by Val McDermid
‘I like to come up here and remember her,’ Ellie said. She gave her shoulders a little shake and said, ‘Come on, let’s carry on to the summit. We’ll have our picnic up there.’
As they left the graveyard, Ellie casually pointed out her mother’s headstone. Beneath her name and dates, it read, Beloved wife of General Henry Tilney, mother to Frederick, Henry and Eleanor. We miss you every day.
They clambered up the hill and enjoyed the view while they worked their way through the minor feast that Mrs Calman had packed for them. Cat lay back on the warm grass and groaned. ‘Thank God it’s downhill all the way, because you’re going to have to roll me down. How come you’re not as fat as a barrel, living on Mrs C’s cooking all the time?’
‘It’s tough,’ Ellie said. ‘I’m making the most of it while I’m home this time. I’m still holding out hope that Father will change his mind and let me go to art school in Edinburgh.’
‘That would be so cool. You’re lucky to have qualifications to do something like that. I’ve got a bunch of GCSEs but I didn’t even bother sitting A-levels. You couldn’t call what Mum taught me a curriculum.’
‘What do you want to do?’
‘Mum thinks I should train as a nanny, but I’d quite like to be a writer,’ she said. ‘Not for grown-ups, for kids. I’m really good at making up stories for the kids in the village. And I do the storytelling at Junior Church. Hey, you could be my illustrator!’
‘That’d be fun. Maybe we could try to start one while you’re here?’
‘Yes, why not?’
Buoyed up with the idea of a joint project, Cat and Ellie made it back to Northanger Abbey in record time. Judging by the four substantial black cars parked outside, the meeting was still going strong, so they ran straight upstairs. ‘I want a quick shower before we begin,’ Ellie said as they reached the top of the stairs.
‘Me too. But before we do that – your dad’s obviously still tied up with his buddies. Why don’t we take our chance? You could show me your mother’s room.’
Ellie looked uncertain. ‘I suppose. Look, why don’t you come to my room first, then I can show you her portrait.’ Clearly, she hoped this would be enough to assuage Cat’s curiosity. Equally clearly, she did not know her friend as well as she thought.
They scuttled along the landing and turned into the kids’ corridor, as Cat had come to think of it. Ellie’s room was the second on the right and Cat was enchanted by it. The colours were different tones of lavender and cream, everything blending like a Pantone chart. Watercolours were pinned all over the walls; some landscapes, some seascapes and some of buildings and cities Cat didn’t recognise. Oddly for the room of a teenage girl, there was no mirror on display for Cat to check whether her hostess had a reflection. But at the heart of the room, impossible to avoid, was a large oil painting of a woman. She had a mild and pensive face, fine featured with large blue eyes and a sweep of honey-blonde hair. ‘She’s lovely,’ Cat said.
‘Yes. I wish I looked like her.’
Cat couldn’t help recalling what she’d learned from her reading about vampire ‘families’. They were often loose-knit groups who had chosen to live together over the centuries because they were less visible in a family group. So Margaret Tilney wasn’t necessarily the biological mother of any of the children. Given that she had a separate bedroom from her husband, they may not have been married. Perhaps she wasn’t even his lover; perhaps that was the bone of contention that had led to her imprisonment.
The major flaw in this imaginative view of the Tilneys, which Cat appeared to have mislaid in all her imaginings, was that vampire families had to keep moving because eventually their neighbours and colleagues noticed that nobody in the family seemed to age at the normal rate. Every dozen years or so, they had to disappear and start again. But the Tilneys had been in one place for a very long time and although the men retired from public life at a relatively youthful age, it would still have been hard to fool the whole of the Scottish Borders indefinitely. But no young woman has ever allowed reality to stand in the way of her romantic fantasies, and in this respect, Cat was no exception to the rule.
‘You’re beautiful too, Ellie. Just in a different way.’ Cat put her arm round Ellie’s shoulders and squeezed. ‘And now I can picture what she looked like, why don’t you show me her room so I have her really fixed in my mind’s eye.’
