The Tormented

by Sarah Sheridan

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ Wilfred arrived in the conservatory, throwing himself into a bamboo chair next to Sister Veronica’s, staring at her intently. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘Have you indeed?’ Sister Veronica swivelled round to face him. ‘What can I do for you, my boy?’ Goodbye peace and quiet, she thought. I hope he doesn’t want to tell me anything else about dinosaurs, I don’t think I can cope with any more of that.

  ‘I’ve found out what abrin is,’ Wilfred said. ‘I heard what you and Aunt Florence were saying in the garden. It sounded serious, so I’ve been researching it on my laptop.’

  ‘So it was you spying on us.’ Sister Veronica’s eyebrows went up. ‘I suspected as much when I saw how little art you’d done in my absence. Honestly, Wilfred, that’s an incredibly rude and underhand thing to do. If I catch you sneaking around like that again, I’m going to tell Florence and your father.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ Wilfred said, not looking at all apologetic. ‘I knew you’d be cross. But I’m in training, I have to practise undercover operations. I’m going to be in MI6 when I’m older, you know, work for the intelligence service. I’ve got the brains for it.’

  ‘And I see that modesty is your best quality,’ Sister Veronica said. She shook her head, a frown taking over her face. ‘Yes, I am cross, Wilfred. Your aunt and I were having a private conversation. You really must respect other people’s boundaries.’ At least it reduced the threat to her and Florence, she thought, if it was only Wilfred who had overheard what they were discussing.

  ‘That’s not all I found out in the garden.’ Wilfred tried to look sly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sister Veronica’s voice was sharp.

  ‘When I left you and Aunt Florence I went the long way back to the kitchen. I heard voices in the outhouse so I peeped through the door to see who it was. It was Ophelia and Digby and they were having some sort of row. Digby picked up that old rusty bucket that’s in there and smashed it onto Ophelia’s hand. It looked like it really hurt her. He’s a brute, I’ve never liked him. I don’t know what she sees in him to be honest.’

  Sister Veronica suddenly looked thoughtful.

  ‘Is that so?’ she said. ‘No, you’re right, Wilfred, Digby shouldn’t be treating Ophelia like that, it’s awful. Leave that piece of information with me, don’t tell anyone else, okay? I have an idea about what to do. Right, let’s hear it then. What have you found out about abrin?’

  ‘Well,’ Wilfred said, pushing his ever-slipping glasses up his nose. ‘According to Google, abrin is a natural poison that’s found in plants like rosary pea and the castor bean plant. The seeds in the berries of rosary pea are very poisonous and can definitely kill someone if they swallow them. I’ve just been having a look round the garden and in the greenhouse and there’s a plant there that I think might match the description.’

  ‘I see,’ Sister Veronica said. ‘So if what you’re saying is correct, and the plant in the garden is rosary pea and contains abrin, the most likely scenario is that your grandfather either purposefully ate the berries, or someone tricked him into doing so. It just seems so strange, don’t you think? That Giles would choose to eat them, or that he would be persuaded to do so?’

  ‘I don’t think he would eat them on purpose.’ Wilfred scratched his forehead. ‘I mean, why would Papa want to kill himself? He always seemed to enjoy life, he liked buying new cars and things, and he was saying how well his fish finger business was going at dinner that night wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he was,’ Sister Veronica said. ‘But one thing I’ve learnt over the years, Wilfred, is that you never really know what’s going on in someone’s life. They can present an image of extreme happiness to the world, but actually be crumbling inside for some reason.’

  ‘Well, you never know, but I still don’t buy it,’ Wilfred said. ‘The other possibility, which I think is more likely, is that someone killed him.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sister Veronica looked at the boy, wondering if this thought upset him at all. Wilfred did tend to show a dissociation from his emotions, but this was his grandfather they were talking about, after all. ‘Do you know if anyone had reason to dislike Giles, or if they would wish harm on him?’

  ‘Oh, loads of people,’ Wilfred said airily.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sister Veronica’s eyebrows raised.

