Jack Armstrong drove the car out of the churchyard and onto the main road heading away from the town of Blackburn in Lancashire, and taking them to a small hamlet some twelve miles from Medford in the county of Bedfordshire. He wondered whether he would ever come back. He had made arrangements for her grave to be kept neat and tidy, even though there was something repugnant about that. Especially after the way she had… the way… she had… No! It did not do to dwell on such things. They were on their way to a new life. That was what had to be remembered. And only that. He glanced in the mirror to where his children were huddled together. God, they looked so frightened, so vulnerable. A stab of fear shot through him. Things would be all right now he promised himself. A new area, a fresh start and a lovely old house that was steeped in history. A second chance, that’s what they were getting. It had to work. He must believe that. There was no reason why life should not begin again for them, was there? What was done, was done. There was no way he could change it. He had better memories, and he had his children. Few men had more. Suddenly his heart felt lighter than it had done for months. He even smiled a little. It would be all right now. They would come through. His optimism was pierced only briefly. And that was when he caught sight of Johnny’s sleeping head. The boy. The boy worried him.
From her place in the back seat, where she lovingly cradled her sleeping brother, Ellie was also deep in thought. She had seen the ghost of a smile on her father’s face and was heartened by it. It was like a glimpse of sunshine after a storm. For the first time in a long while, a sense of peace and well-being flushed her heart. But, she did not fool herself. There was still a long way to go before the events of the past could be erased.
A loud cry shattered Ellie’s thoughts. ‘Go away! Get away from me!’ In his nightmare, Johnny flayed and kicked at the air, fending off someone or something, his face contorted with fear.
‘Ssh… ssh, sweetheart,’ Ellie drew him closer, enfolding him in her arms and brushing her mouth across the top of his head, ‘it’s all right.’ Her words comforted him. Soon, he was quiet again, clinging to her, his slumbers more peaceful. For now.
‘He’ll forget, Ellie… with our help, he will forget.’ Jack Armstrong’s anxious gaze was conveyed through the mirror to Ellie. ‘It will be some hours before we arrive at our new home,’ he added. ‘I suggest you follow the boy’s example… get some sleep while you can. Lord knows there’ll be more than enough work to do before we’re settled in.’ His gaze momentarily mingled with hers. When she smiled, he nodded and looked away. ‘I’ve a feeling the place will be in a shocking state of repair.’ He reached up to tilt the mirror. Ellie could no longer see his eyes. But she could still feel his pain. His anger.
Tired as she was, Ellie could not sleep. So many questions invaded her mind. Would Barny wait for her? She wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see her again, but she felt instinctively that it was wise to put time and distance between them. That way, they could take stock of their feelings for each other; recent events had put them under so much strain, there was a very real danger they would drift apart anyway. This way, she felt their long-term relationship had a better chance. It was an opportunity, also, for Barny to strengthen his efforts to find his mother. She had abandoned him as a babe-in-arms almost twenty-six years before. And ever since Barny had learned that he was adopted, his dream had been to find his true mother. His adoptive parents had emigrated to Australia four years ago. Ellie had never known them because she had known Barny for only a year, but Barny spoke proudly of them all the time. Even in their middle years they were youthful in outlook. Kind, adventurous people. Barny never tired of talking about them. It was obvious that he cared deeply for the couple. But, when they left for Australia, Barny had chosen to stay behind. He was still pursuing the idea of finding his real mother.
All the same, Ellie suspected that he missed them dreadfully, even though she understood he kept in touch by letter. Barny had mentioned to Ellie that maybe, ‘When we’re married… we could join them… make our new life in Australia?’ Ellie had been excited at the prospect. Now, she was numb with shock and grief.
Closing her eyes, Ellie began to relax; the trauma of the last twelve weeks and more had taken its toll. Weariness crept through her like an incoming tide, washing away all resistance. The welcoming sleep invaded her senses, lulling her to quietness, but the questions in her mind would not be stilled. Was Barny’s love strong enough to stand the test of time? Was her love strong enough? Would Johnny ever again be free of the nightmares that still haunted him? Would her father find peace of mind in their new surroundings? Would she?
