Rites of Spring Read online

  The colour drained from Ingrid’s face and she clutched Bertil’s arm. Even Bertil, who was always so self-possessed, looked shocked.

  Arne cleared his throat, tucked his thumbs into his belt and rocked back and forth on his heels.

  ‘But I know who did it,’ he said as calmly as he could. ‘Who scared the kids and killed Elita. And I know how to get him. Provided we all work together.’

  77

  A

  rne drops the cigarillo butt on the ground and crushes it with his heel, then he spreads his arms wide.

  ‘Now you know my secret, Thea. I was there, I saw what happened. With hindsight, of course I should have spoken to my colleagues, but I was terrified of losing my job. Plus there were already four witnesses who’d seen Leo on the horse; a fifth wasn’t really important.’

  ‘And you’re sure it was Leo?’ she asks, playing for time.

  Is Arne lying? She can’t see any signs; in fact, he seems relieved, as if the story has been chafing away at him for far too long.

  ‘Absolutely certain. And I recognised the horse; I’d seen him earlier in the day in the paddock at Svartgården. Bill had a white sock on his right hind leg – there was no mistaking him.’

  ‘And Elita’s pregnancy? The fact that someone tampered with the autopsy report?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know anything about that. I didn’t have much of an insight into the investigation. Lennartson treated me like an errand boy. It was several years before he even looked me in the eye.’

  The answer seems honest, just like the rest of his account.

  The doors open at the top of the steps and several guests emerge.

  ‘Maybe we should go back inside?’ Arne suggests.

  Thea nods. ‘Thank you for telling me all this.’

  ‘Thank you for listening. It was good to get it off my chest – but I’m sure you understand that our respective secrets must stay between us.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She follows him up the steps. Hubert is at the top, waiting for her.

  ‘Hi,’ she says. ‘I’m so glad you came.’

  She makes an effort to sound the same as always, but it’s hard. Hubert looks serious, maybe a little annoyed.

  ‘Are you enjoying Per’s company?’ he asks when Arne has gone indoors.

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  Hubert stares at her. ‘Be careful with him,’ he says quietly.

  She wonders what he means, but more people are coming outside, and there’s another question she has to ask.

  ‘You knew Elita. You gave her a copy of the poetry book you lent to me.’

  Hubert’s expression doesn’t change. They are surrounded by other guests now – Nettan, Sebastian, Bianca, and a few people that Thea doesn’t know. Suddenly they’ve drawn her into a noisy conversation about the castle and David, and she can’t get out of it. Hubert stands there watching her for a while, then turns and goes back inside.

  It’s a long time before Thea is able to re-join Per Nyberg.

  ‘Good to see you – I thought you’d found someone else,’ he says with a laugh.

  ‘What have I missed?’

  ‘Chocolate tart, coffee and cognac. But you haven’t missed it – I got some for you.’

  ‘That was kind of you – thanks.’

  Hubert is also back in his seat. She can see that he is watching them again, even though he’s trying to be discreet. She thinks about the poetry book once more, the words he wrote in it about love.

  She lowers her voice, leans closer to Per.

  ‘Did you know Elita Svart?’

  ‘A little,’ he says, frowning. ‘Her stepbrother was in my class.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘Leo? Pretty quiet. He was bullied for a while in the lower school, but once he filled out in puberty, nobody dared to mess with him.’

  ‘And the rest of the family?’

  Per shrugs. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Elita and Hubert knew each other, didn’t they?’

  Per glances over at Hubert. ‘Maybe. I don’t really remember.’

  His tone is suddenly evasive. He’s lying, she’s sure of it. Trying to protect his childhood friend – but why?

  Per shuffles uncomfortably; the subject clearly bothers him, and Thea decides to back off. She clinks glasses with him as a diversionary tactic.

  ‘By the way, how’s it going with the deer? Any more attacks?’

  Per pulls a face. ‘We had another last night, unfortunately. That’s the third.’

