Suddenly, Rosie was softly laughing. ‘Look at me!’ she cried. ‘Pouring me troubles all over you… and you already burdened with your own… or you wouldn’t have come aknocking on this ’ere door so late of an evening.’ She shuffled to the edge of the chair and eyed him with bright, quizzical eyes. ‘Now then, fella-me-lad… enough of my problems… let’s have it, eh? What’s on your mind?’
Barny looked at her for a moment, thinking how few people there were in the world like Rosie. He felt ashamed, wishing he had not come here. Besides this caring woman’s burdens, his own anxieties seemed unreal. ‘You’ll no doubt think I’m being overcautious,’ he said tentatively.
‘We’ll see. First, though, I need to know what’s plaguing you to such an extent that you felt the need to come and talk with me about it.’
‘It’s Ellie.’ There! It was said, and in all truth he felt the better for it.
‘Ah.’ Rosie chuckled, ‘I thought it might be.’ She nodded her head, a seriousness emerging in her expression. ‘Go on,’ she urged.
With her panda-like eyes bearing down on him and her whole attention riveted to his every word, Barny found it difficult to start. Suddenly he realised how ludicrous his fears would sound to her. How could he say that he believed Ellie to be in some kind of danger? He had no evidence of it, nor did he really understand the nature of that danger. And how could he bring himself to voice his misgivings with regard to Alec Harman? Sure, he was a sullen, moody man, but that in itself did not make him a threat.
‘Well, I’m waiting, young man,’ Rosie insisted. She had sensed his quiet agonising, and was all the more intrigued because of it.
Seeing that he had little option after coming so far, and believing the crippled woman to be a close and valued friend of Ellie’s he told her what was on his mind; how he had made all the necessary arrangements to join his parents, given up his job and burned all his bridges. ‘I had hoped there might be a future for me and Ellie, but… it’s Alec Harman she loves. I don’t like the idea, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I know everything is finally over between Ellie and me, neither hell nor high water would prevent me from making it as difficult as possible for Harman.’
‘You don’t like him?’
‘Not in the slightest.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Is it “dislike” of the man himself? Or is it jealousy that colours your opinion of him?’
‘Some… maybe, yes!’ he reluctantly agreed. ‘What man wouldn’t be jealous? I love Ellie!’
‘What makes you so sure it’s all over between you?’ Secretly, Rosie was thrilled. She let her mind’s eye rove over the man in the bedroom. She could imagine the delight Alec was feeling at Barny Tyler’s words.
‘If you know Ellie, then you’ll know she’s a strong-minded and determined woman. After the boy’s funeral, I knew there was no chance for me with Ellie. She told me straight enough that it was finally over… Oh, I’ve seen it coming for a while. It began to go wrong soon after her mother…’ He paused, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. Determined, he went on, ‘Well, all I know is, there’s no going back, not now. Not ever. Believe me, Rosie… Ellie loves Alec Harman. There’s no one else.’
‘And you’re unhappy about her choice of man?’
‘As I said. I don’t like him. He’s unsociable, morose and sour of mood. Besides, there’s something else…’ Barny’s enthusiasm for the subject was growing by the minute. In the heat of the moment, all his inhibitions were swamped. Everything that had been on his mind was suddenly pouring out. He spoke about his fear that Ellie had been blinded to Alec Harman’s true character, and that she was being drawn into a future of uncertainty and unhappiness. He himself believed Alec Harman to be shifty and suspicious in nature. He drew on a particular night for example – the night when Jack Armstrong had gone by way of the lake, in search of what he thought was the boy, ‘skulking about in the dark… frightening people…’ ‘I believe it was more likely Harman!’ he suggested. Then he shivered. ‘It’s just a feeling, and I could be wrong.’
‘I think you are… very wrong.’
Jolted by Rosie’s response, he said quietly, ‘I sincerely hope I am, Rosie. Tell me, though, what do you know of his background? I understand you know him as well as anyone.’ He had been made to exercise caution. In the heat of the moment, he had nearly forgotten that Rosie was well acquainted with Alec Harman.
‘Better than anyone,’ Rosie corrected, ‘and I can tell you with hand on heart that you have misjudged him. He is sullen and morose, as you say. And, in his job, it might seem that he’s “skulking about”.’ She shook her head gravely. ‘He’s a good man, Barny… believe me. If Ellie was to put her future in his hands, she would be safe enough. You see, like you, I believe she does love him. I also believe that he loves Ellie. If it came to it, he would make her a fine husband.’ She could see how her words were like blades through his heart. His pain did not deter her. ‘I love Ellie very much, you know. Do you think I would let any harm come to her?’
