No Mercy

by J. T. Brindle

  Barny had been toying with the idea. Now, the idea gained momentum. Plans quickly began to take shape. The woman called Rosie would be the one to talk to. She probably knew Alec Harman better than most. Look how the two of them had huddled together just before Johnny was found, and even before that, at different times, Barny had seen them deep in conversation together. After the funeral, during which Alec Harman had stayed at the back of the church, it was he who escorted the old, crippled woman home.

  Unable to sleep now, Barny got dressed and made himself a mug of coffee. He felt more at peace with himself now. Before anything else he must make sure that Ellie was safe.

  Afterwards, he could go on his way with a clear conscience. First thing in the morning, he would get things underway. He would need to recover his van from the auctions; it was just as well the sale hadn’t already taken place. Besides, he didn’t see any problem in selling it down South. It might be old and battered, but it was a sturdy, reliable little vehicle. Suddenly, all the niggling doubts he had entertained about Alec Harman bubbled persistently to the surface, telling him unreservedly that he was obliged to resolve the issue, or never again know peace of mind. He knew he could not have Ellie’s love, but that must not deter him from doing right by her. He owed it to himself. And, most of all, he owed it to Ellie!

  10

  The letters arrived just before 10.00 a.m. on Tuesday, January 24th, just as Jack Armstrong came down for a short break from his labours. He had been up with the lark on this fine, bright morning and now – after a back-breaking session when he had finally stripped the last bedroom of its many layers of emulsion – he was more than ready for the hearty breakfast put before him by Ellie.

  ‘Any post?’ he asked, settling himself in the chair and scouring his eyes over the front page of the newspaper. Scanning the headlines, he snorted and pushed the paper aside, saying with scorn, ‘Harold Macmillan! For my money, Rab Butler would have made a much more acceptable Prime Minister.’ Jack Armstrong was not a man for politics, but, like every Englishman, he felt he was entitled to his opinion. Seeing Ellie return with the post, he asked whether there was anything for him. ‘Not that I’m expecting anything but bills!’ he moaned.

  ‘Well, this doesn’t look like a bill,’ Ellie told him, handing over the small square envelope with the copperplate writing on the front. Intrigued, he opened the envelope, took out the letter and began reading. Absorbed in her own correspondence, Ellie did not see how her father’s expression changed from one of curiosity to one of incredulity.

  ‘Well, about time too!’ Ellie remarked on perusing her own letter. ‘The library have uncovered part of the history of Thornton Place. They’ll have a copy ready for me on Saturday.’ She wandered across the room, intent on the letter in her hands. When in a moment she swung round to impart the details to her father, she was astonished to see his chair empty and his breakfast untouched. Going along the passage, she looked into the big room; there was no sign of him there. There was no sign of him anywhere on the ground floor, and a quick search of the upstairs rooms told Ellie that he was nowhere in the house. Puzzled, but not altogether surprised by his behaviour, she looked out of the bedroom window. Yes, there he was, leaning against the wall of the big barn, his head bent towards the letter, his whole attention riveted by it. Even as Ellie watched, he crumpled the letter in his fist, his eyes remaining downcast and a look of desolation about his whole countenance.

  Unaware that Ellie was observing him from the bedroom window, Jack Armstrong angrily punched his fist against the barn wall. ‘Damn and blast!… Damn. Damn!’ he muttered. Just when you thought there might be a chance to forget the past once and for all, it had a nasty habit of creeping up on you unawares. The letter had been like a pair of cold hands round his throat; a chilling reminder that he was still not free of the spectre that haunted him. Now, he wondered whether he would ever be free of it. Perhaps not until he himself was rotting meat for the worms!

  The letter had been a bolt out of the blue. His first instinct was to ignore it, to try and shut it out of his mind and pretend it had never happened. Yet, even as he dwelled on this possibility, he knew it was out of the question. The very content of the letter demanded that he must act on it, and quickly! Black anger flooded his uneasy thoughts. There were people roaming this earth who were not fit to draw breath. Monsters! Creatures without substance, without soul. So much filth that contaminated everything it touched. Damn them to hell! Because of them, he had been dragged, screaming, back into the past. Because of them, he had no choice. It was clear what he must do. And he would not shirk from doing it; however unpleasant the consequences! Besides, the last thing he wanted right now was police crawling all over the place!

