A Dark and Sinful Death

by Alison Joseph

  ‘A mother?’

  Lianna shook her head. ‘If I ran to her, she’d kick me out soon as look at me.’

  Agnes looked at the street which stretched away into the distance. She imagined Lianna walking along it, suitcase in hand, nowhere to go.

  Lianna squeezed her arm and smiled. ‘I’ll be all right.’

  *

  Agnes walked slowly back to her car. In the car she phoned Jo again.

  ‘Oh, Agnes, didn’t David phone you? I gave him your message, he said he would. He’s at his granny’s.’

  ‘His granny’s?’

  ‘She wanted to see him.’

  ‘Millie?’

  ‘That’s right, he’s there.’

  Agnes drove fast to Myddleton Terrace and parked on the corner. She knocked at Millie’s door. David opened door and let her in.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It was dark by the time she reached James’s house that evening.

  ‘Happy Easter,’ he said. ‘You look terrible.’ He ushered her into the house. ‘You look as if you haven’t slept for days.’

  ‘I was out on the moor again last night,’ she said, allowing him to take her coat. ‘And then Billy Keenan torched the estate, and then Turnbull came out of hiding and gave himself up.’ James was looking at her with an expression of concern. ‘And I had to talk to an old lady about her memories. I’ve just come from there.’

  ‘Surely this old lady’s memories aren’t that urgent?’

  ‘I’m afraid they’re very important indeed.’

  ‘You ought to go home and rest.’

  ‘And I wanted to see Evelyn.’

  ‘Evelyn?’

  Agnes nodded.

  ‘She’s here. We’re discussing possible tenants for this house.’ He looked suddenly weary.

  She touched his arm. ‘I’m nearly ready to decide,’ she said. He turned and she followed him into the lounge.

  Later, when Evelyn went to wash up, Agnes joined her.

  ‘It’s a sad business, James packing up his house,’ Evelyn said. ‘I just hope he has time to enjoy his travelling.’

  Agnes took a tea-towel and began to dry the dishes. ‘So do I,’ she said, but her voice came out as a whisper, and Evelyn glanced at her. From the next room came the sound of Joss’s booming laughter, and they both smiled at each other. ‘I wanted to ask you — ’ Agnes said after a moment.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know how to say this. Marcus — Baines’s son — we talked all night, up on the moor.’ Evelyn put a glass down on the draining board and fiddled with it. ‘He said there was a letter,’ Agnes went on. ‘From his mother — to him, his father wouldn’t let him see it, that’s why they fell out, when Hannah died ... ’ Evelyn was now looking at her directly, her gaze level. ‘And I had to know - I realised — there was something about Joss, the way you are together, it just struck me — ’ Agnes saw Evelyn working to control her feelings, and she stopped. ‘I’m sorry, this is impertinent, I shouldn’t have raised the subject.’

  ‘No, go on,’ Evelyn said, her voice calm.

  ‘I thought you might know what was in the letter.’

  Evelyn turned to the sink. She carefully washed another glass and placed it on the draining rack. ‘The letter,’ she said, softly, ‘is what you think it is.’

  *

  On the morning of Easter Monday, Agnes sat in chapel, wondering at the change in Elias. He read the service with a clear voice that resounded through the chapel, and, rather than hide behind his chair, he stood upright, surveying the small congregation with visible good humour. Afterwards he caught up with her as she left the chapel.

  ‘You look tired,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t do, I slept for about ten hours last night.’

  ‘I thought I’d visit Jo in hospital this afternoon, do you want to come too?’

  ‘I’ve got to be somewhere quite important this evening.’

  ‘We’ll be back in time for chapel.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘You can give me a lift.’

  ‘There’s always an ulterior motive with you.’

  ‘I was quite growing to like you, don’t spoil it now,’ Elias said, laughing.

  In the car he turned to her. ‘I hope you’re going to stay at the school next year,’ he said, suddenly.

  ‘That’s up to the order,’ Agnes said.

  ‘I’m not sure it is,’ he said. ‘I thought, perhaps, you were considering leaving.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Something Philomena said.’

