The Slow Death of Maxwell Carrick

by Jan Harvey

  By the time you read this I will be gone, I have nothing left. She has taken everything. I could not face what I must do now without telling you that you were always my trusted counsel and greatest friend. What I have done to you is terribly, terribly wrong, but it has been like a sickness, I was not in control of my own mind.

  I am so very sorry.

  Yours ever,

  George.”

  ‘Oh good God!’ I stumbled backwards, knocking against a bookshelf and dislodging whatever was upon it. Mrs Hall grabbed my arm to steady me.

  ‘What is it? Mr Carrick, what is it?’

  I held out the letter and she grasped it, reading it in seconds. She bit the back of her hand to stifle a scream. ‘No!’

  We stared at each other, our eyes mirroring the horror.

  ‘Mrs Hall, go to the telephone box at once, try Lapston, then the doctor or police, whomsoever answers first.’ I took the key to the house from its hook where it hung a sad, solitary relic. A glance at my watch told me I could make the four ten if I ran for it so I grabbed my Macintosh.

  Mrs Hall was pulling on her coat when I had a complete change of heart. What was I doing? If the letter was sent even yesterday, I was too late. To inform the police or the doctor would be opening it up to the public and to scandal. I couldn’t bear it.

  ‘Come with me,’ I told her, picking up her handbag and passing it to her. ‘We need to deal with this.’ She paled but nodded, she understood what I was doing immediately. Gripping her handbag tightly to her chest, we left at a pace, I’m not sure we even locked the door.

  The house was unlocked and the front door opened with ease into a dim and chilly hall, our footsteps echoing on the chequerboard tiles.

  ‘George!’ I called. ‘George, it’s Carrick and Mrs Hall. We’re here.’

  Silence.

  I told Mrs Hall to go to the kitchen, but she refused and instead followed a pace behind me. Our breath misted the air as we proceeded to the lounge. The double doors creaked open to reveal a silent, empty room. The fire had been lit, but had obviously failed to catch, for the sticks and screwed up paper that had been used to get it going were only half burnt.

  I could feel the pulse in my head, the pain of a migraine rooted in my neck, and I could smell everything, the ash, the charcoaled twigs, the dampness of the furniture under the ghostly sheets.

  We checked in the library but there was nothing there, no sign of habitation, and the dining room was locked. ‘On account of the silver,’ Mrs Hall told me in a whisper. We were both acting like sneak thieves working our way through a stranger’s house.

  When we took the stairs, my legs felt leaden, as if they were trying to hold me back.

  He was on the bed, in Reginald and Augusta’s room, now of course his own. The four-poster was hung with blue and gold hangings but one of the curtains had been torn away from its fastenings. A small brown bottle lay on its side on the floor, a handful of bright yellow pills had spilled across the rug. He was lying on his back, chin tilted upwards, eyes glassy and unseeing. He looked awkward and unnatural but still I wanted to touch him gently and say, “Wake up, George, old man.” His skin had the pallor of death. Unmistakable. Collins. The endless corpses in ditches, mouths open, hollows where eyes had been before the crows had pecked them out. I’d seen it all before.

  There was a sharp slice of pain in my head and a hot flush overtook me and, in response, I loosened my tie. Mrs Hall gripped my arm to support us both but I fear I was useless to her, paralysed. I could only stare at him, unable to rationalise it. George, my best friend George. I couldn’t associate the warm, charming, kind man I knew with this terrible thing before me, this empty husk.

  ‘I’ll go and fetch the doctor,’ Mrs Hall said.

  ‘Only him,’ I said with urgency.

  She nodded and left.

  I knelt on the floor next to George as I heard the door bang shut below us. He looked terribly old and drawn, not the George I had last seen in the library with her. He had had a haircut, there was a bloody mark, a scab on his cheek but he had not shaved, and ginger stubble was growing around his chin and neck. He looked like his father had in that dreadful year after we had lost Augusta. I could remember the very life-blood draining from him and the plates of food returned to the kitchen, bringing forth the worried sighs of Mrs Hall as she scraped them into the dog’s bowl.