Ellie let herself be steered out of the room and down the gallery. They turned into the middle corridor and passed the General’s room. Ellie paused at the double doors and Cat feared she’d have to make the unthinkable bad-guest-move and open them herself. Then all at once, they were outside Mrs Tilney’s door. Ellie took an audible breath and reached for the handle, while Cat, hardly able to breathe at all, turned back to shut the gallery doors behind them.
In that instant, the dreaded figure of the General appeared outlined against the light from the gallery. Before Cat could even groan a warning, the General barked, ‘Eleanor,’ in his best parade-ground voice. It bounced off the stone walls, tiny echoes ringing in Cat’s ears. For a split second she hoped she might have escaped his notice, but knew at once it was a forlorn hope.
‘Fuck,’ Ellie muttered and took off at top speed down the hall. Father and daughter disappeared and Cat took the opportunity to sprint back to her own room, relieved not to see another soul. She didn’t know whether she’d ever dare to leave her room again. But at least she would be clean if she had to leave in disgrace.
Standing in the shower as the water cascaded over her head, Cat resolved that she’d have to get into that room tonight, in case it occurred to the General to lock it up. For all she knew, he’d already done that.
She couldn’t stay in the shower for ever, and when she finally returned to her bedroom, she’d scarcely rubbed a towel over her hair when there was a timid knock at the door. Making sure the towel was firmly wrapped around her, Cat cautiously inched the door open. Ellie stood there, looking on the verge of tears. ‘Can I come in?’ she said.
‘Course you can.’ Cat threw the door wide and welcomed her with a hug. ‘Are we in deep shit?’
‘Not as much as I thought. He’s so distracted with his meeting he hardly told me off at all. He just wanted to make sure I was spruced up and changed—’ She gestured at her little black dress. ‘They’re having cocktails before dinner. You’re required too, I’m sorry.’
Cat looked at her in dismay. ‘I haven’t got anything like that to wear.’
‘I did wonder. It’s not really your style. Look, we’re about the same size. Well, you’re bigger in the bust than me, but we can get round that with the right fabric. I’ll lend you something of mine.’
Half an hour later, Cat was squeezed into a ruby velvet dress. The ruched material hid the fact that it was styled for a different shape and although she felt incredibly self-conscious, none of the four middle-aged men drinking cocktails seemed to pay her much attention. She and Ellie were clearly there for decorative purposes only, and they were able to escape when the men went into dinner. They retreated upstairs to more Sex and the City, but that night it was closer to eleven when they separated, worn out by emotion and exercise in the open air.
As she walked back to her room, Cat heard hearty male voices in the hall below and from her window she saw the headlights of four cars disappear down the drive. In the light of an almost full moon, the park looked eerie but empty. Would the General go straight to bed or would he go to his office? She’d have been willing to bet he wouldn’t be ready for bed yet. He had the habit of working late, she knew, and she imagined he would want to make his notes on the lengthy conversations of the day immediately, while they were fresh in his mind. She cracked open her door and listened hard. For once, there were none of the sounds of the building creaking and settling that she’d grown accustomed to in the short time she’d been at Northanger.
Cat slipped off her shoes and moved cautiously down the hall. At the dog-leg she paused, holding her breath, and peered r
ound the corner. The gallery was empty, and the silence persisted. She seized her courage in both hands and raced to the double doors as fast as she could. She opened them, slipped through and gently closed them behind her. She leaned against them for a moment, heart hammering. Was there any sign of pursuit? The only thing she could hear was the beating of blood in her ears.
She inched forward in the dark, feeling for the door handle. After a few seconds, her hand closed round the knob and she twisted it open. The door swung silently back and in an instant she was inside. Moonlight illuminated the chamber through an array of arched windows that looked vaguely ecclesiastical and reminded Cat of the origins of the building. Although it bled most of the colour out of carpets, curtains and other soft furnishings, it was clear to Cat that this was no punishment cell. It looked like any other bedroom she’d seen in the abbey, except that it contained the small traces of individual habitation that were absent from the guest rooms – a hairbrush on the dressing table, a book and a pair of glasses at the bedside, a bottle of perfume beside them.
