They’d held their tongues for the duration of the funeral, but a degree of anger and speculation about the circumstances of her death, and the no-show of her own sister, mother, nephew and niece, now began to bubble under the surface as they walked the short distance from chapel to churchyard. The horse’s hooves clattered down the lane, Ellen’s coffin inside the glass chamber immersed in flowers. She’d wanted the same Service and send-off as Aaron, and Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of that occasion, even though he had only been a child at the time. Aaron’s funeral had been shocking and devastating, with people openly howling in grief, not least his widow. He glanced around as the procession made its way to Ellen’s final resting place, half-expecting to glimpse two small, darkly clad figures watching from the shadows. But today there was nothing, just a sharp breeze that flapped the black skirts and coattails of the mourners about them, whipping up the undercurrent of their discontent.
‘Victor lived next door, didn’t he? Yes, and what a disgrace it was to have built that monstrosity and taken all of her view – a nice woman like that. Just nasty. Spite Hall indeed! Well, no doubt he was proud of himself? And what about Nell, his wife? Where were they when those poor women needed help – with no power and no phone and the old lady fallen in the road? No, and you never saw them in chapel, neither. And how come as he’d had enough money to buy those mills? Oh, didn’t you know? Yes, Vic Holland owned the lot now - the mills, Alders Farm, Wish Cottage, most of Grytton, and Danby Grange too… He never? Well I didna know that.’
Ellen Danby was well-liked, never failing to provide flower arrangements for Chapel or cakes for fund-raising events, and she often read the Sunday Service. Everyone was of the opinion she’d been a real lady, quietly spoken and kind. Oh, they all had stories to tell. Many of the workers had been unable to read or write, never having been to school or only until the age of eleven, and Ellen had patiently given up her time to teach them. They found out only now just how many she’d helped. Something of a sad creature who had never recovered after losing her young husband so tragically, she would be greatly missed.
On the Danby family plot close to the south west wall of Ludsmoor Church, Ellen’s coffin was lowered into the ground, and the mourners now silent, bowed their heads until the burial concluded.
“Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear sister here departed, we therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.”
Marion, Rosa, and Vivien threw handfuls of dirt onto the coffin and with handkerchiefs pressed tightly to their faces, waited for the rest of the mourners to trail away and leave them alone for a few moments. Sherry and sandwiches had been laid on at the village hall, and it had been a long, cold, miserable few hours. But there was gossip. They could hear it still, trailing on the wind.
‘Something doesna sit right. Agnes should have been ’ere. And where was that granddaughter? Wouldn’t she be about twenty now? Old enough to attend her grandmother’s funeral, any road. You could excuse the old woman – she were ninety-odd, but what about Victor? What’s his excuse? And Grace? Yes, and it’s funny as that one’s not ’ere when ’ou went to Violet Bailey’s funeral but not ’er own auntie’s less than a week later. Is she at home, then? Oh aye, been seen with that fancy man of hers, as well. Not the husband of the woman who was murdered? Aye, been out with him since it ’appened an’ all. Well, that’s disgraceful. I think as there’s something amuck, don’t you?’
***
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Marion and Rosa Danby
Marion and Rosa were the last mourners to leave their mother’s graveside. The dull, grey afternoon had finally given way to sleety rain and their smart, black court shoes sank into the mud. Neither had realised just how highly their mother had been regarded and sadness hung over them in a cloud as they walked across the churchyard and out through the lychgate. Neither spoke.
Half way up School Lane towards the village hall, Marion stopped and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, Rosa, I can’t face them.”
Rosa hesitated, in two minds. What to do? People would expect them to show their faces and Vivien would already be there, handing round trays of sherry, ham and tongue sandwiches, sausage rolls and home-made pastries. All those sorrowful eyes on them, though – all that pity. And the questions - face to face nosy-parker questions about Lana and Grace and Vic. And was it true they got lost in their own woods? What a shame the old lady wasn’t found until too late.
She looked at her sister’s stricken face and nodded. “Neither can I. To be honest, I’d like to go straight home. I want to feel the sadness and let it all sink in – to give in to the grief, if that makes sense?”
Marion reached for one of her hands. “It’s all those eyes. All those searching eyes. All the staring and people waiting for us to cry.”
“Don’t get upset, Marion, dear. We’ll not go. People will just have to understand.”
“What about Vivien? Do you think—?”
“What about Vivien?” came their sister’s voice.
They wheeled round, surprised to see Vivien so close behind.
“We were just saying, we can’t really face the stares and the questions,” Rosa explained. “Would you mind if we didn’t go - if we just went home instead? Only we’ve both been ill recently too, and Marion’s still not feeling too good.” Her eyes suddenly welled with unshed tears.
“It’s catching up on us,” Marion added quietly. “Trying to look after Mum when neither of was well, and Lana too. And now this—”
“Actually,” Vivien said. “I was coming to find you. Our Vic’s invited us to his place for a drink instead of the village hall. Apparently Mr Caruthers is there.”
Marion and Rosa stared at their younger sister aghast. “Caruthers? Caruthers as in the solicitor, Caruthers?”
