“You’ve made me forget where I was up to now!” exclaimed Louise, her voice becoming suddenly high and childlike.
“You...you were just telling me that you’d previously met Debra Addison,” Desmond replied with a warning look to his mother. By her lack of response on entering the room and seeing Louise, he realised that she’d been forewarned, so he knew that Gwilym had understood his message. Knowing that the other man was alerted meant that his own task was now simply to keep Louise talking – and he and his mother alive – long enough for the Welshman to resolve the situation.
“Oh yes, yes, that was it! I went to the offices of that vile newspaper. I... I thought that if I could only speak to someone...explain that they’d made a terrible mistake, that they’d then...then, they’d...Oh! I don’t know...print a retraction or something! Had they done so, it could all have ended there,” she whispered.
*
The three men made their increasingly cautious way along the cramped, dark corridor. Then, suddenly it seemed, they heard voices ahead of them. Almost unconsciously, the breathing of all three became shallower, lighter, as though even its inhalation and exhalation could trigger tragedy. Despite the increased tension, however, Gwilym felt some relief as he realised that the noises were, indeed, coming from the side sitting room.
They now had to decide whether to enter the house through the hidden doorway in either the large drawing room or the dining room. The latter was further away from the sitting room, but that very fact could be useful if they made even the slightest of noises leaving the protection of the passageway. Gwilym stopped suddenly as, turning a slight curve in the passage, he saw a small square of light hitting the wall ahead. Puzzled, he was confused for a second or so, until he suddenly recalled the small square opening high up in one of the oak panels lining the room.
*
“Then...then the real horror started. People who’d believed my father was innocent suddenly, once the paper came out, decided there must be something in it. After all, it was in the papers, so it must be true! Some, not many, but enough to hurt, started to avoid him, cross the road if they saw him approaching. Some even stopped attending his church, although they made it very widely known that they were still attending one, but in another village.”
Louise took a deep breath, then continued. “It broke my father very quickly, but my mother even quicker. She never read the gutter press, and, being virtually bed-ridden, might have been spared. My father had always before told my mother everything. They both had done that for each other, it was just the relationship that they’d been blessed with. Despite that, he said nothing to her and – how, I don’t know – shielded her from the ugliness. But then, of course, a ‘caring friend’ got involved. Told my mother – and then pretended surprise that she didn’t know! The shock finished her. She died, still totally believing in my father, but her body, and perhaps her spirit, had had too much pain, so...she just slipped away.”
Whether it was the stress of recalling the bitter memories, neither Desmond or his mother were certain of, but Louise’s breathing rapidly became shallower, and she was almost hyperventilating in her anguish. Then, from whatever reserves she had left, she controlled herself, paused a moment, then continued her dreadful story.
“Whatever fight my father still had left in his body left him the moment the last breath left hers. He couldn’t kill himself, his belief in the church’s teaching was too strong. I believe, though, that he willed himself to die – and, three weeks later, he did.”
*
Gwilym paused, and, standing well back and pulling his dark sweater over his face, risked a quick look through the small opening into the room.
“So, there you have it. The whole sad, sad story,” ended Louise quietly. The bleak sadness in her voice was something neither of her listeners ever wanted to hear from anyone ever again. Neither did or said anything to break the sudden silence that descended on the room. Even Huffny stopped squirming and trying to reach Desmond.
“As to the ‘how’ you mentioned,” Louise said eventually, and nodded towards Desmond. “That was the easy part. You have a clever son, Eleanor,” she said in an aside to the older woman, eerie in its apparent friendliness. “He’d worked it all out, even that it was me who called at the Voice’s offices, and that I’d had a bit of a set-to with the lovely Ms. Addison. When I accused her of destroying my family, she simply laughed in my face and said they’d used only the facts. She wasn’t responsible for what their readers thought as a result. And, anyway, how was I so sure nothing had happened? She sneered and shrugged her shoulders and told me to get over it, that it would all be forgotten in a fortnight. She sort of sneered again and added that it would personally take her considerably less than that!”
*
Gwilym’s quick look into the room showed that he was situated behind and above to the right of Desmond, which put him on Louise’s extreme left, looking across and slightly downwards. He saw to his relief that, if no sudden movement was made, she was unlikely to notice the small opening high in the wall and off to the side of her direct line of sight. He gestured to the two police officers, who each quietly looked through the opening, their experienced eyes swiftly telling them what was, and what was not, possible, should they need to move quickly.
*
“I hit her then. After that, I got kicked out of the offices – but not before Peter Wentworth appeared, attracted by the noise I was making, apparently. When I found out who he was, that he was the man in charge, the man who allowed – encouraged – such filth in his rag, I accused him of having blood on his soul and on his hands. He simply laughed too, waved his hands about and said, ‘Hey, love, where’s the blood? I don’t see any, do you?’ Then...then he said he’d see me off the premises; had me escorted to his office and closed the door.” She paused suddenly and then added in the smallest of voices. “And then he raped me.”
Her face, until then hard as rock, suddenly seemed to splinter as she re-lived the minutes of horror on the floor of the Editor’s plush office.
