by Mary Gibson
Now she moved to the middle of the window, so she could see him properly. Across the courtyard beyond the gates, he must have sensed something, for he stopped pacing, and then, searching the windows, he found her. Their eyes met and he raised a hand.
23
Nemesis
Two weeks passed before Kate was deemed fit to leave hospital, with the proviso she agree to a period of convalescence. Longbonnet offered to look after her, but Martin insisted that she needed clean air and quiet. He would take her to the Sussex cottage and to Nora. On the night before Kate was due to be discharged, she asked a young nurse going off duty if she would take a note down to the front gate.
Kate made her slow way to the chapel, cursing every time she had to stop for a rest. The chapel was always open – small candles burning night and day, evidence of prayers for loved ones; brave signs of hope. Tonight, it was empty. She sat in a pew near the back and waited. She heard him come in, and when he sat next to her, she turned to look at him. His eyes were liquid bright in the candlelight, his face gaunt and pale. He dropped his gaze.
‘Thank you, for coming back to us,’ he said in a voice not weak, but gentle. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if—’
She put a hand over his. ‘Martin told me you’ve been on guard out there every day since I came in. I should be the one thanking you, Johnny.’
He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t have been anywhere else.’
‘But you’ve not been working – how’ve you been managing?’
‘That’s nothing. I couldn’t have eaten if I tried.’
‘Well, you can start eating now, can’t you?’
He smiled and nodded, compliant. ‘Now you’re better I can.’ It was hard to tell just how he’d changed, but she knew he had. Perhaps because they were in a chapel, it felt to her an almost sacred change. She searched for the word to describe it and found one from her Catholic schooldays: chastened.
‘Martin’s taking you to Sussex tomorrow?’
She nodded. ‘I wanted to go to Longbonnet’s.’
‘Better to be somewhere Archie doesn’t know about. Though now he seems to have got off scot-free, I shouldn’t think he’d have any reason to come after you…’
Here was another surprise – he wasn’t telling her off for not fighting for justice.
‘Come and visit me?’
‘Of course. But you should get back to your bed. It’ll be a long drive tomorrow.’ He stood and helped her up. ‘Goodbye, Kate. God bless.’ He kissed her on the cheek and left her standing in the chapel, astonished. He didn’t believe in God. His blessing was even more precious for that and tears pricked her eyes as the door of the chapel closed behind him. Before she left, she went to the shelf of flickering candles and, on impulse, lit one for Johnny.
*
The sun came out for their drive down to Sussex. As they passed through the Weald of Kent and on to Sevenoaks, she remembered the days of motoring in Martin’s red Baby Austin, when he would take her on a mystery tour to a village pub or a picnic by the river at Yalding or Eynsford. When he’d painted the Bermondsey Triptych, she’d felt her life opening out. She might be poor, but suddenly he’d shown her that she could be anybody she wanted to be, and now, with a rush of gratitude, she put her hand on his knee. He took his eyes off the road to look at her.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course I’m all right! I’m out of hospital and I’m going to be anyone I want to be!’ He gave her a puzzled look and then smiled. ‘Ah, the lure of the open road!’
He put his foot on the accelerator and they sped on towards Tunbridge Wells, with every tree and bush clamouring to burst its wintery straitjacket. She laughed. It might have been the open road, but she suspected it was the leaving of her father, and any idea of vengeance, behind that had made her feel so free.
They reached the cottage in the early afternoon. The sun had stayed out as hedgerows funnelled them in only one possible direction. They turned down a winding lane, overarched by old trees, whose fresh green buds hung so low they bounced against the windscreen. She felt a sense of anticipation, and as they turned another bend, the trees opened out and the cottage came into view. It was bigger than she’d expected – a two-storey, rusty brick building, with a thatched roof and a long, low annexe tacked on at one end. Leaded light windows flanked a small front door, outside which stood Nora. Her arms were folded beneath a pale woollen shawl she had draped over her shoulders for, though bright, the day held a remembrance of winter. She looked as if she had been there for some time, waiting for them. And yet when she saw them her face lit up with surprised delight.
