by Wendy Gill
“You cannot deny it for I heard it all. Marcy will have to go, I thought I had her yesterday, but she foiled me a second time. There is not going to be a third time. Would you like me to bury you both together, you and Marcy, in the same grave? It would save me having to dig two graves; in fact, if I dump all three of you in one grave, it will save me having to dig three graves.” Henry felt pleased with himself for thinking of this.
“What is going on Henry, why are you doing this?” Freddie repeated the question.
"I killed my mother and it is all Marcy’s fault, I knew she was travelling to Scotland the morning after her party, so I followed her. I had to get away because if I had stayed in Bossett, the constabulary would have come for me. As things stand now they have no idea where I am. They will never think of looking for me in Scotland.
“That is why I have to kill you both. You can see that can’t you? I cannot let you live or you will tell the constabulary where I am, and they would put me in jail with all the other criminals. My mother wouldn’t like that. I saw Isaac and his new bride travelling with you. I must say it was a stroke of good luck for me, when they turned back,” Henry told him.
“You killed your mother?” asked a shocked Freddie.
"I had to; I had to get some peace. You do see that, don’t you? My mother went on and on and on about Marcy. She gave me no peace, even when I was out and about, my mother was in my head, she would not leave me alone.
“Now my mother is dead, but she is still here, in my mind, telling me what to do, no peace, no peace. If I kill Marcy then there will be no mother and no Marcy to obsess my mind, to torment me like they do, I need some peace. When am I to get some peace?” Henry wanted to know.
Jackson had seen these symptoms many times before, soldiers living in a world of their own, refusing to come to terms with the horror of the battlefield. By the sound of it, this young man’s mother is his battlefield.
“You are very lucky to be on such good terms with your mother,” Jackson told him. "Me, I hated my mother, she beat me, left me without food, called me names and showed me up in front of her friends.
"I could never do anything right for her, I came to hate her and now I hate all women, especially the whores. They try to manipulate you, try to tell you how good you are in bed and all the time you know they are lying, you know they are only after your money. They deserve all you hand out to them.
“I wish I had the nerve to do what you are doing, you are very brave, and I admire you,” Jackson told Henry.
Freddie was shocked at this turn of events, the last thing he had expected to hear was these remarks from this other man to whom he was tied. His spirits sank even further, he was doomed.
Silence reigned once more in the shack, no one spoke until finally Henry went around to face Jackson and he said, “I think my mother will like you. I think I will give you to my mother, she can take it out on you instead of me.”
"I have a better idea. Why don’t you and I go into partnership? You could teach me how to knock a whore around without killing her. We could work as a team, lure women back here to the shack and give them what for.
“If we work as a team, it will be easier to get away with it, give your mother something to watch. She will enjoy that won’t she?”
Jackson’s heart was beating against his ribs, making his blood flow faster which was not doing much to help his head. The rush of adrenalin was making his head hurt, he wished it would stop pounding.
Jackson knew Henry was unstable. He had to try and make friends with him, let him know he was not the only person in the world that had been ill-treated by their mother. Not that Jackson had been ill-treated by his mother. He’d had a very happy childhood.
Henry went to sit on his rickety chair at the table, to have a think about this for a while. It sounded exciting. Two of them working together, nobody would ever be able to pin them down, not if there were two of them.
But where was his mother? She had not appeared yet. She must still be angry with him. He had been a bad boy, he had let Marcy escape and his mother was displeased with him.
Why was she not here now, in his hour of need? Why would she not tell him what to do? What if his mother did not like these two men? After all, she did not like his father and she did not like him. There he had said it. His mother did not like him, he knew that, he had always known it, but it did not alter things. He loved his mother.
If his mother did not like him, whose fault was that? Hers! She was the one that had brought him up. She was the one that had made him what he was today.
Henry was going to have to think about this, he felt no resentment against these two men and it was making it hard for him to deal with them. One of them wanted to be his partner. He had never had a partner before. He had never had anyone that he could call his friend. His mother did not like him having friends.
His mother was dead now; he knew that for he had killed her, but she was still here, still in his head, he could not rid himself of her. When was she going to go, let him have some peace? He did not know. What if his mother liked his new partner more than she liked him? He had some thinking to do. He had to think.
Charlie and Ella had ridden hard and fast back to Marchum. They called first at the livery stable and returned Ella’s horse. Ella mounted behind Charlie held him around the waist as they cantered on to Haywood Street where Charlie took his horse into the new paddock Jackson had created, and after checking there was some water for the horse, he shut the paddock gate and left his horse to graze.
Taking Ella’s hand, they walked rapidly to West Street to see the young woman Mr Grundy was keeping an eye on.
When they arrived at Mr Grundy’s, Blanche rushed across to Charlie and threw herself on his chest and cried, “Charlie, Jackson is missing.”
“I know Blanche, try not to worry. I am going to set off and find him, I need to have a few words with this young woman first.” Charlie looked across at Ella who came and took Blanche by the arm and led her to a chair.
Marcy told Charlie all she could, and Charlie set off for The Retreat.
