A Dark and Sinful Death

by Alison Joseph

  ‘And you? How are you?’

  ‘Oh, OK. It’s Maundy Thursday.’

  ‘Am I supposed to know what that means?’

  ‘It’s the commemoration of the Last Supper.’

  ‘Ah. So it’s Good Friday tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘See, I’m learning.’

  ‘James, I’m going to phone Julius now.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘OK?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll — I’ll let you know what he says.’

  ‘Sure. Whenever.’

  ‘Bye.’

  ‘Have a nice Maundy Thursday.’

  *

  She sat and stared at the phone, looked at her watch, stood up, put on the kettle, sat down again. She dialled Julius’s number.

  ‘I’m sorry — ’ she began, as he answered.

  ‘Do all our conversations have to start that way these days?’

  ‘But Julius, I know you’re busy, I’m about to go to chapel myself, it’s just — ’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘I need to — I need to decide.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Well, no, not quite tonight. But James hasn’t got time on his side.’

  Julius was quiet for a moment. ‘He must understand he can’t rush you.’

  ‘He’s trying not to.’

  ‘If he really cares ... ’

  ‘Julius, it’s important that I see my mother.’

  ‘Agnes, that’s two weeks. They’d allow you that. It’s just the world cruise bit that I can’t quite see. Why give everything up just to feel seasick for weeks, just to eat far too much food and spend weeks cooped up with people you can’t stand?’

  ‘Julius — ’ In her mind Agnes saw Leonora sitting on the wall. ‘If I don’t go — ’

  ‘If you don’t go, then that will be something to work with.’

  ‘But the sense of loss ... ’

  ‘Life is loss.’

  ‘Even to live without joy?’

  ‘Joy will come. Renunciation is essentially a joyful state.’

  ‘I wish I was so sure.’

  ‘So do I.’

  Agnes smiled.

  *

  The chapel was stripped of all ornament, the altar was bare. There were fewer candles lit, and Elias moved in near darkness as he prepared the sacrament for the evening vigil. Agnes sat with the sisters, the resident members of staff and the few girls whose circumstances required them to stay at school for the holidays. She reflected on the Passover, the message of redemption through sacrifice. She listened to the gospel reading, the Lord washing the feet of His disciples; the bread and the wine, the body and the blood; the sense of waiting, the inexorable playing out of the prophecy that would end in betrayal and death.

  She glanced up at Elias. In the shadows he seemed restless, unshaven, dishevelled, and as his eyes met hers, she saw his despair. Through the murmured prayers she could hear other whispers, other voices, the call of birds of prey across the moors, Lianna’s angry shouting, the guttural swagger of Billy Keenan, the touch of Baines’s fingers upon his daughter’s arm. And Patricia saying, It is the anniversary of Mother’s death ... And Evelyn saying, It is the anniversary of Hannah’s death ... Mad with grief, she’d said. I still have one daughter, Baines had said. William and Hannah, Joss had said.

  Elias’s voice rang out and banished the whispered confusion. ‘ ... Turn to me and take pity on me, for I am wretched and alone.’

  Agnes, kneeling in the darkened chapel, felt suddenly afraid.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘No, I’m not working today.’ Nina’s voice on the phone was indignant. ‘It’s Good Friday, you should know that.’

  ‘I need to check something at the mill.’

  ‘Agnes, what is it about those files? I’ve sat in the same room as them for months now and I still haven’t acquired wisdom.’

  ‘Nina, it’s all about the mill and the family ... ’

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘Could I borrow your key?’

  ‘There’s no need. Patricia said she’d be in today. Ever since Anthony fell apart she’s become a new person, really taken charge.’

  ‘How is Anthony?’

  ‘She hasn’t mentioned him. Not a word. She says “I” instead of “we” now.’

