But for the moment there was nothing I could do. The two men were too close together, their positions changing too fast as first one, then the other, gave and received blows. I couldn’t risk a shot. It would be all too easy to hit my beloved Joshua instead of Jem…
A chair overturned with a crash, taking Joshua with it. I screamed as he thudded down, convinced he must be badly hurt, or at least winded, but as Jem closed in, Joshua’s legs jackknifed and his booted feet caught Jem full in the stomach. Jem staggered back like a drunken man and I screamed again as he cannoned into the small table that stood between chaise and window. It went over, taking with it the lighted lamp that stood on it.
Joshua was scrambling to his feet now, hurt, but determined to fight on. Jem too was rolling over with the grace of a tiger, ready for him. But suddenly I could see nothing but the flaming oil lamp close – so terribly close! – to the floor-length curtains. I made a dive to try to pull them out of reach of the flames and Jem, quick-witted and dangerous as ever, saw his chance to regain possession of the gun.
He made a grab for me, his fingers closing around my wrist in an iron grip. In total panic I screamed and twisted wildly. And the gun went off.
To my horror I saw the surprised expression on Jem’s face, heard the gasping intake of his breath. Then the grip of his fingers on my wrist eased, his knees sagged, and he went down, collapsing almost gracefully to the floor. Blood was spreading scarlet on his waistcoat, trickling on to the Indian rug, bubbling in a fine froth on his lips.
I stood motionless, frozen with shock and the awful dawning realisation of what I had done.
I had killed a man. Not just any man, but one who had been raised as my brother. I drew a quick, shallow breath. To my own ears it sounded like a sob.
But there was no time now for either grief or guilt or even relief. For Jem had prevented me pulling the curtains out of reach of the blazing lamp. They had caught fire and the flames were racing up them in a fierce orange onslaught towards the ceiling. A chair was burning too. In no time at all the room would be an inferno.
Joshua too had realised the danger. He took one long anguished look at his brother, lying there dead at his feet, and grabbed my hand.
‘Come on, Charity! We have to get out! The whole house will go up!’
‘My mother!’ I cried. ‘I can’t go without my mother!’
‘Fetch her then,’ Joshua instructed me. ‘I’ll try to douse the flames, but I fear it is too late…’
A frightened Mrs Durbin was in the doorway.
‘Help me!’ I cried. ‘Help me rescue Julia!’
She stood with her hands pressed to her apple cheeks as if mesmerised by the flames.
‘Come on!’ I cried again, and rushed to the attic door.
I did not stop to see if she followed me but I rather thought she would not. All this was too much for her.
Selena still lay unconscious. Julia stood beside her, holding her skirts up around her ankles as if they would be contaminated if they so much as brushed against her sister in-law, yet oddly fascinated by the motionless woman at her feet.
‘Julia,’ I said, trying to sound calm. ‘It’s time to go.’
Her eyes widened with apprehension. ‘Go? Go where?’
‘We have to leave this house,’ I told her. ‘Come with me now.’
‘No – oh no, I can’t!’
‘Yes,’ I said urgently. ‘Yes, you can.’
‘No!’ She shrank back, drawing into herself. ‘No – I don’t want to! I’m frightened!’
‘Julia – you must!’ I took her arm. I knew the fire must be gaining strength below – already I could smell the smoke and hear the roar of the flames. ‘Come on – you’ll be with me.’
And still she hung back. I felt the beginnings of panic. There was no way I could force her bodily from the house – frail she might be, but I knew instinctively she would fight me every inch of the way. And by the time I got her to the foot of the stairs it would be too late. Our escape route would be cut off. Julia would die in the house where she had been incarcerated all these years. And I would die with her.
‘Please, Julia!’ I begged her in desperation. ‘Take my hand now.’
‘Come along now, Miss Julia. Come along now, my sweeting. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You trust me, don’t you?’