  ‘Well, mostly all the people he sacked at work,’ Wilfred said. ‘There was that big fuss when he fired Uncle Steven, Romilly’s brother. Mum and Dad were still together at the time, and we were living down in the village. Papa said it was because Uncle Steven was always late to work, but I think there was more to it than that.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’ Sister Veronica said, feeling rather guilty for cross-questioning Wilfred about private family business. But he’s one of the most open members of the family, she thought, trying to justify it to herself. And I’m doing all this to help Florence.

  ‘Because of the big fuss that Romilly made,’ Wilfred said. Sister Veronica marvelled at the boy’s detachment from his own mother, but concluded that that was a conversation to have with him at another time. ‘I mean, she’s always berating people and making them feel bad, I think she nearly sent Dad insane with all that. But this was different, she was actually furious with Papa for what he did to Uncle Steven, and she and him and Dad were always whispering about it in the kitchen. I tried to listen to what they were saying but they were too clever for me to pick up on most of it. I did hear them saying something about going to a lawyer and trying to prosecute Papa though.’

  ‘But you don’t know what about?’ Sister Veronica said.

  ‘No,’ Wilfred said. ‘I don’t think they ever went through with it, though, as Papa just seemed to carry on with his fish finger business as normal.’

  Well, well, well. Sister Veronica’s eyes went to the window, as she heard Nathan calling to Ryan to pass the ball. Those two were as outdoorsy and sporty as Wilfred was academic, she reflected. Polar opposites. Shame they didn’t all play together really, Wilfred could do with a good runaround, he was so pale. So Romilly, her brother and Magnus were talking about prosecuting Giles. Perhaps whatever it was that was bothering them was linked to the situation Rufus had been angry with Giles about, just before his death. Could it be possible, she mused, that Wilfred’s grandfather had been involved with something illegal that a few people stumbled on, and that in the end led to his downfall?

  14

  Cecily ran her finger along the back of the dresser in her and Barnaby’s bedroom, the green room. Dust, she thought, looking at the gathering grey mound in disgust. And a lot of it. Honestly, Florence wasn’t much of a housekeeper. Mrs Hardman was only employed to do the cooking and downstairs cleaning. The upstairs was Florence’s responsibility, and she clearly wasn’t up to the job. But then, she’d been letting herself go for years, hadn’t she? The box of hair dye she knew her sister-in-law bought from the village pharmacy every three months made her look even more drab, with the beige glow it gave to her hair. Not that she’d used it for a while by the look of things, the grey stripe on top of her head was distinctly badgeresque. And her clothes – well. If you looked up the word ‘dowdy’ in a dictionary there would probably be a picture of Florence underneath it.

  She turned back towards the room, and went over to shift the twin beds even further apart. She and Barnaby hadn’t slept together under the same duvet for fourteen years, Cecily had made sure of that. It wasn’t that Barnaby disgusted her exactly. He was a good old boy in his own way, had been dashingly handsome once, and was currently raking in a good pension now from his former law firm. But being physically close to him made her feel nauseous, and he hadn’t objected when she’d first got rid of their king-sized bed and installed two twin beds in their home. Now the sleeping arrangement had become routine. Florence knew that they liked to have their own space, and always gave them the green room with the different beds. Cecily had told her sister-in-law in the beginning that it was bec
ause of Barnaby’s snoring, and that if she was too close to him she could never fall asleep. That explanation seemed to satisfy most people, including her husband.

  Giles, on the other hand, had been a different matter. Florence had never understood him like she – Cecily – had. She remembered how she’d first become close, very close, to Giles years ago when Magnus was just a teenager and Florence was having some self-consuming depressive episode. She’d always admired his flare and drive, finding his ego a turn-on where others seemed repelled by it. It had seemed natural for her and Giles to end up in bed together that night, after Florence had passed out on the sofa. Their affair had lasted for years, decades – always sporadic, always intense and passionate. But four years ago Giles seemed to have had an attack of conscience and had ended their relationship, saying he no longer wanted to deceive his wife. Probably found a younger model more like, Cecily thought, still ragingly bitter about his rejection.