Not even Desmond and Eleanor’s gasps of shock stopped her narrative, however. It was as though, having held it, untold and festering, inside herself for so many years, she couldn’t, having started, now stop. Shaking her head slightly, as if to dismiss the imagery pounding inside it, and taking a deep breath, she continued. “Afterwards, he just laughed and said, ‘See, still no blood on my hands! No proof, no nothing! Not a lot you can do, love, is there?’ Well, it took a few years, but he got his answer. I showed him what I could do – and where the blood was. Oh yes, I certainly did.”
“That’s why you severed his hands?” Desmond asked, quietly.
“Yes, he had a lot of blood on them, then,” she smiled coldly. “Answered his question rather well, I thought, though not, perhaps, as he’d envisaged.”
“And why stake out Debra Addison like that?”
“It’s obviously, surely, Desmond,” said Eleanor suddenly. “It’s because that’s what you felt – indeed, what she did to your father, wasn’t it, my dear. What’s that phrase? Oh yes – they just hung him out to dry, didn’t they?” she finished gently.
Louise nodded tearfully. “Yes, my original plan was to have her humiliated publicly like she’d done so casually to my father. I’d heard about the cosmetic surgery going wrong, so I thought I’d stake her out, slash her clothes so she was naked and the rambling party would see her – and she’d feel just the tiniest bit of the humiliation she’d caused my father to feel.”
“So you didn’t intend to kill her?”
“No, I didn’t know she had a bad heart. Her death wasn’t planned; it was just a wonderful, wonderful bonus!” replied Louise with a sudden, and very eerie, calm. “She didn’t recognise me at your party, Eleanor, not at all. It was as though we’d never met! But, I could see her looking at me in ‘that way’. It was then that I made my plan. I played up to her, and arranged to meet her later. As you know, her house backs on to the common, so it
was easy enough when I went round later, after I’d picked up a knife, some rope and this.” She waved the gun around, much to Desmond’s alarm.
“It was almost funny to watch her face change when I produced the gun. She’d opened the door with a sort of glazed look, very unpleasant. She was almost smacking her lips at the thought of... Anyway, that soon changed, and once she realised I was in deadly earnest, she was surprisingly biddable, even as we slogged through the rain and cold up to Corbett’s field. She did try and get away when I produced the rope, but a quiet warning that the next time she moved like that would see her get a bullet in her knee made her very compliant again.”
“What happened then?” asked Desmond as Louise drifted away again, though the hand holding the gun never moved.
“Then? Oh, I told her who I was. Do you know, she still didn’t remember, not properly. Mind you, by that time, she had other things on her mind. I was cutting her clothes, and she realised what I intended, but she was tied up by then; I was in the guides, so I knew how to tie a good knot! Then, I went back to the cottage, where, unfortunately, Dan was awake and yelling all over the place. That was the last little piece for you, wasn’t it, Desmond? Hearing about the noise that disturbed people staying in another of the cottages?” On his nod, she continued. “Jon was in the pub tonight and told me about the Ellisons jumping ship and booking in – and what they’d said to Gwilym. I knew then that it was only a matter of time before someone – and I suspected it would be you, Desmond – put everything together, and that would be that,” she ended matter-of-factly.
“You know,” she continued after a moment, “once I’d dealt with the Addison,” she said, almost spitting the name, “I thought that was it; job done. Then, at the funeral, I saw Peter Wentworth. He didn’t recognise me either. But why would either of them, come to that? I was one of the little people that their kind despise, really, despite their talk of the ‘Great British Public’ and so on. Where was I? Oh yes, he also came onto me after the funeral; almost slobbering, he was. Then my second plan came into my mind, but, this time, I knew I’d go further. His hands had mauled and abused me – and he still thought they were free of blood! So be it. I arranged to meet him – told him I lived alone in Bellan’s Lane. Like a fool, he turned up – very promptly too, flattering, really! Then, as he reached out for me, I slashed at his hands with the sharpest of Jon’s axes I’d been able to find! Do you know, they came off so very easily. He was so much in shock that, for that one vital second, he didn’t even cry out, just sort of rocked on his feet, looking down where his hands had been. It gave me enough time to slash him round the throat so then he couldn’t. I heard someone coming, so I left quickly and went back to Dan – who, again, was yelling the place down,” she ended, sighing quietly.
*
A very quiet and very hurried conversation between the three men in the passageway, had Calderwood and Bulmer moving quietly to the second of the doorways set in the passage wall. It led to the dining room – furthest away from the side sitting room. If the door was unlocked, well and good; if it wasn’t, they’d wait until they heard the arrival of the Emergency Response Team, and, if they were needed, break it down. Gwilym, much to the relief and surprise of the two police officers elected to stay where he was. To them, he was out of any danger. To him, it was the closest he could get to Desmond and Eleanor – and to the threat that Louise presented to them both. Alone now, he could safely bring out the gun he’d brought with him from the pub. He had no intention of using it, unless it became necessary. Should, however, it did become necessary, he wouldn’t hesitate.
