The Tormented

by Sarah Sheridan

‘What in Great Saints in Heaven is going on here?’ Sister Veronica arrived in the entrance hall, and surveyed the scene, Florence arriving from wherever she’d been resting seconds later. Her gaze took in Araminta, who seemed to have just finished falling down the stairs and was now in a heap at the bottom, the reek of alcohol oozing from her like a bad perfume. That was quick work, she thought. It can’t have been an hour since I last saw her and now she’s comatose with liquor. She studied the woman for a moment, trying to work out whether any serious injury had been sustained. No, she concluded. I don’t think so. Just a bad drunken concussion. She observed the two police officers – one in plain clothes and one in uniform – standing just inside the door, also staring at the tableau in front of them. She couldn’t help but listen to Coco’s shrieks, which seemed to mainly be about just having watched Auntie Araminta tumble down the stairs from the first floor to the ground. She saw Wilfred’s amused face, Romilly’s triumphant one, Rufus’ blotchy countenance as he knelt down beside his wife, and Lucie coming down the stairs, shock creeping into her eyes. Maud had finally risen, perhaps nudged from her room by the noise. There was a look of gentle concern on her plump face as she watched the goings-on from her stance next to the Christmas tree.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Florence muttered in her ear. ‘This is all we bloody need.’

  ‘What’s all the racket about?’ Cecily bustled in from the direction of the living room. ‘Barnaby and I have been trying to read the papers in peace, but… Oh.’ She stopped as she caught sight of her eldest daughter in a drunken sprawl on the floor. ‘Araminta. Get up this instant and stop making such a fool out of yourself.’

  ‘I don’t think she can,’ Rufus said, looking round, his voice a slur. ‘She seems to have knocked herself out. Minty and I had a bit of a drinky earlier than usual today. She finished off a whole bottle of whisky – couldn’t get the thing out of her hands, she was a woman possessed, chugged the whole lot. Then the silly mare tripped at the top of the stairs and fell all the way down. I think she was on the hunt for more booze. Sorry and all that, everybody. Don’t worry too much, she’s done it before and she’s always fine after a few minutes.’

  ‘Oh my God, she’s going to die,’ Coco screamed. ‘She’s not moving.’

  ‘I’m calling an ambulance,’ one of the police officers said. She turned and began talking into her radio.

  ‘Florence Beresford?’ the other officer said, looking around at the various faces before him.

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ Florence said, stepping forward.

  ‘Ah, hello. I’m Detective Inspector Ahuja. Is there somewhere we can go to talk in private?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Florence, grey-faced, ushered the police officer quickly away. The other officer, having finished with her radio, introduced herself as PC Johnson.

  ‘What’s been going on here then?’ she said.

  ‘We’ve all been very shocked by poor Giles’ death,’ Cecily said, taking a few steps around the prone body of her daughter. ‘I suppose we’re all dealing with it in our different ways. Araminta’s coping mechanism seems to be alcohol.’

  ‘She’s always bloody drunk, Mummy,’ Lucie said, walking down the stairs. ‘Let’s not make excuses. It doesn’t matter what day it is, or who died, she and Rufus just drink their lives away. Don’t you?’ She turned towards her brother-in-law. ‘She never used to do that before she met you, Rufus. Oh, she’s always been a bitch, but never such a hammered one.’

  ‘Now wait a minute.’ Rufus stood up, staggering from one foot to the other. Sister Veronica could smell the sour stench of alcohol on him from where she stood a few feet away. ‘I know Minty and I aren’t exactly angels, but neither are you, Luce. Look at the way you’re still insisting on carrying on with your pointless PhD when poor Neil is working his fingers to the bone trying to cover all your expenses. I might enjoy the odd glass of wine–’ Lucie snorted. ‘But I’m not far gone enough not to recognise stress in a man when I see it. Don’t you think it’s selfish of you to put him in that position?’

  ‘Firstly,’ – Lucie reached the bottom of the stairs, stepped over her sister, and went right up to Rufus – ‘my PhD isn’t pointless, thank you very much. And secondly, you have no idea what’s going on in my marriage, so keep your drunken ramblings to yourself.’

