No Mercy

by J. T. Brindle

  ‘I’m sorry, Rosie.’ Ellie threw out her hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘But you knew where I’d gone, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes… but it were no thanks to you, my girl!’ Rosie scowled and manoeuvred herself about on her crutches. ‘If your dad hadn’t told me you’d tekken some flowers to the churchyard, I wouldn’t have known where you were!’ She cast Ellie an accusing sideways glance as the two of them picked their way over the stiff ground. ‘You know, Ellie… you need to be careful,’ she warned, ‘it ain’t sensible to wander about so early in the morning when… there could be all manner o’ curious folk stalking the woods and places hereabouts.’

  Rosie’s words set Ellie thinking on the strange event at the graveside. Who on earth could have put those dried lavender sprigs there? It was a puzzle to her… like so many other things at Thornton Place. Suddenly, she felt the need to confide in Rosie, but not now, not here in the open. ‘Rosie… come back to the house and I’ll make you a cup of tea… we can have that “chat”.’ She touched the older woman on the arm, adding in a quieter voice, ‘There’s something I want to tell you, and other things I need to talk about.’

  ‘What “things”?’ Rosie turned her head and looked at Ellie with quizzical, panda-like eyes.

  ‘Just… things, Rosie.’ Ellie’s fingers moved inside her coat pocket, tracing the sharp, straight edge of the envelope there. A feeling of sadness came over her. The letter had arrived that morning. It had been a shock.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Rosie said, shaking her head slowly, ‘I can’t come back to the house. You know I daren’t leave George for too long at a time.’ She paused, staring at the ground with serious eyes. ‘That’s why I especially wanted you to be there this morning… why I was so glad to see you making your way back. Oh, Ellie… you don’t know the half.’ She laughed – a hard, dry laugh without mirth.

  ‘What’s the matter, Rosie?’ Ellie had never seen the other woman in such an odd mood.

  ‘Aw, I don’t know.’ Rosie was suddenly wary. ‘It ain’t nothing really.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I expect I’m getting old,’ she said in a weary voice, ‘but… well, suddenly it’s all too much. This place…’ She raised her face to the skies. ‘Sometimes it can be so lonely, Ellie. Then there’s George… you know, I’ve grown very fond of the silly old bugger!’ She laughed, but Ellie saw the tears in her eyes. ‘I’m afraid… he won’t be with us much longer.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Just a feeling, that’s all.’

  Rosie’s unhappy mood weighed on Ellie, heightening her own misgivings. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me this morning,’ she said tenderly.

  ‘Well, you’re here now, ain’t you?’ Rosie retorted. ‘And being as I can’t come back to the house, what about you coming with me now, to the cottage?’ She chuckled, the low mood seeming to have passed, ‘Then we can cry on each other’s shoulders, eh?’ She seemed her old self again.

  ‘All right.’ Ellie welcomed the idea, although she could not rid herself of the foreboding that murmured through her, at the prospect of being so close to the other inhabitant of the cottage. Try as she might, Ellie could not bring herself to feel comfortable in his presence. Oh, she had visited him and shown compassion at his awful decline. And she really did feel a deep sympathy for that poor broken creature. But, somehow, he frightened her. He had frightened her the very first time she had seen him, when he reluctantly opened the door of Thornton Place to them. He had frightened her every time he shuffled that twisted, crab-like body towards her. He frightened her when he stared at her through pale, hang-dog eyes that had no real substance, and he frightened her when he spoke of ‘bad things’… and… ‘devils who mean to find me’. Grasping hands that were reminiscent of ‘claws’; festering ‘secret thoughts’ that roamed his crazy mind and whispered on his face; all of these things frightened Ellie. And she was mortally ashamed. ‘Of course I’ll come to the cottage,’ she said, determinedly.

  ‘Good!’ Rosie quickened her peg legs, a genuine smile wreathing her aged features.

  ‘First, though… I must let Dad know I’m back, and make sure he had a good breakfast.’

  ‘Your dad ain’t there.’

  Ellie was astonished. ‘Not there? Where is he, then?’

