No Mercy

by J. T. Brindle

  Ellie swung round from the fireplace, a scathing retort on her lips. But it was Jack Armstrong who spoke. ‘That’s enough!’ he instructed, striding into the room, his angry eyes seeking out the boy. ‘I swear your tongue gets more wicked by the day. The least we can do for your sister is to put on a welcome for her young man who – when all is said and done – is our first real visitor to Thornton Place.’

  ‘But I’m fed up. And I’m hungry. It isn’t fair that I have to get all dressed up and be kept waiting for my food. I want to go out and see to my bonfire,’ he lied. ‘Anyway… I don’t think he’s coming, else he would have been here by now.’ He rose to his feet, defiant. ‘I’m not staying here… I’ve got things to do!’

  ‘You’ve got far too much to say for yourself, that’s what you’ve got!’ came the brisk retort. In two strides, Jack Armstrong had confronted the boy, grabbed him by his shoulder and forced the small, squirming figure back into the chair. ‘You’ll stay put, like the rest of us. And you’ll show a bit more respect towards your elders… or you can forget the privilege of enjoying that damned bonfire tonight. One more word out of you, and you’ll be up them stairs so fast your feet won’t touch the ground!’ He stared down on the boy, not moving away until he was satisfied that his message was thrust home.

  ‘It is strange, though,’ interrupted Ellie, ‘Barny was adamant about the time he would be arriving.’ She was concerned, but her real motive for attracting her father’s attention away from the boy was merely to separate them. The awful animosity that had festered between them greatly saddened her. In this instance, though, she knew her father to be right. The boy needed reminding of how to behave. Lately, even she had despaired of him.

  ‘Oh, he’ll be here any minute.’ Jack Armstrong crossed the room towards her. In a way, he reluctantly agreed with the boy. Rather than forming a welcoming committee and being required to sit at the best table in a stiff, uncomfortable shirt, he himself would be far happier to snatch a quick lunch and afterwards get on with the workload which stretched before him, never-ending. Besides, he wasn’t all that keen on any man making up to his Ellie and posing a threat to take her away. But, to his mind, Barny Tyler was the lesser of two evils. Rather that young fellow than the sinister, darkly handsome rogue, Alec Harman! His hackles rose even at the thought of the man. He had not yet been able to put his finger on what it was about Alec Harman that raised such suspicion and dislike in him, but there was something. Something. Some devious, hidden thing that was positively disturbing. Ah, but then again, it might be just that he had seen how Ellie had been so drawn to the fellow. That in itself was deeply distasteful to him! Now, as for the other one, that Barny Tyler, well, she was not so smitten with him, thank God.

  There was no doubt in Jack Armstrong’s mind that one day in the not-too-distant future, some randy charmer would take Ellie from him. He bitterly resented the prospect, often vowing that it would happen only over his dead body. Ellie was special. She deserved only the best. There was none more loyal, none lovelier. He looked at her now, a petite and perfect figure in a lavender-blue blouse and dark, thigh-hugging skin. Slim shapely legs, pretty ankles and small feet dressed in black patent-leather shoes with high, flattering heels. Her hair positively glowed, like waves of cascading sunshine, and there was an excited sparkle in her lovely amber eyes that sent a thrill through him. She was his. Ellie was his! And it would need a stronger man than he to wrench her away.

  The impatient knock at the door was an unwelcome intrusion into his thoughts. He saw Ellie’s eyes light up as she rushed to open the door. He resented her pleasure. He hoped it would not last too long.

  On opening the door, Ellie had been surprised to see how little Barny had changed; the tall, lean figure easy and attractive in brown slacks and green polo neck jumper; the lop-sided smile and unruly shock of chestnut-coloured hair, and the sea-green eyes that lit up with joy at the sight of Ellie. ‘You don’t know how good it is to be here with you,’ he said, reaching out to take her small hands into his. ‘Oh, Ellie… I’ve missed you so.’ The warmth of her shocked through him. It had been so long. So very long. His heart urged him to pull her close, to kiss that full, soft mouth and to murmur all of those loving words which had kept the thought of her alive in him, and which, even now, were trembling on his lips.

