Staverton

  I kicked out hard at his knee, and it crumpled beneath him. Holding out his hands to break his fall, he released his grip on my arm.

  I spun around, ready to run. For a brief moment, I thought I was free, I could see myself getting away, but then he grabbed my ankle, and I fell.

  On the way down, I cracked my head on something hard. I lay there for a moment dazed beside the stone bench. Then I felt his weight on top of me. His breath, hot against my cheek, smelled of stale champagne and cigarettes.

  I screamed, kicked and tried to wriggle out from under him, but he pinned me to the ground.

  Then suddenly I felt his weight lift.

  I scrambled away and heard a muffled thud behind me. Turning, I saw Michael towering over Dean who lay on the ground, groaning with a trickle of blood spilling from his mouth.

  Michael stood back, his shoulders rose and fell as his breathing came hard and fast. His whole body was tense, but he let Dean get to his feet and stagger away.

  He paused for a moment before he turned to me. When he finally looked at me, his eyes burned with fury. “Are you all right?” He offered his hand to help me up.

  I got to my feet stiffly and touched the bump on my head. That would be sore tomorrow.

  “Why did you come out here with him?”

  “I didn’t. He followed me.” I shook off his hand, and started to walk off, toward the house.

  “Lucy, wait. Jesus.”

  But I ignored him. I was furious at his implication that what happened was my fault. I felt stupid. I had led Dean on, flirted a bit, but that didn’t excuse his behaviour. It didn’t mean it was my fault.

  He ran to keep up. “You should report him to the police.”

  I hesitated, just outside the kitchen door. “He didn’t actually...”

  “He would have.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. “I don’t want to think about that.”

  I tried to push past him, but he put a hand on my arm.

  “Hang on.”

  “Please, Michael, let me go inside,” I said, close to tears.

  He was still holding my arm when the roar of an engine made us both turn. I guessed Dean was making a hasty getaway.

  “Christ,” Michael said. “He’ll kill himself.”

  I walked through the kitchen door. Good, I thought. I hope he does.

  Chapter 21

  I tried to sneak from the kitchen to my room without being seen, but crossed paths with Caroline in the hallway.

  “What happened to you?” Caroline asked with her eyes wide. “Your hair’s all messed up, and you’ve got mud on your dress.”

  I looked down and tried to wipe the dirt off the hem. It was hopeless. I started to cry.

  Caroline wrapped an arm around my shoulders and helped me upstairs. She unzipped my dress and handed me makeup remover wipes. I couldn’t stop shivering. I told Caroline what happened in between sobs, and she tucked me into bed like a child.

  “Do you want to report it?”

  “No. I want to forget it ever happened. And besides what would I tell the police? He didn’t... Well, you know.”

  “Thank God,” Caroline said, stroking my hair. She climbed into bed beside me. “I can sleep here tonight, if you want?”

  I turned to her. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay now. I just want to close my eyes and forget about it.”

  “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

  ***

  I dreamt of my parents. At first, it was wonderful. We were all back in our family home in Richmond, everyone was smiling and happy, but then the furniture disappeared, and the lights went out. Mum and Dad disappeared. I called out to them, and my voice echoed back to me.

  For a moment, there was no reply, then I heard them whispering. Their voices gradually got louder and louder until they were shouting, “Get out! Get out!”

  I woke up covered in sweat. I lay still for a moment, telling myself, over and over, it was only a dream. I lifted my head from the pillow.

  I could still hear voices. Was I still dreaming?

  Throwing back the duvet, I quietly got out of bed and stood by the door, listening. There were definitely voices downstairs. I glanced at my watch: three in the morning. Surely the party had finished by now.

  I reached for the glass of water on my dresser and drained it. Feeling a bit better, I decided to find out what was going on. I walked along the hallway to Caroline’s bedroom and knocked on the door, softly. Caroline didn’t answer, but I hadn’t really expected her to at this time in the morning. I opened the door, just a crack, and looked in.

  Caroline’s bed was empty.

