The Bells of Scotland Road

by Ruth Hamilton

  He steadied himself on the gatepost, blinked, tried to remember. There was the first girl, then a hanging. Then a second girl had come along . . . ah, yes. Today, he would see Maureen Costigan. She did not know him, would never recognize him. A man who did God’s bidding was safe from creatures like Maureen Costigan. With his shoulders squared against the vagaries of life, Liam Bell walked up the path and knocked.

  The door opened. ‘Bugger off,’ said Anthony.

  Liam pushed his way in. ‘You invaded my territory,’ he snapped. ‘This is the return visit.’ He walked into the living room. ‘Cosy,’ he remarked, a sneer on his lips.

  Anthony crushed the newspaper and gripped it hard as if holding on to his temper, then he cast it to the floor. ‘I don’t want you here,’ he said slowly and clearly. ‘So get out.’

  Liam sat down. ‘I think you should see a doctor.’ His tone was mild. ‘There’s something wrong with your brain. What have you been saying to my parish priest?’

  Anthony opened his mouth to speak, closed it quickly. He must tread carefully, must avoid giving Liam a reason to turn on poor Michael Brennan. ‘You should never have gone back to Scotland Road,’ he said. ‘You ought to have taken a post elsewhere.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know why, Liam.’

  The priest folded his arms. ‘Tell me, Anthony.’

  Anthony leaned against the doorpost, was glad of its solid support. ‘Because of Valerie,’ he said softly. ‘And because of Maureen.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Maureen Costigan. The girl you molested.’

  Liam’s lip curled. ‘Rubbish,’ he spat. ‘There is nothing to connect me with the attack on Maureen Costigan. As for the woman you intended to marry – the murderer was hanged.’

  It was no use. Anthony stood in the doorway and realized anew that he was in the company of a very ill man. Liam was probably aware of most things he had done, yet a part of his mind rejected his misdeeds. Liam was the one who needed a doctor – and a padded cell, no doubt. ‘Don’t you remember killing Valerie? What about the girls in Lime Street and Bold Street – those who were merely mauled about?’

  Liam shuddered, tried to hide the involuntary action. He was not here for an inquisition; he was here to do the asking. ‘Have you spoken to Father Brennan about these insane theories?’

  ‘No.’ Sometimes, a lie was the lesser sin.

  ‘Are you sure?’.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Liam leaned back. Perhaps he was mistaken, then. Anthony invariably told the truth. ‘He is acting strangely,’ he said.

  ‘He’s keeping strange company.’

  The priest let out an exaggerated sigh of impatience. ‘Anthony, I am an ordained man.’

  ‘Some of the Borgias were men of the cloth,’ replied Anthony.

  Liam nodded. ‘Why do you hate me?’

  ‘Oh, come on, for goodness sake. Why did you try to drown me? Why did you break my arm and knock out a few of my teeth?’

  The man in the chair glowered. ‘Children do those things.’ A picture came into his mind. Anthony was falling, falling very slowly into the Mersey. Grey waters parted to receive his flailing body. As he relived the half-forgotten moment, panic entered Liam’s throat, caused him to gasp. Anthony had to live. Anthony must not drown. Who had pushed Anthony into this murky river?

  ‘Not your most pleasant memory?’ asked Anthony.

  A man jumped in, his body displacing dark, scum-crested ripples. Another man threw a lifebelt. The dripping body of Anthony Bell was lifted out. Men worked on the child, pumped the filthy water out of him. He was alive. ‘I was so glad you didn’t drown,’ Liam said now.

  Anthony bent down and picked up his wrecked newspaper. He didn’t know what to do or say. It was as if Liam had a split personality, two sides that seldom came together, an almost distinct pair of individuals, each of whom carried no crosses for the other. Liam’s dominant self was cold, unfeeling – rather like Dad’s. But beneath the calm exterior dwelt a fiend over which there could never be control. Where had such a creature been born? ‘Liam, you really don’t know what you’re doing when you hurt people. Am I right?’

  The frigid eyes fixed themselves on the man in the doorway. ‘No, you are not right,’ he replied.

  ‘But you have raped women. You have killed. I know.’ He hammered his ribs with a closed fist. ‘For God’s sake, don’t you need to get all that off your chest? Don’t you want to confess and be done with it?’