  *

  After chapel Agnes went to join Teresa in the staff room. The chill grey stone of the corridors seemed to echo with melancholy. They sat in silence, sipping their coffee, nodding in greeting as the occasional staff member joined them. Agnes heard a door slam, a man shouting, hurried footsteps, raised voices, and then the staff-room door flew open and Billy Keenan stood there, swearing, with Mary Watson at his side.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sister, I tried to — ’

  ‘They wouldn’t let me see you — ’

  ‘ — tried to explain he needed an appointment — ’

  ‘Here. Have these.’ Billy was holding a large cardboard box, and now he dropped it. It landed heavily on its side, spilling papers across the doorway.

  ‘It’s all right, Mary.’ Agnes stood up. ‘Thank you.’ She knelt and gathered the papers back into the box.

  Billy looked down at her, his face fixed in its habitual sneer. ‘That bastard Turnbull. He owed me, he did, and now he’s gone, and no one does that to me, right, no one scarpers off wi’out paying me what I’m owed. I warned him, I did.’

  Agnes picked up the box and led Billy out into the corridor. They sat side by side on a couple of chairs.

  ‘So he was defrauding the community centre?’

  Billy nodded. ‘Aye. It’s all there. His signature, for stuff what he never bought. Building materials, that kind of thing. I should know. And Mark must have known too.’

  ‘Why? Why did Turnbull want to defraud the centre? He really believed in it.’

  Billy shrugged. ‘Takes a lot to keep believing, up there. It gets to you after a while.’

  ‘And I can have these?’

  He met her eyes. ‘In’t no good to me, now. He in’t going to pay me.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Saw him, didn’t I? Over at Lianna’s. He’s there.’

  ‘At Lianna’s?’

  ‘Aye. And drunk. I threatened him, I did, and he just laughed. He said it were all over for him. Nothing left, he said. Made me right angry. No one laughs at me. I could torch the fuckin’ place and he’d still be laughing, I reckon.’

  ‘And what good would that do?’

  He looked at her. His eyes flashed steel. ‘It would make me feel better. A whole lot better.’ He smiled.

  ‘Billy — why not take this stuff to the police?’

  ‘‘Cos they wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘And you want me to take it instead?’

  ‘I don’t give a toss what you do with it. It means nowt to me now. It only had a value s’long as Turnbull could pay up. It’s just rubbish now.’ He stood up, smoothing his trousers, then turned to her and offered his hand. ‘Pleasure doin’ business with you.’

  ‘How are you getting back?’

  ‘Dunno. Walking, I suppose.’

  ‘Do you want a lift? I’m going to the mill.’

  ‘Sure. Sound.’

  *

  She dropped him off at the edge of the estate.

  ‘Billy ... ’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

  He opened the car door, then turned to her and smiled. ‘What’s the difference, eh?’

  ‘But — ’

  ‘Depends how I feel, see.’ He got out of the car. ‘You see, Turnbull’s made me angry. Very angry.’

  ‘Can’t you feel sorry for him?’

  Billy looked at her, his eyes blank with disbelief. ‘Him? Why should I?’

  Agnes met his gaze. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘Thanks for the lift. See ya.’ He shut the car door. As she pulled out towards the mill, she coul
d see him in her mirror. He was still waving.

  *

  Hanson, Kitty. Hanson, Esther. Agnes pulled the files out and put them on Nina’s desk, then sat down in Nina’s chair.

  Kitty Hanson. It was a very thin file. Date of birth, 9 September, 1951. Joined the mill at the age of eighteen. Had taken time off recently to nurse her mother.

  Esther Hanson. On the front the name Meyer was crossed out. Born July, 1926. Joined the mill at the age of fifteen. Married Frederick Hanson in 1948. One daughter, Kitty, born 1951. Her husband died in 1970. Esther retired in 1979 due to ill health. There were some pension details, ending with her death at the end of last year.

  Agnes leafed through the sparse, yellowing pages. Work, marriage, motherhood, widowhood, death. An unremarkable life. The last page, tucked away behind the others, was a memo, dated September 1947, headed Re: Meyer, Esther:

  ‘Regarding the incident which has been of some concern to this company, I have suggested to the unfortunate woman that she might now put this matter behind her. I have stressed that these are difficult times for us all, and the war has left many people in distressed circumstances, but that rather than looking back, we are all better served by looking forward to a new future. She has agreed that the matter might now be dropped.’