  On his bedside table was a drained glass, whisky. I picked it up and saw a small telltale ring of amber in the bottom.

  ‘George,’ was all I could say as I broke down heaving great sobs. My forehead rested on the edge of his bed, the ice cold cloth of the sheet bringing instant relief to the now fierce pain in my temples. I so wanted to feel his hand reach out to me, to place his big bear palm over my head and say; ‘Carrick, come on, old chap,’ but he remained still, the room enveloping us in its chilly shroud.

  The doctor and Mrs Hall returned within half and hour. I heard his car pulling to a halt on the carriage circle, the gravel crunching beneath its tyres.

  Mrs Hall was at my side in an instant and I had my arm around her as we clung together. It took mere minutes for Doctor Beascott to assess the situation.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, stepping back. He looked terribly upset, but then I knew full well that George was his friend of many years. ‘I cannot understand why he would do such a thing. It’s a terrible business. He was married only a few weeks ago, wasn’t he?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ I replied as I led Mrs Hall to a bedroom chair and sat her down. She was weeping, mopping her eyes with a small handkerchief, a daisy embroidered on it, one of Alice’s. ‘We have not been in contact for some time, you see. He, they, went to France, as far as I know.’

  Dr Beascott shook his head. He took out a notepad and wrote something down. Then he scratched his head with his pencil. ‘I had no idea. I haven’t seen George for months. I recall that I looked at his hip back in the spring. From what I have gathered since, I had the impression everything was going so very well for him personally, a bit of happiness after all the sadness. It simply must have been too much, Henry then dear Alice.’ The doctor sighed heavily. ‘A bad business it is.’

  ‘What happens now?’ I asked.

  ‘To begin with we will need the undertaker to come and the coroner will have to be informed, there will have to be an inquest.’

  ‘I don’t want any of that,’ I said coldly. ‘I don’t want any of this to be known. It is a slight on his memory, a terrible thing.’

  ‘But Mr Carrick,’ Mrs Hall protested from her chair by the fireplace. I could see she lacked the strength to stand up.

  ‘I want him left to rest here. Mrs Hall and I will do what is necessary. I must insist that no one is told. As far as everyone is concerned, George is in France and he has chosen to stay there.’

  ‘But there will be people who must be informed, an estate to administer.’ The doctor mopped his brow with his handkerchief. ‘I must–’

  ‘You must let me deal with it.’ I interrupted him rudely. ‘I will pay good money to the coroner, the undertaker and whoever else might be involved, but George will be dealt with behind closed doors and he will be buried in the church in the grounds. I will not have his death to be the subject of gossip. Do you understand?’

  ‘Carrick, a coroner will not be bribed!’ The doctor raised his eyebrows, his manner changed. ‘I can assure you of that, despite what you think, money cannot buy everything,’ He was losing patience with me, but his professionalism kept his voice even and controlled. I, meanwhile, felt he was being impudent and unhelpful, but it was clear I needed him to do as he was bid without defiance.

  ‘See that it is done, everything is to be kept as quiet as possible, out of respect to the family, and I will pay whatever needs paying, and more. It simply cannot be allowed to become public knowledge.

  The doctor nodded ruefully. He
could tell both by my voice and my fierce expression that I was not to be challenged. ‘I will explain your request to the coroner and you can rest assured everything will be handled with the utmost sensitivity but it will be up to him, ultimately, how he proceeds.’

  I could bear it no more. My head felt like it was splitting open with pain. I turned to leave the room. ‘I will make sure I get to the bottom of this if it is the very last thing I do,’ I told them and I swore in my heart that I would hunt down Cécile Roussell, even if it killed me.

  61

  As I settled down to read Carrick’s book, it became clear Steve had other plans.

  ‘I thought we could go out for a meal,’ he said.

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the idea,’ he replied as he shrugged off his jacket. ‘It’s such a lovely evening, very warm and I left school early specially.’

