The Big House

by Larche Davies

  “Most of the kids lived in communes run by aunts,” she continued, “but Father Copse kept Paul and Lucy in his own house till his gardener burned it down – a guy called Thomas. They were brought up by an old lady called Aunt Sarah.”

  “Well, at least Aunt Sarah did a good job on their manners,” commented Miss Clements.

  “Yeah, maybe, but what they didn’t know was that they had a mother, and Copse was keeping her locked up in the attic the whole time. She died in hospital after the fire.” Beverley paused out of respect. “Sad!” she said.

  Miss Clements took a moment to collect herself. “Would you like another piece of cake?” she asked. “What about your driver? Perhaps you’d like to bring him in?”

  “Pete? No. He’s OK. He won’t need cake. Obesity’s his middle name. He’s gone to book us into our hotel.” Beverley checked her watch. “He said he’d be back in half an hour, and there’s ten minutes to go, so I’ve got time for another slice. Ta.” She looked around the room, at the high ceiling, the tall windows and the thickly lined curtains. “Nice place you’ve got here. Big, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. We’ve plenty of room. This will be the children’s private sitting room. My sister and I have our own sitting rooms up on the first floor. The house is bigger than it looks from the front. It goes right back almost into the hill behind it.”

  “Well, they’re lucky kids. I don’t need to check their rooms, I can see that.”

  “They’ll each have their own bedroom on the second floor, unless, of course, Paul wants to share with his sister.”

  “He will do,” said Beverley. “He’s pretty clingy. Follows her around like Mary’s little lamb, and hums when he’s worried. You don’t know what’s going on in the mind of a kid that age. He was only four at the time, but he helped Lucy rescue Dorothy and David when they were about to be carted off for the lethal injection.” She shuddered. “Can you imagine? Just sitting there in the disposal cells waiting for the grim reaper!”

  Miss Clements suppressed her own shudders, while Beverley brushed some crumbs off her natty black skirt and checked her watch again.

  “Hell’s bells! I’ll have to get moving soon. Not that Pete will mind. He’s used to sitting in cars waiting for people. It is his job, after all.”

  “He might not like being on double yellow lines,” Miss Clements pointed out.

  “No, never mind. He won’t have to pay the fine. Anyway, what matters is that the kids are safe now. No one would think of looking for them here.”

  Miss Clements didn’t feel quite so sure of that. The mention of lethal injections had made her feel queasy, and her palpitations had started to give a few skips. She was beginning to think she’d prefer not to have this unaccustomed responsibility – even if it meant turning down a lucrative monthly income.

  “It’ll be difficult having to keep them indoors the whole time,” she said. “I’m not sure that I’m the right person for this. We do live very quietly, my sister and I.”

  “There’ll be no trouble. They’re to lead normal lives – go to school, go into town – as long as they keep together and don’t go out alone. But if you do see anyone lurking, don’t call the police, because the Magnifico has infiltrators all over the country, and you might get the wrong person on the other end of the phone. If you ever see anything odd, ring Mr Lovett and he’ll know who to contact.”

  Miss Clements smoothed her grey lap. She liked smooth things, particularly a smooth life, and was looking doubtful.

  “I’m really sorry,” she said after some thought, “but I don’t think I can do it. We’re not used to this sort of thing. The children I normally foster are criminals in the making, but I’ve never had any who were hunted by criminals.”

  A little persuasion was going to be needed, thought Beverley. She leaned over the arm of her chair and took a mobile phone out of her very smart briefcase. “Do you mind if I make a call?” she said.

  “Not at all. I’ll clear the tea things, and you can have the room to yourself while I take them to the kitchen.”

  Miss Clements bustled about a bit. As she tidied the fine bone china onto a trolley and wiped the crumbs off Beverley’s coffee table, she was thinking of her blood pressure and weighing its worth against the monthly fee she would get for fostering four high-risk children. She pushed the trolley out into the hall and shut the door behind her.