  The memo was signed, Douglas Styring, Office Manager, and copied to Mr Baines.

  Agnes closed the file. She stood up and went over to the window, blinking against the sunlight. After a few moments she returned to the file, re-read the last page, closed the file and returned it with Kitty’s to its place. She checked to see if any other files had the name Meyer. Finding none, she left Nina’s office and went to look for Patricia.

  *

  The door of the main spinning shed swung shut behind her. Agnes stood in the surge of noise. The uniform banks of machines stretched endlessly away from her. She could see Patricia, far off, a tiny figure in high heels. Around her people moved according to her gestures, checking bobbins, carrying boxes, as if subject to her choreography. Agnes began to walk towards her. In an altogether different place, Elias would be preparing the chapel for Good Friday. It seemed odd, Agnes thought, to recall the Passion of Our Lord amongst all this impervious metal. It had no place here, as if the raw rituals of blood and pain and sacrifice and death had to be left outside the door, or risk being crushed under the wheels of this clean, inexorable steel.

  Patricia saw her, and began to walk towards her.

  ‘The office was unlocked — ’ Agnes began.

  ‘I wanted to see you anyway. I’m worried about Daddy.’ Patricia’s voice was shrill above the noise.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘His housekeeper, Isabel, she phoned me this morning. Let’s go somewhere quieter.’ Patricia led her out into the courtyard, which seemed empty of sound after the vibrations of the spinning sheds.

  ‘Isabel said Anthony came to see Daddy last night, and they had some kind of argument, and Daddy was very upset afterwards. They were shouting about Jo, apparently, both very angry. And Anthony was drunk, surprise, surprise.’ She stared at her feet.

  ‘What were they saying about Jo?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I can’t think what she’d have to do with anything. And then after Anthony had gone. Daddy went up into the attic, all by himself, and started carrying stuff around, and then he was hanging paintings on the wall downstairs, and poor Isabel tried to stop him, she was frightened for him, she said, she thought he’d injure himself, but he wouldn’t listen, muttering things, she said.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘He was saying, “It’s what she’d have wanted.” He kept saying it, apparently. I wish she’d called me at the time. And now he’s vanished.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘She said his bed hadn’t been slept in. And she hasn’t seen him since last night. And the dogs have gone, apart from poor old Greer, of course. I could kill Anthony, it’s all his fault, wading in and upsetting an old man. When it’s me he should be angry with, I’m the one trying to override his claim to this place.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘I haven’t told him. I haven’t seen him, you see.’ She picked at a speck of fluff on her jacket. ‘After the police fiasco — he went. Don’t know where. Don’t care actually, although I suspect that blonde piece. And now upsetting Father ... ’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Bloody liability, that man,’ she muttered, fishing in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘Can’t think what possessed me to ... ’ She began to cry.

  ‘I’m afraid — ’ Agnes said. ‘I heard today that he’d been — ’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was defrauding the community centre. Billy Keenan gave me back all the papers that he’d stolen from Mark’s place.’

  ‘Well, that just proves it, doesn’t it? And the awful thing is, I had no idea. You see, he never used to be ... when I met him ... he was lovely. Really lovely ... ’ She sobbed into her handkerchief, and Agnes gently patted her shoulder.

  ‘Is it possible for you to take back his share of the mill?’

  ‘I’m trying to. It’s difficult, he’s named personally by Daddy. I’ve been on to Andrew about it, he’s seeing what he can do. But now I don’t know where Daddy’s got to, I’m so worried about him, and I’m furious with Anthony, it’s typical of that stupid bloody idiot that he should go upsetting Daddy at such an awful time ... ’

  ‘I could call on your father, if you like.’

  ‘Could you? That would be such a help. You could talk to Isabel, see if there’s any news.’

  ‘And you should phone the police and report your husband missing.’

  Patricia looked up. ‘I’m not sure I care enough about him to do that.’

  ‘Patricia — if he’s dangerous ... ?’

  ‘Do you think he is?’

  ‘I think he’s unstable, yes.’

  Patricia shrugged. ‘All right, then. As long as they promise not to return him to me when they do find him.’