  Giles had never promised her anything other than love, but she knew she deserved to live at Chalfield Hall more than Florence, Magnus or anyone else. Hadn’t it been her who’d spent hours listening to Giles’ rage about his useless workforce, who had comforted him when things went wrong and who praised him when he’d turned them right again? Her sister-in-law didn’t even like the house, she’d said several times over the years that the place was too big to run effectively. The mansion had naturally gone to Florence when mad old Henrietta had died, being the eldest of the old lady’s three children – the order going Florence, Barnaby, then poor dead Tarquin – but Cecily knew it should have been her and Barnaby who’d got it, as she – Cecily – had actually wanted the house with a passion. But Barnaby had no real interest in trying to get hold of what should rightfully be theirs, he’d never been very materialistic, always happy to waft along in life letting other people take care of him. But she, on the other hand, yearned for the status of living at Chalfield Hall, of having a big house to host dinner parties in rather than their outdated cottage in the village. She’d mentally redecorated the place countless times, knew exactly what she would do with the garden – Florence was leaving it to look rather ramshackle these days – knew with precision who she would invite to her first dinner party there. Giles had always said the house would suit Cecily more than it suited Florence. Sometimes she’d fantasised about being Giles’ wife and the two of them living there together. That would be a great partnership, and really give people something to talk about. But now there was no chance of that ever happening.

  Cecily stared out of the window, at the boys practising rugby tackles on the front lawn. Common boys with common names, she thought. Lucie had married below her station, not like Araminta. Rufus came from a proper family, and had been schooled at Eton. She’d always approved of that match far more than Lucie and Neil’s, and chose to overlook Araminta’s excessive drinking in as much as was possible. She’d never felt particularly maternal towards either girl, had found their arrival in the world a hindrance to her social life. Barnaby seemed to love them in an absent sort of way, which was good, it made up for her innate lack of parental feeling. It had been him who’d taken them horse riding at the weekends when they were younger, and occasionally to the park or shopping in Northampton. Cecily was just glad that both girls were out of her hair now.

  She wondered if Florence knew about her long-standing affair with Giles. She’d never shown any sign of doing so, was always irritatingly kind and polite when she and Barnaby arrived. Cecily snorted. What a doormat the woman was. No backbone in her at all. Perhaps, she mused, the best way forward would be to give Florence an almighty shock and tell her about the affair. Maybe that would make her want to finally move on, away from Chalfield Hall and all the shared memories there with Giles, allowing a free passage for Cecily and Barnaby to move in. Yes, Cecily thought. Maybe that was the way to go.

  15

  Araminta stared at the blue-and-white hospital curtains in front of her. Her head was pounding and her body ached. It had been quite a spectacular fall down the stairs, Rufus had told her, laughing, before visiting hours ended. Having her stomach pumped – again – had been as humiliating as usual. When would she learn to control her drinking? Urgh, why had she drunk all that whisky? She never wanted to be in this state again, feeling like an utter failure, a useless fat whale who did nothing but get smashed out of her mind on whatever alcohol was around.

  But, oh, the sobriety was like a kick in the face. In one way she enjoyed sliding into the oblivion of drunkenness, feeling all her worries melting away, her inhibitions going, knowing she could say and do exactly what she wanted without caring at all. And the next morning, when the doubts crept in, she’d have a Bloody Mary – or whatever else was on hand – and top up the alcohol levels until any horrible thoughts went away again. But she knew her drinking wasn’t healthy, and she hated the fact that she didn’t seem to be able to stop doing it. It was a crutch, a bad coping mechanism. And the problem was, Rufus drank even more than she did, but he never seemed to experience the same side effects. Sure, he would slur his words and fall all over the place, but he had never actually hurt himself or gone unconscious like she had. For him, getting smashed went with the territory – all the other investment bankers she knew also drank like fish. It was just part of their lifestyle.

