Sabine giggled, the tone of it rising. ‘If… if I told her that black was white the woman would have believed me. Yes,’ she nodded to the photograph, ‘yes, dearest, just as she believed what I said about that blue dress, that it was poorly made and of a design outmoded years ago, but hush.’ Holding a finger to her lips Sabine stifled the giggle.
‘Shh, Emma mustn’t know the gown was really very pretty and excellently stitched. Ruth Sanford did…’ Pausing, Sabine’s eyes seemed to glaze, to lose their focus as they lifted to the mirror.
‘Ruth Sanford…’ It was a snarl, drawing the mean lips into oblivion. ‘It was she hurt you, it was because of her and him, Jason Sanford… it was what he did, leaving you for some trollop. But I took revenge, I hounded him and his, harried and thwarted him until he took his own life. I made him pay for what he did…’
Her gaze still locked on the mirror it seemed Sabine saw a scene other than her bedroom, a scene that had her smile, a vindictive rancorous twist of the mouth.
‘But that was not enough. You!’ She jabbed a finger at something the mirror showed only to her. ‘You took my Julia from me, you took my beloved… you ruined my life so I ruined theirs; your wife and daughter went on paying. The child suffered in the schoolroom, your trollop suffered in a house not fit for dogs to live in and then… and then, Jason, she died of consumption and your daughter… she will follow very soon.’
A laugh, a high pitched crazed sound, bubbled in Sabine’s throat then was quickly stifled, her attention caught by people moving and speaking only in her mind.
‘You didn’t know, either of you, you didn’t know and you never will. You see, Jason, my sister gave you your freedom from your promise, she held no malice when you asked the engagement be broken. But I could not allow Julia to become the object of people’s talk, of fingers pointing, the jilted fiancée; do you know what that means to a woman… the pain of it! There was no one to help her… no one but me.’ Gazing at the unreal, at illusive mind created shadows, her brow creased in a puzzled frown.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, it will not be murder, it will be justice; an eye for an eye, Jason, you killed my darling Julia so I must kill your daughter.’
For a silent moment Sabine smiled into the mirror, a venomous spiteful smile which all of a sudden was gone, replaced by a look of pure hate.
‘That is a lie!’ Serpent like it hissed about the quiet bedroom. ‘An evil lie. I did not harm her, I could never harm her.’
Snatching up the heavy frame Sabine pressed it to her breast, the eyes shining into the mirror aflame with the frenzied light of insanity.
‘You lie, Jason Sanford,’ she snarled, ‘it was not murder. I did not kill Julia… I helped her!’
*
She had thought the transaction to have taken time, that the people Phineas had spoken of as showing a keen interest in her work when viewing them during the evening of his dinner party would require to see them again, to examine them in detail before undertaking an obligation to purchase.
But it had not happened like that. Phineas had simply looked at her, his glance behind gold rimmed spectacles neither questioning nor disapproving, but she had felt a sense of shame. Had she not told him that those pieces were the property of Daniel Roberts? Said she would never accept money for them? Phineas must have remembered those words yet disrespect her as he must now his face had shown no sign. He had simply informed her of the offer made for each item and finally totalled the amount. It had left her bemused; how could they be worth so much!
Thinking the business finished she thanked him again and made to leave but Phineas had opened a drawer of an ornate walnut bureau. Taking out a small metal box and opening it with a key attached to his watch chain he had counted out twenty-four five pound notes.
The money tucked in the pocket of her skirt Callista walked quickly along Wood Green and down the sloping Spring Head and across the market place, ignoring the cries of stall holders exalting their wares.
Phineas Westley had paid her one hundred and twenty pounds, asking only she put her signature to a bill of sale. There had been no enquiry as to Daniel, what he thought of her decision to sell, whether he was in agreement, had he been consulted? Only that bland look, that polite, refined essence of a smile… a smile which no longer held esteem? A smile which said Callista Sanford no more warranted the approval of Phineas Westley? And Michael Farron, he was already of the opinion she was not worthy of his uncle’s friendship, that she was no woman of quality. What would be his opinion once he heard of what she had done?
