‘Anthony — ’ Agnes’s hand went towards him.
‘No,’ he almost shouted, clumsily putting out his hand to stop her, knocking his glass which fell against his plate, smashing glass and wine everywhere. He stared at it, his hands against his face, motionless. The waiter appeared, and Agnes asked for the bill. Turnbull put his signature to the chit, then sat, staring unseeing at the mess. Agnes helped him up, got their coats, led him to his car.
At the car door he appeared to notice her. ‘I must go,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. Forgive ... ’ he smiled at the word, then got into his car and drove away.
*
As Agnes’s taxi drove up to the school, she passed another car leaving, slowly enough for her to see Rachel Swann sitting in the back, her eyes staring straight ahead.
‘You said you’d give me time,’ Agnes cried, bursting into Sister Philomena’s office.
‘Where were you?’ Philomena looked up from her desk. ‘Teresa and I searched everywhere.’
‘We’ve failed her,’ Agnes said.
‘She’ll live,’ Philomena said.
‘We’ve failed her.’ Agnes left, slamming Philomena’s door behind her.
‘Agnes — ’ Teresa met her in the staff-room doorway. ‘Rachel said we must find you, she was so upset, she said you’d promised to fight for her, we couldn’t find you, I’m sorry ... they’d got a bed for her. The medical team are so worried about her, it’s just like last year ... ’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Agnes tried to say, but the words were a whisper. ‘I should have been here.’ She turned away and hurried to her room to hide the tears that welled in her eyes.
She locked her door, picked up her phone and dialled Julius’s number.
‘I’m sorry,’ she began to sob as he answered the phone.
‘Agnes — what is it?’
‘Everything.’ Agnes couldn’t speak for tears.
‘My dear — ’
‘I’m sorry ... ’
‘Don’t be sorry.’ Julius waited for the sobbing to abate.
‘There’s this girl here,’ Agnes said at last, ‘and I’ve let her down really badly, I said I’d fight for her and then when it came to it I wasn’t there, and it’s just like James, only the opposite, he really was there, he really did fight for me and now he’s not going to be there any more, and all these years I’ve lived without him and now just when I think it would be nice to — to have family — to have someone who — cares — not that you don’t, I don’t mean that, Julius — oh God, you’re not in a meeting or anything, are you?’
‘Well, apart from a room full of visiting Vatican dignitaries — no, I’m not in a meeting, and even if I was I’d send them away. Go on.’
Agnes took a deep breath. ‘Oh Julius, it’s all a mess. I want to go away, and James has asked me to travel with him, and I’d see my mother which is a good thing, and he’s dying of cancer, so I could look after him, which is another good thing, but then this business with Rachel has made me think I can’t just run away, everyone has responsibilities and mine are to my order ... Aren’t they?’
‘You phoned me so that I’d tell you that there’s no escape?’
‘I phoned you because none of it makes sense. And there’s the man in charge of the mill and something really bad is happening ... ’
‘I wish you weren’t two hundred miles away.’
‘I wish I was.’
Julius laughed. ‘When do you have to decide?’
‘Not yet. I know what you’re going to say.’
‘Listen to the stillness. There’ll be an answer in time. And phone me again soon.’
‘I will.’
*
Agnes went to her bookshelves and took down a copy of Pascal’s Pensées. She spent the rest of the day reading it. At eight she made herself some toast. At ten she crept out to the chapel and sat there for some time, listening, taking comfort from hearing only silence.
She returned to her room, and went to bed. She’d just turned out the light when the phone rang.
‘Hello?’
There was silence on the other end, then a rough, uneven breathing.
‘Hello?’ Agnes tried again.
The breathing sounded more like sobbing. Then Agnes heard a voice.
‘Agnes?’
‘Who is it?’
‘Nina.’
‘Nina? What — ?’
The voice was barely recognisable. ‘Help me.’
‘Oh my God, where are you, what’s — ?’
‘Agnes — someone just tried to kill me.’