‘I’m trusting you, Rosie… there is no one else I can count on.’
‘I know. Believe me, when I say you can go on your way with a quiet heart where Ellie’s well-being is concerned… go to your parents. Build your new life… maybe with a new love. I’ll look over Ellie… you have my bounden word on it.’
‘What of his background?’
‘I’m told he comes of a good family, solid respectable people.’ She leaned forward and clasped her gnarled fingers over his clenched fist. ‘Like you said, Barny… Ellie’s a strong-minded, determined soul. She’ll walk her own path. I don’t have to tell you, either, that she won’t be dictated to. No woman will… especially in matters of the heart.’
Barny nodded, his smile tinged with regret. ‘You’re right, of course. I dread to think what she’d do if she knew the two of us were sitting here, discussing her like this!’
‘She wouldn’t take kindly to it, and that’s a fact!’ Rosie conceded. She shifted her attention to the kettle, which was boiling and spitting, sending little spurts of water into the coals and causing them to fizzle deliciously. ‘There! A brew of tea, that’s what we want!’ She twisted herself about, and collected the tea towel from the chair arm. Wrapping it thickly round her bony knuckles, she prepared to lift the kettle from the fire. ‘You will stay a while, won’t you, Barny?’ she asked, secretly thankful when he declined. ‘Oh,’ she groaned, looking at him with sad eyes, ‘still… I expect you’ve a lot to do, what with going abroad an’ all… that is where Ellie said your parents are…? Besides, you’re no doubt ready for your bed, eh?’ She hoisted the kettle out and put it carefully on the trivet in the hearth. ‘You’re stopping in Medford, I expect? There ain’t nowhere else round these parts for a body to stop.’ Suddenly, an unpleasant thought occurred to her. ‘You’re not… staying with Ellie, are you… at Thornton Place?’
‘No. Ellie has no idea that I’m here, and I would be grateful if you didn’t mention it to her.’
‘O’ course not, dearie… if you’re sure that’s what you want?’
‘I do. Like as you say, she would not take kindly to my interfering.’
‘Still, she’s a fortunate young woman to warrant such concern. I am sorry it didn’t work out for the two of you,’ she said, with a small murmur of genuine regret. ‘Life’s full o’ disappointments, but if a body’s strong enough, it’ll get over it.’
Barny nodded but gave no answer. Instead, he rose to his feet. ‘I’ll be on my way. Thank you for your reassurance. I could not have gone without it.’
‘You know I’ll watch out for her, don’t you?’
‘I believe she has a friend in you.’
‘You’ll be all right?’
‘Like I said, I’ve already burned my bridges. Regrettably, Ellie is just one more.’
‘When d’you leave?’
‘Soon. But for now, I’d best be making my way back to Medford. I won’t trouble you again.’
‘Oh, it were no t
rouble, dearie. I’m only glad I were able to put your mind at rest. Be assured, Ellie won’t come to no harm.’
‘You’re a good woman. A fine friend.’
‘I do me best.’
In the moment before she closed the door on him, there was something Rosie needed to know. ‘You remember the day the boy went missing… when you and Jack Armstrong went off looking for him?’
Puzzled by a question that seemed to have no relevance to his purpose here, Barny cast his mind back. ‘Yes, I recall it,’ he replied, a deep frown accentuating his strong, attractive looks.
‘Tell me, Barny. Was Ellie’s father with you the whole time?’
‘Well… yes.’
‘In your sight? The whole time?’
‘I reckon so. We strayed away from each other now and then, I suppose, but that was only to be expected. We were searching for the boy, after all. On the whole, though, I think I can honestly say Ellie’s father was in sight most of the time. Why do you ask?’
Rosie’s face beamed broadly. ‘Oh, no reason. Just a thought.’ She certainly did not intend to reveal her deep-down suspicions. Nasty, uncomfortable suspicions that centred round Jack Armstrong. ‘No matter,’ she said, ‘you go safely on your way, Barny Tyler. Good luck and God bless.’
‘Goodbye, Rosie, and thank you again.’