  ‘You’re… going away?’ Ellie could see how upset her father was; how agitated he had been since returning to the house a few moments ago. ‘It’s that letter, isn’t it? Something in the letter you got this morning has worried you…’

  Her words were cut off as her father retorted, ‘It doesn’t matter! You don’t need to know the why and wherefore. All you need to know is that I’ll be leaving this afternoon, and probably won’t be back for a couple of days.’ He began pacing the room, his fists clasped together behind his back and a look of anguish in his deep blue eyes. ‘Leave me, Ellie,’ he told her, ‘I need to think… to work things out.’ He groaned aloud. ‘Dear God! Why is it when you think it just might start to come right… it all begins to go wrong?’

  ‘What is it?’ Ellie placed herself in front of him. ‘I’m not budging until you tell me.’ When he made as though to turn away, she clasped her small, firm fingers round his wrist, saying quietly, ‘Look, Dad… there are only the two of us left now… all we have is each other. Trust me, please. These past weeks we seem to have drifted further and further apart… we don’t confide in each other any more. Tell me… I may be able to help… what was in the letter that’s upset you so?’

  It seemed ages before he replied, when in fact it was only a moment; a moment of panic during which he cursed himself for betraying his anxiety to her. He had to think quickly! Ellie must not know the contents of that letter. What then? For Christ’s sake what was he to tell her? He had seen the fiery determination in her lovely amber eyes. He knew she would not be satisfied until he had given her some sort of explanation – confided in her. In his frantic mind there rose the germ of an idea. It was enough! ‘We’ve got a problem, sweetheart,’ he said, his warm, sincere smile a clever mask for the devious and cunning wile beneath, ‘nothing for you to worry about, though. I can handle it, believe me.’

  ‘What? What can you “handle”?’ Ellie needed to know. She stood her ground, eyeing him, daring him to cut her out.

  ‘All right then, but… like I say, I can handle it.’ He sauntered over to the settee, where he dropped himself down with the easy attitude of someone who was suddenly at peace with the world. When, as he expected, Ellie followed him and stood looking down, anticipating, he went on. ‘The letter was from the solicitors in London. It seems the owner is contemplating selling Thornton Place,’ he lied.

  Shocked, Ellie sat beside him, eager to lessen what she knew had been a real blow to her father. ‘But it won’t make any difference to us, will it?’ she said, ‘I mean… you did sign a contract?’ Suddenly, she could see them being homeless. It was easy to understand why her father had been so wrought up over the letter. After all, the last time the house had changed hands, Rosie and George were thrown out; although of course they had the cottage to go to. She and her father had nowhere!

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, they’ll have a real fight on their hands if they reckon me to be a pushover. I’m sure it won’t come to any kind of fight, though.’ He had to find a way of convincing Ellie that the situation was important enough for him to take time out to deal with it, yet be careful not to burden her with a deal of worry. ‘Look… don’t mention any of this to Rosie, or to anybody else,’ he warned, ‘we don’t want folk panicking that there’s g
oing to be a full-scale eviction.’

  ‘You’re sure it will be all right?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But… you didn’t seem so certain after reading the letter,’ Ellie insisted. ‘I saw you out there… you looked devastated.’

  ‘It was just the initial shock. After all, when you’re told the roof might be sold over your head, you don’t stop to think,’ he lied. ‘Don’t you worry… we’re safe enough. But, as I say… it needs me to go to London and remind them of the contract. I’ll rest easier when I have more information.’

  ‘You could telephone, or write.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. It won’t do. When you’re dealing with something like this, Ellie, it’s best to confront it… put your case first, before they deliberately overlook you.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Ellie had to agree. ‘How about if I came with you?’ After the recent happenings, she welcomed the prospect of a few days away. Excitement grew in her, but it was cruelly quashed with her father’s firm refusal.

