The Devil`s Feather

by Minette Walters

  “You should ask Jess that question. She was always the first person Mummy called in a crisis. Why didn’t she do anything?”

  “Who was the second?”

  Madeleine frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Who did your mother phone when Jess wasn’t available? You?”

  “I was too far away.”

  “So Jess turfed out every single time. For how long? Twelve years? And before that her father? Was either of them ever paid?”

  “It wasn’t a question of payment. They did it because they wanted to.”

  “Why? Because they were so fond of Lily?”

  “I’ve no idea what their reasons were. I always found it rather sad…as if they couldn’t get over the class barrier. Perhaps they felt they had to follow in Jess’s grandmother’s steps and play servant to the big house.”

  I gave a snort of laughter. “Have you ever actually been to Barton Farm, Madeleine? The house is marginally smaller than this, but it’s in a lot better repair. At a rough guess, and with all the land she has, I’d say Jess’s estate is worth two or three times your mother’s. If she ever sold up, she’d be a millionairess. Why on earth would someone like that want to play servant to impoverished gentry?”

  She smiled faintly. “You’re assuming she owns the property.”

  “I’m not assuming anything. I know it for a fact. I believe you do, too.” I took a thoughtful puff of my cigarette. “But why does it matter to you so much that everyone should think she’s a tenant?” I went on curiously. “Does it stick in your throat that her family built on their successes while yours frittered theirs away?”

  As a lure, it almost worked. “They wouldn’t have anything if it hadn’t been for—” She clamped her mouth shut suddenly.

  I tapped more ash into the sink to ratchet up her irritation. “You’re lucky she’s so self-effacing. If Winterbourne Barton knew she was the richest woman in the valley, you wouldn’t get a look-in. They’d be queueing up to lick her arse.”

  If looks could kill, I’d have had a dagger in my chest. “There wouldn’t be room,” she snarled. “They’d have to get you out of the way first. Everyone knows you’re her latest conquest.”

  My eyes watered as I choked on some smoke. “Do you mean her latest fuck? I might have thought about it if she wasn’t shagging Peter every night. Wouldn’t you say that’s a fairly good indication that she prefers cocks to cunts?”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Why?” I murmured in surprise. “Because I said she shags blokes? Surely Nathaniel’s told you what a good a lay she is? I gather they went at it like rabbits before you muscled in on the act. He’s down here all the time, trying to resurrect the good old days. He was even here the night Jess found Lily.”

  A flicker of something showed in her eyes. Fear? She looked away before I could decide. “That’s rubbish.”

  “Then who turned the utilities back on before Lily’s solicitior and social services came in?”

  It was like pressing the “on” button. As long as I fed her questions she’d prepared for, she could produce her rehearsed answers. “Jess, of course,” she said confidently. “She was the only one who knew Mummy had collapsed. Everything she did was designed to cover her tracks. She could have phoned for an ambulance or put Mummy back to bed herself and called a doctor…but instead she drove her to the farm and waited till the morning to bring in social services. Why did she do that if it wasn’t to give herself time to put things straight at Barton House?”

  “It was too cold to wait for an ambulance, so Jess took Lily back to the farm and called the surgery as soon as she got there. A locum turned up an hour later—by which time your mother was cleaned, fed, warm and fast asleep—and he advised Jess to leave her where she was until the morning. I thought you knew all this.”

  “Why at the farm, though? Why not here?”

  “Because it would have meant carrying your mother fifty yards just to get her to the back door, and she couldn’t see anything because none of the outside lights were working,” I said patiently. “Instead, she drove the Land Rover onto the lawn and lifted Lily into it. Her first plan was to take Lily to hospital herself, but as soon as your mother was in the warmth of the cab, and wrapped in the dogs’ blanket, she perked up and asked for food.” I eyed Madeleine curiously. “Peter told me all this within a week of my arrival. Did he not tell you? I thought you were such friends.”

