House of Silence

by Gillard, Linda

  ‘The baby?’

  ‘No, Hattie.’

  ‘Oh, Deb, don’t be ridiculous! Hattie need never know I’ve told Ma! None of us will ever mention it.’

  ‘But Rae will never forgive her,’ Deborah persisted.

  ‘Rae’s never forgiven her for being born. I can’t really see this makes much difference,’ said Frances.

  ‘Poor Hattie…’

  ‘Oh, do shut up, Deb! Ma’s sanity is at stake here! She must face up to the truth. She has to accept that the baby is dead! For all our sakes.’

  ‘I know you’re right. It just seems so harsh… I mean, you’re actually going to tell her Hattie killed her brother?’

  ‘Yes. But she didn’t know what she was doing. It was just a game, a child’s game that got out of hand. Hattie wasn’t really to blame. A six year-old can’t be held responsible for murder.’

  ‘Not in the eyes of the law perhaps,’ Vivien said. ‘But Ma might not see it like that.’

  ‘Yes, she will,’ Frances said firmly. ‘Once she’s got over the shock. Ma will see reason in the end. But she has to be told. We can’t put up with this charade any longer. It’s driving us all crazy.’

  ‘Poor Hattie,’ said Deborah and started to weep.

  Chapter Twenty

  Gwen

  I was alone, loading the dishwasher, when Marek came back into the kitchen, his coat pockets bulging. He handed me a glass, then emptied the contents of his pockets on to the kitchen table: dressmaker’s shears, scissors, knives, knitting needles, a tin of pins and a needle case. I stared uncomprehending and watched as he took a cornflakes box from the worktop, discarded the inner packet and refilled it with all the hardware. He opened the larder door and placed the box on a high shelf, behind some packets of kitchen towel.

  Then I understood.

  I sank into a chair, my stomach churning. When I was sure my breakfast wasn’t about to make a reappearance, I said, ‘Did Hattie try to—’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But she’s all right?’

  ‘Yes. But she probably shouldn’t be left alone for too long. She’s asleep at the moment and I think she’ll sleep for a while now.’

  In the silence that followed I heard the first notes of the dawn chorus: a solitary bird, sounding tentative at first, then obscenely cheerful. I swallowed and said, ‘Do you think she did it?’

  ‘She thinks she did. And she says she heard her sisters talking about a cover-up. She believes that’s what’s behind the whole Alfie/Tom scenario.’

  ‘But you don’t.’

  ‘There’s a condition called pseudologia phantastica where the patient concocts elaborate, sometimes fantastic stories. But they can seem quite plausible, so it can be very difficult to be certain they aren’t telling the truth. But it’s really not my place to have an opinion.’ Marek’s face was calm. Inscrutable. Infuriating. ‘It’s not even as if I’m family,’ he added.

  ‘Well, neither am I. Nor is Alfie. I’m asking what you think as Hattie’s friend, not her psychiatrist.’

  ‘As Hattie’s friend, I’d say she couldn’t bring herself to kill a slug, let alone a baby. But as a psychiatrist, I have to acknowledge such things are possible. If Hattie is now the soul of kindness, it could be because she’s spent thirty years atoning for an unspeakable crime. But…’

  ‘But what?’

  Before answering, Marek took off his coat, hung it on the back of a chair and sat down beside me at the table. ‘I have my doubts whether this murder actually took place. We’re dealing with an entire family of fantasists here.’

  ‘But Tom isn’t Alfie - I think we can be sure of that, can’t we? So where is he? And what happened to him? You have to admit, Hattie’s story does add up in a way. It also explains her strangeness. And Rae’s mental frailty.’

  ‘Oh, yes, it all adds up. I just don’t believe it.’

  ‘No, neither do I.’

  He laughed, then took my hand and raised it quickly to his lips. I leaned over and laid my head on his shoulder. I felt a protective arm go round me and was glad of something strong and certain. As the songbird continued to warble inappropriately, I said, ‘Could a six year-old kill deliberately?’

  ‘It happens.’

  ‘But why would Hattie have done such a thing? What possible motive could she have had?’

