‘I’ve never known a boy scour so far and wide… just to build a bonfire.’ Jack Armstrong shook his head and resumed his task – that of fixing the lamp shade. ‘And why you should have chosen such a frilly, useless thing is beyond me, Ellie,’ he pointed out, ducking his eyes from the irritating silk tassels that hung round the shade like a hula-skirt. ‘You’ll not get much light from this thing!’ he moaned. ‘You should have listened to what I told you, Ellie… glass shades are much better than these cloth things. It’s lined, too… that’ll cut down the light even more.’ He pushed the connection home and steadied the shade. ‘There you are. Now… if you don’t mind, sweetheart, I’ll get on with replastering the walls in the next room.’ He folded the ladder in and carried it across the room towards the door.
Ellie watched him. She was pleasantly surprised at the change in her father since coming to Thornton Place. He seemed younger, somehow; slimmer and almost boyishly enthusiastic. There was a definite spring in his step these days, and his deep blue eyes were quick to smile. She supposed he had found the purpose that would help him forget the sorrows of the past. She hoped so. Certainly he had tackled the daunting task of renovating this old place with such eagerness and energy that he had little time left with which to brood. She was glad, for all their sakes.
All the same, there was one area that still gave Ellie cause for concern. If her father’s workload gave him little time for fretting over their recent tragedy, by the same token it left him even less time to spend with his son. It grieved Ellie to see how far apart those two had grown. They never indulged in the usual pastimes which father and son might enjoy – kicking a ball about, or fishing by the lake. The father was always too busy, and the son showed unnatural contempt for such things. The only occasion on which they talked was the hour immediately after supper, when the father would attempt to make interested conversation – enquiring as to the boy’s progress at school, and stressing the importance of a ‘good education’. On such occasions Johnny was not very forthcoming, seeming to resent what he described to Ellie as ‘an inquisition’. Daily, he grew more morose and secretive, withdrawing into himself, and disappearing for hours on end when his school day was over, or at weekends. When questioned by the anxious Ellie, he would claim to have been ‘collecting for the bonfire’. And, although it was true that the bonfire had grown to formidable proportions, she had twice seen him come out of the big barn, but afterwards he had blatantly denied ever having been there. Both times she had later gone into the barn and looked around; she was not sure exactly what she hoped to find. In the event, she found nothing untoward, eventually dismissing the incidents as being nothing more than a boy’s natural sense of adventure.
‘Dad.’ Ellie called her father back. She had so much on her mind. So very much she wanted to discuss with him, about the boy; about this feeling she had… had always felt… that all was not well here. About that man who had stolen the documents to Thornton Place. And, most of all, about Barny Tyler’s letter. She had almost made up her mind, but would have liked to discuss it with her father, or with Rosie. In the instant her father swung round at her call, Ellie decided she would prefer to discuss Barny’s letter with Rosie, after all. Only a woman, even a much older woman like Rosie, could understand the struggle going on inside her.
‘What now?’ Jack Armstrong levelled his dark blue eyes at her and stood by the doorway, his arm through the ladder, and a look of impatience about his whole countenance. ‘Ellie… you know how much work there is to do! You’ve read the letter that was delivered to the shop with a packet of money last week… a letter warning us that the solicitor intends to call before the year’s end. Ellie, it’s the first of November today!’ he reminded her. ‘That means he could turn up anytime in the next eight weeks.’ He saw Ellie about to speak and put up his hand, saying, ‘All right, all right… I know he won’t expect us to have carried out all the work that needs doing.’ He looked round the room and groaned, ‘Lord knows it’ll take more time than we’ve had, to even break the back of it… but, he will expect to see some results for his money.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Ellie told him. ‘You’ve done wonders in the seven months we’ve been here… the bathroom, kitchen and the big room are finished; the worst of the broken roof tiles replaced; all the fencing round the house repaired and most of the front windows made good… the plumbing put right… and three bedrooms totally renovated.’