  “Of course he did,” she snapped, “but he’s only repeating Jess’s story. He doesn’t know it for a fact because he wasn’t here.”

  I shrugged. “Then what did the locum say in the messages he left on your answerphone? Or social services? Did they give different explanations?”

  “I didn’t listen to them all. The only one that mattered was Mummy’s solicitor saying she’d been taken into care…and I responded to that as soon as I got back from holiday.”

  “So you didn’t hear the message that Jess left at twelve-thirty to say your mother was at the farm? The locum was with her when she did it. She told you you had twelve hours to take charge before the surgery alerted social services.” I folded my arms and watched her closely. “She gave you every chance, Madeleine, but you didn’t take it.”

  “How could I? I was away.”

  “Nathaniel wasn’t.”

  “That’s not true. Nathaniel wasn’t in the flat either. He took our son to visit his parents in Wales. It’s something he does every year. Ask my in-laws if you don’t believe me.”

  “It’s quite easy to pick up messages from a distance…and most of Wales is no farther from Dorset than London is. At a guess, it was you who turned the utilities off and Nathaniel who raced down here to put them back on before social services came in the next morning.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said, her breath hissing angrily through clenched teeth.

  “No one else had a reason to make Lily’s life miserable.”

  “Jess did.”

  “I can’t see it,” I said. “I don’t think the police will either. She wouldn’t have written to you if it meant you’d find out she’d been mistreating your mother.”

  “What reason did I have?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “At first I thought you were trying to coerce her into reassigning the power of attorney…but now I think it was straightforward cruelty. You punished her because she wasn’t mentally competent to do what you wanted…and then found you enjoyed it. Simple as that. It’s why most sadists do what they do.”

  She stood up abruptly. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “I suggest you do,” I said mildly, “otherwise you’ll be hearing it from Inspector Bagley. So far I’ve told him very little, but only because your mother didn’t die. If she had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation…you’d be at the police station answering questions about murder. You’ll just answer different ones if you walk out now.”

  “No one’s going to believe you.”

  “I wouldn’t rely on that. It just needs a chink of doubt.” I tossed my still-smoking butt into the sink. “Your problem’s the Aga. The Burton’s delivery notes prove it was off for two months. But if Jess had been responsible for that she’d have relit it…because she’s the only one who knows how.”

  Madeleine shook with suppressed anger. “I suppose she put you up to this. She’s always hated me…always told lies about me.”

  “Is that right? I thought lies were your specialty.” I ticked my fingers. “Predatory lesbian…stalker…obsessive…mentally ill…servant mentality…tenant farmer…syphilitic grandmother…hates men…only has sex with dogs. What have I left out? Oh, yes. Your grandfather had a yen for maids and raped every poor girl who entered his service, including Jess’s grandmother.”

  She looked shell-shocked. “I’ll sue you for slander if you repeat that.”

  “The bit about the rape? Is that not true? I thought he handed over fifteen hundred acres in compensation after his son was born? I
t was cheap at the price…the land cost him nothing and his reputation would have been in ruins if Jess’s grandmother had gone to the police.”

  “It’s all lies,” she hissed. “There was no saying who the father was. Mrs. Derbyshire was a tramp…she slept with anyone and everyone.”

  I shrugged. “It’s easily proved by a DNA test. The closest match will be Jess and your mother.”

  “I won’t allow it.”

  “It’s not your permission to give. Lily handed that right to her solicitor.” I smiled at her. “It’ll make a grand story. Skeletons rattle in Wright closet as DNA proves link. Abuse jumps a generation as failed artist’s wife seeks to silence mother. Career scrounger cites class as justification for sadism…”

  Jess had predicted she’d take a swipe at me if I provoked her enough—“Lily was afraid of Madeleine, and her kid’s completely terrified”—so I should have been expecting it. But she still managed to take me by surprise. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m really quite naïve about the levels of violence that some people are prepared to use. I shouldn’t be—I’ve seen too much of it in Africa and the Middle East—but my experience of war is different. I’ve always been a bystander, and never a participant.

