The Bells of Scotland Road

by Ruth Hamilton

  Michael bought another gin for Molly, finished his pint, then left the pub. Liam Bell was working with prostitutes. He heard Anthony’s voice, went through all that Father Bell’s twin had said. According to Anthony, Liam had associated with street women before, though he had hardly helped them. Dear God, what could a very ordinary Irish priest do about this mess? Should he go to the bishop? What could he tell the primate of Liverpool? That there was a possibility that Liam Bell had the makings of a mass murderer? Anthony could have been wrong, for goodness sake.

  He went back to the presbytery and sat in the living room until the daylight faded completely. Tonight, he did not want to see Liam. He climbed the stairs, undressed, donned his pyjamas and lay on the bed. The more he pondered, the further from an answer he seemed to travel. He would sleep on it. He would sleep on it for the third night in a row.

  Soon, Maureen and Diddy would return. If . . . if Liam had attacked Maureen, would the child recognize him? And would Liam finish the job in case she did remember him? Or had Liam been innocent in the first place?

  He heard sounds from downstairs, knew that his right-hand man had returned from his evening of charitable work among the women in the Welcome Home. With a heavy heart, Michael got up, collected his rosary from a side table and knelt at his small prie-dieu. He looked up at the Virgin Mary, asked her to intercede on his behalf. ‘This is too much for me,’ he told her. ‘Please stop him – if it is him. And if it isn’t him – stop whoever it really is.’ He said a decade for Maureen, another for Liam, then one for himself.

  The stairs creaked. Father Brennan was not a fanciful man, but it occurred to him that he might be sharing a house with an ogre. He swallowed his own fear, said his last Glory Be, then climbed into bed. At times like this, it was better not to think.

  Through the wall that divided the two front bedrooms, he could hear the young priest moving about. Tomorrow, he would ask about the Welcome Home business, would try to discover Liam’s motives. Fat chance of that, he pondered as he drifted towards sleep. An innocent man would not react to questioning. And a guilty man would not react, either.

  Twelve

  It was another way of life, Bridie thought as she took a sip of water from a crystal glass. Dinner was served in the evening at Cherry Hinton. The midday meal was called lunch, then afternoon tea consisted of thin sandwiches, small cakes and tea from a china pot. Mrs Cornwell did the cooking, while a woman from the village cleaned the house. Occasionally, the woman’s daughter helped with housework, too, but Edith Spencer preferred to preside and serve at her own table.

  Edith was a wise woman. Although she was proud of home and husband, she had chosen not to forget her beginnings. She appreciated her staff, but she liked to feel that she was running the household. After the main meal, dishes were usually left for the cleaning staff to clear away and wash, though the mistress of Cherry Hinton sometimes helped and hindered her employees in the kitchen.

  The tattered dog known as Noel was allowed to wander the house as freely as he wished. With Edith and Richard, there were few rules, so every guest felt important and welcome – even Cathy’s disgraceful mongrel was treated with respect. This was a valuable house and a happy home. The Spencers had found that elusive happy medium between house-pride and sociability.

  Cathy and Shauna’s meal had been served earlier, and the two little girls were in bed. Around the oval table in the dining room sat Diddy, Maureen, Edith, Richard, Bridie and Anthony. After soup, there was roast lamb with homegrown baby potatoes, fresh peas and carrots. On the sideboard lingered Milly Cornwell’s speciality – a huge apple and cinnamon tart with a jug of custard sauce.

  Bridie, who had been placed opposite Anthony, kept her eyes on her plate. Being in the same village was hard enough; eating a meal with him was torture. Even with her eyelids lowered, she could see him, as if the image had imprinted itself permanently on her brain. Another reason for not looking at him was the devilment in his eyes – he was quite capable of making Bridie giggle at the most unfortunate times.

  ‘Bridie?’

  She forced herself to answer him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘More potatoes?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. He had made the word ‘potatoes’ sound like forbidden fruit in some biblical garden where snakes played in the trees. People would begin to notice, she thought. Her cheeks were warm and she was having difficulty swallowing food. Any minute, he would crack a joke about people who couldn’t stay on a horse.

