Coming into the clearing at the front of the house, Ellie caught sight of her brother almost at once. She opened her mouth to call him; to chastise him. But a deeper instinct stopped her! Her voice whispered low, ‘What’s he doing?’ She went forward on silent feet, but she did not know why. Only that he must not see her. She came softly towards the side of the house, her eyes fixed on that small, solitary figure. It stood quite still, drawn up taut with its hands stiffly to its sides, and its head tilted back, face impassive and staring in the same direction, intent. As though listening to someone. In a moment, Ellie was on him! ‘Johnny?’ Remaining motionless, he appeared not to have heard. ‘… what are you doing?’ His eyes were turned upwards, transfixed. Ellie’s heart shivered as she made her gaze follow his. The window. High in the wall. Nothing. No one. Ellie grabbed the small, stiff shoulders, gently shaking them. ‘Tell me what you saw,’ she urged; quietly though, lest she scared him.
‘We have to leave this place.’ His voice was strangely hollow, his gaze remained on the window, expressionless.
‘Who told you that, Johnny?’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father approaching. Her voice was desperate now. She shook him harder. His gaze swung to her face; a flicker of recognition. ‘Johnny!… Who told you that we must leave this place?… Someone up there? At the window… was there someone at the window?’ She glanced up quickly, slyly, hoping to see a furtive figure, a peeping face. But there was none. No movement, no sound. The curtains hung still and tattered. The grime was impenetrable.
‘What the hell d’you mean by disobeying me, eh?… Didn’t I tell you to stay in the car?’ Ellie felt the boy snatched from her grasp. ‘Come on! We’ve wasted enough time… we’re going back where the other houses are! Surely to God somebody must know where these people have gone.’ He was gripping the boy’s hand, marching him along; unaware of the small face that was white as chalk, and the vivid blue eyes that crumpled with pain.
‘Wait a minute. Dad!’ Ellie yelled, struggling to keep pace. She had to tell him. Johnny started crying; softly at first. Then loudly, the sobs racking his body. ‘Stop a minute… Johnny saw somebody at the window!’ Ellie was frantic. ‘Somebody spoke to him, I tell you!’ She stumbled and cried out; at once steadying herself when she saw her father stop and turn. She realised with a shock that he was like a thing possessed. What was happening to him? To all of them?
‘What’s that you say?’ He gripped the boy’s hand harder, shaking it viciously. ‘For Christ’s sake… stop that bawling!’
Her words tumbling one over the other, Ellie described what she had seen, afterwards repeating what the boy had told her. ‘ “We have to leave this place”… there was someone there… talking to him, I’m sure of it.’
For a moment, Ellie thought he believed her, but, in the next, he was swinging his son round to face him, demanding, ‘Is that the truth? Is it? Somebody “talking to you”?’ The boy shrank from him. ‘Answer me!… was there somebody “talking to you”?’ Ellie knew the moment was lost, because her father was not asking a question. He was issuing a threat!
‘I never saw anybody! There was nobody “talking” to me.’ The boy was defiant. His stance defensive. Ellie was not surprised.
‘Then why did you lie, eh?’ He glared at the boy. ‘Don’t you think we’re in enough trouble without you dreaming up such tales?’ He waited for an answer. When none came, he leaned down towards the boy, his face set like stone. Through gritted teeth he insisted, ‘I asked you a question. Answer me… why did you lie?’
A voice, low and resonant, issued from the spinney close by. ‘He did not lie.’
All eyes turned towards the approaching figure. It was the dark-eyed stranger. Ellie and her father exchanged astonished glances. Her father was clearly embarrassed, but, straightening to his full height and looking the young man boldly in the face, he asked, ‘Are you saying there is someone in the house?’
‘That’s what I’m saying, Mr Armstrong.’ He half smiled when Ellie’s father bristled at the mention of his name. Coming forward, he extended his arm in greeting. ‘My name’s Alec Harman.’ Gripping the other man’s hand he shook it just once; a firm, strong handshake. ‘I work for Wentworth Estates… they own thousands of acres round here.’ He gestured widely towards the horizon. ‘It’s my job to patrol their land… keep an eye out for trespassers and the like.’