  The covers were rumpled, and the pillow held an indentation, so she had been to bed. I waited a while, in case Caroline was in the bathroom, and then I heard Angela cry out.

  I rushed to the staircase and looked down. Gathered at the foot of the stairs, the whole family stood together in a huddle. Lawrence’s arm encircled Angela’s waist. It looked as though he was supporting her.

  I started to walk down the stairs when I stopped and hesitated, unsure whether I should go down there. Was it a private family matter?

  Without a scrap of makeup, and her usually immaculate hair in disarray, Angela choked back a sob and rested her head on Lawrence’s shoulder. Caroline was standing on the other side of her mother, her skin was so pale. I could see her freckles from this distance. They hadn’t seen me, so I could slip back up the stairs and none of them would know I’d been there. I didn’t think I could cope with any more drama tonight.

  But before I made up my mind, Michael turned and saw me standing on the stairs. There was no point hiding now, so I walked down the curved staircase, taking in the scene.

  “I think we should all go into the sitting room and wait,” Michael said, trying to guide the rest of his family into the sitting room on their right.

  “Wait for what?” I asked.

  “The police.” He ran a hand through his cropped, dark hair. His eyes were still bleary from sleep.

  “What’s happened?” I asked as I followed the family into the sitting room.

  Angela sat on the edge of the sofa and refastened her dressing gown, tugging on the cord. “It’s so awful. It’s Gwen. She’s dead.”

  “What?” I looked around the room at everyone’s faces, expecting one of them to tell me it wasn’t true. But none of them did. Lawrence slumped forward in a chair, his elbows on his knees and his hair, normally carefully brushed back, flopped forward hiding his face.

  Both Michael and Jake were still here, they must have decided to stay the night at Staverton after the amount of alcohol consumed at the party.

  Jake paced the room. “She didn’t have a pulse. There wasn’t anything I could do.”

  “Are you sure? Caroline and I did a first aid course at St. Catherine’s. Perhaps her pulse is weak.” I stood up and moved towards the door. “Where is she?”

  Caroline spoke up, her voice calm, but her face was frozen with fear. She looked straight ahead. Her eyes fixed on the wall. “There’s no point, Lucy. She’s dead. I found her.”

  Michael put an arm around my shoulders. “Come and sit back down. We’ll wait for the police. She is in the study, but trust me, when I tell you that you don’t want to see Gwen like that.”

  “I think I should make some tea, while we wait,” Angela said.

  “I’ll help you,” I said and gave Caroline’s hand a quick squeeze as I passed.

  I followed Angela along the hallway towards the kitchen. As we passed the study, Angela increased her stride and turned her head away, but I couldn’t. Compelled, I slowed and looked into the study.

  At first glance, everything seemed normal. The desk, the bookshelves, everything looked as it had yesterday. I looked down. Gwen lay on her back, one of her legs jutted out at a strange angle, and I had a stupid desire to straighten it, to make her more comfortable. Not that it mattered now. Beside her head, blood had seeped into and stained the rug. It matted part
of her hair. Her lovely red hair, now a different shade of red.

  I felt bile rise in my throat, turned and ran the rest of the way to the kitchen.

  Angela stood by the kettle arranging dainty cups on a silver tray. “Would you and Caroline like some hot chocolate? The sugar would be good for the shock.”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t think of swallowing anything right now. But Angela reached up into a cupboard for the cocoa powder and sugar.

  “Yes, hot chocolate,” Angela muttered to herself and poured milk into a small saucepan and put it down to heat on the range.

  While Angela busied herself filling a jug with milk for the tea, arranging sugar cubes and searching for the silver sugar tongs, I sat at the kitchen table, rubbing my eyes to try to erase the picture of Gwen, broken on the floor.

  “What happened?” I asked. When Angela didn’t answer, I stood up and put a hand on her arm. “What happened to Gwen?”

  Angela looked at me, her eyes glassy with tears, and blinked rapidly. “I don’t know.”

