Mercy flew at him, nails outstretched like talons, screaming like a banshee. But he was too quick for her, knocking her to the floor with a careless flick of one hand. She lay winded for only a second before scrambling to her feet, her bravery undaunted as she yelled her rage at him. ‘I’ll make you pay for what you did, I swear it.’
Josiah ignored her, his concentration focused on locating the chain he would use to bind her wrists. He caught sight of it curled on the floor of the cage, and, picking it up, turned to her with a grimace of pure evil on his ugly face.
Mercy stiffened, determined not to tremble and reveal how very afraid she was. ‘And what did you do to your other daughters? Was it true that you beat them with a strap? Did you hang them in that thing, like Livia said?’
‘Oh, I did much worse than that.’
‘What, to that one who died?’
‘Poor Maggie. Not the prettiest of my daughters, being somewhat plain, like her mother, but all cats are grey in the dark.’
Mercy gasped. ‘You’re despicable, vile. But then you already know that.’
Josiah took a step nearer, the chain forming a bridge between his hands, held out like a ligature. A band almost as tight suddenly gripped his rib cage, effecting his breathing so that he staggered, feeling slightly giddy and light-headed for a moment.
Mercy instinctively retreated, keeping her back to the window. She was thinking fast. Knowing she was trapped, the door locked. Josiah Angel was far too big a man for her to tackle head on, yet a mouse could beat a lion, if he had the wit. What could she do? What weapon did she have, what skill that he hadn’t? Keep him talking, that was the first thing. Maybe George was looking for her even now.
‘I thought it was just me you had it in for, but it’s the whole bleeding human race, isn’t it? Women, in particular. You care only for number one, for yourself, not for me, not for your daughters, not for anyone except Councillor Josiah Angel, future member of parliament for Westmorland. The thing is, you can’t kill us all.’
‘Oh, yes I can.’ He lunged at her, hands outstretched, still holding the chain wrapped about his huge fists. He came fast and furious, roaring with rage, a grotesque kind of fury contorting his face. The expression changed only as it dawned on him that she had stepped aside, quick and agile as a monkey, while his momentum carried him onward to crash through the tall gothic window, his balance affected by his chained hands and the fierce, blinding pain in his chest. The sound of his infuriated roar as he fell was followed by a sickening thud, and then deathly silence.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It was reported in the Westmorland Gazette that Councillor Josiah Angel had tragically taken his own life while the balance of his mind was disturbed. Quoted in the local paper under the heading A Double Tragedy, Josiah’s contribution to the town as councillor and mayor was lauded with the kind of approbation he would have loved, had he been around to read his own obituary.
‘Sadly, this self-made businessman never quite recovered from the loss of his youngest daughter, who also committed suicide. A double tragedy indeed.’
The truth as to why Maggie had killed herself remained private, Livia deciding that revenge of that kind would hurt no one but themselves, now that her father was dead. She did, though, finally reveal her sister’s pregnancy to Ella, and to Mercy.
Mercy seemed to have learnt some of the facts already during her confrontation with Josiah, but for Ella it came as a terrible shock, and she was still trying to come to terms with it.
Mercy had given them a full account of what had occurred in that tower room, and, knowing their father as they did, they thought she’d done well to get out unscathed and alive. She swore to them that she’d never laid a hand on him, that he’d charged at her, she’d stepped out of the way, and he’d been unable to get his balance and prevent himself falling through the window. It felt like a kind of justice.
A huge weight had been lifted from Livia’s shoulders, with even Henry in France, and no longer a threat.
Hodson had also waived his demand for repayment of any loans he’d made to his erstwhile colleague. Quite rightly, in Livia’s opinion, although Jack still had a fancy for stringing him up from the nearest tree.
The court had appointed a receiver to oversee the sale of Angel House, although Mr Blamire, the family solicitor, had assured Livia that once the mortgage, overdraft and major creditors were paid, he saw no reason why Angel’s Department Store couldn’t be saved. Everything possible would be done to keep the business afloat, and any outstanding debts to creditors could be paid over a period of time, under the supervision of the receiver. Livia meant to learn all she could about the business, and perhaps be able to help her friends develop theirs.
She had no sentiment for Angel House and would be glad to see it sold, unlike her father, who would much rather sell off his daughters than his palatial home. Livia decided to live above the store, as she would have no other home, and couldn’t impose upon Jessie any longer.
‘Love and happiness is found in people, not possessions,’ she told Jack, when they finally got around to talking about their future.
He was full of apologies for doubting her, but although they were still very much in love, Livia tactfully explained that she didn’t yet feel ready for marriage. ‘There are things I need to do first. Debts still to be paid off, a store to revitalise, and a new sister to get to know.’
Jack grinned at her, ‘That’s just as well, since I’ll be busy helping Mam to build a business of our own. But I would like to make an honest woman of you one day, Livvy, if you’ll let me.’
She kissed him, deep and soft and languorous. ‘I shall give it serious consideration. In the meantime, I’m quite willing to risk a scandal, if you are.’
‘Scandal of that sort doesn’t trouble me in the slightest. You know what a devil I am with women.’