‘Gamekeeper, eh?’ Jack Armstrong eyed the cocked shotgun in the crook of Harman’s elbow.
‘No. We do have gamekeepers, though. My job is to protect the land itself.’ He half turned to look on Ellie’s upturned face. At once she was aware of how tired and dishevelled she must look – her skirt creased and smudged, and her blouse torn by the sharp thorny shrubs the night before. She saw how incredibly handsome he was. She watched the moist fullness of his mouth as it curled into a smile, showing the even whiteness of his teeth. Beneath the lamplight last evening, he had seemed like no other man she had ever known; magnificent to look on, arrogant and fascinating. Now, in the morning light, with the sun glistening in his rich black hair, and the dark persuasion vibrant in his eyes, he was even more captivating. A flush of pleasure welled up in her, suffusing her face with a soft pink glow. She had to look away, or be lost for ever. A moment later, she heard Alec Harman address her father. ‘Many acres of land are employed in the production of spruce trees… Christmas harvest. They’re very valuable, and the thieves never give up. You’d be surprised at the lengths they’ll go to. We have extensive nurseries… lakes manually stocked for fish breeding, and various other enterprises underway. Technically speaking, none of the land is farmed. It’s a huge area to patrol, but, like I say… we have two excellent gamekeepers. My prime concern is the timber.’ He reached forward to touch the boy’s unruly shock of brown hair, twisting it round his fingers, ruffling it. When the boy bent his head in a swift, impatient movement, he drew his hand away, lifting it to indicate the house. ‘Thornton Place was part of Wentworth Estates for many years… until three years ago, when it was sold to a private company. I took on this job round about the same time.’ He pressed his lips tight together, inclining his head to one side and with his voice tinged with regret he said, ‘Such a beautiful house… such history! I only wish I could have raised the money to buy it.’ His smile was sad. Secretive. ‘But then I probably would never have been able to restore it to its former glory. That would take a man skilled and practised in such work.’
‘Why won’t they let us in?’ Jack Armstrong delved deep into his jacket pocket to withdraw the bunch of keys. He handed them to the other man. ‘Useless!’ he snapped, ‘every one of them. I can’t understand it.’
Turning the keys over and over in the palm of his hand, Alec Harman made no comment. In a moment, he clenched them tight in his fist, his jaw working in anger and a thoughtful look in his eyes. ‘Strange,’ he murmured, looking towards the house. Suddenly his smile returned. ‘Keep the keys safe,’ he said, pressing them into Jack Armstrong’s fingers, ‘you never know.’ He glanced first at the boy, and then at Ellie, who had followed his every word, watched his every movement. ‘I think it’s time to meet your predecessors… time to introduce yourselves and take up your rightful place in the house.’ He beckoned them to follow him. They did. Only the boy seemed reluctant.
‘I suppose they’re not to be blamed for refusing to let us in.’ Jack Armstrong gently but firmly pushed the boy in front of him. ‘I don’t expect I’ll be any different when my turn comes to be pensioned off.’ His remarks were met with stony silence. Undeterred, he persisted, ‘Been caretakers here long, have they?’
‘Not too long.’
‘Don’t want to move into the cottage… is that it?’
‘Part of it.’
‘But they have to move out!’ He didn’t know why exactly, but he suddenly felt threatened. Afraid!
They were at the foot of the steps when Alec Harman turned at the other man’s last remark. He said nothing. But his glance was cold. Jack Armst
rong met the dark eyes with a challenging stare. For a split second, the tension between them was unbearable.
Ellie quickly sensed the uncomfortable atmosphere and stepped forward. ‘We don’t want to cause any distress to the old couple,’ she said quietly, ‘but… well, you do understand. My father has been appointed caretaker now. It was made very clear that alternative provisions had been made for the previous occupants.’
‘Of course… I do understand.’ His smile enveloped her. Ellie suspected he did not ‘understand’ at all. She had a mind to press him further, but she let the moment pass when he added, ‘And, of course, it really has nothing to do with me.’
‘But you do know these people?’
‘Only by way of odd-jobbing for them… splitting logs… clearing the gutters… doing what I can to help out. All in my own spare time,’ he assured her. He drew his gaze from Ellie and fixed it on her father’s anxious face. ‘They’re not able to keep up with it all,’ he explained, ‘it would take an army of able-bodied men to cope here. The work is never-ending.’