  “Was it an accident?”

  “It must have been.”

  Angela poured the hot chocolate and added the two mugs to the tray. With shaking hands, Angela picked up the tray with the teapot. “Could you manage the other?” Angela said and nodded to a tray with the teacups.

  I followed Angela with the tray and kept my eyes averted this time when we walked back past the study. I could hear the teacups rattling, but I couldn’t stop trembling.

  Minutes later the police arrived. First a couple of on-duty constables, shortly followed by a tall man who introduced himself as Detective Inspector Alcott. One of the constables was a woman, not much older than me. I didn’t say much. The Detective Inspector took charge telling us he would talk to us all individually and we wouldn’t be able to stay in the house tonight.

  Lawrence was furious. He jabbed a finger in the detective’s face. “This is my house. Who are you to tell me to leave?”

  The detective’s reply was polite in content, but not in tone. In the end, Lawrence seemed to run out of steam, and slumped back down in his chair. The detective continued as if he hadn’t heard any of Lawrence’s objections.

  Angela flitted about the room, filling everyone’s cup with an endless supply of tea, while Caroline and I sat huddled together on the sofa, with our untouched mugs of hot chocolate.

  “I’ll start with you. You found the body?” the detective asked Caroline.

  Caroline set down her mug and nodded.

  “Mrs. Harrington, is there somewhere, another room perhaps, where we could conduct the interviews?”

  I noticed he addressed the question to Angela rather than Lawrence. He learned quickly. Anxious to please, Angela led them through to the dining room.

  While Caroline was questioned, the rest of us sat in the sitting room, in silence. Lawrence looked up now and again to glare at the constable sitting by the door. I watched the minutes tick past on the large, antique grandfather clock that sat in the corner of the room. They were taking ages.

  It must have been worse for Caroline. I only caught a glimpse of Gwen, but that had been more than enough to tell me she suffered a violent death. I shivered.

  Michael sat beside me on the sofa. He looked as if he were searching for the right words, maybe to comfort me, but he never had the chance.

  A large crash startled everyone.

  We all stood, and Lawrence tried to move past the police constable at the door to the sitting room. The constable held his hand up and blocked Lawrence’s path. “Just a moment, sir. I’ll check it out first.”

  As the constable turned his back, Lawrence shot past him, running to the front door. The constable ran after him.

  I heard shouting and what sounded like a fight breaking out, bangs, thuds, furniture shifting. I followed Michael toward the source of the noise.

  There, in the middle of the hallway, stood Malcolm.

  His hair, normally neatly combed over to hide his bald patch, was messed up. Long, grey, dishevelled strands hung at the side of his face and failed to hide the shiny spot on his head. His usually plump, cheerful face looked haggard.

  Malcolm held up a finger, pointing it at Lawrence first, then turning slowly to include us all. “It was you. You killed her.”

  “Come along now, sir,” the police constable said, walking slowly towards Malcolm, with his hands stretched out as if trying to coax a bird to land on his hand.

  Tense, we all stood still, waiting to see what Malcolm would do. Then I became aware of noise behind me. The detective was shouting orders.

  “Get back you fools, not now. Take her back.”

  I turned and saw two men bearing a trolley with a white sheet draped over it. I knew Gwen was underneath that sheet.

  So did Malcolm.

  The noise that came from deep in his throat didn’t quite sound human, and his face contorted in rage. He charged towards the trolley.

  The two paramedics tried to retreat, to push the trolley back, but the hallway was narrow, and they couldn’t move quickly enough. They looked terrified as Malcolm ran towards them.

  Before Malcolm reached the trolley, the Detective stepped into his path. He lowered his shoulder so it hit Malcolm at stomach level. I heard Malcolm’s sharp expelled breath. Then he fell, crumpled to the floor and began to sob.

  The detective bent down and yanked him up by the elbow. He nodded to the male constable who took Malcolm’s other arm, and they cuffed him. Malcolm didn’t even seem to notice.

