by S. A. Harris
Mark stops speaking and looks up at me from a sink full of soapsuds. Knowing my husband, he’s probably wondering if I’m keeping up with his tale.
‘Mrs Havers is your great aunt?’ The astonishment rings in my voice. The family-tree project had been Mark and Jennifer’s. They had chattered about it, exclaimed over discoveries and emailed details and updates to one another. Little, if anything, was shared with me. I laugh out loud and notice a smile on Alan’s lips too.
‘Now I come to think of it, you are a little alike!’
Mark clatters the mugs in the sink and ignores what I say.
‘Mrs Havers said you threw her that day when you asked about Freddie, not knowing who it was. She guessed something was off between us and didn’t want to put her foot in it.’
‘So Freddie didn’t die of scarlet fever?’ I try to keep the laughter from my voice, knowing it will irritate the hell out of Mark. I daren’t catch Alan’s eye.
‘That was just the first thing she could think of. It turns out Dad met Mrs Havers about fifteen years ago. I don’t think they kept in touch, who can blame him, the woman’s a menace. When I looked up Haverscroft I saw it was for sale. I hadn’t seriously thought to buy it, I was just interested to see where Dad was born and wanted to take a few photos to show to Mother.’
‘So we weren’t just out for a drive that day?’
Mark shakes his head. More lies, more deception. Sure, I was ill, but I could have coped with a bit of family history. It pisses me off that Mark can’t admit he wanted this house and was going to buy it regardless of my opinion. I recall the journey home to London, the twins and Mark making all sorts of wild plans for when we lived at Haverscroft House. All so long ago now.
‘When did Mrs Havers know it was her great nephew’s family who had moved in here?’ I say.
‘Mother told her when she came to stay just after Tom’s accident at the pond. Mother was rather pleased to tell her there was a family connection, but Mrs Havers didn’t take the news at all well. I’d intended to speak to Mrs Havers about it when I met her in the summer, I but never got the chance. She was rude and belligerent, so I was only with her a few minutes.’
I can imagine them both at Fairfield talking, shouting, at each other, but not listening.
‘She must have been horrified,’ I say. ‘You know she’s convinced herself the weird stuff here only threatens her family?’
Mark nods as he washes the last dirty mug. ‘She’s nuts, like I keep saying.’
Alan pushes back his chair and stands. ‘To put it simply, Kate, Mrs Havers insists I come over to Haverscroft and offer some prayers for protection and peace.’ He stops speaking and smiles.
‘That’s the plan?’ I say smiling back.
‘I thought you’d approve of it, Kate. Meanwhile, you’re more than welcome to camp out at the Rectory for as long as you like.’
He stands and fishes in the back pocket of his jeans. ‘I’m off to my bed, let yourselves in as soon you like.’
I take the key from his hand. ‘Thank you. You can’t imagine what a relief this is.’
All of me relaxes a little. I can get the children away from here just as soon as I’ve spoken to Mrs Havers.
Mark wipes his hands on a tea towel. ‘It can’t do any harm, can it? An exorcism, or whatever you want to call it, to humour her?’
I stare at Mark, I’m aware Alan does too. The silence pulls out for several seconds.
‘Do you believe there’s something here then, at Haverscroft?’ I make no attempt to hide the astonishment in my voice. Mark looks towards where I sit on Mum’s sofa.
‘I’m the only one who doesn’t get it. The kids are petrified of being on the landing, and Mother says I’m insane for wanting to stay here.’ He shrugs his shoulders and turns to Alan. ‘So you can have a go, at sorting it, can’t you?’
I’m irritated Mark wouldn’t have any of this from me. I bite my lip, it won’t help to challenge him right now, what’s the point, we’re leaving anyway.
‘Absolutely. Whether it has any effect, of course, is entirely speculative. Opinions vary enormously on these things.’ Alan looks at me before continuing. ‘Mrs Havers has been on at me about it for weeks, and so had Richard Denning.’ He zips up his black leather jacket. ‘Then you raised it with me too, Kate, that’s when I spoke with the Bishop.’
