‘Do you like our home?’ David said, as they settled on cushions by the fire.
‘Whose is it?’
‘Typical bourgeois response of the so-called religious,’ David said. ‘It’s ours. We’ve made it ours.’
‘We did pay for it, David,’ Joanna smiled, handing Agnes a mug of tea. ‘He likes to think it’s all revolutionary, all squatters’ rights and anarchy, but actually we’ve got a deal with the farmer.’
Agnes looked at Joanna, remembering the last time she’d seen her. She was transformed now, her red hair piled on her head, her skin softened by the candlelight.
‘I’m sorry about the art room,’ Joanna said, suddenly serious.
‘It was fine. Philomena had it cleared up in about ten minutes.’
Joanna laughed.
‘What happened?’ Agnes asked.
Joanna handed David his tea, bending over him as he sat by the fire, allowing her hair to brush his face. He caught at her hand and kissed it, and she smiled into his eyes. She took her mug and sat down next to him.
‘I just couldn’t take it any more. I liked the school, I liked the kids, some of them, anyway. It wasn’t about the school, it was about my father being so angry with me — but for some reason that’s where I flipped. I suppose.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Here to start with. Then to my brother’s. He helped me calm down a bit, it’s the same for him too.’
‘Is that who you meant, in the art room? When you said there was nothing for you, first him, then you?’
‘Is that what I said? Nothing?’ She smiled. ‘I suppose it must have been.’ She turned to David, and he took one of her hands, as if somehow protecting her from Agnes. Agnes felt suddenly irritated.
‘Did you take your photograph to the police?’ she asked David.
He flashed her a glance.
‘What photograph?’ Joanna asked.
‘Oh — urn ... ’
‘Someone sent him a photo with him picked out, along with his brother and Reg,’ Agnes said, watching her.
‘But — what — why — you didn’t tell me. What photo?’
‘Really, it’s nothing ... ’
‘Nothing?’ Agnes tried not to shout. ‘You’re probably in more danger than anyone, than Nina even, and you say ... ’
‘Dave, what is this?’
‘I thought we were here to talk about Turnbull and the mill.’ David faced Agnes.
‘It’s all the same thing, isn’t it?’ Agnes felt her anger rising. ‘Turnbull, and the mill, and the community centre, and the attack on Nina, and your brother’s death, and Reg, and your photo, and Billy Keenan, and all these Chadwicks and Highworths and Styrings and everybody else whose families go back years and they’re all tied up with the Baineses, with you, Joanna, and your father, and Marcus, and Elias ... And you sit there trying to say that it’s nothing ... ’ She felt, surprisingly, as if she was going to burst into tears. She took a gulp of tea.
‘How is Elias?’ Joanna spoke quietly.
‘About the same. Still burdened with misery.’
Joanna met her eyes. ‘Poor man. Did he tell you about the accident?’
‘Patricia did.’
David got up and stoked the fire.
‘And is Anthony really trying to sell the mill?’ Joanna asked.
‘It’s only a rumour,’ Agnes said. ‘But Nina’s overheard him talking about it.’
‘It’s impossible. I know times are hard, God knows our whole family has seen the money drain away with each generation, but Daddy’s made it work. He’s determined it doesn’t leave the family.’
‘He’s very upset, your father.’
‘I know.’
‘But can Turnbull sell the mill?’
‘All I know is that Anthony is very angry with me. When all this came up, about our inheritance, I said that I didn’t want to run the mill, I didn’t want the money, what little there is, but what I did want — what I still want — is to have my name on all the documents. I’ve never trusted him, Anthony, and I thought it would safeguard things for Daddy. So that’s all it is — my name. Technically, although I have no rights of ownership, I’m a signatory for any transference of ownership. And it’s made him really angry with me. He’s been phoning Marcus, asking where I am. Marcus won’t tell him.’
‘And what does your father think?’