  Sister Veronica heard footsteps approaching the open front door. It was Neil, Nathan and Ryan, covered in mud, rosy-cheeked and laughing. Neil stopped when he saw the carnage going on in the hall, and put his arm out to stop his sons from entering. The smile left his face, and his darkening eyes met his wife’s.

  ‘Right boys,’ he said, turning, a curt tone to his voice. ‘I think we’ll go back out into the garden and carry on with practising our passes and tackles. Seems a bit too crowded for us in here.’

  Sister Veronica observed Lucie’s downcast gaze as the three of them turned and left. Hmm, maybe Rufus is right, she thought. Perhaps all is not well with their marriage. That’s a shame, they do seem to suit each other well.

  She heard a door open and close down the corridor that led to the dining room. A small, thin, perfectly contained-looking woman appeared, wearing a white apron. Her greying hair was pulled away from her long, sallow face in a tight bun. Sister Veronica stared at her in surprise. Who on earth was this person, suddenly appearing in the heart of the house? It only took a second for her to work it out.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Hardman.’ Barnaby shuffled out of the living room, his mop of white hair as dishevelled as ever. He didn’t even look at his daughter on the floor, or at the police officer, instead keeping a slow but steady beeline for the housekeeper. ‘Something smells nice?’ He looked at the old grandfather clock to his right. ‘Ah, half past one. Must be lunchtime.’

  Indeed, Sister Veronica agreed silently. Delicious smells of hot food abounded in the hall, seeming somewhat incongruous when the unpleasantness of the current situation was considered. It was strange how those contrasts often happened in life, she thought. The dark running concurrently with the light, the duality of existence always being reminded to us, especially in times of trouble. Perhaps it was the universe’s way of pointing out to humans just how ridiculous we make life sometimes, when actually it could be so much better if we made slightly different choices.

  ‘That’s right,’ Mrs Hardman said quietly, a gentle lilt of something – Irish? – in her accent. ‘In fact, I just came to tell you all that lunch is ready to be served.’ She turned and walked back down the corridor, Barnaby trailing behind her like a lapdog. Maud gave a smile and followed suit; the idea of her next meal obviously being more entertaining than the current drama. Wilfred shrugged and went too.

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’ Coco said, looking around. She opened her mouth. ‘Daddy!’ she screamed.

  ‘Oh shut up,’ Lucie said, a fierceness in her voice. ‘Just go and find him quietly, there’s a good girl.’

  For a moment, Sister Veronica thought Coco was going to answer her aunt back. But for once, she contented herself with stomping off without saying anything. Perhaps the presence of PC Johnson had deterred a full-blown outburst, Sister Veronica thought.

  ‘Honestly,’ Lucie muttered. ‘That girl behaves more like she’s seven than seventeen.’ Sister Veronica smiled in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner. But why? she wondered. What is causing Coco to act like that? Does she want attention? She and her mother barely glanced at each other in the few moments they were together. Honestly, this family – my family – is so very strange.

  ‘Araminta’s always gone over the top, hasn’t she?’ Romilly looked round, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen her sober for years. Such a shame for her, to have so little self-control, and such poor disregard for her own body.’

  Lucie shot her a poisonous look, but said nothing. PC Johnson turned and stared down the driveway, perhaps wondering when the ambulance would come so she could get out of this madhouse. Rufus didn’t appear to have heard. He’d wobbl
ed back down into a crouching position and was staring at his wife’s face. It was Cecily who turned to take up the bait.

  ‘Sorry, Romilly, but why exactly are you here?’ Her thin voice was harsh. She looked Romilly up and down. ‘Come to see your children, perhaps? You don’t seem to be paying much attention to them. Or come to browbeat your ex-husband as per usual?’

  Well, to be fair she doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to her unconscious daughter either, Sister Veronica thought. But perhaps this is Cecily’s way of defending her family, by attacking any critics.

  ‘I have a right to be here,’ Romilly said in a little voice that contrasted so glaringly with her big size.

  ‘No, Romilly, you don’t,’ Cecily said. ‘I have a right to be here, more right than most, in fact. But you most certainly don’t belong here.’

  ‘Magnus stole my children,’ Romilly said.

