‘Man, I’m sorry.’
‘You’re not at all the person I thought you were, Dan.’
There was no malice; it was simply a statement of fact.
It was the last moment when he could have changed things, but it hardly existed, skittering past without trace. He fiddled with the cloth of his T-shirt, the blood drying dark, and then he left.
Oscar came for her. He stood for a while, watching, thinking she might crumble but she was still and quiet, her feet firmly planted across a deep joint in the flagstones, her sadness a strength.
‘I made a mistake.’ She raised her eyes.
He beckoned. ‘Come inside. We’ll talk to your father.’
‘Yes, in a moment. If you could wait, just a moment, Mr Quersley – if you have the time.’
‘Yes, of course – I’ll wait.’
Ernest rose for his daughter’s arrival, pulling a chair for her from the corner of the room, its tapestried seating sprouting threads. Oscar had opened a window and was standing in the cool, damp air, gazing out into the dark shrubbery.
‘I’m sorry.’ Ellie sat down. ‘I wanted to think about things.’
‘They have gone, though, haven’t they?’ Ernest shivered, glaring at the open window.
‘The squatters? Yes, Papa – I believe they’ve gone.’
‘Damn good riddance.’
‘Indeed. A relief,’ Oscar agreed. ‘And so our bluster has been spent and we come – at last – to me. And to our arrangement. Our agreement.’
‘I’m not going to marry you, Mr Quersley.’ It was as though she could put it aside, a minor inconvenience.
Ellie looked at her father. ‘You should never have set guns on them, Papa.’
‘He was grazed, that’s all. It’s a rite of passage, one’s first wounding; he’ll be all the better for it.’ But Ernest’s ebullience was ragged. He scratched at his head.
‘Don’t do it again, Papa.’ She was in charge now; she felt that. ‘Don’t ever do it again. It will only cause trouble.’
‘Well, in the long run, perhaps you’re right, Ellie. Yes, quite right, I’m sure. As you say.’
Oscar pulled at the hem of his jacket as though to brace himself. ‘Ellie, I’ve waited some time to talk to you. I don’t think we need to concern ourselves with the squat again, or those persons. Not just now.’
She found she could look at him quite steadily, almost as though she did not know him. She was tired of him; he was ridiculous. Smaller too, she thought. More wizened.
‘Look,’ she began, ‘Mr Quersley —’
But her majesty infuriated him. ‘No, Ellie. No, Ellie. Don’t talk to me like that. You have a duty now that we all recognize. I simply want to make arrangements.’
There was the slightest of noises, like the distant baying of a lone hound, eerie in the dark.
Ernest started. ‘The frogs. Quersley, was that the frogs?’
Oscar ignored the question. He came closer to Ellie, until he was standing directly in front of her chair, almost touching her, but he spoke to Ernest.
‘I’m not leaving here until my claim is recognized.’
‘Really, Quersley – I know we said that we—’
‘We shook hands, Barton.’
‘Indeed. But think about it, man. Would I really give away my daughter for some kind of wager? For God’s sake!’ He stepped towards Ellie, but Oscar blocked his path and he came to a hesitant stop at the side of her chair. ‘I never meant to go through with it, Ellie. No sensible man would ever have fallen for it.’
‘You’re reneging?’ Oscar was sharp.
‘There’s nothing to renege on, Quersley.’ Ernest spun round to face Oscar. ‘Consider it null and void. That sort of thing – it’s just not on. What kind of man do you think I am?’
‘I do not consider it null and void. I shot the boy, Mr Barton and the agreement was sound. You know that.’
Ellie wanted to stand up but Quersley had her trapped there, blockaded by the exact weave of his tweed and the hurried rise and fall of his breathing. She wriggled in her seat. The stuffing sighed.
‘Ellie, I was just – gambling,’ Ernest said. ‘That’s all. I know, I shouldn’t have. But you can’t doubt me, Ellie – you must know how much I love you?’
She could not see the expression on her father’s face.
‘Let me talk.’ She spoke to neither of them in particular, facing out through the gap between them. ‘I think I probably have the right to say something about this.’
