Hiding from what?
The shower filled with steam, and in her mind she saw the moors shrouded with mist.
*
At breakfast she sat with Rachel Swann.
‘It’s your last chance to spy on me,’ Rachel said, taking a small mouthful of dry cornflakes. ‘I’m off home later today.’
‘How does that feel?’
Rachel put down her spoon. ‘Awful. Having to field endless questions about my progress, having my exam results relayed to all my aunts and uncles in enormous detail, being nagged about homework and practising ... Can’t I just stay here?’
‘It’s only a couple of weeks. Anyway, I warned them off.’
‘You did what?’
‘When I wrote to them. You can see the letter if you want. I told them that you were in a fragile state and must on no account be asked any questions about your schoolwork, your future or any related matter.’
‘That’s fantastic.’
‘And that you, in turn, would try to eat.’
Rachel stared at her plate.
‘It’s fair, isn’t it?’
‘S’pose so.’ Rachel picked up some cornflakes with her fingers. ‘I wonder what we’ll talk about instead.’
*
Agnes wandered to the staff room and sat down with a cup of coffee. She flicked idly through a newspaper. The phone rang and she picked it up.
‘Agnes, there’s a call for you, hold on,’ said Mary Watson.
‘Agnes, thank God you’re there!’
‘Patricia?’
‘I’m at my wits’ end, Anthony’s been arrested, I heard early this morning, he was held in police cells last night, oh God, I can’t bear it — ’
‘Patricia — what for?’
‘He was found drunk and disorderly in Bradford, in Manningham, I can’t stand it, God knows what he’s been doing ... he’d been to a casino apparently, they picked him up in the small hours, they’re holding him, he’s lost the car somewhere, I’ve got to go and pick him up, will you come too ... ?’
‘Yes, of course. Stay there, I’ll come and get you. And pack some clean clothes for him while you’re waiting.’
*
Anthony Turnbull shuffled out of his cell, staring at the ground. Without looking at Patricia he handed her a foulsmelling carrier bag.
‘It was nice you brought him something else to wear,’ the duty sergeant said. ‘He weren’t a pretty sight last night, were you, sir? Sign here, please.’
Turnbull’s fingers shook on the pen.
‘The press were on to us,’ the sergeant said. ‘Word had got out. We’ve tried to fend them off, but you might get some of ’em snooping around, just thought I’d warn you.’
‘Thank you,’ Patricia managed to say. She took Anthony’s arm and followed Agnes to her car. As they passed a rubbish bin, she dropped the filthy carrier bag into it.
*
Anthony said nothing throughout the drive home. Patricia watched him get out of the car, saw him into the house, then insisted that Agnes drive her to the mill. She seemed sharpened, brought into focus by the events of the morning.
‘Nina,’ she smiled, walking into the office. ‘I need that order for Pengelly on the ten by twelves today — and is the black acrylic in yet, it’s getting late? And has Michael in sales heard anything back about the grey fleck worsted ... I’ll go and ask him.’
‘What’s got into her?’ Nina asked, as Patricia swept down the stairs.
‘Turnbull was found drunk and disorderly last night, after a two-day binge. We’ve picked him up from Bradford police station.’
‘Wow. And what did her dad say about the deed?’
Agnes flopped into a chair. ‘We didn’t tell him in the end. It’s pitiful, Nina, a man like that, so frail now, so eaten up with guilt. We decided it was better if he continued to think the deed was hidden.’
‘So we don’t know — ’
‘Patricia’s going to ask their lawyer about it.’
‘Didn’t Baines say anything?’
‘Only that he blames himself about Jo running away. Only that he was blind and now he can see.’
Nina looked at Agnes, then frowned and went back to her typing.
Agnes wandered over to the filing cabinet and looked up the name Chadwick from the files she’d returned to Nina. Chadwick, Ray. She pulled it out. Date of birth, 13 October, 1921. Died 19 August, 1951, aged 29. Bald facts encompassing a lifetime of suffering. She turned to the medical history section, knowing already what she was going to find. There it was, the doctor’s letter. ‘Nervous exhaustion. Recommend a few weeks away.’ The date was April 1947. Ray returned to the mill in October 1947.