There were two other doors in the room. One led to a bathroom that had been stripped of toiletries and medication, the other to a dressing room bereft of clothing. It seemed that all but a few traces of Mrs Tilney had been removed from the room, either to save the General from painful reminders or else to cover his tracks. Then Cat thought of a third possibility. If Mrs Tilney were indeed a prisoner in the tower, she would need clothes and toiletries, no matter what the General’s purpose for her.
Clearly there was nothing to learn here. There was nothing for it but to explore the turret. Luckily she had a spotlight app for her phone which would light her way up the stone spiral that rose inside the turret. Cat crept back to the door and pressed an ear to the wood. She could hear nothing, so she cracked it open and listened again. In the distance, she heard a faint noise that might have been a door closing but it was too far away for her to worry.
Cat edged the door open and slipped through. Darkness again engulfed her as she silently pulled the door to and let the latch slip back into place. She tiptoed down the hall then turned on the bright screen of her phone app. It created an eerie glow, splashing shadows up the walls. But it provided a decent light to climb the stone stairs, so old and worn that each step had a depression in the middle.
Within a few seconds she had rounded the first turn in the spiral. She heard a scrabbling by her feet. Cat stifled a shriek and splashed the light downwards to reveal a tiny grey mouse paralysed with fear. Annoyed with herself, she shone the light upwards again. Ahead of her were more steps but now she could see the way ahead was blocked by a set of iron railings like an old fashioned prison cell, fastened with a heavy galvanised padlock. Cat crept closer, studying the padlock in the phone light. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at the cobwebs and dust that festooned the padlock and the nearby bars. It was clear that nobody had disturbed it in a very long time.
Then all at once noise and light seemed to fill the hallway. Swift footsteps clattered up stairs and a bright overhead light bathed her in its brilliance. Even if she’d had time to make her escape, Cat was frozen with fear. The General was coming. The General would not, could not let her get away.
She had never known such paralysing horror. Her legs trembled beneath her and somehow she managed to turn her head. The long shadow of a man was cast into the stairwell ahead of the person himself and she felt her throat close in panic. No weapon, no escape. She was entirely at his mercy.
26
The man who appeared in the stairway looked almost as shaken as Cat herself. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he demanded.
‘Henry!’ Cat yelped, her legs giving way.
He covered the steps between them in no time, pulling her unceremoniously to her feet. ‘What are you doing, Cat?’
‘How did you get here? How come you came up those stairs?’
‘How come I came up those stairs? The lower flight is the quickest way from the back door to my room. Then I saw the light up here. Plus, I live here. Why shouldn’t I come up any stair I want to?’ He sounded angry, but he took a deep breath and managed to cool his temper a little. ‘But you still haven’t told me what the hell you think you’re up to, prowling round my home in the dark like Harriet the bloody spy.’
Cat had never blushed so deeply. She was glad of the dimness of the light so he could not see how guilty she looked. He stared intently at her, as if her face held the answer. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here before you get yourself in even more trouble.’ He stopped to listen for a moment, then hustled her down the stairs and back along the hallway. He opened the double doors and let go her wrist. ‘Run along to our sitting room and I’ll join you in a minute.’
She didn’t need to be told twice. Her feet barely touched the ground as she sprinted for safety and she didn’t stop till she was curled in a corner of the sofa. Henry followed soon after. He threw his briefcase on the floor and crossed the room to stand in front of her. She couldn’t avoid the inappropriate thought that he looked ridiculously handsome. He was wearing a charcoal pin-striped suit that seemed designed to make him look impossibly fit. His white shirt was still crisp. Even as she watched, he loosened his burgundy tie and undid the top button of his shirt. Cat thought it was possibly the sexiest thing she’d ever seen; and she knew that was the last thing she should be thinking.
‘So, what were you up to, Cat?’ Henry did not look pleased.
Cat studied the carpet. ‘I’ve been to see your mother’s room,’ she mumbled.
‘If I was in court, I’d ask the witness to speak up,’ he said sternly. She flicked a quick look upwards to see if his face showed any lightening. It did not.
‘I said, I’ve been to see your mother’s room.’
‘My mother’s room? What in the name of God did you think you’d see there? And why were you sneaking around in the turret afterwards?’
