Mask of Innocence

by Roger Ormerod

  She was silent. I didn’t do anything to encourage her, just left it to her decisions. Then at last she seemed to draw herself up in her seat, and sighed. I heard nothing...I felt it.

  ‘I had to get a bit of peace, by myself,’ she said quietly. ‘The boys, they were just bewildered. As you can guess, at their age. Let me see. Jeremy would have been about five, and Paul...three or so. Too young to understand, though I think Jeremy was upset by all this wrangling going on. But Jennie was their little baby sister, and they were delighted with her.’

  ‘And so...’

  I was driving more and more slowly, prolonging the trip, and because I realised my mind wasn’t completely on my driving.

  ‘It was Rowland who suggested adoption. That sent Tessa over the edge, right over. They had to send for the doctor, but when he came she’d made a splendid recovery. Weak, but smiling bravely.’ She paused. I thought I detected a quick, searching glance at me. ‘I’m sorry, Richard. That was a bit bitchy — wasn’t it?’

  ‘You’re doing all right. Just fine. But don’t go on if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I’d better get it out into the open, I think. It clears the air. D’you believe that, Richard?’

  ‘Sometimes it helps, certainly.’

  ‘Hmm! But Rowland, you know, had a lot to answer for. It was he who wanted the adoption. And I wasn’t even consulted. Not at first. It wasn’t until he’d got Tessa to agree...oh, I don’t know what persuasions he fed to her, what promises and threats. Though he wasn’t very good at threatening, poor Rowland. Perhaps he threatened to leave her. Oh...I don’t know. Leave her and go away with me...now, wouldn’t that have been a scandal! As though he would! Ask yourself, Richard. As though he would!’

  ‘Seems unlikely.’

  ‘It was what I wanted to hear, of course, Richard,’ she said brightly. ‘Really...in all that worry...it was all I could wish for. My little girl -— and Rowland. Looking back, it seems so...so immature. But I did love him. I did! A young woman — I knew nothing about life. Stupid, I was, perhaps. But he was everything to me, my whole world, and I had dreams...you know, Richard, dreams that he’d come to me and say that.’

  She stopped, nodding, I could detect, to herself. I decided the best thing to do was remain silent. Then she went on, and I felt, from her tone, that she was smiling — at herself, no doubt, at her immaturity.

  ‘I was so young, you see, Richard. That was the trouble. Young. A child myself, that’s all I was.’

  Then she was silent so long that I feared she would abandon this theme. In the end, I had to prompt.

  ‘Not a child, Mary. Surely not.’

  ‘I wasn’t seventeen when Jennie was born. Oh...I know, today it’s so different. So mature and self-confident, the youngsters are! But I knew nothing. Nothing at all. And then one day he came to see me, not as I’d dreamed it, but with one of those fate things.’

  There was a pause while I tried to decide what she meant. Then I got it. ‘A fait accompli, they call it. French for: it’s too late to alter things now.’

  ‘That was it, exactly. I’m so pleased you understand, Richard.’ It seemed that I understood rather more than she did, but I had no intention of explaining.

  For some minutes I concentrated on my driving, wondering how far I dared to pursue it. As is often the case after long pauses, we spoke together.

  ‘And the adoption?’ I ventured.

  ‘Jeremy would be about forty-six.’

  We stopped, laughing, which at least released some of the tension I felt to be inhibiting the conversation. I said, ‘You first, Mary.’

  ‘I was only saying that Jeremy would be about forty-six, now, and Paul forty-four. But poor Jeremy looks older than that. Don’t you think? It’s the worry he’s had...’ She allowed it to tail off, her tone pensive. ‘Still has, I suppose.’

  I could make a guess that sundry hints would have been showered on Mary as to the best investment of her inheritance, and from all quarters.

  ‘I thought he must be getting on for fifty,’ I said, just to keep things moving. ‘He looks it.’

  ‘Yes. That’s the worry he’s had. But he keeps himself very fit, I understand. He tells me he works out, as they call it. Some gym or other. And plays something he calls squash. I don’t know what that is.’

  ‘It’s a ball game, played inside a kind of room. It’s supposed to be very energetic.’

  ‘Hmm!’