  ‘Took off soon after I arrived this morning… I reckon he couldn’t have been too long behind you, gal.’ Rosie coughed in the cold, biting air and paused to draw her coat tighter about her. ‘I don’t suppose he’s gone far, though… into Medford, to the shops, I expect. Perhaps he didn’t intend going out at all, only, well… he said he had to do some’at about the stench under the sink… concrete it again or such like.’ Rosie wrinkled her nose and made a face. ‘By! The bugger does stink, though! It’s allus been a problem, but, well, it’s got worse of late and there’s no denying it!’

  Ellie could not deny it either. In fact, it was she who had asked her father to see what he could do about it, especially now the layers of concrete were crumbling so badly. ‘I don’t suppose he had the good sense to have a hot breakfast before he went out?’

  ‘Nope!’ Rosie declared with some impatience. ‘I did try to persuade him, but your dad’s like all other fellows… bull-headed! He said he couldn’t stomach food… not until he’d stopped that foul smell from filling the kitchen. So there you are, my gal.’ Her homely face beamed from ear to ear. ‘When he gets back, it’ll take him a while to do that job, so we can count on a good half hour afore you need start panicking. Right?’ She stopped and looked Ellie in the eye. ‘Ain’t that right?’ she demanded, half afraid Ellie might still refuse.

  ‘Go on with you,’ Ellie laughed, ‘let’s get in the warm. My bones are chilled through to the marrow!’

  Happy in each other’s company, the two women quickly made their way to the cottage, where Rosie switched on the wireless and began singing along with the recent hit tune ‘Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White’.

  In his bedroom, the senile lay apparently deep in slumber, immobile. Unknowing. But beneath the calm exterior was a mind that was wickedly alive; a boiling, seething mass of terror. And a wounded heart that cried out for justice.

  Sleep was impossible. Lying in her bed, Ellie turned this way and that, the events of the day coursing through her troubled thoughts, giving her no peace. Images paraded across her mind, like a macabre carnival; Alec Harman and the dark-haired girl, the lavender sprigs on Johnny’s grave, her mother… that bloodied mess, and the innocent beside her, her father and his changeable moods of late… creating the same distance between them that had cruelly separated him and Johnny; the awful way in which Johnny had died, and the verdict of ‘death by misadventure’ which to Ellie’s mind only emphasised the awful, tragic waste of a young life. These past months she had tried to alleviate the loss and pain by reminding herself how utterly miserable the boy had been since that fateful night when he had found the remains of his mother. At times it seemed to Ellie that he would never get over it, and yet, by the same token, she had not stopped hoping and praying that he would. Instead, he had sunk deeper and deeper into a terrible despair which seemed to strike at the very root of his personality, corrupting all that was decent and normal inside him. Yet, even so, Ellie grieved for the boy; for what he had endured. He was only a boy, and he was her brother. Her heart had already been heavy with the loss of her mother – so vital and lovely, so full of life and laughter. Now, the boy’s passing was almost more than she could bear. On top of which, her father was a changed man; moody, morose, quick to temper and strangely secretive of late, preferring to keep his own company. Ellie mourned, also, for that special intimacy that was lost between them. Nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  Gasping when her bare toes touched the cold linoleum, Ellie got from the bed, pulling the pink nylon dressing gown over her shivering form. On silent footsteps she crossed the room, coming to stand before the window. Noiselessly drawing back the curtains, she loo
ked out, her serious amber eyes scanning the dark shapes in the landscape. It was so magnificent. So primeval. Almost as though mankind had never touched it. Quietly slumbering, the tall trees stood proud and majestic over all; the sky was a mingling of grey and silver, with shifting, tumbling clouds moving lazily in the soft moonlight. Against this magnificent background, the spinney spread upwards like a fine lacy tapestry, and the lake made a ghostly brooding picture, black as night, sinister and terrifying. Ellie shivered. The unknown was always terrifying.

