All that aside, something still wasn’t right about Father not being at the docks when newly arrived cargo needed to be offloaded.
Scott quickly made his way home.
When he saw the large, expansive house he’d grown up in, he paused before entering the yard through the black, wrought iron gate. That house was one of the finest looking on the street; one of the loveliest on the entire island. Father made sure he had the best, whether his family needed all the expensive and unnecessary extras made no difference. The home was three stories tall. White Victorian trimming now outlined the specially ordered paint in slate blue. It was one of the best constructed homes. On this Friday morning, it was early enough that the ten servants employed there hadn’t yet arrived.
Somehow, a strange sense of foreboding made him slow his pace.
He carefully walked up the front steps, took off his hat. Having his own lodgings now, he rarely even visited much since he and father argued frequently. It was all they could do to work together. Coming home for meals as Mother requested, or attending one of the many social events Father insisted on holding, simply wasn’t to his taste. With Father neglecting more and more of the business, he spent more of his time trying to fill the older Pratt’s absence. Today had been such an occasion.
As he carefully opened the door, the site that met him chilled him to the bones.
On the floor, at the bottom of the grand staircase, Mother squatted as if she couldn’t decide whether to stand or sit. She was sobbing hysterically.
Scott bolted forward, dropping his hat and his self-control.
“Mother! What’s wrong? What’s happened?” he blurted.
“She’s so badly hurt. Oh, Scott…h-he hit her.”
“Who hit who? What are you talking about?”
“Y-Your father. He hit her.”
Not knowing what to think or how to respond in that second, Scott gaze in the direction his mother pointed. The contents of his breakfast lurched, threatening to spill themselves all over the expensive wool rug beneath his feet.
He slowly stood and walked into the front room to his right. This place had always been strictly reserved for Father’s use. It was his sire’s study, and served as a retreat for the man and his male guests after parties lasted later than normal.
On the floor, in front of the desk, his sister lay stretched out. A pool of blood and gore surrounded Sarah’s brown hair. Her eyes were open and glazed over, and her skin was as pale as pristine beach sand.
“Dear God in heaven!” He quickly glanced back at his mother. “Call for help, Mother!”
Instead of doing as he asked, Mother simply stared at him in horror, and covered her face with her hands.
“Where are the twins?”
Having heard his voice, Amy and Emily ran onto the landing on the second floor. He heard their footsteps, and almost fell over Sarah trying to get to them before they got to the bottom of the stairway. Once he was in the foyer again, he swallowed hard and fought to remain calm. “Girls…go back to your room. Now!”
The twins stood where they were. They were sobbing as hysterically as his mother. He prayed with all his heart that they hadn’t seen what he just had.
Of all those on the premises, the twins loved Sarah with unreserved abandon. They had always looked to their older sister for help and guidance when their parents pressured them to welcome would-be suitors. To avoid their viewing Sarah in such a ghoulish state now, he quickly closed the office door.
“S-Sarah?” Emily half-sobbed.
Ignoring his younger sister, he tried once more to get his mother to respond. “Mother, get the girls in their rooms!”
“S-She’s just lying there, Scott,” Mother repeated, in a sobbing, almost incoherent fashion.
Clearly the one parent he relied on to care for the twins, was now sinking into a pit of denial the likes of which he couldn’t take time to address. “Mother! Get upstairs with the girls,” he repeated with a great deal more force than he’d ever used before. Then, he knelt before her even as the twins finally ran back to their room. “Momma, you need to get upstairs and stay with Amy and Emily. Have they seen what happened to Sarah?”
“N-No. I…n-no,” she stammered.
He softened his tone. “The girls need you. Go to them. I’ll take care of Sarah. After that, I’ll get you to the railway station.”
“S-Scott, he just kept hitting her. Over and over. He picked up a statue and he kept at it. I screamed for him to stop, but he w-wouldn’t. He was like a crazed fiend…oh my God! My baby! My Sarah! She must be in such pain…”
“Where is Father?”
“H-He ran out the back.”
“Momma, I’m getting you off the island. First, I need to take care of Sarah.”
“She has to go, too. We need to find Doctor Forrester.”
“I’ll do that. Just go upstairs, I’ll take care of Sarah. Go get the girls ready. Pack a single bag each. I’m sending you to the mainland, right now.”
“Your father —”
“That’s exactly why you need to leave. If he’s still around, he might come back, and I don’t want you here when he does. You saw him. He knows that you saw him.”
“But…”
“Sarah wants you to go,” he said, trying a different tactic.
“S-She said so?”
“Yes, she’ll be safe. We’ll get you someplace safe as well. I’ll call the mainland and get rooms for you and the girls in Houston. Or anywhere you want to go. I’ll come later.”
“With Sarah?”
“Yes, Momma. I-I’ll bring Sarah,” he lied.
“All right, then. I’ll do as you say, Scotty.”
“Good. Now…go.”
Her eyes widened, then she glanced toward the closed office door. “You need to get the doctor. You won’t forget. Will you, son?”
