The Tormented

by Sarah Sheridan

  ‘No,’ Neil said. ‘Of course I’m not happy. I love you, Luce, and I’ve been trying to support you as much as I can for months, only you’re too busy navel-gazing to see that. I don’t want to see you upset. But equally, I don’t want us all to lose this house and become homeless.’

  ‘Okay, Neil,’ Lucie said, wiping her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to take this all out on you, I was just so sure Auntie Florence would be able help me, maybe lend me some money that, of course, I’d pay back to her when I could. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Listen, I’m going to have a drink. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.’

  She ended the call and threw her phone hard on the bed. Everything was fucked up. Why did Uncle Giles’ business account have to be empty, for God’s sake? He and Auntie Florence always appeared to have loads of money; the nice cars, plentiful food, Giles’ frequent boasts about how well his business was doing. And they’d just redecorated the house, hadn’t they? If there were no profits from his business, Beresford’s Breaded Wonders, in his account, then what the bloody hell had happened to them?

  30

  It’s Christmas Eve, Sister Veronica thought, opening her eyes. For a moment, a thrill of childish excitement ran through her. She always loved this time of year, her parents had been superb at creating a festive atmosphere when she was young – purposefully taking time out from their busy farming life to make things special. She remembered how they’d decorated the tree together, and hung holly and mistletoe around the house. She could almost feel the anticipation of long-ago Christmas Eve nights, when little Veronica had gazed out of her bedroom window wondering if she’d see Father Christmas and his reindeer whizzing through the sky. She’d wake up while it was still dark and the small but tightly packed stocking would be waiting at the end of her bed, filled with modest but much-loved goodies. But memories of the horrific happenings of the previous two days slowly plopped into her mind like heavy stones. Soon, she was feeling weighed down with all the tragedy and secrecy at Chalfield Hall, her Christmassy rush of goodwill and nostalgia vanishing almost as soon as it had arrived.

  By the time she’d washed and dressed and arrived downstairs, just Ophelia and Sam were sitting at the kitchen counter, a plate of half-eaten toast triangles next to the little boy. It was the first time she’d seen Ophelia in casual clothes, jeans and a jumper, rather than the beautiful but formal tailored suits she seemed to favour.

  ‘Lucie gave them to me,’ Ophelia said with a smile, noticing the nun’s gaze. ‘She said they were too small for her now, and wondered if I’d like them. It’s nice of her, I don’t own any jeans.’

  Sister Veronica nodded and smiled, then turned towards the sideboard. The smell of coffee in the room and the sight of several empty mugs by the sink suggested that she was one of the last to rise that day. Dash, that was unlike her. If she wasn’t careful she’d become as slovenly as Maud and start lying in bed till noon. She could imagine what Mother Superior would have to say about that sort of carry-on back at the convent. She’d never put up with it, she’d have any nun who tried it up and in chapel for extra prayers within seconds.

  She busied herself, filling up the kettle and turning it on, sourcing a clean mug and plate and making herself two slices of toast, all the while wondering whether she should address Digby’s demise with Ophelia. Should she subtly bring up the notion that it would be understandable if an abused woman had harmed the man who’d hurt her for so many years? Probably best not at the moment, she concluded, as she extracted the butter and jam from the fridge. Not while the little boy’s present, at any rate. He shouldn’t have to listen to any more negativity, little lamb. Especially where his mother and father were concerned.

  She’d just placed her breakfast on top of the counter and herself on a bar stool, when Maud came in. Glancing at the clock, Sister Veronica saw it was half past nine.

  ‘Morning, Maud,’ she said with a smile. ‘Up early today?’

  ‘I didn’t sleep very well at all last night, Sister,’ Maud said. Her eyes, on closer inspection, did look rather puffy and tired, Sister Veronica realised. Was there also a certain greyness to her skin, or was she imagining it?

