*
David ran his long fingers softly over the piano keys. He liked the feel and the sound.
“It feels kind of therapeutic,” he said. “I wish we could have learned music at the Mag’s school. We don’t even know any tunes. Everyone at this school knows all sorts of music, and all we know is a couple of hymns and chants to the Mag.”
Dorothy was sitting in Evan’s chair, and hoped he wouldn’t mind. She had avoided the chair over which Sandra Williams’s body had been draped. They were supposed to be relaxing, but they hardly knew what to do with themselves after the day’s excitement.
“Well, you can have piano lessons when we’ve bought our own house. Perhaps you’ve got a talent. Look how long your fingers are!”
It was peaceful in the front room, and both felt drained. When the phone rang, they guessed it was unlikely to be Lucy. She wouldn’t risk having to speak to the grandfather. Gwen hurried in to answer it, and handed it over to David.
“Wrong number,” she said to her husband when she went back to the kitchen. He was telling Paul a story about the adventures of his great grandfather, the sea captain, and took no notice.
It was Beverley on the phone. She couldn’t make it tonight, she told David, but would be down the following day, Wednesday. She’d be taking them all back to London, where they would be placed in secure care.
“We don’t want to go to London,” said David. “We’re secure here now that woman’s been caught.”
“Well, I’ll see what I can do, but those are my instructions at the moment. I’m told you need money, so I’ll bring some with me, and we’ll have to give Mrs Jones something for your keep so far.”
“That’s great, thanks.”
“I hear you’ve done a fantastic job, so congrats. They’ve been trying to catch Isobel Drax for months. She’s supposed to be the most dangerous of all the Good Doctors, and she’s the cleverest. Brilliantly clever. It’s a bit ironic that she was caught by a dose of her own medicine. She laughed. “Except, of course, your injection wasn’t lethal.”
“Yeah, OK, we’ll see you tomorrow,” said David trying to ring off politely.
“Righty ho! You must be made of tough stuff to be able to turn in your own mother like that. I’ll be off now. Toodle-oo.”
“Stop! Don’t go! What do you mean, my own mother?”
“Isobel Drax, of course.”
There was a silence.
“Oh, didn’t you know? It was in the commune records.”
Dorothy watched the colour drain from David’s face as he dropped the phone back onto the stand, and collapsed into the nearest chair.
“What is it?” she cried, but he couldn’t speak.
She ran to the kitchen. “Mrs Jones, come quickly! I think David’s passed out.”
By the time they reached the sitting room, David was on his feet, white-faced and shaking.
“I must go,” he mumbled. Grabbing his anorak off the peg in the hall, he stumbled out into the street and took several deep breaths of fresh air. Then he pulled the door shut behind him.
“I’ll go after him,” cried Dorothy. “I don’t know what she said to him, but it was something about his own mother.”
She turned right out of the house and ran up to the corner, and looked down towards the sea. The pavements were fairly clear, but there was no sign of David. She ran back up to the other end of the street and then crossed over towards the avenue. He could be anywhere. She returned to the house, but he hadn’t come back.
“It was a happy phone call,” she told Gwen. “I heard him say, ‘That’s great,’ and thanking her, and he sounded really pleased. Then suddenly he went as white as a sheet.”
“He’ll be back soon, I expect,” said Gwen, trying to reassure herself as well as Dorothy. “He knows this town well by now, and he’s not going to get lost. Once it starts getting dark, he’ll be back.”
Evening fell, and still David did not come back.
“Of course!” said Dorothy. ”I should have thought! He’ll have gone up to the big house to be with Lucy — though Peter Pan did tell us not to leave this house. He’s probably gone to tell her that the Ginger Witch has been caught.”
She picked up the phone and dialled with shaking fingers. There was no answer.
*
Lucy knew where the hospital was because she passed it every day on her way up the hill to school. She put a dried pig’s ear into Donald’s basket, and he dutifully followed it in and curled up comfortably to have a satisfying crunch.