Vivien flushed slightly, such a faint sheen of rosewater pink that no one other than those closest to her would ever have noticed. She shrugged. “Nell came to the funeral. I didn’t spot her until right at the end of the Service as we were leaving. Anyway, she was the one who gave me the message.”
“Nice of his wife to turn up, at least,” said Rosa.
“Sent to do his dirty work, more like,” said Marion.
Vivien ignored her. “Vic’s had a bad chest, apparently.”
“Where was Grace? Has she got a bad chest as well?”
Vivien shrugged. “Agnes didn’t want her to go and she does as she’s told, as you well know, Marion.”
“Oh, so you’ve been to see them, then?”
Vivien looked right through her.
“Honestly, you’d think they’d let bygones be bygones, wouldn’t you?” Rosa said. “At a time like this and after all these years? Agnes was her sister, for God’s sake.”
“Well, it’s not up to us to judge, is it?” said Vivien. “We don’t know what really happened before we were even born, do we?”
“I know our mother was dropped like a hot stone when she married Aaron Danby. And I know it’s because Agnes wanted him for herself. She couldn’t stand that her younger sister was pretty and likeable and kind; that the richest and most handsome man in the county chose her sister instead of herself. Despite the witchcraft.”
Vivien’s eyes flashed. “Witchcraft? What witchcraft’s this, Marion? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, don’t give me that, Viv. You know what Annie and Agnes get up to. In fact, you’re cheek by jowl with them. You’ve been going up there to check that they’re all right when you could have come down to help us look after Mother—”
“I did come down. I can’t be bloody everywhere, and don’t you—”
“And you’re not averse to a bi
t of witchcraft yourself, either, are you?”
“Stop it!” said Rosa. “Just stop it. We buried our mother today and she’s not cold in her grave yet. Have some respect.”
Marion and Vivien both looked away, at anywhere but each other.
After a few more moments of uneasy silence, Rosa sighed. “Come on then. We’d better go. It’s getting dark already and we’re soaked through. I don’t know why Mr Caruthers is at Vic’s house and not ours, but I should imagine it’s important or he wouldn’t be.”
The three sisters walked along the rest of School Lane towards the village without speaking. The light was fading quickly now and the houses lining either side of Moody Street lay in darkness. There were no stars or streetlights to light the way, and their court shoes thudded dully on the wet road. Ahead lay the gloomy silence of the woods and the fork turning down to Grytton. As they drew nearer, Marion searched out Rosa’s hand and gripped it meaningfully twice in quick succession. Rosa responded in the same way.
Something was coming they weren’t going to like. Something that would change their lives irrevocably. And there was no choice but to keep walking towards it.
***
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Spite Hall
Marion and Rosa Danby
The unmade lane was pitted with potholes, the surface awash with running water; and with the forest on either side the evening plunged into gloom, chilled and dank with the smell of mud and moss.
The sisters’ unspoken words lay heavily between them.
“It was a nice Service anyway,” Rosa said, to break the silence.
Neither Marion nor Vivien replied.
“A good turn-out for her?”
With no response Rosa sighed and tried again, “Is Harry not coming down with us, Viv?”
“He’s still working or he would have done.”
Rosa blinked back the tears, realising her gaffe. Harry and Bill would at this very moment be burying their mother. “Yes, of course. Stupid of me.”
From the edge of the woods a barn owl screeched, its cry raw and unearthly.
“Who’s got the children?” Rosa said.
“Arthur’s old enough now. They’ll be fine ’til I get back and then…”
“Yes, yes of course.”
The gulf of silence opened between them once more and they walked on for a further five minutes or so, until finally an ink swell of water loomed ahead, and a cool breath of air wafted off the lake.
“We’re almost there,” said Rosa.
Marion stopped, forcing the other two to turn and look at her. “I can’t stand all this bloody small talk. Vivien, just tell us what the hell’s going on because I’m not going in there unless you do. Why are we here – what’s the real reason? Tell us!”
“Tell, you what?” said Vivien.
“You know very well what. We had an appointment with Caruthers next Wednesday in Danby, a full week after Mum’s funeral, so how come Vic couldn’t wait until then? It’s downright bloody disrespectful. He didn’t show up for the funeral but he can get the solicitor in quick enough. So what’s in it for him that he hasn’t had already? Isn’t he rich enough?”
“How the bloody hell do you expect me to know?” Vivien snapped.
“Shush, keep your voices down,” Rosa hissed.
A matter of yards away the lion-topped gateposts to Spite Hall were clearly visible, behind them a long, shrub-lined driveway tapering away in a tail of vapour.
Regardless of the proximity, Marion fired straight back at Vivien as if Rosa hadn’t even spoken. “Of course you know. You know everything. Only here’s the thing, Viv, so do I! I don’t want to but I just do, and yes, you know damn well what I’m talking about. Something very unpleasant is about to happen to me and Rosa, not to mention Snow, and you know what it is. We’ve done nothing to deserve this, but if you know what’s coming you should bloody well say so – we’re your sisters. Where the hell’s your loyalty?”