At the sound of her voice I turned to see Mrs Durbin in the doorway. I had not expected to be able to count on her, but now she came bustling in, talking to Julia as she always did – as if she were a child. To all intents and purposes she was perfectly composed now, though her face was very flushed.
‘Come on, my lamb,’ she urged. And to my immense relief, Julia responded. She went to the old woman obediently, taking her outstretched hand.
Gently Mrs Durbin led her past Selena’s prone form. I saw her mouth tighten a shade as she glanced at her but she said nothing. My hands flew to my throat as a great wave of guilt almost choked me. Selena would almost certainly perish and it would be my fault, just as Jem’s death lay at my door. I couldn’t simply leave her here – no, no matter what she had done.
I bent over her, taking her by the shoulders and shaking.
‘Selena! Can you hear me? Selena!’
She made no move. Could I drag her down the stairs, I wondered? I peeked out of the door – Mrs Durbin and Julia were at the foot now. As they opened the door to the hall a fresh cloud of acrid smoke wafted up. I would try. I had to try…
A hand fastened round my ankle. Selena had regained consciousness and hidden it from me until she saw her chance. I screamed in shock and tried to wriggle free, but she held me fast.
‘Let me go! We have to get out! The house is on fire!’ I cried.
‘Oh no, Charity. You are going nowhere.’ Her voice was thick, groggy, but very determined. ‘Julia’s gone, hasn’t she? Well – you can stay in her place.’
‘Selena – are you mad? The house is on fire!’ I cried again.
She only laughed – the wild, deranged laugh of a woman whose whole life has been a monument to greed and jealousy and hatred.
Then I found a strength I had not known I possessed. Somehow, I managed to kick Selena full in the face. She gasped and cried out – and I was free. Without a backward glance I dashed down the stairs. Joshua was at the foot, looking up and anxiously calling my name. I almost fell into his arms.
‘Come, Charity, quickly!’
The hall was full of thick black smoke, already a beam or two had caught light; the parlour was certainly an inferno, and flames billowed from the doorway like a glimpse of the gateway to hell.
‘Julia…?’ I asked. The smoke was stinging my eyes, burning my throat.
‘Mrs Durbin has got her out. Come on.’
We made a dash for the door, coughing and spluttering as we took the fresh air into our lungs. Julia and Mrs Durbin were standing on the path, watching for us anxiously. Julia held out her hands to me and when I could get my breath again I took them. Together, we started up the gully.
Behind us, Morwennan House burned.
* * *
It was not, of course, over. In many ways it was just beginning.
Joshua took us to Penwyn and I must confess Dr John and Mama Mary were wonderful. I suppose ministering to parishioners all their lives had prepared them for dealing with every eventuality; certainly I saw for myself with the eyes of an observer rather than a member of the family just why they were loved and respected by Dr John’s flock.
Julia was confused and frightened – they treated her with tenderness, kindness and consideration. Mrs Durbin had become belligerent and tearful by turns – they appeased and comforted her. I, though I tried to hide it, was in deep shock – they offered me the kind of common-sense, practical support that I had once taken for coldness and now recognised as solid goodness. And all this with their eldest son lying dead and their illusions about him shattered. They were, I think, saintly in their response to what had happened, and the support they provided; I
can only think that the God they lived their lives for moved in them in those terrible dark days.
Joshua too was a credit to his calling, though I would have expected nothing less of him. It was he who, together with Dr John, went to the authorities with the whole sorry tale, and then drove to Penallack, where he sought an audience with Squire Trevelyan in order that the news could be broken gently to Charlotte.
I was, of course, worried about her, especially when I learned that Francis had been arrested, though I tried to tell myself that her grandfather and her uncle and aunt would do their very best for her, and that the company of her young cousins would be good for her at this time.