  Of all the persistent images that had kept Ellie from her sleep, that of Alec Harman and the girl was the most disturbing. He, above all others, had crept insidiously into her heart. Now, in spite of the knowledge that he did not want her, she could not free herself of him. She loved him. It was as simple, and complex, as that. Here was a man to whom she might gladly surrender herself, if it was not for her sense of pride, and the bitter belief that the consequences would be too much of a price to pay. No other man had turned her emotions inside out in the same way, making her love and loathe at the same time. But then, she had never met any other man like Alec Harman. There was Barny of course, but these two were as alike as chalk and cheese. Feeling in the depths of her dressing-gown pocket, Ellie withdrew the letter. It was from Barny. A long and agonising letter that had touched her deeply, revived memories of the laughter they had shared, the good times they had enjoyed. Bright, happy times that were over forever; lost in the mist, destined to fade over the years. Suddenly, Ellie saw herself, old and lonely, like Rosie. It was a sobering thought.

  Unfolding the letter for the umpteenth time, Ellie reflected on the conversation that had taken place between herself and Rosie. She had worried for the older woman, thinking her to seem more tired and unhappy than she had ever known her. Of course, Rosie had rejected any idea that she was suffering from some lurking ailment, declaring boldly, ‘I ain’t never had a day’s proper illness in the whole of me life, Ellie Armstrong!’ Though she did admit that ‘my old friend George is a source o’ trouble to me, gal’. She had taken Ellie in to the senile’s bedroom. It was an unsettling experience; he appeared unaware of their presence, lying almost lifeless, like a marble effigy. Not once did he make any sound or open his eyes. ‘The poor old sod’s like that most of the time, these days,’ Rosie explained, ‘just lies there like he were an empty vessel, and it does upset me. Oh, but he has nightmares! Such terrible nightmares… crying and thrashing… demented. At these times he’s inconsolable. It takes me ages to quieten him down.’ Ellie knew how badly it was affecting Rosie. It was obvious that she was not the same exuberant, carefree character she had been. It occurred to Ellie that it might be a blessing in disguise if the Good Lord saw fit to relieve the senile of his suffering.

  By the time Ellie was set to go back to the house, though, Rosie’s spirits were somewhat revived. ‘By! You’ve done me old heart a power o’ good!’ she told Ellie. ‘Ain’t it amazing what a good old chinwag can do, eh?’ Ellie had hugged her affectionately. She did like Rosie; liked her a lot. And it was true what Rosie had said; it was amazing how much better a body felt after sharing the things that troubled. They had talked for almost an hour; about George, about the boy and the way his death had seemed to affect Jack Armstrong so deeply that he refused to discuss it with anyone; even with Ellie. They recalled how shocked and afraid the inhabitants of Redborough had been, and how the more superstitious of them claimed it was ‘the same badness that took the others… that tainted Thornton Place and everyone connected with it’. Rosie had dismissed such speculation as ‘out and out nonsense!’ Ellie agreed, but could not forget the mysterious disappearance of the priest and the two children. When Ellie described how someone had placed a sprig of dried lavender on Johnny’s grave, Rosie thought little of it, saying, ‘Folks on the estate might be a peculiar lot… afraid o’ their own shadow some of them… but I suspect their hearts are kind enough. No doubt one o’ the more sensible and sympathetic put the lavender there. Think no more of it, Ellie gal, ’cause it don’t mean nothing untoward.’ And, strangely enough, Ellie was reassured by Rosie’s words.

  The letter from Barny was a different matter altogether. Rosie could only say, ‘It’s up to you, Ellie gal… follow your instincts.’ Now, in the moonglow through the window, Ellie roved her troubled gaze over the unfolded page. In the half-light she was unable to see the words clearly, but it was no matter, because what Barny had said was emblazoned in her mind, written on her unquiet heart. It was a long, sincere letter from a man who finally realised that his love for a certain woman was impossible. It was a final letter, asking for nothing and offering nothing. The sentiments were honest and endearing. And, not for the first time, Ellie was made to reflect on the value of what she had thrown away:

  Dearest Ellie,

  Why didn’t you tell me that you had fallen in love with someone else? There I was, desperately trying to keep alive what we had going for us, when all the time you were losing your heart to Alec Harman. I would be a liar if I said it did not matter because it does. You’re a lovely young woman, Ellie, and I expect it will take me a while to get over you, if ever.