Joanna sighed. ‘He was very upset when I wouldn’t accept my inheritance. He was furious. He wanted everything to be as he’d imagined it, a happy family taking over his life’s work.’ David sat down next to her again. ‘He wanted it to be perfect. And I said no. I refused my birthright. I let him down. But I knew that if I didn’t fail him, I’d fail myself. I learned from Marcus, you see, sometimes you have to save yourself. But at the time it was driving me mad. And now — now it seems, he’s the one being driven mad by it. Poor love ... ’ There were tears in her eyes.
‘And your mother’s death ... ’ Agnes said.
She nodded, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s all mixed up in Dad’s mind, and I think that’s why he handed over all control to Anthony. But Pat, that’s what I can’t understand, I don’t know why she’d agree, she’s devoted to Dad, she wouldn’t harm him, and she’s named in the trust document. So unless she agrees too, they can’t sell. And then I was speaking to Andrew, he’s our family solicitor, and he said that Dad had come to see him a day or two ago, and was in a real state, and kept saying that Anthony can’t sell it, he can’t, and Andrew said he had the impression that he wanted proof, somehow, he kept asking to see the trust document, but when he showed him he said, no, not that one, the old one. Andrew said he didn’t know what he meant. And then Dad got really angry, apparently, and stormed out. I’m really worried about him.’
‘Do you see him?’
‘He won’t see me. My work is at the house, most of it, and I used to go there a lot. But now he’s — he’s very angry with me.’ She started to cry, and David took her in his arms.
Agnes finished her tea. After a while Joanna dried her tears. Agnes got up and went over to the hearth and placed her empty mug with the rest of the washing up in a bucket of water. She went and sat down again.
‘Did you know that Charlotte was going out with Mark?’ she asked Joanna.
Joanna nodded. ‘It was a bit difficult, her being at the school.’
‘We went to your house, Elias and I,’ Agnes said.
‘I know.’
‘Who trashed it?’
‘Just kids. They do that if anything’s left empty for too long. I know who did it, there’s a real nutcase eleven-year-old they call Beanie, and his gang. They were really sweet to me last time I saw them, that’s how you can tell.’
‘Is it still your house?’
‘Nominally, yes. If it’s still standing.’
‘Elias has got that key,’ David said.
‘He’s welcome to it.’ Joanna smiled at him. ‘He can keep an eye on it for me.’
‘The accident — it seems to live with him still.’
‘He severed all connection with our family. And when I joined the school, I was so pleased to see him again. I didn’t know that’s where he’d ended up. We had some lovely talks, he’s so thoughtful, isn’t he, I’d always enjoyed talking to him, in the old days, when he and Marcus ... and then we all lost contact with him. And there he was, and at first it was awkward, but we got close again. Dave’s jealous as hell, aren’t you, love?’ She pulled on his sleeve.
‘Him? I’ve no reason to be jealous of him.’ David forced a smile.
‘He showed me the paintings in your father’s attic,’ Agnes said.
‘When you broke into the house,’ David said, acidly.
‘You — when? What, in the attic?’
Agnes sighed. ‘It’s a long story. Something Elias wanted to do, I’m afraid.’
‘He’s always loved those. So have I. We’d go on at Dad to put them on show, but he wouldn’t. Elias said they were too Roman Cath
olic for him, and I think he was right. Mum liked them ... ’ Her voice trailed off. She took a cushion from the floor and pulled it around between her hands.
‘Your brother,’ Agnes began.
‘Marcus — what about him?’
‘Why did he move away?’
‘He fell out with Daddy. When Mummy died. It all comes back to that, you see.’
‘Won’t he come back?’
‘He’s just like Daddy. Neither of them will budge. And anyway, he’s happy now. He married last year. I was the only one invited. They’ve got a baby now, just a few weeks old, she’s lovely.’
The log on the fire hissed and crackled, then quietened into flickering flame. Agnes gathered her coat around her. ‘What will you do?’
‘About Daddy? I don’t know. I’m not sure there’s much I can do. I can’t talk to him any more. And my sister doesn’t believe that Anthony wants to sell it. Marcus says we’ve just got to save ourselves, and I’m beginning to think he’s right. I was in such a state a month ago, as you saw. I don’t want to go back to that.’
