ‘I bet it’s closed,’ grumbled Queenie, ‘in this darn weather.’

  He peered across at the front windows. ‘No, the lights are on and I can see people in there at the bar.’ Paul turned and smiled at the women. ‘Come on you two, don’t look so down in the dumps. I’m sure we could all do with a stiff drink.’

  She silently opened the door and hopped out, landing in a drift. ‘Great!’ she scowled as the snow filled her shoes. ‘Now I have wet feet as well!’

  The back door opened and Sybil slowly got out, her face was white with exhaustion and Queenie bit back any more grumbling and simply offered her an arm to lean on.

  ‘Well we tried,’ she said, determined to sound positive for her sister’s sake. ‘We’ll just have to find another way.’

  Sybil nodded then said slowly, ‘I’m sure there is something else we can try, isn’t there?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘That woman hasn’t defeated us yet. Come on,’ she said cheerfully, ‘let’s catch up with Paul.’

  He had hurried across to peer in through the windows then turned and gave the women the thumbs up. ‘Come on,’ he called. ‘They are open for business and the first round is on me.’

  ‘And the second,’ Queenie muttered as they struggled across the packed snow towards the pub.

  A log fire was burning in the grate filling the pub with the aromatic scent of apple wood. Paul steered the sisters towards the empty table just in front of the hearth.

  ‘Here, this looks cosy,’ he said pulling out the chairs. ‘Now what would you like?’

  Sybil struggled off with her coat and sank into the chair. ‘Something strong please.’

  ‘Sybil will have tea,’ Queenie put in firmly, ‘and I will have a double whiskey.’ She placed her coat on the back of the chair and sat down with a sigh.

  ‘But I would like a whiskey as well,’ protested Sybil.

  Her sister snorted. ‘You know you can’t take alcohol.’

  ‘I know, but I need something stronger than tea after that encounter with Tamar.’

  ‘I’m with you on that, so three whiskeys it is,’ Paul agreed fervently and headed towards the bar.

  Queenie folded her arms and glowered as he cheerfully greeted the landlord. ‘I wish he would wipe that smile off his face. He has no right to be so happy.’

  ‘He’s smiling because he got out of Tamar’s cottage with his virtue intact,’ Sybil said calmly.

  She looked at her sister quickly wondering if she was joking then saw the slight twinkle in Sybil’s eye and gave a hoot of laughter. ‘You’re right! I bet Tamar is madder than a scalded cat that the saintly Vicar slipped through her fingers!’ She looked up as Paul approached the table cradling three full glasses in his hands.

  ‘Who are you calling saintly?’

  ‘You,’ she replied.

  ‘Me? Not at all, I have just misled that women; something that I am not in the habit of doing.’

  ‘Don’t waste your time worrying about her, she’s not worth it,’ Queenie said briskly and took the glass from his hand. She examined the amber liquid with satisfaction then raised the glass, ‘Cheers,’ she said and drained half the glass.

  ‘Whoa...slow down!’ he protested. ‘You’ll be on the floor!’

  ‘Not me, I can drink like a fish,’ she boasted then nodded at Sybil who was tentatively sipping at the strong alcohol. ‘Unlike Sybil, who will be under the table after a few sips.’

  ‘I will not,’ protested Sybil, tossing her head. ‘And I am also going to say I told you so!’

  Paul smiled at the defiant expression on the younger sister’s face, ‘Don’t worry, it wasn’t a waste of time,’ he began.

  ‘Of course it was,’ Queenie answered sharply. ‘We didn’t learn a thing!’

  ‘When I told Tamar I needed the toilet,’ he said, looking slightly shamefaced. ‘I didn’t go.’

  ‘Please Paul!’ she interrupted, holding up a hand. ‘If you are having problems with your waterworks go and see a Doctor, but please spare us the details!’

  ‘Will you shut up for a minute! I lied! I nipped into Tamar’s study and,’ he said triumphantly, ‘I took a photo of the page s
he was looking at!’ He produced his phone from his trouser pocket and waved it at them. He sat back and watched with pleasure the look of dawning comprehension spread over Queenie’s face.

  ‘A photograph?’

  ‘Yes. Look,’ he said, bent his head over the screen and rapidly scrolled through the pictures until he found the right one then held up for them to see. ‘You and Tamar were too busy arguing to notice.’

  ‘A photo?’ slurred Sybil. ‘What’s he talking about?’ She smiled vaguely around the bar. ‘This is a nice pub, I like it here,’ she declared with satisfaction.

  ‘Oh dear,’ sighed her sister. ‘And that’s why I suggested tea for Sybil!’ She leant over the table and tapped her sister’s hand to gain her attention. ‘We have the names,’ she said loudly.

  ‘We do? That’s nice.’

  ‘For goodness sake Sybil,’ Queenie muttered. ‘You’re hopeless!’

  Paul chuckled. ‘Leave her alone Queenie, after all we have been through today at least let her have a few moments of peace.’

  ‘Even if it is alcohol induced!’ put in Queenie.

  ‘Well, why not,’ he said as he bent his head over the phone and expanded the picture, he passed it over the table. ‘There you go, see what you can make of this.’

  Even though the picture was surprisingly clear, the writing was in a faded copperplate and difficult to see. Queenie squinted at the indistinct names, some with crudely drawn crosses next to them.

  ‘These are rather hard to read,’ she murmured.

  ‘I can print it out when we get back to the vicarage; that might make it easier.’ He leant over the table and indicated a section of the page. ‘I think she hesitated over these names.’

  ‘Something Jones?’ Queenie muttered as she peered at the image.

  ‘The ink must have been very poor quality,’ said Paul, ‘to have faded so badly.’

  ‘It’s not ink, Paul. The names would have been written in blood.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said.

  ‘Four names, all but one written by the same hand.’

  ‘So do you think only one was literate?’

  ‘Yes, hence the crosses,’ she said thoughtfully and picked up her glass. ‘Paul, I think these may be our girls.’ She tipped the glass to him and drained it in one go. ‘Well done!’