  Liam’s eyes seemed to cloud over, so he blinked to clear his vision. He had done nothing wrong. He had simply tidied his brother’s way through life. He and Anthony were joined, bound together for the rest of their days. ‘I pray for guidance every day,’ he said. ‘And God is with me in all I do.’

  Anthony stepped into the room. ‘Do you hear the voice of God?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s His voice, Liam? Remember the story of Jesus’s temptation – Satan had the temerity to try to fool the Son of God. After having a go at Jesus, the devil might find you to be very easy meat.’

  ‘No.’ Anthony was doing his best to play tricks. ‘I am a priest,’ said Liam quietly. ‘Because that is my calling. As a priest, I do God’s bidding and no-one else’s.’

  ‘And do you also obey your parish priest?’

  Liam laughed mirthlessly. ‘The man’s a fool. A good enough fool, I daresay, but not equipped for the post he holds. I expect he will be put out to pasture soon. Of course, I may well be offered his position, because I know the area so well.’

  ‘Including the various church playgrounds and sports fields.’

  Liam inhaled deeply and leaned back in the chair. ‘Anthony, you are mistaken about me. If you need proof, I am going now to visit Edith. Maureen Costigan is there, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘And she will not recognize me.’

  Anthony leaned over his brother’s chair. ‘No, she won’t,’ he said. ‘Because you attacked her from behind.’

  Liam kept his hands firmly in his lap. He would not strike his twin. The room spun slightly, as if the earth had suddenly quickened on its axis. But Liam intended to remain calm. There was no point in hitting out at Anthony, not now. Anthony was the loser, because he was a mere teacher. Whereas Liam, the superior twin, had graduated with honours from the toughest seminary in England. ‘I shall go now,’ he said. ‘To visit Edith.’

  Anthony stood aside and allowed his brother to pass. The front door slammed shut and Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. But Bridie was up there. Bridie was at Cherry Hinton with her little girls. No, he told himself firmly. Liam would not do any harm in daylight. But Liam disliked Bridie already. She should be warned, must be forced to listen.

  He sank into a chair and steered his breathing towards an even pattern. If he went to the main house, there might be trouble. So he sat and waited, hoping with all his heart that the woman he loved would be safe. Again, that familiar sense of uselessness invaded him, making him weak and suddenly weary. The unfortunate truth was that Liam would remain free as a bird until someone else died or got hurt. Even then, Liam might not be caught.

  Anthony closed his eyes and prayed for Bridie, Maureen and Bridie’s little girls. He prayed also for Liam, remembered the story of Jesus on the cross. The Saviour had looked at His tormentors, had forgiven them. ‘They know not what they do,’ the Lord had said. Like Liam, they had not been in control.

  Silver was in a mood. He showed Bob Cross the whites of his eyes, nodded angrily, snorted, tried to free himself from bridle and rein. He kept Bridie well in view, because he remembered and tolerated her, just about, but he raised a hoof each time Bob Cross came within striking distance.

  Bridie observed. Quicksilver seemed to have forgotten many of his manners. The horse was, without doubt, one of the most beautiful sights she had ever beheld. He was perfectly proportioned, with a large, well-covered ribcage, rippling shoulders and hard, muscular thighs. This fel
low was built for running and staying the course. But he had a wickedness in him, and this was the quality she admired above all others. Silver’s naughtiness was born of intelligence. He had the sense not to trust on sight, but now, he needed to accept a human friend. Once courted, the horse would be a gallant and loyal steed.

  Bob Cross, stablemaster and would-be monarch of the stallion he surveyed, grunted and gave up. He dragged the rein to Bridie and placed it in her hands. ‘He’ll do better for you,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I hear from our new headmaster that you can charm this blinking horse. So get charming.’

  Bridie did not move. She didn’t want to get too close, because she would soon return to Liverpool. Silver needed to ally himself to someone else, and she hoped that the ‘someone else’ would be arriving at any moment. ‘No,’ she told Bob. ‘I want him to forget me. This fellow will take only one master, and it’s best if he gets used to . . . what was his name?’

  ‘Robin Smythe. Well, Harrington-Smythe, really.’