I push myself from the sofa and stand, my heart racing. The whole thing sounds like a scary nightmare.
‘We don’t carry out exorcisms very often, far from it. The Church doesn’t even call them that these days.’
I’m nodding, my mouth so dry I don’t speak. I can’t imagine any of it making the slightest difference, and even if it does, I don’t want to be here. This house will never be a home.
‘Did you get it?’ Mark says. ‘Permission?’
‘Eventually. Mrs Havers was persuasive, as you might imagine.’
Alan and I exchange a smile as he heads for the door, Mark right behind him. ‘I’ll drop by this afternoon if that’s convenient. There’s no time to waste as far as Mrs Havers is concerned.’
Mark and Alan head for the front door.
‘I’ll give the taxi guy some cash, Kate, make sure he’s okay to hang on while you speak to Mrs Havers.’
I nod at Mark and watch the two men head outside. There’s no sound from the morning room. Mrs Havers can wait a few more minutes. I tiptoe across the tiles and head for the stairs.
I stop on the top step, the spare room door is closed and bolted. A small set of stepladders I’ve not seen before leans against the wall, the fluted glass shade and three blackened bulbs on the floor beside it. A plain white shade, a modern cone-shaped thing, hangs from the ceiling on a much shorter cable. I try the old Bakelite switch.
Click, click. Click. Dead.
There’s no odd sensation, no peculiar smell. I hurry away from the spare room along the landing, past my room to Sophie’s, which glimmers in soft light from her lava-lamp, bubbles rise, collide and fall, bouncing deep pink shadows across the ceiling and walls. Her bed is crumpled, the duvet sagging down one side, a pillow thrown to the floor. No Sophie. Bloody hell, where is she?
The office and attic doors are closed, the bathroom in darkness. I run towards the green glow coming from my son’s room. The door is ajar, I push it wider. Trainers tumble amongst discarded jeans and a tee-shirt, Lego and books spread across the floor. The lamp is on the bedside table, silver glitter rises and falls in the current of green liquid spinning sparkles of light around the walls. From here it’s difficult to see my children properly. I pick my way across the cluttered carpet to stand beside the bed. Sophie is here, lying on her back, her mouth open slightly, she looks as if she might say something any second. Her arm is flung out towards the lamp, a tangle of dark hair spread across the pillow. Tom’s face presses into Sophie’s neck, blond hair sticking up at the front Tin-Tin style, Blue Duck clamped into the crook of his arm.
I watch the slow rise and fall of the duvet, listen to the soft whistle of Tom’s breathing. They’re safe. My children are okay. The knot of tension in my chest eases, the relief is so overwhelming my knees feel wobbly, my eyes growing hot. I breathe, let my shoulders relax. I watched the twins sleeping for hours and hours when they were babies, terrified one might stop breathing, turn themselves over and suffocate. I watch them now, not daring to move away from the bedside. My face is wet, salty rivulets dribble off my chin and drip onto my coat. One day I’ll tell you about her, your grandmother, my mum. How she would have made you laugh, and how she would have loved you both so much. My strong and clever, warm and fragile Mum. But right now, we need to leave. I look up, my breath catching in my throat, a still dark figure fills the doorway.
I didn’t hear his footfall, the creek of the landing floorboards. I’ve no idea how long he’s been there, how long I’ve been watching the twins sleeping. I ha
dn’t noticed earlier how his jeans look looser at the hips, his belt a notch tighter. I wipe the back of my hand across my face.
‘What the hell are you doing, Kate. She’s still fucking well downstairs. Get rid of her, for God’s sake so we can all go to bed!’
Mark’s voice is a low hiss, his head jerking towards the stairs.
I look at the sleeping children. I can’t imagine what she has to say and why only I must hear it. I need to sort things out with her and with Mark. Especially with Mark.
