A Dark Devotion

by Clare Francis

  I wandered into the house, longing for sleep, but knowing that it would be at least another hour before the bride and groom left for the hotel where they were spending the night, before the helpers departed, and I could lock up the house and get to bed. Bypassing the kitchen, which was still full of staff* and equipment, I made for the sitting room, where I found Edward alone in his favourite chair with a large whisky clasped to his chest.

  ‘Where’s Jilly?’ I laughed. ‘Haven’t lost her already?’

  ‘She’s somewhere about,’ he declared breezily.

  ‘Rabbiting to an old schoolfriend last time I saw her/

  I sank into a chair with a sigh. ‘Great evening,’ I said. ‘Great day.’

  ‘Went all right, didn’t it?’ Edward remarked matter-of-factly.

  ‘More than all right.’ The weather had been sunny without being overbearingly hot, the service beautiful, Jilly had appeared radiant in a simple ivory dress with a Victorian lace veil handed down from her grandmother. Even Edward had looked half pleased with events, as though life might yet surprise him and turn out not quite as badly as he’d expected.

  ‘Hasn’t everyone gone yet?’ he asked.

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘Kept the wine flowing too long. Can never get the devils to leave then.’

  ‘It was fabulous wine.’

  ‘Well, didn’t want to stint. Never hear the last of it otherwise.’

  While he was in a benign mood, I asked, ‘By the way, did you hear back from the Falmouth solicitors about Pa’s money?’

  He screwed his face up as if to dredge his memory for something rather inconsequential. ‘Oh, that. Yes, stupid blighters tried to palm me off again. You know how they are—blind you with legalese, tell you everything was done in pukka manner, all above board. Tell you to piss off, basically.’

  ‘So what have you decided?’

  He made a disowning gesture, a wave of his glass. ‘Oh, I’ve handed it over to my chap to deal with. Issue a writ or summons or whatever it is. No, can’t be dealing with these bloody stupid people. Drive you mad.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Life’s too short, for God’s sake.’

  He was going to drop it, then. Being Edward he would never admit to it, would rather die, but I could read the subtext. I knew better than to comment, however; I knew better than to say he was doing the right thing.

  There were sounds from the hall, the rustle of silk and Jilly floated in, smiling and breathless and very pretty, despite, or because of, wearing almost no eye makeup at all.

  ‘God,’ exclaimed Edward. ‘Can’t imagine why you’re looking so pleased with yourself—you’re married to me!’ She laughed her little-girl laugh, though I fancied I saw a new glint of confidence in her eye. ‘I’ll survive!’

  ‘More than ,’ will, probably.’ He winked at me, and I thought what a very good thing it was that he had finally committed himself to Jilly, that he’d come to appreciate that in most respects she suited him very well indeed.

  Jilly told him some people were asking for him and with a grunt he got dutifully to his feet and rambled off towards the hall.

  ‘Well!’ I grinned at Jilly.

  ‘There we are!’ she cried, clasping her hands to her chest. Then, in a confidential tone,

  ‘Thanks for sorting it all out.’

  ‘What out?’

  ‘You know—the Grace business.’

  ‘I don’t think I sorted anything out.’

  She took this as false modesty. ‘The inquest. Thought it’d be ghastly. The press and all that. But there was almost nothing in the papers.’

  ‘That wasn’t my doing.’

  ‘And Edward not having to say anything about—you know, him and…’

  ‘Jilly, that wasn’t me. That was the coroner.’

  She said knowingly, ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘The coroner investigates cause of death—nothing else—that’s the only reason.’

  But she refused to be persuaded. Touching my hand in gratitude, she smiled brightly again. ‘There we are, then! All ended happily.’

  There was no answer to this, and I didn’t attempt one.

  Jilly swept off again, and I followed more slowly.

  In the hall an elderly man was casting about, asking anyone who was passing if they’d seen his wife. Edward and Jilly were in the drive shouting farewells to departing cars. I stood in the porch, thinking again of bed.

  A woman’s voice sounded at my elbow. ‘There you are! Hardly seen you all evening.’ Anne Hampton was wearing cerise and pearls, and had her yellow hair pulled back in a black velvet bow. Her cheeks were flushed a uniform pink, from the dancing or the wine. ‘Hasn’t it been a wonderful party? Nothing like a good hooley to get the neighbourhood going.’ She was smiling but she was watching me closely too. ‘Seen Will?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘Not recently, no.’

