The Daughter's Promise (ARC)

by Sarah Clutton

  ‘Constance…’

  ‘The son should not suffer for the sin of the father, Lillian.’ Constance sounded like she was preaching, but her next words spewed out in a guttural command. ‘Haven’t we all suffered enough?’

  Annabelle peeped around the corner of the house. Lillian was staring at Andrew’s body. She looked up slowly.

  ‘It’s just… I didn’t know. I didn’t know what he was capable of. I thought he was just moody. Difficult. I thought…’ She raised both hands to the bruised skin of her neck. Betrayal, sick and terrible, was written across her face. ‘I thought he really loved me.’

  Thirty

  Willa

  ‘We need to go inside,’ said Sylvia. She took Annabelle by the arm and turned her away from the cliff.

  Annabelle broke from her daze. ‘I’m sorry, Willa. You deserved better.’

  Willa took her other arm and they walked across the grass in silence. The rain was light now, but Willa shivered as the water soaked through her coat, ran down her neck, sank into her socks. They neared the entry to The Old Chapel and Willa guided Annabelle towards it. There were too many people at Merrivale and they didn’t need to see her like this.

  ‘No,’ said Annabelle. ‘It’s cold in there.’

  ‘I lit the fire,’ said Willa, wondering if she could ask Indigo and Constance to leave now that the rain had stopped falling so hard. ‘And it’s private. Let’s just dry off a little inside, and then we can go back over to your house when you’re feeling a bit better.’

  Annabelle closed her eyes for so long that Willa wondered what to do. She exchanged a worried look with Sylvia.

  Eventually Annabelle opened her eyes. ‘All right.’

  Inside, Constance was alone on the couch. Her face dropped when she saw Annabelle. ‘My dear, you’re unwell.’ She looked at Willa and Sylvia. ‘You’ll all catch your death in those wet clothes.’

  ‘I’ll get a towel,’ said Willa. In the bathroom, she found two small hand towels. She returned to the couch, where Annabelle was sitting, mute and staring straight ahead. She handed a towel to Constance, who began dabbing at Annabelle’s arms.

  She went upstairs and pulled off her wet coat, shivering. Perhaps it was the shock, the knowledge. She was a child created from violence and born into despair. Her hands shook as she picked up a brown woollen blanket to put around Annabelle’s shoulders.

  The rain began again, and within seconds it was pelting down, pummelling the tin roof of The Old Chapel in an awful cacophony. Downstairs, Sylvia was stoking the fire as the kettle boiled, the sound of it barely audible above the din of the rain.

  Willa sat down on the couch next to Annabelle. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’ she asked gently.

  Annabelle was staring blankly at the wall.

  ‘You don’t have to, of course.’ Willa put her hand on Annabelle’s knee. ‘You really don’t have to. I just thought I’d ask.’

  ‘I never came in here after that night. Not until you invited me in. How silly,’ said Annabelle. She let out a deep sigh. ‘Now I see that it’s just a house.’ Her voice was bleak and hollow.

  Willa squeezed her knee.

  ‘Just a silly house,’continued Annabelle. ‘But it’s funny, isn’t it, how you associate a place with a feeling?’

  ‘You don’t need to talk about it,’ said Constance.

  ‘Willa should hear,’ said Annabelle. ‘She’s my baby, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ said Constance.

  ‘I told you there was an accident here, Willa,’ said Annabelle, turning to her. ‘He died here. Andrew.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Willa.

  Constance lifted her walking stick and tapped it sharply on the floor. They all looked at her. She sat ramrod straight on the couch.

  ‘I didn’t—’ said Annabelle, but Constance tapped the stick again, hard.

  ‘Andrew attacked her,’ said Constance. She stood slowly and walked to the window.

  A strange feeling came over Willa. There was something magnetic in the set of Constance’s shoulders. The tilt of her chin.

  ‘He impregnated her. He was a terrible, violent man. He was the Devil,’ Constance said, turning to Sylvia. ‘I found him in the act, and after, when Annabelle was gone, I struck him. Hard. I killed him.’ Her voice was as clear as a mountain stream. She eyed each of them calmly, as if challenging them to react.

  Willa pushed her hands between her thighs, but dared not look away.