  MacKenzie should have taught me the dangers of complacency. And he did, as far as he was concerned. But it never occurred to me that a twisted psychopath, who raped and mutilated women, had anything in common with a Dresden china blonde in high heels and an elegant shirtwaist. I should have paid more attention to Jess. From day one, she had described Madeleine as a manipulative, narcissistic personality of shallow emotions, who demanded instant gratification, resorted to bullying when she didn’t get it and showed no remorse for the impact her behaviour had on others.

  And that’s as good a definition of a psychopath as you’ll find.

  22

  I’D EXPECTED a slap across the face, not an all-out assault on my eyes with crimson fingernails. I was on the floor, shielding my head from her kicking shoes, almost before I knew she’d attacked me. It was very fast and very noisy. I remember her screaming “Bitch” as she grabbed me by the hair and spun me round so that she could aim at my face, but I curled into a tight ball and took most of the punishment on my arms and back.

  She wasn’t fit enough to keep it up for long. The kicks became less frequent as her mouth took over. How dare I question her? Didn’t I know who she was? Who did I think I was? It was an interesting insight into her character. At no point did she consider the consequences of what she was doing or whether my provocation had been deliberate. Quite simply, a red mist descended and she went ape.

  I won’t pretend it wasn’t painful—her shoes were leather with pointed toes—but it was a walk in the park compared with Baghdad. Her balance was precarious, her aim was bad, and her foot had very little weight behind it. I put up with it because anger, like alcohol, loosens tongues, and she thought my refusal to fight back meant she had nothing to fear.

  “It was the best day of my life when the Derbyshires died…the only one left was the runt…and she was so feeble she tried to kill herself. I told my mother she should have let her bleed to death…and do you know what she said? Be nice… you owe it to her…you have Nathaniel. God, I hated her! She couldn’t keep her mouth shut…had to talk to her brother…had to apologize…wanted me to call him uncle. I said I’d rather die than admit I was related to a slut’s bastard…and he laughed and said the feeling was mutual. Then he had the nerve to beg my mother to keep the secret…for the sake of his children…”

  She referred obliquely to the cruelty she and Nathaniel had inflicted on Lily. “I told Nathaniel no one would help her…she was such a bitch they never went near her. Even Peter wasn’t that bothered…he said the troll would always tell him if things got worse. Blame her for neglect…she’s the one who walked away and left me to deal with it…as if I were the servant…”

  I’d have let her run her head even farther into the noose if she hadn’t decided to grind her heel into my hip bone. Enough was enough. I was out from under her heel and on my feet while her gabby mouth was still flapping about her status in life, and she wasn’t ready for the pile-driving charge that drove her against the Aga rail and knocked the wind out of her.

  I don’t think she noticed when I slipped her right wrist through a fabric loop and pulled it tight, but she certainly struggled as I grabbed her left wrist and yanked it the other way. “My God, you really are a piece of work,” I said in disgust before raising my eyes to the webcam on a cupboard next to the sink. “Did you get all that, Jess?”

  Jess pushed the scullery door wide and the sound of her hard-drive fan intruded noticeably into the kitchen. “The camera in the hall failed,” she said, coming in, “but the three in here worked perfectly. Are you OK? It looked pretty bad on screen but as you didn’t yell—” she broke off to stare at Madeleine. “I don’t think she’s ever taken on anyone of her own size before…just frail old ladies and children.”

  I rubbed my shoulder gingerly where a bruise was beginning to form. “Not so different from MacKenzie then. I wonder what else they have in common.”

  “Arrogance,” said Jess, examining the other woman curiously as if she’d never seen her before. “I should have guessed it was Dad who wanted it kept secret. He used to say if any of us pretended we were better than we were, he’d disown us. I thought it was because we came from working stock, but now—” she jerked her chin at Madeleine—“I think he was terrified we’d turn into this.”