Chapter Twelve
The headlamps of the oncoming cars splashed against the windscreen wipers. Agnes reached the ring road and put her foot down hard, cursing the convent’s Metro. The speedometer wavered around fifty. Just get home, she’d said to Nina. Get home, lock the doors, wait for me there. She glanced at the scrap of paper on the seat beside her on which she’d scrawled Nina’s address: 21 Kensal Terrace.
She turned off the ring road, into town, past the pub where they’d often met, recognising the corner where Nina had indicated her street. Kensal Terrace. She screeched to a halt, jumped out of the car, ran to Number 21. It was in darkness. She knocked gently at the door. There was no answer. She opened the letter box, and spoke quietly. ‘Nina?’
She heard footsteps, a voice whispered, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Agnes.’
The door opened a crack to allow her in. Nina was standing in the darkness, dishevelled, her eyes dark-ringed. She ran to slam the door and locked it behind Agnes.
‘Where’s Rosie?’
‘She’s staying overnight at Mum’s, I was working late.’
Agnes took Nina’s arm and led her into the kitchen. She switched on all the lights, found the kettle, set it to boil. She searched the cupboards for whisky, found none.
‘Arnica,’ Nina whispered. She was sitting at the table, shivering.
‘This?’ Agnes found a little bottle of homoeopathic tablets, took one out carefully and gave it to Nina. Then she took off her coat and wrapped it around Nina, and led her to the armchair by the gas fire.
‘Are you sure you’re not injured?’ Agnes put a match to the gas.
‘I’m OK.’
‘What happened?’
Nina shuddered. ‘I was working late. There’s an urgent order, it had to be processed before tomorrow to be sent off in the morning. I was over in the spinning sheds, then I came back to the office. It was dark, I switched on the lights, then someone grabbed me. They had a hand over my mouth, so I bit it hard, it was in a glove, it tasted of ... kind of ... like old dishcloths, ugh ... ’ She put both hands over her face. Agnes saw she was shaking.
‘It’s all right,’ Agnes murmured. She put her arm round Nina’s shoulders.
Nina leaned against her. ‘He took his hand away, he shouted something.’
‘Was there just one?’
‘If there’d been two of them, I’d be dead by now.’
Agnes met her gaze. ‘Go on.’
‘Then — I tried to get away, but he’d got both hands behind my back. And this thing went over my eyes, and it had — oh God.’
‘What?’
‘Knots. Like, two knots, one for each eye. And it was pushing on my eyes ... ’ She broke off and began to cry.
‘I’m calling the police,’ Agnes said.
‘In a minute. He got away, it won’t make any difference now.’
‘Then what?’
‘I don’t know how I did it, Agnes. My karate, you know, I had no idea I was so good ... I kind of roared, right, not screamed, a really weird noise, and all the time I was thinking no one could hear, but I kept going and I could smell old dishcloths and I kicked out behind me, at kind of groin level, and I must have hit him, and he fell back, and I pulled the thing off my eyes, and he was shouting some kind of abuse and I turned round — ’
‘Did you see him?’
‘No. He ran.’
‘He ran of
f?’
‘He had some kind of mask, like a balaclava, and as soon as I turned round he put his hand over his face and ran out of the door. So I followed, really hollering, but like I said, that office is isolated, no one heard, and he was really fast. I saw him climb over the back fence, up towards the rest of the industrial estate. Then I ... ’ To Agnes’s surprise, Nina started giggling. ‘Then I fell over.’
‘You fell over?’
‘My legs gave way. I sat there, kind of stunned. When I could get up I couldn’t think straight. I phoned you. You told me to come here. I did. I just got in my car and came home.’ Nina was still laughing.
‘I had no idea you were in the mill. You could have stayed there, there are people there all the time, you could have got help, phoned the police ... ’
‘I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted to get out. I kept thinking of Rosie, I kept thinking she was in danger ... ’ Just as suddenly, Nina started to cry. They sat for a while. Then she said, ‘It’s weird, you know. I just knew I couldn’t go and look for help.’
‘Why?’
‘I know what it was. I couldn’t go to the spinning sheds, because — ’
‘Because what?’