  I don’t blame you, Ellie. These things happen and we don’t seem to have a say in who we fall in love with. The only thing I beg of you is to be sure before you make a final commitment to this man. After all, you can’t know him too well after such a short time. But he does love you in return; even a blind man could see that. I had not realised, Ellie, not until you collapsed at the bonfire and Alec Harman almost knocked me aside to get to you. When he carried you inside the house, he was beside himself with worry… as we all were. I hope he treats you well. I pray you will be happy.

  A short while ago I had a plea from my parents to join them. While there was even a faint hope that the two of us might get together again, it was out of the question. Now, however, I feel it will be the best thing for all of us.

  Thank you for all the wonderful memories, sweetheart. Forgive me for intruding on your grief, but I hope enough time has passed since your loss for you to begin a new life for yourself. I am only sad that it will not be with me. But, as I say, things don’t always turn out the way we want them to. I hope they do for you, Ellie. I’m sure they will.

  God bless,

  Barny.

  ‘Oh, Barny… what have I done?’ Ellie pressed the crumpled letter to her breast, the tears tumbling down her face. She wondered what her answer might have been if Barny had asked her to go with him now? She was tempted to travel north this very day and beg him not to leave. But then she bitterly chided herself. Barny was too decent to be used as second best! He was right. She did love Alec Harman. But, he was wrong about Alec Harman returning her love. It was true that he had carried her back into the house, and, if Rosie’s account was gospel, it was also true that he was greatly concerned about her; but, ‘love her’? No. Much as she wanted that to be true, it was not. Otherwise, why was he meeting that girl, and blatantly denying it? Why did he avoid coming to the house or seeing her? And why, after he had carried her back into the house, did he hurry away? Not once since that fateful morning had he sought her out. Yes, he had enquired of Rosie as to her well-being, but – like before – he kept his distance, treating her as Johnny would say ‘like the plague’. He was a strange and unpredictable man. Barny was wrong in thinking her happiness lay with Alec Harman, because it did not! But then, it didn’t lie with Barny either and, much as she did not particularly like the idea of him going to the other side of the world, neither did she have any right or reason to persuade him to stay. In her mind’s eye, Ellie recalled the moment of Barny’s departure after the funeral. Before leaving her, he had waited to satisfy himself that she was fully able to cope. There was no ill-feeling. Just a mutual acceptance that their time together was over. Afterwards, Ellie had watched the small, battered van chug away, taking Barny out of her life. And, in all truth, she could not deny the murmur of regret in her heart, nor the fact that when he went, a small part of her w
ent with him. Now it was final. He was leaving for good, and she would never see him again.

  Subdued and weary of heart, Ellie climbed back into bed. With the letter against her pillow, she lapsed into a deep and fitful sleep.

  Many miles away, in the north of England, there was another lonely and unhappy being who gazed out of the window, watching the night sky and dreaming, much as Ellie had done, his thoughts mentally spanning the miles between himself and the woman he loved.

  After great deliberation and an agonising of heart, Barny had made up his mind. He had fully accepted that Ellie no longer loved him and, as much as he would have wished it otherwise, he had forced himself to come to terms with the fact that he was shut out of her life forever. He had lingered far too long in the hope that all would come right between them; now, he knew it never would. Ellie loved another. There was nothing he could do about that. But, in spite of the fact that she had rejected him for Alec Harman, he felt a certain duty to protect her. There was something about the Harman fellow that disturbed him; so much so that he could not go away with peace of mind until he had satisfied himself that all was well. Ellie’s father had taken a deep dislike to Alec Harman, and though Barny reminded himself that Jack Armstrong had a habit of belittling any man who dared to cast an appreciative glance in his daughter’s direction, this time he himself had suffered the same misgivings with regard to Ellie’s suitor.

  Barny Tyler turned away from the window, went cautiously across the room and switched on the light. Everything was ready for his long journey; his bags were packed, and he had already said his goodbyes to friends and colleagues. It had been his intention to depart quickly and quietly. A new life was waiting and now he longed for it to begin. He was lonely. Only now did he realise how very lonely he had been. He had prayed that Ellie would find happiness and a new life. Now, it was everything he himself craved. First though, he needed to check out this Harman character – make certain he really was all he claimed to be.