‘Did you hear all of that?’ Rosie whispered, her panda-like eyes bright with apprehension.
‘I heard.’ Alec Harman’s face was set in a stiff, anxious expression as he stared down on Rosie. ‘I didn’t think Barny Tyler would be much of a problem. I was so obviously wrong.’
‘He’s suspicious about you. That could be very dangerous!’
‘He’s going away, though. Isn’t that what he said?’
‘That’s what he said right enough!’ Rosie shook her head slowly, her smudged eyes regarding him, making him think. ‘Can we trust him, I wonder? Something tells me he wasn’t altogether satisfied. He’s nobody’s fool.’ She bowed her head, saying, ‘I don’t like it… we’ve come too far not to see it through.’
‘What are you saying, Rosie? Are you suggesting I should… have a quiet word in his ear?’ He laughed softly. The idea was amusing to him.
‘I don’t rightly know.’ Rosie smiled, touching him tentatively on the arm. ‘Did you hear what he said about himself and Ellie?’
‘That they were through?’
‘That… it was you she loved?’
‘In a way, I wish that was not true.’ His heart soared at the realisation that Ellie truly loved him, but, he had not expected it, not ‘planned’ it that way. It only complicated matters.
‘And you love her?’ Rosie’s smile was teasing, tormenting.
‘Enough, Rosie!’ he chided, going across the room towards the door. ‘We have too much to do! You know this is not the time for “love”.’
At once, Rosie was mindful of other issues. Important issues that must take precedence over all else. ‘What about Barny Tyler? What if he doesn’t “join his parents”?… what if he decides to hang around these parts a while longer?’
‘You think he will?’ Alec Harman’s black eyes glinted brilliantly in the dying glow of the fire.
Rosie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. If he does, though… snoop about… watching… suspecting, well… it could ruin everything!’
‘Don’t worry.’ He opened the door and stepped softly into the night.
‘You’ll deal with it?’
The door closed on his answer, given quietly and gravely, without hesitation. ‘If I have to,’ he said. Then he was gone, into the dark, bent on his own purpose. There was no going back now!
From the bedroom window, the senile watched as the tall, shadowy figure merged with the blackness, until finally it was part of the spinney and he could see it no more. ‘Oh… let me remember.’ The soft, awesome whisper permeated the quiet of the room. ‘Please… let me remember!’ Round, pale eyes grew moist, tears highlighted the terror there. Bent and cold, he shivered in the darkness, the moonshine lightening his shrunken features, creating shapes and shadows, making him appear gruesome. In his small, unhappy heart he prayed, asking that death might release him from the prison that was his mind. ‘If only…’ The haunted murmur was a cry for help. ‘If only I could remember… if only…’ Events rippled through his thoughts – of Alec Harman hiding in this very room… hiding from someone who had knocked on the door… a stranger? No. Not a stranger. Who then? Somebody… come to see Rosie. When the stranger was gone, pale curious eyes had seen from the window. Then, voices. In the other room… talking, afraid. The same, curious eyes watched Rosie’s friend go into the night. ‘Oh!’ He had a gun. He always had a gun! So afraid now. So afraid! ‘Why can’t I… oh… if only.’ Ssh! Ssh! Too late. The door’s flung open. Can’t hide, not now.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Rosie’s sharp eyes sought out the cringing figure pressed into the wall by the window. ‘What are you doing out of your bed?’ She swung forward at a furious pace, the hard tips of her crutches creating chaos against the floor. ‘Into bed with you!’ she cried. ‘Whatever possessed you?’ She stopped, sighing noisily when he scuttled past her. Whimpering like a wounded animal, he clambered beneath the eiderdown, sliding out of sight, his every limb quivering with fright.
‘What in God’s name am I to do with you?’ Rosie went towards the bed in a quick, hopping gait, where she looked down on the misshapen bulk. ‘I never know what you’ll get up to next,’ she said in a soft, surprised voice. Leaning down, she tugged at the corner of the eiderdown. In the gloom she could just make out the claw-like fingers that sprang out to grasp it from her. She tugged. The crooked fingers tugged harder. ‘All right… all right, but don’t you go getting out of your bed again this night,’ she warned in a severe voice. ‘Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.’ No response. ‘Will you do that for Rosie?’ When there came an indistinguishable sound from amongst the bedclothes, it was enough to satisfy Rosie that her words had been heeded. ‘That’s right,’ she murmured lovingly, ‘do that for Rosie… sleep now. Sleep well. Don’t be afraid, sweetheart.’ She waited a moment, moving away only when she imagined the hard, regular breathing to mean that he was slumbering. Bone-tired and craving sleep herself, she softly drew the curtains, closed the door, and made her way upstairs. Tomorrow, she and George would talk. She suspected he had things on his mind.