‘Actually, I’m not sure you do,’ Oscar replied. ‘We know your wishes, Ellie. You’ve made them perfectly plain. But, frankly, that’s not the matter for discussion. It’s all decided – long decided.’ He paused and stuffed his hands in his pockets, an attempt at insouciance. ‘And, as I’ve been trying to make clear, it’s simply a case of agreeing practical arrangements.’
The frogs called again, the sound clearer now, more desolate.
‘Quersley, close the damned window.’
Oscar did not move.
Hemmed in, her frustration uncontainable, Ellie scrambled onto the seat of the chair. She bobbed gently on the old padding, giving the fleeting impression that this was all some kind of frivolous game, but she was taller than both her father and her suitor now, and her face was absolutely calm, all doubts gone.
‘There’s no reason why I should marry you, Mr Quersley. I tried to tell you… At the van, I tried to explain, but you wouldn’t listen.’ She did not mind the quiet, or the way they looked at her. ‘This agreement you think you’ve made with Papa – it’s nothing. I don’t understand it; I don’t understand how you could do such a thing. Surely you knew that Papa would never be bound by it? Surely you knew that I would never respect something like that? Not even before… not even then.’ She smiled at him. ‘You’ve been foolish, Mr Quersley.’
He flinched. ‘No, Ellie – I’ve not been foolish. You are surely aware that even had this agreement not been entered into… well, you know, of course, that the men and I have worked for considerable time towards this outcome. It is not foolishness.’ He took a deep breath. ‘You’ve had your head addled by that squatter and you’re forgetting yourself. Don’t you remember? What your father has done?’
‘Ellie? You don’t really believe I meant to barter you?’ Ernest shook his head energetically. ‘The man’s talking poppycock. Worse than that – if he thinks I would let him anywhere near you—’
But Oscar refused to give up. ‘Ellie, you can’t stay with him – you won’t be able to trust him. And if you were to leave, what would you do beyond Marlford? There’s a very good reason for you to marry me, Ellie: it’s the only option you have.’
From where she was standing, she could see the hair thinning on the top of Oscar’s head, his scalp stretching as he talked. Its indecent pallor disgusted her.
‘I’m not sure that’s true any longer, Mr Quersley.’
‘Ellie, be sensible. All these years we’ve been preparing for this. Nothing has changed.’
‘I think it has. Surely it has.’
‘What, Ellie?’ His face split into a haggard grin. ‘Prove it to me. What? It seems to me that you’re still here, alone, with your father. You’re not free of any of it, of me or Marlford, or the memory of the girls or—’
‘That’s not true. It can’t be true. Not now.’ She scrambled away from him over the arm of the chair and thumped down near her father. ‘Don’t say that. Leave me alone.’
Ernest caught her by the wrist. ‘What does he mean, “the girls”? What does he mean, Ellie? What has he told you?’
She was impatient. She did not notice the catch in her father’s voice, his urgency.
‘What, Papa?’ She pulled free from his grip.
There was a brief pause, nothing more than a natural hiatus of speech, but it seemed – in that instant – to draw the silence of the manor upon them. The moment stretched: it had colour to it, midnight blue, and the texture of fine satin running across their skin, barely felt.
Oscar and Ellie both looked at Ernest.
‘What do you know, Ellie, about the girls?’ he asked very quietly, afraid to tear through with his words.
‘Mr Barton—’ Oscar came forward.
But Ernest put up a hand sharply. ‘I’m speaking to Ellie.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And, actually, I think I’d prefer it if you left now. There must be work at the farm.’
As if prompted, the frogs began their song again, revelling in the damp evening air. ‘And there’re the damned frogs, Quersley. The frogs. For goodness’ sake.’ He closed his eyes, pained by the incessant croak. ‘Ellie? What has he told you?’
She gathered herself. ‘Mr Quersley simply gave me the facts of my family history. I asked him to – I didn’t want to ask you. But I felt I needed to know.’
‘He shouldn’t have breathed a word.’ Ernest glared at Quersley. ‘You were sworn to secrecy, man.’
‘No, Papa – that’s not fair. I asked him.’ Ellie spoke with quiet firmness, somewhere between anger and grief, like the mixing of watercolours before the tint comes clear. ‘I relied on him, Papa. I had to. I asked him and he told me. He can’t be blamed for that.’
Oscar was slipping away.