She hurried across age-smoothed paving stones to the front gate, flung it open and stood by the car. ‘You’re here – Kate, Martin!’
Martin helped Kate out and Nora held her at arm’s length, studying her. ‘Oh, my dear Kate. I’m so sorry I couldn’t have been with you. You’ve been through so much.’
Kate pulled her close, and Nora, in spite of all her natural reserve, didn’t seem to want to let go. While Martin went to park the car in a disused barn next to the cottage, Nora led Kate into a cosy sitting room, fussing and making her sit in the most comfortable chair. She stood, holding Kate’s coat and hat, and then seemed to remember.
‘Mrs Wills “who does” has made us a cake! I’ll fetch some tea.’
As she returned carrying a tray, Martin put his head round the door. ‘Where shall I put Kate’s things?’
‘In the annexe, Martin dearest.’ She turned to Kate. ‘I thought it would be easier for you – there’s a little bathroom next to the bedroom, so no stairs to bother about.’
‘That’s kind of you, Nora. But I’m not an invalid.’
Nora gave a wry smile. ‘In fact, you are.’
Kate gave in, leaned back in her chair and allowed herself to relax into the comfortable warmth the place exuded. She studied Nora over her teacup.
‘I’m sorry he had to leave you here alone.’
‘Oh, Martin?’ Nora seemed surprised and a rare flush warmed her cheeks. ‘I wasn’t alone. Major Crawford – the owner – stayed in the annexe. He loved it, I think – pistol to the ready in case Chibby…’ She paused and rubbed her flawless forehead. ‘Even his name fills me with loathing. Kate, I’m so sorry. I should never have let you come into that house, knowing what I did about him. How he’d treated me. I was so hopeful that finding his daughter would somehow change him.’ She fiddled with the fringe of her shawl, the strain of the past month evident. ‘How am I going to explain it all to Paul?’
‘Paul is a clever little boy – he understands more than you think.’
‘I suppose you’re right, Kate. And besides, he’ll have us… won’t he?’
‘Yes, he will.’ And Kate understood that, with Nora’s usual reserve, she was being invited to be part of a new family. She felt Nora was about to say something else when Martin returned and the atmosphere became immediately more jolly. He had that knack of making the everyday into something special and party-like, but after an hour she found herself retreating. She sat, listening to the pleasant notes of Nora’s musical voice as she talked to Martin about his latest work and their mutual friends. Sights and sounds blurred and she must have dozed, for the next thing she knew, Martin was shaking her gently. ‘Kate! Let me help you to your room. You’re exhausted.’
She didn’t refuse. In the small, whitewashed bedroom, he drew the curtains and kissed her goodnight, whispering how happy he was to have her there, safe and sound. It took all her remaining energy to get undressed and to sink gratefully into the deep feather mattress, pulling the fluffy bedspread up to her chin. In the annexe all was quiet, and as she felt sleep claim her, Kate’s mind wandered to Johnny and his stubborn, lonely vigil and she wondered what he would be doing now.
*
During the night she was woken by what sounded like a scratching on the window pane. The night was darker than anything she’d experienced in Bermondsey, where the gas lamps burne
d along the lane or light from pubs spilled onto pavements. The blackness was thick, like an ebony woollen blanket surrounding her. She tried to ignore the sound and willed herself back into sleep, but it persisted. Perhaps the window latch was loose. She eased herself out of bed and felt her way to the window. She pulled aside the curtain and jumped back, with a cry of alarm. A face was staring at her through the window. A pale face beneath a black homburg hat. She screamed. The man pressed his face against the window pane. Then she screamed again, louder this time, but not out of fear – her scream was one of pure rage. The man was her father.
As she screamed, Archie’s face, which she could have sworn had a look of terror on it, disappeared. It was as if he’d been yanked away by some unseen hand. She stumbled back towards the door, which burst open as she reached it.
