Angel with Two Faces jt-2

by Nicola Upson

  Archie knocked firmly on the dark-blue door but the only response it brought was from the neighbouring house, which doubled as a small shop – one of those sitting-room affairs where wives added to the household income by selling things from their front rooms. The face of a woman in her sixties appeared at the window and hovered over a pair of brass scales which shone like a dollar through the glass; she looked curiously at Morveth’s visitors for a moment, then nodded to Archie and moved back into the house. Frustrated by the possibility that Morveth herself might be out, Archie peered through one of the sash windows, then raised his hand to someone inside. ‘It’s all right – she’s coming through from the back,’ he said, and a moment later the door opened. Morveth’s expression changed when she saw Josephine, but she stood aside politely to let them both in.

  The front door opened straight into one of the most chaotic sitting rooms that Josephine had ever seen. The room had a stone-flagged floor and whitewashed walls, but very little of either was visible beneath the detritus of a long life, lived in contact with many rather than devoted to one. There were photographs everywhere – some showed successive groups of smiling children, lined up outside a small school building; others were less formal images of Morveth with boys and girls of varying ages – and the surfaces were cluttered with trinkets and mementos which she guessed were presents from former pupils. Taken together, the collection was a meaningless jumble, but Josephine had no doubt that each individual item carried a memory and a significance for Morveth.

  A large oak dresser stood against the only straight wall; its shelves and cupboards were crammed with bottles, jars and books, and Josephine recognised some of the titles from the Lodge, together with a selection of classic novels and poetry and an old prayer book, so well thumbed that even to remove it from the shelf seemed to threaten its existence. She was interested to see how easily Morveth’s loyalties blended Christianity with folklore, and wondered cynically where the woman’s belief in her own powers sat in relation to either. What was more fascinating still, though, was the fact that – in spite of the disorder – Josephine instantly recognised the peace that Archie had described to her from his past visits. The air was scented with herbs, bunches of which were nailed to the beams, and the fresh, sweet smell of rosemary drifted across from the adjoining kitchen, where a range gently infused the herb with its heat. It was curious, but the room offered a sense of calm found rarely even in spaces which were much less muddled.

  There were only two chairs, so Josephine sat on the stairs, keen to distance herself from the conversation that Archie needed to have with his friend. Morveth’s first words, however, were addressed to her, and they were blunt and accusing. ‘You’ve told him, then?’

  ‘No – did you want me to? Was that why you singled me out for your confidences?’

  Archie interrupted. ‘Josephine hasn’t told me anything,’ he reiterated, ‘although I don’t understand why you chose to put her in that position. I’m afraid that I had to hear it from the horse’s mouth.’ Succinctly, he explained what had happened during his visit to the rectory, and his tone was gentle but professional. ‘So now I hope you might be able to tell me yourself what happened to my mother. We can’t deny it any more, not even to ourselves.’

  Morveth was silent for a long time, although she did have the grace to glance apologetically at Josephine. ‘What good would it do, Archie? What good does raking up the past ever do? I could sit here and tell you everything that Lizzie told me in confidence, but how do all those shameful, miserable details help you or serve her memory?’

  ‘That’s too easy, Morveth, and it’s not your decision to make.’

  ‘But I know how desperately she wanted to save you from it – I won’t betray her like that. You’re right – I should never have said anything, and I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for the shock of what happened to Nathaniel. But I did it because I care about you, Archie. I can’t look out for you any more – you’ve moved away from us now and you have a different life, and that’s how it should be – so I told the one person you might take help from if you ever needed it.’ She looked at Josephine, who wondered again how Morveth knew so much about her friendship with Archie. ‘Anyway, your mother had the last word on the subject of Jasper Motley in her will.’

