The Snow Angel

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘Hello?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, hi there.’ He grinned, revealing white teeth. ‘I’m looking for Cressida Fellbridge.’

  She gaped at him, startled, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Do you know her?’ he asked in a friendly tone. There was a sing-song upward twang to his voice.

  It’s an Australian accent.

  ‘Well . . . yes . . . I suppose so, in a way. I’m her niece. Emily Conway,’ she said, puzzled.

  The man’s face cleared and he smiled broadly. ‘Hey, that’s great! Something’s gone right, that’s fantastic! I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘Really? But why?’ Emily realised she was clutching on to the door handle so hard, her knuckles were turning white.

  ‘Ah, sorry. You don’t have a clue who I am or why I’m here.’ He stuck out a broad brown hand. ‘I’ve come on a bit of a mystery tour but I’m harmless, I promise. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emily Conway. My name is Cameron. Cameron Baxter. How are ya?’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lunch with the Gladwells was torture for Cressie. Her mind was racing and her insides churning with fear, apprehension and a desire to be on her way. She was clumsy, knocking over a glass of water and dropping things, and so distracted that her father could hardly hide his annoyance with her.

  The Gladwells were polite and sympathetic – the family was in mourning, after all – and said they quite understood when Cressie, unable to bear it another minute, got to her feet and said she was very sorry but she must leave them.

  ‘Forgive me, Papa,’ she murmured to him as she kissed him and he grunted stiffly. Then she hurried from the room to get her things, calling to Ellen to get a taxi to take her to Euston.

  ‘Did my telegram go?’ she asked as she stood in the doorway pulling on her gloves. The taxi waited at the kerb, the engine purring softly.

  ‘Yes, miss. Have a good journey, miss.’ The maid bobbed to her.

  ‘I will, thank you.’ She ran down the steps to the taxi and as they set off for the station, she felt a small scrap of calm return.

  The journey was difficult. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, not the paper she had bought at the station or the book she had packed. Only sketching in the little pad she had bought at the artists’ supplies shop that morning could bring her any peace. Even so, her mind ranged wide as she drew, playing with scenarios and possibilities.

  Perhaps Papa didn’t mention December House. How would she find us in the whole of Cumbria? Would she bother to look for us anyway? She has the money from my portrait, perhaps more if she sells Ralph’s pictures. Maybe she’ll just leave us alone.

  But she knew that was impossible. There was the note in her pocket, after all. I will not let you kill him. What on earth could that mean? As if Cressie could possibly hurt Ralph. He was ill, that was certain; Catherine had told her all about it. But he had not suffered from the arrhythmia at all since they’d been together, and if it came back, then Cressie intended to take him to a good doctor. Homemade remedies were all very well, but surely a proper medicine would be more effective.

  But that was envisaging a life beyond Catherine, and she knew in her heart, with horrible foreboding, that Catherine would not permit it.

  I’ve always known that. She’s told me over and over again, in hundreds of tiny ways, that Ralph is hers. And he is. She’s his wife.

  She slumped back in her seat, almost beaten at the thought that everyone respectable in society would be on Catherine’s side. She had morality and the law to back up her claim.

  And yet . . .

  She saw again the blue silk scarf in her painted hand with its ominous flecks of blood. She saw the look on Ralph’s face – the agonised dread – when they had spoken of his relationship with his wife. He had said that it would kill him to stay with Catherine but that she might do something reckless to prevent him from leaving.

  The fear began to rise in her again.

  I know exactly how it is. Catherine knows where Ralph is. She knows I’m not there. She is on her way, just ahead of me, hurrying to reach him first so that she can take him away from me.

  Everything was now crystal clear in her mind. The pencil dropped from her hand onto the pad.

  I have to stop her. Ralph is in danger.

  Carlisle was in chilly darkness when she at last stood on the platform. Everyone seemed to have gone home for the night and she felt desperately alone. Ralph was so close now – just a few miles away – but how could she reach him? Outside the station, there was nothing at all. No traffic and no taxis. The only light came from a telephone box at the side of the road. She went to it.