  ‘Oh? You haven’t been up at all?’

  ‘Not since the inquest.’

  ‘I thought you’d be at the funeral. Weren’t you able to come?’

  ‘I understood it was family only.’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh, I don’t think it was ever—Well, anyway, quite a few people were there. Friends, some of the neighbours—you know. People who really loved Grace. A pretty decent turnout. Considering, I mean. Even her mother came. Wouldn’t speak to Will, of course, but then we all knew that was going to happen. Nice service, terrific sermon.’ Her voice rose in sudden emotion. ‘Everyone wept buckets.’

  I thought: Poor Will.

  Anne sniffed, ‘I must say, I still miss Grace. Still can’t believe she isn’t coming back.’

  I asked, ‘And Maggie?’

  ‘No, not at the funeral. Didn’t make it. But then’—she lowered her voice in sympathy—‘she’s in bad shape, you know. They say…Well, they say it’s only a matter of weeks. At the very most. Maybe days.’

  ‘She’s in hospital, is she? I’ve been trying to contact her.’

  ‘Oh no, not in hospital,’ she said, with the air of someone imparting valuable news. ‘She’s at Marsh House. Aiming to stay there, apparently. Until the end. Poor poor thing.’ She gave a long sigh, then added for no apparent reason, ‘Charlie was at the funeral, you know. I thought that was a bit unnecessary, I must say.’

  She wanted me to ask why, and though a part of me didn’t want to give her the satisfaction, I had to ask: ‘Why shouldn’t he have been there?’

  ‘Well…because of everything. You know.’

  ‘No,’ I said simply. ‘I don’t know.’

  She laughed with pretended awkwardness. ‘Well, we know he was’—she spoke the word delicately—‘there with her.’

  ‘There?’

  ‘On the marshes. When she died.’

  I kept all expression out of my face. ‘What do you mean there? You mean, he saw what happened? He watched her?’

  She shrank a little, as though she was far too discreet to repeat rumours of an unreliable and damning nature.

  ‘Come now, Anne,’ I said coldly. ‘Don’t be coy.’

  She caught the criticism in my tone, she bristled. ‘It’s not me,’ she said in a tone of injury. ‘I’m just telling you what some people said, that’s all!’

  ‘And?’

  She replied stiffly, ‘They say he was there, that’s all! Nothing else!’

  I looked into her pink face and said quietly, ‘Well, you can take it from me, they’re quite wrong. Absolutely wrong.’

  She blinked rapidly. ‘I see.’

  ‘Perhaps you would set the record straight. When you can.’

  ‘Of course. Glad to. Of course.’ She gave an uncomfortable laugh. ‘I’m so pleased. For Charlie’s sake. And Will’s.’

  I would have turned away then, but I had to ask: ‘You’ve seen Will recently? Is he managing?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him for a while. Not for some time, actually. No one has. I’ve tried to call him, oh, dozens of times. But he won’t talk. Says he’s busy. Rings off. Won’t a
nswer the door. A bit of a hermit at the moment. It’s the shocks I expect. The grief. Takes time, doesn’t it, if you lose someone?’

  I looked into her untroubled face, free of any thought that by conniving with Grace in her affair she might have contributed in some small way to the tragedy, and it seemed to me that Will was very wise to keep his distance.

  I woke in a sweat at five, unable for a split second to remember where I was. Throwing off the covers, I slept fitfully until six, when I got up and, choosing the stateliest bathroom in Wickham Lodge, a grandiose room with cracked marble surrounds and a baroque mirror, took a bath in a claw-footed cast-iron bath of battleship proportions, raised on a platform to give a fine view of the garden and the marquee. I fed Edward’s dog and took it out for a short walk, then, as soon as the band of cleaners and clearers began to arrive, drove quietly away through the village and down to the quay.

  I couldn’t decide how to approach Marsh House: a ring at the front door might not get answered, while a walk round to the kitchen might disturb the family at breakfast.