“I’ll be back soon. Be a good boy and guard the house,” she said.
Donald gave a little twitch of his tail and concentrated on his treat. She left the kitchen light on to deter burglars, switched on the radio softly, and let herself out through the front door.
Five minutes later, she was up at the hospital asking where she would find Miss Clements. The receptionist looked in the book.
“We have two Miss Clementses,” she said, “a Marilyn Clements and a Primrose Clements. Which one are you visiting?”
They were both alive! Lucy’s spirits soared. “Both of them, please. Are they in the same ward?”
“No, but I can tell you their wards.” The woman gave Lucy directions, and she set off along the corridor to find the proper Miss Clements first. She’d go and see Miss Marilyn after.
As she approached Miss Clements’s ward, the boiler man emerged. Lucy was so used to seeing him in Miss Clements’s kitchen it took her a second to recognise him out of context.
“Oh! Hello, Mr Nicholas,” she said brightly as he walked past.
He stopped and looked hard at her, and wondered who she was for a moment. All kids looked the same, but she seemed familiar. One of those London children.
“Hello,” he said, “are you on your way to see Miss Clements?”
“Yes,” said Lucy. “You’ll be pleased to know the boiler’s working properly. The house is lovely and warm at the moment.”
He smiled. What a nice girl! A credit to Primrose and her careful upbringing of children. “That’s good. I like to be useful,” he said.
“Bye,” she said cheerfully.
She found Miss Clements looking very much alive, sitting in an armchair, knitting. There was an open tin of Quality Street on the bed next to her, and she had a peaceful smile on her face. As soon as she saw Lucy, she put down her knitting needles in pleased surprise.
“Why, Lucy!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were still in London. How lovely to see you, dear! Mr Lovett did ring to say when you were coming back and I should have written it down, but what with one thing or another and life’s so hectic, is it not, I completely forgot,”
She seemed genuinely delighted, but then she looked anxious. “Tell me, dear,” she said in a whisper. “Are David and Dorothy alright?”
“Yes, they’re fine, Miss Clements. So is Paul. They’re all with Mrs Jones at the moment,” confirmed Lucy.
Miss Clements gave a long slow sigh of relief. “I’m truly thankful to hear that,” she said. “I’ve been so anxious about them, and now I don’t need to worry any more. Worry puts so much pressure on one, does it not, dear?”
Lucy agreed.
“I’m coming home tomorrow, you know. We had a nasty accident, Miss Marilyn and I. The car went over a cliff.” She sighed. “It’s most disturbing to remind myself of it. I must think of something else. Would you like a Quality Street? Mr Nicholas, the boiler man, just brought them for me. So kind, don’t you think? Have more than that, dear. Take a handful and put them in your pocket. I can’t possibly eat all those by tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I’ll take some for the others,” said Lucy, filling her pocket. “What happened?”
“Well, I was knocked unconscious for forty-eight hours, concussed you know – which was a good thing really, because it saved me having t
o worry about why no one was coming to rescue us for such a long time. No one noticed the car until two days later, because it went into the gorse bushes, and it’s that dreary, brownish-grey colour that Marilyn insisted on when we bought it. So dull. ‘Mole’, I think it’s called. It was raining so hard no one saw it. So, being unconscious helped to pass the time. But poor Marilyn broke all sorts of bits and pieces, and it did put her in a very bad mood. In a way, I’m quite relieved that she’s in a different ward.”
“You poor things!” cried Lucy. “It must have been really frightening! But I’m so glad you’re both going to be alright. When I was walking Donald, a policeman told me there’d been an accident, but he didn’t know any details about it.”
“Donald!” exclaimed Miss Clements. “I will never forgive myself, but I forgot all about him until after we left, and then it was too late. The policeman said there wasn’t a dog in the house when he went round, and I thought the RSPCA must have taken him away. And he was with you all that time!”
Tears of guilt and relief trickled down her face, and Lucy passed her a tissue from the box on the bedside table.
