His father, Giles, was dead. Magnus wondered if he should feel something about that. He currently didn’t have any feelings at all. Perhaps they would come in time. He didn’t even hate his dad at the moment, which was unusual, because he usually did. Maybe he’d forgiven him for what had happened, because he’d died? No, probably not. He was probably just too stoned to feel anything.
Magnus had a very faint feeling that he should probably know where his two children were, and have a rough idea about what they were doing. But he didn’t, and right now that seemed absolutely fine to him. Anyway, there were enough adults around to keep an eye on them. Coco was probably having a hissy fit about something and Wilfred was probably reciting facts about fossils or dinosaurs to someone. He suspected that the fact he could no longer deal with his children – or with life in general – without being stoned, probably meant he was having some sort of breakdown. But right now, that didn’t matter. Everything felt just fine.
He shut his eyes and enjoyed the floaty detached feeling that lifted his thoughts up and away. Nebulously, he wondered whether Romilly would have told anyone about what had happened with her brother Steven and his father, about the real reason his dad had fired the man. I don’t care if she has, he thought to himself. He let out a big giggle. I literally don’t care.
17
Sister Veronica accepted the steaming mug of tea Maud was holding out to her. Her eyes looked up and caught sight of the time; it had just turned half past three.
‘Thank you,’ she said. She was just about to attempt a conversation with the smiling woman, when the kitchen door opened.
‘Ah, V,’ Florence said. ‘There you are. Would you like to come for a quick walk around the garden with me?’ Her eyes seemed to be flashing some sort of message, Sister Veronica thought.
‘Absolutely,’ she said, taking a quick swig of tea before placing her mug on the counter. ‘I was just thinking that I could do with some fresh air.’
Seconds later, the two of them were trudging along the path that led up through the lawn towards the orchard, the air around them noticeably chillier than it had been the previous day. Above them, a pale gold ray of sun managed to push its way through the thin white clouds.
‘How did things go with the detective?’ Sister Veronica asked, giving her cousin a sideways glance so she could assess how she was feeling. Not too bad, by the looks of things.
‘Oh, fine, just as I expected really. Lots of questions about Giles, his business and personal life, whether there was anyone I knew about who would want to harm him. Well, I had to be honest and say that he did tend to rub a lot of people up the wrong way, but that I couldn’t think of anyone who would actually want him dead.’
Yes, she looks a bit better now, Sister Veronica thought, as they slowed their pace under the bare branches of an apple tree. Less pale, more together. A flush of colour in her cheeks. Perhaps talking it out with someone has been therapeutic. That sort of thing usually is.
‘Ah, as you said, those sorts of questions are to be expected,’ she said, turning to Florence. ‘Pretty standard. Did the detective say anything else, Flo?’
‘Just that he wants to conduct interviews with everyone present at Chalfield the day Giles collapsed.’ Florence frowned. ‘He said we are all people of interest to the investigation, and that we might have noticed something that doesn’t seem important to us, but that could tell the police a lot about what happened. He said he would be back tomorrow to start talking to people. Oh, V, it’s the day before Christmas Eve today. But I don’t feel festive at all, do you?’
‘Not really,’ Sister Veronica admitted. ‘But I think we need to create as normal an atmosphere as possible for the children, Flo, don’t you? We’ve neglected that, what with all the trouble that’s been going on. It might help us all to listen to some carols or something. Do you have any Christmas music?’
‘Yes, I’ll find some when we go back to the house,’ Florence said. ‘V, have you had any more thoughts about what we should do? About who might have wanted Giles dead? It’s making me shiver with fright to think I might be sharing my house with a murderer.’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.’ Sister Veronica looked around. There was no one about. ‘And you are right to be scared, Flo. I’m very afraid that we are all in danger, as long as whoever murdered Giles walks freely among us. Ah. Is that the greenhouse over there?’ Florence nodded. ‘Let’s go over to it. If my information is correct, I may well be able to show you where the abrin that killed Giles came from.’ Not worth telling her about Wilfred at this point, she thought. Besides, the boy has a bright mind. I’d rather he keep telling me about what he’s thinking as opposed to getting him into trouble at this stage.