  ‘Well, no surprises there,’ Sister Veronica said, with a grimace. ‘The last two days have been particularly frightful for everyone, haven’t they? Poor Giles, such an unexpected collapse. And what happened with Digby. Well, it’s too awful to talk about – I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of him on the hall floor. It was probably the stress of all that which kept you awake, I imagine.’

  ‘Yes, most likely,’ Maud mumbled, walking round her and reaching for the coffee. ‘Awful things do keep happening this Christmas, don’t they? I expect it’s that. I usually sleep quite well.’

  ‘Oh before I forget,’ Ophelia said, turning. ‘The hospital just rang for you, Maud. I tried looking for you but you weren’t in your room. They said you need to phone them back urgently, they left a number, I wrote it down on the pad by the house phone.’

  ‘Oh.’ Maud looked up. ‘Thanks, Ophelia. Probably about my indigestion. It’s been terrible recently, I’ve had to have some tests done.’

  Sister Veronica watched her, saying nothing. No hospital would phone on Christmas Eve if the problem was just about indigestion, she thought. I hope Maud isn’t ill. Still, if she wants to keep the real reason about the call private then that’s up to her, I suppose. Not my place to pry.

  ‘Ah, morning everyone.’ Florence came into the kitchen. ‘V, I’ve just been on the phone with my accountant. Are you free for a minute?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sister Veronica looked longingly at her heavily buttered toast, now slathered with jam. Oh well, she could always make some fresh slices after Florence had finished whatever she had to say. She got up and followed her cousin into the hall.

  ‘V, it’s bad,’ Florence said, stopping next to the Christmas tree. ‘I sent everything to my accountant early this morning, all of Giles’ business accounts, and our own personal one. He was able to tell quite quickly what’s been going on.’

  ‘What, Flo?’ Sister Veronica said, alarmed by her cousin’s wide eyes, a look of shock in them.

  ‘It seems my husband’s business, Beresford’s Breaded Wonders, hasn’t been doing very well after all,’ Florence said. ‘In fact, that’s an understatement. For the last few years, the profits have fallen dramatically. I’m not sure why; maybe the public have gone off fish fingers – I must say, I can’t blame them if they have, I’ve personally had quite enough of them to last me a lifetime.’

  ‘Oh,’ Sister Veronica said. ‘Then how on earth did Giles have enough money to keep buying cars and to do up the house?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Florence said, her eyes narrowing. ‘The stupid man was siphoning off what money there was left in the business into our joint bank account. I saw the transfers, and presumed he was just paying himself a monthly wage like usual. But it seems he was actually taking money that wasn’t his, that should have been used to pay the wages of his workers. And some of it belonged to the shareholders in the business. I’m one of them, so are many members of the family, who – incidentally – are going to be livid when they find out about all this. Giles actually went so far with his scheme that his business is now massively in debt. Ridiculous, foolish man that he was.’

  ‘Flo,’ Sister Veronica said slowly. ‘I’m just thinking about what you just said, that you and other members of the family are shareholders in Beresford’s Breaded Wonders, and that they will be furious when they find out what Giles was up to. But what if one or more of them already knew about what Giles was up to? What if that’s the reason behind the poison pen letters, and even his death – that they found out and were trying to get him to stop taking all the money?’

  ‘Crikey, you’re right.’ Florence reached out to the wall to steady herself. ‘That makes sense really, doesn’t it? Can’t blame them for the poison pen letters, if that’s what they were about. Although I’d rather that whoever it was had come a
nd just told me about it, face to face. But murdering him for it? That’s too far, that’s beyond reasonable anger. It’s inexcusable.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sister Veronica said, giving a heavy sigh. ‘Although unfortunately, people don’t always think rationally when they’re pushed beyond a certain point, particularly where money is concerned. And especially when it comes to family matters, it seems.’ Something white that was lying near the front door caught her attention.

  ‘Oh no, Flo, I think you might have received another one of those dratted letters,’ she said, walking over and bending down to pick it up. ‘When on earth did this arrive?’ She turned it over to read the name on the front, but the sight of what she saw made her gasp and almost drop it.