“Well, he’s alright now,” she said, “because I’ve been looking after him, and he’s been looking after me.”
“I can never thank you enough, dear,” said Miss Clements, taking her hand, and Lucy knew that she was sincerely grateful.
“I’d better go now, if I’m to see Miss Marilyn as well,” she said. “Is there anything you want me to get for you before you come back tomorrow?”
“Just take a loaf out of the freezer, there’s a good girl, and there should be ten pounds in the housekeeping drawer, so get me a pint of milk and some eggs. It’ll be lovely to be home again.”
“I’ll see Miss Marilyn,” said Lucy, “and then I’ll have to get back because Donald will be wondering where I am.”
“Don’t spend too much time with Marilyn, dear. I wouldn’t like Donald to be upset.”
*
Lucy found Miss Marilyn trussed up in bandages, with her leg in a hoist.
“Oh, you’re here are you?” Miss Marilyn’s tone was no more gracious than it had ever been, but Lucy did sense that she was pleased to see her. “Tell me what’s happened to David and Dorothy,” she said anxiously. “Did they get away?”
“They’re fine, Miss Marilyn. They’re at Mrs Jones’s house with Paul.”
“I told them to try and get to London”
“Yes, I know, but they turned back because there was a bad storm, and they’re safe with Mrs Jones – my grandmother, that is. They’re truly grateful to you for helping them escape.”
Miss Marilyn sniffed.
Lucy changed the subject. “Is your leg very painful? I hope you’re not suffering.”
“I’m on painkillers, so that helps. But they’re all so slow here. I’d be up and about by now if only they’d get a move on.”
She didn’t look as though she’d be up and about for a long time, thought Lucy. Not with that leg in the air. “Would you like me to bring you some books or something?” she asked.
Miss Marilyn’s face lit up. For once in her life she smiled. Lucy was surprised – she looked quite pretty.
“I can tell you straight away what I’d like. In my sitting room on the first floor there’s a desk. On that desk is a laptop, and to the right of the laptop is a file full of notes. If you could bring me that file and the laptop, I can get on with some work that I was just about to complete when all this happened.” She waved at her hoisted leg.
Her cheeks became flushed with excitement. “If you can do that for me, I’ve a chance of meeting a very important deadline. I must say I’d given up hope of finishing it in time. That would be such a tragedy, because, while I was trapped in the car, and while I’ve been lying here in this bed, my mind’s been working, and I’ve found the very answer I’ve been trying to find for the past six years.”
She was so animated that Lucy hardly recognised her.
“I’ll try and bring them tomorrow,” she said. “At the moment, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to come, but things seem to change so quickly in our lives that I can’t promise anything.” She put a handful of Quality Street on top of the bedclothes, and stood up. “Would you like some of these? I’ll have to go now, and I won’t forget.”
Miss Marilyn was looking pink and cheerful as Lucy left. She was quite transformed.
*
While Lucy was up at the hospital, David was already on the path that led over the cliff at the far end of town. He didn’t feel the sharp wind or the stabbing rain. Nor did he notice when he stumbled over the rough ground. He pressed forward away from the lights of the streets and the houses, his teeth clenched and his fists tight.
At last he reached the highest point of the cliff. He stopped on the edge and looked down at the swirling waters below. The tide was high, and even the tallest of the rocks had disappeared. Huge waves boomed against the cliff, fell back and boomed again.
He stared at the white clouds of foam. Spray hurled itself upwards and hit him in the face. It flew over his head and soaked him, but he didn’t feel a thing. The more he stared into the angry water, the more it seemed to invite him in. It offered him peace – no more running, no more hiding. The son of two monsters – two murderers – he was tired of it all. He put his head back and let out a loud cry, but there was no one to hear it. With his eyes closed, he fell to his knees at the very edge of the cliff.
Minutes passed by until the thumping in his head quietened, and the cold of the earth and the rain penetrated his mind. He opened his eyes and saw where he was – on the brink of oblivion. On his knees, he shuffled backwards and then rose slowly to his feet. What on earth did he think he was doing? He had a family. They would be worrying about him, and he had to go back.