  ‘Taking his piety with a pinch of salt, you mean.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it, yes. Or it could simply stand for nature’s way of healing a wound. Whatever she meant, it sounds as though someone has done her work for her at last – and someone with a much higher authority than you.’ She smiled at Archie with genuine compassion, and Josephine guessed that he was beginning to see the sense of what Morveth was saying: there really was no need for him to know anything more about his mother’s pain. Morveth picked up a photograph in a plain wooden frame from where it stood on the small table next to her chair, and passed it to Archie. ‘That’s the relationship you should be remembering,’ she said. ‘It’s the one that made her strong enough to face her demons – no matter what form they took. Leave it there.’

  He stared at the picture for a long time before speaking. ‘All right,’ he said at last, handing the image of his mother and father over to Josephine to look at, ‘but we are going to have to talk about some aspects of the past, Morveth. When Nathaniel died, he took everybody’s right to secrecy with him – and I mean everybody’s. You’ve held lots of those secrets safe for years, but it’s time to let go. Right now, I do need some help, but it’s not the sort that Josephine can give. Can you?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about Nathaniel’s death.’

  ‘Not directly, perhaps, but don’t fool yourself that his murderer is a stranger. He or she is somewhere on the Loe estate, I’m convinced of that much, and you know more about that community than any of us. Let’s start with the Snipe family, shall we? Jago told me about what happened to his baby daughter and what you did to get him another child – did Nathaniel find out from the records at the Union what had happened, and who Christopher’s real father is?’

  Morveth was clearly unsettled by Archie’s question, but she was not stupid enough to deny the truth of what he was saying. ‘Why did Jago tell you that? We swore to each other we’d never tell a soul.’

  ‘He’s worried sick about Christopher, and rightly so. The boy’s been missing since Sunday night, and that’s too much of a coincidence coming so shortly before Nathaniel’s murder. Perhaps he’s been hurt himself, perhaps he’s got something to hide – either way, he’s in trouble. So did Nathaniel know that Christopher was Joseph Caplin’s son?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, but Nathaniel had begun to keep a lot of things to himself lately. He didn’t talk to me as readily as he used to.’ Wise man, Josephine thought, but said nothing. ‘The information’s there at the Union if you know where to look,’ Morveth admitted, ‘but I don’t know if he found it.’

  ‘And you haven’t mentioned it to someone who might have told Christopher? Morwenna, for example – could Loveday have overheard something that she thought Christopher should know?’

  ‘I’ve never broken that promise to Jago,’ Morveth said indignantly. ‘It’s not the sort of thing you casually “mention”.’

  ‘Of course, there is one more thing that might have made Christopher run away,’ Archie said. ‘Am I right in thinking that Loveday was pregnant?’ Suddenly, Morveth looked genuinely frightened. ‘We’ve been friends a long time,’ he continued, ‘and, because of that, I’m not going to ask you if you did anything to ensure that she would lose the baby. But I will ask you this: why were you so against her having a child?’

  ‘You obviously know a great deal more than I thought, Archie,’ Morveth said, recovering a little of her composure. ‘And if that’s the case, I don’t know how you can even ask why I’d be against that girl’s pregnancy.’

  ‘I know she’s young and the circumstances are hardly ideal, but a child at her age isn’t unheard of and it wouldn’t have been the end of the world. A
nyway, Christopher clearly cares for her. He would have stood by her if people had been a little more understanding, and he’s got – or at least he had – a solid future.’

  ‘Christopher?’ Morveth said, surprised. ‘Why should he have to take that on? None of this is his fault, and Jago would never have put up with that.’

  ‘But you’re surely not suggesting that it was entirely Loveday’s fault? The baby was Christopher’s and he would have faced up to his responsibility once he’d had time to come to terms with it.’

  ‘No, no – you’ve got that wrong,’ Morveth said. ‘Jago swore there was nothing going on between Christopher and Loveday, and I believe him.’

  ‘That was wishful thinking, I’m afraid. For some reason, Jago objected very strongly to Loveday, but there’s no question in my mind that the child she lost was Christopher’s.’