All three. Reg, Ernest and Ray.
Nina’s typing came to a halt. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than browse through confidential files, you nosy cow?’
Agnes put the file away. ‘You’re right. I have.’ At the door, Agnes said, ‘Remind Patricia to phone her solicitor.’
*
In the courtyard she listened to the rhythmic hum of the spinning sheds, and thought how odd it was that the work went on regardless, the inexorable process that turned the raw fleece into yarn, tonnes and tonnes of it per day, per hour, per minute, as if all the human drama of the mill played itself out to an unseeing, unfeeling, mechanised presence.
She drove to the police station and asked to see Janet Cole.
‘You heard about Turnbull, then,’ Janet said, showing her to a chair in the cramped office.
‘Yes. Janet — has David Snaith been in touch with you?’
‘No. Not for weeks. Not that I can think of. Mind you, I’ve been out on Morton’s Crag a lot these last few days.’
‘He was sent a photograph, didn’t he show it to you?’
‘No. What photograph?’
‘Of the athletics team, it has Reg and Mark in it — and him. And someone had ringed him.’
‘But — he should have — ’
‘And now I can’t get hold of him, there’s no answer ... ’
‘We’ll send someone to call on him. I’m glad you told me. I’ve been watching Mark’s pair of peregrines. We thought we’d better go back to the beginning, watch for anybody behaving suspiciously around the nest.’
‘And have you seen anyone?’
‘No one. But the birds are grand, I could stay up there all day, you know.’
‘Talking of Mark ... ’ Agnes pulled Jeremiah Baines’s deed from her bag. ‘There’s something else I wanted to show you.’
*
On the way back to the school she drove past Florence Chadwick’s house. She hesitated, then parked outside and tried the bell.
‘Oh, it’s you.’ Florence peered at her, then stood back to let her in. ‘I don’t get many visitors. Our Danny says I shouldn’t just open the door to anyone, but it makes you feel like a prisoner, don’t it, all them bolts and chains and peep-holes. Have a cup of tea, love.’
‘I wanted to ask you — ’ Agnes followed her into the kitchen. ‘Something more — ’
‘About the mill? I doubt I’ll be able to help, love, my memory’s not what it was.’
‘About Ray — and Ernest, and Reg — they seemed to get into some kind of trouble, just after the war.’
Florence carried the tea tray shakily into the front room. ‘It’s like I told you, love, they came back changed men. Always rowing, always quick to anger.’
‘But I noticed from the mill records, they were all absent for a time.’
‘Well, it were their health, my Ray, like I told you, his chest ... ’ She lowered herself into a chair.
‘But Reg too?’
Florence stirred sugar into her tea. ‘I don’t remember Reg being poorly. He weren’t the type.’
‘Can you remember why they might have all had a period of leave, in 1947 it was?’
Florence held her cup and saucer neatly on her lap. ‘That were a bad time, those years after the war. A right bad time. Nightmares, my R
ay used to have, on and off right up to his death, sobbing an’ that, fast asleep, it right broke your heart to see it. Sometimes he’d call out, No, no. Wouldn’t remember a thing the next day, I stopped asking him after a while, it only made him worse.’
‘Did this happen as soon as he got back?’
‘Not at once, no. To start with he seemed quite normal. Making an effort, I think he were. After a few months, then it started.’
‘It must have been very difficult.’
‘Aye, it weren’t easy. Full of rage, he was, and hatred. Hated the Japs. And the Germans, after the war. Hated anything German, even anything that seemed German, like Jacob’s Cream Crackers, I kept telling him, it’s not even a German name, but it got to him for some reason. He weren’t sane, you see. You hear more about it now, don’t you, how people re-live terrible things they’ve suffered, and when I think about him and the others, just boys, out in that jungle, seeing God knows what — these days they’d claim for compensation, wouldn’t they. We had nowt in those days, though, none of this counselling stuff you get these days. Funny how things change. You see, I can feel sorry for him now, but at the time, it were difficult, living it day by day.’
