Angel with Two Faces jt-2

by Nicola Upson

  ‘Why? Just so you can hang one of them if he’s not already dead and let the other one carry on beating his wife? Do you have to be a hero, Archie? Just because we got here too late and there’s nothing else you can do? Can’t you see how selfish that is?’

  ‘Go and speak to Loveday,’ he repeated, and turned towards the cottage before she could say anything more. Angry and upset, Josephine did as she was asked.

  The back door was already open, and Archie headed for the stairs. Before he was halfway up, though, thick, black smoke drove him down into the kitchen again. Realising that he had even less time than he thought before the whole cottage was alight, he went quickly through the sitting room and along the corridor to the back stairs. If anything, the smoke was even worse here: already, his eyes were smarting and he found it difficult to breathe, but, as he climbed the steps, he could see Jacks halfway along the landing, bent double and choking with the fumes, but still inching slowly forward. He called out, but Jacks either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear him, and Penrose had no choice but to follow. He grabbed the gamekeeper’s arm and tried to pull him back towards the stairs, but was pushed roughly aside.

  ‘Fuck off, Penrose. I need to find Morwenna.’

  ‘She’s not here, Jacks. There’s nothing more you can do.’

  ‘You’re lying. That door’s locked – there must be someone in there. I can’t just leave her.’

  ‘It’s not Morwenna,’ Penrose insisted, still trying to force Jacks back downstairs.

  ‘Who else would it be? You just want to play the hero.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,’ he said, already tired of an accusation that he had heard twice in as many minutes. ‘That isn’t Morwenna and this isn’t a game. Look at those flames – whoever it is, he’s beyond our help. Come with me – now, before the roof collapses.’ The sound of exploding glass from the nearest bedroom served to underline Penrose’s warning, although he suspected that the thought of another man in Morwenna’s bed was more influential in Jacks’s decision. Reluctantly, the gamekeeper turned and allowed himself to be pushed towards the stairs.

  Help arrived sooner than Penrose could have hoped for. By the time he and Jacks emerged from the cottage, choking and gasping, an ambulance driver was wrapping Loveday in a blanket and the clanging of a fire engine’s bell could be heard across the fields. He brushed aside any medical assistance for himself but made sure that Jacks was in safe hands, then walked back to the road. There was no sign of Josephine or the car.

  ‘Sir?’ Penrose turned and saw Trew hurrying over the lawn. ‘I got here as quickly as I could. What’s happened?’

  Penrose explained succinctly, impressed – as he had been at the Minack – by the calm and intelligent way in which Trew absorbed information and wasted no time on questions that could wait until later. ‘Tell the firemen what they’ll find inside and clear everyone away before they bring the body out, especially his little sister – make sure she’s looked after. I don’t know how long she was in there with the fire, but the shock alone will need some care. I’m going to look for Morwenna.’

  Trew nodded and went to greet the fire brigade, and Penrose headed for the woods which offered the quickest route to the house and stables. Within a matter of minutes, it was as though he had entered a different world. A density of new summer growth cushioned him from the pall of smoke and commotion that clung to Loe Cottage, and he looked with a mixture of astonishment and sadness at the extraordinary beauty which could exist so close to death. The flowers stretched out in front of him, as if someone had taken a brush and covered the ground in a delicate, vein-blue wash, and he had the illusion of walking through water – a continuation of the lake which could be glimpsed here and there through the trees, first lavender, then cobalt, as the light played different tricks on its surface. He picked his way through the bluebells, and their faint but unmistakeable scent brought back his childhood and something else besides – something universal, something lost. The woods were quiet, unnaturally so, and suddenly Penrose knew what he would find. How strange, he thought, that he should feel such a calm acceptance as well as regret; that even he, it seemed, could acknowledge that this was the best – the only – way.