‘What is it?’ Martin was at her side, his arms around her. ‘Kate? Are you all right?’
She was trembling violently and stuttered out, ‘N-no, I’m n-not! Dad’s just paid me a visit.’ She pointed to the window.
‘Dear God, he must have followed us here…’ Martin pushed open the window and looked out. ‘Major Crawford left me his pistol. Stay here.’
‘Not bleedin’ likely!’ Kate grabbed his arm and they made their way down the dark passage to the main house.
‘Martin?’ she whispered, hearing a creak from the floorboards upstairs. ‘Did Nora wake up too?’
‘No!’ Martin grabbed the pistol from a drawer in the hall stand and leaped up the stairs. Kate stood, desperately wanting to follow but barely able to stand, let alone negotiate the uneven stairs. She began climbing them, tripping in the darkness, shivering in her nightdress from shock and rage, her heart thumping so loud she could hear nothing of what was going on upstairs. And then a crack split the night. She had never heard one before, but she felt sure it was the sound of a gunshot.
She discovered that the quickest way up was to crawl, one painful stair at a time. She called for Martin and Nora, but there was no answer. Dreading what Martin might have done and imagining the worst, she gripped the top banister and hauled herself up onto the landing. Crying with the effort, she staggered to Nora’s bedroom. With her hand flat on the door, she paused. There was no sound coming from inside. She pushed the door ajar. Martin stood in the middle of the room with his arms around Nora, who had her back to Kate.
‘Is he here?’ Kate breathed. ‘Did you shoot my dad?’
Martin stared at her. ‘Kate?’ he said, almost as if he’d forgotten that she was there. ‘No, Chibby’s not here.’
Nora left Martin’s arms and ran to Kate. ‘Did Chibby hurt you? You’re shaking.’
‘Only cos I want to kill him.’ So much, she thought, for leaving vengeance behind.
‘But did he threaten you?’
‘No. He seemed more scared than I was!’
‘Scared? Chibby? You must have been mistaken.’
‘I’m going to look outside. You two stay in this room and lock the door.’
‘Don’t be foolish, Martin,’ Nora said. ‘Chibby could easily overpower you. I don’t think he’s come for Kate, it’s me he’s angry with.’ And before they could stop her, Nora dashed from the room.
Martin roared at her to stop, but she was quick-footed and determined and as Martin raced out, Kate heard Nora unlocking the front door. There was nothing she could do except force open the window and lean out. She saw Nora running towards the lane and then stopping at the woods’ edge.
‘Chibby, it’s me you want!’ she cried out to the trees. ‘Kate had nothing to do with my leaving. It was all me. Let her alone and I’ll come back to you.’
She couldn’t mean it. But if her plan was to draw him out, it failed. Nothing stirred in the wood, save the night breeze tossing the tree branches in a crazy dance that made shadows look like stalking creatures. Martin was close behind Nora and he clasped her tight to him. As he held the pistol high in front of him, even at this distance, Kate could see that his whole arm shook.
They watched for a while, waiting, Kate at the window, Martin and Nora below. But the silence of the night was broken again only by the call of a solitary owl.
*
With no possibility of sleep that night, they agreed to stay together in the sitting room, with the connecting door to the annexe locked. Martin found the remains of a bottle of brandy, which they polished off as they sat waiting for the dawn.
‘So, if it wasn’t you who fired the shot, who was it?’ Kate asked as Martin handed her a glass of the brandy.
‘It must have been your father.’
‘But who was he shooting at – if not Nora or me?’
‘I don’t know. But whatever he wanted in coming here, I think he’s gone now. If not, he would certainly have come when you called to him,’ Martin said to Nora. ‘I can imagine how it rankled with him that you dared to walk out. But, Nora, he’s controlled you for long enough.’ Martin gripped Nora’s hand, and Kate was reminded of all the years he’d known her. He’d been trying to protect Nora for far longer than he had Kate.