  She’d felt that her existence was fairly pointless for a long time. If she was sober for too long, a gaping hole would expand inside her that was full of loss and an ache for something meaningful in her life. Up until now her quick remedy for that was to get extremely drunk as quickly as possible, and then the feelings and the gaping hole magically went away. But each time they reappeared, when she wasn’t expecting them, they were worse, more expansive, deeper. Araminta knew she didn’t actually like herself very much. And that was a soul-destroying thing to admit. She didn’t like what she’d become, or how she and Rufus lived their lives.

  A large part of this, she knew, stemmed from not being allowed to try for a baby. That had been Rufus’ decision, all those years ago, and because she’d idolised him so much at the time, and never wanted to lose him, and above all valued the meagre pride her mother had shown when the two of them had married, she’d gone along with it. Neither of her parents had ever been particularly doting, although her father showed more signs of this than her mother. She’d often wondered what kind of mother she’d make, whether she’d treasure her child in a way her mother never could with Lucie and her. Araminta shook her head, remembering how she’d joined in when Rufus had talked about leechlike offspring who would ruin them and leave them no money. Laughed along with his derision of other people like her sister Lucie who were popping out babies right, left and centre. But deep down, Araminta had ached for a child. She thought she might be a better person if she were a parent and had someone else to love. She wasn’t very good at liking herself, but a child would be a different matter. A beautiful innocent human being, who would bring out all the best sides of her, make her stop drinking, stop her from being shallow and facetious, and draw all the love in her to the surface.

  It was true that Rufus and she lived a charmed life in many ways. They had travelled the world, had drunk their way around many countries, partied on yachts with elite crowds, and had never had to think about anyone except themselves. Until recently, well, they’d never had to worry much about money. But why, if that was all marvellous, did she feel so empty and awful when she was sober?

  She sighed, turning her attention to the beeping blood pressure monitor to her right. The nurse would be back in soon, to take her vitals, and write them on the clipboard at the end of her bed. Then later today, or maybe tomorrow, she would be discharged, and have to go back to Chalfield Hall to face the looks that everyone would give her. And then, she would have to choose whether to stay sober and suffer the feelings of self-hatred and humiliation, or to yet again get drunk so she didn’t have to feel anything at all. She knew what she should do, but doubted whether she had enough stamina to see it through.
She’d tried many times, but there always came a point when her body started yearning for alcohol in such a primitive, strong way that was impossible not to give in to.

  There was no point talking to Rufus about any of this. He would just laugh it off, tell her to stop turning into her square sister. Years ago, she’d tried to bring up the possibility of them having a child together, but it had been one of the rare occasions when he’d become angry with her.

  ‘You said you never wanted children?’ he’d spat. ‘Why are you saying this now?’

  So she’d dropped the subject and never brought it up again, didn’t dare to, as she couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking badly of her. They were a team, her and Rufus, who got on well, and had lots of fun together. So why did she feel so miserable?

  And then there was the secret they’d brought to Chalfield Hall. Absolutely no one knew about that. Even when she was drunk, Araminta knew she would never give it away. But it made a chill go through her just to think about it. Especially after what had happened with Giles.

  16

  Magnus was lying on the floor of the greenhouse, looking up at the transparent panels above him. Spiders. He chuckled. Lots of them. Their webs are so pretty.

  He brought his fat spliff up to his lips and took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long time. Then he exhaled, allowing himself the pleasure of blowing a few smoke rings. Ah, now that was better. Just the very knowledge that his ex-wife Romilly had turned up was enough to send him scurrying into hiding. He’d heard the unmistakeable squeal of her tyres on the gravel and had immediately removed himself from the family environment. Since rolling a generous, seven-Rizla paper joint, time had taken on a fluid, metaphysical quality. He had no idea how long he’d been in the greenhouse, or when Romilly had arrived, or whether she’d gone now. And it didn’t matter, because nothing mattered. And it was wonderful.