  ‘There was nothing I could do about it. Obviously I didn’t want to go to jail, though, so… I forced Lillian to dispose of his body with me. Over the cliffs.’

  The noise of the rain continued above them.

  Willa looked up at Sylvia’s face. It was haunted, sickened. She was moving her eyes between Constance and Annabelle, who were locked in a stare.

  Annabelle shook her head and whispered, ‘No.’

  Constance laughed, the sound almost lost in the clatter of the rain. There was iron in the look she gave Annabelle. ‘Yes. That is what happened. As God is my witness.’

  ‘No,’ said Annabelle again, crumbling into herself. ‘Please, no. That noise! On the roof. Stop it!’ She put her hands to her ears and began to sob. Sylvia crossed to the couch, putting her arm around her sister.

  Constance said, ‘Annabelle knew nothing about it until later. She was in shock with what he’d done to her.’ She paused, then sighed and looked around. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Lillian’s artwork, Annabelle’s distraught face, the fire. She walked slowly towards the fire, bending to retrieve a piece of wood from the copper bucket. ‘It seems to me that we’ve carried this burden for too long, Annabelle. It’s time for this place to be gone.’

  She leaned her walking stick against the bucket and carefully opened the door of the stove, then prodded at a burning log with the wood until it fell onto the hearth, glowing and smoking. ‘A fire,’ she muttered. ‘Yes, a fire will cleanse the past.’

  ‘What?’ said Willa.

  ‘What are you doing?’ snapped Sylvia.

  Annabelle’s wailing intensified.

  Sylvia rubbed her hand up and down Annabelle’s back. ‘Shh, Anna. It’s all right.’

  Constance turned back to them. ‘It’s only fitting, don’t you think, that we end this purgatory Annabelle has lived? Waking each day to see this house of Satan’s sins? This is no house of God.’ She prodded at the log and it rolled along the floorboards.

  Sylvia called over Annabelle’s shoulder. ‘Constance! Stop! Are you mad?’

  Yes, Willa thought, with sudden clarity, the woman is mad. But she’s right. Annabelle needs The Old Chapel to be gone.

  Just as Sylvia propelled herself off the couch, Constance flicked the burning timber across the floor towards the sheer synthetic curtain, which melted instantly, then caught alight in a great whoosh. Barely stopping to look at the flames, she used her walking stick to poke at the woven wicker basket holding kindling and the packet of fire-starters. It tipped over.

  Willa was trapped in a trance. She felt time slowing around her. As if through treacle she heard Sylvia crying out, ‘No! The paintings!’

  ‘Look at all the faces,’ hissed Constance. ‘The paintings were her prison. His eyes are in all of them.’

  Willa thought: I must move. Do something! But before she could, the fire-starters exploded into a bright vortex of beautiful flames.

  ‘There,’ said Constance. There was a fierce, deranged look in her eyes as she stepped back and looked towards Annabelle. ‘Daniel should never have left you alone here that night, dear. But you won’t be haunted any more.’

  Suddenly the flames caught the tasselled edges of the woven raffia mat on the floor and burst sideways and upwards simultaneously. The fire was a metre away from them.

  The cloud in Willa’s mind cleared and she screamed, pushing herself into action. ‘Get out!’ She lurched towards the wall of heat, grabbing Constance and forcing her across the room towards the door. She barely register
ed the cool mist of the rain as she left the old lady on the step outside and turned back.

  Sylvia was pulling at Annabelle, who was standing staring at the flames.

  ‘Come on, Annabelle!’ screamed Sylvia.

  The curtain rod crashed to the floor, igniting the box of Lillian’s papers below. It exploded into flames.

  ‘No!’ cried Annabelle, as Sylvia dragged at her.

  Willa took a step forward, but the air was scorching her face, throwing out a searing, pungent chemical wall of air. She could see the anguish and terror on Annabelle’s face as the raffia mat blazed around her. Flames caught the skirt of the fabric armchair beside her.

  ‘Get out!’ she screamed again.

  The boxes of files and books lining the walls of The Old Chapel were perfect fuel, and one by one they caught fire as The Old Chapel started to burn in earnest.

