Alone Beneath The Heaven

by Bradshaw, Rita

  Sarah stood looking at the phone in her hand for a few moments more after the call ended. He had snapped at her. Those last words had had a definite bite to them, and it was she who had reason to be upset, if anyone. Anger brought her chin up sharply. He’d got a cheek . . .

  When the phone rang the moment she replaced the receiver it made her jump, and as she snatched up the receiver she wondered if it was Rodney ringing her back to say he had changed his mind about the meal in view of her lack of enthusiasm.

  It wasn’t.

  ‘Sarah?’ Maggie’s bellow was unmistakable. Sarah immediately suspected the worst, knowing Maggie’s dislike of William Bell’s invention, and Maggie must have read her mind because her first words were, ‘There’s nothin’ wrong this end, lass, Rebecca’s doin’ nicely so don’t worry. I’m just ringin’ to make sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Me?’ Hell could freeze over before Maggie made a social call, there had to be something wrong. ‘Of course I am. Why have you phoned, Maggie?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Maggie hesitated before she said, ‘I don’t rightly know, hinny, an’ that’s the truth, but I’ve a feelin’ on me I can’t explain. The only thing I could think of was that there might be somethin’ wrong with you I was sensin’, but you say you’re all right?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Sarah frowned, Maggie wasn’t the sort of person who imagined things. ‘And you say you feel something is wrong?’

  ‘Aye, I’ve felt it for a day or two now, an’ when it first come I thought it might be Rebecca an’ the bairn, you know, but she’s not started, so it’s not that. Tonight it got so strong I couldn’t rest till I phoned you. Oh, it’s old age, lass. I’m goin’ barmy.’

  ‘You’re not barmy, Maggie, not you.’ She could tell Maggie was really perturbed and she added, ‘I expect it’s probably all the worry about Rebecca and the baby. These things prey on the mind even when you aren’t aware of them, and she’s getting nearer her date now.’

  ‘No, I don’t think it’s that, lass, me mind’s at rest about Rebecca; well, as far as it can be, that is. I know she’s in the right place for the moment an’ they’ll look after her. This . . . it’s somethin’ else, but I’m blowed if I can put me finger on it. Still, you’re all right, lass, an’ that’s the main thing.’

  ‘You go home and try to get a good night’s sleep, Maggie, you’re probably tired. Is Florrie with you?’

  ‘Aye, an’ she wants a word an’ all. Hang on a minute.’

  Once Florrie came on the line, Sarah was able to move the receiver closer to her ear, and Florrie’s voice was apologetic when she said, ‘I’m sorry about this, lass, but I’ve got to get off to work in a minute, and she’s been whittling all day about this funny feeling of hers. I didn’t want her walking to the phone box when I’d gone, the ground’s a sheet of ice up here and all we need is for her to fall and break her neck.’ Florrie sounded all bunged up, and this was emphasized when she sneezed loudly three times in quick succession and gasped, ‘I feel more like me bed than work if the truth be known, I’ve got a stinking cold, but there’s already three off and they’re desperate. Here, Maggie wants a last word, and then I’ll see her home. Good night, lass.’

  Once Maggie was back on the line Sarah injected as much brightness in her voice as she could, and just after they had made their goodbyes, she found herself saying, ‘Maggie, I love you.’

  ‘Me an’ all, lass. Me an’ all.’

  Now why had she felt it necessary to say that? Sarah stood in the hall feeling slightly uneasy after she had replaced the receiver. She and Maggie weren’t ones for vocalizing their feelings for each other. They never had been. Maggie was wont to say that actions spoke louder than words, and Sarah agreed with her.

  Oh, this was ridiculous. She shook her head at herself. Maggie was making her jumpy now. Perhaps Maggie had had too much of the medical cocktail she imbibed daily for her rheumatism and her swollen legs and numerous other complaints? She did that occasionally if she got muddled, and the last time she had had Florrie running around swiping imaginary spiders off the walls. She smiled indulgently. Yes, it could well be that. Her and her feelings.

