Mam was like a bear with a sore head the next morning. I wasn’t much better. I’d barely slept all night, watching the strange lights on the clifftop and trying to draw them so I could show Arthur.
While I was sweeping the floor, lulled half to sleep by the rhythmic swishing of the broom, Mam tutted at me.
‘You’re no use to me today,’ she said, wrenching the brush from my hands. ‘Go and fetch me some meat for dinner.’
I was surprised. We ate little meat, because it was so expensive. Mam saw my expression.
‘You know I’ve got the money,’ she said. Then as she saw understanding on my face, she added, almost smugly: ‘Morgan isn’t so bad when he puts food in our bellies, is he?’
She dropped some coins into my outstretched hand and I put them into my pocket.
‘Don’t hurry back,’ she said.
I stared at her, searching for the right words and not finding them. Mam turned away from me, swirling her skirt, as though she was at a ball. But as I watched her go, her shoulders slumped. I knew she was trying to talk herself into feeling happy with this arrangement with Morgan. But she wasn’t. How could she be?
For now, though, I wanted to see Arthur and tell him all about the lights I’d seen on the cliff. I gathered my sketch book and hurried off into the village to find him.
He was in the church with his father, stacking hymn books.
‘Hello, Emily,’ said Reverend Pascoe. I nodded to him, feeling my throat closing up. He smiled. He was a kind man, I always thought, though Arthur said he was weak. ‘Was it me you wanted, or my son?’ I gestured to Arthur and the vicar smiled again. ‘Why don’t you and Emily finish up here, Arthur?’
‘Will do,’ Arthur said. He handed me some books. ‘Let’s get started.’
His father said goodbye and I waited as his footsteps echoed through the empty church and out through the vestry, before I spoke.
‘There were lights on the cliff last night.’
Arthur looked interested. ‘Did you draw them?’
I pulled out my sketchbook and showed him. He looked carefully at my drawings, asking questions. ‘Have you seen these lights before?’
I nodded. ‘When I was a little girl.’ I licked my lips, trying to stop my voice from drying out. ‘The light was red this time. It was yellow light before, like from a candle.’
‘It was a full moon last night,’ Arthur said.
I nodded. ‘But cloudy. It was really dark,’ I told him. I waved my hand in front of my face, showing him how black the night had been.
Arthur nodded, understanding what I meant. He looked down at the picture again, pointing to the glow I’d captured. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘A glow,’ I said. ‘Not the red light.’ I thought for a moment. ‘Other-worldly.’
‘Other-worldly?’ Arthur raised an eyebrow.
I tugged his sleeve and pointed to the stained-glass window that showed the Angel Gabriel appearing to Mary. ‘Like an angel.’
‘Do you think it was a spirit?’ Arthur’s eyes were wide.
I chuckled, knowing it sounded ridiculous, and shrugged. That was what it had looked like, but there had to be a more realistic explanation.
Arthur straightened the pile of hymnbooks. ‘We should go,’ he said. ‘See what’s up there.’
‘To the clifftop?’
‘Yes.’
I felt a shiver of fear. The cliffs were unstable and the sea below was rough. I shook my head.
‘We won’t go near the edge, Em.’
‘It’s not a spirit.’
‘Then what is it?’ Arthur’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.
‘Morgan,’ I said.
Arthur sighed. ‘Really? How could these lights have anything to do with him?’
I thought for a moment. ‘Because,’ I said, slowly. ‘The lights were there when Da died.’
‘Right …’
‘And now. Again.’ It seemed more than a coincidence to me, but Arthur didn’t seem to be persuaded.
‘You said it was a spirit from another world.’
I shook my head. I’d said it looked like a spirit, not that it was something unearthly.
Arthur grinned. ‘So let’s go up on the cliffs,’ he said.
I nodded, as the banging of the church door made us both jump.
‘Why would you want to go up on the cliffs?’ a voice said.
Arthur made a face at me and then put on his best vicar’s son smile. ‘Hello there, Mr Trewin,’ he said.
‘Hello, young Arthur,’ Mr Trewin said. He was a rotund man with a large moustache and ruddy cheeks. He looked healthy and well-fed, unlike me with my hollow cheeks and bony arms. I looked at Mr Trewin’s round belly and remembered the shame my mother and I had felt when she’d asked for his help and he’d not given it. I didn’t trust him one tiny bit, and I disliked him even more. ‘I was looking for your father but I heard you talking.’
He looked at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Cat got your tongue, Emily Moon?’
I dropped my gaze, feeling my throat clench. I couldn’t speak to him now even if I wanted to.
Mr Trewin raised his bushy eyebrows and then turned his attention back to Arthur. ‘Why would you be going up on the cliffs? They’re not safe, you know.’
Arthur shrugged. ‘Emily likes to draw. We wanted to look at the view. We’re not going to go close to the edge.’
