A flurry of movement to John’s right drew his attention. A muffled noise on his left spiked the hairs on the back of his neck. Someone or something was stalking him, taking cover behind the trees. John moved cautiously, edging his way along the path. There hadn’t been any sightings of wild cats in the area for over four months but the possibility made him uneasy. John glanced down. Footprints almost obliterated the frost on the grass in front of him, and he knew instantly the stalker wasn’t feline.
Dark shadows flitted between the trees, accompanied by low whistles. John counted quickly; three, four men, possibly five. He wasn’t really surprised. Egged on by Leo, the men’s pent-up anger was bound to come to a head sooner or later. He was in for a thrashing. One man against five: John knew he had no chance of winning a fist fight and he felt afraid. There was nothing he could do to prevent it except perhaps talk his way out. He stopped, ready to confront them.
‘Who’s there?’ John shouted as loudly as he could. A dog barked nearby and he heard a low voice admonishing it. ‘Show yourselves, why don’t you,’ John called again. Then another whistle further along the track. How many were there, he wondered. John started walking again, nearing the spot where he’d hidden Laurence’s body. If I can make it back to the cottage I’ll be safe, he thought wildly. Then he saw them, a crowd of men standing across the path, Leo Deverell and Charlie Brock amongst them.
John called out to his friend. ‘Charlie, hello, what’s up?’
‘There’s nothing up with us, John,’ Charlie’s reply came back quickly and Leo sniggered. John looked at each man’s face in turn, men who had been his workmates. By their expressions John knew a beating would not be enough, especially if they’d been paid to do Leo’s bidding.
‘Charlie, bring Storm over here.’ Charlie untied the horse from a low branch and led him over to the group of men. ‘You know what this place is, don’t you, John?’ Leo pointed to the circle of felled trees. ‘This is where Charlie found Laurence, in the ditch where you left him, after you had murdered him,’ Leo said, cracking his whip.
‘I haven’t hurt anyone, Leo, but the same can’t be said for you, can it?’ Sticking his hands in his pockets so the men couldn’t see them shaking, John weighed up the odds against him and considered making a run for it.
Leo’s face flushed red and he continued as if John hadn’t spoken. ‘Well, we’re here to see you don’t get away with it. If the police can’t do their job properly we’ll do it for them. Isn’t that right, men?’ Leo said, looking for support.
‘Aye,’ the men said as one, including Charlie.
Before John realised what was happening, they had surrounded him. Someone tied his hands together behind his back. John feared Leo meant to whip him, but then saw the thick rope Charlie had coiled around his arm and knew what they had in mind. John felt his knees begin to buckle. Charlie hurled the rope over a thick branch of a nearby tree and passed the other end to Leo, who tied it securely around the horse. Roughly the men shoved John towards the tree and held him there.
‘You ready, Charlie,’ Leo commanded. Charlie stood in front of John making the noose. Then he slipped the noose over John’s head, tightening the knot at his neck.
‘Do you think you can get away with this?’ John screamed. ‘Charlie, you’re my best friend. Don’t do this, please. I never killed anyone, honest. You know me.’ John pleaded and implored, but when he looked into the eyes of his friend he saw only hatred reflected in them. John stared straight ahead at Leo Deverell astride his horse, Storm. ‘Damn you to hell,’ he shouted.
Leo cracked his whip in response and Storm darted forward, heaving John off his feet. John’s last thought was of Ellen. Then his legs jerked in a fitful dance and eventually, swaying slightly, they just dangled.
***
The next day, when John hadn’t returned home, Jim went to look for him and found his father hanging dead in the wood.
Sir Edmund comforted Jim as much as he could after Jim had broken the news, sobbing uncontrollably. Sir Edmund arranged for John’s body to be taken down and driven to the mortuary. ‘Don’t worry, son,’ Sir Edmund told Jim gently. ‘Your job will be here for you when you return from breaking the news to Ellen, and Primrose Cottage is your home for as long as you and your family need it.’