  A couple of hundred miles away, Maggie was feeling better now she had made the telephone call and checked on Sarah. She could go to sleep with an easy mind now she knew her lass wasn’t ailing, she told herself firmly, and she needed her sleep, oh aye, she did that. The last couple of nights she’d tossed and turned like a dog with fleas, and she knew she’d disturbed Florrie once or twice, and her with a cold on her like she hadn’t seen in many a long day.

  Maggie had been shambling slowly down the dimly lit street; she had insisted Florrie stay where she was rather than come all the way back with her only to have to retrace her footsteps in the next minute, and now, on reaching her front door, she turned and waved to the dark figure outside the telephone box, who in turn raised an arm before disappearing from sight round the corner.

  Bless her. Maggie smiled to herself. Florrie had insisted she watch her back, for all the world like a mother anxious about its bairn, and just because there was a bit of ice about. Florrie was a good lass and no mistake, and to think that filthy swine Willie Dalton had tried to suggest they were - like that. Florrie was more like a sister than a friend, but then scum like him wouldn’t understand honest friendship, would they, not if it rose up and bit ’em in the backside. Still, he’d got his just deserts. And she was a lucky woman, aye, she was. She hadn’t thought that at her age she’d be living in comfort, and have a good friend, her two lasses, and - God willing - perhaps even Rebecca’s bairn to brighten her last days.

  She turned creakily, opening the front door and stepping into the dark hall that wasn’t much warmer than the raw night outside. She walked straight through to the sitting room and took off her coat and hat, shivering in spite of the warmth in the room. Florrie had banked down the fire with plenty of slack just before they had left the house to telephone Sarah, and she had added some damp tealeaves for good measure, and now the fire was smoking profusely, tiny flames licking at its base, but it was without real warmth.

  She walked across to the fire and held out her hands to the weak heat, the sense of impending doom that had been with her all day increasing as she shivered again. She’d make herself a hot bevy, that’s what she’d do, and take it to bed with her, but first she’d see about getting the warmer in her bed. The kitchen was free now, them upstairs were all in bed, and she might have a bit of that lardy cake Florrie had made to go with her drink.

  She turned, and in the split second it took for Maggie to become aware of the silent figure behind her, she also saw the upraised hand with the heavy cudgel bearing down, and then she felt the impact of the violent blow, a pain that was indescribable exploding the light into white fire, and then - nothing.

  The red mist was buzzing, and she felt sick, so so sick - there was something pressing her mouth. Maggie forced her eyes open slowly as she attempted to reach to her lips, only to find she couldn’t move either her arms or her legs. She couldn’t see anything for a moment, the room was merely a mass of nauseous dancing lights, and then, as her senses slowly returned, her eyes focused on the face in front of her, and she knew what it was to lose control of her bladder, so great was her fear.

  ‘Hallo, Maggie.’ The mouth talked, and more terrifying still, the voice was soft and sing-songy, whilst being strangely devoid of expression.

  She must have made some noise, although she wasn’t aware of doing so, because Matron Cox straightened from her squatting position and shook her unkempt grey head slowly as she said, ‘Shush, shush, shush. Quiet, Maggie. It’s no use trying to call anyone, there is just the two of us. Now isn’t that nice? I think it’s nice, I do, really, Maggie. In fact you could say that it’s this moment that has kept me going for ten years.’

  The gag was digging into Maggie’s flesh, her upper lip drawn down so tightly she felt the skin was splitting, but it was the feeling of nausea that was overwhelming, even as
she told herself she couldn’t be sick. She would choke, she’d choke and die, suffocated by her own vomit whilst secured to this chair as though she were the mad one. And that the Matron was mad she had no doubt; stark staring mad . . .

  ‘They tried to stop me coming, you know, my brother and his wife. Said they’d put me back, back in there—’ The voice had risen angrily before it suddenly stopped, and the Matron took several deep breaths with her eyes shut, before they sprang open again. Then, as the mouth moved in a parody of a smile and the voice came softly saying, ‘They understand now, I had to make them understand, didn’t I. It wasn’t my fault,’ Maggie realized what the dark brown stains on the jumper beneath Matron Cox’s open coat were.