  By the time Miss Clements returned, Beverley had put her phone away and was rummaging through her briefcase. “I was just talking to Mr Lovett,” she said. She extracted two envelopes and peeped inside them.

  ”Anyway, he’s given me the go-ahead to double the fee for care.” She paused to give this information time to sink in. “He said the poor little buggers had been mucked about too long. Well, he didn’t put it exactly like that, but y’know what I mean. Missing school and all that.”

  Had Miss Clements been listening she would have said we don’t use that sort of language in this house, oh dear me no, but her ears temporarily stopped working as soon as she heard ‘double the fee.’

  A pleasant vision of a little cottage on a Greek island, with no greater disturbance than the lapping of blue sea against snow-white sand, was floating through her mind. There was nearly enough money in the bank to make her dream come true, and a little extra would make it happen all the sooner.

  “They insist on being together,” Beverley rattled on. “And it’s hard to find anyone who can foster all four of them securely for more than a few days. Mr Lovett says they’ve got to have somewhere stable for a while, at least till the trials.”

  “Well,” said Miss Clements hesitantly, “as long as you can assure me that there’s no risk to them while they’re in my charge…”

  “Of course there’s no risk here. No one’s heard of this place. I never had until now. What’s it called — Aberhyblyg? It’s not exactly the hub of the universe, is it?”

  Beverley placed her briefcase on the coffee table and closed it firmly. “This is for you,” she said, handing one over one envelope, “and Mr Lovett says the rest of the doubling-up will be paid straight into your account.”

  She checked the second envelope again, and counted four bundles of notes and four packets of small change.

  “This is for the children,” she said, as she handed the money over. “They’ve got no possessions except what they stand up in and some night things in those bags, so you’ll have to take them shopping. There’s enough there for school uniforms and some casual clothes, and there should be plenty over for pocket money. They’re not used to handling money, so a little guidance might be needed.”

  She gave Miss Clements a piece of paper. “That’s Mr Lovett’s phone number, and that’s mine, and the other one is for Mr and Mrs Jones, Paul and Lucy’s grandparents. They’re local.”

  “Grandparents?” exclaimed Miss Clements. “I wasn’t told they had grandparents here!”

  “Yeah, well, I know Mr Lovett meant to tell you, because he was talking to me about it. He said they refused to see the children when they came up to visit their daughter in hospital, so he chose this place in case they have a change of heart. He hasn’t told the kids about them yet, because it would be pretty hurtful to know they’re not wanted, after all they’ve been through.”

  “It certainly would be!” exclaimed Miss Clements, unpleasantly roused from her usual serenity. “But, more to the point, if there’s family here, this is the first place the agents will look for them.”

  “No, it’s OK. Apparently, the holy leaders – that’s the priests – put a strict ban on keeping records of where abducted wives came from, so that they couldn’t be tracked down. The Fathers had to record their own marriages, and the births and deaths within their own families, but there was no background information. So, no one could have known about the grandparents. The only reason Lovett knows is because, when the kids’ mother was in hospital, s
he told the police where she came from.”

  “Is there anything else I need to know?” Miss Clements spoke a little sharply. “Any more surprises?”

  Beverley wrinkled her brow. “I don’t think so. I assume Mr Lovett told you that he’s changed all four children’s surnames to Jones, so they won’t attract attention. Everyone’s called Jones in Wales. They’ll blend in better. And you already know that they’re to start school on Monday. I don’t think there’s anything else.”

  She shook herself briskly, put on her jacket and pulled down her skirt. “Right! I’ll be off.” Pausing to check her lipstick in the mirror over the mantelpiece, she added, “The grandparents have been told the children are here. They might get in touch with you, but it doesn’t look likely. At the moment, of course, the poor old things are grieving for their daughter.”

  Oh dear, dear, thought Miss Clements. There was so much sorrow in this world.

  “You’ll want to say goodbye to the children, no doubt,” she said, holding the door open.

  Beverley poked her head round the dining-room door. The newly-named Joneses were sitting in silence at the table, looking exhausted, and Miss Marilyn’s mouth was furiously pursing and twitching.