They traipsed through the long muddy grass towards the dirty-looking glass structure, green moss and lichen covering many of the panes.
‘I really must take better care of the garden.’ Florence looked around, despair on her face. ‘If truth be told, I find this place overwhelming, V. It’s too big. And the house has always seemed cold to me, do you know what I mean? Not in a chilly temperature kind of way, more in a spooky unsettling way. I’ve always thought I should feel lucky to have been given such a big place to live, especially when there are so many people in the world who have nothing. But to tell you the truth, I’d much rather live in a cosy cottage.’
‘Some of the corridors here are rather dark.’ Sister Veronica turned her head and looked at the back of the house. The big expanse of grey brick was imposing more than it was welcoming. Many of the upper windows were mean and small, and the decorative turrets put her in mind of a Transylvanian castle rather than an old English country home. She shivered. ‘I never felt all that comfortable here as a child, if I’m honest.’
Arriving at the greenhouse, Florence took hold of the handle and swung the door open. A big whoosh of potent smoke assaulted Sister Veronica’s nostrils, and she looked down to see where it was coming from.
‘Magnus!’ Florence said, one hand going to her face. ‘Oh, not again.’
18
Digby and Sam were in the outhouse. Digby was taking ages cleaning their wellington boots on purpose, wanting to keep Sam away from his mother for as long as possible. He knew not seeing her son made Ophelia anxious, and she deserved to feel awful. It would help her learn not to go against his will.
‘Do you remember what I said, Sam?’ he asked the little boy, who was sitting on the side of the sink. ‘What is Mummy?’
‘Selfish,’ said Sam.
‘That’s right,’ Digby said, scrubbing miniscule bits of dirt from the largely clean sole of a boot. ‘It might seem like she loves you, Sam, but actually she loves herself a little bit more. So that means she’s selfish, and that she isn’t a good mummy to you, doesn’t it? I don’t think she really loves you or me at all.’
‘No,’ Sam said, shaking his head.
‘I want you to always remember that I love you the most, can you do that?’ Digby looked over at his son.
‘Yes,’ Sam said.
‘Good boy.’ Digby turned the tap off. ‘I’m a much better parent to you than Mummy. She just ruins everything, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ Sam said. He wasn’t smiling.
‘Let’s go and see what that stupid woman is doing,’ Digby said, lifting Sam down and taking his hand. ‘Probably nothing at all, as usual.’
19
Sister Veronica stood at the living-room door. She could hear Florence talking to Magnus behind her. She turned to look.
‘Upstairs to bed this instant,’ Florence was saying, her voice harsh and stressed. ‘And don’t come down until that awful stuff has worn off. And then, Magnus, we will be having some serious words. Maybe we should find a counsellor for you, I’m just not sure what the best thing to do is at the moment. No wonder your daughter is so uncontrollable, she needs you to parent her not to act like a teenager yourself. She desperately needs to be looked after by you, for boundaries to be put in place, en
couragement shown, then sanctions when she steps out of line, can’t you see that? Go on, off you go.’
On the way back from the greenhouse, with Magnus trailing after them like a moody teenager, Florence had explained that cannabis had always been his go-to crutch when he felt stressed. It had started at the age of fifteen, apparently, when he’d got in with a crowd of local boys during the school holidays. He’d been a shy child before that, and had relished the opportunity of making friends and ‘fitting in’. After experiencing the relaxation smoking pot could bring, Magnus had been hooked, and as far as she knew, had had bouts of smoking the stuff ever since.
Turning towards the living room, Sister Veronica surveyed the scene in front of her. Christmas carols were playing in the background. Someone had had the same idea as her; make Christmas a bit more normal for everyone. Lucie was sitting with Coco on one of the sofas, and they were both looking at something on Coco’s phone.
‘You look very pretty in that one,’ Lucie was saying. ‘But is your dad happy with the outfits you wear in these Instagram photos? They’re a bit skimpy.’
‘He doesn’t care,’ Coco replied, which Sister Veronica thought was unfortunately probably true. She’d barely seen Magnus interact at all with his children since her arrival at the house. Florence was the most caring towards them. It was a sad state of affairs.