It was at that moment that Scott knew his mother might not ever accept the truth. Sarah was truly gone. There was no way his beloved younger sister could have survived injuries to her head. Her skull had been shattered. One of her eyes was almost out of its socket. Having seen the deed done, his mother was now settling into another, less horrifying version of the situation. In her mind, Sarah was hurt but okay.
“Momma, I’ll get the doctor. I promise.”
“Y-You haven’t called me Momma since you were little,” she whispered as she placed one hand on his cheek. “Your father always insists on things being so formal. So right and proper. All the time. We had to be perfect. Especially me. That’s my job as a wife, you know. I-I had to stand by his side. You understand?”
Scott shook his head in confusion. She had noticed the old moniker of ‘Momma’. It was one that he and Sarah had used before the twins were born — a moniker his father demanded be replaced with what he’d referred to as the ‘less vulgar’ term of Mother.
By whatever name, the older woman in front of him couldn’t seem to get a grip on anything else pertinent to the immediate situation.
“Take care of Emily and Amy, Momma. I’ve got to get Sarah. All right?”
“Yes, Scotty. Yes, son. I-I’ll do what you say. You’re the man of the house now. I knew you would be…one day.”
With that, his mother got up and slowly climbed the stairs.
Scott watched until he knew the door to the twins’ room had opened and closed, then he faced the office door again.
Tears filled his eyes. A first sob escaped his throat. The only person in the world he trusted was now lying on the office floor, with her head crushed.
Sarah was the one he could always go to. She always listened to him, but he hadn’t been there when she needed him. In his avoidance of a quarrelsome home life — a situation exacerbated by his continued attempts to wrestle control of the shipping company from a man whose mind was damaged — he’d not been there when the person with the most courage had been savagely beaten. Worse, he’d never told Sarah about the ever-changing mental status of their sire due to a venereal disease. Even
in these more enlightened times, one just didn’t discuss such topics as a syphilis-infected, adulterous father. Certainly not with a sister.
He’d thought Mother might tell Sarah everything, but was sure now that it’d never happened. Mother had kept the secret of her husband’s infidelity, as well as the secret of his malady.
Shaking, he was left to wonder what had happened to have caused such violence. Even in his diminishing mental state, surely Father hadn’t simply attacked her? If the man was that far gone, he’d likely attack someone else.
“Sweet mother of God! If I’d known he might go this far, I wouldn’t have left him alone with anyone!” he whispered.
This was all his fault. He had to own up. He had to get the police. First, he had to see to the safety of his mother and remaining sisters. That was all that mattered right now.
The back door opened. He heard voices from the kitchen. Recognizing those voices as arriving staff, he knew he had to get them out of the house, but without telling them the truth. If they ran to the police before he was ready, he couldn’t get his mother and sisters to some safe spot, where they’d not be inundated with questions they were too shaken to answer. Their welfare came first. He’d failed Sarah, he wouldn’t fail them. Protectiveness made him act for their benefit. Nothing else mattered but their safety and well-being.
He took deep, shuddering breaths, and made his way to the back of the large, Victorian house. When he saw the staff smiling and nodding in his direction, he instantly knew that his being there, never mind so early on a Friday morning, would cause gossip. He normally left his own apartment and would have been working at the docks. Still, he was where he was. He had to get the employees out of the house. He had to stay calm.
“Everyone, may I have your attention?” he announced as he pasted on a smile.
The servants all stopped their movements to stare at him.
“Um…because of the storm…it’s been decided that all of you should be with your families. We’ll pay you for the day, of course. Go home and get what supplies and provisions you need.”
“In truth, sir?” one maid asked. “You don’t mind us leaving?”
“No! I think it would be prudent. I hear the storm might be worse than usual, so…do whatever you must to get ready. Board your windows…that sort of thing.”
With smiles all around, the staff thanked him profusely as they turned to leave.
When had he become so good at lying? His sister lay dead, yards away, and there he was, lying to everyone like it was second nature.
When the last of the staff was gone, he stumbled back toward the foyer and stared at the closed office door. With his last ounce of courage, he flung open the door and slowly walked toward Sarah’s body.
She was so still and pale. There was so much blood. What he assumed was part of her hair was ground into the floor, as if someone had stomped on her and ripped the long tresses loose.
She should be standing and intelligently arguing with someone over some point of politics, or on behalf of the twins. That was the way he remembered her. Defiant. She was both bold and beloved by so many of the island’s downtrodden, whose circumstances she considered as her own. Now, his only source of consolation within the family was gone.
He began to sob in earnest, and could barely breathe or think. Then, he heard someone coming down the stairs once more. He ran out of the office and shut the door behind him again.
That move was just in time to keep Amy from seeing the remains of her older sister.
“Scotty…are you…crying?” Amy asked as she wiped her own tears off her face.
“I-I’m just sorry Sarah got hurt, Amy. It’s sad to see her injured. You…you go back to Mother.”
“Amy, come back dear!” his mother called from upstairs. “Your brother is going to put a nice bandage on Sarah’s head and we’ll see her in Houston. We’ll have a lovely train ride across the water, to the mainland. Come along, my dear.”
His mother had spoken in a sing-song tone. Clearly, she had lost all touch with reality. She was now reacting as if they were all going on an unexpected, early autumn vacation. Perhaps this was best since, in this state of denial, she was more manageable.