  ‘Your bump’s gone down nicely,’ he told her.

  Ah yes, here came the teasing. She attempted no reply.

  ‘That was quite a tumble,’ he continued.

  Bridie raised her head and looked straight at him. ‘Did you ever notice that it’s always the people who can’t do something who criticize others for doing that same thing and making a small mistake?’

  He placed his knife and fork on the plate. ‘Somewhere in what you say there must be logic,’ he mused.

  Bridie held his gaze levelly for a second, then carried on eating. He was a child, she told herself. All men were children, especially those who made eyes at women across tables.

  Diddy broke the spell. ‘That’s the best bit of meat I’ve tasted in ages,’ she told the hostess. Diddy loved being here. If Maureen could just be all right, this would turn into a holiday to remember. Her heart missed a beat, because Maureen might be staying on at Cherry Hinton. Still, this was a decent place, wasn’t it? The Spencers were rich, but they had few airs and graces. If you used the wrong knife, nobody was bothered. ‘Maureen’s enjoying it – aren’t you, love?’ At least the girl was eating now.

  Maureen smiled at Richard. He had been wonderful with her. He had sat with her for hours explaining why she felt sad, what she could do to make herself better, how she should take a bit of exercise every day. He had asked no questions, yet he seemed to have cleared her mind. She had started going for walks, and the scar on her face had begun to fade. Dr Spencer was a good man.

  Diddy burped politely behind a snow-white napkin, made herself sit still while Edith collected plates and put them on the sideboard. Diddy had been allowed to sew, but was forbidden to do any other chores. She was growing fond of Edith Spencer, had ceased to feel awkward in her company. Edith was just an ordinary woman who had married well and enjoyed sharing her good fortune. ‘I’ll get used to this, you know,’ Diddy chided playfully. ‘When I get back, my Billy’ll have to wait on me hand and foot. And Sam’ll have to do the same for Bridie. Won’t he? Bridie? Have you dropped off to sleep in the middle of your dinner?’

  Bridie jumped. ‘Were you talking to me?’

  ‘I was,’ said Diddy. ‘You’ve a head full of straw these days. It’s all horses, isn’t it?’ She caught Anthony staring at Bridie. Oh, surely not? Diddy sat back thoughtfully. She recalled how Bridie had cared for Anthony during his illness, remembered the expression in the young man’s eyes when he had looked up at his nurse. Could these two be falling in love?

  Maureen was quite comfortable in Anthony’s company. The schoolgirl crush had died, had been throttled to death by a cruel stranger. Anthony was nice to her, and that was an end to it. He didn’t interrogate, didn’t try to baby her. Anthony was just another decent man like Richard Spencer.

  Diddy broke into her portion of tart. That wasn’t the heat of a summer evening staining Bridie Bell’s cheeks, as spring was still in the air. No, it was something else altogether. She hoped it hadn’t happened, hoped it would never happen. Life in the Bell household was complicated already. Yet Diddy’s heart, already made heavy by her daughter’s tragedy, was saddened again, because Anthony and Bridie seemed so right for each other. Had the circumstances been different, they might have made an ideal couple.

  Richard spoke to Diddy. ‘Well, we’re all friends here, so I’ll just get it said. We have already mentioned to Diddy that Edith and I would like Maureen to stay on for a while. The country air is doing her good, and we should perhaps consider Maureen’s inn
er well-being. She is safe here.’

  Diddy suffocated the pain she felt whenever she considered losing one of her children into that gaping maw called life. She glanced at her daughter. ‘What do you think, love?’

  Maureen lifted her head. ‘I want to stay.’

  The big woman sighed. It had to start some time, she supposed. Charlie would always be at home, bless him, but the others would start leaving one by one. Monica was courting Graham Pile, now Maureen was thinking of staying on here. Still, Jimmy and Tildy-Anne could be in Dryden Street for a few years yet. ‘All right, Maureen.’ She turned her attention to Richard Spencer, apportioned him a watery smile. ‘Give her something to do, though.’ Maureen had been destined for the stage. Diddy remembered pawning many house-hold items repeatedly just to keep up the dancing lessons. Now, all that seemed to have come to nothing.