Hurrying in the direction of the Great Western Railway station, Callista’s hand touched against the pocket which held the folded notes.
She had gone back on her word. She had not only sold the statuettes, she had done so without telling Daniel. But what would it have achieved talking with him? Hadn’t he said the pieces she created were hers to do with as she pleased? So she had said nothing. She had simply walked away from that cottage, called at Phineas’s home and sold them all.
There had been no other way; she needed money.
Across the street people came and went, through the entrance to the station. Where did they all go; where did they all belong? Where would she go? Would she ever belong anywhere?
But what did it matter where she went, what did anything matter any more. Phineas Westley, Michael Farron, Daniel and Abigail, they were part of the past.
Hearing the plaintive call of a child, Callista glanced to where a woman dressed neatly in a dark blue gabardine skirt and jacket hurried a child towards the high arched entrance to the station. The girl had dropped her posy and was scrambling to pick it up. Joining them quickly, Callista scooped up several of the flowers already wilting from being held in a warm tight hand. Thanking her, the woman’s smile was harassed as the child handed a buttercup to Callista. Murmuring about a train and friends waiting to meet them she scurried into the station, the child’s feet pattering as she trotted to keep up.
Glancing at the tiny gift, Callista’s mind flew to another golden flower, picked from the heath, her inner vision seeing four spots of gold nestling on the ground and one remaining on the flower held in a young woman’s hand: her hand.
Four petals she had plucked, each a token of the grief which had afflicted her life. They had lain at her feet like the tiny golden arrows of the Fates which had robbed her of the joy of childhood, stolen all but precious memories of her parents.
One remaining petal! Callista stared at the image in her mind, the words she had thought then returning now.
Would her future be no different to her past?
Phineas Westley, Daniel and Abigail, they had been her friends, perhaps even Michael Farron… but where was the hope in dreaming, of thinking on what might have been? They, like every other thing of value to her had been snatched away.
The daughters of Nyx had played their final trick. The last of the petals had fallen.
*
‘Callista wench, you shouldn’t ’ave done what you ’ave!’
Eyes wide with distress, Abigail Roberts stared at the railway tickets and money lying on the table.
‘Abigail be right, you acted wrong!’ Daniel’s time beaten face clouded in a frown. ‘You shouldn’t ought to ’ave sold them there pieces.’
Anxiety which had built in Callista since going into the station and purchasing those tickets overflowed into her answer.
‘But you said they were mine, I could use them as I saw fit!’
‘Ar, I said that an’ it were that I meant. Them pieces was your’n, med by your own ’ands an’ meant to be used to benefit you an’ no other. I ’olds no argiment with your sellin’ o’ ’em, but the money be your’n. Abbie an’ me will tek no part o’ it!’
‘Please…’ Dismay reflected in the film of tears, adding brilliance to the violet, Callista turned her glance to Abigail. ‘I did it for you… I did it so you could go look for Adam and Mary, try to find them and your grandchildren. Please don�
�t tell me that was wrong. You both love them as my mother and father loved me and your hearts cry for your family as my own heart cries for mine. Selling those figurines was the only way I could think to help; please don’t turn your back on the chance. Go to America, at least try to find your children.’
‘Oh wench!’ Flinging her arms wide, Abigail smiled through her own mist of tears. ‘What you offers be the blessing I’ve long prayed for,’ she murmured, folding Callista close. ‘You come to me out of nowhere, you be no kin, I never carried you in my womb, no blood of mine flows in your veins, but our ’earts be bound by chains no force of earth will break; you be no child of my body but you be a daughter of my soul, one I will love as I love them you ’ave med it possible for me to seek and I asks the Lord bless you for your goodness.’ Taking Callista’s face between her hands she kissed the tear strewn cheek then turned to face her husband.
