The Tormented

by Sarah Sheridan

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ Wilfred called from the stairs. ‘I know I said I hated him, but I’d admit it if I’d done it. Didn’t think of it, actually, I was too busy playing a game on my computer.’

  ‘I think we should leave the investigating to the police,’ Florence said, looking up at him. ‘This really is the most hellish Christmas anyone could ever imagine.’

  Ophelia said something, but it was too soft for Sister Veronica to hear.

  ‘What did you say, dear?’ she called up to her.

  ‘I said, I’ve just been given the best Christmas present of my life,’ Ophelia said, without taking her eyes from her husband’s body. A look of relaxation was slowly working its way across her face.

  25

  Silence immediately spread throughout the hall, as everyone’s eyes turned to focus on Ophelia. She looked up. ‘I’m glad Digby is gone,’ she said, as if coming to. ‘But I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill him. I was still in the bedroom with Sam when he wheeled his suitcase out.’

  ‘Er, like I said, dear.’ Florence looked up, sounding flustered. ‘Let’s not say anything now that we might regret later. We’re all in a state of shock, none of us know what to think or do. Let’s leave it to the police to get on with the detective work, shall we, and try and keep our thoughts about the matter to ourselves?’ She’s trying to protect Ophelia, Sister Veronica thought, feeling a flash of love for her cousin. She’s trying to stop her saying anything else incriminating in front of everyone. Flo must have come to the same conclusion that I did, that Ophelia is the only person with a strong enough motive to kill Digby. But the idea of that girl heaving that weaselly man over the railing by herself is hard to imagine.

  ‘Well, I’m going to have another drink.’ Cecily turned, making her way back up the stairs. ‘This is not a Christmas anymore, it’s a nightmare. And my only consolation is your stupendously wonderful wine cellar, Florence.’

  ‘Help yourself, dear.’ Florence waved a hand vaguely in the air, as Cecily disappeared along the top corridor. Like mother, like daughter, Sister Veronica thought. Perhaps alcoholism runs in the family.

  ‘Is that a siren I hear outside?’ Florence said, turning towards the front door as a familiar wailing sound permeated the air.

  Minutes later, the hall was full of men and women wearing the striking uniform of the emergency services. Police officers divided the family up to take statements from them, removing each person away to a different room, and the paramedics confirmed to Sister Veronica – as she waited in the hall for her turn to give a statement – that yes, Digby was indeed dead, what with his neck being broken.

  DI Ahuja arrived and took in the scene with one glance. He did not look happy.

  ‘A second unexplained death occurring in the same house within twenty-four hours,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘What are the chances?’

  Sister Veronica nodded, thinking that it was highly unlikely to be the same person who murdered both Giles and Digby. If her suspicions were correct, and Ophelia had somehow sent her husband falling to his death after finding out he was about to take her son away, then that was one thing. But what possible reason would she have had for killing Giles? It just didn’t make sense. And could it really be her sending those awful poison pen letters to her aunt Florence? That didn’t make sense either. Hadn’t Flo said that the letters always arrived on the doormat when she was out shopping in the village? It sounded like someone local must be sending them, someone who could keep an eye on her movements. Digby and Ophelia didn’t live anywhere near Little Ashby, as far as she was aware, and it was hardly conceivable that the girl would be driving back and forth for hours, keeping tabs on her aunt’s movements. Especially not when Digby’s control over her was taken into consideration. Was it really possible that there was more than one killer in the house? The very notion sent chills throughout her brain. She thought of her convent longingly. All right, so things weren’t always easy there, at the Convent of the Christian Heart; she and the other sisters had been through their own personal dramas over the years, what with one thing and another. But being in this house was something else. She’d hoped – following Digby’s demise – that the feeling of foreboding that had tormented her since her arrival at Chalfield would be abating. But it was still there, still pumping away with force in her mind and body. She now gave it more credit than before, almost respected it, worrying as that was for her. It seemed to be a warning signal, guiding her through the darkness, letting her know that more horror may be in store. But she didn’t think she could take any more terror and suspense, her body felt quite weak all of a sudden, and memories of her cosy convent bedroom flooded her mind. No, V, she cautioned herself, standing up a little straighter. Think of Flo. You must stay here, for her, or she’ll have no one to look after her. Take courage, and dig down deeply for strength. She sent a prayer out to the universe, asking for a new dose of grit, explaining to anyone that was listening that she seemed to be running low on the last one.

