Ill Will

by Michael Stewart

  I leapt off the bed and ran out of the room. I sped along the landing and reached the open window at the other end. Before climbing out, I turned to look down the corridor, and running towards me, with a look of malevolence, was one-handed Dick, in his nightshirt, clutching the pistol. I leapt out of the window and onto the wall. I jumped off the wall onto the other side of the stables as a second shot rang out. I felt the bullet part my hair. I ran up the road, splashing through the puddles between the cobbles, not stopping to look back, until I got to the outskirts of town. I leaned against a post, panting like a dog. I could taste the acrid, sour flavour of the gunpowder. My heart was beating painfully hard in my chest. I listened to the night. There was nothing. The evening was silent, hushed with secrets. As I made my way back to the forest, I considered how close I’d come to my end. I’d actually felt the heat of the bullet as it skimmed the hair on my head.

  ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’

  To my surprise, Emily was still up, despite the fact that it was nearly dawn.

  ‘You’ve ballsed it up, haven’t you?’ she said.

  ‘The blonde one, his companion – he’s dead.’

  ‘So that means Dick isn’t dead, right?’

  I explained the turn of events.

  She shook her head and bit her nails.

  ‘Shit, that’s worse than if you hadn’t killed either. He’ll be after us with even more vigour than before.’

  Then she started a coughing fit that lasted over a minute. I thought about my namesake, the real William Lee, and determined to take her to a physician as soon as we were in a position to do so.

  ‘We’ll have to stay put here now,’ she said, recovering from her fit. ‘No more trips into town. From now on Liverpool is out of bounds. It sounds like the whole place is plastered with our faces. Come on, let’s get some sleep. You must be exhausted. We can check the snares when we wake up. You sure no one saw you heading back, William?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  We spent the next few days close to our shelter. I blocked the other entrance even more thoroughly with thick gorse and hawthorn. I wove the branches together so they wouldn’t yield. I dug the mantrap deeper and covered it with fresh fern leaves. We only ventured further afield to gather mushrooms, bathe, collect water or check the snares. One day we went onto the neighbouring moor. Hidden in the low, dense foliage thereabouts, we found the dark blue fruits of the bilberry. It took hours to gather enough for a meal, but the effort was worth it. The berries were succulent.

  ‘We could do with getting hold of a newspaper. See exactly what they are saying about us. Do you think the papers will reach as far as Kirby?’

  ‘It’s too small a village. None of the shops sell papers. I think we’re safe for now,’ I said.

  ‘You hope.’

  ‘We need to move fast on Jonas.’

  ‘Part of me thinks you should go back there and finish the job,’ she said. ‘I hate loose threads. They usually end up getting snagged on something.’

  ‘I will do it if you think it’s best.’

  ‘No, it’s too risky. He almost killed you last time. He’s got a gun. You’ve got a knife. Gun beats knife almost every game. The only time a knife beats a gun is when the gun misfires. That’s why my dad always carried two pistols. Double trouble, he called it. I remember one time, we held up this chaise. There was a driver with a man and woman in the back. My dad pointed the gun at the open window. He took out a sack and said, “Put everything you’ve got in there”. He made them get out of the chaise and stand by the side. The driver had to stand next to them. My dad dismounted. He went up to the woman and pointed the gun in her face. The woman started to take off her jewellery. She was shaking as she unlatched her necklace and pulled a ring off her finger. She tried another ring but it wouldn’t loosen. My dad threatened to chop her finger off, but she spat on it and managed to ease it away. My dad made her pass the sack to the driver, who took out some coins from his pockets. Then it was the man’s turn. The man unbuttoned his watch chain from his waistcoat and put the watch and chain in the sack. He threw his purse in too. Then he rummaged in his coat. He held the sack up so we couldn’t see what he was doing. When he went to pass the sack back to my dad, the man lunged at him with a dagger. Almost got my dad in the neck, he was that quick. My dad fired his pistol, but it was a misfire. The man smiled and lunged again but my dad already had his second pistol cocked and the bullet exploded in the man’s face. He fell to the floor. The woman screamed, so my dad punched her. He took the dagger and stabbed the driver in the face. Then in his heart. Then in his kidneys. The man fell to the floor. He kept stabbing the man even though he was dead. In his back. In his leg. Then he started on the woman. She was lying on the floor, bleeding to death. Blood was pissing from her neck where my dad had drawn the blade. She tried to stop the flow with her hands. Blood spurting through the gaps in her fingers. She was wearing a beautiful blue dress. She was so pretty. Her skin was like milk. Staring at me with pleading eyes. Choking on her own blood. I wanted my dad to finish her off. Put her out of her misery. But he just left her there, gagging on her own blood. I remember the stench. It was shit. The woman had soiled herself.’