  ‘What is it, V?’ Florence hurried over to her.

  They both stared at the name inscribed on the front of the envelope in capital letters: SISTER VERONICA.

  31

  Maud settled back into the biggest armchair in the living room, her pile of pink knitting on her knee. For some reason she wasn’t getting very far with it that day. It was a nuisance that the hospital had rung Chalfield Hall’s home telephone instead of her mobile – which to be fair was probably off or on silent – it usually was – she’d never been that keen on new-fangled technology. Now people might suspect she was poorly, which was a little wearing. She lied about her illness to keep her business private and had no intention of truthfully answering any inquisitive, well-meaning questions from anyone. She’d had to give her doctor the contact details of where she’d be staying over the Christmas period as a precaution, of course, but she never thought they’d actually phone her there. Yes, her prognosis was grim, but it had been good to spend time with close family without them knowing and fussing around and making her feel like an invalid. She knew this would be the last Christmas she ever spent with the people she cared about. And there were currently people she cared about at Chalfield much more than others. Much, much more.

  Maud had decided to make the best of life in the most enjoyable way she could a long time ago. She hadn’t had the best childhood in the world, and things had happened before she’d left home that had scarred her so deeply she’d always had to carry the wounds with her, unspoken about but not forgotten, and impossible to fully shake off. She knew they’d shaped her, made her the private, insular person she was today, but that’s just how it was, how it had to be. She had soon realised that the most pleasant way for her to cope with life and its demands was to live vividly inside her head, in a way distancing herself from external reality. Things were less painful that way. Maud was an introvert, isn’t that what people called those like her nowadays? She had a good idea that to the outside world she came across as remote and cut off, not really ever joining in properly with things, and always hovering in the background at family events. But she suspected that she was a lot more intelligent than anyone ever realised. And it was fine with her that that was her own little secret, because inside her head she’d become entirely self-sufficient, and she didn’t need people properly getting to know her, and butting in to her protected inner world.

  She did, however, enjoy being with those she loved, more as an observer than a participant. Just knowing they were alive and well was enough for her; that they would go on – strong and healthy – long after she was dead and buried. That’s really why she’d accepted Florence’s invitation to Chalfield Hall that Christmas. She’d been surprised to receive it, of course, had wondered why Florence had invited her – it wasn’t like the two of them had ever been that close, it had been a long while since she’d last seen the woman. But she’d soon realised the opportunity that it would bring her, and it was one she couldn’t afford to miss. In her own way, just spending time near her relatives was her goodbye to them. She was doing it quietly, and only she knew what was in store for her in a few months: death.

  There was, however, one last thing Maud needed to do before she was ready to say goodbye to the world. And it would be done soon. She picked up her needles and began to knit.

  32

  ‘Oh, V, what does it say?’ Florence peered at the sheet of paper in Sister Veronica’s hands.

  ‘It just says, “Stop interfering. You have been warned”,’ Sister Veronica said. ‘But look, Flo, doesn’t the writing look a bit different to the letters you’ve been getting?’

  Florence leaned forwards and stared.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘Bring it upstairs and we can compare them.’

  Minutes later, Sister Veronica was sitting on Florence’s bed, watching her cousin retrieve a wooden box from her bureau before unlocking it with a small key she took out from under a vase. Everything in the room was beautiful, she noticed, in a heavy, old kind of way. Much of the furniture must have been left over from mad old Henrietta’s time, and would no doubt be passed down to each family member as they took the place over when the time came. Bringing the pile of letters from inside it to the bed, Florence sat down, and the pair of them stared from Sister Veronica’s letter to several of Florence’s.

  ‘Yes,’ Florence said, after a while. ‘You’re right, V, you must be much more observant than me. Now that I see them together, the style of the writing is obviously different. Whoever wrote mine has looser handwriting, while yours is written tightly with more control.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Sister Veronica nodded. ‘Do you recognise either types? Remind you of the writing in any letters or cards you’ve received, particularly from family?’