Afraid to rear his head from the safe blackness beneath the clothes, the senile heard the door close and he knew that Rosie had gone to her bed. Rosie would not hurt him; he felt that. Yet, he could not talk to her. The words just would not come. He had tried so hard, tried and tried until his head hurt. Tried to remember! Those things… out there in the night… bad things! And people… evil, wicked people. Oh, if only… if only he could remember. Remember! Do something. Stop them, before it was too late. He tried so hard, so very hard, but he could never pluck that certain awareness out of the swirling blackness where he was blind forever. But he must keep on trying. He must! Like before, always like before, the effort was too much, dragging him down, smothering him. Like a soothing tide it lapped over him, covering his terror with sleep, deep penetrating sleep, stilling the awful fear that lurked in every corner of his being, soothing, for a while. Only for a while.
It was done! A sigh of deep satisfaction rose on the night air, warm breath created a spiral of grey vapour in the bitter-cold stillness of the darkest hour. Eyes that had seen death, that had seen awful, wanton destruction, that had remained aloof to it all, observed this new experience with chilling detachment. A heart was gladdened by the sight; a stiff, unyielding heart that knew no mercy. No mercy. Only loathing, and a warped sense of justice. It had felt such terrible things, cruel awful things. It was driven by them, haunted by them. And these atrocities would go on. They must go on. Until the heart itself was stopped! Inch by inch, the vehicle was sucked under. Now, it was only a stiff metal sheet shimmering in the moonlight. Slowly at first, then with delicious sw
iftness, the waters lapped over, lapping, caressing, embracing, until the thing was altogether gorged. All that remained was a spurt of rising bubbles. Like silver spheres, they momentarily danced over a watery grave, and then they were gone.
Satisfied, the watcher stooped to the ground, grasping the lifeless form and swinging it, effortlessly, onto one shoulder. On swift, silent footsteps the watcher stole away. One more who had paid the price. One more. But there were still others. They had not been forgotten. They, too, must pay. In a while. A very short while.
An uneasy quiet hung over the cottage. Silently, practised and sure, the intruder entered. It took only a moment for the trap door to be unearthed. Carrying its grisly burden, the figure descended. Soon after, it was creeping away into the night. Unobserved. Unrepentant. Already scheming. Into a fevered mind there crept an image. The image reflected a painting; a woman. The image agitated, causing unbelievable pain. The pain subsided, and in its place was a merciless loathing. The loathing writhed intricately with the fiercest love. The images faded. Another emerged. The image was Ellie! Soon. Very soon.
‘Fred!… is that you?’ Mrs Gregory sat up in bed, her small puffed eyes heavy with sleep. She had been woken by something… a noise, a nightmare. ‘Fred…’ Her hands fumbled for the light switch. Shockingly the light spilled into the room. There was no sound now, only a disturbing eerie silence. A glance at the empty space in the bed told her that he was gone; she stroked the space with the flat of her hand. It was cold. ‘Long gone!’ she muttered. She was angry; afraid.
Sliding from the bed she wrapped the candlewick dressing gown about her short, dumpy figure and went downstairs. All the doors were locked and bolted, with the exception of the back door, which was locked but not bolted. The bolt had been wrenched back. ‘You fool! You bloody fool,’ she murmured, shaking her greying head. For one insane moment, she was tempted to slip the bolt home. It would serve him right, she thought. But no. Whatever else he was, he was first and foremost her husband. Disquieted, she returned to her bed. But she could not sleep. Instead, she lay waiting for him, listening, into the early hours and beyond. Through the open chink in the curtains, she watched the fidgeting clouds on the horizon, she saw the moonlight dip away and the silver edge of the sun paint the sky. And still he was not home. ‘Oh, Fred Gregory, what a fool you are,’ she mumbled, ‘will you never learn?’ Clambering from the bed, she went to the window, throwing back the curtains and scouring her weary eyes over the landscape. ‘One day,’ she tutted, ‘one day… you will be caught, and punished!’
No Mercy Page 25
