by Amy Cross
“It's your fault!” I shout, stepping toward Doctor Farrah and pushing him hard in the gut, then hitting him again before Father manages to push me away. “You killed her!” I yell, struggling like crazy to get back to him, even as Father drags me into the kitchenette. “Murderer! You killed my cousin!”
“Martin, stop!” Father says firmly. “You're making a terrible spectacle of yourself!”
“I don't care!” I shout, still trying to get back over to the doctor so I can hit him again. I won't push him this time, I'll punch him like a real man. That's what Verity would have wanted! “He said she'd be okay and now she's dead!”
The harder I struggle, the harder Father holds me tight. But as Aunt Harriet continues to sob in the bedroom, I can see the look of abject sorrow in Doctor Farrah's eyes. No matter what anyone else says, he knows he's to blame. And I swear to God, I'll make him pay for Verity's death.
Chapter Forty
Sitting alone with my back against the old, abandoned stables, I stare out across the rolling fields that spread away from Auercliff. In the distance, I can just about make out the village.
The world must end now.
I'm sure of it.
Without Verity, the whole world must surely stop spinning and fade to nothing.
***
“She's finally sleeping,” Mother says as she comes through to the study, sounding exhausted. “Poor Harriet, I can't even begin to imagine her sorrow. Verity was her whole life.”
She kisses the top of my head as she walks past.
“Reg is already planning the funeral arrangements,” Father tells her, as he pours two glasses of whiskey. “I think that's his way of dealing with these things. He throws himself into the details.”
“Perhaps the boy should have a drop too,” Mother suggests.
“Of whiskey?” Father glances at me, before shaking his head. “No, he's not old enough.”
“But he's in shock!”
He shakes his head again. “He's a child. We'll get him through it.”
“I thought we might go to the village tomorrow,” Mother continues. “It's the last day of the fete and, well, it would be good to get back to some semblance of normality.” She turns to me. “Doesn't that sound like fun, Martin?”
I pause for a moment, before shaking my head.
“Martin, please...”
“I won't go,” I tell her. “It wouldn't feel right, not without Verity.”
“I'm sure she'd want you to get on with things,” she tells me. “I know a fete might seem a little silly for a growing boy such as yourself, but it would be good to show our faces in the village. I'm quite sure there are plenty of people who will want to pay their respects before the funeral next week. Word will have spread by now.”
“The fete?” I rely, shocked by the idea. “They'll cancel the fete now, surely!”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because of Verity!”
She sighs. “The world must go on, Martin.”
“I don't want to go to the fete!”
“Well, it's not up to you,” she replies. “We're going together, the three of us. If nothing else, it would be kind of us to give Reginald and Harriet some time alone.”
“But -”
“And that's the end of it,” she adds, before turning to Father. “People will have questions. We should work out exactly what we're to say to them all.”
“I want whiskey!” I announce, getting to my feet.
Mother sighs. “Martin -”
“Father, may I?”
He stares at me for a moment, before sighing. “Your mother's right, Martin. You're not old enough. You're just a boy.”
“I am old enough!” I tell him, angered by the way they're treating me. “I'm not a child!”
“Hush now,” Mother says, stepping over and trying to kiss the top of my head again. This time, I pull away. “You must let the adults arrange things, Martin,” she continues. “I'm sure you're upset, but that's no excuse for poor behavior.”
I want to argue with her, but suddenly I feel as if I don't have the energy. I just want to be alone.
“We must choose a space for the poor girl in the mausoleum,” Mother continues, turning to Father. “It's a terrible tragedy, but we must ensure that she is treated well.”
As they continue to talk, I make my way across the room, filled with a sense of absolute emptiness. I swear, every few minutes I think of something I want to tell Verity, or something I want to ask her, or something we can do together. Then I remember that she's gone, and it's as if all the sorrow and horror comes rushing back anew. And then I find myself thinking back to that awful moment when she fell and cut herself on the knife. If she hadn't done that, maybe she'd never have become sick, and maybe she'd still be with us now.
“Where are you going?” Father asks suddenly.
I turn to him, and for a moment my mind feels completely blank. “I... I don't know.”
“Don't be silly, boy,” he continues. “You must be going somewhere.”
“Not really,” I tell him. “I just... I just wanted to get some air, that's all.”
“You're not to go to the room,” he says firmly. “It's rotten luck that the undertaker can't come before morning, but under no circumstances are you to go to that room or... look at her. Is that understood?”
I nod. Truth be told, that hadn't been my plan at all. Not until he mentioned it. Now I feel as if I absolutely must go and see Verity one final time.
“I shall come up and check on you soon,” Mother tells me, taking the glass of whiskey that Father has poured for her. “Mind that you're ready for bed and...”
She pauses, before hurrying over to me and kissing the top of my head. I flinch, but I let her.
“I love you, Martin,” she tells me, with tears in her eyes. “Never forget that. Father and I both love you very much. I just...” She takes a deep breath. “I just thought you should know that. Perhaps we don't always say such things to one another very often. We must, in future. We must never take family for granted.”