  Morwenna had chosen a sycamore tree to mark her death. Her body was hanging from its lower branches by a narrow rope – a lone, dark figure, one for sorrow, certainly, although the grief was no longer hers. A soft breeze ruffled her skirt and the sleeves of her blouse, and the image was so familiar to Penrose that he wondered if that moment all those years ago – that pairing of beauty and death which had affected him so deeply – had, in fact, been a premonition, a sign that it was already too late to save her. There was a pile of logs close to her feet and, as he got closer, Penrose could see that the rope was actually a long leather rein – one of Harry’s, no doubt. Her head was tilted to one side, away from the fatal knot, and the only mark that he could see on her skin was the imprint of a metal ring at the front of her neck. Otherwise, her face was pale and uncongested, suggesting a merciful cardiac response rather than slow asphyxiation. She would probably only have suffered a few seconds of consciousness, but she had left nothing to chance: as he walked around her body, he noticed that her wrists were tied clumsily together behind her; it was a poignant sign of her resolve, and something which he had occasionally seen in those bent on self-destruction who feared they might lose courage at the final moment. Every human impulse in him wanted to raise his arms and lift her gently down, but he knew that he should not touch anything, and he felt the conflict between his job and his heart more sharply than ever.

  There was no note that he could see, but then he would not have expected to find one. Morwenna had nothing left to say to the living – she had made that perfectly clear at their last meeting. But on the ground, too close to the place of her death to be a coincidence, Penrose noticed something which was as eloquent an expression of atonement as any suicide note he had ever read. A dead bird lay among the bluebells – a jackdaw. He knelt down and parted the hanging flowers to take a closer look, and saw that there was a piece of rough twine around its neck. Its small, serpent-like eyes were clouded and lifeless and, if Penrose had ever doubted Morveth’s story, he did so no longer. Whatever had gone on between Harry and Morwenna that morning, this was her response to the realisation that their love had killed Nathaniel. This was an end to it.

  Josephine got back from the stables to find that Archie had left the cottage and was headed towards Loe House. She left the car this time and hurried off in the direction pointed out to her, keen to catch up with him and make sure he was all right; he might have escaped the fire without harm, but she knew that his emotions would not be similarly unscathed by what had happened.

  She saw Archie first, and Morwenna a split second later. He was kneeling on the ground, his head bowed, and she knew that he was examining the scene, but, from where she stood, the action held a much deeper poignancy: it was a moment of great peace and respect and, at the same time, an acknowledgement that however hard Archie had tried to save Morwenna, in the end, it had not been enough. The sun shone through the leaves, gentle and diffuse like light through stained glass, and she stood for a second, caught between an instinct to go to him and a horror of intruding on this most private of scenes. Morwenna was beautiful, even in death – still isolated, and more distant than ever, but suddenly immune to the shadows that had cursed her for so long. Slowly, Josephine walked forward through the bluebells.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Archie,’ she said.

  He had been too deep in thought to hear anyone approaching, but he turned now and walked quickly over to her, shielding her as best he could from the sight of Morwenna’s body. ‘Come over here,’ he said gently. ‘You don’t need to see this.’

  She allowed herself to be led a few yards away, and they sat down for a moment on a fallen tree. ‘I went to the stables. Shilling’s still there – but you obviously know that.’ Archie nodded. ‘This must be a shock for you… are y
ou all right?’

  ‘I don’t know how I feel,’ he said. ‘Morwenna and I have known each other for so long but I didn’t really understand her until yesterday, when she talked about Harry – and part of that understanding was accepting that there’d be no happy endings. So I suppose it is a shock, but not really a surprise.’

  ‘So much love and so much misery. How on earth did it all come to this?’

  It was a rhetorical question, but Archie surprised her by his answer. ‘I think Morwenna knew she had to be strong enough for both of them,’ he said, ‘and I think she started the fire this time, not Harry. He must have told her that he killed Nathaniel – I found a dead jackdaw over there by her feet. There’s a group of them strung up on the fence.’

  ‘Yes, I saw them.’