On arrival at The Retreat, Aunt Sylvia let Charlie in and he informed her who he was and where she could find Marcy. Charlie then went on to ask about Jackson, but Aunt Sylvia could tell him nothing for she was more in the dark than he was. She had never heard of anybody called Jackson.
When questioned neither could Lillian, she told Charlie she had not known who the young man was who had attacked her; she had never seen him before. Nor could she tell Charlie where the young man had gone after the attack because he had knocked her out.
A description of her attacker was all Lillian could provide. She knew nothing of any Jackson, for she had never seen him at all.
What Charlie did find out was that someone else had gone missing. Someone called Freddie Atton had not been seen since yesterday afternoon. Things were not looking too good.
Charlie began to panic, he had no leads, and he had nothing to go on. Something must have happened to Jackson he would never have gone missing without leaving some sort of clue for him to follow had it been possible, but there was nothing.
Looking at Aunt Sylvia he asked, “May I look at Lillian’s bedroom?”
“If it is going to help you in your enquiries, you have my permission to look anywhere you like. I shall leave these two young women here with Lillian to keep her company while I go and fetch Marcy home. You do not require me for anything else, do you?”
“No, there is nothing you can help me with, thank you,” Charlie said.
Up in Lillian’s bedroom Charlie made a thorough search but came up against a blank wall, he found nothing to help him. All he found was the remains of a shredded bed sheet. He walked over to the window and looked out. The bedroom was at the back of the house facing towards a wood, there was no movement of any kind to be seen. No clues for him to follow, he began to panic again.
If anything had happened to Jackson, Charlie did not know how he was going to
tell Blanche, Clarence and even Ella. They were all a close little group whom he classed as his family and Jackson was the main pivot, Charlie loved them all dearly. Please God, don’t let anything have happened to Jackson, Charlie made a silent prayer.
Charlie was about to turn away from the window when a darker shade of green caught his eye. It looked like something had been dragged into the wood. It could easily have been a badger or rabbit run, but then again it could easily have been Jackson. There was only one way that Jackson would have gone quietly, and that is if he was being dragged.
Charlie decided it was worth a try. He had nothing else to go on, and he had to do something, he could not just sit and wait for something to turn up.
On closer inspection of the run Charlie’s spirits rose. It looked like something had been dragged into the wood; he could just make out the odd footprint indented into the damp grass. The sun was drying the dew and the grass was starting to spring back up, but he could see the impressions of footprints.
Charlie was lost again in his detective reasoning. Things for Jackson were beginning to look up, Hold on old boy, I am on my way, Charlie thought, and he vanished into the wood.
Aunt Sylvia knocked on the door in West Street and Ella ran to open it.
“Hello,” Aunt Sylvia said, “I believe you have my niece here, I have come to take her home.”
“Please come in, she is in the sitting room. I am afraid she has had an accident and her face is a bit of a mess, but it looks far worse than it is. She has been talking about going back to The Retreat, but Mr Grundy said it would be better if she stayed here until we find out what is going on,” Ella told her.
“Aunt Sylvia, thank God you are safe.” Marcy held out her hands in the elderly lady’s direction.
Aunt Sylvia taking one look at her niece’s face advanced forward and took Marcy’s hands in hers, “What did his face look like?”
Marcy smiled, “Don’t make me smile Aunt Sylvia, it hurts. Your training came in handy for I fought him off and broke his little finger. He let me go and I staggered here.”
“Who is he, why is he doing this?” her aunt wanted to know.
“The man that did this is the same man who I was going to marry. The one that attacked me on the eve before our wedding day. He is the reason why I am here, but I will explain everything later. I want to go home. Is everything alright at The Retreat, are you alright, and are all the girls alright?” Marcy wanted to know.
“Slow down child, yes, everything is alright. Lillian had an encounter with your monster, but she is alright. These poor girls are used to being smacked around, just another day on the job for her. I hate to tell you my dear, but Freddie is missing as well. There is also someone called Jackson missing. Someone called Charlie is trying to find them. I am sure he will. He seemed to be a competent sort of person.”
“Freddie is missing. How has it come about that Freddie is missing too?”
"We have no idea. There seems to be no way of finding out either. No one has seen or heard anything. I left this Charlie person searching Lillian’s bedroom, let us all hope he finds something.
“I think we should be going back to The Retreat if you are feeling up to it. I left the three young women we have stopping with us there. I don’t want to leave them on their own for very long. Although I did tell them to keep together, all stay in one room until we get back, so they should be alright.”
“Yes, of course I am feeling up to it. I want to get back to The Retreat myself I have taken up too much of these good people’s time as it is. If I come across Henry a second time he had better think twice before he attacks me. I am just a bit sore and bruised but apart from that, and the sight I must look, I am perfectly alright,” Marcy confirmed.
“May I come with you?” asked Blanche.
“Do you think that is wise in your condition my dear?” Aunt Sylvia wanted to know.
“Jackson is my husband, I want to know where he is and what has happened to him,” Blanche told her, tears brimming in her eyes.
“In that case, of course you must come with us,” Aunt Sylvia relented.
