‘I see,’ Lucie said, looking at Ophelia, who now looked close to collapse. Sister Veronica stepped forward and guided the girl towards a chair. ‘So that’s what this is all about.’
‘I’m so sorry, Digby,’ Ophelia whispered, her shoulders drooping forwards as she sat down. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll keep saying that forever if you want me to.’
‘Maybe Ophelia didn’t go about having a child the right way,’ Lucie said, stroking her cousin’s hair. ‘It sounds like she should have been honest with you, gone about things more honourably. But you love Sam now, don’t you, Digby?’
Digby nodded.
‘Then why don’t you just give yourself over to that feeling of love for him, and stop punishing your wife? I think she’s suffered enough now for her mistake, don’t you? You could be a happy family together. None of us are perfect, are we? Neil and I have to forgive each other for little things on a weekly basis.’ Lucie glanced at her husband.
‘But this isn’t a little thing, is it?’ A muscle was trembling in Digby’s jaw. He’s getting very angry, Sister Veronica thought. I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid. ‘She made a fool out of me, she used me. I can’t just let go of that, she deserves to suffer every day for taking away my right, my control, about whether I have children or not.’ It’s interesting how Sam isn’t reacting to Digby talking about his mother in such a negative way, Sister Veronica thought. Probably used to it, poor little lamb. He seems so depressed. No four-year-old should look so unhappy.
Lucie turned to Ophelia, bending over a little.
‘Do you want to stay with this man, given the awful way he treats you?’ she said. Ophelia’s shoulders dropped down even further. They were trembling, as were her thin hands that were winding around each other in her lap, Sister Veronica noticed. ‘Because if you don’t we can help you and Sam move away from him.’
‘Oh no, Sam will be staying with me,’ Digby said loudly before Ophelia had a chance to respond. ‘If Ophelia leaves me, she gives up her right to mother the boy.’
‘I don’t think a court will see it that way,’ Lucie said, standing up again and shaking her head. ‘You really are a nasty piece of work, aren’t you, Digby? And by the way, you’re punching way above your station with Ophelia. God knows what she ever saw in you. You seem to think you have some sort of hold over her, by using Sam against her. But the police will see right through that and place the child with her.’
‘No police,’ Ophelia whispered. ‘Please stop now, Lucie.’ She’d started rocking back and forth, very gently.
‘Come on, son, these people here are as bad as your mother,’ Digby said, taking hold of the white-faced boy’s hand, an ounce of his former self-control appearing to return. He obviously can’t stand showing emotion in front of other people, Sister Veronica thought, watching him carefully. He looks embarrassed now. Angry, but embarrassed. One emotion feeds off the other. ‘Bunch of overdramatic, illogical idiots,’ Digby muttered. Within seconds he’d led Sam from the room, and the scene was over as quickly as it had started.
‘Where’s he taking Sam?’ Ophelia looked up, her voice rising in panic. ‘Don’t let him take Sam away.’
Lucie went over to the door and stuck her head out.
‘They’re just going upstairs,’ she said, a soothing quality in her voice. ‘Don’t worry, Digby’s not taking Sam out of the house. It gets dark so early now. He’s probably gone to lick his wounds in private.’
‘You don’t understand.’ Ophelia’s eyes were wild. ‘He’s always threatened to take my son away from me. He’ll be so angry you stood up to him in front of everyone, he’s bound to do that now. Why did you do that, Lucie? Why did you ruin everything? Do you know how hard I’ve worked to stay with Sam? How much abuse I’ve had to put up with? Now it’s all been for nothing.’
20
Cecily watched as the old busybody nun, Florence and her daughter Lucie led the hysterical Ophelia from the room.
‘Let’s go somewhere more private to talk,’ Florence was saying, her arm round her niece’s waist. ‘Digby’s not taking Sam anywhere at the moment, they’re both safely upstairs. You don’t have to worry. Come on. Try to relax a bit.’
‘You don’t understand, Aunt Florence,’ Ophelia said, her voice coming out in gasps. ‘You don’t know what he’s capable of.’
She saw Neil jump up, walk over and lay his hand on Lucie’s arm as she went through the doorway after her cousin and aunt, trying to get his wife’s attention.