  Thea feels an enormous sense of relief. Last night Emee was fighting for her life in the veterinary hospital. Her dog is innocent.

  ‘I still think it’s a lynx, but Dad won’t have it. He insists that a lynx wouldn’t attack a big animal like a deer. We’ll see who’s right.’

  He nods in the direction of his father, who is deep in conversation with Bertil and Ingrid.

  ‘Your father and Lasse Svart didn’t get along,’ Thea says, working her way back to Elita’s story.

  A bark of laughter. ‘You could say that.’ Per takes a deep breath, as if he’s not too happy to be discussing the Svart family again. ‘Lasse Svart was a terrible person. He was violent towards his women and Leo. Several times he beat them so badly that they had to jump in the car and flee for their lives.’

  ‘Where did they go? To the police?’

  ‘No, no – they wouldn’t have dared.’

  ‘So where did they go?’

  Per lowers his voice. ‘To Kerstin Miller. She was teaching Lola English.’

  Thea nods, remembering that Kerstin had mentioned it.

  ‘Lasse wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, but he did have some respect for Kerstin.’

  ‘And your father – was he afraid of Lasse?’

  Another mirthless laugh.

  ‘I remember when the count sent us over to give Lasse notice to quit. Dad wasn’t usually nervous, but he had an old-fashioned lead cosh at home, and he slipped it into his pocket when he thought I wasn’t looking.’

  ‘So how did it go?’

  ‘It was a bit of an anti-climax in the end. Lasse yelled for a couple of minutes then drove off, so we served the papers to Eva-Britt. Then the count relented after Elita died, and said they could stay. I guess he didn’t want to seem heartless.’

  Thea is taken aback; she hasn’t heard anything about this.

  ‘But then they suddenly disappeared,’ she says. ‘And the count was very quick to board the place up and destroy the track.’

  ‘Exactly. You seem to know most of the story already – you don’t need me.’ This time the laughter is slightly over the top.

  ‘But why did the family take off if the count had rescinded the notice to quit? If they were allowed to stay at Svartgården?’

  Per shrugs. ‘I’ve no idea. As I said, Lasse Svart was a bastard. Nobody around here was sorry when he left, and nobody asked why. Anyway, it’s time for dancing!’

  The big band strikes up and Per immediately offers her his hand. He’s a good dancer – very good, in fact. Occasionally he holds her a little too tightly, and she can feel Hubert’s eyes on her again. Why is he watching her like that? And what did he mean by his comment about Per? Be careful with him. Was Hubert jealous, or was this about something else?

  She sees David dancing with Nettan and Sebastian with Bianca. Dr Andersson is dancing with Bertil, Ingrid with Erik Nyberg.

  Thea doesn’t really like dancing, being so close to a stranger’s body. After the two dances that politeness requires, she makes her excuses. Per is obviously disappointed, and makes her promise to come back soon.

  She goes out into the hallway, steps over the rope with the STAFF ONLY sign and creeps upstairs. She needs some peace and quiet to think.

  Arne’s surprising confession definitely fills some of the gaps in the story, but there are still pieces of the puzzle missing. Why did the Svart family disappear? What happened to the animal masks the children were wearing?
And the blue suitcase, into which she is convinced Elita had packed her best clothes?

  She stops outside the bridal suite in the east wing, which was once Hubert Gordon’s schoolroom. The lonely little boy in the castle. She remembers when they sat in his library drinking coffee; he told her he’d lost someone close. She’d assumed he meant his mother, but what if it was actually Elita?

  The strongest love is unrequited love.

  A sound from inside the room interrupts her train of thought. A thud, as if something has fallen on the floor.

  She knocks on the door. ‘Hello?’

  No reply. She pushes down the handle; the door isn’t locked.

  Jan-Olof is lying face down on the bed, breathing heavily. His shoes are on the floor; presumably he’s just kicked them off.