Ophelia was sitting by the window, her expression tight and still. She was still plastered in make-up, Sister Veronica noticed. Perhaps she had more bruises to hide. Something really must be done about Digby. As usual, there was no sign of Digby or Sam. That whole set-up really did seem so strange and unsettling.
Neil, Ryan and Nathan were squashed together on another sofa, all staring intently at their phones, not saying a word to each other. Barnaby was asleep in an armchair, and Cecily was staring at Neil and her grandsons with an expression on her face that was anything but loving. Maud was sitting on a foot stool, knitting away, and Wilfred was hanging his savage-looking Christmas decorations on the tree.
Lucie looked up and smiled at her.
‘Come and sit down, Sister. Things in here are relatively calm for once,’ she said, patting the chaise longue that stood next to her. ‘Rufus has just left in a taxi to go and pick up Araminta. Apparently they’ve pumped her stomach and she’s ready to come home.’ She pulled a face. ‘God, I hope she stays off the booze, at least for a couple of days. I’m actually really worried she’ll do herself some serious harm if she doesn’t.’
Sister Veronica settled herself next to Lucie and Coco. Ah, the sound of carols, she thought. Almost makes me feel normal again. She looked around at the Christmas tree, and at the holly over the fireplace, then at the tasteful decorations hung from the ceiling. We’ve all forgotten how to create a festive atmosphere, she reflected, a feeling of nostalgia pervading her, childhood memories of candles, wreaths, presents, delicious smells and pine needles coming back to her. But then it’s to be expected, under the circumstances. How can a celebration and a tragedy co-exist at the same time?
‘Is there any more news about Uncle Giles?’ Lucie leaned towards her. ‘I was wondering if they’ve found out what killed him. It’s all so sad, such a shock for poor Auntie Florence. I was thinking that maybe it was a heart attack? He’s always eaten and drunk far too much.’
‘Er…’ Sister Veronica looked at her, thinking fast. ‘No, no news yet, Lucie. It may be a few days until we hear anything more.’
A noise made her look round. It was Mrs Hardman coming in, carrying a tray of steaming mugs. Behind her walked Digby and Sam. Neither looked very happy.
‘Sam!’ Ophelia jumped up and walked over to him, bending down to give him a big kiss.
‘Hello, you stupid woman,’ Sam said. His voice was almost robotic, unnatural. There was a perceptible slowing down in the room, as though everyone else’s ears were opening to listen to whatever was coming next.
‘What?’ Ophelia stepped back. ‘Don’t say that to Mummy, Sam, it’s very rude.’
‘It’s what Daddy calls you, you stupid woman,’ Sam said.
A smirk rode across Digby’s face.
‘And he says you’re selfish, and that you don’t love me,’ Sam said, looking up at his mother.
Lucie rose to her feet.
‘I’m sorry, Ophelia. I was hoping to talk to you in private, but this really is too much,’ she said, her eyes flashing angrily. ‘Digby, you must be saying these things to Sam? He’s too young to think of them himself.’
‘Ophelia doesn’t mind, do you, darling?’ Digby looked at his wife. He holds himself in such tight control, Sister Veronica thought. Every muscle in his body looks tense. But he’s keeping his cool, he thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to treat his wife in this way, and that he can just brush away anyone’s concern for her. He’s so righteous and arrogant. ‘She knows what Sam’s talking about. Don’t worry, Lucie. It’s nothing that concerns you, just forget about it.’
Lucie looked at Ophelia. Her eyes were wet with tears but she was blinking fast, as though trying to look normal.
‘I’m afraid it is my business, Digby, when I see my cousin being so horribly treated,’ Lucie said, turning back to him. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve heard Sam say this type of thing to his mother. And like I said, he’s too young to come up with such specific, nasty phrases on his own. They come from you, don’t they?’
‘I don’t say anything that isn’t justified, Lucie.’ Digby’s eyes were dark now. A muscle had begun twitching rapidly next to his right eye. Probably not used to anyone standing up to him, Sister Veronica thought. Her feeling of foreboding grew significantly and she dug her nails into her hands, trying to steady her emotions. ‘If you’re really interested, why don’t you ask Ophelia about it?’