‘Woa! Hold on, sweetheart,’ he laughed. ‘I take your point. It’s true we have done a great deal… but there are still another four bedrooms and two rooms downstairs. Still, I could not have done any of it without your help and support.’ His son was strong in his thoughts just then, as was the increasing belief that Johnny was useless to him. God only knew how he had tried to reach the boy, tried to communicate with him in the only way he knew, but there had been no real response, no great enthusiasm for either his company or his opinion. That Johnny was a strange one, secretive and impossible to fathom. To his mind, the boy had been so deeply affected by the thing he had found that night – the grotesque and almost unrecognisable thing that had been his mother. It wasn’t the boy’s fault. Nobody could blame him for being the way he was. He was to be more pitied than blamed. The sad truth was, though, that the boy had alienated himself from his own father. ‘Maybe he blames me in some way,’ he had often wondered; ‘perhaps he thinks I should have protected his mother… saved her, even.’ Dear God, how often he had asked himself the very same question. He could not answer it truthfully. Nor could he give the boy any reassurances. It had happened. No one knew why. Let the boy blame him if he must. It was all part of the punishment! He looked at Ellie, at the petite figure in dungarees; the heart-shaped face and wild, corn-coloured hair. He gazed into the smiling, amber eyes that reminded him of her mother, and he was ravaged by pain. ‘I do realise how lucky I am to have you,’ he said, leaning the ladder against the wall and coming to wrap his arms round her small shoulders.
‘And I’m lucky to have you,’ she said sincerely, putting her head to his chest. She knew by his mood that he had been thinking about her mother. ‘Dad.’ She had to ask. She desperately needed reassurance.
‘Yes?’
‘You don’t mind, do you… about Barny coming to stay for the bonfire celebrations?’
He held her at arm’s length, holding her gaze with his own. ‘Seeing as I wasn’t consulted in the first place… I don’t have much choice, do I, eh?’ He chuckled. ‘No, I don’t mind.’ Before he departed the room, he warned her good-humouredly, ‘But don’t you go making the fellow any rash promises, will you? I’ve no intention of losing you just yet!’ But, if he must ‘lose’ her, he prayed to God that it would not be to the likes of Alec Harman, a creepy bugger if ever he’d seen one! Still, thank goodness things appeared to have cooled down in that direction, because the Harman fellow had not shown his face in this quarter these many weeks. He couldn’t be sure how Ellie felt about the scoundrel, because she refused to discuss him, but she was a sensitive young woman. She knew bad when she saw it. Still, she had seemed dangerously attracted to him. It would come right, though, Jack Armstrong was sure of it. He was surprisingly pleased that she was entertaining thoughts of Barny Tyler. After meeting the Harman fellow, there was no doubt in Jack Armstrong’s mind as to who was the better of two evils. Yes. It would come right; he had to believe that. Just as long as Ellie wasn’t using Barny Tyler to make the Harman fellow jealous!
After her father had gone and she could hear him pottering about in the next room, Ellie remained by the window. She found a certain pleasure in watching the antics of Rosie and Johnny as they shaped the bonfire into a huge symmetrical structure. It struck her as being somewhat disquieting how obsessed the boy had been in making that bonfire. They had celebrated Bonfire Night many times over the years, but Ellie could never recall her brother ever having shown such keen interest. Still, she told herself, in the same way this house had helped her father to forget what
had gone before, the bonfire had given Johnny a similar means of escape. She was thankful for that much at least. But what about me? she mused. What is there here for me?
Ellie had come to love Thornton Place, it was true. But it was an uneasy kind of love, mingled with fear and suspicion which she could not fully understand. In the dead of night, when sleep would not come, she often looked out of this same window – searching the horizon for something… someone. Was it that she secretly hoped to glimpse the tall, shadowy figure of Alec Harman? He was always there, in her thoughts, in her heart. She loved him. Wanted him more than ever. And yet, she knew she would never go to him. He had his woman and he did not want her. But she was not entirely alone, was she? She also had someone who loved and wanted her. She had Barny. In her mind’s eye she could see him standing over her, his green eyes brimming with love, the attractive lopsided smile that had the power to make her heart turn somersaults. Oh, but that was before. What now? What now? Her spirit dipped deep inside her and the tears stung her eyes.
‘Ellie!’ Rosie’s exuberant voice soared towards the window. Ellie blinked away the threatening tears to focus her eyes on the excited figure some way off. Rosie was waving, inviting Ellie to join in the fun. Ellie shook her head. She did not want company just now. Not even Rosie’s. For a moment, it seemed as though the older woman was satisfied, but then she began coming across the field in that peculiar hopping gait, the tips of her crutches carefully avoiding any ruts and rises in the roughened ground. Inside herself, Ellie groaned. Rosie was not one to take ‘no’ for an answer!