Taking only time enough to dash a hand across her own wet cheeks she stared at him. ‘Daniel Roberts,’ she said, determination throbbing in every word, ‘I ain’t not never gone against you in all the days of our bein’ wed but as God be my witness, I’ll go against you in this! Refuse what the wench offers if you will, cling to your stubborn way if that be what pleases you, but I accepts what her gives. If it be as I must travel by meself then so be it for I don’t reckon a chance such as this to be given a second time.’
Nonplussed by the outburst Daniel shook his head. ‘Abigail, be sensible, woman. America don’t be like Wednesbury, it don’t be a small place where everybody knows everybody else, it be a vast country. Searching for Adam an’ Mary’ll be like lookin’ for a needle in a mountain of hay!’
‘I am bein’ sensible,’ Abigail sniffed, ‘an’ though America be vast it were med as Wednesbury were med, by the Lord’s hand, and I reckon if He ’as sent me the chance to go looking for my children then He’ll guide my steps in safety ’til I finds ’em!’
Taking his clay pipe from the mantelshelf Daniel reached for the tobacco tin, filling one slowly from the other.
‘You truly means what you says, you will go by y’self if needs be?’
A sob rattling up from her chest, Abigail nodded. ‘If needs be, Daniel.’
‘Then there be no more to say.’
Callista felt her throat tighten. She had meant only to help the couple, provide them with the means with which to go in search of their loved ones, instead she had brought disagreement.
Holding a paper spill to his pipe Daniel puffed until the tobacco in the tiny white bowl glowed scarlet; then his glance sought Callista’s through the gauzy veil of grey smoke and he said quietly, ‘Abigail’s mind be med up, that be the all o’ it… all savin’ one thing!’
28
‘She came to this house alone? Daniel Roberts was not with her?’
‘As I told you, Michael.’ Phineas Westley nodded.
‘But didn’t you tell me she had flatly refused when you told her some weeks ago those pieces would sell? Didn’t she say they did not belong to her?’
Pouring two glasses of brandy, Phineas handed one to the younger man then carried his own to a favourite tapestried chair.
‘They both disclaimed ownership.’ He settled comfortably. ‘Daniel and Callista each maintained the statuettes, busts and bowls all belonged to the other; neither would take full credit for their creation and neither would sell.’
‘But she did! She came alone and that means Daniel Roberts knows nothing of what she intended!’
The lad was hurt. He had never said anything of the feelings he had for that girl yet they showed in his face. He cared for Callista Sanford, cared for her deeply. Doing what she had puzzled his nephew; he had thought her a woman of her word, yet that word was broken. However, hurt as he might be, he should not make accusations of which he had no proof and certainly no justification.
‘That is unfair, Michael,’ Phineas remonstrated gently. ‘We have no reason to believe she did not come here with Daniel’s full approval.’
‘Then why was he not with her? We both know full well Daniel Roberts is not a man to let her come to you without his being there to support her word!’
Phineas sipped his drink, savouring the richness on his tongue. Cognac had ever been his choice and this was a particularly fine bottle.
‘True.’ He sipped again. ‘But do we not both know also fully well that Daniel Roberts has suffered two injuries in fairly quick succession? Given that fact, is it not feasible to assume the walk from Lea Brook to Wood Green and back again might as yet prove too much for him to attempt and it is because of that Callista Sanford made the journey alone?’
He wanted to believe that. Michael stared into the amber liquid in his glass. It was feasible… but why then had she made no reference to that as a reason for coming to The Limes alone, why had she made no mention of Daniel Roberts? The question filled his eyes as he looked across at his uncle; behind it there was another. With enough money to start a life somewhere would she have returned to the Robertses cottage?
The question and the answer it provoked caused fresh doubt to add fuel to the flame of disappointment flaring inside him, Michael remained silent.
‘You say you delivered a letter to Daniel?’ Replenishing both glasses, Phineas revitalised the conversation.
‘Yes.’ Michael took his glass. ‘A boatman up from Liverpool said a fellow at one of the basins along from the docks there asked was he travelling to the Midlands and on finding the boat was calling at Wednesbury paid the bargee half a crown to deliver a letter to Leabrook Pottery.’