  ‘Several. Sibling rivalry. Being very angry with Rae, who seems to have ignored her. A six year-old would be conscious of rejection, emotional neglect. And Hattie might have understood that this baby was the longed-for son. She could have killed out of spite. Or revenge.’

  I suddenly remembered a conversation I’d had with Hattie in the attic. I debated with myself whether or not I should mention it to Marek. She hadn’t said she was speaking to me in confidence (given her lack of discretion, I wondered if Hattie had any understanding of that concept) so I decided I would tell him. I sat upright again and said, ‘There’s something about Hattie which you probably don’t know. I think it might account for her sense of guilt. Well, some of it.’ Marek looked at me and waited. ‘Hattie told me she’d had an abortion. When she was a student. She made it sound as if she’d got pregnant without really knowing how. Then she had an abortion. I think it was one of the things that contributed to her chucking her musical career… So she could feel guilty about that, couldn’t she? Hattie with her childlike way of thinking might even have seen that as a sort of murder. Do you think she could have got confused?’

  ‘Yes, I think she could. She certainly seems confused now, but thirty years of living the lies this family has imposed on her would confuse anyone. The point is, even if Hattie had nothing to do with the baby’s death, he’s still unaccounted for.’

  ‘If the baby had died of natural causes, Hattie would know, wouldn’t she? It would have been discussed.’

  Marek shrugged. ‘She says it never was. She’s adamant about that. She said, “We never discussed Alfie’s death, just how to keep him alive”.’

  I thought for a moment and came to the inevitable conclusion. ‘That doesn’t sound like death from natural causes, does it?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘Which means Hattie - or someone else - killed the baby. Doesn’t it?’

  ‘It appears to. But…’

  ‘But what?’

  Marek shook his head. ‘I don’t know… Something just doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Are you basing that on your professional experience? Or your affection for Hattie?’

  ‘How would I know? But if you’re asking for my considered professional opinion, I’d say the whole thing stinks. To high heaven.’

  ‘But if what she believes happened, didn’t… and they know… that would mean the family had used Hattie as some kind of scapegoat… Oh, God, that’s appalling! That seems to me even more incredible than the idea of Hattie being a child murderer! I don’t believe Viv would be party to such a thing.’

  ‘No, nor do I. And I like to think I know Viv pretty well.’

  ‘Dare we say anything to her?’

  ‘In the light of Hattie being bent on self-harm, I think we have to. I presume Alfie won’t carry on with his impersonation now?’

  ‘No. I think he’s as stunned as we are. He’s fond of Hattie.’

  ‘And he’s also dealing with being dumped by his girlfriend. How much does he know about us?’

  ‘Only what he guesses.’

  Marek’s smile was lopsided, ironical. ‘Everything, then.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Look, Gwen, I’d make myself scarce and leave you to sort things out with Alfie, but I imagine you’d like me around to deal with Hattie when she wakes up.’

  ‘Please. And I think it had better be you who explains to Viv. She’ll be down soon. I can hear movement upstairs. Someone’s up and I doubt it’s Frances or Deborah.’

  ‘Somebody should go and sit with Hattie.’

  ‘It has to be me then.’

  ‘If she wakes up, just try to stay calm
. And keep her calm. We have to guard against impulsive behaviour. Take what she says seriously, but try to act normally. If things get difficult, yell and I’ll come and deal with it.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to wait for Viv to make an appearance.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then I’m going to ask her what happened to her baby brother.’

  ‘You think she knows?’

  ‘She must. She was in her twenties when he was born. If Rae ever knew what happened, she’s probably forgotten. And Deborah and Frances were just teenagers. But Viv will have the answers. If there are any.’

  ‘And you think she’ll tell you?’

  ‘Not necessarily. But I’ll know if she’s lying.’

  The kitchen door opened. I hoped it would be Alfie, but Harris and Lewis trotted into the kitchen followed by Viv, bleary-eyed in her dressing gown and slippers. She saw us both seated at the table and stopped in her tracks, smiling uncertainly. ‘Tyler! What on earth are you doing here so early? Is there a problem at the mill?’

  ‘Good morning, Viv. I’m here because… Gwen needed some help.’