In a minute, Rosie’s familiar figure had disappeared behind the barn. Ellie waited for her to emerge again, when she intended calling from the window to explain how she had too much work to do here. When the curtains were hung, there was the evening meal to serve, and afterwards she had to make sure that Johnny did his homework before he went to bed. Besides, it would soon be dark.
Absorbed in keeping her eyes peeled for Rosie to come round the corner of the barn, Ellie failed to see what was happening in the field beyond. The boy was tormenting poor, senile George – jabbing at him with a long branch; each poke more vicious than the one before. The boy’s utter enjoyment was evident in the devilment on his smiling face. George was bent forward, his arms folded over his head in a bid to fend off the hurtful thrusts that stabbed all over his frail, crooked body. He did not scream or cry out, but frantically rocked himself back and forth, whimpering like a baby and occasionally squealing when the sharp-ended branch hit home. Suddenly, he slithered from his seat and scurried on all fours into the nearby ditch. The boy did not immediately follow. Instead, his devious eyes watched the unfortunate quarry in its frantic bid to escape him. He smiled at the thin, spreading trail of blood it left behind, and when with a terrified backward glance it fled into the spinney, he followed. He had come to enjoy the games he played in the barn. His ‘friend’ had taught him well. He liked all the games they played, but there was never any blood; not like now. He liked this game best of all!
‘Nonsense, child!’ Rosie yelled up at the window, ‘there’s a good hour before dark, and you’ve worked hard enough all day!’ She shook her head at Ellie’s protests. ‘I’m coming up,’ she shouted, at once disappearing out of sight as she passed beneath the jutting eaves outside Ellie’s room. With a small chuckle, Ellie turned from the window, shaking her head and smiling at the older woman’s stubbornness.
The long, awkward climb up the stairs had almost drained Rosie’s strength. ‘God love us, child,’ she gasped, leaning against the door-jamb and peeking at Ellie through mischievous brown eyes. ‘I do believe I ain’t so young as I fancy.’ Refusing Ellie’s offer of help, she hobbled into the room and sank heavily into the small, padded chair by the polished-oak dressing table.
‘I’ve told you before… you push yourself too hard!’ Ellie chided, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching anxiously while Rosie composed herself. ‘You stay here… I’ll go down to the kitchen… make us a brew of tea.’
‘Brew of tea!’ Rosie stared at her through shocked eyes. ‘Huh!… now, if you’d offered me a small measure of something stronger… well then, I just might be tempted.’ She laughed out loud, playfully prodding Ellie with the flat of her crutch. Ellie laughed too, thinking how, if she were to live to such a grand old age, she might be blessed with Rosie’s admirable vigour. She quietly regarded the older woman now – the straight, white teeth that Rosie proudly proclaimed were ‘me very own!’; the twinkling eyes that were encased in deep, smudged circles of extravagant make-up; the scarlet mouth so imaginatively enlarged, and the brassy-blonde, waist-length hair that was normally coiled in attractive fashion on top of her head, and which was now hanging in blissful tatters all about her ample shoulders.
‘Rosie… you look a mess!’ Ellie told her, knowing the other woman would never take offence.
‘I expect I do!’ Rosie chortled, grabbing both hands to her hair and desperately trying to tuck it into some sort of order. ‘I expect I bloody do!’ She sighed, giving up the effort and letting her unruly hair tumble freely. ‘And so would you… if you’d been roped in to drag lumps of timber and all manner of debris across half the countryside!’
‘You should have refused.’
‘Refused?… that little bugger won’t let you “refuse”.’ She chuckled. ‘Besides… I thoroughly enjoyed meself. It’s been years since I helped to build a bonfire.’ She was suddenly serious. ‘Strange creature though, ain’t he… your Johnny? What I mean is, he ain’t got much to say for himself, has he? Prefers his own company most of the time… and no matter what you do for him… he’s never what you might call… friendly.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Still, I suppose it takes all sorts, eh? It wouldn’t do if we were all alike, would it, eh? All the same, I wish the little sod would let me take him fishing of a Sunday afternoon… instead of spending every blessed spare minute he’s got building that bloody monument!’ She jerked her head in the direction of the window. ‘I ain’t never seen anything like it, I’m telling you!’
‘I know,’ Ellie remarked. ‘I worry about Johnny. Like you said, he does prefer his own company… it’s not natural, is it? I’ve asked him to fetch a couple of friends home from the school, but he says he hasn’t got any friends at school… doesn’t want any. The headmistress says he’s a loner… but not to worry because some children take a while to settle.’ Her eyes clouded with worry.