Chapter 34
Tuesday 2nd November, 5:58am
The morning room is silent, the single standard lamp in the alcove beside the hearth casts a low yellow light across the polished floorboards. The fire has all but burned out, more ash now than coals in the grate. I only see the top of Mrs Havers’ hat, her head dropped forward. I assume she’s asleep. She clasps her stick in both hands, her cream bag resting on her lap. For a moment, I wonder if I should leave her here, gather the children and slip out the backdoor and head over to Alan’s. One way and another, it has been an extraordinarily long day for everyone.
‘Katherine, there you are!’ Not so asleep then. ‘Come in, sit down.’
‘Mark tells me your nephew, Freddie, didn’t die of scarlet fever. It must have been a shock to find out your great nephew and his family had moved in here.’
Her hand grasps the handle of her stick as she taps it gently against the fender at her feet. I won’t let it pass that I know she lied to me. I want her to know. I’m fed-up to the back teeth with everyone’s lies.
‘It was indeed, a most unwelcome shock. I have explained all that to Alan Wynn and your husband, but it is something rather more difficult I wish to discuss with you, Katherine.’
‘Surely it can wait until later this afternoon, or tomorrow? I really am very tired.’
‘I must speak now, it is what Richard would have wanted. No more secrets, he was very clear there. This is something I’ve told no one other than my late husband, not even Richard.’
She stops speaking, the fire murmurs as it sinks lower in the grate.
‘It is about my sister Helena. I hope she is with Richard now, God rest their souls.’
She looks at me standing in the doorway.
‘Will you not sit with me? It will only take a moment to explain, this thing that has haunted me my whole life.’
I don’t want her here and I guess she knows it. If she weren’t so determined to tell me her tale and I so curious to know it, I’d tell her to go and not come back.
I step into the room, and stop of a moment. We watch each other in silence. My ears strain for movement upstairs. I can’t help but glance at the ceiling.
She smiles and extends her hand towards the sofa. ‘I’ve heard nothing all the time I’ve sat here tonight.’
I sit down opposite her and wait.
‘The night my sister died, we sat together beside the pond. A summer drinks party was in full swing on the terrace here.’ She inclines her head towards the French windows. ‘A beautifully warm June evening. I’d borrowed one of her dresses and a pair of silver-heeled shoes. They nipped my toes terribly. A child, she said, dressing up in her clothes. She was waiting for Richard. He never told me why they were meeting that night. Hold these for me a moment, would you?’ She hands me her stick and her bag, which is surprisingly heavy. She tugs each finger in turn of her cream cotton gloves and pulls them off. She holds out her left hand and turns it towards the light coming from the lamp, the large centre stone glows.
‘This was her engagement ring. Edward said I should wear it to the party. I’d taken it from her dressing table. I knew she would be angry. She was an indulgent older sister, spoiled me dreadfully, but there were limits.’
She looks up into my face.
‘We argued over it. Helena tried to pull it from my finger. Who can blame her? I pushed her away, perhaps too roughly, I was not used to alcohol then. My heel caught in my hem and she toppled backwards somehow. I don’t know quite what happened, but we fell, I on top of her and most awkwardly. The crack of her head on the edge of the metal seat was sickening.’
I recall the newspaper’s grizzly report was of a blunt head trauma, the victim probably semi-conscious for a few minutes before she died. I’m shivering. I should say something, but words fail to come.
‘You may think it couldn’t get any worse, but it does. You can’t imagine my horror when I realised how badly injured she was. We had just struggled, fallen . . .’ She stares beyond me at the empty room. ‘Never did I intend to harm her.’
She looks at me again, her dark eyes meet mine, but I have no clue to what she is thinking. This whole thing is so dreadful I can’t think of anything adequate to say.
‘Had I stayed with her she would not have lived. Even so, I should have been there with her for those last minutes. It is, perhaps more than anything else, the thing that has troubled me most over the decades. I heard the rear gate, you see. Richard was approaching from the loke as arranged. He was training as a doctor and was almost qualified by then. He would know what to do and how to help her. I panicked and ran, hid at the back of the long border. I watched him comfort her. He was still holding her when Edward discovered them there. I’m sure she was quite dead by then.’