  Tell everyone what happened, Bertil. Tell them, for fuck’s sake!

  She thinks about the words he yelled out during Bertil’s speech, before Arne managed to get him out of the dining room.

  After thirty years, Jan-Olof is still tormented by Elita’s death. He’s not the only one. David, Nettan and Sebastian can’t shake off Elita’s ghost either. Arne, who’s kept a Polaroid photograph of her. Bertil, who wanders around in the forest by the stone circle. Erik Nyberg, who is worried about what Bertil might let slip. Not to mention the person who secretly donated money for the grave, and still lays flowers on it. And then there’s Hubert and his poetry book.

  Tell everyone what happened, Bertil.

  Tell them what? What is it that hasn’t come out? What secrets is Bertil keeping, and whose are they?

  She recalls Hubert’s strange behaviour this afternoon when she returned the poetry book. The open door of the old chapel. Hubert rarely leaves his wing, but tonight the hermit is out of his cave. Which means that the cave and any secrets it might hold are unguarded.

  She glances up at the loft hatch. The ladder the builder was using has been left in a corner. She puts her handbag on the table and takes out her phone. Carries the ladder over, opens it out and places it beneath the hatch, then slips off her shoes.

  78

  ‘Everyone seems to be hiding something, Margaux. They’re all stuck in a mire of lies and half-truths. And high above them floats Elita Svart.’

  T

  hea has already begun to regret her impulse when she clambers into the loft. The darkness, the smell, the frightening thought of bats. She can still hear the music from the dining room, mingled with Jan-Olof’s faint snores, which makes the whole thing feel even odder.

  The torch on her phone illuminates only a few metres at a time, so she has to move cautiously. The wooden floor creaks beneath her feet, and she has to duck under thick beams that must have been here for centuries.

  She glimpses a silhouette; she directs the beam at the figure and sees a chalk-white, distorted female face.

  Thea gasps, then realises it’s the statue of the saint that David mentioned. A woman with her hands clasped in front of her and two gaping holes where her eyes should be. It looks as if it’s several hundred years old. The wood is cracked, the colours faded. It’s about one and a half metres tall, and is standing on a square plinth. ST LUCIA, it says at the bottom. Not exactly the usual dressed-in-white-with-candles-in-her-hair version.

  The statue is surrounded by a number of items which presumably come from the chapel. Two crosses, a couple of tall candlesticks and a large wooden chest. Beyond them she finds what she’s looking for: a hatch just like the one she came up through. The bridal suite’s position in the east wing matches that of the chapel in the west wing, which should mean that the hatch will lead her there.

  She is right. The windows are covered and the torch on her phone isn’t strong enough to enable her to see much more than the stone floor directly below the hatch, but it’s obviously the chapel. The drop is around three metres, and if she hangs by her hands she should be able to jump down. She’s not very heavy, her arms are strong and she’s pretty fit. However, it will be considerably more difficult to get back up.

  She turns the beam this way and that, hoping to spot something that she’ll be able to stand on, but the darkness swallows the light and all she can see are silhouettes – presumably statues like the one in the attic. She must either take a chance and risk being locked in the chapel, or return to the dinner without having accomplished her mission.

  Neither alternative appeals to her, but she might not get another opportunity. Hubert is hiding something, she’s sure of it. Something that might be in the darkness below her.

  She tucks her phone into her bra, then turns around, slides her legs over the edge and lowers herself slowly until her arms are fully extended. Ronny would be proud if he could see her now.

  She takes a deep breath, lets go.

  The drop is longer than she’d thought. Her bare feet hit the cold floor with such force that she tumbles over. She lies there for a few seconds to catch her breath, then gets up.

  She glances at the dark rectangle above her and suddenly regrets the whole thing. How on earth is she going to get back up there?

  Her phone has survived the fall, but reception is poor. She switches the torch on again.