Suddenly, Ellie felt the tears threatening. Resolutely, she forced them down. There had been enough tears shed by all of them. Bitter tears. Sad, angry tears. But for whom? For themselves? For her dead mother? Where did it all begin to go wrong? Ellie asked herself. Why didn’t they see it? Why didn’t she see it? Surely a daughter should know when her own mother was desperately unhappy, or ill, or losing her mind! She hadn’t wanted that observation to present itself. But, now that it had, Ellie searched her own tortured mind, recalling, reliving those past few months before… before. No. There had been nothing. Her mother had seemed content, happier than she had been for a long time; looking forward to the birth of her new baby; even teasing Johnny that he would soon have another sister. Johnny had resented that. ‘I want a brother,’ he insisted, ‘someone to play football with me.’ Now, there was no new brother, no baby sister and no mother. In one despicable, destructive frenzy, they had been wiped out for ever. But, the pedlar! Ellie suddenly remembered the pedlar! What about the pedlar? Two weeks before Christmas, Ellie had passed a bedraggled pedlar on the path to the house.
Old he was, and bent as Methuselah. He made an odd-looking figure as he went away from the house, furtive and badly limping, the brim of his battered hat pulled low over his forehead and muttering beneath his breath while he agitatedly delved into the wicker basket on the crook of his arm. When Ellie laughingly commented on him to her mother, she was told, ‘Don’t laugh at him, Ellie… or you might get struck dead!’ But Ellie had laughed, chiding her mother for being superstitious. Her mother had not laughed, though. Not on that particular day, nor on many others following, she now recalled.
Ellie was deeply curious about the old pedlar. Had he somehow frightened her mother? Oh, but surely not! He was strange, scruffy and somewhat alarming in appearance, there was no denying it. But certainly he could not have done or said anything that might have worried her mother too deeply. Ellie smiled at the idea. How foolish she was, grasping at straws and searching for reasons that might explain her mother’s sinister deed. The pedlar’s call was just a coincidence, she reminded herself. Because, earlier on the morning of that same day, Ellie had come downstairs to find her mother seated at the kitchen table. She was crying. To Ellie’s concerned questioning she had simply replied, ‘Being a cry-baby is quite normal when your time is close… wait ’til you’re expecting, my girl! You’ll see what I mean.’ They had laughed together, and Ellie was reassured. Now, her mother’s words rang in her thoughts like a death knell – ‘when your time is close’, she had said – ‘when your time is close’. Of course, she meant the birth, Ellie told herself. Of course she did! All the same, Ellie fought off the urge to scream out like Johnny had just done, urging the bad things to – ‘Go away – get away from me!’
Determined to occupy her mind with other, more pleasant thoughts, Ellie reached into her handbag and withdrew a folded newspaper cutting. She wanted – needed – to remind herself of the new life waiting for them. As she unfolded the cutting, she felt cheered. The advert was still so clear in her mind’s eye.
Handyman/Caretaker required to implement minor improvements to a house of historic interest, and afterwards to maintain the house in good condition.
Excellent wages and spacious accommodation offered to suitable applicant, who will have experience of house renovation.
There was a box num
ber, but no name or telephone number. Ellie’s father had shown interest in the advert straight away, as ‘house renovation’ was his special skill. It was how he earned his living. He had always nurtured a love of historic places. The post seemed tailor-made for him. Half-heartedly, he had written away to the stated box number, enclosing references and work experience details. When some time later he was offered the job by post, his enthusiasm grew. He saw it as an omen, a second chance for them all – particularly as the house in question was situated in a place called Redborough, in the south of England, some two hundred miles away.
‘That’s strange.’ Ellie turned the newspaper cutting over and over in her hands. This was not the advert.
‘What’s wrong, Ellie?’ Her father tilted the mirror back again, his quizzical gaze searching her face.
‘The advert… this isn’t the one I cut out of the newspaper.’