‘And your neighbour, Millie — ’
‘She had it difficult too, worse than me.’
‘And her grandson — ’
‘Mark, aye. Terrible business. Hit her very hard. She’s got no one now, Daphne gone, and Robert and now Mark, tragic that is, only David, he’s a good boy, keeps an eye on her, he were over there just yesterday evening, I popped round and saw him there.’
‘David?’
‘D’you know him?’
‘A bit, yes.’
‘Nice lad.’
‘Was he — is he OK?’
‘Seemed to be, love. They were playing Scrabble. Aye, seemed happy enough.’
*
Then why isn’t he returning my calls, Agnes thought, driving back to the school. She’d missed lunch, again, and Rachel would be about to leave.
Rachel was standing by the steps with a huge suitcase. ‘Hadn’t you better wait inside, it’s starting to rain?’
‘The taxi said he’d be here any minute.’
They stood side by side, gazing along the driveway. The chestnut trees were flecked with green. A car appeared at the gates and slowly approached.
‘There’s your cab.’
‘Yes.’
The car pulled up and the driver got out. ‘Miss Swann?’ She nodded. He busied himself fitting the case into the boot, then opened the door for her. Her hair was misted with the rain. She turned to Agnes, gave her a hug, then got into the car.
*
Perhaps his phone has run out of batteries, she thought, next morning, trying David yet again. Perhaps I should just walk up to the hut and wait for him. She put her phone in her raincoat pocket and went to get the car.
*
‘Oh, hello love, you’ve just caught me.’ Maureen stood aside to let her in.
‘Is Billy around?’
‘You’ve just missed him, he’s over at Kitty’s, she had a dripping tap, he often helps out with bits and pieces for them like that, her and her mum, and now her mum’s gone, she seems to call on him more. Tell you what, we’ll go down there, I’m due at the mill later, we can go from there. I’ll just get my coat. To be honest,’ she added, as she locked her door behind her, ‘it’s started up all sorts of rumours, him being friends with Kitty, just because he’s a lad and she’s a woman. I mean, I know they’re close, and she does rely on him more now, but what I say is, it’s none of anybody else’s business, if two people try and find a bit of happiness together. If there’s any truth in it, it might be the making of him.’
They passed the corner of the street, the red railings of the community centre straight ahead of them.
‘Terrible shame that community centre,’ Maureen said, ‘nothing’s come of that, you know. Like everything round here. And it were so good for the kids, you know, like Billy, he turned a new leaf with all that.’
‘Was he friends with Mark?’
‘Well, that’s what were so good, because like I said, there were no love lost between the Keenans and the Coulters, that were his mum, right, she were a Coulter.’
‘What was the reason for that, then?’
‘Oh, some feud. They say one of the Keenans stole a Coulter girl, years back, before the war, when they were all working in the other mill, across the valley there, Conningby’s, closed down about twenty year ago now. The Coulters were chapel, you see, didn’t take kindly to the Irish. These things stick, you see. So it were nice to see Mark and Billy getting on, water under the bridge, I don’t hold with bearing grudges myself. Here we are.’ Maureen pushed open the door. ‘Kitty? It’s me, love.’
‘You after your Billy? He’s still here.’ Kitty came to the door. She looked at Agnes, and Agnes saw her face, her drawn, edgy features, the nervousness around her mouth.
‘Hello, we met before, at Maureen’s.’
Kitty tried to smile, and showed her into the living room.
‘Sister Agnes wants a word with our Billy,’ Maureen said.
‘I’ll call him, he’s outside, something about the tap there.’ Kitty went out into the kitchen.
The living room was cluttered, with the furniture squeezed together, and an oak cabinet in one corner which seemed to blot up all the light in the room. Maureen ran her fingers along the windowsill and looked at the dust on her fingertips.
‘She’s not looking after herself,’ she murmured. ‘Mother would have known,’ they heard Kitty say from the kitchen. ‘Something about a stop-cock, and where is it, and I know that Mother would have known, there’s so much, you see, so much that’s just gone with her ... ’
Billy appeared from the kitchen. ‘Hiya, y’all right?’