‘I’m taking the boys home now,’ he said, as Lucie turned towards him. His face had an anger in it. ‘That scene was the last straw. The boys are really upset, Luce. It’s nearly Christmas Eve, and instead of relaxing and getting excited, today they’ve seen their aunt Araminta lying in a drunken unconscious mess at the bottom of the stairs, and now you having an argument with an abusive man. It’s too much. They shouldn’t have to see all this, it’s not what Christmas is about.’
‘No,’ Lucie whispered. ‘No, Neil, please. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Auntie Florence yet.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Neil said, stroking Lucie’s shoulder. ‘Come with us, Luce. Let’s get out of here and create a happy Christmas for the boys at home like we normally do.’
‘I can’t go yet, Neil, I have to talk to Auntie Florence about the money or we will just be in a deeper mess.’ Lucie’s voice was breaking. ‘Just give me a bit longer.’
‘No,’ Neil said, his voice firm. ‘Don’t worry about the money. Just contact the university and ask to put your PhD on hold for a few months. Then you can get a job, we can pay off the bills and debts, and then you can start your studies up again.’
‘I can’t.’ Lucie was shaking her head. ‘I’ve already asked my uni, Neil, and they said I can’t take another break, that they’ve already extended the end date of my research to the maximum time.’
‘Then put your family first for once and stop doing the PhD.’ A fierceness entered Neil’s voice. He took his hand away from her shoulder. ‘Instead of trying to do good for everyone else, do what’s right for us.’
A tear ran down Lucie’s cheek.
‘I thought you understood, Neil? I thought you said you’d support me?’ she said, her voice thick with emotion.
‘I do understand and I did say that,’ he said. ‘But I never knew that you stopping work would lead us to such financial ruin. I’m doing all the overtime I can, Luce, I can’t do any more. It’s killing me as it is. But it’s not enough. Our credit history is already ruined with us not being able to make payments. We’ll end up with county court judgements, and bailiffs coming to our door. Is that what you want?’
‘No,’ Lucie said, sniffing. She exhaled. ‘Fine. Take the boys home and I’ll try and talk to Auntie Florence this evening, then I’ll follow you back, I’ll get a late-night train or ask someone to give me a lift or something. At the very latest I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I just need to give it one more shot, see if she’ll lend us some money. If she can’t, I’ll talk to my supervisors about stopping my studies.’
Neil leant forward and kissed her.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll ring you when we get back. It shouldn’t take us too long.’
Oh for God’s sake, not another drama, Cecily thought, watching Lucie leave the room, her head bowed. Well that’s what you get, Lucinda, for marrying a common as muck warehouse worker. No money. If you’d married someone from a proper family like Araminta did, then he’d have been able to pay for as many PhDs as you liked. That’s just the way of the world. But you were always a little socialist, weren’t you?
She turned her attention to Wilfred, who was hanging his last dinosaur on the tree.
‘Do you like them?’ he asked, noticing her interest.
‘No,’ Cecily said with conviction. ‘I think they’re revolting.’
‘Thank you.’ Wilfred smiled. ‘They’re meant to be. After all, they’re vicious prehistoric beasts.’
Cecily rolled her eyes and
turned towards her husband. His eyes had briefly opened during the Digby and Lucie spat, but had since closed again. He was omitting a gentle snore. Honestly, life must be so simple for that man, she thought. All he does is exist, with everyone else running around making things easy for him. The tediousness of Barnaby jolted a sudden pang of grief for Giles deep inside her. It had never been boring with him, she thought, he’d been a live wire, always the life and soul of any room. Cecily wasn’t usually given to having strong feelings about anyone, but the tug of longing she now experienced for her former lover took her by surprise. She’d love to see him walk into the room just one more time. Liven everyone up with some controversial remarks, shake things up a bit.
She looked around, hoping for a distraction away from her ruminations. The three teenagers, Ryan, Nathan and Coco, were all sitting around gaping at their phones, their faces still and gormless. She saw Maud put her knitting down and get up and follow Mrs Hardman out of the room. Well, if there’s nothing exciting going on I’m going to fix myself a drink, Cecily thought, rising elegantly to her feet. No point sitting around missing Giles and wishing things were different. She’d been to finishing school, demanded to go, in fact, until her hard-working middle-class parents had caved in, and always remembered what she’d been taught about the right way for a lady to sit down and stand up. Appearances and the impression you give are so important, she mused. Not that anyone here seems to realise that.