‘We’ll manage,’ Jack Armstrong retorted. He had taken a deep dislike to the young man, though he did not know quite why. Was it the fellow’s arrogant, secretive manner? he thought. Or was it that he was too capable, too sure of himself… too downright attractive to Ellie? Oh, he had seen the signals between them. What was the name they had for an attraction like that between two people? Chemistry. That was it! He had felt the ‘chemistry’ between them; he had seen it last evening when she lingered with the stranger beneath the lamplight. It worried him. Suddenly, he wished Barny Tyler was here. Barny was not the ideal person for Ellie; he himself had said that the first time she had brought the young man home; but, by God, he’d sooner have Barny Tyler giving her the glad eye any day of the week, than this black-eyed satan!
‘You might as well open this door! We’re not moving until you do.’ Jack Armstrong raised the knocker, fetching it down again and again into the metal base. The ensuing din echoed through the air, sending up a flight of birds from the spinney close by.
Suddenly, there was pandemonium! From the other side of the door could be heard an uproar as determined as the one without; the door trembled beneath the onslaught. Then a voice – a shrill, piercing voice – calling out, ‘Go away!’ There followed a burst of laughter, then a scream. ‘You won’t get in… I’ll never let you get in. I know who you are. I know who you are. Devil… Devil!’ Protesting loudly through the letterbox that he was no ‘devil’ but the new caretaker, Jack Armstrong was left in no doubt that he was not welcome here. He despaired of ever persuading the occupants to admit them. ‘There’s nothing left but for me to involve the authorities,’ he said now, turning to Ellie with a weary expression. ‘God almighty… I’m beginning to wonder if we should ever have come here at all!’
Up until now, Alec Harman had kept his distance, giving in to the other man’s demands to ‘let me talk to them… I’m sure I can convince them that the best thing for all of us is for them to move into the cottage. When it comes right down to it, they’ve no other choice!’ Now, however, the younger man positioned himself in front of the door. ‘All you’ve done is frighten them,’ he said in an accusing voice. ‘I know how tired you must be… and how frustrated. But you won’t win them over by yelling and creating a din. They will feel more threatened… more convinced that they should barricade themselves in.’
‘Then we’ll have to let the law deal with it.’
‘No.’ He turned his dark gaze on Ellie. ‘Please… give me a little time. Let me reassure them.’
‘Ellie… Ellie.’ The small voice took her attention from the young man. She glanced down. The boy. Of course. She held his hand and raised her eyes to the dark, intense gaze.
‘Do what you can,’ she said simply. He smiled and nodded his head. Now, Ellie was asking her father, ‘Leave him a while. You and me… we’ll take Johnny and explore the grounds.’ When the boy began making muffled sounds, she hurried him away.
The pump was archaic and rusted, but to Ellie the water tumbling from it was sheer luxury. Johnny had run on ahead, shrieking with relief when he came across the dark-red building situated on the perimeter of what might once have been a very pleasant courtyard. Inside the long, narrow building was a blackened coal-hole, still containing a spill of shiny black pieces, and beside it a tiny washroom, with white porcelain pan and hand basin. A dry, musky dampness lingered in the air. The only window was situated at the rear of the washroom, its small, square panes shattered yet trapped between a layer of fine, rusted mesh. The tap in the hand basin was jammed tight.
All three took turns in using the washroom; the boy first, then Ellie, and her father last of all. After splashing her hands and face in the tumble of water from the old pump, Ellie instructed the boy to do the same; though reluctant, he did as he was told, following Ellie’s example and using the hem of her skirt with which to dry himself.
‘I’m hungry.’ The boy stared at Ellie. Blaming her.