  “So long then, kiddos,” called Beverley. “Holy cow! You look as though you’ve all got jet lag! You’ve come from London, not New York! Anyway, you’ll be OK here. The back of beyond. You’ll be perfectly safe.” She waved her hand at Miss Marilyn. “Ta-ta, Marilyn. Take care.”

  “Miss Marilyn,” said Miss Clements, giving strong emphasis to the ‘Miss’, as she showed Beverley out. “Thank you so much for coming. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

  What a dreadful girl, she thought, but it was nice about the money.

  Chapter Two

  Two hundred and twenty miles away, in a flat on the Cromwell Road, Father Drax sat in the dark, looking out of the window. Traffic slowly ground its way along the road below him. Pedestrians wielded umbrellas, and great drops of rain fell into puddles that danced with reflected headlights and street lamps.

  London was a miserable city. He was desperate to get away. As soon as the children were disposed of, he’d be off. Mexico City, perhaps, or Brazil. Somewhere big where one could be swallowed up in the crowd. He stood up and closed the curtains before turning and feeling in the dark for the switch on the table lamp. No, not Mexico. He was too tall. It was a handicap being six foot four and strikingly good-looking. People noticed him. The United States would be better – plenty of tall handsome people there – or Sweden. He groaned as he reminded himself there was work to be done before he could even think of leaving. The tedium of being holed up in this flat was beginning to get at him.

  A key turned in the front door, a voice called out in greeting and, at the flick of a switch, half a dozen bulbs in the candelabra burst into life. In came a woman, silvery blonde and beautiful, with a light in her blue eyes. She dropped her medical case in the hall and dumped a bag of groceries on the worktop in the tiny kitchen area.

  “Isobel, at last! Where on earth have you been?” Drax crossed the room towards her. “I’m starving.” He grabbed the grocery bag and rummaged around inside it.

  Isobel took off her raincoat and gave it a good shake.

  “Well, my darling, that’s not much of a greeting!” Her laugh was an icy tinkle. She reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek with cool lips. “The holy leaders sent me on a project, but I came home as soon as I could.”

  “I wish they’d stop giving you projects and just concentrate on their own work,” muttered Drax, cramming a biscuit into his mouth. “The fools have lost track of the children.”

  “I know. I heard,” said Isobel, as she calmly unpacked her shopping and put it away. “Don’t stuff yourself! We’re eating any minute.” She moved smoothly back and forth among the starkly modern units. Stopping to stroke his cheek with manicured fingers, she murmured, “Don’t worry, darling, they’ll be found. It’ll just delay things by a week or two.”

  “Delay! I just want to be rid of them now, this minute, and then get out of this shoebox.” A look of triumph flashed across his face. “Actually, I did go out for a few hours today. There was a lunchtime piano recital.”

  “Well, that was foolish, darling.” Her voice showed no trace of annoyance. “It’s not only the police you have to worry about. If the holy leaders discover you’ve left this flat, they won’t take the risk of getting you out of the country. They’ll just dispose of you when you’re least expecting it. On a bus, or in the park or somewhere.”

  She reached up and touched his hair. “If you feel you must go out, wear a disguise – a wig or a hat. Just be patient. As soon as we get rid of the children, you can move on.”

  He brushed her hand away petulantly, and paced back and forth. “I’d hate to wear a wig or a hat. I feel caged – incarcerated. What sort of life is this?”

  The faintest breath of a sigh escaped Isobel’s lips. “Don’t be such a misery, darling. Just be thankful that at least one of your wives has a flat you can hide in – even if it’s not up to your usual luxury standards.” She pushed a frozen meal into the microwave and pressed the button.

  Was that a note of sarcasm in her voice? Drax put his arm round her shoulder. “My beautiful Isobel, I don’t know why I let you talk to me the way you do, especially when I think of all the wives I’ve sent for disposal over the years, just for uttering a couple of words against the Magnifico.”