  Florence exhaled, staring from one to the other.

  ‘It’s so hard to tell, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I mean, whoever wrote the letters obviously didn’t want to be discovered, so they’ve put some effort into trying to just write in plain capital letters. But even so you can tell that yours and mine are produced by different hands. I just don’t know who they belong to.’

  Sister Veronica was about to reply, when raised voices caught her attention.

  ‘Listen,’ she said, putting her hand on Florence’s arm. They sat in silence for a minute. The voices got louder. They clearly belonged to a man and a woman.

  ‘That sounds like Araminta and Rufus,’ Florence said in a low voice, her brow furrowing. ‘Which is unusual, because those two rarely argue. Drink together? Yes, from dusk till dawn. But fight? Hardly ever, not that I’ve seen, anyway.’

  Sister Veronica folded her letter, placed it on the bed, and stood up. She crept over to the door and quietly, slowly opened it.

  ‘No, Minty,’ they could hear Rufus saying. There was an edge of desperation in his voice. ‘No, you can’t. You really can’t. Listen to what I’m saying, Minty. If you tell everyone, it will be the end of us, trust me.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Araminta said. She’s sounding strong, Sister Veronica thought. Not drunk at all, her speech is clear and precise. Good for her. ‘I’ve had enough of the whole stupid thing. It was a terrible idea, I should never have gone along with it. In fact, I’ve been saying yes to you when I meant no for a long time now. I thought I was going to die the other day, Rufie, when I came to in the ambulance, and you just seemed to think it was funny. All you did was laugh about me falling down the stairs. “Oh don’t worry about Minty, she’ll be fine, she always does this.” But I wasn’t fine, and I’m not now. But one thing I have realised – ever since I was thinking about things in the hospital – is that I don’t want to live like this anymore.’

  ‘What do you mean, live like this?’ Rufus said.

  ‘Dishonestly and pathetically,’ Araminta said. ‘Meaninglessly, just drinking ourselves to death.’

  ‘Oh God, Minty, why are you being so boring all of a sudden?’ There was an edge of irritation in Rufus’ voice. ‘One thing I’ve always loved about you is that you’re a party girl through and through. Always up for a good time, ready to have fun when the stuffy people around us are being dull and sensible. Don’t change, for God’s sake.’

  ‘I’ve been “changed” inside for a while now, Rufus,’ Arami
nta said. ‘I just didn’t have the guts to tell you, or show you, that I wanted more out of life. I just went along with you and your wishes like usual, because I love you, and because I’ve been weak. But I’ve got enough strength in me now to do what’s best for me.’

  ‘You’ll ruin yourself, if you think you can act like Pollyanna and just come clean to everyone.’ Sister Veronica could hear movement now, as though someone was walking into the corridor. ‘Everyone will hate us, they won’t understand,’ Rufus was saying. ‘We’ll be cut out of the will. I’m telling you, Minty, if you go through with this you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. And so will I. You won’t just destroy your own reputation, you’ll wreck mine too.’ A door slammed, and footsteps pounded down the landing. Sister Veronica quickly pushed her cousin’s door with her hand and it swung to quietly, nearly closing but not quite. She held her breath, and it looked as though Florence was doing the same. The footsteps – Rufus’ by the heavy sound of them – passed by without slowing down. She heard him jogging down the stairs, and seconds later the front door slammed.

  Florence looked at her.

  ‘Well!’ she said. ‘What on earth have those two been up to?’

  33

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hardman,’ Maud said, entering the kitchen. ‘What treats have you got in store for us for this lunchtime?’

  ‘Ah, Maud.’ Mrs Hardman glanced round briefly. ‘Today’s lunch will be prune-and-apple stuffed pork belly with roast fennel. I’m making a separate, smaller mushroom and chestnut Wellington for Lucie, what with her being vegetarian and everything.’ She turned back, slicing up a large apple with dexterity.