‘You’re not the only one, Johnny,’ she reminded him. A glance at her wrist watch showed it was only a few minutes before eight o’clock. ‘Once we know what’s happening at the house, we can begin to make plans,’ she told him. ‘There must be a shop on the estate. Later… we might have to make our way to a telephone there to contact the owners of this place, or, and I hope this will be the case, to buy in groceries and such like. Until then, you’ll just have to be patient like the rest of us.’ When he began glaring at her from scowling eyebrows, Ellie impatiently shook her head and came to her father’s side. He also was scowling – angry with himself for having mislaid the letter of appointment. Without that, the previous caretaker could refuse to acknowledge his right to be there. On top of which, without their cooperation, he had no telephone number, or point of contact with the owners. Unless of course that Harman fellow could help out. Failing that, he would have to telephone the newspaper office… The Chronicle… where the advert appeared. Having recalled the newspaper in which he had seen the advert, he was pleased with himself. But that was before he remembered that there had been no telephone number – only a box address via the newspaper. It was highly unlikely that they would give out the private address… especially to someone over the telephone! It was no good. He would have to confess to Ellie that he had lost that damned letter.
As she came nearer, Ellie saw her father waiting. He was obviously agitated. She got the feeling that he was about to confide something to her. ‘What is it, Dad?’ she asked as he began walking towards her. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Ellie…’ he started. But then, the sound of breaking twigs heralded someone’s approach; another voice cut across his own.
‘Mr Armstrong.’ It was Alec Harman, coming to them on easy, almost casual footsteps. In a moment he was standing before them, the shotgun languishing loosely over one arm, with its long, thick shaft supported by the fingers of his other hand. For one excited heartbeat, Ellie thought he was about to shoot them. His dark smile reached deep inside her. When he spoke, it was to her father. ‘I can’t linger here. I’ve done all I can.’
Jack Armstrong moaned softly, nodding his head as though in agreement. ‘They won’t listen, eh?… I said I should bring in the law!’
‘No need for that.’ Alec Harman dropped the shotgun neatly into the bend of his arm, and thrust his free hand into the depths of his jacket pocket. He visibly shivered as a gusting breeze rippled over the land. ‘Go to the house. I’ve explained… it’s all right.’
‘They’ll let us in?’
He nodded, glancing briefly at Ellie before turning away. ‘The old one is called George. The other called Rosie… be patient with them.’ He paused and turned, flashing a warning look in their direction. ‘Don’t frighten them,’ he warned softly. Soon he was gone from sight; the sound of his footsteps crunching the undergrowth grew dimmer and more distant, until they too were gone.
‘I hope the fellow knows what he’s talking about,’ grumb
led Ellie’s father as he went towards the house, ‘he’s a strange one, and no mistake.’
Ellie made no comment. Instead, she followed the purposeful figure ahead, taking the boy with her and pleasantly meandering in thoughts of the young man whom her father had called ‘a strange one’. There was no denying that he was ‘strange’. But to her the ‘strange’ meant exciting! It meant darkly handsome, and deeply stirring. She found it impossible to untangle him from her senses. As she and the boy mounted the steps to the front entrance, Ellie hoped above all else that she would see ‘the strange one’ again.
‘Are we going to die here?’
‘What?’ Jack Armstrong swung round at the very moment he raised the knocker. It clattered to the base with an odd, muted sound. ‘What the hell did you say?’ He glowered at the boy, who met his startled eyes for a split second before setting his features sternly and deliberately looking away.
‘It’s all right, Dad.’ Ellie also had been struck rigid by the boy’s remark. Yet, she still recalled the doctor’s warning – ‘The boy’s nerves are shredded. Give him time.’ Suppressing her own apprehension she reached up to touch her father’s arm. ‘Don’t worry.’ She surreptitiously shook her head and made an expression that cautioned the irate man. Reluctantly he drew himself round, this time bending to the letterbox and quietly opening it. ‘George!’ His voice echoed from within. ‘I’m not here to threaten you… Alec Harman has told you that much, I know. I just want to talk… get things straight between us. I’ve got my two children here with me and we’re all tired and hungry. Open the door… there’s a good fellow.’ He waited for what seemed an endless time, until his fingers were cramped from holding open the letterbox, and his back felt like it was breaking in two. Still, there was no sound from within. No response, or even the slightest sign of life. Presently, he straightened up. ‘What next?’ he muttered, looking round to Ellie and saying again, ‘what next, Ellie?’ This time he was not angry, nor was he frustrated. The faceless ones had won. Disappointment darkened his eyes.
No Mercy Page 5