“I love you too,” I tell her. “You don't need to worry about me. I shall go straight to bed.”
But I'm lying.
Once I've left the room, I head upstairs and along the landing, passing my bedroom and then making for the door that leads to the house's western wing. Every step seems to tighten the sense of fear in my chest, but I know I have to go and sit with Verity. For one thing, this will be my last ever chance to see her face, and for another I hate the idea of her being all alone in that room on her last night in the house.
She deserves better.
When I finally reach the door to the western corner bedroom, I stop for a moment. The door has been left ajar, and I can see Verity's legs on the bed. I can't help noticing that the air feels very cold, colder even than usual. Father and Uncle Reginald turned the heating on in this part of the house when they thought Verity was going to be recuperating in here for a while, but clearly they've already turned it off again. To save money, no doubt.
Pushing the door open, I see that her face has been left uncovered.
For some reason, I assumed that someone would have placed a veil over her features.
“Hey Verity,” I whisper, even though I know I sound foolish.
Stepping into the room, I make my way over to the bed and look down at her pale face. Her eyes are closed, and she looks strangely calm. I can honestly say that never once in life did she look like this. Verity was the type of girl who was always filled with some kind of plan, and she was constantly rabbiting on about this, that and the other. Even when she was asleep, she seemed to be forever twitching, as if even her dreams were filled with action and intrigue.
Now that her face is so still and relaxed, she almost doesn't look like herself, and the pale blue light of the moon gives her a faint glow. Somehow her harelip seems even more pronounced.
I know I shouldn't, but I reach out and take hold of her dead hand. Her fles
h is cold and clammy, but I don't care. I just want to be here with her.
“You shouldn't be dead,” I whisper. “It was that doctor's fault, he said you'd be okay and then this happened. He knows, too. I saw it in his eyes, he knows he made a mistake.”
I pause, before spotting the infected wound on her other hand. For a moment, I think back to the split second when she fell and landed on the knife, and I can't help wondering whether I was partly to blame. If I'd held her more firmly, she might not have slithered down into the mud, and then she wouldn't have had to clamber back up, and then she might not have slipped, and then she might be alive right now. All those little things had to happen, in a certain order, for us to end up at this point. If even one of them had been different...
“Who buries a knife by the river, anyway?” I ask, even though I know she can't give me an answer. There are tears in my eyes. She'd surely make fun of me if she could see me now, so I sniff the tears back. “What kind of person puts a big knife in the ground, where somebody else could stumble upon it and end up getting hurt? I can't even begin to imagine the kind of lunatic who would have such little regard for the lives of others. I mean, the knife...”
Pausing, I suddenly realize that the knife must still be in Verity's proper bedroom, in the eastern wing of the house. She hid the knife under her mattress, and I'm quite sure that no-one has been in there to start rooting around.
“Someone has to pay for what happened,” I whisper finally. “I'd like to find whoever put that knife there, and cut their bally throat, but...”
My voice trails off as I realize that such a thing is impossible.
“Doctor Farrah is an awful man,” I say finally, still holding Verity's hand. “Aunt Harriet called him a murderer, and she was right. He can't be allowed to make a mistake like this and get away with it, someone should...”
I pause as a plan starts to form in my mind.
“Someone should make him pay,” I add, feeling a shudder pass through my body. “It's only right. Someone should make him pay for letting this happen to you.”
Even though I know I should head back to my bedroom, I stay with Verity for the rest of the night. I just can't bring myself to let go of her hand, and to leave her here alone in this cold, gloomy room. Although I half expect Father and Mother to come storming through, they don't appear at all, so I can only assume that they believe me to be tucked safely in my own bed. By the time the morning sun starts to appear outside the window, I feel as if I have a clearer plan in my mind. Perhaps a trip to the village fete will give me the perfect opportunity to gain revenge for Verity's death.
A little after 8am, once I hear the undertakers arrive, I finally say goodbye to Verity. After kissing her cold cheek, I let go of her hand and hurry through to the other side of the house. Sobbing by the time I get to her room, I slip inside and lift the mattress, and sure enough the rusty old knife is exactly where she left it the other day.
“I'll make him pay,” I whisper, hoping that perhaps somehow Verity can hear me. “He killed you. Now he must suffer the consequences.”
Chapter Forty-One
I've never seen so many people on the village green. It's as if visitors have come from miles around, just to spend an afternoon wandering between stalls and looking at displays of local produce. And many of them, I can't help noticing, seem to be carefully watching as Mother, Father and I make our way among the crowd.
“So sorry to hear about young Violet,” says a woman as she passes us. “Such a tragedy.”
“It is,” Mother replies with a gracious smile. “Thank you so much for your condolences.”
“If we can do anything to help,” adds a man at one of the stalls, “just let us know.”
“The funeral will be held next Tuesday,” Mother tells him. “Everyone is, of course, most welcome.”
“Will she be placed in the cemetery?” the man asks.
“The family mausoleum,” Mother replies. “As tradition dictates.”