‘It must be amongst the paraphernalia in your bag.’
Ellie delved deep into her bag, spilling its contents onto her lap. ‘No. It isn’t here.’ She was puzzled. Irritated. ‘I can’t understand it. I distinctly remember cutting out the advert and putting it into my bag!’
‘Well then, you should be able to find it,’ her father assured her, spasmodically glancing to the road in front. He sounded anxious, swearing aloud when the rear wheel mounted the kerb and he almost lost control.
Ellie was alarmed to see her father growing increasingly agitated, yet at the same time being convinced that she had put the advert in her bag. But she couldn’t have done, or it would still be here! ‘No matter,’ she said, folding up the cutting and returning it to her bag. ‘We don’t really need it anyway. I hope you remembered to bring the letter of appointment with you, though. You did, didn’t you?’ She leaned forward, unintentionally awakening the boy. He peered up through half-opened eyes, smiled knowingly, and closed them again.
Jack Armstrong laughed. ‘Don’t you trust your old man?’ he asked. The smile stayed on his face until he had tilted the mirror back. Then it slid away, leaving a grimmer expression shaping his features. Damn and bugger it! Was he going out of his mind? High and low he’d searched for that letter. Last night, and again this morning. He did not find it! And he could have sworn it was safely put away in the pocket of his jacket. But he daren’t admit it to Ellie just now. He felt such a bloody fool! Still, it was just as well that he had made a mental note of where they were going. ‘They would be expected’ it had said in the letter. So, there was nothing lost. No need to worry. But he did worry. And he would. Until they were safely settled into their new home, Thornton Place.
He had located Redborough on the map. It did seem to be somewhat isolated. Still, there was no going back now! He had already returned the keys of their rented house to the grateful landlord, who had a string of potential tenants willing to pay a much higher rent. He had accepted a month’s wages in advance on his new post. So his bridges were all burned. They were on their way now. And there was no place else for them to go. A sense of determination and adventure flooded his soul. It was a time for looking forward, not craving for the past. With this renewed sense of purpose, he began softly singing to himself. Ellie heard it and was both astonished and glad. They had made the right decision; she knew that now. And things could only get better. Please God.
In the pretty churchyard where Marie Armstrong was buried, the air grew clammy; unmoving as the departed who lay beneath the ground. There was no whisper of a breeze, not even the promise of one. Yet, the leaves in the oak tree rustled and moaned, seeming to sigh, ‘No mercy… no mercy.’ Above, the sky was awesome. Like some giant finger had stirred a deep, muddy pool and created a seething, eddying mass.
Rising gently into the air came a sickly sweet perfume, powerful; suffocating. It was the same fragrant perfume that had driven the boy to panic. ‘She did wear it,’ he had cried, ‘she’s wearing it now!’ It was a warm, lingering scent of summer. The unique and sultry fragrance of lavender.
Slowly, it pervaded the air, stayed a while, then purposely stole away… following… in a southerly direction.
Part 2
The Stranger
‘The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted.’
William Shakespeare,
The Merchant of Venice
2
They had been four, and now they were three. Now they were three, now they were three. ‘NO… NO!’ Ellie’s eyes popped open; the scream still echoing in her head. She felt the car jerk to a halt and her father’s voice, gentle, soothing. ‘All right, Ellie. Wake up… we’re almost there.’ He climbed out of the car and opened the back door. ‘Come out a while,’ he told her quietly, ‘get some fresh air… stretch your legs.’ He made no mention of her scream. It was too like his own. He understood.
‘Why did you shout, Ellie?’ The boy was eyeing her suspiciously. ‘Did you have a nightmare… did you?’ There was fear in his voice, and wonder. And something much like satisfaction.
‘Leave your sister alone, son.’ Jack Armstrong leaned his head towards the car, his dark blue eyes condemning as they searched out the boy’s face. Sometimes he suspected the child of being deliberately wicked.