  The problem was solved by the absence of the Range Rover; I went up the side of the house and peered in through the kitchen window to see no people and no signs of breakfast. The door was unlocked, and I walked through the kitchen into the hall, calling softly as I went.

  A voice answered, and the sound led me towards the sitting room. Most of the room was in shadow, but a faint light from a partly drawn curtain illuminated a dressing-gowned figure on a bed which had been placed close by the window.

  ‘I’m intruding unannounced,’ I said.

  Maggie said, ‘So you are, Alex. Well, since you’re here you can open a curtain and go and make me some tea.’

  I drew a far curtain.

  ‘No, this one, Alex, then we can see when Will returns.’

  I opened the one nearer to her.

  When I turned to look at her, she said, ‘I was trying to reach you, Alex. I was trying to call.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now.’

  ‘It’s the China tea I like. But strong.’

  I brought it in a pot with the best porcelain cups and saucers, and poured it through a strainer.

  ‘Tell me about the wedding,’ She had pulled herself higher on her pillows. She didn’t look as bad as my imagination in all its fears had painted her, though she was painfully thin and her eyes seemed to be set deeper and more darkly into her head. Her voice had changed too: it was husky and pitched higher.

  ‘The wedding went very well.’ I described the dress and the service and the speeches. I told her who was there, and who had danced wildly, and who had knocked wine over a woman’s dress.

  She listened distractedly, her eyes on the windows, nodding occasionally, smiling faintly once or twice. ‘A good day then. A pity, though, that your father couldn’t have seen it.’

  ‘Yes, he would have been pleased.’

  ‘Edward was always a worry for him, I think.’

  ‘Yes.’ A pause, and I asked in a level voice, ‘Tell me about you and Father.’

  She cast me a long gaze containing emotion and mild surprise. ‘I have so many confessions to make, Alex, but I think this is my one happy confession, the confession for which I feel no shame or sadness. I hope you are not cross that I am happy about it? That I cannot be sorry? I was careful not to do your mother harm, you know. Always I made sure there was no harm. It was only at the end…’ She sighed softly. ‘I

  regret that your mother found out. After so long, too. And that she was not happy to let things stay the same, that she made your father move away.’ She added with a touch of her old incredulity: ‘To Cornwall. No, Alex, I regret very much that it ended like this because for many years there was no hurt, no harm. Everyone was happy. ,’ was happy. And your father…’ She smiled slightly. Her hand rose and fell to the unfinished sentence. ‘There was no reason not to go on in the same way. You would think that after so long there would be no harm. But no…she would not allow it. And then, he never came back, your father. When your mother died I thought he would, you know.’ She gave one of those gestures I loved so much, the overturning of one hand, the opening of the palm as if to question the powers above, but now it was a listless gesture, without conviction. ‘But perhaps he felt it would not be the same. And, you know—perhaps he was right.’

  ‘Did you manage to see each other often?’

  ‘Oh, almost every day, more or less. Not always for long, of course. Sometimes we would walk, on the fields at Upper Farm, somewhere like that. Sometimes we would just talk on the phone. We loved to talk, Alex—we were great talkers! Great endless talkers! You understand, it was not just attraction, more than love. We were the best of friends also.’

  Unexpectedly, I felt a sharp pang of envy, the envy that springs from the wounds of one’s own

  unhappiness, from the feeling that such a complete love will always remain beyond your grasp. I asked reticently, ‘But how did you manage to meet? Where did you go?’

  ‘Ah,’ she whispered in her hoarse voice, ‘mostly we would be at Reed Cottage. Your father would walk along the marsh path late in the evening, or early in the morning, or he would come between house calls, or for tea.’

  ‘But before you moved to Reed Cottage, when you were still here?’

  She said softly, ‘Ah, but you see there was always Reed Cottage, Alex. Always.’

  I shook my head. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your father rented it for many years. Before it was bought.’

  It took me a moment to absorb this, and the idea disturbed me, it seemed so very calculated, so terribly organized.

  Reading something of this in my face, Maggie said, ‘It was just a little happiness, Alex. Just a little happiness now and again. In a difficult life, when things are not right, it is something very important, very special, to be given a little happiness. You must take it where you find it.’

  I nodded quickly and breathlessly.