  ‘They’re Jacks’s trophies. She knew all this had to stop and she took things into her own hands. If she needed a sign to justify her decision, I can’t think of anything more appropriate.’

  Josephine tried to imagine the utter desolation that Morwenna must have felt when she realised what she had to do – and the strength that was required to see it through. ‘I told her she was using her love for Harry to keep the world at arm’s length and to hide from reality,’ she said sadly. ‘I could hardly accuse her of that now.’

  Wearily, Archie rubbed his eyes. ‘At least it’s over for her now – her and Harry.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Come on – I need to get some help to take her down and seal this part of the wood off.’ She followed his gaze as it took in the glory of the woods around him. ‘It’s always the beautiful things that death taints for the living, isn’t it?’ he said, with anger in his voice.

  Josephine hesitated, remembering all that Morveth had said to her about protecting Archie and wondering if his acceptance of Morwenna’s death was as final as he thought it was. ‘Shall I fetch someone while you stay with her?’ she asked.

  He smiled at her gratefully. ‘Thank you. At least I can make sure that she’s looked after now. It’s ironic, isn’t it?’ he added sadly as she walked away. ‘You always said that Morwenna had killed Harry, and I’m sure you’ve turned out to be right.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Josephine sat by her bedroom window, looking out into the darkness. Loe House was not visible from the Lodge but she imagined that, had she been able to see beyond the curve of the lake, several lights would be in evidence despite the lateness of the hour, mirroring her own restlessness across the water. The jumble of lives and events in her head weighed her down with a claustrophobic intensity, and she was glad of the cool night air and the sense of absolute peace, disturbed only now and again by the screech of an owl from the woods behind the house. Most of all, though, she thought about Loveday – safe at Loe House, with the best of care from William and his household, but with her own demons still to face: Harry and Morwenna dead; Christopher’s fate still uncertain; and no more hope of refuge in her friendship with Nathaniel. When the harsh sound of the telephone cut through the stillness, Josephine welcomed the distraction.

  ‘Did I wake you?’

  ‘No, Archie, of course not. Where are you?’

  ‘Still at the station. I’m waiting for some reports from the fire and the post mortems, and I know I’ll get them quicker if I’m here to breathe down people’s necks. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. I was just thinking about Loveday and everything she’s got to come to terms with.’

  ‘And there’s something else, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh God – Christopher. Is he…?’

  ‘No, no – he’s absolutely fine. The Falmouth force picked him up this afternoon from the description we circulated. He’d got himself a job on the docks, of all things.’

  ‘So he did run away – but why now?’

  ‘You know he was in the churchyard on Sunday night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So was Harry. Christopher saw him come out of the church and go off into the woods.’

  ‘Good God – I’m not surprised he decided to disappear, then. He must have known how Harry would react to finding out that his little sister was pregnant. But surely this is good news for Loveday?’

  ‘What? That Christopher deserted her? There’s not much comfort in that. I can’t help thinking that Christopher could have saved everyone a lot of heartache if he’d been just a little bit braver.’

  ‘Oh Archie, he’s young – you can’t blame him for that. And let’s face it – being brave might have got him killed. Who knows what sort of state Harry was in? At least this way he’s still around to make it up to Loveday.’

  ‘Not exactly. From what the sergeant who questioned him told me, he’s got no desire to hurry back home. I think Harry Pinching unwittingly gave Christopher a taste of freedom. Falmouth’s hardly the other side of the world, but it must feel like it to someone who’s never been away from the Loe estate. And that will be such a blow for Loveday on top of everything else.’

  ‘She’s stronger than we think, though,’ Josephine said after a moment’s consideration. ‘And this could be the making of Christopher. There may still be a time for them to be together, but, if there is, I’ve no doubt it will be on her terms. If anyone’s going to be destroyed by Christopher’s new life, it’ll be Jago rather than Loveday.’