‘Half a crown!’ Phineas’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Quite a sum. Whoever has written to Daniel was anxious it reach him. Did the man say an answer was expected?’
‘Not so far as I know. He spoke to Moses Turley so I can’t be certain of his exact words but Moses wouldn’t forget to mention if an answer were called for.’
Holding the brandy beneath his nose Phineas breathed the bouquet before replying. ‘Moses is most dependable; he would not forget had an answer been mentioned, but half a crown for a letter her Majesty’s post would have charged a penny to carry! Does it not strike you as improbable no answer would be required? And do you suppose Daniel Roberts might prefer a reply to be taken back in the same way… namely by way of the canal? Perhaps, Michael, it would be a kindness to enquire.’
Had Phineas guessed the uncertainty inside him, guessed what thoughts troubled his mind? Michael sipped slowly. His uncle had always shown quite a proficiency in that, a skill almost, and it seemed the years had not robbed him of it. Using the same guile he had used with a young child and later with a mettlesome teenaged lad he was offering a solution. Michael smiled to himself. His uncle was a wily old bird. Without actually saying he was pointing to a means of settling the doubt.
‘You may be right.’ He nodded. ‘A call enquiring after Daniel’s progress would be welcome from you, and an enquiry as to the need for sending a reply; you could offer to bring it to the wharf for him.’
His nephew had not simply acquired a sense of business, he had gained a dexterity of mind! Phineas’s inner smile was warm. Michael was his equal in most things but when it came to artifice he was dealing with an old campaigner! Holding his glass between both palms Phineas twisted it slowly.
‘Would that be wise, Michael?’ he asked musingly. ‘Enquiring about a reply to a letter, I mean. To do so would prove we two have been talking of the man’s business and that may not sit well at all with Daniel Roberts. In fact he might take you to task for disclosing it to me, and he would have every right in doing so. No, it is best I do not go to Leabrook Pottery – at least not for a day or so.’
He should have known better than to try. Phineas could still tie him in knots when it came to deviousness. Michael hid his own smile in his glass. He had turned that particular table very neatly. Now it was up to himself to accept the suggestion he had made, go to the Robertses place and find out whether or not Callista Sanford had returned there, or not call and live w
ith his own doubts.
*
It had come again last night. It had slid silently across the darkness of sleep, winding about her, trapping her brain in the coils of fear. The same dream, the same terrifying nightmare.
‘… it was her…!’
Spat like venom from a striking snake the words had seemed to sting like knife points while a woman’s hard, unblinking, ice cold eyes held a small child immobilised with fear.
‘… it was her and you, the spawn of his evil…’
The long fingered hand had lifted as it so often had, remaining poised above the mousy brown haired head while those dreadful lizard eyes glared raw hatred; then it had lashed downwards, the force of its blow sending the thin figure sprawling backwards… falling against a coffin from which rose a grinning Oswin Slade, a skeleton rolling from beneath him.
The horror of it had stayed with her throughout the grey hours of dawn and was with her still, cold and clammy against her skin. Standing on the platform of the railway station Callista felt waves of the night’s terror eddying in her veins. It was only a dream, she had told herself on waking, nothing more than a dream. Both the teacher and Oswin Slade were gone from her life; neither could hurt her any more.
‘I dislike trains, ’tain’t no natural means o’ travel, mebbe’s we should go to Liverpool by way of the cut, there’s many a narrow boat would give passage.’
Seeing his wife flinch as the screech of a steam whistle heralded an approaching train Daniel took her hand.
‘Be nothin’ about ’em can do you ’arm,’ he said consolingly. ‘’sides, it’ll ’ave we to the docks quicker’n any coach.’
‘If you says so!’ Far from convinced, Abigail withdrew her hand, glancing embarrassedly the length of the platform. Touching in public! Whatever would her dear mother ’ave said to such! ‘An’ you,’ she turned to the girl standing at her side, ‘you ain’t said two words together since leavin’ your bed this mornin’. Be you sure you be all right? You still ’ave time enough to change your mind, to come wi’ Daniel an’ me.’
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