With an unexpected dart, Ernest grabbed him and pulled him by the flap of his jacket, hauling him back from the doorway. ‘Don’t you dare, man. Don’t you sneak off like a coward. Stand here and tell me what you’ve said to her.’
Oscar tried to summon some dignity, shaking himself, disgruntled, his jacket still bunched in Ernest’s fist. ‘There were things I believed she should know.’ He was too pompous.
‘You betrayed Elizabeth? You poisoned Ellie against her own mother?’
‘No!’ Oscar screamed, despairing.
‘Papa – don’t say that.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Ellie, but he’s a worm, a bloody slug.’
The noise of the frogs swelled, the distance to the mere disappearing in the murmur of their song; it was as if they surrounded the manor now, besieging it.
‘He’s only ever been respectful to my mother’s memory,’ Ellie said. ‘He’s only ever remembered her and brought her to me. When you would have me forget her, ignore her, as though she’d never been here – it’s Mr Quersley who’s given me my mother all these years.’
Ellie was weeping now, finally. She slapped at her cheeks, angry with the tears. ‘I couldn’t have lived here without her, Papa. I needed her.’
Ernest yanked again at Quersley’s jacket. ‘Tell her.’
‘I suggest you leave matters as they stand,’ Oscar replied. ‘What harm is there in it?’
‘What harm is there? Quersley, it’s corrupt – a corrupt memory – some kind of fable that you’ve spun for her. I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Quersley, but there’s harm in that – all kinds of harm. Tell her.’
Oscar looked at Ellie. Her face was pale and hard, but across her mouth there was a flicker of misgiving, the fleeting cirrus of tangled thoughts.
‘I’m sorry, Ellie.’
She did not understand.
Ernest shook him. ‘What good is that, man? Some weedy apology and a long face? We need more than that.’
‘Papa, really – it’s fine. I don’t want this now. I just want to go to my room.’
The sound of the frogs crescendoed once again through the open window. Ernest let go of Oscar’s jacket and pulled his head away from the noise, as though he could escape it. ‘Ellie,’ he moaned. ‘The frogs.’
‘Yes, Papa. I’m sorry. I’m sure Mr Quersley—’
‘No – don’t you see? Don’t you see? I can’t bear the frogs.’
‘I know that, Papa. But it’s a humid evening – I’m not sure there’s much we can do. I’m sure Mr Quersley will resume his patrol.’
There was just the song, the strangely musical gulp.
Ernest looked at her wildly and pulled at his hair, his own tears now shining back at hers. ‘Because it’s those beautiful girls – don’t you see, Ellie? My daughters. My beautiful daughters. All the time, I hear it, reminding me. Crying to me from the mere as though I could just… if I was just quicker, if I was just braver, I could save them. If I was just a better man, I could reach down and I could save them.’
All his bluster was stripped away. He was a skinny old man crushed by the unconscionable burden of the past, bent over, leaning on the chair for support, his face drawn, his tears squeezing from him. His loneliness was absolute.
Ellie walked slowly across the room and closed the window, pushing at it to make sure that it was tightly sealed. She stood still for a moment, as though examining something puzzling in the shrubbery, wrapping lengths of hair around her fingers and coiling them into a loose knot at the nape of her neck.
When she finally turned, she saw that Oscar had slumped into a chair, his head in his hands, while her father was at the sideboard, clinking his tumbler against the disappointing emptiness of the decanter.
‘It’s good that you – that there are regrets, Papa,’ she said. ‘That’s something at least.’
She had moved apart from him long ago, when Oscar Quersley had first told her the secret; she had simply stepped away, as though walking into an adjacent room, bricking up the exit behind her. She could not come back to him now. She did not know how.
‘It’s right that you’re sorry.’ She glanced at Oscar. ‘Perhaps you’ll see to the frogs, Mr Quersley.’
He did not raise his head or answer.
It was Ernest who spoke, his question coming slowly. ‘What have you done, Quersley?’
‘I needed to know, Papa. That’s all.’ Ellie was too tired for her father’s drama. ‘Mr Quersley explained about my mother; he told me how you – how you took the baby girls and drowned them all.’
It sounded quite ordinary, the way she said it, as though it could be put aside.