She begins to pull on her gloves. ‘I told Edward what had happened. Such a mistake! Of all people to confide in, but I was young, so foolish and, of course, thought myself in love. He held it over me for the rest of his life. I have never spoken to another living soul about it until now.’
I’m horrified at all she has told me, repulsed at what she has done. But, at the same time, I feel for this old woman. Her mistake that evening has defined her life since then. I can’t help but feel a little sorry for her.
‘I understand why Richard should have known, but why tell me?’
‘I suspect Richard knew what had happened.’
She looks at me again, then back down at her gloves as she slowly pushes each of her fingers into the cream material and smooths the fabric.
‘Helena was conscious, he tells me, for a minute or two. I asked him once if she was able to speak. He did not reply for some time. When he did respond it was to say her last words were to ask him to take care of me.’
My intake of breath is so sharp she glances up and smiles.
‘Quite shocking, is it not, Katherine?’
I can only nod, not sure what to say. Did Richard know all along what Alice Havers had done? He had always looked out for her, as far as I could tell. I wish I had known him longer, had got to know him better.
‘Edward told Oliver Lyle’s father what happened. He was the family solicitor back then, a good one, unlike his son. Edward quite deliberately left me open to blackmail. Even after his death he had to be in control. Oliver Lyle is a greedy man. I let him swindle me over the land sales. Then, of course, I had him; if his dealings become public knowledge his career would be finished, he would not only lose his reputation but his liberty as well.’
A smile flickers on her lips. How much sense this would make to Mr Whittle if he knew.
‘I don’t think Lyle will keep my secret if the police arrest him, which they surely will. He argued with Richard over the land sales lately. Richard had realised what had gone on and was not prepared to be discrete, despite my begging him to leave well alone.’
‘Did Shirley let you know Mr Whittle has spoken to the police?’
‘She did. I understand Whittle is quite nervous of Lyle, that he runs around doing his bidding. Both of them are loathsome individuals!’
‘With Mr Whittle’s testimony, it will be easy to prove the fraud, the under-valuing of the land.’
We sit quietly for a moment. The house is sill, only the gurgle in the radiators, the plinking of the pipes as the heating starts up for the day.
‘After all this time, it’s unli
kely they’ll prove anything against you.’
She smiles. ‘Is that your legal advice? There comes a time when, to be frank, keeping the secret was more burden than telling it. It is important you know about Helena, you will perhaps understand this house the better for it.’
‘No more secrets?’
‘Perhaps that is it.’ She takes my arm. ‘Do the police know what happened to Richard?’ Her voice is so low I barely catch her words.
‘They’re waiting on post-mortem results. Mr Whittle and Shirley have reached their own conclusions, as I assume you have heard?’
She nods and reaches for her stick.
‘He had been quite under the weather of late, dizzy at times. He may have just been taken badly, of course.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
She places the stick on the floor beside her feet and holds her free hand towards me.
‘If you wouldn’t mind giving me a pull, Katherine, or I may never manage to get to my feet again.’
She leans heavily on my arm as she stands. Mark is in the doorway smoking a cigarette. I stare back at him as he takes a long drag before heading back into the hall, closing the kitchen door behind him. Mrs Havers waves her stick forwards and we slowly move round the chairs and head for the door.
‘The guilt I have carried all these years. Allowing an innocent man to take the blame. Cowardly in the extreme. It’s so difficult to live with one’s self with so much self-loathing. I wear Helena’s ring every day without fail. It’s a constant reminder of what I have done and what I have lost. But I always remember, as if it were ever possible to forget. I hope you will understand and not despise me, too much.’
We cross the hall, her gait is easier now, she’s leaning less heavily as we reach the front door.
‘I’m an only child so it is difficult to fully understand your loss in that sense, but every day I see that sibling bond in the twins. They’re sleeping together now in Tom’s bed.’
She pulls open the front door with an ease I have to admire. She takes my arm again as we head down the front steps. The taxi driver stares at us as we crunch across the gravel, he opens the driver’s door, jumps out and opens the rear passenger door.