I worried how I would introduce her to Julia, and how she would accept the fact that her mother was not dead at all but alive, and decided it would be best if she were told that Julia had been very ill and it was for her own good that Francis had kept her away from all human company. Not that it was my decision, of course, it was for the Trevelyans to take the lead in the matter. But I felt sure Julia would go along with such an interpretation of events; why, she almost believed it herself.
I worried about Julia, and how I would gradually reintroduce her to the world; I worried about finding a home for us, for we could not impose upon Dr John and Mama Mary for ever.
And most of all I worried about Tom. My anxiety for him never left me, permeated all else, so that even when all the other problems were occupying my mind I was aware of that other, enormous cloud hanging over me. And the worst thing of all was not knowing for certain what had become of him, whether he was alive or dead.
In the end I talked to Joshua about it, even though I knew he would be hurt by my concern for Tom, because I had to talk to someone or go quite mad.
‘I think he must be dead,’ I said, biting my lips in an effort to hold back the tears. ‘Francis is in custody, the smuggling ring has been broken up, there’s no reason any more for him to still be off chasing evidence. I think they must have caught up with him and killed him before they were rounded up themselves.’
Joshua considered.
‘They were dangerous men, certainly, and Tom pursued them at his peril. But… would he know where to find you, Charity?’
‘It shouldn’t be difficult,’ I said. ‘The Trevelyans know where I am, the authorities know where I am, half Morwennan village must know where I am. I’m sure Tom could find me…’ I hesitated and then added softly: ‘If he wanted to.’
That, of course, was the other thing that was causing me heartache. If Tom was not dead then he had made no effort to find me. He had been using me all along, and though at least his motives were honourable and not, as I had feared, the result of a falling-out between thieves, yet he had been using me all the same, and discarded me now that he no longer had need of me.
And that, in some ways, hurt even more than thinking Tom was dead. For at least if he were dead I had the illusion of his love to cling to.
Either way he was lost to me and the pain of it was almost more than I could bear.
‘Oh, Charity, I don’t know what to say to you,’ Joshua murmured, looking wretched. ‘Only that I will always be here for you…’
‘I know you will, dear Joshua,’ I replied. ‘You risked your life for me and I will never forget that. But…’
‘I know.’ He smiled slightly. ‘I am not Tom.’
‘No. Because you are Joshua. My dearest brother,’ I told him.
And knew it was no consolation to either of us.
The days dragged by, my hope died, and I tried to lose myself in caring for Julia and helping her to readjust to the world.
One day word came from Penallack. Grandfather Trevelyan had prepared Charlotte; she would like to meet her mother.
Again Joshua rose to the occasion and drove us in the gig to Penallack. How he had managed to get so much time off from his curate’s duties at St Agnes, I did not know; I could only suppose he had pleaded extenuating circumstances.
Strangely Julia did not seem in the least nervous at the prospect of meeting Charlotte; I think I was more nervous than she. And in the event her confidence proved to be justified. Charlotte took to her mother with an innocent acceptance that amazed me; her delight reminded me of a child at Christmas, and the rapport between them was instant and wonderful to see.
It would be far more difficult for me to explain to her that I was her sister, I thought, but for the moment there was no need for that. For the moment I was simply Charity, her governess, who was looking after her mama, and that was as it should be.
When we had all shared a meal I suggested Charlotte should take Julia to the paddock and introduce her to Moonlight.
‘Your mama loves horses too, is that not right, Julia?’ I said.
‘Oh, yes!’ Julia’s face lit up. ‘I had a horse of my own once, long ago. Rascal. I used to ride him at a gallop until we were both exhausted.’
‘You galloped!’ Charlotte exclaimed, clearly impressed, and Joshua and I exchanged a smile.
Out in the paddock, Charlotte showed off by putting Moonlight over the little jumps her grandfather had erected for her and Julia watched proudly.
‘We have one or two horses you could ride when you feel fit enough, m’dear,’ Samuel Trevelyan offered. Julia flushed with pleasure, then frowned.