  She was silent. Two miles hummed away beneath the tyres. I said, ‘And the adoption? You were telling me about that.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ A pause. ‘Rowland came to see me — all bouncy, he was, as though he’d accomplished something grand, and he told me it was all right, because he and Tessa were going to adopt my Jennie. He stood there...oh, I’ll never forget it...so pleased with himself. As though it was a great victory, and I was expected to applaud it. Sometimes men have no imagination at all. My Jennie — and what was I to do? I’ll tell you what I was told to do, Richard. I was going to accept a month’s notice, instead of the usual week’s, with pay. Then go. Leave. Wasn’t that splendid of him? And I was to receive money, extra money — out of his own pocket. A hundred pounds, to start me off, as he put it. A whole hundred pounds! I can see him now, bouncing up and down on his toes, and smiling that wretched false smile — as though I was nothing to him. And, he said, there would be some papers to sign before I left. Signing my Jennie away. And he was smiling!’

  There was a catch in her voice, only her bitterness holding back the tears, I thought. Her pride, too.

  But Mary didn’t understand how the situation must have been for her Rowland. He would have had to put on the greatest act in his life, pretending that he was happy to send her away. Perhaps this had been necessary, so that the hurt should not have been as terrible as it might have been if he’d clung to her in passionate distress, the pain at bay behind the anger.

  ‘He’s never forgotten you, Mary,’ I pointed out gently. ‘He remembered you in his will, and after all these years.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded vigorously. ‘Money covers it all, I suppose. Conscience money, they call it.’

  ‘But you did sign the papers?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh yes. In the end. Somehow, I managed to persuade myself it would be the best for Jennie. I looked at all the difficulties, I suppose. Because...where were we to go, if I took her with me? I was so helpless and inexperienced.’

  I didn’t pursue that. She was silent for a long while. In the end, caught by a sudden realisation, I asked, ‘But Mary, Jennie knew you at once. How old was she when you...left?’

  ‘Six months. They brought in a nurse...and...’

  ‘But Mary, she knew you. She came down those stairs and shouted out, “Nana!” So how did she know you?’

  ‘I don’t understand that. I haven’t thought about it. From the boys, I suppose. They’d talk about their Nan. Perhaps they would have had photographs they could show her.’

  She was silent. It was a thought she hadn’t pursued, and the boys, of course, would have grown up knowing Mary to be Jennie’s real mother.

  ‘You ought to be flattered, Mary,’ I told her.

  ‘Should I?’ She paused, then touched my arm. ‘It’s very flattering, yes. I suppose.’ Then her tone changed, self-disgust claiming her. ‘And I’m the mother who parted with her for money.’

  I said nothing. Amelia had warned me not to bully her. But it was she who was pouring this out. I hadn’t had to reach for it. Damn it, why do people always feel they have to confide in me? But hadn’t I invited it?

  ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Is this Bridgnorth already?’

  ‘Yes. Coming in through High Town. Five minutes and we’ll be home.’

  Nothing more was said, though I knew there was so much more to be revealed, hiding behind it all. How had she been persuaded to part with Jennie?

  The Beeches seemed dark and unwelcoming. This was because I had always been able to turn into the drive to the sight of warm lights. If Amel
ia and I were out together, Mary would be there with a welcome. If I was out alone, both of them would be there. Never a silent and unwelcoming house.

  ‘Do we get a dinner when we turn up at Penhavon again?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh yes. Nine o’clock, it’s always been.’

  ‘I hope we don’t have to dress for it.’

  ‘Oh no. Of course not, Richard.’

  But I would have expected that. The assumption fitted what I’d learned about Sir Rowland Searle. In his lifetime, perhaps, it had been so.

  We parted into our respective rooms. I packed what I thought would be necessary, and allowing for more than one extra day. You never know. Then Mary entered with her own case packed, and sorted out a few of Amelia’s things.

  ‘Put in some sturdy walking shoes,’ I told her. ‘We don’t know how much walking we might have to do.’

  Inside twenty minutes we were ready to leave. I was just about to slam the front door behind us when the phone began to ring. I walked through quickly into our living-room, and Mary hovered in the doorway.

  ‘Oh Richard,’ said Amelia, relief in her voice. ‘I’m so glad I caught you.’