  Emily looked down at her clenched fist. She seemed confused, as though she had forgotten what she was supposed to be doing. She unfurled her fingers. The berries were crushed and her hand stained with the juice. I wondered whether I should say anything or put my arm, around her. Or something. But I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there staring at her stained hand.

  ‘That man shouldn’t have got his dagger out,’ I said at last.

  Emily nodded. ‘Stupid bastard. Stupid fucking bastard. It was the man’s fault. His fault that woman had to die. What was my dad supposed to do? What would you do if someone came at you with a dagger? He had no choice.’

  I was going to say something else, but I thought better of it. The woman was unarmed but maybe she would have squealed at a later date. I suppose it was too big a risk.

  ‘He had no choice,’ I said.

  I knelt down and collected more berries.

  When Sunday came again we headed out for the seven-mile walk to Kirby village. We had a good look, a round to see if there were notices nailed about, but there was nothing. News had not spread this far.

  After the service we crouched in the holly bush close to the grave of Jonas’s wife. After some time, Jonas appeared and stood over the grave. He was holding a bunch of yellow flowers and he placed them on the ground next to the tombstone. I didn’t wait any longer. I crept out of my hiding place and went up to him.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir. I hope I didn’t startle you.’

  He turned to me rather nonchalantly. ‘Ah, Adam, isn’t it? How nice to see you. Will you sit for a minute?’

  We went to the same bench we’d sat on before.

  ‘I was just spending some time with Annie,’ he said. ‘It was nice, just me and her. I had such a warm feeling just then, as though she were reaching up from the grave, and putting her arms around me. I brought her marigolds. Her favourite. I’ve prayed for you,’ Jonas said. ‘You and your sister have both been in my prayers this week. I’ve asked Annie to look out for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I brought June to see your sermon today. She was deeply moved.’

  ‘Your sister? You did? Where is she?’

  ‘She’s waiting for me over yonder,’ I said, pointing to where she was standing.

  ‘Bring her out. Don’t keep her hidden away. What’s wrong with you?’

  I got up and returned a moment later with Emily.

  ‘This is my younger sister, June.’

  Jonas looked puzzled.

  ‘I know we don’t look alike. I was adopted, you see, by the kindness of June’s mother and father. They were good Christian folk, very involved with the church. They set up a charity to raise money for an orphanage, and I was the first who was brought into their care. They never got to see the orphanag
e. They died before sufficient funds were raised.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, June,’ Jonas said. ‘Such a beautiful name. But my poor Annie died in June just as her favourite flowers were being born. Your parents sound like people after my own heart.’

  ‘You would have liked them, sir. They served the Lord much as you do.’

  ‘How sad for you to lose such benefactors.’

  ‘I still have my brother.’

  ‘How do you both survive? Did they leave you any money?’

  ‘Sadly not,’ I said.

  ‘Not a penny?’

  ‘They gave their own wealth, what little they had, to the trust set up to build the orphanage. As God intended.’

  ‘Well, I must say, you both look a bit undernourished. Are you eating properly?’