‘I’d love to, but it’s been so long since I was in the saddle. I’m not sure if I could handle a horse any more.’
‘Why, Rapunzel is as gentle as a lamb!’ Samuel assured her. ‘And in any case, you would get your touch back in no time. It’s not something you ever forget.’
Then he stiffened suddenly, looking past us over the expanse of moorland, shading his eyes against the low, bright winter sun.
‘Who can this be? I’m not expecting any more visitors today…’
We all turned to look. A horse and rider were approaching at a fast canter. I stared and stared, the first flutter of almost disbelieving hope swelling to equally disbelieving certainty.
It couldn’t be. Not here at Penallack. And yet… It was!
‘Tom!’ I cried. ‘Oh, Tom!’
And began to run towards him.
* * *
He was out of the saddle, slipping to the ground, taking me in his arms. Heedless of the others, he held me close, groaning against my ear.
‘Charity! You’re safe. Thank God!’ He put me away then, looking down at me. ‘But what are you doing here?’
‘What are you?’ I countered.
‘Looking for you. I hoped the squire might know of your whereabouts and it seems I was right.’
I nodded, reluctant to let go of his hands, yet knowing that for the moment I must.
‘Tom,’ I said, indicating Julia, ‘this is…’
Before I could finish, Charlotte was off Moonlight’s back and running over to throw herself eagerly at him.
‘Tom! Tom – you’ll never guess who this is! This is my mama!’
* * *
He explained to me later what had happened – how close he had come to meeting the fate I had feared.
He had sought out the turncoat from the gang, who had confirmed to him that Francis – or rather Selena – was indeed the one who kept the bell of the Guinevere to gloat over, though he did not of course know the reason why, and Tom had set out for home.
But as he galloped over the wild and windswept moors he was set upon.
The men who took him were part of the distribution chain, but well down the pecking order. Though one of their number at least had been all for murdering Tom there and then, the others countermanded this. They knew Tom as a close associate of Francis’s and thought it more politic to leave it to him to make the decision concerning Tom’s fate. They sent word that a traitor had been caught and waited for a reply from Francis.
It was then, whilst Tom was still their prisoner, that events at Morwennan had gathered pace and Francis had been arrested. The men who held Tom scattered in fear of their own freedom and Tom was able to make his escape. He wa
s unsure of the exact facts or circumstances, for he had heard only fragments of his captors’ conversation, but he was desperate to get back to Morwennan to ensure I was safe.
He had, however, contracted a fever in the freezing cold and damp of the shanty in which he had been kept. And as he battled along the open moorland roads, exhaustion, sickness and hunger had overtaken him. He had collapsed in a ditch and might have died there had it not been for a passing tinker who took him to his hovel and nursed him back to health.
The moment he was fit enough Tom had set out again – only to find Morwennan House reduced to ash and rubble that still, he said, seemed to smoke when the mist hung over the valley.
He heard in the village that Selena had perished in the fire, along with someone else – and naturally his fears were that it was me, especially when mention was made of a connection with the rector of Penwyn. Yet more versions of the tale had it that the mystery victim was a man. Tom had clung on to the last shreds of hope and visited Francis in gaol in an effort to learn the truth.
‘He is a broken man,’ Tom told me. ‘After all he has done I should not, I know, feel sympathy for him, but strangely enough I do. He was, I think, a victim too, in his own way. A victim of his emotions, and certainly a victim of his sister’s power-crazed madness.’
I nodded. I tended to agree.
‘He told me Charlotte was with her grandfather,’ Tom went on. ‘That was when I realised I might find you there too. And he begged me to tell Charlotte how he loves her and that, whatever occurs, they will one day be together again.’
My lips tightened. My hope was that Charlotte would be with her mother. But I could not deny Francis loved Charlotte dearly and had never been anything but a good father to her.
‘There is one thing more,’ Tom said. ‘The bell certainly was at Morwennan.’
Morwennan House Page 29