‘It’s all right, Dad.’ Ellie wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead. It was a nightmare. But now it had receded, into the depths of darker, safer places. In a moment she was out of the car. Johnny clambered out and stood beside her, pressing himself close to her. She hugged him tight. ‘Yes… I did have a nightmare,’ she confessed, ‘I’m sorry for shouting like that. It must have frightened you.’
‘No. It didn’t frighten me.’ There was indignation in his voice now. He raised his face to look at her, but in the deepening twilight he could not see the expression in her eyes. Irritated, he kicked at the earth. ‘I knew you were having a nightmare,’ he said, ‘I just knew!’ In his heart he was glad.
‘Where are we?’ Ellie looked towards her father, who had ventured away a few paces and was anxiously glancing about. Irritated, he told her that the journey was taking much longer than anticipated, especially as the car was ‘not performing at its best’. ‘But… where are we?’ she insisted.
‘We’re lost, that’s what!’ The boy grabbed Ellie by the hand and tugged at it. ‘I don’t want to stay here. I don’t like this place!’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Pushing down the anger inside her, Ellie added in a firm voice, ‘You will stay here… we all will. Because there’s no place else for us to go. Besides, Johnny… we haven’t even seen the house yet, and maybe this isn’t the place at all.’ She was not too surprised when he twisted away from her and climbed back into the car, slamming the door behind him. She lingered for a moment, unsure as to whether she had been too hard on him. After all, he was only a boy, and he had lost so much. But then, so had she! All the same, it was harder for him. The doctor said he must be reassured, and loved. Ellie felt herself weakening. She felt ashamed. But, at the same time she realised that over these past months both she and her father had gone out of their way to compensate the boy for all he had lost. His answer was to grow more sullen and demanding. Maybe they were molly-coddling him too much. Maybe it was time to make him face reality. He was shouting at her now, ‘I don’t like this place. I won’t stay. I won’t!’ His shouts became sobs.
‘Leave him be. Don’t pamper him.’ Her father’s voice cut sharply through the night air. The darkness was closing in fast now. ‘Come here, Ellie,’ he called. Ellie glanced inside the car. Johnny was brooding, huddled in the corner. He turned from her. ‘Ellie!’ Her father sounded agitated.
‘Is this the place?’ Ellie wanted to know, carefully picking her path over the rough ground. ‘Soon, we won’t be able to see well enough to find our way.’
‘Look down there.’ Jack Armstrong explained that while Ellie and the boy were sleeping he had seen a signpost some four miles back. ‘Redborough… five miles, it said.�
�� He had travelled on for what he calculated was five miles, but had become concerned when there was still no evidence of a hamlet, ‘or even a single house!’ That was when he had pulled off the main road into this rough ground. It was a high point. From here, he had hoped to see what lay ahead.
‘Lights… street lamps?’ Ellie was relieved. A double row of lights ran in a straight line for a short distance, but then the two rows joined in a half-circle at one end, as though round a cul-de-sac. ‘Do you think it’s Redborough?’ She roved her eyes over the area below, looking for other lights; the lights of Thornton Place. But there was only darkness beyond. To the left of the valley there was a dense area. Ellie wondered whether this was a wood, possibly camouflaging the house. She said as much now, pointing to the area in question.
‘I don’t know any more than you do, Ellie.’ Jack Armstrong narrowed his eyes to scour the distance. ‘I don’t even know if the place below is Redborough.’
‘It must be,’ Ellie said, thinking her father looked harassed. As a rule he was patient, easy going – except where the boy was concerned. And Barny. Looking at her father now, at the weariness that was on him, she allowed for the impatience in his voice. They had come a long way… almost two hundred miles, and they had been travelling many hours, with only a short stop for fuel and a bite to eat.
‘Well… there’s only one way to find out!’ Jack Armstrong dropped his hand to Ellie’s shoulder, gently turning her in the direction of the car. ‘It can’t be more than a ten-minute drive to where those lights are… and there’s bound to be another signpost further on.’ He opened the car door and waited for Ellie to get in. ‘I’ve got a feeling that it is the place we’re looking for.’
No Mercy Page 2