  The chapel doesn’t look like a chapel at all. No pews, no altar. The only source of light is a faint strip beneath the door.

  The silhouettes are indeed statues of saints, set out in the middle of the room in some kind of formation. She makes her way to the door; as expected it’s locked, bolted from the outside, so whatever is in here, Hubert doesn’t want it on display.

  She finds a bank of switches, tries the top one.

  Two spotlights come on, illuminating the centre of the room. Thea inhales sharply.

  Five figures, almost in a row.

  The one in the middle is on a plinth so that it’s taller than the others. Silk ribbons run from this central figure to the other four, whose faces are covered by animal masks.

  A hare, a fox, an owl and a deer.

  79

  T

  hea is finding it hard to breathe. It’s as if she can hear her heartbeat bouncing off the stone walls. Hubert has removed all the religious trappings and staged his own version of the spring sacrifice.

  She moves closer to the figures. On a table beside them is a record player with a black LP on the turntable, and propped up against one speaker is something she recognises only too well.

  A Polaroid, virtually identical to the ones she found inside the Gallows Oak and at Arne’s house.

  Walpurgis Night 1986. To Hubert. Come to the stone circle at midnight. The spring sacrifice.

  Hubert was also invited to the stone circle.

  She picks up the photograph, compares the animal masks with the ones on the saints. They’re the same. So how did they end up here, inside the Gordon family’s private chapel?

  She walks around the back of the tableau. There is something on the floor behind the figure representing Elita.

  A blue suitcase.

  Her heart begins to race. She sits down and opens the case. It contains two pairs of shoes, and neatly folded items of clothing. Two dresses, two pairs of jeans, a blouse, several tops, a passport. Right at the bottom is a soft toy, a little rabbit.

  There is something very moving about it all. Elita Svart’s most treasured possessions, the things she wanted to take with her as she floated high above Tornaby, never to return.

  Can you see me, dear readers?

  I can see you.

  She flicks through the passport. It was issued in March 1986, only a month or so before Elita was killed. In the picture she looks happy. Expectant. As if she is waiting to take off. Instead she was beaten to death and left on a cold block of stone. With a child in her belly that no one must find out about.

  Because no secret is greater than mine.

  Thea gets to her feet, takes a few photos with her phone: the figures, the masks, Elita’s suitcase.

  More pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place, but the overall picture is still not
clear.

  The most logical conclusion is that Hubert must have been there that night, even though he claims to have been in England, and neither the children nor Arne mentioned him. Maybe he was hiding, watching everything from a distance, just like Arne. Waiting to see what would happen.

  Why did Hubert take the masks and the suitcase, remove clear proof that Elita wasn’t planning to die, as the police investigation assumed, but to run away? Leave Tornaby, possibly with the one she loved.

  The strongest love is unrequited love.

  As I said, the Gordons are terrible people.

  Could a broken heart be reason enough for Hubert to commit murder?

  A distant sound interrupts her train of thought, a door opening and closing somewhere in the building, followed by faint footsteps.

  Thea tiptoes over to the door and puts her ear against it. The footsteps are coming closer. Someone is on their way up the stairs.

  It must be Hubert. What will happen if he comes in? Catches her here, at the heart of a secret he’s kept for over thirty years?

  She has no intention of staying around to find out. Quickly she lifts the record player off the table. The album sleeve behind it falls on the floor – Stravinsky.

  The table is heavy, it scrapes along the concrete as she drags it to the right spot. Whoever is outside must be able to hear the noise. She scrambles up and stretches her arms. There’s a half-metre gap. She’s going to have to jump.

  Another sound, a bolt being drawn back, a key turning in a lock.

  Thea takes a deep breath, bends her knees and pushes off with all her strength. Her fingers grip the edge of the hatch. For a second she thinks she won’t be able to hold on, but then she manages to swing her body and press one foot against the ceiling, enabling her to crawl back into the loft.

  Just as she draws her legs in, she hears the chapel door open.