  Dr Spencer nodded reassuringly at Diddy. ‘Maureen is going to help Mrs Cornwell. Mrs Openshaw from the village is getting old, so your daughter can step into her shoes – once Maureen feels a little better, that is.’

  ‘I am better,’ declared Maureen. She tossed the black curls. ‘He’s not going to win,’ she went on, her voice lower. ‘What he did to me was awful, but I can’t let it finish my life.’

  Bridie watched Anthony’s facial muscles tightening. She hated his pain, almost wished that he would simply carry on with his teasing and joking.

  ‘The dancing lessons can be resumed eventually,’ said Edith. She reached along the table and patted Diddy’s hand. ‘She will gain strength, my dear. There’s the physical pain and the mental anguish. The attacker took control of Maureen’s life, deprived her of her own decision making ability for a while. Richard has explained all this to Maureen. That’s what takes time to heal, you see. Physical hurt is easier to mend.’

  Maureen felt the blood rising to her face. ‘I just want to thank everybody for being so good to me,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without all of you. Even the little girls helped by being there and chattering like they do.’

  Bridie smiled encouragingly. Maureen was a different person. She remembered the Maureen she had met after the wedding, that shallow and beautiful girl who had seen the world as her own personal playground. This had been a terrible way to grow up, though. She noted that Anthony was still looking grim, because he was certain that his brother had been the cause of Maureen’s misery.

  When the pudding dishes were empty and after everyone had groaned at the thought of cheese, coffee was served in the drawing room by Mrs Cornwell. She bumbled about on sore feet, smiled benignly upon ‘her’ family. She had taken to Maureen, was glad that the young woman might be moving in. Cherry Hinton was a happy house. The Spencers were good employers, careful to ensure the welfare of their staff, and Maureen deserved a bit of luck.

  The weather looked fair, so Richard suggested a walk to help digest the feast. Everyone followed him through French windows and into the rear garden. Spring bulbs were past their best, but there was a promise of summer in the fine evening.

  They walked to the front of the house and across the lawn, then Maureen sat with her mother on a bench facing the fountain. Noel pranced about for a while before settling at Maureen’s feet. He had appointed himself guardian to this quiet girl. Also, the dog seemed to have acquired a modicum of decorum during recent days. Perhaps he recognized that he was leading the good life at last.

  Maureen fixed her gaze on the flowing water, found it soothing. Richard and Edith lingered among rose beds while Bridie carried on towards the little orchard. The apple trees were burgeoning, blossom swelling the buds and threatening to erupt at any moment. Cherry trees, too, were ready to bloom, as were the plums and pears.

  ‘We’re alone,’ said Anthony. ‘Look at the cherry trees – hundreds of them. I suppose they gave the house its name.’

  She jumped. ‘You shouldn’t creep up behind me like that.’ She looked over his shoulder, noticed that the rest of the party had failed to follow her. ‘I’d better get back,’ she said. ‘In case the girls wake.’

  ‘Mrs Cornwell will watch and listen,’ he told her.

  Bridie sighed. He was still in a state. A frown had crept across his forehead, seemed to be trying to knit its way into both eyebrows. ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ she said softly. ‘Stop worrying about what can’t be changed.’

  ‘You read minds, too?’

  ‘No. But I understand what’s bothering you.’

  He plucked at an overhanging branch, rained a few leaves onto the ground.

  Bridie turned and began to walk back towards the house. She had to get away from him, had to keep her distance. As she moved, she began to realize that she was trying to escape not just from him, but also from herself. If they could only stay apart, things might settle down. Separately, she and Anthony would carry on as normal. He would teach, she would rear the children and run his father’s house. But together, they might destroy everything. It was as if some chemical reaction took place whenever they met. Sometimes, substances that were benign on their own became explosive when mixed. Where had she read that? In one of Sam’s many secondhand books?

  ‘Bridie?’

  Something akin to temper rose in her throat, and she turned on him. ‘We are not children.’ But there was no chance of remaining angry, not with him. He was so sad, so frightened. She wanted to smooth his brow and tell him that everything would turn out fine. But he was not her child. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘Tired enough to fall off a horse?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She did not trust her eyes, her ears, herself. Diddy was near. She would turn and run to Diddy and Edith. Women were the strong ones in situations such as these. Women were the strong ones, anyway, because they had to be. Men followed their instincts, lost reason where love was concerned. They didn’t have to bear the grief or the babies.

  ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said.

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘How?’

  She knew because she loved him. ‘I just do.’

  He lowered his chin and thought for a moment. ‘Be safe,’ he said. ‘Watch for him, stay away from him.’

  Bridie made no reply. Her throat was dry, probably because of the nervousness he engendered. She wished with all her being that she could offer him some comfort, but any gesture of sympathy could be misconstrued. She feared touching him.

  ‘Bridie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I am deadly serious. Keep away from him.’ Liam didn’t need evidence to attain his proof. One careless word, and he might home in on Bridie. ‘And don’t talk to my father about the rift. If you speak up for me, and if Dad then speaks to Liam, my dear brother will assume that you are on my side. With him, being on my side is as good as being at my side. Do you understand?’

  She nodded.

  ‘He knows things. He’s uncanny, almost weird. It’s as if he has a sixth sense, but no common sense and no decency.’

  Bridie heard his misery, wished for a miracle. ‘You must not concern yourself about me. I’m a grown woman.’

  ‘And he’s a big, strong man.’

  ‘How could you possibly be twins? Apart from colouring and build, you are like chalk and cheese.’

  He tried to smile. ‘I am the chalk, I suppose, because I use enough of it in my job. Somehow, I don’t see my brother as half a pound of Cheddar.’

  They walked back together, each painfully aware of the other’s proximity. Bridie saw Maureen sitting peaceably with Diddy, hailed Richard and Edith as they plotted over which roses to prune before summer began.

  Anthony Bell said his goodbyes and went home. He lit the lamps, turned on his wireless and opened a bottle of beer. The news would be on the Home Service soon, and Bridie loved him. Because of that love, he must stay away from her. But he found no solace in his radio, was aware only of that special loneliness which comes to those forced to live without company. ‘If he touches her, I’ll kill him,’ he informed
the fireplace.

  Outside, birds practised evensong, and a skittish breeze ruffled leaves. While Anthony ached for Bridie, the world simply carried on turning.

  A tall, dark man strolled through the village of Astleigh Fold. He wore a charcoal suit, white shirt, black tie and black shoes. He was on his way to visit his second cousin, Edith Spencer, but first, he intended to call in on his brother.

  Liam stopped for a while and studied the village stocks, crude boards with holes positioned to trap the hands of miscreants while the rest of the village hurled abuse and rotted vegetable matter. The stocks had been a good idea, he thought. Anthony should go into the stocks, for the simple reason that Anthony was trying to betray his brother.

  The collar and tie felt strange, because he had grown so used to the life and garb of a priest. But there was nothing in the rules that forbade a day off, so he was having a change. People stared less at a man in everyday clothes.

  He walked on towards the cottage where his brother stayed. Anthony had been to visit Father Brennan, it seemed. Liam was annoyed. It was plain that his twin had said something to Michael Brennan, because the latter had begun to act quite oddly. He was questioning Liam at every opportunity, had taken him to task about helping in the Welcome Home, was always probing for information about Liam’s movements. Once, Liam had caught sight of his parish priest lurking in a doorway. Fortunately, Brennan was a very visible man, so Liam was now on his guard. What had Anthony said? Wasn’t all that business over with?

  One thing was certain, thought Liam. The weapon used on Maureen Costigan had not been found. God had protected His true servant by making sure that the stole would never be discovered. Had anything turned up, the police would have spoken by now. So. There was no further need for concern in that direction. This near knowledge had provided Liam with a degree of confidence, enough to allow him to sally forth and see his brother.

  He arrived in the lane, stopped at the garden gate, looked through the window and saw Anthony sitting reading a newspaper. Liam stood still for a few seconds. As ever, he felt a degree of confusion when he looked at Anthony. Liam loved his brother and hated him. Sometimes, the strong feelings bubbled over and pushed Liam to act on his brother’s behalf. But he protected Anthony, made sure that Anthony’s path was swept free of sin and temptation.