They gazed at the fire for a while. Joanna took David’s hand and stroked each finger in turn. Agnes put on her coat.
‘Come and see us again. How is the school?’
‘OK.’
‘Did Philomena replace me?’
‘I think she’s advertised. You could still come back.’ Joanna shook her head. ‘I liked teaching, but — ’
‘But she’s relying on me to keep her, that’s what.’ David smiled. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.’
Agnes waited in the doorway while David gave Joanna a lingering kiss.
‘Hurry back,’ she heard Joanna whisper. Then she and David were out in the cold, picking their way back up to the track by the faltering light of his torch.
‘Is she all right?’ Agnes asked as they reached her car.
‘Now she is, yes. Marcus helps, she’s been staying with him since her father threw her out. When she’s not up here.’
‘Why isn’t he — ’ Agnes began, then stopped.
‘Sorry?’
‘David,’ Agnes said, ‘please take that photo to the police.’
‘It may be some silly hoax.’
‘It may not.’
David brushed her sleeve. ‘I know. I will, I promise. Tomorrow.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise. I must get back.’ He bent and kissed her cheek, then turned back to the track.
Agnes watched him go, the bobbing torch beam receding into the darkness. She got into her car. The engine seemed much too loud as she started it up and drove away.
*
Her alarm dragged her from deep sleep peopled with daffodils and skulls and blackened kettles on hissing logs. She lay in bed, trying to remember what day it was, recalling her conversation with Joanna, her fears for David’s safety. And Marcus, something about Marcus.
She got up, showered, pulled on skirt and blouse, brushed her hair. Ahead of her, the rest of the day: chapel, then a meeting with Sister Teresa about a new girl who was joining their house for the summer term, a meeting with Sister Philomena and the head of music about the liturgy for Palm Sunday, more chapel, and two sessions of French conversation. She pulled back the curtains. It was a dull, damp day. This evening, she decided, she would go to the Wetherby Stakes.
*
Walking to the pub, in jeans and black cashmere sweater, she wondered whether she’d be confronted by several identically dressed lads with sculpted haircuts and earrings. A noisy cluster of boys was lurking by a games machine.
‘Oi, Doddsy, mine’s a pint,’ one called out, his voice ringing across the pub. He had a zig-zag haircut and a pierced ear.
‘Sit on it, Keenan,’ another lad called back from the bar, to much jeering from the group by the games machine. Agnes approached the group. They eyed her as she drew near them, and their loud jostling subsided. Glances flicked between them.
‘Billy Keenan?’
He studied her, his head on one side.
‘I’m Sister Agnes,’ she said to him, her gaze level with his.
He laughed, and his mates laughed with him. ‘Sister, eh?’
‘I called on your mother yesterday, she said I might find you here.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s mothers for yer, in’t it.’ The sneer was fixed on his face.
‘I thought we might have a talk.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘You’re in luck, mate,’ one of his friends said.
‘Another older woman for you, eh, Billy?’
‘I thought we might talk about Mark Snaith,’ Agnes persisted.
‘You did, did yer?’
‘And about Anthony Turnbull.’
‘What’s he been saying?’
‘He’s a very worried man,’ Agnes said.
‘He’s got reason to be an’ all.’
‘Billy — when it comes to it, who are the police going to believe? Anthony or you?’
‘It in’t going to come to that, is it?’ Billy kept his posture of bravado, but his smile waned.
‘I want to help, Billy,’ Agnes said.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yes.’
Billy kept his eyes fixed on her. After a moment he said, ‘You can buy me a pint if you want.’
*
They sat at a table away from his friends, who from time to time looked across and made loud comments.
‘So Turnbull sent you, did he?’ Billy took a long pull from his pint.
‘No. The only reason I’m involved is that a girl at my school was involved with Mark.’
‘I’d never have given him a fuckin’ lift if I’d known it would lead to all this. Them coppers in’t been off my back since the poor kid were found up Morton’s.’