Ernest groaned. He held his empty glass towards her, as if he were simply bemoaning the lack of whisky. ‘Do you believe that, Ellie? Do you think that of me?’ He winced, and went on, answering his own questions. ‘I know what you think I am. I know now – but I had no idea. Quersley, how could you? For God’s sake – she’s lived with me all these years… my own daughter believes I’m some kind of…’ The word would not come out.
Ellie frowned. ‘What are you talking about, Papa?’
‘What am I talking about? About the girls. I’m talking about the girls, Ellie.’
She could not bring herself to look at him. He seemed to be in such wrung pain that it made her doubt herself.
‘Oh, Ellie, of course it wasn’t me.’
He reached for her again. She shrank back.
‘But you gave the order, didn’t you, Papa? Didn’t you give the order to have them killed?’ She could not have been wrong about this, not for such a terribly long time. ‘I don’t understand. Mr Quersley’s father took the babies to the mere in a wheelbarrow and drowned them. That did happen? At the mere? They are dead, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, Ellie,’ Ernest replied. ‘They are dead.’
‘Then that at least is true.’
‘Yes, that at least is true.’
Oscar coughed lightly, clearing his throat. He spoke quietly, through the clutch of his hands. ‘It wasn’t your father that had the girls disposed of, Ellie. I might have misled you.’
‘Misled me?’ Ellie looked at them both, but could not grasp the meaning of their expressions. ‘That’s not possible. Not with something like this. What do you mean? Mr Quersley – what do you mean?’
More than anything, she was aware of her own heaviness, like thick folds of dead skin draping to the floor. For a moment she closed her eyes and let her head loll, but she could not slough it off. She found she had to be there with them, the weight unshakeable.
‘Please. I don’t understand. You have to explain… Papa? I’ve always thought you… Mr Quersley always insisted it was at your instigation. You decided, in consultation with the men, that the girls were a nuisanc
e and best disposed of. Isn’t that true? If that’s not true – who then? Who killed the babies?’
Oscar raised his face slightly. ‘Well, my father did. You know that.’ He paused. ‘He performed the act, followed the orders. But it was Elizabeth, Lady Wilshere – it was your mother – who requested that it be done.’
Ellie wanted to laugh at such absurdity. ‘My mother? No. That can’t be right. Why are you saying that? There’s no reason why she’d… Mr Quersley, you’ve always been unequivocal – and why on earth would she do that? She wouldn’t do that.’
She knew, for sure. She had seen her mother’s poise and grace, imagined it and honed it.
Oscar shrugged. ‘It may be true, I grant you, that I’ve sometimes suggested your father was more – more intimately involved in your sisters’ deaths but—’
‘No, not “suggested”, Mr Quersley. It’s been quite clear. You’ve always been quite clear, quite certain.’ This was the worst yet: nothing as it had seemed, everything an illusion, stranding her. ‘I don’t understand. Papa? I don’t understand.’
Ernest sighed. ‘It’s caddish to bring it all up, Ellie. It’s best left. That’s why I never said anything. Whatever she was, she has a right to rest in peace.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Ellie’s voice was hard and high. ‘Papa, you’re not going along with Mr Quersley’s story, are you? Not now? Surely you’ll own up to it, won’t you? You’ll admit what you did? You won’t let Mr Quersley say these things about my mother?’
‘I’m sorry, my dear.’
‘What do you mean, sorry? No, Papa – you have to be clear… do you mean you’re sorry for what you did? Is that it? You’re sorry for killing the babies – yes, I can see that… I’ve always thought you might be sorry. If you’d just say it – so I’m clear.’
‘Ellie, I can’t say it. I can’t say it because it’s not my fault. Not all of it. Not this. Ellie, I’m sorry because Quersley’s right in what he says. Your mother didn’t take to the girls. She didn’t want them.’
‘But that can’t be right.’
‘She was from another age, Ellie. A throwback of some kind. That’s all I’ve ever been able to say. When she married me – well, you know, I’m just a Barton. She got the house she wanted and the estate, but she had certain… expectations. She felt her lineage very strongly. Very strongly, indeed. I didn’t suit her sense of things. I was never very good at being what she wanted.’ He smiled at her, loosely. ‘Even now – after all these years… you see yourself – I’m not very good at all this.’
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