  ‘When we can.’

  ‘And when did you last eat?’

  Emily and I gave each other a look. By now we had an understanding between us. We both knew how to play the game.

  ‘Let me see . . . When was it?’

  ‘I can’t remember if it was Thursday or Wednesday,’ she said, twisting her head in contemplation. ‘I lose track of the days.’

  ‘By Jove, that’s ages ago.’

  ‘We find that our hunger diminishes after a time,’ I said.

  Jonas Bold’s eyes widened in disbelief. He shook his head. He sat ruminating for a minute. We let the silence spill around us. Emily gave me a look but I raised my eyebrows to indicate for us to wait. Half the game is knowing when not to speak.

  ‘Whenever my conscience troubles me, I ask myself one question – what would Annie do? Help me to my feet,’ Jonas said, holding out his hand.

  ‘Why certainly, sir.’

  I took hold of his hand and supported him as he lifted his great weight. I passed him his walking cane.

  ‘I’d like you both to come to my house for something to eat.’

  ‘We wouldn’t dream of putting you out like that, sir,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve far more important things to be doing,’ Emily said.

  ‘Nonsense. I insist. I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t fill both your bellies. Besides, it’s what Annie would do.’

  ‘Well, if you won’t take no for an answer, sir,’ I said.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, sir,’ Emily said.

  ‘Would you both please accompany me back to my home? I’ve a coach at the front of the chapel waiting for us.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘we would be happy to.’

  We followed Jonas to where there was a splendid blue-andgold carriage, with four white thoroughbreds harnessed. Jonas spoke to the coachman and we all climbed in. The interior was plush, cushioned with blue velvet and lined with gold brocade. The coachman cracked the whip and we set off down the lane, with thick blackthorn hedges on either side. We rode on past dry-stone walls, fields of turnips, fields of sheep, until we turned off the road and onto a less defined track that climbed up towards a wooded area and a walled estate. The coachman dismounted at the golden gates, inscribed with the words ‘Bold Hall’, and swung them open. He climbed back into position and drove the carriage through a copse, eventually reaching the front of a massive estate house with a grand white-pillared entrance.

  ‘Is this your house, sir?’ Emily said.

  Jonas nodded.

  ‘It’s awful big, sir. I’ve never seen a house so big.’

  The huge doors opened and a servant walked over to the carriage. He unlatched the door and helped Jonas climb down. Jonas passed the man his coat and cane. We followed Jonas into a marbled hallway with many large and magnificent pillars, walled with marble in front of a semicircle around a flight of steps up to the salon door. The gallery ran around these pillars. The salon itself was more of a gallery and one of the finest things I’d ever seen. It was hung with crimson material.

  Emily went up to the material and stroked it.

  ‘That’s caffoy, from India. The very best,’ Jonas said.

  He seemed pleased with himself.

  ‘It was at great expense I had the cloth shipped over. But it put such a smile on Annie’s face. Her eyes sparkled like opals.’

  He led the way into the next room. We were in a drawing room also hung with crimson caffoy, with agate tables beautiful beyond description. The light from the window made the gilding shine. I thought about you, Cathy, and what you would make of this opulence. Then we entered the landscape room, which was a dressing room to the state bedchamber, hung with crimson damask and French tapestry. Another flight of steps brought us down to the kitchens. Jonas asked the servant to prepare afternoon tea in the parlour and then he continued his tour of the house. The library was dark oak-panelled, with red leather-upholstered chairs. The walls were filled with shelves containing great volumes of literature. At one end there was a carved picture. It was a crest with a griffin in the middle, with a medieval knight’s helmet above it. To the sides were obelisks with lanterns on top.

  ‘Those are the lamps of King Solomon,’ Jonas said. ‘I chose the griffin because it is part eagle and part lion. Therefore, it is both far-sighted and strong. A griffin can sense gold. I have been, throughout my life, a consummate money-maker. A griffin mates for life, even if his partner dies, then he remains alone. The griffin knows that one day he will see his partner again in the life eternal.’