  A noise above her, footsteps moving fast, made her look up. Coco had appeared, and was leaning over the banisters, taking in the scene below her, her long ringlets falling down; Digby’s mangled body, the plethora of police officers and paramedics, the suitcase and its scattered items that still lay where they’d fallen. She opened her mouth and let out a blood-curdling scream.

  Magnus appeared immediately at the living-room door.

  ‘Coco,’ he shouted up at his daughter, his voice sounding stronger than Sister Veronica had ever heard it. ‘For once in your life, SHUT THE HELL UP!’

  26

  Later that evening, when the police officers and paramedics had gone, and Digby’s body had been taken away, most of the remaining family members sat in the living room, duvets and blankets covering their knees, nearly all of them nursing a mug of hot chocolate. Sister Veronica had overheard a muttered remark DI Ahuja had made to an officer as they left the house: ‘The problem is,’ he’d said, ‘that no one here has a bloody alibi. No one at all. Everyone seemed to be on their own at the time. And I’ll bet my hat that that man didn’t jump over the rail on purpose. We need to dig deeper into this, find out how the hell that man ended up on the hall floor.’

  Everyone in the living room was quiet, lost in their own thoughts, absorbing the shocking events of the last few hours. People did keep shooting looks at Ophelia, Sister Veronica noticed. It seemed the unspoken general consensus that she had somehow killed her brute of a husband, although goodness knows where she’d found the strength. There was an air of protection around her, as everyone understood the motive, but still felt traumatised by the event. After all, killing someone was such a heinous thing to do, whatever the circumstance. It was as though a force field had appeared around the girl, no one wanted to go too near her, but at the same time were treating her with renewed respect. At one point, clearly desperate to bring a touch of normality to their lives and unable to bear the silence, Lucie got up and put the carols back on, saying nothing was going to stop a ray of Christmas shining through this hellish household. ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ began to croon quietly away in the background.

  The two youngest were the only ones not present; Sam was tucked up in bed at last, and Wilfred had announced he was going back to his room to play solitaire on his computer. Ophelia was sitting quietly, slightly away from the rest of her family, a patchwork quilt tucked neatly around her knees. The stress and strain Sister Veronica had become so accustomed to seeing on her face was leaving, a new animation taking its place. She looks more alive than ever before, Sister Veronica thought. How amazing. Digby had taken the light out of her, and now that he’s gone – it’s coming back. It’s almost magical to observe. I just can’t think badly of her, if it was her who pushed him. But neither can I reconcile the fact that I’ve just seen Digby’s dead body. The whole scenario has taken the stuffing out of me. And the fear of being here with someone who murdered Giles is fatiguing. The rest of the family don’t know he was poisoned yet, just Fl
orence and I. How long will this nightmare last?

  Coco, surpassing all previous expectations of her, had actually listened to her father when he’d bellowed at her to shut up earlier. She’d stopped screaming, a look of puzzlement taking over her face, as she absorbed the fact that her usually inert father was being assertive. She’d been rather quiet ever since. Perhaps that’s just what the girl needs, Sister Veronica thought, glancing at her. A firm fatherly hand. Perhaps she’s been unconsciously crying out for it, what with all her grating screaming and erratic behaviour. Negative attention is better than none at all, if that’s all you can get. If Magnus can keep it up, it will do their relationship no end of favours. I rather think there’s hope for the girl yet. And the drawings on her bedroom wall, that she’d only briefly glanced at when she was trying to find out who’d been outside Florence’s door, were stunning. If Coco had done them herself it meant the girl had real talent. She must talk to her about them soon, show an interest and encourage her talent.