‘But I still can’t understand it. Chibby’s never been one to give up so easily.’ Nora looked at Kate, who didn’t say anything, but felt a deep unease. She believed her father was still out there, somewhere. And surely Nora knew that too.
In the morning, Martin telephoned the police to report an intruder and they were visited by a constable, who poked around the abandoned barn and ventured into the woods a short distance. He wasn’t gone long. Nora asked him into the sitting room. He looked no older than Kate and he was visibly shaking.
‘I think I’ve found your intruder, Mr North.’
‘Really? I thought he’d be long gone.’
‘I’m afraid he is… in a way.’ The young constable adjusted his tight blue collar. ‘I’m not sure if the ladies need to hear this.’
‘I do,’ Kate said, staring at him till he blushed. ‘He’s my dad.’
‘And I do too – I’m his wife,’ Nora added.
She saw the policeman’s Adam’s apple rise and fall. He blew out a long breath. ‘If he is Mr Grainger, then you should sit down, miss, madam. It appears he’s suffered… an accident.’
They did as they were told and the constable went on. ‘I found the gentleman lying in the woods with a gunshot wound to the head. I can’t be sure, but it appears he took his own life. The gun was still in his hand.’
*
For the rest of that day and most of the next, the area around the cottage swarmed with blue-uniformed policemen, clustering around the woods like flies, seeking out any clues to what had happened the previous night. A detective came too and asked them to go over in detail their various relationships to Mr Grainger. When they probed Kate about her own ‘accident’, she lied – what good could it do her now if her dad were dead anyway? She told him the report of an attack on her had been a mistake – a result of her mental confusion. It was left to her to identify the body. Nora said she couldn’t do it. So Martin drove Kate to Tunbridge Wells and waited outside the morgue.
He was still recognizably her dad, though they’d covered half his head with a sheet.
‘It’s him.’ She gave a brief nod to the policeman, who left her alone with the body.
Tears pricked her eyes and she allowed them to fall freely. Not understanding why she should be weeping, she rubbed away a tear, angry at her stupid weakness. What had she lost? The dream version of him had already long vanished. Perhaps she was just mourning the reality: a man who’d destroyed everything that got too close to him and had ended up with nothing. She took a deep breath, and walking from the room without looking back, she stepped into the weak sunshine, where Martin waited, leaning against the Baby Austin.
He opened the car door for her and once they were on the road, he asked, ‘What do you want to do now?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re free of him.’
‘Yes, I am – and so is Nora,’ she said, turning her face to the house
s lining the road, watching them thin out, to be replaced by hedgerows, fields and woods.
*
The coroner’s verdict, when it eventually came, was suicide. Archibald Grainger had taken his own life as a consequence of his business failing and his wife leaving him. Nobody disputed it, not even Martin. But whatever had happened that night, Kate was certain Archie hadn’t gone to his death willingly. She had seen his face through that window, and what she hadn’t told the others was that he’d opened his mouth in a silent plea to be let in. It was yet another question mark surrounding her father and one she’d probably never know the truth of.
Archie’s funeral wasn’t held in Belgravia, but in Bermondsey, which Kate felt was a fitting punishment. He’d reviled the place in life, even killed to escape it, and now it had reclaimed him in death. Kate had travelled up from Sussex with Nora on the train to London Bridge, leaving Martin to drive back to London. Her aunts had surprised her by insisting on arranging the service at Dockhead church. Aunt Sylvie had even ordered Stan and Janey to attend. Afterwards they were invited to her aunt’s for tea and sandwiches. It was the strangest of family gatherings. Strained beyond any attempt at civility, Sylvie and Sarah had been brought together, briefly, by their shared sense of betrayal, but new hostilities had broken out over the funeral and now, as Sarah handed round sandwiches, she whispered to Kate that she would probably put another Goss into her grave today if her sister didn’t stop going on about Janey and how well she was doing in her new office job.