  As the flames seethed around her, Annabelle’s face cleared. She put her hands to her head. ‘No! It wasn’t like that.’

  The armchair suddenly ignited, and Sylvia stumbled backwards. Flames began liquefying and multiplying on the mat around Annabelle.

  Sylvia was forced further back. ‘Anna!’ she screamed.

  There was a loud crack, and a panel from the ceiling above curled and dislodged, falling onto the couch. With a huge swoosh, the couch ignited.

  Annabelle was behind it, shaking her head. ‘No,’ she mouthed. But Willa couldn’t hear the word.

  Thirty-One

  Annabelle

  1977

  The noise of the door opening startled her, and Annabelle jumped up from the couch.

  Dan was peering into the gloom with a torch. ‘Sorry. I must have fallen asleep before the blackout. Thank heavens you still have the fire going.’

  ‘Dan.’

  ‘You all right, little A? The blackout didn’t frighten you?’

  Annabelle took a deep breath. She wondered if he would notice her wet hair and damp clothes, but between the torch and the dim flicker of the firelight, she hoped he wouldn’t.

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘It’s really late. I’m surprised Lil’s not home yet. Did you check in on Len?’

  ‘Oh no. I forgot. I can do it now.’ Annabelle felt a shot of panic. What if Len was dead too?

  ‘That’s okay.’ Dan moved across the room with the torch and opened Len’s door. After a few seconds, he came out. ‘Sleeping peacefully.’

  ‘Oh.’ Annabelle sank back down onto the couch.

  ‘Annabelle, you okay?’ Dan came across and sat down next to her.

  ‘I… Something happened.’ She had a terrible, immediate need to tell Dan. To get it off her chest. To ask him what she should do.

  ‘What? Was it Len?’

  ‘No.’ She wondered how she could tell him. It was so shameful, the thing with Andrew, and what she’d done. All of it.

  ‘Lillian came back.’

  ‘Where is she? Her car isn’t there,’ said Dan, frowning.

  ‘She’s with Constance. They’ve… they’ve gone—’

  Car headlights flashed through the small window of The Old Chapel. Annabelle paused. Dan got up and walked to the window. Then he went to the door and opened it, shining the torch into the blackness as the car lights went out.

  ‘Dan,’ said Lillian, slipping past him and putting her wet coat on the hook. She looked nervously through the dim light to Annabelle, then back at Dan, before stepping into the living room.

  Constance followed her in, and Dan looked confused.

  ‘What’s happened? Annabelle said something happened.’

  Constance made her way across the room to Annabelle. ‘Yes, something has happened,’ she said slowly. ‘Andrew hasn’t come back. He was out looking for the dog in the storm. My phone line’s down, or I would have called you.’

  ‘We’ve been searching for him,’ said Lillian.

  ‘Why didn’t you come and get me?’ asked Dan. ‘What time did he go out?’

  ‘Maybe two or three hours ago,’ said Constance. ‘I fell asleep and woke up half an hour ago. I saw Lillian pulling in, so I just grabbed her and we went along the cliff paths, but we can’t find him.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Constance. You should have picked me up! Three hours ago… in this weather? Something must have happened to him.’

  The cold of the darkened room seeped further into Annabelle.

  ‘Yes, I think it must,’ said Constance.

  Dan looked at them curiously. ‘We need to get the search-and-rescue guys. The police. You said the phone line was down?’

  ‘When I checked,’ said Constance.

  ‘Right. Lil, go and check the phone at my house and ring the police if you can. If not, drive into town and raise the alarm. I’ll go out with a torch. Connie, you stay here. I don’t want you and Annabelle out in this weather.’

  ‘Nonsense. I’ll come,’ said Constance. ‘You can’t go out there alone. Just let me get a better jacket.’

  ‘Will you be all right here, little A?’ Dan asked.

  Annabelle nodded. She didn’t want to be here by herself, but she didn’t have much choice.

  After they’d left, she sat on the couch, in the dark, shivering. Eventually she went up to Lillian’s room and got under the bed covers, but the sheets were freezing and her skirt was wet. Her head throbbed painfully and she didn’t dare to think about the dampness in her underwear. The coldness seeped through her until eventually she got out of bed and dragged the blanket back downstairs, huddling into it next to the fire, trying to stop shaking. In the flickering light of the flames, she imagined she was holding onto her mother. She could almost feel the gentle touch of her mother’s hand. Then she realised that she had let her mother down tonight, and the lump of sadness that lodged in her belly was as heavy as concrete.