Intent on going down to the wine cellar and seeing what goodies she could find, she stepped out into the hall. A white envelope was lying on the mat by the front door.
That’s strange, she thought. The postman has already been today – I saw Florence scoop up a couple of Christmas cards from the floor earlier. She walked over and picked it up. There was just one word written in nondescript capitals across the front: FLORENCE.
21
Mrs Hardman banged the saucepan on to the stove a little harder than she would normally. This household, honestly. They are the talk of the village, with all their strange ways. She only stayed working for them because of kind Mrs Beresford, Florence, who had always looked after her and paid her generously even when she’d had time off to look after her sick mother two years ago. But seeing dramatic scenes like the one that had just unfolded in the living room between that awful Digby and Lucie was commonplace, in her experience. Why couldn’t the family just learn to get along?
She opened the fridge and retrieved a variety of colourful vegetables from one of the shelves, thinking of her own dear husband, Patrick. Oh, they’d had their ups and downs over the years but nothing like the stuff that went on at Chalfield Hall. She thought of her two children, Claire and Freddie – both of them had flown the nest now, bless them – and how lucky she was to have such good, kind children, who always checked up on her and sent her money whenever they had any spare. Nothing like that pathetic Magnus, who never seemed to be able to get his life in order. Or that revolting Araminta, who was never shy of showing how superior she felt to Mrs Hardman. Lucie was all right, although she could be a bit stressy at times. Poor Ophelia, well. She was one Mrs Hardman did feel sorry for. It wasn’t her place to intrude and ask too many questions, but she hoped the family would do something to help the girl, now they knew the truth about her awful marriage. Cecily was so obnoxious she could hardly look at the woman and Barnaby didn’t seem like his head was ever on this planet. The old nun seemed okay, although Mrs Hardman had caught her staring at her a few times, with Sister Veronica’s eyes seemingly boring in to her soul. Maybe she didn’t get out of her convent much and had forgotten it was rude to stare at people, she reflected.
Slicing the vegetables up quickly with the expertise of an experienced cook, Mrs Hardman’s mind returned to the matter that had been troubling her since Mr Beresford – Giles – had collapsed and died. Being a very discreet and private person herself, she was not in the habit of snooping into other people’s business. It was part of what made her such a good housekeeper. However, before everyone had arrived at Chalfield Hall for Christmas, she had unwittingly witnessed a disturbing sight. Being the official cleaner of the ground floor – with Mrs Beresford in charge of upstairs hygiene – she’d arrived at the study door one day, duster and spray in her hands, believing – because of the quietness in the house – that Mr and Mrs Beresford were out. So she’d been very startled to find Giles Beresford hunched over his desk with his back to her, his hands tightly clenching big tufts of his hair either side of his head. He’d been staring at his computer screen, which – from the brief glance she’d got – looked like some sort of online banking page. Unaware of her presence behind him, he’d suddenly started making the strangest noise: a cross between a primitive animalistic howl and an agony-filled groan. Then, still holding clumps of his hair, he’d begun to shake his head from side to side. He’d been the picture of a man in some sort of mental anguish.
Shocked at the sight before her, Mrs Hardman had tiptoed back to the kitchen as quietly as she could. She’d never had much time for the pompous Mr Beresford, and fully intended to forget about the strange situation very quickly, deciding to go back and clean the study at a later point. Whatever was troubling the man was his own business, she’d thought at the time. No need for her to think anything more about it.
That was until Mr Beresford had collapsed and died. Ever since hearing the news, Mrs Hardman had been in two minds about telling Mrs Beresford what she’d witnessed that day. The understated professional side of her felt she should keep her nose out of everyone’s business, and keep her mouth shut. But the compassionate side of her, that ached for Mrs Beresford whenever she saw her upset and grieving, suggested that it might be an idea to share the information with her. It was probably nothing, but it might help somehow. What if Mr Beresford had been so upset about whatever it was on his screen that he’d become so stressed he’d had a heart attack? At least if she shared her information it might give Mrs Beresford a tiny jigsaw piece of the puzzle regarding her husband’s state of mind, leading up to his death. No, she thought for the umpteenth time, best to keep out of it all. Let them get on with it themselves. Although, she vacillated quickly back again, would she always feel guilty if she said nothing?