  Maggie reached to the other side of the bed, to a table cluttered with bottles and glasses and tablets, and fiddled with something I couldn’t see. When she turned back, I noticed that there was surgical tape strapped across the back of her right hand and some sort of connector coming

  out of it, leading into a transparent tube, which snaked away across the bed to the table. ‘I choose the dose,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I use less than they say, then I can know I’m still alive.’ She laughed a little, to ease the moment along. ‘I gave up smoking, you know.’

  ‘About time too.’

  ‘Well, I knew what was on the score, Alex. I thought, why not smoke? It will make no difference. The end will be the same anyway.’ She dismissed the whole business with a derisive grunt.

  ‘Crazy thinking, Maggie.’

  But her thoughts had moved on. She fixed me with a sombre gaze. ‘So, Alex, will you do me this favour?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I need this favour.’

  ‘If I can, of course.’

  She was gasping slightly, she seemed to be struggling, though whether with pain or general distress I couldn’t tell. ‘I thought I had done it fine, but now, Alex, now I don’t think I did it so well. It’s on my mind. It worries me.’

  I poured her more tea. As she drank, I noticed her hand was trembling and she had to steady the cup.

  ‘Alex, this is what I ask you to do for me. I ask you to go to Reed Cottage. You take the spade—you will find it in the outhouse, to the right, inside the door—you go and dig by the corner between the outhouse and the wall, where

  there’s a rose and a clematis. But closer to the rose, you need to be closer to the rose. You will find the handbag there, and the jacket, Alex. Be sure to get them both, yes?’

  My hesitation lasted no more than a second. ‘Of course.’

  The matter was over so quickly, it had been so straightforward that Maggie immediately searched for difficulties. ‘The handbag—maybe something fell out. You will check?’

  I said
I would check.

  ‘And the jacket—if there were things in the pocket…’

  I said I would sift through the earth to be sure.

  ‘And nearer the rose than the clematis.’

  ‘Nearer the rose.’

  She seemed reassured at last. She gave a long sigh. ‘Ah, Alex, that was the stupid thing—to take the car back, to pretend she had never been there. That was a stupid thing—not the handbag. I did not think that Barry Holland would see her…’ She inhaled slowly, her mouth turned down bitterly. ‘But the biggest mistake of all, Alex? How could I do this? Tell me—how? I told Grace that Charlie had opened the sluices. My God! Why did I to this, Alex? What could make me do this? I still don’t know why I should be so crazy!’ She gave a heartfelt sigh of regret and despair. ‘Poor Charlie, his grandmother is a crazy fool! Crazy!’

  Then, as though to answer her own question,

  she said, ‘I was so angry. That was why I said this to her, Alex—I was so angry. Charlie was so upset, I have never seen him so upset. I knew it had to be Grace that had done this—I knew

  —so I shouted at her down the phone. I asked to know what she has done to make him so upset.’

  ‘Tell me about it, Maggie,’ I invited quietly. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  She became composed, her expression grave, and it occurred to me that she had been preparing herself for this moment for a long time. She gazed out towards the window, she said in her hoarse voice, ‘What happened was that I killed Grace.’

  ‘Grace dropped Charlie off. She did not stay long, a minute, no more. Charlie was in a happy mood, he had done a project at school, the teacher had given him top marks. He was proud of his marks. He wanted to show me the project with its marks, but he had left it at home. After tea he wanted to go and fetch it. I said I would see it next day, it could wait—but no, it could not wait, he had to show me then. So he ran off home to fetch it.’

  Her calm did not completely conceal the emotion beneath; she took a steadying breath. ‘He was gone so long. I was worrying. I could not think what was happening. He had been by the path many, many times. It was so quick. What

  —five, six minutes? But it was half an hour.

  More. I looked out for him, I could not see him. I was going to call Grace to find out where he was when I went upstairs one last time—to look, to see better. And for no reason I looked the other way, I looked out to the Gun. And there he was!’ A tremor passed through her then, she sucked in her cheeks. ‘A long way off. Running. But I knew it was him. I knew! I could not understand it. I went out, I went to the Gun to find him. I saw water in the ditch. I could not think why there was so much water. Oh, but my eyes are no good any more! I couldn’t see where the water was coming in. I couldn’t see what Charlie was doing.’