  ‘No, he didn’t.’ Cecily took a step forward, her voice soft. ‘You know as well as I do that both Coco and Wilfred chose to live here with Magnus, rather than go back to live with you. Perhaps the question you should be asking yourself is why that is. Now, if I’m not mistaken, Romilly, it’s time for you to leave. The ambulance will be here for Araminta soon, and above all else, it’s lunchtime, and Mrs Hardman won’t have made enough for you.’

  ‘See, Sister?’ Romilly said as she walked past, drawing herself up to her full towering height. ‘I told you they were all horrid to me here. And I never do anything to deserve it. You’ve all made it clear I’m not welcome. Again. I’ll come and see Magnus and the children again soon. Maybe tomorrow.’

  ‘No, not tomorrow, Romilly,’ Cecily said, her voice firm. But Romilly exited through the front door without showing signs of having heard her.

  A voice came crackling over PC Johnson’s radio.

  ‘Ah, the ambulance is just coming down the drive,’ she said, looking up, a tinge of relief in her voice. ‘Who’s going to travel with Araminta to the hospital?’

  Cecily and Rufus looked at one another, neither rushing to volunteer.

  ‘I’ll go, of course,’ Rufus said after a brief pause, staggering to his feet again. ‘Minty will be fine. This is a lot of fuss about nothing.’

  ‘Certainly, if you’d rather go with her, that’s all right by me.’ Cecily gave a small smile. Goodness gracious, Sister Veronica thought. If that was my daughter unconscious on the floor, nothing would stop me from being with her. What kind of warped love abounds in this family? It seems I was very lucky to have the parents I did. I got off lightly.

  Images of her mother and father, Rosalind and Albert, flashed through her mind. Her ruddy-faced mother was mad old Henrietta’s younger sister, and while slightly eccentric – with traditional views about a woman’s place in the home – Rosalind had been a loving and stable presence throughout her childhood years. Her mother had married ‘down’, according to family legend, falling in love with a farmer’s son when she was young. Best thing for her, Sister Veronica thought now, looking around. She freed herself, and me, from all this. We didn’t have much when I was a child, but the atmosphere at home certainly wasn’t like it is at Chalfield Hall. In my house, it was much lighter, full of love. That’s how it should be, if you ask me. Oh, we had our dark times, when the universe tested our resolve, but then everyone does, don’t they? It’s part of life. Every day isn’t supposed to be hard though. Not like this. No, my childhood house wasn’t constantly full of tension, secrets and conflict, and for that I’m grateful.

  A few minutes later, the softly groaning Araminta – her eyelids flickering – and Rufus, dishevelled and pale, were packed into the ambulance by the paramedics and trundled away. Something in Cecily’s words had caught her peripheral attention, Sister Veronica reflected, as she made her way towards the dining room, leaving PC Johnson to wait patiently for the detective in the hall. What had the woman said? Oh yes, ‘I have a right to be here, more right than most, in fact.’ Now why would she phrase her words like that? Why did she have more right than anyone else?

  13

  After a hearty lunch of Mrs Hardman’s home-made chicken pie and vegetables followed by an extraordinarily moist sponge cake slathered with warm custard – not quite as tasty as her favourite biscuits that shared the same flavour but a close second – Sister Veronica allowed herself a few moments of respite away from the melee. So much had happened in such a short space of time, she was feeling rather overwhelmed and in need of taking stock and going through everything. It was the day before Christmas Eve, for heaven’s sake, not that it felt like it. She found that when she stopped to think about things – the awfulness of Giles’ death, the terror at someone close to her potentially being a killer and the feeling that something else bad was going to happen – it calmed a bit, as though by thinking, she were doing something to help the situation. Florence had not yet reappeared after disappearing with DI Ahuja, and she hoped her cousin was well, and not being told anything too unpleasant, or being asked a lot of uncomfortably personal questions.

  Settling herself into the most hidden bamboo chair in the conservatory – a big space that adjoined the living room – Sister Veronica stared out of the window at the bare trees lining the huge patch of lawn in front of the house. The sky was white, with a silvery pale-pink haze misting up behind the trees. She sniffed the air. Hmm, snow was on its way, if she wasn’t mistaken. Good, there was something cosy about being snowed in, about battening down the hatches and drinking steaming hot chocolate while watching the unforgiving elements swirl outside. And it might give the family a much-needed diversion to concentrate on; little Sam – at least – would enjoy making a snowman.