  So whose baby did Morveth think it was? Josephine wondered. Loveday knew so few people. ‘But Morwenna said… she seemed so sure,’ the older woman whispered, confused, and suddenly Josephine knew exactly what was in her mind.

  ‘My God,’ she said, horrified, ‘Morwenna thought it was Harry’s baby, didn’t she? She thought it was history repeating itself.’ She turned to Archie, who was staring at her in disbelief. ‘That’s why she felt so betrayed – when Morwenna ended her relationship with Harry, she thought he’d turned to their little sister, either to spite her or – even more unbearable for her – because he had never genuinely loved her.’ As Archie continued to look doubtful, she spoke more forcefully: ‘That’s what she said to me – a bond had been formed behind her back, and now she was on the outside. What else would destroy her so completely? Or make her so resentful of Loveday?’

  Archie turned to Morveth. ‘Is this true?’

  Slowly, Morveth nodded. ‘She was devastated when she came to me – sick with worry about the effect it would have on Loveday, and hardly able to believe that Harry could do such a thing to her – but she knew the signs. If anyone knew them, Morwenna did.’

  ‘What signs?’ Archie asked impatiently. This complex web of misplaced certainties and false logic was beginning to irritate him as much as it did Josephine.

  ‘They were spending lots of time together, disappearing into the woods for hours at a time. And Loveday started being spiteful towards Morwenna, taunting her with the fact that she and Harry had their own secrets now, saying that Harry loved her best.’

  ‘Surely she had a lot of time to make up for?’ Josephine suggested. ‘Harry and Morwenna had shut her out for so long that you can’t blame her for wanting to get her own back. Do you have brothers and sisters? No? I thought not. Trust me – it’s what siblings do. Nobody takes more triumph from the small victories than a scorned younger sister.’

  ‘But Loveday was growing up,’ Morveth insisted, determined to justify Morwenna’s reading of the situation. ‘Morwenna couldn’t deny her sexuality any longer.’

  ‘I suppose it never occurred to anyone to ask Loveday who her baby’s father was?’ Josephine demanded, her sarcasm getting the better of her. ‘If she was so grown up, a straightforward question might have saved a lot of heartache for everyone.’

  ‘There was no need – Morwenna was so sure,’ Morveth repeated desperately. ‘And when she told me what her suspicions were, it seemed so obvious.’

  ‘Her suspicions? So she wasn’t sure – not until you’d encouraged her to believe it.’

  ‘But it seemed so logical – there must be something in it, surely?’ Morveth looked pleadingly at Archie, but Josephine was incensed and in no mood to let the subject drop easily.

  ‘Why? To salve your conscience? All because you’d rather believe in some kind of genetic sickness than face up to emotions that frightened you and a love you didn’t understand? Because no matter what anyone else thinks about it, that’s what Harry and Morwenna had – a deep, lasting love, the sort that very few of us ever know. I can see why Morwenna was capable of getting it so wrong – she was obsessed with Harry and jealousy distorts everything – but what’s your excuse?’

  ‘How do you know about Harry and Morwenna?’

  ‘Morwenna told me,’ Archie said, ‘and she also spoke to Josephine about Harry.’ The latter was a slight exaggeration of the truth, and he was surprised to find a champion for the older Pinchings in Josephine, but he had no intention of relinquishing the moral high ground so early in his conversation with Morveth. ‘Morwenna had the sense to realise that Nathaniel’s murder demands the truth from everyone, no matter how preferable silence may be.’

  ‘And do you condone it so easily, this love that I don’t understand – whatever its consequences?’

  ‘I don’t easily condone anything that’s against the law,’ Archie said carefully, ‘but I do consider the consequences of my actions before I condemn it.’ Morveth flushed at the pointed reminder of the blind eye which Archie had just turned to her own departure from the legal path.

  ‘Is that why you were so concerned about my spending time with Loveday?’ Josephine asked. ‘You thought I’d find out that Harry was taking advantage of her?’