‘Why was he there?’
‘Bird-watching, he said. A couple of falcons, he said. I didn’t know him that well, our families weren’t close, like. I’d got to know him a bit through this sports centre idea. That were sound, that were, folk’ll tell you all sorts about me, but that were summat I believed in, me. Still do, if Turnbull hadn’t ... Anyway, that afternoon I said summat about driving up that way, I were visitin’ a mate t’other side of Skipton, and he blagged a lift. Said someone had tipped him off about his nest. Fine by me, I said. I dropped him off by that road that crosses back towards Keighley. And the rest you know. Poor kid.’ He knocked back more beer. ‘I were shocked, I were. And them, over there, they can be laffin’ and jeerin’ now, but you should’ve seen them when we heard the news. We’re no strangers to trouble, us Millhouse lads, but — but that were way out of our league, man.’
‘Nina said — ’
‘And her, that’s another one. Is she OK now?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Couldn’t believe it when I heard. They said that were someone who knew the mill, but I don’t know about that. Coppers swarming everywhere ... ’
‘Have you seen Turnbull recently?’
Billy glanced over at his mates, who responded with thumbs-up signs and guffaws. He shook his head. ‘Only around the mill.’
‘Do you get on with him?’
‘What’s he said, then?’
‘He seems very upset about something.’
‘Did he drag my name into it?’
‘No. I just thought — ’
‘Well you can think all you flamin’ well like.’
‘Billy, no one’s accusing you of anything.’
‘Aren’t they?’ His eyes narrowed.
‘I’m just concerned that Turnbull might — ’
‘Might what?’
‘Might do something stupid.’
Billy laughed, an empty, hollow laugh. ‘Nah, not him. A coward, him.’
‘I thought you might know what Turnbull is so afraid of.’
Billy smiled at her. ‘That’d be telling, wouldn’t it?’
‘Billy, how can you expect the police to leave you alone if — ’
‘They won’t
leave me alone, them coppers, not ever. Not with my name. So I need all the advantages I can get, eh?’ He stood up, drained his glass. ‘Thanks for the pint.’
‘Any time,’ Agnes said. She watched him saunter across the pub to join his friends. She stood up, put on her coat, and left.
‘What is it with Billy Keenan?’ Agnes paced Nina’s office the next day.
‘He’s a trouble maker,’ Nina said, tidying her desk. The clock tower chimed five. ‘And I’m off now. Do you want to come with me? I’m having tea with my mum.’
‘I oughtn’t to get back too late, I can’t miss the evening office again.’
‘It won’t be late, I’ve got to get Rosie into bed.’
‘But what is it with Turnbull and Keenan?’ Agnes followed Nina as she locked the office and set off down the stairs.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I bought him a drink last night. He seems to think he has one up on Anthony, but he refused to tell me what it was.’
‘It’s all bravado with him. He’s sweet as pie with me, but I know what he really thinks. Was it the Wetherby Stakes?’
‘Yes.’
‘NF pub, everyone knows that. Shall we go in your car? Mine’s at home.’
*
Louisa Warburton cut the crust from a large white loaf, then tucked the loaf under her arm and proceeded to butter the first slice. She cut this off, then buttered the next.
‘Nina tells me you work at the convent school across the moor?’
Agnes dragged her attention away from the loaf buttering. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And that Baines’s daughter used to work there, but now she’s resigned.’ Louisa was looking towards her. She had the same broad forehead as Nina, the same neat chin and easy smile, but her gaze was vague and clouded.
‘That’s right.’
‘I’d have done something special, only I have to stick to what I know these days.’
Agnes watched her move around the kitchen, her hands darting lightly, feeling her way.
Rosie was sitting by the fire, watching the flickering light behind the plastic logs. ‘No, Mummy, little plaits, like Laura has,’ she was saying to Nina, who sat behind her, combing her hair. ‘And I want those bubbles, those pink bubbles, like Laura has on her plaits, OK, they’re pink with all glitter on them, I want those, OK?’
A Dark and Sinful Death Page 21