Nina smoothed her hair with her fingers. ‘Whoever did it knew where I was. Knew where to find me. So, whoever it was knows something about Allbright’s. That’s why I wanted to get out. I had to get away.’ She shuddered again.
Agnes went over to the kettle and made a pot of tea. Then she went to the phone. ‘Can I call the police now?’
Nina nodded. ‘Yes. I’m ready.’
*
Janet Cole was the first to arrive, and sat sipping sweet tea with Nina, taking notes. Then another car, screeching and flashing, spilling out two more police officers, and then Nina and Agnes were driven to Allbright’s. As they processed up the stairs to Nina’s office, she began to shake, and Agnes put her arm round her.
‘So it was here?’ Janet asked.
Nina nodded. In the background the younger of the two policemen picked up the phone.
‘And he was waiting — ’
‘Over there.’ Nina’s voice shook.
‘Mr Turnbull, please,’ the young man was saying into the phone. ‘West Yorkshire Police, that’s right. I’m sorry to disturb you, Madam — yes, the mill, that’s right ... ’ ‘And then the events happened as you described?’
‘Yes ... ’ Nina was looking tearful again.
‘No, Madam, nothing like that ... An assault on one of your employees, Nina Warburton. Earlier this evening — ’ he broke off, looked at his watch — ‘last night, now, it being nearly three — if you can. Madam, and your husband, that would be very helpful. Would you like us to send a car?’
‘And he ran out of this door?’
‘It’s the only one.’
‘And down the stairs ... ’
Nina followed Janet to the landing. Agnes could hear Nina describing the path her attacker had taken across the courtyard. They reappeared. Nina sat heavily into a chair, leaden with exhaustion.
‘The Turnbulls are on their way,’ the young policeman announced.
‘Where’s Jeff?’ someone said.
‘He went to talk to the factory people.’
‘Does this place run twenty-four hours a day?’
Nina nodded.
‘And did the people over there see anything?’
Nina glanced at Agnes. ‘They wouldn’t, you see,’ she said. ‘The windows are high up, the machines are noisy. Anything could happen in the offices, they wouldn’t know.’
Outside Agnes could hear another police car arriving, hurried footsteps on the stairs, and soon the room filled with people. Two men in suits were asking Janet questions. Someone was taking photographs. Nina was introduced to a police surgeon, a pink-cheeked woman, who sat her down and examined her face, round her eyes, the sides of her head. Into all this walked Anthony and Patricia Turnbull.
Janet stood up. ‘Mr Turnbull, I’m sorry — and Mrs Turnbull ... ’
Agnes noticed that Patricia was immaculately dressed, her make-up flawless.
‘Poor Nina,’ Patricia was saying, looking across at her. She was sitting motionless, her eyes glazed over. ‘What happened?’ Patricia approached her, leaned over her.
‘She’s had enough, I think,’ Agnes said. ‘She’s already had to go through it several times.’
Turnbull flopped into the chair next to Nina. Agnes noticed the same pale face, the same shaking hands, that she’d seen at lunch. ‘Such a terrible thing,’ he murmured. ‘And in our mill ... ’ He turned to Patricia. ‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘Thank God she got away.’ His eyes filled with tears.
Janet appeared and pulled up a chair. ‘It was just after eleven, Mr Turnbull, last night ... ’
Agnes took Nina by the arm and led her from the room. They sat on the stairs in the chilly darkness. Nina still had Agnes’s coat around her. The noise from the room ebbed and flowed, voices rising and falling in interrogation, explanation. After a while Nina turned to Agnes.
‘I want my mum,’ she said.
*
It was after four when Agnes pulled up outside Nina’s mother’s house.
‘Terrible time to wake someone,’ she said to Nina.
Nina got out and knocked softly on the door, then produced a key and opened the door. Agnes followed her inside.
‘Mum?’ Nina was calling softly.
They heard a door opening upstairs. ‘Nina? Is that you? What sort of time — what’s up, love?’ A tousled woman appeared at the top of the stairs, patting at her soft white hair.