“If Blanche is coming with you then so am I, Jackson is my friend and I got him into this. If anything has happened to him, I shall never forgive myself. I want to go too, and to be with Blanche,” Ella insisted.
“While you are all getting into the wagon, I will just run upstairs and change into something more appropriate.” Ella went to change out of her father’s riding breeches.
“Then let all who are coming back to The Retreat pile into the wagon, so we can be on our way.” Aunt Sylvia helped Marcy stand.
Ella, running back down stairs tucked her hand through Blanches arm and they followed the little group out to the waiting wagon.
Mr Grundy insisted on accompanying the ladies and he too took his seat in the wagon with Aunt Sylvia at the reins.
After asking directions in Marchum, Lord and Lady Singleton’s coach made its way up West Street passing a horse and wagon that was tethered to a rail of the end house. Not giving the wagon a second glance their coach carried on, out of town along the dirt road heading into the countryside.
Lord Singleton sat on top with the coach driver at the reins and he held a shotgun across his knees, keeping a lookout for any highwaymen that might jump out at them along the way. None had, and their journey had been uneventful but nevertheless, Lord Singleton was happy the end was in sight.
Charlotte and Miss Tubby both had their heads out of a window, one on either side of the coach.
“I bet I will be the first to see it,” Miss Tubby was full of excitement. Although she was nearer sixty years old than she was fifty, Miss Tubby had lived all her life in Bossett and this had been an experience of a life time for her and secretly she would not have missed it for the world.
Charlotte glanced across the coach at her and smiled. Charlotte knew how hard the death of The Dowager Lady Singleton had hit Miss Tubby and she was pleased to see the old lady enjoying herself.
“I bet you don’t,” Charlotte replied getting into the swing of things.
It wasn’t long before Charlotte spotted the old rambling house, but her eyesight was better than Miss Tubby’s, and Charlotte could not bring herself to spoil the old ladies pleasure, so she kept it to herself.
A few seconds later as the coach rumbled its way towards The Retreat, Miss Tubby shouted, “There I see it, there up front. Can’t you see it Miss Charlotte?”
Lord Singleton had admonished Miss Tubby about calling his wife Miss Charlotte, but it had fallen on deaf ears.
Charlotte stretched her neck out of the coach window to get a glance at the building and pretending it was the first time she had seen it she exclaimed, “Yes, I believe you are right Miss Tubby. That must be The Retreat for there is no other building to be seen.”
Miss Tubby clapped her hands with glee. “I win, I saw The Retreat first.”
Charlotte smiled kindly. “Yes, you did Miss Tubby, well done.”
The huge wooden gates stood open and the coach proceeded up the long straight drive, coming to a halt in front of the pillared entrance.
Lord Singleton stepped down from the coach and held the door open for his wife to alight and then Miss Tubby.
Going over to the front door Lord Singleton pulled on the bell. They heard it jingle faintly somewhere inside the house, but nobody came to answer it. He tried again, but still nobody came to let them in.
Having come all this way Lord Singleton was not about to be put off, he tried the door and to his surprise it opened. He went in and Charlotte and Miss Tubby followed but, once inside they were greeted by silence.
“Hello,” shouted Isaac. “Is there anyone about?”
Again, there was silence.
“You two wait here, I will go and have a look around. Someone might be in the back and had not heard us arrive.” He strode across the hall to the back of the house. He found no one.
Charlotte and Miss Tubby, still standing cl
ose together in the hall, watched Isaac return to the hall and head up the stairs.
What happened next made Charlotte and Miss Tubby freeze on the spot.
Hysterical screams came from somewhere above stairs. Isaac did not reappear.
Henry let the silence linger while he thought about having this strange little man as a partner. What if his mother liked his new partner more than she did him, her son? Dare he risk it? No, he decided he could not, he wanted his mother all to himself. They would both have to go.
The silence in the shack was broken by the screech of on owl, not once but twice, and the noise of the screech made Jackson close his eyes.
Charlie, he thought, why the hell do you have to be so loud, it hurts my head?
“What was that?” Henry stood up and looked nervously around.
“It sounded like an owl hooting to me. You can tell you are a city boy if you can’t tell that was the hoot of an owl. You can’t mistake the hoot of an owl, any self-respecting country born man would be able to tell you that,” Jackson told him.
“I know about owls, they only come out at night and that was no owl,” Henry said.
“They make mating noises once they have gone to roost. Didn’t they teach you that in your posh city school?” Jackson was trying to bluff his way along.
“No, they did not. I don’t believe you.” Henry was still looking nervously around.
“Please yourself,” replied Jackson, “if you prefer to believe it is your mother or one of the women that you have knocked around after your blood, carry on. My head hurts. Did you have to rattle it down those steps?”
“It was easier for me to drag you with your hands bound together above your head, it could not be helped, my hand hurt.” Henry defended himself. “You don’t really think it is my mother, do you?”
“No, I think it is an owl. Listen this is what an owl sounds like,” and Jackson hooted twice, cringing in pain when he puckered up his lips.
Charlie’s spirits rose, Jackson was still alive. “Thank you, God,” he whispered and began to make his way towards the shack. He had been all around the outside and there was only one door, so he had no option but to creep towards it.