  Inside, the phone books were tatty and torn but she found the number she needed, and then fumbled in her purse for some change. When the telephone at the other end was answered, she pressed the button and her money went clattering into the phone’s black belly.

  ‘Hello? Mrs Pendleton? It’s Cressida Fellbridge here. I wonder if I could possibly ask a great favour. I’m at the station in Carlisle and I need to get to the house. There are no taxis here. Would you kindly be able to arrange one for me? I don’t know the name of the taxi company. Thank you . . . thank you very much . . . The lights are on at the house? Yes, that’s right. Some friends of mine are staying there. Mr and Mrs Few. I’m joining them there this evening but stupidly forgot to book a taxi . . . Thank you again. Goodnight.’

  She hung up the telephone. All she could do now was wait.

  Despite what Mrs Pendleton had said, the house was virtually in darkness when she arrived, with only the faint hint of light beyond the rooms at the front. As the taxi pulled up outside, she was filled with a sense of awful foreboding. Was Catherine here already? Where was Ralph? She had telegraphed her train time; surely he would be looking out for her, expecting her?

  She didn’t want the driver to go but didn’t know how to ask him to stay. Once he had driven away she was left in the bitterly cold night, facing the house and desperately afraid. Where was Ralph? She longed to see him. She had sent him the telegram:

  Coming on 2.30 train stop Catherine may know and be on her way

  Had that been enough? And what could he have done anyway?

  Gathering all her courage, she went up to the front door and pressed it open. It was not locked. So he didn’t lock her out. A horrible shiver spread over her skin. Catherine could be inside right now.

  She went into the dark hall, putting her case down on the flagstone floor. The fire was dead and the lantern unlit. Had Ralph heard the taxi arrive and leave? She was about to call out when she decided, suddenly, not to draw attention to herself. It was possible that the taxi hadn’t been heard. Perhaps no one knew that she had arrived at all. If so, there was no point in giving away the element of surprise. Pushing open the door of the passage, which squeaked a little as it moved, she stepped forward as quietly as she could. There was a light on in the kitchen at the end, but no sound came from there. She went back into the hall and went up a few of the stairs. The first landing was in darkness but she could see a dim light beyond. Slowly and carefully, with as little noise as possible, she continued upwards, tread by tread, holding her breath. As she turned from the first landing to the next shorter flight to the second floor, she heard a noise from the bedroom she and Ralph shared.

  Instantly she halted, her heart pounding, and listened as hard as she could. It was a sound that turned her blood icy cold with fear. She could hear a woman’s voice, talking musically and then crooning softly. It was muffled behind the closed bedroom door. Cressie stepped forward inch by inch, trying to keep each step as silent as she could, listening hard for the voice to become clearer. Adrenalin surged through her and she felt sick and shaky. Perhaps it’s Ursula, she told herself, hoping to stay calm. Ralph feels unwell. He’s asked her to nurse him.

  But as she approached little by little, she knew with a horrible certainty that she was listening to Catherine’s voice, still muffled but a little easier to make out as she got
closer.

  ‘Now, now, you’ve been very sick, but don’t worry, we’re going to make you better. You’re going to be all better, I promise.’ Cheerful humming followed, and the noise of someone bustling about the room. ‘You’ll sleep very well now. And in the morning we can decide what’s best to do. When you’re better.’

  In answer, there was a groan.

  Ralph! Cressie’s skin prickled almost painfully at the sound of his voice. He was there, with her. She had him in her control somehow. I have to help him, I have to stop her from doing whatever it is she’s doing . . . But how?

  She looked about for a weapon of some kind, and noticed a warming pan that had been hung on the wall as a quaint decoration. She went over on tiptoe and lifted it very carefully off the hook on the wall. It was heavy and the brass pan seemed dense enough. It would make a good weapon if she had to use it. Gripping the wooden handle tightly, she turned back towards the bedroom door. The crooning had started up again, sounding like a ghastly sort of lullaby.

  She’s mad. The thought came clearly into Cressie’s mind. Whatever has happened has sent her out of her mind.