‘I wanted to picture her in her own room, not just as a portrait on Ellie’s wall.’ It was the best she could manage at short notice.
‘You could have asked Ellie to show you.’ He threw his hands up in a gesture of frustration. ‘It’s not nice, skulking around in other people’s houses in the middle of the night.’
‘I was trying not to disturb anyone,’ she said, gaining a little confidence.
‘And the turret? What did you think you were going to find there?’
‘I was curious,’ Cat mumbled. Torture would not have dragged the humiliating truth from her at that point. Realising she needed to get off the back foot, she raised her eyes to meet his dark stare. ‘And why are you here, anyway? I thought you were going straight to Glasgow to try a case.’
He tutted impatiently and threw himself into a chair. She couldn’t help admiring the sprawl of his long legs. ‘The case was postponed for a day. I thought if I worked late and got all the papers ready, I could come back to Northanger and have a day with you and Ellie tomorrow.’
Her spirits lifted a fraction – he’d come back to see her! – then sank again. Because she’d blown it, comprehensively. ‘That would be cool,’ she said in a small voice. Then she remembered his dislike of the word. ‘I mean, delightful. Fun. A nice surprise.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Cat, you’re impossible. So, did you like my mother’s room? I’ve always thought it the best bedroom in the house. I’ve suggested to Ellie that she should move into it, but she just shudders and looks at me like I’ve said something disgusting. I suppose she sent you to give it the once-over?’
‘Not exactly. She was going to show me, but the General called her away before we could go inside.’
‘Still, I’m surprised by your fascination for my mother’s room. It’s not as if you knew her. We know how special she was, but it’s touching that a complete stranger is so fascinated by her. I suppose it’s Ellie. She doesn’t have much chance to make close friends round here, with being away at school and then this place being so isolated. S
o she doesn’t get much chance to talk about Mother. Has she been going on about her?’
‘A bit. But what she did say made me wish I’d known your mother. And with her death being so quick, and none of her children with her . . . Such a sad story, Henry. And your father is so brusque about her . . .’
The lawyer in him sprang to the fore again and he leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze. ‘And from these fragments of information, you’ve made up a whole story, haven’t you? A woman scorned in her final illness, or worse? Is that the way your mind’s going?’ She gave him a look of mute appeal, but his blood was up and his opening speech to the jury was under way. ‘It’s true that my mother’s death happened more suddenly than any of us anticipated. But the underlying cancer, the leukaemia, was terminal. My father took her to several leading specialists and they all said the same thing. We all saw her deterioration and her bravery. And she wanted for nothing in her final days. Nobody could have been more devoted or more devastated than my father.’
‘I didn’t see any signs of that in him,’ Cat said, snatching at any straw of defence.
‘Of course you didn’t. He’s a soldier. He’s trained to put his feelings to one side and get on with things. But to those of us who know him, his pain is as visible as a scar. It’s why he’s so brusque. So overbearing. He needs to control everything because the prospect of his life running out of control again is too terrible. I’ve never had a moment’s doubt that he loved her. Even though he was as shouty with her as he is with the rest of us, and sometimes he drove her to despair with his bloody-minded stubbornness. But he adored her. Don’t you dare doubt that, Cat.’
‘Believe me, Henry, nobody could be happier than me to hear it. Anything else would have been awful.’
‘You say awful, but that’s what you were thinking, isn’t it? Jeez, Cat, is this how you generally behave when you’re invited into people’s homes? Just think for a minute what you’ve been fantasising about. What kind of people do you think we are here? We’re not the kind of low-life heathens I find myself defending in court every week. I don’t know what life’s like in Dorset, but here in the Borders we don’t deal in the kind of atrocity you’ve been imagining. Besides, how do you think my father could get away with murder? Or, what? Keeping my mother locked up like a princess in a tower? We’ve got the Calmans following our lives as closely as the shadows on the walls. Do you really think they’d cover up murder out of a sense of loyalty to my father? Two hundred years ago, maybe, but not these days.’ He shook his head, reverting to the ‘more in sorrow than in anger’ mode. ‘I can’t believe you even considered such a thing. I’m disappointed, Cat. I’m really disappointed.’