*
“That’s it, all of it. Now, all I have to do is finish it.” Louise nodded to herself. “Yes, that’s what I must do. The question is, of course, quite how I do that? Do I just shoot myself? Or do I shoot both of you and leave, hoping no one saw me come here? Hmm... a difficult one. The first way ends everything – literally – for me. The other, on the other hand, gives me at least a chance of living and getting away with it all. After all, to kill myself could mean they’d won after all. An interesting one, and I really don’t know how to answer it.” She nodded to herself after a moment, as though coming to a decision. “Yes, that’s it. I’ll just have to point the gun and see what it tells me to do.”
With that, she calmly started to lift the weapon and turned towards Desmond.
Chapter 19
The shock of the gunshot nearly gave Desmond a heart attack at the same moment as the bullet blew the gun out of Louise’s hand, before embedding itself deep in the padded arm of the settee.
Her scream, part pain, and part total shock from the completely unexpected turn of events, ricocheted round the room, and sent Huffny burrowing under Eleanor’s cardigan.
Calderwood and Bulmer, who’d been quietly moving to outside the door, heard Gwilym’s cry of ‘all clear’ and, bursting into the room, took one quick, appraising glance around, before Bulmer immediately called an ambulance. Eleanor calmly soothed Huffny, and then, passing her to Desmond, took over administering emergency first aid to Louise, who had now completely fallen apart, and was, at last, no threat to anyone. Gwilym quickly entered, and, seeing both Desmond and Eleanor were alright, started to breathe again.
No one noticed in the uproar of Louise’s wounding and collapse that Eleanor, after retrieving and calming the panicking puppy, had carefully put something down the side of her skirt. The gun disappeared, and only Gwilym noticed. They exchanged nods over the uproar. Had he not acted and removed the threat to her son, she would have done. But, she thought later, going to organise tea and coffee for everyone, it was better this way. Let everyone continue to think of her as just an old woman - one with strong views and a modicum of personality, to be sure - but essentially harmless. Better that way, until the day when her skills were really needed. In the meantime, she was as content now as she’d been thirty years ago, knowing that her son had someone who would protect him even as she herself would.
*
“You know, despite what she put us all through, I can’t help but feel desperately sorry for her,” remarked Desmond quietly as they sat with their late night drinks.
“A curious remark,” murmured Gwilym.
“No, not really. Louise was right, in a way. With Debra Addison, anyway. She didn’t intend to kill her, just humiliate and embarrass the woman. She didn’t know about her weak heart, even less that it would give out give out.”
“Maybe not, but her actions were high-risk, and did lead directly to her death.”
“Oh, I agree – but you have to ask yourself, were her actions, reckless, even cruel though they were, any different from what the newspaper did?”
Gwilym nodded slowly. “No, I don’t think they were, in any real way, worse than the Voice’s. Sure, she used physical fear and intimidation. They were more subtle, they destroyed by using their emotional equivalents, but the results were the same, exactly the same.”
“Do you think she would have shot me?”
“To be honest? I’m not entirely sure – but, neither, I think, was she. I couldn’t risk it, so...” he shrugged his shoulders, leaving the sentence unfinished.
“At least there’s some good to come out of it,” laughed Desmond suddenly, his sense of humour surfacing from beneath the shocks of the evening.
“What’s that?” asked Gwilym curiously.
“It happened when you were explaining to a somewhat irritated Calderwood about how you just happened to have a gun handy.” Gwilym smiled, a little. He had indeed been formally –and somewhat robustly - asked about it and was scheduled to show his licence for being in possession of it in the morning.
“Huffny,” continued Desmond, smiling, “has now adopted mother as some sort of protector, and won’t leave her side!”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, Mother tried to shut her in the usual room with her basket, but Huffny just cried and cried until she had to let her in – and the pup’s not left her side since!”
>
They both burst into laughter – which was only fuelled by Eleanor entering the room holding a very large glass of whisky in one hand and carrying Huffny under her arm.
Author’s note
Writing this novel, set as it is in the heart of the English Countryside, has been an interesting journey away from my Swords of Arabia series set in the harsh deserts of the Middle East - after all, the settings could hardly be more dissimilar! It's been great fun, though, as I got to know the varied characters who appear in this, the first of the Beldon Magna series.
Hopefully, if you’ve got this far, you’ve enjoyed this novel ... for which fact I'm grateful! Should you want to read more about Desmond and Gwilym, Robert Calderwood and Colin Bulmer, not to mention Jack Rizzio and David Venables, rest assured - they will all be making appearances in subsequent tales.
Finally, a quick thank you to everyone who read through the book, during its various stages and offered invaluable feedback. Particular thanks must go to Nick Elliott who spent many hours helping me sort out many of my worst excesses of bad punctuation as well as suggesting insightful changes to the narrative. Should you need similar help he can be reached on [email protected].
Anthony Litton
July 2014
If you enjoyed Hung Out to Die you might be interested in Swords of Arabia: Warlord by Anthony Litton, also published by Endeavour Press.
Extract from Swords of Arabia: Warlord by Anthony Litton
Hung Out to Die Page 13