  ‘I’ve missed you too, Barny,’ Ellie told him, squeezing her fingers against his, but making no effort to draw herself closer to him. She had been pleasantly shocked to find that she really had missed him. But it was still too soon to know. Underlying memories tingled inside her. Memories of love and unbridled passion. Warm, happy memories, of laughter and companionship. Now, as she looked on that familiar, handsome face, all of these memories came rushing back to fill her with pleasure. Yet, overriding these more reassuring emotions were other feelings, deep and disturbing. Feelings created in her by Alec Harman; this persistent image always lurking, firing her blood, haunting her day and night, and spoiling every other sensation inside her. Even though she had reminded herself time and again that her love for him was not returned. He had made it clear enough that he did not want her; that he bitterly resented her presence here. He had deliberately lied about secretly meeting that girl down by the lake. He was everything her father had warned; devious and ‘strange’, a ‘charmer who could only break her heart’. The more Ellie recalled the nature of the man, the more she made herself despise him. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ She closed the door behind Barny, adding with a warm, sincere smile, ‘I hadn’t realised just how much I had missed you.’

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ Barny replied softly, his two hands on her shoulders and his quiet, searching gaze tender on her face. ‘But is the love still there?’ He felt her stiffen beneath his touch and was at once afraid. ‘Forgive me, Ellie, but… for me… nothing has changed. Nothing ever will.’ His gaze mingled with hers. He saw the pain in her eyes, and the doubt. He saw something else that kindled a tiny hope in him; a certain vulnerability, a gentleness towards him that lit his soul. She did still love him, deep down maybe, but it was enough. If was a promise that what they had before was not altogether lost. Wisely, before she might feel threatened, he changed direction. ‘What a splendid house!’ He lifted his gaze from her face. ‘But… more like a fortress than a house,’ he remarked, ‘and so far off the beaten track. Do you really enjoy living in such isolation?’

  Going along with his timely observations, Ellie was grateful that he had not pressed her harder on the matter of their relationship. She could not deny there was still a vestige of love for him in her heart. Nor could she dismiss the fact that he had stirred a deal of happiness in her. Glancing sideways at him as they went down the passage towards the big room, she could not help but feel safe beside him. He had a particular way about him that made her feel proud, and wanted. That, most of all. Not needed in the way her brother and father needed her, but wanted for herself, as a person, as companion and confidante. As a lover, and wife. Her lonely heart warmed towards him. He was twice the man Alec Harman could ever be! Alec Harman. Alec… Alec. His name pulsated through her like hot lead. It took all of her self-control to thrust him from her senses. Barny was here for such a short time. Tomorrow, he would be leaving. In the few, short hours they could probably snatch together, there was so much to put right between them, one way or another. One way or another. Suddenly, she felt weary, drained of all emotion, and afraid for the future. She had been reasonably secure. Now, all the old doubts had begun to rear their intrusive heads and she felt the ground shifting beneath her.

  All through lunch, Ellie felt Barny’s eyes on her. Surprisingly, she found herself eagerly responding. She would glance up to his intense, loving gaze with a smile that was too intimate, too encouraging. Inch by inch, she pushed all thought of Alec Harman from her heart, filling the painful gulf with Barny. The feeling was good.

  ‘How’s the construction business?’ Jack Armstrong also had enjoyed Barny’s company. It was somehow reassuring to have a
man about with whom he could converse. Certainly, there were few ‘men’ round here to speak of. The senile was lost in a sorry world of his own; Fred Gregory was surly and unsociable, and Alec Harman was downright unfathomable. Besides, even if Harman wasn’t secretive and solitary, Jack Armstrong would have gone to great lengths to ensure that the fellow never came too close to Ellie!

  ‘The firm’s doing well. We’ve just landed a lucrative contract – council – a big new housing project in the Liverpool redevelopment zone,’ Barny explained. ‘With luck, it could be one of many.’