Numbed, Jim listened to his words. Compassionate leave was what Sir Edmund had called it. But how much time was considered appropriate for a father’s suicide, for that was what they had called it. A week, a month, a year, ten years or forever? However long it took, it wouldn’t bring him back.
His unexpected arrival at Mill Cottage and the devastating news he brought would be a dreadful blow for his mother and siblings. Jim dreaded it and pondered his future with a sinking feeling, knowing what would be expected, and the obligation sat heavily on his shoulders. He gripped Belle’s reins tightly but didn’t hurry the horse on.
***
Jim’s words went about the room with an impact like hard slaps on the faces around him. Ellen listened to Jim with tremulous lips and repeatedly mouthed words only she could hear. She opened her mouth wider, trying hard to make her words heard, wanting them all to understand, but instead made a strange mewling sound, and try as she might she couldn’t stop. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the image of John hanging from a tree, his face bloated, neck raw, and his protruding tongue hanging loose and black. In distress, Ellen began to wind large chunks of her hair around her twitching fingers. She tugged hard then looked in surprise at the clumps of hair in her hand. Amy took her mother’s hands and gently held them in her own to stop Ellen from hurting herself.
Amy kept her eyes down throughout Jim’s long discourse. If she looked at her brother at all, she focused on the collar of his rough jacket, or the ornaments on the mantelpiece behind him. George and Anwen stood at the open doorway into the sitting room, the shock displayed on their faces.
In the hall, Lillian and Harry sat on the stairs. They heard everything Jim said. Harry hugged his knees; his legs poking out of his short trousers looked like white sticks, and his wrinkled socks had worked their way down into his oversized boots, the tops too wide for his thin legs. Harry sniffed, and periodically wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jumper.
Ellen’s wails became louder, waking Owain who’d been asleep in the kitchen. Brushing tears away, Anwen went to settle him again, and a few minutes later George followed her
‘Don’t cry, Harry,’ Lillian whispered, putting her arm around her little brother’s shoulders.
‘What’s suicide?’ Harry sniffed, his eyes red in his small wizened face.
Silently the two children descended to the bottom step. They waited a few minutes and then took George and Anwen’s place in the doorway to the sitting room.
In three strides Jim was across the room. He hugged Lillian and Harry to him, and then with a backward glance, he led them into the garden. Amy acknowledged his look with a nod.
Gradually Ellen’s pitiful weeping relented. Subdued and exhausted she allowed Amy to lead her upstairs and help her into bed. It was Amy’s turn now to listen to her mother cry herself to sleep, instead of the other way around, as it had been months earlier.
Mill Lodge’s inhabitants isolated themselves within their own grief. No service had been held for John, buried now in unhallowed ground outside St Martin’s churchyard in Woodbury. Only Jim had stood beside the shallow grave, murmuring prayers and shedding tears for them all.
George buried himself in his work at the bakery, making any excuse to work longer hours. Anwen’s time was taken up looking after the three children, along with all the cooking and cleaning. Amy helped as much as her condition would allow, but tired easily. Jim had stayed for a week, but then returned to Woodbury and to work.
Lillian and Harry stayed out of the grownups way as much as possible, finding comfort in each other and the memories they shared of their father. They kept their mother company in her room, taking her titbits they’d sneaked from Anwen’s
kitchen. Riddled with guilt, Ellen never made eye contact but shrank deeper into her chair, distancing herself from them. After a while they stopped trying to comfort their mother and left her to wallow in her grief.
Any attempt to include Ellen in the preparation for the baby’s forthcoming arrival was met with more tears. Anwen worried how she’d cope with the birth, without her sister-in-law’s help. As Amy’s confinement drew nearer Ellen retreated even further into herself, while Anwen marked time. Then, on a cold blustery morning two weeks after her father’s death, Amy’s waters broke. Anwen was ready and as expected took complete control.