  ‘Not this time, Ellie.’ Before she could argue, he departed the room.

  It was 4.00 p.m. when Ellie saw her father off in the old car that had brought them to Thornton Place almost a year ago. The car had been little used since then. Her father rarely went out, being happy to stay within the vicinity of Thornton Place, and whenever Ellie went into Medford, she preferred to go by bus from the shop.

  ‘Expect me back the day after tomorrow,’ he told Ellie. She was pleasantly surprised when he took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head, just like he used to in the old days.

  As she watched him go, the daylight was already slipping into that prolonged grey period before the night smothered everything beneath its black mantle. ‘Take care,’ she shouted. A spiral of joy rose in her heart, dispelling the sad uncertainties that her father’s unpredictable moods had thrust on their once close relationship. At long last, Ellie prayed that the dark clouds which had overshadowed their lives might really have a silver lining after all.

  At the top of the steps, she turned to watch the little car disappear out of sight. ‘Hurry home, Dad,’ she murmured. ‘I do love you.’ It was with a lighter heart that Ellie went back into the house. Here, she set about her work with a song on her lips, and a hope for the future that she had not experienced in a long while.

  Ellie could not have known that her hope would be short-lived. She could never have envisaged that when her father embraced her just now, it would be for the last time. And even in her worst nightmares, she could not have foreseen the awful carnage that was to come.

  Engaged in deep conversation, Rosie and Alec Harman did not at first hear the knock on the cottage door. When it sounded for the second time, they were immediately alert, afraid of who it might be, and loath to be discovered here, in the shadowy lamp’s glow, furtively whispering for fear of being overheard. It was late, dark outside, and Rosie was not expecting anyone. ‘I know it isn’t Ellie,’ she said in a soft, harsh voice. ‘She would never come across here after dark… alone. And it can’t be Jack Armstrong, because, when I went over to see Ellie this afternoon, she told me her father was going away for a couple of days.’ She smiled, a knowing, intimate smile. ‘But of course you know that, don’t you?’

  Alec Harman made no answer, other than to return her smile, his black eyes glittering in the flickering lamplight. The knock came again, insistent and ruder. ‘Whoever it is, they won’t go away,’ he murmured, ‘you’ll have to answer the door.’ Silently, like a cobra, he uncurled from the chair, his lithe, handsome figure towering over her.

  ‘Stay quiet then!’ The crippled woman grabbed the two crutches which were leaning against the chair arms. Scrambling from the soft, sucking depths of the chair, she thrust the hard wooden artefacts into her body and hopped into a steady gait. ‘In there! Hide in the bedroom!’ she told him. At once he nodded and slipped away, going softly into the bedroom and noiselessly closing the door behind him.

  Preoccupied with thoughts of who could be calling here so late, Alec Harman only glanced at the bed, at the misshapen and bulky thing that was silhouetted by the incoming moonlight. He could not see the face, nor the pale, spacious eyes that peeped from it; peeping at him, following his every move, and behind the eyes the swirling maelstrom of thoughts and images that had taunted a sanity for so long. Like a dark, tempestuous storm, it had been all-consuming, turning daylight into blackness and serenity into chaos, but, even in the midst of such a destructive storm, there were brief interludes of clarity and light. It was like that now, in the farrago of the old man’s mind… blinding confusion reigned for most of the time, but then there were split infinities of shocking calm. He knew. Then he did not know. He recognised. Then he did not. A name sprang to mind… a face… a certain time. And suddenly they were gone. All gone! Silently, he watched, and prayed, and tried so desperately to remember. He would. He knew he would. Soon, he must leave this world. He was not sorry; there was no great longing left for him; no joy, no kind, warm emotions. No love, no satisfaction of the body, or the soul. He wanted to leave. But, before he did, there was something… something… some urgent and necessary act he must carry out. What though? What must he do? Kill? Was that it? Maybe. But who? And why? Think, oh think! Try to remember. Struggling, always struggling. Oh, now the light was gone, and everything was blanketed in darkness again. Don’t move, though! Lie very still. Watch. And listen. Someone was in the room. Be careful now!