  As they led him out, past everyone, Michael moved over to me and put his arm around me and squeezed. It was because I was crying, I realised, but I couldn’t help it. I wiped the tears away.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  Of course, it wasn’t okay. It was just something people said when they couldn’t find the right words.

  Chapter 22

  The female constable, who introduced herself as PC Rosen, interviewed me. The detective had left, intent on interviewing Malcolm at the station. She seemed young and inexperienced, but excited, which put my back up. I got through the questions easily, mainly by telling the police woman I had absolutely no idea what happened as I’d been asleep.

  Angela told me Gwen had been murdered, killed by a blow to the head with a blunt object.

  The police found a large, glass ash-tray, covered in blood, near Gwen’s body, but PC Rosen wouldn’t say whether that was the murder weapon. She did tell me evidence had been collected from the scene, but she couldn’t comment until it had been processed.

  As soon as the interview was over, I telephoned Freddie. It was only six o’clock in the morning, but I couldn’t wait any longer.

  When he answered, his voice was thick with sleep. “Lucy, what’s the matter?”

  I blurted it all out over the phone: seeing the body, Malcolm getting arrested and the fact the police had said I couldn’t leave.

  “Nonsense. You let me talk to them. Put them on.”

  I handed the phone to PC Rosen, who began to explain to Freddie why they couldn’t let me leave. From the look on the woman’s face, though, it seemed Freddie was giving her a piece of his mind. She said, “Yes, sir, but...” roughly ten times, before she handed the phone back to me.

  “Now you listen to me, Lucy,” Freddie said. “If they won’t let you leave, then I’ll come to you. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Maybe I should have told him not to make the long journey, told him I would be fine, but I didn’t. I was glad he was coming.

  ***

  As the police sealed off most of the house for forensic investigations, the Harringtons relocated to the guest house. It only had three bedrooms and an open plan kitchen and living area. It hadn’t been used for a while, the musty smell and dusty surfaces were evidence of that.

  Angela walked around the room, wiping a finger over shelves and tables. “Honestly, Magdalena can’t have cleaned it for ages.” Angela stopped, struck b
y a fresh thought. “I’ll have to phone her, tell her not to come to work this morning.”

  No one replied.

  With everyone crammed into the small living area, it felt cramped and claustrophobic. I longed to open a window, despite the chill in the early morning air.

  “We need to sleep. Where the hell are the sheets?” Lawrence yanked open a cupboard in the kitchen and then banged it shut.

  “I’ll get them,” Angela said, rushing out of the room. Lawrence stalked after her.

  Once the beds were made up, everyone wandered off to their respective rooms. Angela and Lawrence took the largest room, Caroline and I the second bedroom, and Jake had the third, which only had a single bed. Michael said he didn’t mind sleeping on the sofa.

  In our room, Caroline shut the curtains. They were made of a heavy, thick fabric, which blocked out the sun and made the room very dark. I would have preferred to keep them open, I didn’t want to sleep.

  We kept our clothes on, only pausing to kick off our shoes before getting into bed. It was so dark I couldn’t see Caroline’s face properly.

  “Caroline?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did the detective say?”

  Caroline paused, then said, “He wanted to know when I found her, and if I’d touched her.”

  “Did you?”

  “Look, I don’t really want to talk about it now. Can we get some sleep?”

  “Sorry. Of course.”

  I lay there, looking up at the dark ceiling, as Caroline’s breathing grew deep and regular.

  I dozed off with my mind full of images of Gwen, alive and dead. When I woke, my mouth tasted dry and bitter and my head ached. Caroline was still sleeping, and I considered getting up and going for a walk. It would be better than staying in this dark room, it wasn’t even light enough to see the time on my watch.

  I heard the door open.

  I shrank back against the bed covers. A sliver of light penetrated the gloom. At first, all I could see was a silhouette of a man in the doorway. He didn’t move and neither did I.

  After a few moments, I shifted slightly to get a better look at him, hoping it looked like I was simply turning in my sleep.