  I glanced at my bag, where the book was peeping out of the top and calling to me but, with a sigh, I agreed and went upstairs to change. I was very disappointed and I still did not feel happy with Steve but, as we left the village, I hit on an idea.

  ‘Steve, turn left there.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just here.’ I pointed to the lane leading to Lapston.

  He swung the car into it and dark trees overhanging the road swallowed us up. As the light changed, we were cutting through fields of sheep.

  ‘We haven’t got time to–’

  ‘It’ll only take a few minutes. I want to show you something special.’

  He wasn’t happy, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, but I was determined that I would make him understand.

  We pulled up outside the entrance to Lapston and, taking his hand, I led him down the path to the church and the gate.

  ‘Kissing gate,’ I told him but he wasn’t interested, glancing at his watch.

  As we pressed through the narrow path between the yew tree and the wall, he was huffing loudly. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Just through here.’

  ‘Are we allowed to? I don’t want to be shot for trespassing.’ He was hanging back.

  ‘Oh Steve, we’re only going to see the house quickly, don’t worry, it’s fine, honestly.’

  As we stepped through the gateway the path rose up before us, winding through the grass that had grown wildly to each side. There were poppies flowering through the fresh green, splashes of bloody red.

  ‘How far is it?’

  ‘Not far. It’s worth it, I promise.’

  I took his hand but he didn’t grip mine, his fingers were barely connecting with me. We climbed up and past the bench until the tops of the ochre chimneys appeared.

  ‘Here it is.’ I sped up, striding purposefully.

  It had been a warm evening, pleasant with the promise of sitting at a table outside a country pub, but as we reached the edge of the lawn, a swell of black clouds moved in and the air changed. I shivered.

  We were looking across the lawn, the bobbing heads of grasses in the fresh breeze before us. The house looked low to the ground, as if she were hunkering down under the darkening sky. She looked smaller, almost fearful.

  ‘Is that it?’ Steve was standing, hands on hips. ‘Doesn’t look as big as I thought it would be.’

  I stood in silence. Why couldn’t the light have remained a little longer and thrown a golden haze on those mellow stone walls? Why did everything seem so different and such a disappointment?

  We traced our way back. I might have stayed on had I been alone but Steve was already making his way down hill. I watched the back of him. He didn’t fit here, he brought no magic, no magic at all.

  ‘Stop,’ I called to him. ‘Just there, on the bench.’

  He looked at me as if I were very odd.

  ‘We’ll be too late for a table at this rate.’

  ‘Only for a second.’

  I took a seat and pulled him down beside me. The bench felt rough and uncomfortable under my thin skirt. I shifted my weight and took his hand in mine. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

  The river was empty, save for a lone coot dabbling at the water’s edge.

  ‘I wouldn’t say beautiful,’ Steve replied flatly. ‘It’s pleasant enough but very overgrown, I would have preferred to see it as it was, more cared for.’

  I sighed as I realised that it was all so pointless.

  ‘I do love you, Steve,’ I said after a while, as droplets of rainwater splashed on the path and quite suddenly, the clouds hung heavy and pregnant with rain above us. I leant against his arm but there was no yielding to me, his muscles feeling taut and strained.

  ‘We should go; it’s going to piss down in a minute,’ he said and, rising stiffly, he walked away.

  I followed him, struggling not to slide on the uneven patches of gravel.

  Eventually I gave up and slowed down, letting the distance grow between us and then, absentmindedly, I plucked a piece of grass. I crushed the florets in my palm until I could feel the pain of my nails slicing into my skin.

  62

  I was at school with Charles Ellis-Pryce but, unlike me, he had thrived and prospered in his chosen career and now he sat before me bewhiskered, rotund, weak-chested and breathing with a rattle as he studied the papers I had given him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Carrick,’ he said calmly. ‘I cannot help you. This former version of the will is null and void; It is superseded by the new one.’