  ‘My goodness, what a mouthful.’ She turned her head and saw the ‘mouthful’ walking towards her, riding boots polished, crop slapping his shin. He wasn’t even a mouthful, she thought. He looked like a child who had aged prematurely.

  Robin Smythe held out his hand. ‘Robin will do,’ he said, performing a comical little bow. ‘Mrs Bell?’

  ‘That’s me.’ She shook his tiny hand. ‘And Bridie will be quite all right, thank you.’ He had kind eyes and his face looked weathered, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

  Bob Cross came over. ‘This one’s a bugger,’ he said, pointing out the wayward stallion.

  ‘And that bugger’s a winner if ever I saw one,’ replied Robin. He threw down the crop and sidled over to the horse. ‘No nonsense now,’ the tiny man told Silver. ‘You and I will be friends if I have to kill you. Understood?’

  Silver tossed his mane and tried to run away, but Robin grabbed the rein from Bridie and swung himself onto the horse’s back. Silver took exception and began to buck and rear like a newly caught wild yearling. But Robin held on.

  ‘He’s good,’ remarked Bridie. So far, she was impressed by what she had seen of Robin Smythe.

  Bob nodded. ‘He’s heartbroken. We’re lucky to get him to visit. He’s between horses, and he makes the same mistake as you and me, love. He gets fond of these wearisome beggars. He loved his last one, loved it too much for his own good.’

  ‘And was his last horse difficult?’

  Bob jerked his head and guffawed. ‘Difficult? He was a raving bloody lunatic till Robin bested him. There’s no beast in existence that doesn’t fall under Robin’s spell.’

  Robin Smythe lay flat across the withers and along Silver’s neck. Like a streamlined bird, man and horse cut through the air as if welded together. Bridie held her breath and prayed that the jockey would remain on board. Silver had a strong desire to be the boss, but he would surely respond once he respected his rider.

  ‘That’s the York races won,’ laughed Bob. ‘Let’s watch the Derby.’

  The horse streaked past with Robin hanging on like grim death. ‘I want Robin to ride for us,’ said Bridie excitedly. ‘He’ll manage Silver. Try to persuade him, Bob.’

  Robin and Silver ground to an unbecoming halt. The jockey jumped down as easily as stepping off the last rung of a ladder. Silver cocked his head and looked at the small person who had just driven him to run at least a quarter of a mile. He thrashed the earth with a hoof, then bent to sniff the grass.

  Robin Smythe left the horse chewing and blowing. ‘I’ll take him,’ he said. ‘But I’d like to try the other one, too.’ He grinned at Bridie. ‘I lost my favourite a few weeks ago. They’ve nothing else I want to ride, which is why I’m looking round. This one is interesting.’ He turned back and placed a hand on Silver’s neck. ‘See? He never flinched. He knows who’s in charge.’

  Bridie spoke to Bob. ‘I can’t pay for all this. Edith’s already feeding and stabling the pair.’

  The old man smiled. ‘She’ll get her money back, don’t worry.’

  Bridie wished she could be sure. The horses looked good and ran well, but there could be many a slip between now and next year’s races, many a strained muscle. ‘Then who pays Robin?’

  The miniature man joined them. ‘That’s not for you to worry about,’ he said.

  Bob Cross laughed out loud. ‘Robin could buy and sell the Spencers without touching his bank account. He’s a very rich man.’

  The jockey pretended to punch Bob Cross. ‘Shut up, man,’ he said. ‘Or you’ll have all the ladies after my money.’ He led the horse in the direction of the stable yard.

  ‘Keep your fingers crossed,’ said Bob. ‘He’s the best.’

  Bridie nodded to herself. If Robin was the best, then he deserved the best. From the way Bob had been talking, Bridie had gathered that Quicksilver and Sorrel were among the finest two-year-olds in the North of England. ‘I must get back,’ she said. ‘Diddy will probably have had enough of Cathy and Shauna.’

  Bob clapped a hand to his mouth. ‘I forgot to tell you,’ he cried. ‘That nun’s at the house.’

  ‘Nun?’

  ‘Sacred Heart,’ said Bob. ‘Maureen asked me to tell you. There’s some sort of exam going on, like an entrance test. Are you sending Cathy to Sacred Heart, then?’