Anwen started by remaking her and George’s bed, ready for Amy. A patchwork eiderdown, an heirloom from Anwen’s grandmother, was taken off and put in an oak chest at the end of the bed. Anwen stripped off sheets and blankets and placed them on top of the chest. Old newspapers saved over the last few months were unfolded and placed over the mattress for protection. Over the newspapers Anwen spread out one of the blankets and over it a clean flannelette sheet which she secured tightly to each corner of the mattress. She replaced the other blankets, rolling them down to the end of the bed. Anwen pumped up the pillows and helped her niece into bed, then after covering Amy with another flannel sheet she rolled the blankets back up to keep Amy warm. On top of a chest of drawers Anwen placed everything they would need for the delivery, including the linens she’d already sorted. She pulled out one of the drawers and carried it into another bedroom, tipping the contents out onto a bed, and then she took the empty drawer back and lined it with a soft flannel sheet, ready for the new arrival.
Ellen wondered what all the commotion was about. She stood watching the goings-on but deciding she was in the way, a hindrance, she settled down in a small upholstered nursing chair in a corner of the bedroom. Part of her wanted to help, be part of the birth of her first grandchild, but lacking any enthusiasm she remained where she was and watched Anwen rush around.
‘Come on, Ellen, rouse yourself, there’s no time to be sitting down now,’ Anwen chided, when Amy groaned with the start of her labour.
It distressed Ellen to watch her child suffer. The intense ache in her heart was unbearable, and tears trickled down her face unheeded. Amy clenched her teeth as the persistent ache gripped her again and then gasped in relief when the painful wave subsided.
‘Mum,’ Amy cried out, needing her mother more now than ever.
The howling wind outside blew itself out as dawn broke. The light chatter of birds changed into a full blown chorus and joined in with the ultimate onslaught. Amy’s agonized screams suddenly jolted Ellen. In a moment of clarity she pushed Anwen out of the way and examined her daughter quickly. The birth was imminent.
‘Do we have plenty of boiling water ready?’ she asked Anwen, who stood by the side of the bed, exhausted.
‘Of course,’ Anwen answered sharply. ‘George’s seen to it, everything’s ready.’ Perspiration soaked through Anwen’s bodice, her armpits were stained with sweat. Her usual bouncing ringlets were limp and clung like washed-up seaweed to her cheeks and neck.
Ellen noticed and felt ashamed, realising how selfish she’d been. Attempting to make amends, she said, ‘I’ll take over now. See to Owain and rest for a bit.’
‘I’ll bring up the water first,’ Anwen said quietly.
‘Thank you, Ellen answered gratefully, adding, ‘And not just for the water Anwen.’ Then turning to Amy she clasped her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Now then Amy, we’ve got work to do.’
‘I love you, Mum,’ Amy whispered.
Ellen gulped. ‘We’ll get through this together, you and me, so don’t worry. Stay brave, love.’ Amy’s grip tightened but Ellen disentangled her hand quickly. Her hands had important work to do.
At last the new life decided to greet the world and from its gutsy cries they all drew relief. Anwen was back, and together Ellen and her sister-in-law did what was necessary and then made sure the baby was comfortable. Leaving Anwen to see to the baby, Ellen began attending to Amy again and wiping her brow she spoke soothingly to her.
‘You have a baby girl.’ Ellen smiled at her daughter. ‘Nearly all over now and then you’ll be able to hold her.’
Amy was tired. She looked at her mother’s mouth moving but couldn’t hear the words. She was so relieved the baby was born at last. A drumming noise in her head pounded a steady beat and Amy felt herself falling.
Ellen watched her daughter’s eyes close and roused her. ‘It’s not over yet, love, still more to do before you can rest.’ Ellen spoke in barely a whisper, not wanting to disturb her daughter but knowing she had to.
Suddenly Amy’s eyes flew open. She stared at her mother and cried out again as another surge of pain began racking her already exhausted body. With soothing words, Ellen examined Amy again, expecting to see the afterbirth. She watched in disbelief as another baby’s head appeared. Almost without effort now, and automatically, Ellen dealt with the second birth and placed the baby, another girl, into the drawer with her sister.
Anwen gasped. She looked from one to the other and then at Amy. ‘Twins, she said.’