“How do so many people know about Verity already?” I ask.
“Word travels fast,” she explains. “Everyone in the county knows of Auercliff. A death in our family is one of the biggest tragedies to hit the area for several years.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I look back through the crowd, still hoping to spot Doctor Farrah. I'm quite sure he'll be here somewhere, since he's generally seen as a pillar of the community. I doubt many people are aware of just how great a mistake he made when he treated Verity, so most likely he's still being treated with great veneration. I'm sure everyone will be shocked when they learn the truth about him.
Reaching under my jacket, I double-check that the rusty knife is still tucked in the back of my trousers.
“Why don't you go and try the coconut shy?” Mother says suddenly, nudging my arm. “You were very good at that last year. Do you remember winning that rather large toy bear?”
“I gave it to Verity,” I remind her.
“Well, go and try again,” she replies, with a trace of an uncomfortable smile. “And Martin... Chin up, darling. It's not becoming for any of us to show too much emotion. People know that the family has been struck by a tragedy, but they expect us to keep a stiff upper lip as an example to the community. Do hold your end up.”
“I promise, Mother,” I mutter, before turning and slipping through the crowd.
I have no intention of playing some silly, childish coconut shy game. I might have enjoyed such a thing last year, when I was trying to impress Verity, but this time I feel almost like a different person. Instead, I push through the crowd, smiling politely as people offer their condolences, and finally I reach the far side of the green and turn to look back. So far, there's no sign of the doctor at all.
“You poor thing,” says Mrs Deacon from the bakery, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I was so sorry to hear about your dear little cousin Victoria.”
“Verity,” I reply, annoyed that she could get the name wrong. “Her name was Verity.”
“Of course,” she continues. “Verity, yes, I'm sorry. Such an unconscionable tragedy.”
“Have you seen Doctor Farrah?” I ask.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Doctor Farrah. Where is he?” I pause, before realizing that perhaps I might seem a little uncouth and forceful. “I mean... If you'd be so kind, do you know where I can find him?”
“I haven't seen him today,” she replies. “He might be at his surgery.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, before turning and making my way around the edge of the green, keen to avoid the crowd. By the time I get to the far side, close to the King's Head pub, I'm feeling much calmer than I anticipated. In fact, I can't help wondering whether in some way Verity is with me, watching over my work and giving me the strength to keep going. Guiding my hand. I'm sure she'd want her revenge.
“Martin!” Mother calls out from the crowd suddenly. “Martin, where are you?”
Turning, I realize that there's no sign of her, which means she doesn't know where I am. I need to work fast, but I can also legitimately claim to have become lost in such a large crowd. All I have to do is get to Doctor Farrah's surgery, find the bastard and teach him a lesson he'll never forget. I make my way along the sunny street, and then down the shaded alley that runs around the back.
***
Preferring to go around the rear of the building and enter through the yard, I push the wooden gate open and slip through. I can still hear the sound of the fete in the distance, but I'm quite sure that nobody saw me coming this way. Everyone's too busy with the childish attractions.
Reaching under my jacket again, I pull out the knife.
I'm going to show them all. They think they can still hold their stupid fete after what happened to Verity. They think it's enough just to tell us how sad they are. They'll learn.
Suddenly something brushes against my shoulder. Startled, I turn and look back through the gate, but there's no sign of anyone. I wait a moment, before slipping over toward
the door that leads into the surgery's kitchen.
Perhaps it was Verity.
Perhaps she really is with me.
Once I'm inside, I pause for a couple of minutes, listening to the absolute silence that seems to fill the air all around me. I'm not even certain that Doctor Farrah is in the building, but I know I have to find out for certain. The knife is -
“What are you going to do with that?”
Turning, I see to my surprise that a pretty, dark-haired woman is standing in the doorway, watching me with a hint of concern.
“Who are you?” I ask, trying not to panic.
“More to the point,” she replies, stepping closer, “who are you? You can't be any more than fifteen, maybe sixteen years old, by my estimate.” She pauses for a moment. “If you were any older, I think I'd actually be worried by the sight of you sneaking around with that big knife in your hands.”
I swallow hard, while trying to work out how to get out of here.
“This is a good old-fashioned case of revenge, is it?” she continues. “What did the poor doctor ever -”
“He killed my cousin!” I stammer.
“Your cousin?”
“He murdered her!”
She frowns. “I don't think the good doctor is exactly a murderer, is he?”
“It's his fault she's dead!” I say firmly. “He examined her and told everyone she'd be fine, and then he left her at home for the night, and then she...”
My voice trails off as I remember the way Verity's body twitched and convulsed during those final moments. She seemed to be in so much pain, and the sweat was running in thick beads down her face. And now she's laid out at the undertaker's office, ready to be nailed into a coffin and lowered into the ground. After a moment, I realize that tears are running down my cheeks.
“So now you're going to kill the doctor,” the woman says finally. “Do you think this will make you feel any better?”
“He murdered her!” I snap. “You didn't know her! You don't understand!”