  ‘You did, but only just. Trouble, is there?’

  ‘You can probably guess. Jeremy and Paul. I’m sure that man’s quite crazy.’

  ‘Do you mean Jeremy?’

  ‘Yes. There’s been such an upset. I think Jeremy must’ve been drinking. It’s the gallery argument again.’

  ‘Ah yes.’

  She took a breath. ‘Jeremy’s been talking as though it’s his house now — and of course it’s not. I heard them shouting, Jeremy and Paul. I was looking for something to read, in the library, and I heard Jeremy going on about getting things out of his house. His.’

  ‘Things?’

  ‘He was talking about those funny stone heads.’

  ‘The masks?’

  ‘Yes. They called them masks. Can you get back here quickly Richard? But do drive carefully.’

  That would present some difficulty, satisfying both conditions.

  ‘Yes. Of course. And what happened?’

  ‘Jeremy wanted the masks outside the house. He kept saying that. The masks. Not the watercolours. He’s decided those are his, in with the oil paintings. So...the masks. Then he can lock the room up, all secure and safe. Something crazy like that.’

  ‘All right, love.’

  ‘There’s been such a fight. We’re waiting for the ambulance.’

  ‘Ambulance?’ I repeated numbly. It all had to happen when I wasn’t there! ‘Why the ambulance?’

  ‘Paul might have to have an X-ray,’ she said numbly. ‘His jaw could be broken.’

  ‘And Jeremy?’

  ‘He’s busy packing those stone things — the masks — into two suitcases. Says he’s going to put them outside. Outside the house. And Richard...’

  ‘Still here.’

  ‘It’s turning frosty here, so watch the roads, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ I promised. ‘We’re on our way.’

  ‘Yes. ‘Bye...for now.’

  I hung up. I’d never before heard her so rattled.

  As I was ushering her outside again, Mary asked, ‘Trouble, is there?’

  ‘Yes, Mary. Trouble. I’ll tell you as we go.’

  I took the car fast out of the drive. It was now after seven, and the commuting traffic would have eased. I restrained the car a little until we were out of Bridgnorth, then, in open country, I let her go. In the hedgerows I could see the frost sparking, but there was no feeling of it through the tyres.

  I told Mary what had happened. She said, ‘I knew it. I just knew it. That ridiculous will! Rowland must have been crazy. I ask you. Jeremy should surely have had the house. He’ll be Sir Jeremy now. She’ll be Dowager Lady Theresa. I think. I don’t know. Whatever it is, she doesn’t deserve it. The remainder of my estate, indeed! Foolish. Though I reckon there’ll not be much money left in the kitty. Oh, do be careful, Richard. You’re going too fast.’

  I’d felt the back end breaking away on the last corner. I had to concentrate, but Mary chattered on.

  ‘But — come to think of it — Jeremy’s probably gone through most of the spare money, by now. Oh yes. He’s made a hash of that accountancy business, if you ask me.’

  ‘How can you know that, Mary?’

  ‘Gladys told me. Gladys Torrance. She knows everything.’

  I accelerated out of another skid. The night was crisply clear, the headlights reaching ahead.

  ‘Even about Charlie,’ said Mary. ‘She knows that.’

  ‘What about Charlie?’ I was forced to ask it, before she went wandering off again into her memories.

  ‘It was him what done it.’ In her agitation, she’d slipped back to the vernacular of her childhood.

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Fixed it with Rowland. About the adoption.’

  Again she was silent, recalling it. A glance sideways indicated that she was leaning forward against the seat-belt, pressing forward into the past. I didn’t hurry her. This promised to be important, and I wouldn’t have wished to think I’d urged her into confidences she might regret.

  ‘Between them,’ she said bleakly, ‘they made it impossible for me. Tessa insisted that Rowley had got to dismiss me. He’d been holding back on that. Never could make a decision, that was Rowley. I’d got nowhere to go. Charlie and his wife wouldn’t have me. Our parents were dead. That flu epidemic. And I thought I might be able to go back home, seeing that the cottage was empty. It was Rowley’s place. He owned half the cottages in the village. Maybe Tessa does now. Anyway...Charlie got at him. Got another family in there, double-quick, and I reckon he got Rowley to dip into his pocket for that. I can’t blame Rowley, Richard. I can’t blame him. He wanted Jennie. And Charlie, he’d got something he knew about Rowley. I don’t know what it was. But Rowley could always come up with a bit of spare cash for Charlie. Oh...I’ve said that. Don’t drive so fast, please, Richard. You’re frightening me.’