  Oh, dear God. God, help me, help me. Maggie was looking at the smiling face in front of her and pleading with the Almighty. Help me, help me, help me . . .

  ‘They tried to say I was sick, Maggie, in that place. Me, sick.’ A cackle of a laugh, and then, ‘But I knew, I knew you see, only they wouldn’t listen. I knew you wanted my place, and that you’d turned them all against me. You told lies, Maggie, wicked lies, and you have to be punished when you tell lies. You understand that, I know you do. Yes, you have to be punished, but there was no one to punish you, Maggie, except me. That’s what they didn’t understand. And so I knew I had to be strong, and clever. They were stupid anyway, they made it easy, and I said yes, doctor and no, doctor in all the right places.’

  The head nodded, the eyes bright and seeking approval. ‘And you want to be punished, deep inside, don’t you? They all want to be punished deep inside.’ And under Maggie’s fascinated gaze the hunched figure drew out of its voluminous clothes the bludgeon it had used earlier.

  ‘This will purify you, Maggie.’ The voice began to tremble with excitement and anticipation. ‘My father used to purify me, and when he had finished he would make me thank him. I didn’t want to thank him at first, but then, after a time, I understood. You’ll understand, Maggie.’

  Maggie began to struggle wildly against the bonds that secured her, shaking her head as she tried to speak, and now the voice was sharp, sounding exactly like the old Matron Cox for the first time since it had spoken: ‘That is enough, do you hear me? There is no one going to come to your aid, I made sure of that. I told you I am clever, and I am, I am. I have been planning this very carefully, I always plan carefully - expediency, efficiency and enlightenment, remember? You used to laugh behind your hand, back then, didn’t you? Oh, I knew, I knew. I knew everything then and I know everything now.’

  The Matron circled once round the chair, in the manner of a hungry predator relishing the foretaste of what was to come, before coming to a halt in front of Maggie again, whereupon the head tilted slightly and the voice, still cold and controlled, said, ‘You need to be punished, and punished you will be. You are sinful and contaminated, tainted and foul, but pain is the purification that cleanses and I am the instrument of your exoneration.’

  When the first blow hit Maggie she arched upwards with the gag biting into the soft flesh of her face, the paroxysm of pain taking her and the chair sideways to land with a crash against the wall. ‘Oh, you bad girl. You bad, bad girl.’ This was accompanied by more frenzied blows, but evidently finding that Maggie’s twisted body, with the chair still fastened to it and providing some protection, was not accessible enough, Matron Cox bent over her, heaving and pushing as she struggled to right the chair.

  And then, as the chair tottered half upright, Matron Cox gasping and straining as she pitted her thin angular frame against Maggie’s considerable bulk and the weight of the chair, she suddenly let go of it so Maggie fell heavily to the floor again, her brow making harsh contact with the floorboards.

  ‘Ahhh . . .’ The sound was long and drawn out, almost one of surprise, and when the Matron slumped down by the side of Maggie’s unconscious form, her back against the wall and her arms and legs stretched out in the floppy manner of a rag doll, she made the sound again until it gurgled away to strained, laboured breathing. And then she continued to sit, staring across the room without moving her head or her body, as the ticking of the mantelpiece clock and the odd hiss and splutter from the damp tealeaves on the fire sounded loud in the silence that had fallen.

  When Florrie walked into the house an hour later - having been sent home from the laundry due to her cold which was becoming worse by the minute, and was portentous of influenza - she continued straight through the hall to the kitchen first, to see about heating her bedwarmer. She was feeling hot and sweaty, and chilled and cold, by turns, and the thought of her bed had never been more enticing.

  She frowned at the sight of Maggie’s bedwarmer next to her own on the side of the table. It was unusual, on a raw night like this, for Maggie not to warm her bed through before getting under the covers, but then she shrugged wearily, the thudding in her head becoming a tattoo that was knocking her brain to jelly.

  She sat down at the kitchen table while the kettle boiled, her aching head in her hands and her throat feeling as though it were on fire, and once the warmer was ready went straight through to the bedroom, thinking only of bed.