  She laughed. “My offence is only against you, not the Magnifico, and it’s for your own good. I don’t think the holy leaders would think that a justification for disposing of me. I’m too useful to them. Good Doctors are in short supply at the moment, and I know I’m the best.”

  “You’re always right.” He hugged her close. “Best of Good Doctors, and best of all my wives. The others were just to please the holy leaders and produce a good supply of children to serve the Magnifico.” He nuzzled her ear and whispered, “I took you to please me – and you, I hope.”

  “Of course it pleased me. Now lay the table, will you?”

  He took cutlery and plates out of the sideboard, and stroked its pure-white, lacquered surface as he did so. The contrast of the white against the ice-blue walls never failed to invigorate him. A stab of energy ran through him, and he longed to be out and about, living his old life, bubbling with plans, furthering his accountancy career by fair means or foul, irritating his old enemy Father Copse, and making money and more money. The memories filled him with optimism, and he laughed out loud. He opened a bottle of supermarket wine.

  “This sort of stuff is not what I’m used to,” he said waving it in the air, “but it’s better than hiding under the railway arches and stalking my own children through the streets of London, which is what I was doing in September.” He filled two glasses and took a sip. “It’s a pity the police reached them before I did. I could have strangled them and dumped the bodies in the Thames. It would have saved all this hassle.”

  “You’re so uncouth sometimes.”

  He laughed and took another sip and pulled a face. “This wine tastes like vinegar, but never mind. When I get to – let’s think – Las Vegas, I’ll be able to live well again.”

  “Mmm. That’ll be wonderful!” purred Isobel. “And now that you’ve had a tiny drop of wine and eaten a biscuit, and should be in a better mood, let me give you the latest information I’ve had about the children.”

  He was instantly alert. “Aha!”

  “They seem to have been sent out of London. It might mean a bit of a hold-up for you. We’ll find them, of course. It’s just a matter of time. The holy leaders are instructing infiltrators and agents to make enquiries all over the country at this very moment.”

  Drax snorted derisively. “Holy leaders! Those clowns! Well, I hope they do find them, because I can’t wait to settle the score – especially with Dorothy. She’s always
been a rebel, just like her mother.” He stopped short as he thought of Dorothy’s mother. Her lovely face swam before him for a moment, and he felt a tiny pang of regret.

  “It’s a pity I had to have the mother disposed of, because she was very pretty, but that’s what the rules say. As for David, I had hopes for him. After all, he’s got good genes, so he should be clever.” He shrugged. “Too late for all that now. He’s mucked up all his chances. His own worst enemy.”

  “He’ll have to go the same way as Dorothy,” Isobel said. “There’s no room for sentiment in the service of the Magnifico.” Her face was expressionless. “If I get the chance, I’ll administer the lethal injections myself, just to make sure the job’s done properly. Some of the other Good Doctors can be a little careless and have to do it twice.”

  His jaw clenched. “You can be as careless as you like, as far as I’m concerned, so long as it’s done.”

  “Now, now! Remember, Fathers must never be guided by their emotions – indeed, they shouldn’t have any at all.”

  He relaxed and laughed. “Quite right! Just got carried away for a moment.”

  She placed a scented candle in the centre of the table and paused to breathe in the perfume.

  “Lucy Copse will obviously have to go too, sometime before the trials,” she said. “I’m not so sure about Paul. He’s supposed to have special gifts or something. Their Aunt Sarah always said he had extraordinary powers of observation, so he’d probably make an outstanding infiltrator. Copse had great ambitions for him. He used to say he’d not be surprised if they made him the Holy Envoy one day, or at least deputy to the Holy Envoy.”

  “That fool Copse has delusions of grandeur. Why should he think himself capable of having fathered the Holy Envoy? The Magnifico’s representative on earth! Copse’s kid? Never!”

  “Well, even so, I’ve heard that the holy leaders are keeping an eye on Paul. You never know, they might want to train him up to help revive the Holy Cause. So we’ll have to treat him with some respect if we ever come across him, just in case.”