  Fractionally, I eased down. The road surfaces were more treacherous now, out in the wilds, the lanes winding round tighter corners. She was silent. I was silent.

  Two miles short of Penhavon, she said, ‘We’ve been very quick, Richard.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Then, as though there was so much left to say, and she wanted to get it said, the words tumbled out.

  ‘He did it all, Charlie did. My own brother. Everything I tried, to find somewhere, anywhere in the village, where I could live with my little girl, he’d manage to put a block on it. Somehow. Hated me, he did. Said I was a tart. Something special, he thought he was, him with his criticisms. Who was he to call me names, and Rowley paying him to go and watch the pheasants while we were at the lodge! Hypocrite! Preaching to me! Harlot! That was another name Charlie threw at me. Sanctimonious, that’s the word for him. And all the time he was telling Rowley it was the only way to do it — make it impossible for me, make me sign that paper. And in the end I had to...and I left. Never looked back. How could I? Never. I got a place, a job, this side of Bridgnorth. Aston Eyre. They wanted a milkmaid. I’d never milked a cow in my life. But I learned. And that was where Amelia’s Uncle Walter found me. Milking cows.’

  She allowed herself a tiny, warm and nostalgic laugh. Then she went on.

  ‘And there was Mr Walter — I always called him that — standing and watching me. Chuckling to himself. He was a great chuckler. He said something about me not being very good at it, and I said I was learning, and he asked what I’d done before, so I told him an undermaid at a big house, and a kind of nanny. Then he asked if I’d like to go and look after him. Be his nanny, he said, and he gave one of his big laughs. I said yes. It was the laugh that decided me. I’ve always wondered what he was doing there, at the farm. I always intended to ask him, and never got round to it. It’s just how life is, I suppose. So I went to live there, at The Beeches. And I’ve never seen Charlie since. Not until today.’

&n
bsp; I noticed that she’d twisted things round at the end, so that she could mention Charlie. There had to be something subconscious in that.

  ‘Never even gave him a thought,’ she murmured.

  Not, I realised, until that morning. Heavens, I thought, this morning. I’d lost track with time. She had met Charlie then. He’d seemed pleased to see her. Seemed. And she him. Seemed.

  The village was now very dark and deserted. The lights in the cottage windows were dim, and only the Red Lion showed any sign of human activity. It would be a very restricted life, living here, I thought.

  I took the winding hill cautiously, and the driveway slowly. Even though I now knew its turns and its unmaintained surface, I wasn’t going to take any risks, not now I’d come this far safely. Now, strangely, the lights of the house seemed to be welcoming us.

  Almost, I felt, I was coming home.

  7

  Amelia had the front door open before I’d actually drawn to a halt. She had obviously been watching for headlights. I kissed her when she raised her lips. She seemed cold, and her eyes were dark.

  ‘They’re in the drawing-room,’ she said quietly. ‘Oh, Richard, you should have been here! I wish you hadn’t...’ She didn’t finish that, gave a thin smile to Mary, and asked, ‘Can’t we go home? Just away from here. I wish we’d never come.’

  ‘I don’t think we can leave it now,’ I said. ‘Somebody has to be here. Somebody outside it all.’

  Outside all the wrangling, I meant. Outside the hatreds and the jealousies. Rowland Searle must have been mad, making a will like that. I was surprised that Geoffrey Russell had allowed him to sign such a will, though I had to suppose that a solicitor takes instructions. Advises, but can’t interfere directly in a client’s wishes. In any event, Russell would have been in a difficult situation if he already knew, or intended, that Tessa would marry him when Rowland died.

  But...be fair, I told myself. Russell could not have known the relative values of the items willed to the two brothers.

  There was something malicious about that will, as though Searle had deliberately set out to cause trouble. I could see him sitting down at his desk, a thin smile on his lips, working out how best to distribute his worldly goods so as to bring about the maximum upset. I could have hated him, had he not been dead.