  Viv turned to me, surprised. ‘Oh, my dear, why didn’t you come and wake me? What was wrong?’

  She smiled at me affectionately, then went over to the back door where both dogs waited patiently to be let out. I turned to Marek, feeling helpless and unaccountably guilt-stricken. He put an arm round my shoulders briefly then, as Viv closed the door behind the dogs, he said, ‘I think you’d better sit down, Viv. We need to talk.’

  ‘Oh dear, that sounds ominous! I hope it’s nothing serious.’ She turned an anxious face to me, then back to Marek. ‘Oh… It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s potentially very serious,’ Marek said, in a quiet, reassuring voice, totally at odds with his words and the cereal packet of lethal blades he’d so recently hidden. ‘I’m concerned—’ He shot me a sideways look. ‘We’re both concerned for Hattie’s safety.’

  ‘Hattie? Why? What’s the matter with her?’ Viv sat down at the table facing Marek and me. ‘Where is Hattie?’

  ‘She’s asleep in her room. Or she was when I left her a little while ago.’

  Viv’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What were you doing in her room?’

  ‘He was making sure she didn’t do anything stupid,’ I said, leaning across the table, quick to defend Marek who, despite his calm demeanour, was beginning to show signs of strain.

  ‘What do you mean, “stupid”?’ Viv asked.

  ‘Trying to harm herself,’ Marek replied.

  ‘But why on earth would Hattie do such a thing? Please tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘I need to go back and explain, Viv. Then…’ Marek paused. ‘Then I think you need to go back and explain.’

  As realisation dawned, her bright brown eyes clouded over and her shoulders drooped. ‘This is to do with Alfie, isn’t it?’ Marek nodded. Viv bowed her head and stared at the table, then, straightening her spine, she looked up. ‘How much do you know?’

  ‘About Alfie? Everything, I think. He’s back at Creake Hall now. He talked to us at length. Very frankly. He explained… the set-up.’

  ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘Because Gwen had guessed he was an impostor.’

  Viv turned to me. I can’t say she actually looked surprised, more like resigned to the inevitable. ‘The photographs?’

  ‘Yes. But I’d also read Alfie’s letters home. Bits of them. They were sewn into Hattie’s quilt top. I read them when I was working on it. Alfie was supposed to have written them, but I found out that he had no idea of the contents.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t. He didn’t write those letters. I did.’

  There was a scratching noise at the back door and Viv got up to let the dogs in. They trotted through the kitchen and took up their customary positions in front of the Aga, for all the world as if this was just a normal day. I suppose for them it was.

  When Viv had sat down again, I said, ‘Were Freddie’s letters to Rae genuine?’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You’ve read those too?’

  ‘Only bits. They were also in the quilt. They said the baby died. That Freddie left Rae because he couldn’t cope any more with all the pretence.’

  Viv nodded. ‘It was all very sad. Heartbreaking, in fact… And you say you confronted Alfie with all this?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ I looked at Marek, uncertain how to proceed. He gave me a slight nod and I continued. ‘We were trying to get the truth out of Hattie when Alfie came back. He’d driven through the night. He told us who he really was. And he explained the part he’s played in… all this.’

  ‘I see. But why is Hattie so upset?’

  Out of my depth now, I turned to Marek who leaned forward and said, ‘Hattie sees herself as responsible for the baby’s death. She appears to have lived with a lifetime of guilt. She didn’t need to tell us about her part in what happened, but she chose to. Then she left the room, in great distress. I followed and sat with her for a while. We talked and eventually she fell asleep. But I thought it best to remove certain things from her room - tools and so on. Things she could use to hurt herself.’

  Viv closed her eyes. ‘Oh, God…’

  ‘Did Hattie ever have any counselling, Viv? For what happened?’

  She opened her eyes again and looked at Marek, puzzled. ‘You mean the accident?’

  I pounced on her words. ‘So it was an accident?’

  ‘Yes, of course. No one thought Hattie had done it deliberately! Not even Rae.’