  Bridie pondered for a moment. ‘Well, let’s see does she have the brains for it,’ she said finally. Sacred Heart was another kind of race altogether, she reminded herself. But there again, Cathy was a fine runner and a stayer. The trouble was, Cathy might just shy away from the starting pistol. ‘See you later,’ she told her companion. Then she walked back to the lane and towards the big house.

  Liam Bell made his way in the direction of Cherry Hinton. This was one of the days when he didn’t feel very well. Lately, he’d had to concentrate really hard, had been forced to keep a tight rein on himself because his mind was playing up. Things he knew by heart were eluding him – names, addresses, bits of the Holy Mass. If he didn’t pull round, he would be drying up in the pulpit, and that would never do.

  It was tiredness, he supposed. The workload was heavy, especially since he had taken on the Welcome Home. He was finally in control, he kept telling himself. He could work with the wayward without being tempted to punish. It was strange, but he got a great deal of pleasure out of helping that handful of whores. The work made him feel good, especially when one of the girls decided to turn straight.

  He glanced to his left and saw a tiny man leading a horse out of the field. A jockey, he thought. Then a woman leapt over the gate, her ankles just showing beneath grey culottes. It was Bridie. It was the Irish widow who had married his father.

  Bridie dusted herself down, saw a man approaching. Her heart skipped a beat, then she realized that this was not Anthony. Breathing was suddenly difficult. Liam was here and he had probably visited his twin brother. A picture of a battered and bruised Anthony touched her consciousness for a split second. The need to run to the cottage was acute, yet she knew that she must stand firm. She could soothe the priest. She could pander to his ego in the cause of peace. She could lie.

  He stopped, looked her up and down.

  ‘Father Liam,’ Bridie managed, ‘how well you look. And it’s lovely to see you again. Did you visit Anthony?’

  ‘Yes,’ he growled. She had the temerity to stare straight into his eyes. She was so sure of herself.

  ‘Are you going to the big house?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought I might call in, yes,’ he replied.

  ‘Then walk with me.’ Her insides were churning, but she kept the smile on her face. ‘Keep safe,’ Anthony had ordered. ‘Stay away from him.’ Well, she couldn’t, but she might as well have a stab at diverting the priest. She swallowed, inhaled deeply. ‘It’s so strange,’ she managed, ‘you and Anthony are unalike. There’s the physical resemblance, of course, but you’re so much more sensible.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I am sorry, Father. I should not cri
ticize your twin, should I? Still, I’m sure you will keep my opinions to yourself.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Bridie sighed dramatically. ‘My quarrels and differences with Anthony are my concern, not yours. But thank you for listening.’ With a tremendous effort, she reached out and touched his sleeve. ‘Pray for me, Father Liam. I do so hate family quarrels. But Anthony is so . . . so inclined to interfere with my rearing of the girls. Of course, he does it out of kindness, I’m sure, but these teachers are fond of lecturing, don’t you find?’

  He did find, and he nodded his agreement.

  They walked together towards Cherry Hinton, Bridie gabbling nervously about flowers and birds, then she excused herself and ran in to change. She felt sick, yet she continued up the stairs. Her hand was dirty, because it had touched his arm. She scrubbed herself for five whole minutes before sitting down to think. Liam was not the only item on her mind. Cathy was sitting an exam. Bridie had been soothed by the suggestion that Cathy might come to Sacred Heart not immediately, but in four years. The monster was in the house where her daughter’s future was being decided.

  Liam dallied in the garden for a while. The Irishwoman and Anthony were at loggerheads, it seemed. The idea pleased him. Anthony deserved few friends, because he had rejected his own twin, had accused him of all kinds of crimes.

  Satisfied that his brother’s life was no bed of roses, Liam stepped into Cherry Hinton with a new spring in his step.

  Cathy scribbled the last answer and placed her pencil on Aunt Edith’s desk. It was three-fifteen and she was supposed to linger here for another quarter of an hour. Sister Ignatius was rattling her rosary and staring at Cathy over the tops of those silly half-spectacles. Outside, blackbirds sang and the sun shone while Cathy basked beneath the eagle scrutiny of an extremely ugly nun with a three-haired wart. Noel skulked under the library table and Cathy didn’t blame him. Sister Ignatius was enough to strike fear in the heart of any dog, even one as brave and uncomely as Cathy’s mongrel.