Now the wind tormented him. It blew so hard in his face that he could hardly breathe, and he hurried, tripping and stumbling in the dark. He found the golf course and cut down at the edge of the wood until he came to the narrow path that led down past the big house. He peered over the wall that he had climbed over only last Friday, and saw light streaming into the yard from the kitchen window. His ankle twisted on the rough stones, and he limped as fast as he could down the path. Within seconds, he was pulling on the old metal bell.
“It’s David,” he shouted.
The door opened a crack, and Lucy’s cautious face appeared. Donald barked from the kitchen and waddled out to greet him. David staggered into the big, square hall and felt the warmth wrap itself around him like a blanket.
Lucy was frightened. “What’s happened?” she cried.
David didn’t answer. He hobbled over to the stairs and sat on a step and rubbed his ankle. His hair fell in black tendrils like seaweed over his ashen face, and round his mouth was a rim of blue. He looked up at Lucy, distraught and speechless.
All Lucy could think about was Paul. Had something happened to Paul? She was afraid to ask. Her voice came out in a croak. “Are the others alright?”
David nodded. The sense of utter relief brought strength with it. Lucy shut the front door and bolted it, top and bottom. She tugged off David’s soaking wet anorak, grabbed Miss Clements’s Sunday-best coat off its hook on the wall and wrapped it round him. Then, she sat down next to him on the stair.
“Now tell me,” she said quietly. “What happened?”
“Beverley rang. She’s coming to fetch us tomorrow. She told me who my mother was.”
Lucy waited.
“You’ll never guess who it was.” He had to breathe deeply before he could bring himself to say it. “It was that woman,” he whispered. “That woman who made Paul hum.”
Lucy gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Miss Morris? Sandra Williams?”
“Yes, Isobel Drax – wife number eight – who gave me up at birth. The cleverest and most dangerous of the G
ood Doctors.”
He covered his face with his hands. Lucy didn’t know what to say.
“I wish she’d put me down at birth, like all the other defective babies she’s disposed of,” he moaned.
“Oh, poor David! Don’t say that. You’re not defective. You’re the complete opposite. What would we have done without you?”
“If you reckon the devil’s blood flows through your veins,” he said, “well, I’ve got a double dose.”
Lucy was horrified. “Stop it! Neither of us has the devil’s blood. If you don’t believe in the Magnifico, then you don’t believe in the devil.” Did she believe in him herself? No, she certainly did not. “We both know he absolutely does not exist.”
She pulled herself up straight and twisted her hands in agitation. Donald had crept out of the kitchen and now he licked her ankle. It distracted her for a moment, and she bent down to stroke him.
“Listen,” she said, more calmly. “You and I both had wicked fathers, and you also had a wicked mother, but that doesn’t make us wicked. We’ve already disowned our fathers. Now you can disown your mother.”
“But I’ve got her hair. I saw it when the wig came off and it was silver, and my eyes are just like hers.”
“No, they’re not. Hers are hard like diamonds. Yours are piercing. It’s not the same thing.”
He hardly heard her. “And I’ve got Drax’s looks and height. However much I disown them, I can’t disown my genes. I’ve got their genes.”
Lucy longed to put her arms round him and comfort him, but Aunt Sarah’s voice had returned – not allowed! Comfort is a sin.
“Everyone has good genes and bad genes,” she said at last. “That’s what Dorothy said that day on the castle. Maybe you’ve inherited their good genes.”
She thought for a moment.
“If she was able to kill all those people and babies,” she said slowly, “her chief bad gene must be lack of compassion or empathy, or whatever it’s called. That’s what’s wrong with all the Magnifico’s people – lack of compassion. They don’t care how other people feel. You’ve got compassion, absolutely loads of it. Why, you wouldn’t even let Paul drop a stone on a shrimp!”
The Big House Page 21