Once Amy and Mother were gone this time, he lurched into the office and knelt by his sister. “I’m sorry, Sarah. If I’d been a better brother…I should have told you to watch out for Father. This is my fault. And I’m so, so sorry!”
He cried bitterly, then slid his hands gently under Sarah’s back and her knees. Coagulated blood was all over the wooden floor and the carpet near the center of the room, but the grisly scene couldn’t be helped. He daren’t let the twins or his mother see her. She had to be moved.
Sarah’s glazed-over eyes stared blankly upward. He so wanted her to wake up and tell him everything that happened. He wanted her to cook him some of the homemade biscuits he loved, and that she brought to him down on the docks every Wednesday. He wanted to see her walking along the streets again, seeing to those less fortunate, handing out apples, trying to get some sick child medical help when their parents were too afraid of the cost to do so. That was Sarah. That was the way he’d remember her.
Crying as he hadn’t since he was a child, he carried his sister upstairs, and carefully put her on her bed. Then, he backed away. “He can’t hurt you anymore. There won’t be any more arguments.” He paused, and almost choked out the rest of his last words to her. “I-I’m so sorry! I…I love you…Sarah. I’ll make him pay. I swear to God…I will!”
With those final words spoken, he turned and used the skeleton key on Sarah’s dressing table to lock the door behind him. That key went into his left pocket.
Now, only he could get into that room. Someone would have to break through the heavy oak door to see Sarah’s corpse. She deserved better than to be gawked at by servants or police. That eventuality was clear. But not now — not right now.
If such a travesty had to be done, let it be done on better terms.
He had his sister’s blood on the front of his shirt, but closed his coat to cover it. He wiped his hands on his dark trousers until most of the blood on his palms was gone. Then, spent as if he’d run a race he could never finish, he leaned against the balustrade and sobbed some more.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but tried to get a hold of his emotions. He could help no one else, or find his murdering father, if he couldn’t emotionally get a hold of himself. He wiped his eyes and his nose on his sleeve. It was a childish gesture, about which Sarah would have gently smiled. She’d tactfully have suggested he use a kerchief. The one in his pocket didn’t matter. He no longer cared about deportment.
Father had manners aplenty. Yet, Father had taken the life of his child. A beloved sister.
There were men at the docks who were rough. Their stories were very sad indeed. Still, they had enough kindness in them to make sure the wharf cats and kittens were fed, and that they tipped their hats to ladies. Every one of them, no matter where they were from, had more compassion and courtesy than Effrin Pratt, with all his money and breeding, would ever know.
He should have been there for Sarah. He should have been there.
Now, he had to focus. He had to push all thoughts from his mind.
Eventually, the door across the landing opened. Mother and the twins stood there, carrying one travel bag each. They were dressed in their finest traveling clothes.
The girls knew something was very wrong. Amy opened her mouth to say something, but Emily nudged her forcefully. Both girls were still crying, but doing their best not to openly sob. For an instant, he believed they were afraid Father might return before they could leave. He saw fear in their eyes and protective instincts resurged.
He held out his arm for his mother to take. “Walk with me. I’ll find transportation to the train station.”
“Why not just use the phone in the office, dear? You can call someone. That’s why your father had the silly thing installed,” his mother merrily repl
ied.
Now her sudden, careless attitude frightened him. He stared at her for along moment. The nightmare was only getting worse. “The phone isn’t working,” he lied. “I-I don’t want to go in…it’s not working.”
“Oh! Well…I suppose we’ll have to simply get one of the servants to bring the car around.”
“No. We can walk, Momma. It’s nice out. Let’s walk until we can find someone to take us to the train. If I can hail one, I think the girls might like a carriage ride.”
For the first time, the twins didn’t respond to a ride as they once might have. They remained quite solemn and quietly tearful.
Momma smiled. “Now that I think of it, perhaps that’s best? It’s been some time since we all took a stroll together. Won’t it be charming?” she added. “When you were all younger, we used to walk to the pier. Remember? Sarah loves walking.”
“Please, Momma…let’s go. Right now,” Emily pleaded. “Scott has things he has to do. We’re holding him up. Right Scotty?”
In that moment, Scott saw something of Sarah in Emily. It took everything he had not to fall on his knees and give way to gut-wrenching sobs.
It was Emily and Amy who propelled their mother down the stairs, leaving him a moment to gather his wits.
When the three remaining female members of his family stood near the front door, Amy looked back up at him.
“Do hurry, we want to leave,” she claimed.
Neither of the girls so much as glanced toward the office.
His blood almost froze when he saw that he hadn’t closed the door behind him, when he’d carried Sarah upstairs.
Fear of what his sisters would see, and anxiety over his mother’s mental state, almost caused him to jump from the landing, down to the foyer. If he had, he’d have surely broken both legs.
At that moment, Emily made a brilliant move.
“Mother,” she said, “let’s go out on the porch and wait for Scotty. It’s so warm in here. It’ll be ever so much cooler out there.”
The Welsh Knight: Knight Magick 2 Page 13