She went over to the fridge again and retrieved a large hunk of beef, slapping it down on to the chopping board. I’ll keep thinking as I cook, she decided. Then the right thing to do might well come to me.
22
Sister Veronica leaned over as Florence ripped open the envelope. Cecily had thrust it at her cousin before disappearing through the door that led to the wine cellar. She’d reappeared a few minutes later holding two bottles of wine and exited the kitchen towards the hall looking very pleased with herself. They’d settled Ophelia down with a hot chocolate before Cecily’s arrival, and had listened with grave concern to what she’d told them about Digby.
‘Don’t you worry, my dear,’ Florence had said after she’d finished talking, giving her niece a hug. ‘We won’t let Digby take Sam away from this house, and we won’t let the two of you go back with him. You can stay with me as long as you need to – goodness knows this place is big enough. In a minute, I’ll lock the front and back doors and carry the keys with me in my pockets. That way, no one will be able to leave the house without my knowledge, okay?’
Ophelia had nodded, with a look of doubt on her now blotchy face. Her breathing had slowed and some colour was slowly returning to her cheeks.
‘I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this on your own, Ophelia,’ Sister Veronica had said, reaching out to pat the girl’s hand. ‘What an ordeal. It’s over now, we all know what Digby’s been up to. If you want to press charges against him we can call the police here. But there’s no rush to do that,’ she said quickly, seeing tears well up in Ophelia’s eyes again. ‘Just relax now, and drink your hot chocolate.’
Leaving the girl to have a minute or two of peace and quiet in the kitchen by herself, she and Florence had traipsed up to Florence’s
bedroom to open the letter in private, making sure all the doors were locked and the keys removed and safely placed in Florence’s skirt pocket on the way.
‘It’s another one of those awful letters,’ Florence said, sighing, as she drew out the white paper and opened it up. ‘Looks like whoever is behind them isn’t going to stop just because Giles is dead.’
‘Yes, I thought it was going to be one of those awful things as soon as I saw the envelope.’ Sister Veronica leaned forward. ‘“It’s up to you to put things right, Florence. Do it now, before anyone else has to die”,’ she read.
‘It’s a threat.’ Florence’s hands began to shake. ‘It must be from whoever killed Giles. Oh, V, I can’t stand this anymore. I need to get away from this house.’ She walked across the room, wringing her hands in front of her. ‘I’ve had enough of being stoic, I can’t do it now.’
Sister Veronica sat down heavily on the beautifully embroidered bedspread.
‘I know how you feel, Flo,’ she said. ‘I’m scared, too, mostly for you. This is a very nasty business indeed. But I’m not sure leaving Chalfield Hall right now would be the wisest move to make.’
‘Why not?’ Florence spun round, her eyes wild. ‘Surely it would be the most sensible thing to do? Giles has gone, V, most probably murdered by someone who is in my house right now. Why should I become a sitting duck, waiting for whoever it is to strike again? I’m exhausted, V. I just want some peace, so I can grieve for my husband without having this stress to worry about. Is that too much to ask?’
‘No, of course it’s not,’ Sister Veronica said. She was making an effort to keep her voice calm and soothing for her cousin’s sake, but inside her a sense of terror was rising. Someone had continued to threaten Florence so soon after her husband died, and it was a sick and cowardly thing to do. The fact that most of the people at Chalfield were unaware that Giles had been killed as opposed to dying from natural causes meant that they were slightly safer, that the murderer thought he or she was still operating incognito from most people for now. But the assassin would also suspect that the hospital would probably have identified the cause of death through the toxicology testing, and would have told Florence the results. The detective and police officer turning up earlier would have confirmed this. And the fact that Florence had noticeably shared private words with Sister Veronica on several occasions put them both in great danger. The killer would know she and Florence were aware of them, even if their true identity was not yet known. But escaping from the house now would only prolong the situation. What they needed to do was bring it to a head, find out who was sending the letters and who murdered Giles, and end the horrible business once and for all.
The Tormented Page 10