  MADELEINE’S IGNORANCE of Jess’s proficiency in computer technology and film-making meant we could only convince her of what we had by moving Jess’s hard-drive and monitor into the kitchen, playing the scene again from the perspective of three different cameras and demonstrating how easy it was to copy the images to disk. She harangued us fluently throughout, accusing us of blackmail and kidnap—both of which were true—but when I retrieved a pack of envelopes from the office and started addressing them to the inhabitants of Winterbourne Barton, she quieted down.

  “You can have a go at persuading the neighbours it was a joke or a piece of play-acting,” I told her, “but it doesn’t show you in your best light, does it?” I glanced thoughtfully at the muted monitor. “I wonder what your smart friends in London will make of it.”

  Madeleine stopped trying to wrestle her wrists free and took a deep breath. “What do you want?”

  “Me personally? I’d like to see you charged with attempted murder of your mother and assault on me but”—I gestured towards Jess—“your cousin’s even less inclined to admit a relationship with you than her father was…and she won’t have a choice if we send these disks out and the police become involved. The easiest solution will be for you to instruct Lily’s solicitor to sell this house. That way you can cut your ties with Winterbourne Barton and Jess can keep the secret.”

  She gave an angry laugh. “Is this some sort of joke?”

  “No.” I wrote on another envelope.

  She wrenched at the fabric tape again. “I’ll have you prosecuted for this.”

  “I doubt it. You may be the stupidest woman I’ve ever met, but you’re not that stupid.”

  “Go ahead,” she spat. “Make as many copies as you like. There’s no better proof that you set out to blackmail me. What does a film prove? I’ll say you held me prisoner and forced me to do it.”

  “The cameras are still running,” I said mildly. “Every word that comes out of your mouth is being recorded.”

  “Yours, too,” she hissed. “Are you going to try and claim this isn’t blackmail?”

  “No. We’ll give you one hour to make up your mind—we’ll even let you consult with Nathaniel via loudspeaker phone—but if you don’t call your mother’s solicitor at the end of it…and if he doesn’t confirm to Jess that the house will be up for sale at the end of my tenancy”—I put my hand on the envelopes—“these will be on everyone’s doorsteps in the morning. Including Bagley’s.”

  “
What if I refuse? Are you planning to keep me prisoner forever? What do you think Nathaniel’s going to do when I tell him you’ve tied me up?”

  “Give you some good advice, I hope. We’ll let you go at the end of the hour whatever you decide. You can have your interview with Bagley and say whatever you like about us. You can do the same in the village. You’ll have twelve hours to convince everyone that we forced you to implicate yourself before we mail-drop our version.”

  “You’re mad,” she said in disbelief. “The police won’t let you.”

  “Then take the gamble,” I urged. “You’ve nothing to lose.”

  None of us spoke again until Jess had connected the speaker phone from the office to the socket in the kitchen. She set the dial tone buzzing through the amplifier. “Is he at the flat?” she asked Madeleine. “OK.” She punched in a series of numbers from a piece of notepaper. “Your hour starts as soon as he picks up.”

  Madeleine wasted the first five minutes by gabbling at high speed and high volume about being taken prisoner by me and Jess, forced to say and do things for blackmail and being threatened with the sale of the house. It made sense to her and us, but none at all to Nathaniel. He could hardly get a word in edgewise, and when he did her strident voice overrode him, ordering him to listen.

  I was interested by Jess’s reaction. She sat impassively, staring at the monitor, apparently uninterested in the exchange until Madeleine called Nathaniel a moron. With a hiss of frustration, she picked up the receiver and spoke into it. “This is Jess. The situation is this…” She explained it succinctly in a few sentences, then put him back on loudspeaker. “Now you can talk to Madeleine again. You’ve got fifty minutes.”

  There was a short hesitation. “Are you listening, Jess? Is the other woman listening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you recording this conversation?”

  “We’re filming it.”

  “Christ!”

  “Stop being—” Madeleine began.