  ‘Why, Mr Tyler!’ Rosie had cautiously inched open the cottage door, her old heart fluttering. Now, as she blinked into the dark night, it was with a surge of disbelief that she recognised Ellie’s young man; or at least the young man who had once set his cap at Ellie, only to be disappointed. ‘Whatever brings you here at this time of a night?… it’s gone ten o’clock… folks like me are usually tucked up in their beds long afore now.’ She regarded him through small, narrowed eyes, thinking what a handsome thing he was, with them sea-green eyes and unruly mop of thick, earth-coloured hair. Still and all, she had been glad when Ellie sent him away. It left the door open for Alec. To Rosie’s mind, there could be only one man for Ellie. And that must be Alec. Rosie had set her heart on it, and she would not take too kindly to being disappointed. Oh, there was no denying that, in spite of herself, she had reluctantly taken a liking to Barny Tyler, but, when everything was taken into consideration, he had only got in the way of things. Some very well-laid plans had been almost ruined because of him!

  ‘Did I give you a fright?’ Barny asked, his brows furrowed in an apologetic expression. ‘I really didn’t mean to… only…’ He glanced about nervously. ‘… I’m leaving to join my parents shortly and, well…’ He lowered his gaze and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should not have come. I feel foolish… it was just that I had something playing on my mind, a niggling worry.’ He thrust his hands deep into his overcoat pockets and nodded, as though he had come to a decision. ‘Look… it doesn’t matter… now that I’m actually here, standing on your doorstep at this time of night… well.’ He gave a small, embarrassed laugh. ‘Forget I was here,’ he said, beginning to turn away. ‘I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.’

  ‘No, no… you look frozen to the bone,’ Rosie protested, opening the door wider. ‘You get yourself inside, young man. Whatever brought you here must be important to you, or I’m sure you would never have come knocking on my door.’

  ‘Well, yes… it did seem important,’ Barny conceded, stepping gratefully out of the cold night air, ‘but, like I say… I’m not so sure now.’

  ‘Well, I am!’ Rosie closed the door and ushered Barny into the parlour. Suddenly, she needed to know why he was here! Had he seen something on his previous trip to Thornton Place? Did he suspect? It was imperative that she should know. The fact that Alec was in the next room, hopefully listening, gave her a comfortable feeling. ‘Sit yourself here,’ she suggested, deliberately persuading Barny into the chair seated o
n the left of the fireplace, nearest to the bedroom. ‘Warm your toes by the fire while I fill the kettle.’ She went into the scullery. Barny’s gaze followed; he was curiously fascinated by the easy manner in which she swung that cumbersome body along on those crutches. He believed Rosie to be a good woman. Ellie had explained the crippled woman’s absolute commitment to the one called George. Such love and devotion was very rare. It was to be much admired. Hoping she did not think it too intrusive of him, he told her so the moment she returned to the parlour.

  ‘Away with you,’ she chuckled, allowing him to take the small blackened kettle from her and squash it onto the glowing coals. ‘George is a dear. Oh, I know there are those who say he’s past all help, and there are others who think I’m the mad one for looking after him, but…’ She lowered her gaze to the fire. ‘He’s so helpless, you know. Fate has not been kind to him… long before his mind was failing, there were other misfortunes.’ She looked up now, her quiet eyes observing him. ‘You should have seen him when he first came to Thornton Place. Handsome he was, a tall, commanding figure. But, even then, he was not a happy man. Soon after, his wife was killed…’ She glanced towards the window. ‘Out there it was… in the spinney. He was devastated… adored her he did. He was never the same after that. He had a breakdown… then it went from bad to worse, until… well…’ She pursed her lips in anguish, as though suppressing a great weight, but the tears sprang to her eyes, gently brimming there.

  ‘How did it happen?’ He was curiously hurt to see this old woman racked with such emotion. ‘… His wife…?’