  Still bitter about the earlier unpleasant scene between himself and his father, the boy was unforgiving. In spite of Barny’s continued and good-humoured efforts to draw him out of his dark, sullen mood, he remained aloof, occasionally glaring at Barny from beneath frowning eyebrows. Inside, he was simmering with hatred. When at last the meal was over and he was allowed to go, he did so with a begrudging ‘Thank you’ to Ellie; given only because his father insisted; and without a single backward glance. His first intention was to go upstairs and strip off the irritating, stiff-collared shirt. Afterwards, he would go to the barn, to see his ‘friend’. The thought was exhilarating. There was so much to talk about. So many bad words inside him that he must share. So much wickedness and black feeling that he had to spill out, or it would suffocate him! His ‘friend’ would understand. He always understood. Oh, but what about the keys? He would have to confess that he had not found them! Still, he had an idea where they were, didn’t he? In that box on the mantelpiece. There, there! He hadn’t really failed his friend after all, then. Everything would be all right, he was sure of it. He would go to the barn, and there, in the pitch-black, where no one else could see them, he and his ‘friend’ would talk, and curse, and make plans, just like they always did. Oh, his ‘friend’ meant everything in the world to him. He shivered with anticipation and pleasure, as he wondered what unspeakable delights his ‘friend’ had in store for him tonight.

  All the same, even in the midst of his deepest pleasure, there was an undercurrent of chilling terror. That was the fun of it, the game, the excitement of never really knowing.

  The boy waited, pressing himself hard against the outer wall of the barn, his heart beating furiously at the prospect of being discovered. He must never be seen to go inside the barn, in case the observer had a mind to follow. Time and again, his ‘friend’ had warned him of this, and he had paid very special heed. He was loath to share his secret with anyone. He never would! And he must always be careful not to do anything that could frighten his ‘friend’ away. It was because of such danger that he was hiding now. Hiding from Ellie and Barny Tyler as they went slowly towards the old courtyard. Ellie was softly laughing, her eyes sparkling as they glanced up at the man’s face. Laughing, she was! Laughing in a way the boy had not heard for a long time; ever since… ever since. He could not bring himself even to think it! He did not want to remember. Ever. Ever! Suddenly the word sprang from his angry heart and cried from his lips. ‘Mummy.’ He tried to stop the tears from spilling over, but the tide of emotion that swept up inside him could not be stopped. He was crying noisily now, his small figure stick-like against the barn, stiff and unyielding, while the tears burned his skin like searing caresses. There raged through him such violence, such loathing, that he wanted to maim, to kill. To make someone suffer like he had been made to suffer. Her! He wanted to know that she had suffered. She looked as though she had. He let his mind’s eye look on the awful image just once more. He saw it all; the horror and the misshapen thing that was his mother. Yes. She looked as though she had suffered. A deep sense of satisfaction came over him. He smiled. But then, the perfume overwhelmed him. He twitched his nostrils in disgust. But no, the perfume was not now offensive to him. Not any more. Not since he had spoken to the pedlar. Not when it reminded him of his ‘friend’. He sometimes smelled of lavender. It was pleasant, when you got used to it. Unaware that he was being watched, the boy slid discreetly into the barn.

  Satisfied, the silent observer stole stealthily away.

  Inside the barn, the boy came away from the light, immersing himself deeper and deeper into the bowels of that huge, formidable space. In the vast lofts above could be heard the pattering of claws, scurrying this way, then that way, and intermittently pausing. The boy smiled, imagining the sharp, pointed ears and the thin rat faces, listening, guarding. They were afraid of him. He liked that. For a brief moment, he was tempted to collect the shovel from its hook on the wall. He could creep very softly up the ladder and take them by surprise. Trap them! The thought of bringing that heavy shovel down and seeing the furry bodies wriggling beneath was almost too much for him to resist. He paused. The scuttling of claws was stilled. The listening silence was unbearable. He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. ‘Another day,’ he murmured threateningly, ‘another day… you won’t escape so easy.’