  ‘I know. And he blames himself, of course. I spoke to him earlier, and he’s torn between relief and regret. If he hadn’t been so set against Christopher and Loveday, things might have been very different – but he was making too many assumptions.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll ever tell Caplin or Christopher the truth?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, and that’s between them now. I feel I’ve interfered enough in the lives of people here.’ He spoke drily but it did not quite mask the tiredness and sense of regret in his voice, and Josephine wondered again how difficult he would find it to get over what had happened; unlike Loveday, Archie did not have the resilience of youth on his side. ‘Anyway, I’ve let William know about Christopher and he’s going to tell Loveday in the morning,’ he continued. ‘She’s sleeping now and she needs to rest.’ He paused for a moment and Josephine heard someone else in the room with him; when he spoke again, the vulnerability had vanished. ‘Sorry – I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later if you’re still awake – if not, we can talk in the morning.’

  Josephine left the hall lamp on and went back upstairs. Determined to be awake when Archie finally got home, she settled down in a chair to read. When a faint smell of smoke drifted in through the open window, she thought at first that it was her imagination, the result of a traumatic day which still weighed heavily on her mind, but it only took a second or two to convince her that she was not mistaken. Please God, not more tragedy, she thought, hurrying over to the window, but the blaze was real enough. There was a circle of flames a few yards in front of her, floating on the water, and she realised that someone must have set light to the barge, creating a parody of the ceremony which was supposed to have taken place that night. In the glow from the fire, she could just make out that the figure standing by the boathouse was Morveth Wearne.

  Quickly, Josephine pulled on a coat and went downstairs. As she walked across the gravel and down to the edge of the lake, Morveth turned to greet her. ‘Hasn’t there been enough destruction for one day?’ Josephine asked. ‘What exactly is this supposed to achieve?’

  ‘A fresh start,’ Morveth said simply. ‘Sometimes things have to be destroyed to begin again. Morwenna knew what she was doing when she set that fire.’

  ‘Of course she did. She wanted to obliterate everything, just like Harry did eight years ago. But that was about the past, not the future, so don’t try to give it a meaning which it could never have.’

  ‘There’s a meaning in everything, if you look hard enough,’ the older woman replied, still staring into the flames.

  Josephine looked down on to the barge. The fire had not yet taken hold of the collection of objects which were piled up in the bottom of th
e boat and she recognised some of the photographs and trinkets from Morveth’s sitting room, as well as a bridle, and some clothing that might well have belonged to Morwenna. Clearly, this strange act of atonement held some meaning for Morveth as she struggled to come to terms with her own part in the tragedy, but Josephine remained unconvinced. ‘Tell that to Loveday while she’s trying to cope with losing the rest of her family,’ she said.

  ‘So what will your story be to get her through this?’ Morveth asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘First we die and then we rot?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Josephine said angrily. ‘But filling her head full of false hope is hardly going to help her in the long run. She needs to understand that there are no second chances – that way, she’ll make the most of the one life she has got.’

  ‘There are second chances if you’re willing to search for them,’ Morveth insisted, more to herself than to Josephine. ‘There have to be. Otherwise, how could you ever go on?’ Bending down, she took the rope from one of the poles on the landing stage and threw it into the water. The barge floated slowly out across the lake. ‘I’m not going to argue with you, Josephine,’ Morveth said. ‘You must believe whatever brings you comfort.’

  She walked slowly away. Unsettled, Josephine watched her go, staring into the darkness long after the figure was out of sight. She looked back at the Lodge. It might be hours before Archie got back, and she was reluctant to return to the silence; unusually for her, she felt in need of company. William and the girls would probably still be up, so she left a note on the kitchen table and set off to Loe House. Several lights were still on, as she had guessed they would be, but she was surprised to see the soft glow of a lamp coming from the stables as well. Who would be there at this time of night? she wondered. Perhaps one of the horses was ill. Curious, she decided to stop there first and went quietly over to the door. At first, she thought there was no one there; then she saw Loveday, curled up on a pile of straw by Shilling’s stall. The girl glanced up, and smiled with relief when she saw who it was.