Ellen never answered. Two more Deverell bastards to sully the world, she thought bitterly. But Ellen didn’t have time to ponder on that now. Amy was losing too much blood and weakening by the minute.
***
Lillian knew they’d been sent outside to play because Mum and aunt Anwen wanted them out of the way. It was a cold day and Lillian didn’t feel much like playing, and even with Amy’s coat on over her own, she still shivered. The wind tugged her curls out from under her hat and when it threatened to spin off, as Harry’s cap had done a few minutes earlier, she held onto it with frozen fingers. Standing inside the fence a little away from the gate, Lillian watched Jim bring Bella and the cart round to the front of the house, ready for their journey home. There was something uncertain in his actions, which was strange considering the number of times Jim had driven the cart. Lillian wondered if he was tired, if he had lain awake for the last few nights listening to the new-born baby crying, as she had done. Probably lack of sleep was why his face was unusually pale and why he’d refused to answer her probing.
Jim, on his way back into the house, patted her head affectionately as he passed, but Lillian only glared at him. How could he have fobbed her off, saying she’d heard a barn owl? Lillian had seen enough pregnant women in Woodbury to recognise the signs, so hadn’t needed anyone to tell her Amy was pregnant. Obviously she’d now given birth, but why were they all lying about it? Lillian felt left out, and she couldn’t understand why she was being kept in the dark and not allowed to help, or to see her sister.
Anwen appeared at the front door. She smiled and waved at Lillian. ‘It won’t be long now, love, you’ll soon be on your way.’ Then seeing Harry squatting by the fence she called out to him, ‘Keep out of the mud, Harry; you’ll spoil your clean clothes.’
‘I’m not in any hurry to leave you,’ Lillian said, taking a step towards her aunt, hoping Anwen might tell her what was going on.
Just then Jim appeared behind Anwen, and she stepped out onto the path to make room for him to pass. He carried a bundle wrapped in a blanket, which he hugged to him so Lillian couldn’t see what it was. Without a word to Anwen, Jim carried the bundle to the cart. Ellen followed Jim. She too carried a bundle wrapped in a blanket.
Harry was fed up having to play on his own. Fingering the soft cloth in his pocket he walked around to the rear of the house, into the back garden. After checking Lillian hadn’t followed him and that no one was watching, he pulled out the small bundle of treasure he’d found hidden behind the fender at home in Primrose Cottage. He knew he should have given the treasure to his Dad, before he went away to the place called heaven, but he hadn’t and now it was too late. Harry wondered how long the stuff had been hidden there; years possibly he thought, turning the gold ring inlaid with gems over in his hand. He slipped the ring onto his finger and picked up the yellow-gold watch and ran h
is fingers over the smooth case. ‘Finders keepers,’ he whispered, slipping the ring and watch back inside the cloth and into his pocket.
Harry began looking for a stone. He’d already found three in the front garden and then another by the gate. He needed a fifth to make his game complete and not any old stone would do. It had to be small and smooth, the same size as the others. He washed the four stones in the tub outside the back door and admired the marble streaks in them. Harry put the stones back in his pocket and wiped his hands on the back of his trousers. ‘I need five stones to play Jacks,’ he mumbled, and crouching outside the back door, he began to rummage in the dirt and gravel. Being so close to the door, Harry unwittingly heard his aunt and uncle talking.
‘I know Amy is insisting on going back to Woodbury now, but she’s in no condition to travel, George. It’s too soon, and I don’t like it.’
‘Don’t interfere, Anwen. Ellen knows what she’s doing,’ George said quietly.
‘Oh, I might have known. You always take your sister’s side, you do. Never listen to a word I say. Oh no, I’m just a fuss pot, I am. I’m surprised you think she’s capable of anything now, after the state she’s been in since John’s death. Can’t you see, she’s ill herself?’
‘Ellen’s not ill. She delivered those babies without any problem and …’ The expression on Anwen’s face stopped George mid-sentence and he quickly added, ‘I know it’s tragic that baby Alice passed away straight after birth, but Ellen did her best. Of course, she couldn’t have managed without your help, dearest.’
A Grave Inheritance Page 18