And Livia was able to laugh, knowing that it wasn’t true, and that the real devil in her life had gone, tragically unmourned.
Best of all, so far as Livia was concerned, all differences between the three girls now seemed to be a thing of the past. There were now four Angel sisters, and although one was forever absent, darling Maggie would always be loved, and never forgotten.
It was Christmas day at Todd Farm. The big farm kitchen was all decked out with sprigs of holly and mistletoe, a tree trimmed with paper chains made by the children stood in one corner. They’d each put up a stocking in which they’d been so excited this morning to find an orange, a bag of sweets, and a silver threepenny bit in the toe. There was also a doll for Tilda, a toy train for Emmett, and a brush and comb set for Mary, who had been allowed home for the holidays.
On Christmas Eve the entire family had gone into Staveley for a party at the Temperance Hall, where there’d been a lucky dip in a bran tub, coconut shies, sandwiches, cakes and jelly. Jessie, Jack and all the Flint children had come along too, so it had been a noisy, lively affair.
The most exciting part for Mary was when her father had thrown nuts all over the floor and the children had to scramble about on their knees to pick up as many as they could. She’d never seen him laugh so much. But then he had plenty to be cheerful about. He was recovering well from his accident, and had promised her, most faithfully, that he would soon be out of that wheelchair and walking again.
She smiled as Tilda jumped up from the rug, where she’d been dressing her doll, and ran to him now for a hug; pride and love in her eyes. It had been so long since he’d shown them any affection, but now he was forever giving them cuddles.
After the party, they’d all got wrapped up in their warmest clothes, with hats, and scarves, and gloves, and gone round the village singing Christmas carols. People would invite them inside for mince pies and something called a hot toddy for the adults. Emmett had nearly been sick he’d eaten so much. On their way back up the dale, walking arm in arm still singing, they’d called in at St Cuthbert’s church for the traditional Christmas carol service held around the manger
where a china doll lay masquerading as baby Jesus. Mary had felt so proud when her father had read one of the lessons.
Now it was Christmas Day and her young sister seemed beside herself with excitement. But then even Mary had never known such joy in all her short life. Everyone was here, seated like one big happy family round the long pine table. She felt pretty and almost grown-up in the new blue velvet frock with its eau-de-nil lace collar that Father had bought her. Jessie Flint and her many children were here, and Aunt Molly too of course, as well as their new relations. They were all wearing silly paper hats, even Mrs Rackett.
There was her father carving the turkey cooked by Ella, the stepmother she’d resented for so long; Beth, the old collie, standing by, tongue lolling, for any scraps that might come her way. Mary had warmed to her new mother now, and knew that Tilda loved her dearly, as did Emmett. She rather liked Ella’s sisters too, who were going to be their new aunts.
Livia was funny, and full of passion and big ideas. She looked so happy pulling that cracker with Jack, even though she claimed to be tired out with working so hard in the run-up to Christmas. Mary hadn’t got to know her terribly well yet because she was learning how to run Angel’s big department store in Kendal all by herself, without even her father to help since he was dead. She thought that was terribly brave. Maybe when she was a grown woman, Mary would be able to do something equally daring.
They saw Aunt Mercy quite regularly, as she was living in Staveley with Uncle George. The pair of them still came most days to help Father and Ella on the farm, but also worked in the new woollen business that Jack Flint and his mother were starting up in the old mill yard.
So from only having one parent, all depressed and miserable after their mam had got sick and died, they now had a whole new family. Which was so wonderful it made her head go dizzy with joy!
A plate of turkey and roast potatoes with all the trimmings was placed before her, and Mary sighed with pleasure. Oh, but she was so happy! She didn’t even mind having to eat Brussel sprouts. How could she not be happy when Father looked so relaxed and content? He’d even played Snakes and Ladders with them the other night. And Ella had promised that one day she might actually teach him to dance. Now that would be something to see!
About to tuck into her Christmas dinner, Tilda suddenly gave Emmett a nudge, and whispered in his ear for him to look at their father, who was kissing Ella again. They seemed to be doing that quite a lot these days. The two children clapped a hand over their mouths and fell into fits of giggles.
Mary smiled, then tucking their napkins under their chins, gently told them to behave and sit up nicely to eat their dinner.
Oh, but everything was suddenly so lovely and exciting, and the little ones were to start school here in Kentmere in January, with Ella taking them there and back in the pony and trap, so it was worth putting up with a bit of soppy kissing now and then, wasn’t it? They had a happy family at last, and Father was laughing again. What more could they ask?
About the Author
FREDA LIGHTFOOT gave up her thermals and keeping sheep and hens in the Lake District to build a house in an olive grove in Spain, where she produces her own olive oil. Author of many bestsellers, House of Angels is her thirtieth novel.
www.fredalightfoot.co.uk
By Freda Lightfoot
House of Angels
Angels at War
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
13 Charlotte Mews
London W1T 4EJ
www.allisonandbusby.com
Copyright © 2009 by FREDA LIGHTFOOT
Hardback published in Great Britain in 2009.
Paperback edition published in 2010.
This ebook edition first published in 2011.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher,nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–1061–4
House of Angels Page 31