  The door opened, and Maud came in with a fresh tray of hot chocolate and biscuits. Mrs Hardman had been allowed to go home after giving her statement to the police, and for once Maud had taken charge of the kettle. Florence was too drained to do anything other than rest on the sofa with her eyes closed, and Sister Veronica’s body still felt weak, as though it had been pummelled from the inside. She was exhausted, she suspected, from the hyper-vigilance she’d experienced since arriving at Chalfield Hall, the growing fear, and the terror – still there – at living with a person, or people, who intended harm. And the pressure of not being able to talk about it with anyone other than Florence. She leaned forward, thanking Maud for the steaming mug, and doing a quick search for custard creams among the assorted pile on the plate.

  Magnus was staring at his phone. Still pale and dishevelled-looking, his shoulders were more upright than usual and he was no longer slouching apathetically into the sofa. There was a definite air of renewed purpose surrounding him, Sister Veronica noticed with surprise.

  ‘There’s a job going in Kettering,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘I might apply for that. It’s in sales. Looks interesting.’

  The public show of his use of cannabis, and the fact that his mother and relatives now knew he was using it again as a coping mechanism, a crutch, rather than dealing with life head-on, seemed to have awoken something within him, Sister Veronica reflected. Perhaps Florence’s words about him needing to parent his children properly rather than act like a teenager himself had also had an effect. And, of course, the shock of seeing Digby dead on the floor would have jolted him, showed him how quickly one can lose the opportunity of being a parent or a child, how important it was not to take any relationship for granted. The rest he’d had upstairs after Florence had extracted him from the floor of the greenhouse seemed to have been some sort of turning point. Maybe his mother’s obvious disappointment and despair had played a part too. Perhaps, she thought, he’d needed something like that to happen, an intervention, for him to take a good, hard look at where his life was going. It was strange, she thought, how things like that happened. People sometimes needed a change to occur for them to turn a corner, one that gave them a metaphorical kick in the right direction.

  ‘Sounds fantastic,’ she said, managing a smile in Magnus’ direction. ‘I’m sure you’d do very well in the role.’

  ‘Sounds tedious if you ask me,’ Cecily said loudly. She drained the remnants of her previous hot chocolate – that she’d insisted on adding a generous amount of liqueur to – and accepted a fresh mug from Maud that quickly got the same treatment. Sister Veronica wasn’t sure how many bottles of wine Cecily had worked through that evening, but she was sure it was at least two, possibly three. The woman had less inhibitions than usual, her speech was slurring, and she was dropping some of her airs and graces, at times being downright rude to anyone who took her fancy. Usually, Sister Veronica thought, Cecily was rude behind people’s back so at least this was a slightly more honest way of operating. Barnaby had woken up during the Digby drama to eat three bowls of Mrs Hardman’s stew, read a couple of newspapers, and give a very short statement to the police. He was now staring at his wife, looking rather more focused than usual.

  Florence opened her eyes.

  ‘I think it’s great that Magnus has started looking for jobs, Cecily,’ she said, her voice full of exhaustion. ‘Don’t you think we should all encourage him, rather than putting him off?’

  Cecily gave a tiny snort. It was almost imperceptible, but Sister Veronica’s sharp ears heard it.

  Florence sighed, and her gaze wandered to a photo of her and Giles hanging on the wall. They looked happy in it, Sister Veronica thought, at some party or other. Their cheeks were flushed, they had wine glasses in their hands, and Giles had his arm round his wife. A moment of pleasure captured forever.

  ‘I really can’t believe he’s gone,’ she said, her voice becoming thick with emotion. ‘I just can’t seem to digest that he’s never going to walk in to the room again, never going to go outside to clean his beloved cars anymore. His personality was so big, his absence seems to have left a physical hole in the house. And we were together for so many years.’

  Cecily muttered something under her breath.

  ‘What was that, Cecily?’ Florence turned to her. ‘I didn’t quite catch it.’

  ‘My words were…’ Cecily said with a ruthless smile. ‘Why do you miss him so much? It’s not like you had a great marriage.’