Maureen stood up. ‘I’ll go and see to her, she’s upset again.’
‘Billy ... ’ Agnes began, as he sat down opposite her. ‘Those papers from the sports centre — ’
‘What about them?’
‘You have them, don’t you? You have the accounts, and Turnbull’s nervous about them.’
‘What if I do?’
‘You can’t keep them for ever, can you?’
‘Right now, I’m keeping them.’
‘What’s in them?’
‘Can’t rightly say. Just boring old bits of paper, mostly.’
‘So why do you need them?’
He grinned. ‘Thing is, Sister, he owes me, does Turnbull.’
‘So while he owes you, you’re going to keep the papers?’
‘Summat like that.’
‘Something’s going to go wrong, Billy. Turnbull’s desperate, he might — he might — ’
‘Might what?’
‘If you’ve got incriminating evidence, Billy — ’
‘Who says it’s incriminating?’
‘Shouldn’t you go to the police?’
Billy laughed, showing two chipped front teeth.
‘Billy — if you keep those papers, it’s not just you who’s in danger.’
He laughed again. ‘Me, I’m used to trouble. Round here, you know, anything could just go up in flames.’
‘But — ’
‘Nice of you to be concerned,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ve got to go now, got to see a man about a tap washer.’ He lumbered out of the door.
Agnes was left alone. She could hear Maureen and Kitty talking in low voices in the kitchen. She glanced around the room, at the collection of pottery milkmaids arranged on the mantelpiece, at a stack of audiobooks from the library; she could see several Barbara Cartlands among the titles. And another book. Soaring Glory — The Peregrine Falcon. Agnes picked it up, glanced through it. ‘Chapter One, A Pedigree Ancestry; Chapter Two, Beloved of Kings; Chapter Three, Habitat and Breeding ... ’Agnes turned to the title page. From the library stamp, it appeared to have been borrowed about two months before.
Agnes quickly replaced it, then
went into the kitchen to tell Maureen that Billy had gone.
*
She drove back to the school. A lone figure was sitting on the wall by the gates, a suitcase at her feet, her hair tied back at her neck. Agnes got out of her car.
Leonora was smiling at her. ‘Don’t say anything, this time I’m allowed to be here.’
‘Are you going today?’
The girl nodded. ‘My taxi will be here in a minute.’
‘You’ll miss the Maundy Thursday vigil tonight.’
‘Mummy will probably drag me off to our local church — I’m sorry, Sister — ’ Leonora put her hand over her mouth, shocked at her own lapse of good manners. ‘I mean, Mummy and I will attend our service at home ... ’
Agnes smiled. ‘Will it be OK, going back, do you think?’
‘I’ve no idea. It’ll all be difficult, I suppose. Unless they pretend to be as they were. Come to think of it, they were pretending then anyway. Oh, I don’t know, it’s so confusing.’ She swung her legs, staring at the ground. ‘Just so long as they don’t want me to be bridesmaid.’
They heard the hum of a motor engine, and a taxi appeared at the gates. Agnes helped Leonora down from the wall, and carried her suitcase to the waiting car.
‘And will you still try to run away next term?’ Leonora laughed. ‘Depends. I might run away altogether, not even come back next term.’
‘What are the odds?’
Leonora frowned, considering. ‘As things stand, about fifty-fifty.’ She got into the car, her legs tucked neatly under her, then opened the window and smiled at Agnes.
‘I won’t put money on it, then,’ Agnes laughed, waving her off as the car pulled out of the drive.
*
And what are the odds for me, she wondered, heading to her room. Fifty-fifty? Either I’ll go, or I’ll stay. Place your bets now.
Her footsteps echoed in the deserted corridors.
She sat at her desk and dialled James’s number. It rang for a long time, then she heard him answer.
‘James — ’
‘Agnes?’
‘Are you all right?’
She heard the smile in his voice. ‘Yes, of course I am. I was outside, and I heard the phone.’
‘I just thought I’d see how you are.’
‘Well, I’m just the same.’
‘Good.’
A Dark and Sinful Death Page 25