  Two figures were walking down the drive – due to their size difference it looked as though it was Digby and Sam. She’d wondered where they and Ophelia were at lunch, had presumed they’d all gone out for the day. Perhaps Digby would make a sandwich in the kitchen for both of them. The boy would be hungry now. And goodness knows where Magnus had got to, she hadn’t seen him for ages. Probably away with the fairies on cannabis, if Coco was to be believed, although I’m not sure she’s fully accurate with the truth at all times, she thought. Still, it seems a strange thing for her to invent.

  Anyway, she thought, collecting herself. Giles is dead, presumed murdered by this poison – what was it called? Oh yes, abrin. I must find out exactly what that is. Now, the thing is, there appears to be two people with possible motives who were visibly annoyed with Giles in front of me: Cecily and Rufus. There’s always Barnaby as well, although his head seems to be away in some other far-off world most of the time. It’s Cecily who’s made remarks about wanting to live in the house, and has just said she deserves to be here more than most, which is strange. And it was Rufus who argued with Giles just before he died, accusing him of doing something bad, and that he was dishonest, and that he had to stop doing whatever it was. But what was it? Now that is the unanswerable question. At least for now. And Magnus was signed off with stress after working for Giles. Could whatever caused that be enough to make Magnus want to kill his own father? Although arguably it could have been any one of us in this house who killed Giles, even Mrs Hardman. Well, I know it wasn’t me, so that just leaves Cecily, Barnaby, Rufus, Araminta, Lucie, Neil, Maud, Magnus, Digby, Ophelia, and Florence – if we have to include all the adults. And Romilly must also be counted in, she’s here often enough. Then, of course, a handful of children and teens. Would Coco, Wilfred, Ryan or Nathan have it in them? Sam can obviously be discounted. And there are the poison pen letters Florence told me about. I’m pretty sure it was these making her ill with worry before she found Giles. Are they connected to Giles’ murder in some way? Who on earth could be sending them? And, on what I’m sure is a separate note, there is something very odd about Digby and Ophelia’s relationship, and whatever it is concerns me very much. But they are both very closed. I think it’s going to be hard work trying to get anything out of her. I’m almost certain he won’t open up to me. And, of course, af
ter today’s debacle, I’m pretty sure Araminta and Rufus are raging alcoholics. Drinking like that before lunch, they should be ashamed of themselves. A whole bottle of whisky too. Honestly, the spectacle was too much.

  She sat up, hearing the living-room door open and close. Dash, she’d been hoping for a bit of peace, but that was almost impossible to find in this house. Someone was chatting away merrily, but there was only one voice, not two. Who was it? Oh, Coco. She sounded infinitely happier than usual.

  Trying to be as covert as possible, Sister Veronica peeked round the side of the chair until she could see into the living room. Coco was holding her phone about a foot away from her face, and was smiling, posing and chatting away in front of the screen. She looked different, no scowl to be seen, her eyes lit up in a positively radiant way, making her look rather beautiful. Clearly, she’d given up on her quest to find Magnus, having found something more interesting to do. The girl’s quick changes in mood were startling; she could go from hysterical to relatively calm in seconds, then back to frenzied again, a phenomenon Sister Veronica had witnessed several times since arriving in Northamptonshire. Every now and again she saw Coco pause; someone seemed to be talking back to her on the phone, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She frowned. The girl was hardly wearing any clothes, just a tiny vest-like thing and miniscule shorts. Hardly suitable, especially considering the cold weather. Then the door opened and Wilfred walked in, crashing it shut behind him.

  ‘Trying to impress all your lovers again?’ He snorted, walking past his sister, who put her arm out and punched him.

  ‘I’m doing a live on Instagram for my fans,’ Coco said. ‘I’ve got 5,308 followers now. Go away, Wilfred.’ But she said it in a normal voice, not screeching or berating him. Hmm, so she can switch on the charm when she wants, Sister Veronica mused, turning back round to gaze out of the window. That girl really is a puzzle to me. And what on earth is a live on Instagram?