  ‘Now that’s enough, Cecily.’ Barnaby sat forward. ‘I think you might need to go to bed soon. You’ve had quite enough to drink this evening.’ Gosh, Sister Veronica thought. So Barnaby is more observant than he appears to be. Happy to coast along most of the time, but says something when he thinks it’s important. Good for him.

  ‘Her and me both,’ Rufus said, holding his near empty glass in the air. He’d worked his way through the best part of a bottle of sweet sherry while the rest of them were drinking hot chocolate, Sister Veronica had noticed. But what was interesting was that Araminta hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since she’d got home. She’d been sitting curled up in an armchair since the police had left, staring into the middle distance, as though she was thinking about something very hard. Every now and again she rubbed the side of her head. Must have hit it quite hard on her way down the stairs, Sister Veronica thought. That will smart for a good few days if you ask me.

  ‘I’m not going to bed, Barnaby, you silly man,’ Cecily said with a laugh. ‘I’m only just getting started. For the first time in days I’m actually having fun. You have your wine cellar to thank for that,’ she said, turning to Florence, who narrowed her eyes at her sister-in-law.

  ‘My wine cellar is now closed for the evening,’ Florence said, a sharpness in her tone. ‘And my marriage was a good one, thank you, Cecily. What gives you the right to judge it now, anyway?’

  ‘Oh, just the fact that I knew Giles a lot better than you did,’ Cecily said, a breeziness in her words. She really is enjoying herself, Sister Veronica thought. Obnoxious woman. ‘Giles and I ended up, ah, spending a lot of time together over the years, Florence. Usually when you’d taken to your bed with some little problem or other.’

  ‘Shut up, Mummy,’ Araminta said, coming to suddenly. ‘I think you’ve said enough now. Leave poor Auntie Florence alone. You’re drunk, and you’re saying things you don’t mean.’ She touched the side of her head, wincing.

  ‘Bit like how you behave usually, isn’t it, darling?’ Cecily turned to her daughter. ‘Drinking like a fish and saying and doing exactly what you feel.’ She giggled. ‘It is fun, I must say, I should do it more often.’

  ‘I’ve decided to stop drinking alcohol altogether actually,’ Araminta said. ‘That’s what I’ve been thinking about all evening. I don’t want to get into that state anymore. Seeing how you are now, Mummy, just cements my decision. It’s awful to look at. It’s embarrassing. Listen everybody.’ She looked round. ‘I’m so sorry if I’ve
been a pain to be with over the last few days. I’m sorry about falling down the stairs. I’m so ashamed about that. In fact, I’ve done quite a few things recently that I’m not proud of. My constant headache will be a reminder not to drink for now. It’s going to be hard but I’ll get there.’

  Rufus shot her a warning look, as though trying to tell her not to say any more about whatever those things she wasn’t proud of were. How curious, Sister Veronica thought. Surely Araminta hasn’t done anything so bad she can’t share it with her family? She gave her a warm smile.

  ‘Good for you, Araminta,’ Florence said, not taking her eyes from Cecily. ‘That’s a very brave decision. I must say, you and Magnus have really impressed me this evening.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Cecily snorted loudly. ‘It’s turning into an AA meeting.’

  ‘Cecily,’ Florence said, sitting up and shifting the blanket off her knees. ‘I take it from what you said a few seconds ago that you are implying you and Giles had an affair behind my back?’

  ‘Don’t do this now, Florence,’ Sister Veronica said, leaning forwards. ‘Let’s talk about it in the morning when she’s sobered up a bit. Enough has gone on for one day, don’t you think?’

  ‘I need to know, V,’ Florence said. ‘Now that she’s brought it up, I need to hear the truth.’

  ‘Of course we had an affair.’ Cecily waved her mug around. ‘It wasn’t like you were available for him, was it, Florence? Always busy with Magnus or suffering a migraine or a bout of depression. The man had needs, and I understood them. Don’t worry, he ended it four years ago, we weren’t still together when he died.’

  Florence stood up and walked over to stand in front of Cecily.