  He led us into the dining room, which was also wood-panelled and painted duck-egg blue, with gold rails and frames, lavishly carved with curlicues and leaf motifs. He’d made money all right. Off the blood and broken backs of others. It was our time now to take that money from him. It would not be on the premises though. Men like Jonas had their wealth secreted and secured. I was sure of that.

  Although the room was filled with thick rugs, ornaments and pictures, a long polished table dominated the space. Behind this was a grand fireplace and above it, a painting that was much larger than any other in the room. It was a portrait of a fair-haired woman, dressed in an ivory-coloured sack-back gown, with a matching lace choker and yellow flowers in her hair. Her skin was so white that it looked as though it had never seen the light of day. Jonas stood beneath her.

  ‘This is my Annie,’ he said, looking up at the picture. ‘I had this painted just months before she died. You’d never guess by looking at the picture that she was gravely ill at the time. I wanted to capture her radiant beauty and godliness before the illness tainted her. It took hours to capture the image. I hired Henry Walton, one of the finest portrait painters in the land. My Annie sat as still as a statue, with a serene expression on her face, even though she was in constant pain. So selfless and so brave. I placed the flowers in her hair myself. Marigolds. My love’s hair was as radiant as the marigold. They were her favourite flower.’

  He turned to Emily. ‘I was telling your brother, when she died, the next day, marigolds appeared at her window. Until she came into my life I was a sinner. I was a wrongdoer who thought only to line his own pocket. Sweet Annie shone light on my transgressive way of life and I learned the true meaning of God’s love.’

  ‘The love of money is the root of all evil,’ I said. ‘So sayeth the Lord.’

  Jonas nodded gravely. ‘Timothy, chapter six, verse ten. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs. I was one of these.’

  I studied my surroundings. We were in the midst of an opulence that made Thrushcross Grange seem more like Wuthering Heights by comparison. But there were no locked rooms or any sign of a safe. We were led out to a parlour with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, looking out, first on a terrace and then a lawn. I could see a lake in the distance. I wondered if this was the parlour that Hardwar had referred to, above which my mother had starved to death.

  Jonas ushered us into an area where there was a three-seater sofa, a low table and two bottle-green leather chairs. The servant followed us shortly after, and placed a tray on the table. He then commenced arranging the items thereabouts. China teap
ot, teacups, saucers, milk jug, a silver sugar bowl, a selection of cakes. Emily immediately lunged for the cake stand, grabbed the biggest cake and shoved it into her mouth whole.

  ‘I do apologise for my sister; she forgets her manners. And in truth, she is starving.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Jonas. ‘Let her feast some more. A healthy appetite is encouraging in a child.’

  He bade the servant return with more voluminous cakes. I pictured myself ramming the cakes down Jonas’s throat, and watching him choke to death. But I knew I had to be a scholar of patience. We chatted some more as Jonas served the tea.

  ‘How did you meet your wife?’ I said.

  ‘Through a mutual friend. In fact, her father was a business associate. He said that he was looking for a suitable husband for his eldest daughter, but I had no interest at the time. He told me of her radiant beauty and of her godliness. But I still wasn’t interested. Work and ambition blinded me. I was only hungry for more wealth and more power. My only desire was the pursuit of profit. Then we met at a social function, and the moment I set eyes on her I knew she was the one. God shone through her. I could see the love of God in her eyes. When God took her from me, I was angry with him. I railed with obdurate vituperation. How could a God of love do this harm to me? But then I realised that everything God does, He does for our own good, even though we cannot see it at the time. God sends us tests, as He did with Job. God sends us lessons, as He did with Zacchaeus. Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.’

  ‘Yes, both Zacchaeus and the rich young ruler were wealthy men, but one was self-righteous and would not give up his possessions, while the other gave his possessions to the poor,’ I said.