  ‘Among other things. The family’s had enough to worry about without that sort of shame getting out.’

  ‘Other things?’ Archie repeated, conscious that he was being sidetracked yet again from the murder investigation which he had come here to pursue. ‘Do those other things include anything that Loveday might have let slip about Nathaniel’s death?’

  ‘No. I just meant Harry and Morwenna – I wasn’t to know you were already aware of what had gone on between them. And as far as I know, Loveday doesn’t know what’s happened to Nathaniel. Morwenna thought that she should be allowed to get better first, and I agreed. They were quite close.’ She turned to Josephine. ‘If you don’t mind my saying, you seem very sure of what you know for someone who’s only met Loveday once or twice.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t lay claim to any great feats of perception,’ Josephine said, refusing to be intimidated. ‘I only listened to her, just as you advised me to. You were right, though – few people are wise enough to do that. Most of you are so caught up in your secrets and your intrigues that you miss what’s right under your nose. Loveday adored her big brother, as most young girls do; she was competitive with her sister, as women of all ages are; and she experimented sexually with someone she liked who paid her some attention – again, that’s hardly unusual. So yes, I am sure of that much.’

  Josephine’s reference to Christopher reminded Archie of his own conversation with the undertaker, when he had referred to Loveday as damaged goods. ‘Did you tell Jago what you suspected about Harry and Loveday?’

  ‘Yes. He knew what had gone on before – between Harry and Morwenna, I mean. Sam Pinching was his best friend, so he knew what Harry was like.’

  ‘The sins of the brother, you mean? So easily repeated with the next sister in line?’ Until now, Archie had managed to maintain a professional detachment, but Morveth’s unwitting manipulation of the lives around her – and the willingness of others to be so easily led – suddenly disgusted him. ‘No wonder Jago was so determined to keep Christopher and Loveday apart, and I’m not surprised he denied any relationship between them – he wouldn’t want his son lumbered with the product of an incestuous relationship.’ He thought about his promise to Morwenna to keep her past out of the investigation, and questioned now that he would be able to stay true to his word: how far had the myth of Harry and Loveday actually travelled, he wondered? ‘Do you think that Jago would have gone as far as saying something to Christopher to put him off Loveday?’

  ‘No – he’d never do anything like that. He knew he had to keep it to himself.’

  ‘Really?’ Archie said sceptically, wondering how a woman as intelligent as Morveth could be so oblivious to the irony of what she was saying. ‘Did anybody tell Nathaniel?’

  ‘Absolutely not. He would have done something about it.’

  Like give Harry a chance to defend himself, Archie
thought, remembering that the curate’s first response to Loveday’s account of the fire had been to ask the accused man for the truth. ‘Did Harry know what you were all so ready to believe him capable of?’

  ‘Not at first, no. But Morwenna confronted him with it eventually. She couldn’t help herself.’

  ‘She told me that she’d accused Harry of never really loving her on the night he died – that was about Loveday, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it must have been.’

  ‘Jesus – no wonder he killed himself,’ Josephine said. ‘The woman he loved – the only woman he could ever love – accused him of turning to their little sister?’

  ‘But why didn’t he deny it?’ Archie asked, bewildered. ‘Why would he just accept it and say nothing?’ It was, he realised, exactly what Nathaniel said Harry had done when asked about the fire – except then he had been guilty as charged.

  ‘Perhaps the knowledge that Morwenna could even think that of him was enough to make him want to die,’ Josephine suggested.

  ‘But they saw each other again after the argument,’ Archie said. ‘And Harry was kind to her – like his old self, she said. He ought to have been indignant with her – furious, even. Why would he make his peace and ride into the lake because of something he didn’t do? It just doesn’t make sense. Something else must have happened in between.’ He looked questioningly at Morveth.

  ‘That wasn’t the only reason he might want to take his own life,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘He might have tried to make Morwenna see the truth after he’d calmed down, but by then it was too late.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’