  *

  Agnes tentatively pushed open the gate, bracing herself to be greeted by the dogs. There was silence. She went up to the front door and rang the heavy bell. There was no answer.

  Greer, she thought.

  She went round to the side door, and pushed it open, then crept inside. Sunlight fell in dusty parallels across the parquet floor. She heard a low growling, and saw Greer lift his head in his basket. ‘Greer ... ’ she whispered, going to him. She saw him twitch his nose, still growling at her unfamiliar presence. Gently she placed her hand on his head. ‘Greer ... ’

  What could an old, blind dog tell her? Greer grew quiet and settled back to doze, as if to point out to her the futility of her quest. She stood up, and realised that something about the hallway had changed. The plain wood panelling was hung with paintings. Two paintings. The still lifes from the attic, hung one either side of the fireplace.

  Agnes stared at the grapes and the lemons, so glowing with life that they seemed to light up their corner of the hall. Then she looked at the other painting, the rich velvet tablecloth, the clock, the book; the skull. There was something final about such a gesture; to hang these paintings in the hall, on the anniversary of his wife’s death — and then to disappear.

  Agnes hurried from the house, so gripped by anxiety that she ran down the drive, and almost gasped with shock when she saw someone standing at the gates, watching her, a tall figure with a long coat and tartan scarf. She hesitated, then turned towards him, but he fled. When she reached her car he was nowhere to be seen.

  She drove fast to James’s house. Finding no answer, she went straight to the Campbells’.

  Evelyn opened the door. ‘Agnes — what a lovely — oh, dear, are you all right?’

  ‘What is it?’ Agnes heard James’s voice. ‘You’re pale, what’s happened?’ She felt his arm around her, and turned towards him, feeling the rough wool of his sweater against her face.

  ‘Yes, I’m all right, it’s Baines, I’m very worried ... Pat
ricia said he’d vanished, Turnbull upset him last night, but he’s hung these paintings, it seems so symbolic, somehow, I’m sorry, I’m not making sense ... And then I saw this man and I’ve seen him before ... ’

  ‘We were just having lunch,’ Evelyn said. ‘Come and sit down, I’ll get you a drink.’

  *

  ‘So he’s really vanished?’ James said, laying a place for Agnes.

  ‘After Turnbull visited him, it seems. And the dogs aren’t there, apart from the old one.’

  ‘You must excuse Joss’s absence,’ Evelyn said. ‘We’re out of logs for the fire, he said he’d go and bargain with the Bradshaws, they’ve got loads.’

  ‘Poor William,’ James said. ‘He must feel everything’s gone wrong. He had a wife, three children, a mill — and now he’s lost it all.’

  ‘It’s a sign of the times, Jim.’ Evelyn smiled. ‘These huge family businesses only work when there’s an empire to support them, plenty of money swishing around. When times are hard they take everyone down with them. I’m speaking from experience, my grandfather used to have a farm machinery empire, sold tractors and things right across the world. That was in the days when you could, no competition, you see. Then we lost the colonies, the company lost its customers, couldn’t change its ways, couldn’t compete ... you should have seen the damage. Bankruptcies, marriages breaking up, inheritance squabbles ... My father was the wise one, he got out before the real ruin set in. Coffee?’ She smiled, and stood up.

  ‘No, allow me, I insist. I know your kitchen as if it was my own.’ James got up and left the room.

  ‘It’s funny — ’ Agnes started to say.

  ‘What?’ Evelyn sat down and emptied the last dribble from the wine bottle into her glass.

  ‘How those of us without families — well, speaking personally — what I mean is ... ’ Evelyn was looking at her kindly. ‘You see, living in community is so terribly difficult. I find it so, anyway. And sometimes I see people who live in families, and I think, it must be easier. Like my friend Nina, and Rosie, and Nina’s mum, they seem to get along OK. It appears so straightforward, in a family, doesn’t it, who belongs where, who owes what to whom ... ’ The words seemed to tumble from her mouth. ‘And then you encounter this, and you realise, it’s not straightforward at all, it’s just like any community. Or maybe it’s worse.’