  The door opened, startling her. Dan stood with the torch, pointing it towards her.

  ‘Did you… find him?’ she asked. She tried to keep the trembling from her voice.

  ‘The police said they’re going to search a bit more, but they’ll have to stop soon and start again at first light. I need to get you home Annabelle, or Sylvia will worry.’ Dan looked edgy, panicky.

  ‘Okay.’ Annabelle stood and put the blanket over the back of the couch. She followed Dan outside.

  In the car, he was silent until they pulled out onto the highway.

  ‘I’m sorry I left you. You were probably scared in that storm on your own.’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘You okay?’

  Annabelle began to cry. It was pitch dark, so she knew he wouldn’t see her tears. She tried desperately to hold her breath, but as he pulled off the highway into their long, pebbled drive, a sob burst out.

  ‘Annabelle?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. But she couldn’t stop the tears.

  ‘They’ll find him. You’ll see,’ said Dan.

  Annabelle didn’t say anything.

  Dan stopped the car outside the house and turned off the engine.

  ‘Andrew’s a really great guy,’ he said. ‘You could probably tell, even though you don’t know him very well. It’s understandable, to be upset.’

  ‘Mmm,’ murmured Annabelle.

  ‘They’ll find him, don’t worry.’ Dan leaned over and gave her a warm hug. Then he leaned in and wiped the tears away from her face with his thumbs. ‘I’m so sorry you were there for that. Please don’t cry now.’ His face was close in the dark.

  ‘Okay,’ said Annabelle. Dan’s voice sounded so kind that tears kept leaking from her eyes. Her chest was tight and rigid and she could feel herself shaking.

  ‘Maybe I should wake Sylvia. You might need to talk to her,’ said Dan pensively.

  ‘No,’ said Annabelle. ‘Please don’t.’ She thought how angry Sylvia would be about the ripped top, and about Andrew, if she knew what Annabelle had done. Another huge sob escaped.

  Dan reached over and pulled her into a long hug.

  ‘Please, Annabelle, you need to wake Sylvia up.
I have to go. To keep looking for Andrew.’ He let her go and squeezed her hand.

  ‘No. I’m fine,’ said Annabelle, pulling the lever on the door. In one swift movement she was out of the car.

  Dan got out his side and spoke across the top of the car. ‘Anna, go and wake her. She needs to know what’s happened and that you’re not feeling okay. You need to talk to her.’

  ‘All right,’ said Annabelle. She walked down the pathway towards the kitchen door and listened to Dan’s car engine behind her. The headlights came on, and she cringed as her shadow jumped into life. She rubbed away the wetness on her face and took a deep breath. There was no way she was waking Sylvia. If Sylvia found out what she had done, she would never speak to her again.

  Thirty-Two

  Sylvia

  Sylvia ducked around the burning couch and lurched into the searing heat. Her lungs were on fire. ‘Come on, Anna!’ She wrenched at Annabelle’s arm. When Annabelle didn’t react, she moved behind her and heaved, pushing with all her strength.

  From nowhere, Willa appeared. She grabbed Annabelle’s other arm and together they propelled her out of The Old Chapel, just as there was a crashing sound, and a million tiny embers whooshed past them like fireflies, burning into Sylvia’s throat.

  Sylvia glanced back as Willa pulled Annabelle down the steps. A ceiling beam had fallen and the fire was crackling and mutating, consuming the boxes. Sylvia stumbled forward and collapsed onto the wet grass.

  Indigo was running across the garden. ‘Mum!’ She had her phone in her hand. ‘I’ve called the fire brigade. What happened?’ She pulled Sylvia to her feet.

  Sylvia tried to take some deep breaths, but began coughing. When she opened her eyes, there was a flash of movement in front of her. Constance was on the steps of The Old Chapel, moving faster than Sylvia had thought possible. Before she could open her mouth, the old woman had disappeared through the door of the burning house.