Lucie turned to her cousin who now had rivers of tears flowing down her face despite her best efforts. Some of the thick foundation she’d plastered on was coming away, exposing the remnants of the purple bruise around her eye.
‘Jesus.’ Lucie stepped forward, noticing at once. ‘Has he hit you, Ophelia?’ She leant forward to inspect the damage. Cecily, Sister Veronica noticed, was squinting at Ophelia from where she was sitting, trying to get a better view. Neil had looked up from his phone, and was looking from his wife, to Ophelia, to Digby, concern on his face. Florence, who had just entered the room, was watching the scene unfold in front of her, her mouth open. Maud had placed her knitting down on her lap, her brow now deeply furrowed.
‘It’s fine, really.’ Ophelia was shaking. ‘Please can we just leave it? I’m feeling really tired, I’m sure Sam might need a nap too. I might just…’
‘No,’ Lucie said firmly. ‘I know you’re scared but he’s not going to stop unless you take back some control, Ophelia. Believe me, I’ve been through all this with my best friend Melody, and now I’m doing research into domestic violence. Don’t enable Digby to carry on doing this to you by not taking action. You are among family now, and we’ll support you. Come on, have courage.’
‘It’s not the first time he’s hit her,’ Wilfred called from the Christmas tree. ‘I saw him bashing her with the bucket in the outhouse. I hate you, Digby. You’re a big bully.’
Lucie looked at Ophelia.
‘Is that true?’ she said.
Ophelia didn’t move. She seemed frozen with fear, Sister Veronica thought, her heart going out to the poor girl in front of her. She’d been planning on intervening herself – in private, of course – away from prying eyes. But sometimes situations had a habit of moving themselves on, in her experience, when no one was expecting it.
‘You don’t understand,’ Ophelia whispered through her tears. ‘It’s fine, really. Can we just leave it now, please?’
‘No.’ Lucie’s voice was getting louder. ‘This man is abusing you. You bastard,’ she said, turning to Digby. ‘What the fuck? How dare you lay your hands on my cousin? How dare you belittle her, and teach her son to do the same? It’s disgusting, and it’s against the law. And
it stops right now.’
Digby stared at Lucie. Something inside him seemed to visibly snap, as though her harsh words had cut through his usual control. He seemed to want to reply to her, opening and shutting his mouth, as though an internal battle was raging inside him. His face had gone very white, except for two magenta blemishes that were growing on his cheeks.
‘Stop pretending you care about Ophelia,’ Digby said eventually, his words coming out very fast, looking at Lucie. Ah, we begin to see the real man behind the mask. Sister Veronica’s stomach flipped. Lucie’s broken through his self-control. ‘You’re as messed up as the rest of everyone here. You’re a family of lunatics, you only have to spend five minutes with the lot of you to know that. And you have no idea what Ophelia has done to make me angry, so keep your nose out of my business.’
Sister Veronica saw Ryan and Nathan eying what was going on in front of them with alarm. Neil had noticed their reaction too.
‘It’s all right, boys,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Mum’s just trying to help Ophelia. It’s all going to be okay.’
‘Yes, we may be messed up here, Digby, but at least we don’t viciously harm each other,’ Lucie spat. Other than the murderer, whoever that is, Sister Veronica thought, looking at Digby, and wondering if it could be him. ‘And I love Ophelia, she’s my cousin, and I’m going to protect her from you.’
‘Really?’ Digby said, his eyebrows lowering, the magenta flush spreading throughout his face. ‘You’re going to protect the bitch who tricked me into having a child? Lied to me, told me she was on the pill, but had actually stopped taking it? I trusted her.’ He turned to his wife, his eyes full of hatred. ‘But she deceived me. She knew I didn’t want a child at that stage, I was worried about money, there were redundancies going on in my department and I thought I might be next. But oh no, she didn’t care about that. She misled me, treated me like a fool. She deserves to suffer for that.’
The Tormented Page 9