‘Mum, it’s me. Something happened at the mill last night, someone broke in — ’ Nina turned to Agnes, then started up the stairs. ‘We’ve been at the mill, I didn’t want to go home. How’s Rosie?’
‘Fast asleep, I should hope. Is there someone with you?’
‘Yes, she brought me back, a friend. She’s just going. I’ll sleep on the settee, Mum.’
‘I’ll find some blankets.’
Nina came back downstairs. ‘She can’t see very well,’ she whispered to Agnes. ‘Her sight’s going. I’ll introduce you another time.’
‘Will you be OK?’
Nina nodded.
‘Will you sleep?’
She shrugged. ‘There’s not much night left, is there.’ ‘But when you close your eyes — ’
‘Don’t want to think about it. I’ll get up early and go back to the mill, pick up my car.’
‘Don’t go back until you’re ready. Turnbull’ll understand.’
Nina smiled. ‘He seemed worse than me.’
Agnes touched Nina’s arm. ‘Call me. Tomorrow, I mean, later today. I need to know you’re OK.’
Nina nodded. ‘Sure.’ She gave Agnes a quick hug, then laughed. ‘Do you think I’ll need a police guard now?’
*
Agnes drove through the deserted streets, out of the town, turning off the ring road to take the route over the moors. In the east the night sky was edged with grey. A drifting mist softened the spikes of gorse and dead bracken. She drove slowly, thoughts eddying in her mind. Mark; and then Reg; and now Nina. The eyes, the knots against the eyes, the smell of old dishcloths ... But Mark and Reg were stabbed. Whereas Nina — there’d been no sign of a knife with Nina’s attack. And who would want her dead? Perhaps her attacker meant her to survive, chose not to use the knife. But why? And if it was a random event ... Agnes braked against the swift shadow of an animal on the road. Nina was in her office, at dead of night. It was nothing to do with chance. Someone must have sought her out, with the intention of — of killing her, mutilating her eyes, strangling her ...
And they had failed. It was incompetence that had saved Nina’s life, a fear of being recognised. The brutality of the other two murders, on the other hand ... they must have been carried out with absolute conviction. It didn’t make sense. And there was Turnbull, weak with shock, his wife cool and composed by his side. She thought about how he’d
been at lunch, steering the conversation to talk about — about forgiveness. Redemption. And Patricia — perhaps she went to bed in full make-up just in case; perhaps she’d been delighted to be summoned by the police at dead of night, because for once all that trouble had been worth while. Agnes thought of Joanna, the scatty younger sister, choosing instability as a role, to mark her out from her utterly poised older sister. And Marcus, the middle child ...
The mist thickened as the road climbed higher. Agnes’s thoughts drifted, muddled, obscure. David Snaith, his open smile, his raging grief. Marcus ... Elias ... Nina ... knots across her eyes ... Greer, the old dog ... Elias. She thought about telling Elias what had happened in the mill. She imagined him, in his present mood, sloughing it off. ‘And what is it to me?’ he’d say, reasoning that it was just one of those things, entirely unconnected with Joanna’s disappearance. Just further proof that all life is suffering. Or, she realised, he could just as easily seize upon it with sudden passion, insist that they tell Baines, run back to Baines’s house and his beloved dogs just to announce to Baines that it was all his fault, that since he gave up the mill everything was going awry, like the skull and the clock in his hidden paintings, the ticking away of time towards inevitable death ...
Agnes stopped the car. She turned off the engine and wound down her window. She listened to the quiet, the whisper of the breeze. The mist was clearing. Agnes watched the sky fading into dawn. She recalled Joanna in the art room. ‘First him, now me,’ she’d said.
Agnes breathed in the freshness of the new day. Out there, she thought, someone intends harm. She shivered. She wound up her window, and realised that she must find Joanna. Before it was too late.
*
‘You look terrible,’ Teresa said at breakfast.
‘Thanks,’ Agnes said.
‘You’re drinking tea.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Agnes said.
‘What’s up?’
Agnes shook her head and stirred some sugar into her cup.
‘You look like you’ve been up all night.’
‘Maybe I have,’ Agnes said.
A Dark and Sinful Death Page 17