  Then she tripped on the stringy edge of the landing mat and stumbled forward, the warming pan banging hard on the floor with a resounding dong. She gasped in horror and glanced up at the door of the bedroom. There was a moment of silence, then footsteps and the door swung open. Catherine stood there, her face hard and her eyes blazing. She barred the way, her small, stocky body standing determinedly in the doorway, but Cressie could see Ralph beyond in the bed. He looked pale and ill, his eyes feverish as though he wasn’t quite aware of what was happening.

  ‘You!’ Catherine spat. Her lip curled in distaste. ‘So you came back, did you? I suppose your daddy told you how helpful he’d been. I hoped the old fool would forget it in the excitement of receiving your portrait. But you dragged it out of him, did you?’

  Ralph turned his head to look at her. It seemed to cost him a great effort. His expression was a mixture of pleasure and agony at seeing her. ‘Cressie,’ he said through dry lips.

  Catherine whirled round to face him. ‘Don’t be so stupid. You can’t possibly be glad to see her. She’s spoiled everything! It was supposed to be different from this. She would give us what we needed, not destroy everything.’ She went over to him and sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in hers and rubbing it. ‘We can get it all back. It will still be all right.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Cressie. Her fright was making her braver now. She sensed that they were about to do battle and she knew that she must win. There could be no other outcome. ‘You have to leave at once.’

  Catherine turned to stare at her, her eyes a dark, flinty grey. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll leave first thing in the morning. Ralph needs to recover his strength. Then he’s coming with me.’

  ‘No.’ Cressie lifted her chin defiantly. ‘He stays here with me.’

  Catherine looked down at the warming pan still tight in Cressie’s grip, and laughed. ‘And you plan to make me obey, do you? Just give in to what you want? I suppose it’s what you’ve known all your life.’ She gave her a scornful look. ‘You’re very stupid. Don’t you understand that you’ll do irreparable harm if you refuse to allow me to care for Ralph? I won’t allow it. I simply won’t allow it.’

  ‘Cressie . . .’ Ralph spoke in the same weak voice. ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea she was coming. At the door . . . she came in. She seemed so reasonable and we had tea but she must have drugged it with something. I can hardly see . . .’

  ‘What nonsense,’ Catherine said briskly. ‘You see how ill you are? You can’t remember that I arrived just in time to save you from another attack. You were so awfully ill – it was lucky I had brought all my medicine with me.’

  Cressie looked in the direction of Catherine’s glance and saw on the chest of drawers a collection of bottles and potions, a hypodermic syringe, cotton wool and other medical paraphernalia.

  Catherine was looking down tenderly at Ralph. ‘I had to give you an injection, didn’t I, darling? To make you better.’ She turned steely eyes on Cressie again. ‘I know your plan. You want to take him away from me. You want to destroy everything we’ve built up together. But I won’t let you.’ Her eyes flickered menacingly. ‘I’ll kill you before I let that happen.’

  Cressie tightened her grip on the warming pan. She means it. She’s dangerous. Oh my God, she’s mad.

  Ralph closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He seemed to be summoning his strength. He looked at Catherine again and said, ‘But you know that’s not true. You’re killing me. You’re killing me right now. Whatever you injected into my arm . . . I can feel it creeping through my veins, freezing me.’

  ‘No, no,’ she said gently. ‘Making you better!’

  ‘Not making me better. Killing me.’ He swallowed and said, ‘We need to tell the truth, Catherine. Can’t you see? It’s over now.’

  This seemed to trigger something in Catherine. She began to tremble and jumped up, her eyes wild. ‘No! No, why are you saying that, Ralph? Why would you say something so awful? You’re everything to me! I’ve devoted my life to protecting your talent, to nurturing you, to making the world recognise that you are a genius! Of course I’m not killing you!’

  ‘You may not mean to,’ Ralph said in the same low voice, ‘but you are. I wasn’t born colour-blind but I’ve lost more and more of my ability to see colour and everything you’ve done to make me better has made me worse.’

  ‘You need me!’ she cried in a quavering voice. ‘I’m your eyes!’