‘That’s what they all say,’ Mr Trewin said. ‘Before they fall.’
I felt a shiver down my spine. What did he mean? It sounded like a threat. But surely not?
Beside me, Arthur stood up straighter. ‘It’s nice of you to be concerned but we’ve grown up here. We know this area well and we won’t take any risks.’
Mr Trewin nodded. ‘Of course you do,’ he said. Then he grinned. ‘Do you know the stories?’
Arthur and I exchanged a look. ‘Stories?’ Arthur said.
‘About the spirits that walk along the clifftop on dark nights?’
Again we looked at each other, but this time I saw a flash of fear in Arthur’s eyes. He swallowed. ‘There are no such thing as spirits,’ he said. His voice had a quiver in it and I saw his glance dart to my sketchbook. ‘That’s a tall tale.’
Mr Trewin sat down in a pew. ‘Ah but it’s a good one. Want to hear it?’
I nodded enthusiastically, sitting down in the pew in front of him and turning round on the smooth wooden bench so I could look at him. Arthur followed me, more reluctantly.
‘Years ago when my father was a boy, there was a beautiful young woman who lived in Kirrinporth,’ Mr Trewin began. ‘She was like you, Emily Moon, with blonde hair and pale eyes.’
I smiled, despite myself. I knew this story was silly but I liked hearing it.
‘What was her name?’ Arthur said.
‘Her name was Theodora,’ Mr Trewin said. ‘And she had a sweetheart, did Theodora. A young man called Diggory.’
‘Diggory and Theodora?’ Arthur said, sounding sceptical. ‘All right. So what happened to them?’
‘They loved each other very much, but Theodora’s father was strict and had promised her to another,’ said Mr Trewin. ‘The young lovers were forced to meet in secret, on the clifftop where Emily’s inn now stands.’
He lowered his voice, forcing Arthur and I to lean in towards him so we could hear his story.
‘One dark night, when the clouds covered the moon, Theodora and Diggory arranged to meet on the top of the cliff. But it was so dark, they couldn’t find each other and they had no lamps.’
He paused and impatiently I tugged his sleeve to make him carry on.
‘As they looked for each other on the dark, dark clifftop, first Theodora and then Diggory plummeted into the sea and died.’
I breathed out slowly. What a sad story. But Mr Trewin wasn’t finished.
‘Now, on dark nights, it’s said the young lovers walk the clifftops, carrying ghostly lanterns to entice others up. But if anyone ventures on to the path, they’re pushed to their deaths so they can suffer like Diggory and Theodora did. Sometimes you can even see the couple walking along the edge of cliff, their unworldly figures glowing in the night, and their spirits doomed to roam the earth forever.’
He raised his voice as he said ‘forever’ and the word bounced around the echoey church.
Wide-eyed with fear, I looked at Arthur. Had it been Theodora and Diggory’s spirits I’d seen on the clifftop last night?
Arthur shivered dramatically. ‘Poor Diggory,’ he said. ‘What a sad tale, Mr Trewin.’
Mr Trewin nodded. ‘I’d stay away from the cliffs if I were you.’
‘We will, sir,’ Arthur said. ‘Thank you.’
Mr Trewin edged his solid frame out of the pew. ‘Where might I find your father?’
‘He went home, I believe,’ said Arthur politely. ‘I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. Come, Emily, let’s finish these hymn books.’
We both slid along the pew and went back to the books we’d already stacked once. I wasn’t sure what Arthur was doing but I followed his lead as Mr Trewin said goodbye to us and left the church, letting the heavy door bang shut behind him.
As soon as he’d gone, I took a moment to gather myself, waiting for my throat to unclench. ‘Arthur,’ I said carefully. ‘We can’t go on the cliff. What about Theodora and Diggory?’
Arthur shook his head and frustrated I sighed. ‘You heard the story Mr Trewin told.’
‘He made it up,’ said Arthur. ‘He must have heard us talking about the lights and made it up.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. He clearly doesn’t want us to go up on the cliffs for some reason. Maybe he’s just protective, or maybe there’s something else going on. But either way, he made it up.’
‘How do you know?’ I said. ‘He sounded very convincing.’
Arthur took my hand and, enjoying the feeling of his fingers in mine, I let him lead me to the side of the church, close to where we’d been sitting.
‘Look,’ he said, pointing to a memorial stone in the wall. ‘He was facing this as he was talking.’
I looked at the stone he was showing me. Along the top on the memorial it said DIGGORY and beneath were listed the names of the Diggory family who’d died several years before. The first name was the family’s baby daughter, Theodora.
Astonished, I gasped.
‘He read the names from the stone,’ Arthur said. ‘Diggory and Theodora are figments of his imagination.’
I nodded and squeezed Arthur’s hand, which I was still holding. ‘Let’s go,’ I said.
‘Go where?’
‘To the cliffs.’