‘Oh, he’ll be all right!’ Rosie assured her. ‘There ain’t nothing more healthy for a young boy than building a bonfire. And he’ll soon start mixing with the young ones at school. You’ll see. Happen he’ll invite them to see his wonderful bonfire go up in flames, eh?’ She teased Ellie with the tip of her crutch. ‘So stop worrying, won’t you? While I’ve got you to myself… there’s other things I’d sooner talk about.’
‘Like?’ Ellie was teasing. She suspected what it was that Rosie was curious about.
‘Like this young man of yours… Barny, if I remember right.’
‘Barny Tyler. But, he’s not really my “young man”. I haven’t seen him for nearly seven months, we have recently exchanged letters, but I made it clear from the outset that I was not making a commitment. Deep down, Rosie, I know there is no future for me with Barny.’ It was strange how his excited reply to her letter had left her cold.
‘So I gather,’ remonstrated Rosie with a condemning look, ‘and whose fault might that be, eh? Yours! That’s whose. I think it’s shameful the way you’ve kept the poor bugger hanging on like that. It’s a wonder he didn’t return your invitation with a “no, thank you very much and piss off!” ’
‘Ah, but he didn’t.’
‘So you say. But it would have served you right, to my way of thinking! From what you tell me, this Barny is a decent sort.’
‘He is… steady and loyal.’
‘But don’t you love him?’ When Ellie gave no answer but lapsed into deep, troubled thought, Rosie went on cautiously, ‘It’s Alec
Harman, ain’t it? He’s the one who’s stolen your heart from Barny. It’s no good denying it to me, child, because I’ve seen the way you fall apart when he’s near… the way you look at him. What’s more… I’ve seen the way he looks at you.’ She shook her head and looked hard into Ellie’s troubled amber eyes. ‘What I can’t understand is… if you’re so attracted to each other, what’s keeping you apart?’
‘You should ask him! He still comes to the cottage regularly, doesn’t he?’ The memory of Alec and the other woman haunted her.
‘He does… says he likes to keep an eye out for me and George.’ She laughed. ‘The way he fusses, anybody would think we were about to be slaughtered in our beds.’ Memory flooded back and a cold hand touched her heart. But she mustn’t speak of such things. Not to Ellie. Not to anyone.
She lowered her voice. ‘Truth is, Ellie… I reckon he’s been told to keep an eye on us by Wentworth Estates… ever since George deliberately set fire to the woods soon after his wife was killed. The poor soul was out of his mind with grief… said the devil who’d murdered her was still lurking in the woods… waiting to get him next.’
Ellie was both saddened and intrigued. ‘You never have told me how she died.’ Rosie dropped her gaze to the floor at Ellie’s comment. When she looked up again, there was pain in her eyes. ‘She was crushed to death… dreadful it was!’ She paused, then: ‘She and George had a fierce argument by all accounts… nobody knows what it was about. George refused to say, but it was enough to send them at each other’s throats, I reckon. Anyway, she told him she was leaving Thornton Place… that she loathed it here. There was a terrible storm raging the night she ran out. George pleaded with her to wait, but she wouldn’t listen. He went after her.’ The memory of it all washed over Rosie. She shuddered, before going on in quieter tones. ‘I couldn’t sleep that night… what with the storm and everything. From the cottage I heard what I thought were raised voices but, I couldn’t really tell… the thunder drowned everything out, you see. Oh, but I heard the screams!’ Her panda-like eyes swelled and rolled upwards in her head. ‘And what sounded like timber being wrenched from the ground… all mixed up it was. Then a silence; a shocking, eerie silence… like the whole world had died. To my shame, I daren’t go out… there had been… noises… before.’ She visibly shuddered. ‘Alec Harman found George and his poor wife soon after dawn… he’d been patrolling the woods… assessing the damage when the storm subsided. George was badly hurt but still alive. He was in hospital some time… and, well, you’ve seen what the awful experience did to him… it might have been more merciful if he had been killed that night. His wife was pinned under the bulk of the branches… the back of her head… pulp, they said. She must have caught the full force and died instantly. As for George… he has never recovered. He’s deteriorated rapidly, until now he can’t think straight… he’s beset by demons and guilt. Haunted by something deepe… some awful presence that won’t leave him be.’
No Mercy Page 13