“And I told you I don’t know anything. Are you calling me a liar? And what about Snow, anyway? She’s illegitimate and she’s mad and she should be in a home. If anyone’s been lying it’s been you. About her.”
A sharp crack caused all three to physically jump and wing round.
A white faced girl with deadpan eyes was standing on the fringe of the woods, staring directly at them. Her stocky figure seemed to be rooted in the ground, moon-silver hair long and unkempt.
“Snow! You made us jump,” Marion said. She held out her hand. “Come here, darling.”
Vivien pulled her coat tighter to her chest. “Bloody, spooky mare.” She glared at Marion. “You’re surely not bringing her in here with us?”
“Oh, I am,” said Marion, as Snow lumbered over. “She’s my daughter, and besides, her grandmother will have left her something.”
“So why didn’t you take her to the funeral, then? Why didn’t she go to school? If she’s so normal and you’re so proud of her. Or shall I spell it out? You’re in denial, Marion, and you always have been.”
“People stare at her as you well know. Why would I put her through that? For Christ’s sake, Viv, have a heart. Oh, I’m sorry, you haven’t got one, have you?”
“Cut it out, both of you. This isn’t doing anyone any good.”
“The dumb bitch should be in a home, Marion. And you know it.”
A bank of fog had rolled in across the lake and begun to curl around the stone pillars, sinking into the driveway. Marion took hold of Snow’s hand and yanked her forwards. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
***
Vic and Nell Holland had been living comfortably in Spite Hall with their three young boys for the past ten years. Vic, at thirty-seven, had swelled with the years into a rotund figure with several rolls of belly fat. Like his mother he sported a hawk’s nose and blackcurrant eyes; although unlike his mother he wasn’t in the least bit sinewy. Nor was he one to skulk in the shadows. Vic smirked and swaggered, eyeballing women straight in the chest, letting his gaze wander all the way down before slowly working his way back up again with a contemptuous sneer, as if he found them sadly wanting. And Nell, who had been in service as a maid, waited-on him and the three boys as if she was still employed. Rarely did she make eye contact with anyone outside the immediate family, and if she spoke at all her gaze always flicked to her husband first. It was said that for much of the year she hid away because of the bruises to her face and arms. ‘Always covered up she was,’ said the villagers, ‘always wore long sleeves and high necks, did that one….very suspect….’
Today she answered the doorbell so quickly it was as if she’d been waiting behind it. Ushering them inside, she offered to take their coats and indicated the library. It was funny, Rosa thought as they followed her down the oak-panelled corridor, she’d never noticed how tiny Nell was – less than five feet tall and so narrow across the shoulders that from the back she could easily be mistaken for a child.
The library was the last room they came to, opulently furnished with an imposing marble fireplace and a large bay window heavily draped with swags of burgundy velvet. By daylight no doubt it would afford a spectacular view of the lake.
Vivien marched straight in, nodding to Vic before shaking hands with Mr Caruthers – an elderly man with reptilian eyes that peered over the top of his bifocals. “How do, Seth?”
Seth? Frowning, Rosa followed her sister’s cue, albeit less enthusiastically. “How do you do, Mr Caruthers.”
He held out a waxen-white, slender hand and she touched the ends of the fingers as if it was a wet fish. Normally an advocate of the firm handshake it gave her some small pleasure to withhold it. The atmosphere, she thought, with or without a gift of clairvoyance, was charged with a foreboding even she could feel. For once she could empathise with Snow, who had melded seamlessly into a corner by the window, and now gently rocked back and forth. Best place to be right now, she thought, noticing the look on Vivien’s face as Marion walked in.
M
arion deliberately avoided contact with both men, choosing instead to perch on the brim of a high-backed chair.
She addressed the solicitor sharply, “What’s this about then, that it couldn’t wait for our appointment next week? It would have been more respectful, would it not?”
Rosa’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Vivien’s eyes flashed and Nell, weighed down with a tray of drinks, hesitated in the doorway.
Mr Caruthers looked over at his client. “Victor?”
Vic had his back to the fire and took his time, letting his full attention roam all over Marion’s body.
She waited for his eyes to level with hers before continuing, “And you! We’ve not seen hide nor hair of you in all these years, dear cousin and neighbour; and you were apparently unwell enough to attend your aunt’s funeral, yet here you are looking as fat, hale and hearty as ever.”
Astonished at the appearance of fuchsia starbursts on Marion’s cheeks, at the trembling hands gripping the armrests, but mostly at a forthright aggression she’d only ever witnessed once before, Rosa was rendered speechless.
The fire crackled and sparked, and no one spoke as Nell put down a tray of quivering, tinkling sherry glasses and proceeded to hand them round one by one. Clearly Vic was waiting for her to leave. Her hands shook under his impatient gaze and once everyone had a glass she hurried to the door and closed it behind her. Shortly afterwards there came the sound of running footsteps and doors banging upstairs – the boys evidently being kept out of the way.
“And what about Grace?” Marion said. “Where’s she, then? Do we have only the one cousin now? Only I remember there being two?”
He was using silence as a weapon in its own right, Rosa thought, watching Victor sip his sherry once, twice, three times – each with a little slurp and a little gulp.
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