  He smelled it right away, that sweet, delicate perfume. ‘Are you here?’ he asked, projecting his voice into the gloom. ‘I can’t see anything.’ Normally, he could sense the presence, vaguely identify a shadowy bulk pressed into the corner. ‘I can’t hear you,’ he said, feeling his way forward to the small, narrow stool. This was his place, carefully positioned so he could not easily look round. Grunting with approval, he felt the sharp, wooden edges and prepared to seat himself squarely onto its surface. It was so dark. Beneath his feet was a tangle of discarded paraphernalia. Always, he had a dread of missing his footing, when he might fall amongst it and be set upon by all manner of creatures. Things of blackness that would eat into him without mercy. Sometimes – probably afraid that the boy might scream and bring others running – a hand, a cold, gloved hand would reach out and guide him in. Not this time, though. Not this time! Tremulously he crept forward, his small, groping fingers sliding round the hard, familiar edge. But then something unfamiliar! He gasped aloud. Startled, he drew back. There was… something… there. ‘Is that you? Are you playing games with me?’ If so, he didn’t like it. Not this time. When there came no reply, he waited a moment. Silence. ‘You are playing a game,’ he said. Deeper silence. He chuckled. The sound was a mixture of enjoyment and fear. He went forward, hesitantly this time. Creeping fingers searched again. The hard, wooden edge. That was the same sensation. ‘Be brave, Johnny… it’s only a game.’ Trembling fingers moved along. There it was! ‘Ugh!’ He cringed with repulsion. Reluctantly, he secured it between his fingers, a crinkled, slimy object, clinging to him like a second skin.

  Softly moaning, the boy carried the object into the half-light near the door. ‘What is it?’ he asked aloud, thinking his ‘friend’ would hear, but never expecting an answer. It was all part of the game. He looked more closely. As big as both his outstretched hands, it had a particular shape. A strangely familiar shape, but he could not tell. It bothered him. Scared him. It was like a mask. The backing was hard against the palms of his hands, but the material stretched over it was unlike anything he had seen before. Paper thin, kind of greyish, and crinkly to the touch, it made him shudder. The object was punctuated by three holes, two widely spaced at the top, and a thin, wide gash below. The holes were clumsy and jagged, as though they had been ripped into the material. Like a knife thrust through his mind, the boy suddenly realised what it was. ‘It’s a face. A face!’ He laughed softly, turning to the black void where he suspected even now his ‘friend’ might be lurking. ‘It is a face, isn’t it?’ he whispered. Secretly, he thought his own rag face was better, but he dared not murmur such treason. ‘It’s good,’ he said proudly, turning the gruesome object in his hands, ‘I like it.’ He noted the loosely rolled ear-pieces that hung either side of the face; obviously that was how it was meant to be secured. The greyish face was wrapped right around the backing, tight in some places, not so tight in others. Long, floating pieces of hair hung from the high forehead, draping over the hollow eyes and brushing against the vicious gash that was the mouth. All along the edges, tiny globules of rolled-up material hung, suspende
d like ripe warts. Fascinated, the boy held it up to the incoming shaft of light, at once crying out with excitement at the transformation. The eyes came alive, and the grey matter glowed gently in the shadowy light, each fold and crinkle taking on a sinister texture – almost as though it was breathing. The face seemed so real. So horribly familiar. Shaken, the boy dropped it out of the light. Even then, he could still feel the empty eyes looking at him. ‘I’ll come back later,’ he told the blackness, ‘when I’ve put the face on… I’ll come back and tell you what it’s like.’ His voice was small now, and uncertain.

  At the door, the boy hesitated. Should he tell about not finding the keys? No. Better wait until later. He wasn’t really sure whether his ‘friend’ was there. There was plenty of time anyway, before the bonfire was lit. And he had a great deal to do; there was the Guy’s face to be secured, and then he was to be hauled up to the top of the bonfire onto his chair. Ellie had promised that he could count all the fireworks again; even though he was not allowed to light them! And he had promised himself that he would scour the spinney just once more, to collect any fallen branches. He remembered what his ‘friend’ had said. He recalled the very words. ‘Make sure you cover the entrance well, Johnny. We wouldn’t want anyone finding our special hidey-hole, would we?’ No! That was their very special secret. After whispering a promise that he would be back later, the boy hurried away, a sense of adventure thrilling through him.

  ‘We’ll have to get back, Barny… it’s almost dark.’ For the first time in a long while, Ellie felt at peace with herself. Here across the open fields, on the highest point above Thornton Place, she and Barny had found a measure of contentment in each other’s company. From the high hilltop, all of the vast acreage belonging to Wentworth Estates could be easily surveyed; in one direction, sheets of rippling green stretched away towards the spinney. In the foreground stood the imposing house that was Thornton Place. At the farthest point was the lake, cool and slumbering, bounded on all sides by an undulating landscape that was now cloaked in the gold and brown hues of autumn. Soon, all the leaves would have fallen and the trees, stripped of their garments, must stand, shivering and unhappy throughout the biting winds of winter.