  Marek resumed. ‘Hattie believes she was responsible. She claims to have heard you talking about her as if she was the culprit. She sees herself as nothing less than a murderer, Viv. She always has. And she believes the Alfie business is a cover-up - not just a consolation for Rae, but something to protect the family from Hattie’s “crime”.’

  ‘How extraordinary! Are you sure that’s what she thinks?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Hattie says she has no memory of what happened, but she seems to have a clear recollection of a conversation in the garden that she overheard: you and your sisters discussing whether you should tell Rae that Hattie murdered the baby.’

  Viv’s face turned grey. Never in my life have I seen anyone look so dreadful, apart from my mother when I found her on Christmas morning. All life and colour drained from Viv’s face, leaving a mask of horror. After a moment, she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Eventually, in a hoarse whisper, she said, ‘Hattie overheard that conversation?’

  ‘Yes. She said she was hidden in the garden. Behind the hedge.’

  ‘And Hattie believes she murdered the baby?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So… when we asked her to play the game that Alfie was still alive… she had to pretend the baby she believed she’d killed was still alive!’ Viv clapped a hand to her mouth. I think in that moment she was struggling not to vomit. I got up quickly, moved round the table and put my arm around her. I looked up at Marek but he was watching Viv, waiting for her to compose herself. Eventually, he said, ‘I take it Hattie misunderstood? There was no question of her having murdered her brother?’

  When Viv finally answered, her voice was faint. ‘No… Absolutely none. You see—’ Her large brown eyes filled with tears and I took her hand. She clutched at mine and said, ‘That poor girl! What have we done?’ Moistening her lips, she said, ‘There was no question of Hattie having murdered the baby because— because there never was a baby!’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Hattie stood shivering at the end of her mother’s bed, watching her sleeping form. The room was dimly illuminated by a shaft of grey light that entered through a gap in the heavy curtains. Hattie had stood in the darkness so long, she could now discern familiar features of the room: the sampler she’d made; the patchwork cushion covers fashioned from the floral chintzes Rae loved; the framed portrait on the bedside table of Rae and Freddie on their wedding day; all the other
family photographs - the girls at various stages in their lives and snapshots of the boy - or rather, boys - they’d always referred to as “Alfie”.

  Rae stirred, then rolled over in bed. Hattie looked away to a corner of the room by the window. She appeared to stare at vacancy since there was nothing in that part of the room. She continued to stare until Rae, awake now and struggling to sit up, said, ‘Viv, is that you?’ She switched on the bedside light and blinked in astonishment at the figure standing at the end of her bed. ‘Hattie! What on earth are you doing here? You gave me an awful fright, standing there like a ghost. What do you want?’

  Hattie said nothing. For a moment, her body appeared to sway and she clasped the foot of the wrought iron bedstead. The metal was colder even than her hands. She clung to the iron frame and said, ‘Do you know what I did, Ma? Did they tell you?’

  Rae stared at her youngest daughter, unnerved by the harsh note in her voice. ‘What are you talking about? Really, Hattie, couldn’t this wait? What time is it?’

  ‘I want to know now. Did they tell you?’

  Rae began to feel alarmed. This wasn’t a Hattie she recognised. Hattie was simple, but harmless. A kind, affectionate girl, just not all there. But the woman standing at the foot of the bed was grim-faced. Her eyes bore into Rae, accusing. But accusing her of what? She had no idea. Rae reached for the buzzer on the bedside table to ring for Viv, but Hattie leaped forward and snatched it from her hand, holding it aloft.

  ‘Tell me! Do you know what I did? Is that why you always hated me?’

  Rae cowered against her pillows. ‘I don’t hate you! What on earth are you talking about? I don’t understand!’ Her eyes darted around the room as if she was looking for help, even escape. ‘I know I wasn’t a good mother to you, Hattie, but I’ve never hated you! How can you think such a thing?’ her eyes settled on Hattie’s face, pleading. ‘You must understand, I couldn’t be expected to cope after… after my breakdown. I left everything to Freddie and Viv. Viv was so very capable! They looked after you. And I—’ Rae looked away, unable to meet Hattie’s eyes. A querulous note crept into her voice as she stammered, ‘I had to look after Alfie.’