  ‘You made yourself my eyes because you caused the need in the first place. Whatever you brew for me – your tablets, your medicines – they are destroying the talent you claim you want to protect. And they make me more dependent on you.’

  She stared at him, her face working oddly as she took this in. Then she laughed. ‘Ridiculous! I would never harm you, not for the world! Why are you saying this, Ralph?’ A look of hurt and bewilderment crossed her face. ‘I don’t understand.’

  He looked at her sadly. ‘Oh Catherine, I don’t believe you do. I’ve only just begun to understand it myself. But that’s why we have to tell the truth now. Don’t you see?’

  ‘No.’ Her fury was back. Her lips hardened, her lip lifted in snarl. ‘I don’t see! I want you to come home, for everything to go back to how it was.’

  ‘It can’t,’ Ralph said simply. He shifted his head so that he could see Cressie. His grey-gold eyes softened. ‘Cressie . . . I love you. I want to marry you.’

  Catherine gasped and stared over at Cressie, hate in her eyes. ‘You can’t marry her!’ she cried wildly. ‘You’re married to me!’

  Cressie was speechless. He had said it, in front of Catherine. At the same as she was filled with fear at how the other woman would take this, she felt a rush of exhilaration and joy. He loves me! But fear followed hard on its heels. What had Catherine done to Ralph? Was it possible that he was dying? Oh God, please, no . . .

  ‘Catherine . . .’ He had fixed her with a look that seemed to speak volumes to her. She covered her ears with her fists and began to moan. ‘Catherine, it has to stop now. We aren’t married.’

  Cressie gasped. ‘You’re not married?’

  Catherine’s face had screwed up in an expression of pain. She began to rock back and forward.

  Ralph looked at her sorrowfully, his eyes tormented. ‘Catherine isn’t my wife. She’s my sister.’

  ‘Your sister?’ Cressie felt stunned, dazed as though she had been hit hard. ‘Your sister?’ she repeated stupidly. ‘But . . . why . . .’

  Ralph looked tired and sicker than ever. ‘Please forgive me, Cressie. It was a stupid lie. Catherine came up with it when we saw the flat for rent. It was so perfect for us, you see, the studio was exactly right. The light was wonderful, the view, the garden . . . we wanted it so badly. But the advertisement said only single professional men or married couples need apply. We wanted the flat. It d
idn’t seem such an awful lie to tell.’

  Catherine had taken her hands from her ears and had frozen, listening to the story with an appalled attention as though this was the first time she had heard it.

  Ralph went on, ‘I thought no one else need hear it but the landlord. But the lie spread. We were stupid. We didn’t realise how people talk. We never thought they’d be interested in it. But the neighbours thought we were married, so did the shopkeepers. Catherine bought a ring and put it on. She began to tell people we were married as if she really believed it were true. I always thought when we move away, we’ll go back to the truth. But the lie became so powerful and Catherine kept feeding it, as though she wished that we really could be married.’ He looked pleadingly at Cressie. ‘There was nothing between us but the bond of siblings.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Cressie asked.

  ‘I should have. But even speaking it aloud would have been to admit that I colluded in it. I suppose that I knew she needed me. I cared too much for her to destroy her fantasy until it was too difficult to destroy. It had entwined us both.’

  ‘Oh Ralph,’ Cressie whispered, trying to take it in. He was free. That thought was flying around her mind like a brightly coloured kite. He wasn’t married and never had been. He was hers entirely and completely.

  Catherine spoke again, her voice soft now, high and tender. ‘You only had me. I’m all the family you have. There was only me to look after you, to make you the great artist you were born to be. You couldn’t do it without me.’ She cast a contemptuous look at Cressie. ‘Do you think that someone like her will ever give you the devotion I’ve given you? Only I can be your helper, see colours for you. Only I can treat your illness.’

  ‘But . . .’ Ralph’s voice was quiet but it cut like a knife through the room. ‘There never was any illness, was there?’

  She frowned. ‘Of course there was.’

  ‘No. I was quite well when you began to diagnose me with weakness, anaemia and all the rest of it. And once I began to take your medicine . . . that’s when it all changed. I can see it now. I wish I had seen it then.’