  She noticed the fire first; Maggie had been going to bank it down before she turned in, but the coal had blazed away to almost nothing and it was in danger of going out altogether. Florrie made a sound of deep annoyance low in her throat, glancing towards Maggie’s bed - furthest from the fire and in deep shadows - as she did so, and finding it empty.

  ‘Oh, Maggie . . .’ For a moment, just a moment, the temptation to forget everything but the call of her bed was overwhelming, but she pushed it aside guiltily. She knew what Maggie had done, the reason for the bedwarmer in the kitchen and the unbanked fire becoming clear. She’d fallen asleep in the chair again. Twice, in the last two night shifts she had done at the laundry, she had found Maggie cramped and stiff in the chair when she had got home in the morning, and then the old woman’s rheumatism would give her jip and it’d mean a day or two in bed. And she had to take her turn on the shifts, she couldn’t keep to days only, much as she would like to.

  She had told Maggie and told her not to settle herself down in front of the fire in the sitting room once she’d gone to work, but would she listen? Would she heck. Oh, it was worse than looking after a bairn at times, at least you could smack their backsides when they played up.

  Still grumbling to herself, Florrie walked through to the other room, her head lowered and her nose streaming, and pushed open the door with an irritable, ‘Maggie McLevy’, before coming to a stunned stop, her mouth falling open into a gape and her brain refusing to accept what her eyes were seeing.

  And then she was screaming, leaping across the room towards Maggie, who was lying very still with the chair attached to her like a grotesque outer shell, in an effort to protect her from the woman sitting so quietly at the side of her, but who, Florrie was sure, would spring to her feet and renew the attack on Maggie any moment.

  It seemed as if Mr Connor from upstairs was there in a second to assist her in lifting the chair, with Maggie still tied to it, into an upright position, and when his wife rushed into the room a moment later, it was Mr Connor who said, his voice low and shaking, ‘Send our Tommy to get a doctor, an’ quick mind. An’ - an’ then he’d better scoot along to the police station.’

  ‘Is . . . is she . . . ?’ Mrs Connor’s terrified gaze was riveted on Maggie’s slumped body and white face, and her husband shook his head, saying, ‘She’s still breathin’ but only just, an’ this one seems to be in a trance or somethin’.’ He gestured with his head towards the strangely still figure on the floor, and as he did so, the eyes - but only the eyes - flickered at his words.

  ‘Maggie, oh, Maggie . . . I told you. I told you to be careful.’ Florrie was crying and moaning as she cradled Maggie’s head against her chest, while Joe Connor struggled to untie the corroding thin rope that had bitten deep into Maggie’s flesh, and when he said, ‘I can’t get her free, lass, I need a knife or somethin
’,’ she was quite unable to move away from Maggie’s side, and it was Joe who left them, returning a few moments later with a small sharp knife from the kitchen.

  The two stalwart constables arrived a minute or two before the doctor, who had been out attending the departure of one of his elderly patients into the next world when Tommy had called, and they, like him, were brought up short at their first sight of the extraordinary scene in the otherwise ordinary-looking room.

  The bonds which had held Maggie were gone, but she remained slumped in the chair, unconscious and barely breathing, because Florrie and Joe Connor hadn’t dared to move her, but it was the inert figure of Matron Cox who dominated the room. She was quite motionless, but strangely there was nothing quiet or benign in the lack of movement as one would have expected, and the sight of her was unnerving.

  ‘What - what’s happened here?’ It took the doctor two attempts to get the words out, and as he said afterwards to his wife, ‘It was just as if something unspeakable was in that room with us, my dear, and you know I’m not one for exaggerating. I haven’t been to church for some time, but I shall be going this Sunday.’

  ‘We don’t rightly know, sir.’ It was the younger of the two constables who answered, and he, like the doctor, could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he gestured towards the silent figure at his feet. ‘It seems as though this one here broke into the house and attacked the other lady. Her friend says there was an incident some ten years ago which is at the bottom of it all.’