  ‘We cannot allow it,’ I protested. ‘George was obviously not in the right frame of mind when he had it drawn up.’

  ‘The house, and its estate are owned, in their entirety, by Madame Roussell, and I am to act on her wishes and her wishes alone.’

  I stared at him, unable to think of the appropriate words.

  ‘She has no right, she has been duplicitous.’ The words faltered on my tongue and I stumbled over them.

  ‘Not according to the documents that have been drawn up by Messrs Horne and Son,’ Charles said. ‘In fact, it is quite the opposite. George states that he is of sound body and mind and is freely declaring that everything be left to his fiancée.’

  ‘Fiancée?’

  ‘Yes,’

  ‘Not wife?’

  ‘No, they never married.’

  I scratched my head. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Nor do I, but the documents are incontrovertible.’

  ‘I will have them countermanded. I will object.’

  ‘Carrick, you are in no position whatsoever to do so. You have no bona-fide connection to the family and have no legal rights at all. I have to tell you that had Alice survived, even she too would have found it impossible to overturn this, a will is a will.’

  I sat before him, listening to the sound of a bus engine idling outside the window. ‘She has come into our lives and torn them apart, this woman of whom we know absolutely nothing, and now George is dead. I will not let this happen, I will seek her out and make her give it all back.’

  ‘To whom?’ asked Charles. ‘To you?’

  I shook my head again in disbelief. ‘I would give it all to a charitable trust, the church, a convalescent home perhaps, anything but her.’

  ‘Carrick, may I speak plainly with you?’ Charles laid his fingers over the round dome of his paunch. I did not respond for I felt numb, as if some chemical had been used on me. ‘Rise above this. This has been George’s affair, his wishes. I’m afraid it is obvious to all.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ I replied sourly. ‘That is just it, we do not know. Why would he leave the entire estate to her, not having married the woman? Something is terribly wrong. And then this dreadful thing he’s done.’

  Charles heaved himself up from his chair and walked around the large desk to my side. Instinctively I stood up.

  ‘Carrick, take the advice of an old friend, there is nothing to be done. George made his
wishes perfectly clear, we have no idea why, but the documents are watertight and there really is nothing to be done. And–’ He put a hand on my shoulder where it felt condescending. ‘You have no need for money, not with your private income, don’t waste your life chasing the past. Use this chance to start again, old chap, find a new way for yourself, a new direction.’

  I turned away and, picking up my Macintosh and hat, I left his offices. The High was shrouded in a thick blanket of fog. The dark, swirling mists around me may have clouded my way, but my mind was clear.

  63

  Garry had gone to the loo. I collected together the plates, not daring to look at Steve. Sarah was biting her lip, always a bad sign. As I stood up, I could feel the tension rising between them. I heard Garry moving about upstairs, the creaking floorboards underfoot.

  ‘I’ll fetch pud,’ I said, feigning cheerfulness.

  ‘Don’t bother, we’re not staying.’ Sarah stood up, the chair scraping on the wooden floor. ‘I’m not inflicting any more of this on Garry.’

  ‘Of what exactly?’ Steve was acting innocent. I flashed a look at him but he ignored me. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Dad. I’m not stupid. You’ve been at it all morning. “We both remember the Beatles, Garry,” and, “Have you got a good pension, Garry?” I know what you were doing.’

  ‘Sarah,’ I said sharply.

  ‘Don’t defend him, Mum. He couldn’t have been more rude and he knows it.’

  ‘I simply wanted to find out about him,’ Steve replied, being unbelievably obstinate. ‘That’s all. Calm down.’

  ‘Don’t you tell me to calm down!’ Sarah had raised her voice and now I was wincing in case Garry could hear, but neither of them seemed to care.

  ‘I’m not going to act like I’m happy about this, I don’t do two-faced,’ Steve said crossly. Inca stood up and slinked away from under the table where she had been sleeping.

  ‘No, you couldn’t pretend to like him just for me, because I’m happy. Mum’s been trying, so why can’t you?’