  ‘So now everyone knows that I’m feckless and disobedient?’

  ‘It was nicer than that. She’s quite concerned about you.’

  ‘The thing is, Elias, God has seen fit to present me with a choice. I can either stay put. Or I can join an old friend of mine, who I’ve known since I was child, and help him to live out his last months in happiness, at the same time tying up some loose ends about my own life that badly need tying up. And having some fun in the process.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’ She turned on to the ring road towards Bradford.

  ‘It’s a lot to throw away, to give up this life,’ Elias said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Just for a short-term decision.’

  ‘But what is life for? What if I say no, and then regret it, and stay here and fester away in the order?’

  ‘Maybe it’s not festering; maybe it’s learning to live free of the demands of the self. You see, if you learn to relinquish the self, you allow yourself to develop as God wants.’

  ‘And is holing myself up here against my will really relinquishing the self?’

  ‘All I mean is, life becomes clearer if we live with a sense that it could be taken from us tomorrow.’

  ‘But then that’s all the more reason to live. Why die in advance of death? Why not live first, as God has granted you life? It’s like those paintings, Elias, the Still Lifes. They’re the celebration of the material world, of God’s creation.’

  ‘But that’s why there’s the skull, the clock, to remind you that it’s illusory, that it will pass.’

  ‘Of course it will pass; but the objects in the paintings are here and now, aren’t they? They’re saying WE ARE. I AM. While we’re on this earth, we should be joyful to be here. If I turn away from James, then I’m denying life.’

  ‘If you accept this trip, you’re denying faith.’

  Agnes frowned as she thought about this. ‘But if that’s the case, then my faith becomes something empty, doesn’t it? No longer a dialogue with a living God, just a set of rules.’

  ‘I’m not sure I have a dialogue with God.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ They turned into the hospital driveway, and she smiled at him. ‘It must be very difficult to communicate with the space between atoms.’

  *

  They passed along white corridors, following a series of signs, and at last came to Joanna’s ward. She was sitting up in bed, her head bandaged, her eyes still swollen and bruised, but her expression when she saw them was cheerful.

  ‘How nice of you to come,’ she said, as they pulled up a chair each. ‘You’re looking very well, Elias.’

  ‘It must be Easter,’ he said. ‘The renewal of the spirit. There’s no need to look quite so sceptical,’ he added, as Joanna smiled.

  ‘And I gather my awful brother-in-law gave himself up.’ She turned to Agnes.

  ‘Yes.’

  Jo shuddered. ‘Even if he didn’t kill the others, I’m going to make sure he serves time for nearly killing me.’

  ‘You’ll have to be a witness. You’ll have to re-live it.’

  ‘I re-live it all the time. Flashbacks. They tell me they go after a while. When I go to sleep it’s worst.’ She sipped at her glass of water. ‘It’s Patricia I feel sorry for. She was here earlier. All her hopes and dreams, just shattered.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s thr
own herself into looking after Daddy and salvaging the mill from Turnbull’s mess. She wants to talk to Marcus — ’ she stopped and glanced at Elias.

  ‘I thought — ’ Agnes began, ‘I thought he was disinherited.’

  ‘Daddy might change his mind, she thinks.’

  Elias cleared his throat. ‘How is Marcus?’

  ‘He’s fine. He came to see me yesterday, with Rachel and the baby. Imogen. She’s lovely, very sweet.’ She looked across to Elias and briefly touched his arm.

  ‘And where’s David?’

  ‘Oh, around. He’s got some meeting this evening, about his work. Seems rather preoccupied. God knows where it is. He said something about going to see an art dealer in some old mill the other side of town.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll find it.’

  Joanna looked at Agnes in surprise. ‘Are you going too?’

  ‘Um, yes, I am.’

  ‘Good. Look after him, it all sounds rather dodgy to me.’

  *

  Agnes drove Elias back to the school in time for the evening office, and then sat in the canteen with Sister Teresa over a plate of macaroni cheese.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Teresa asked her. ‘You keep looking at your watch.’

  ‘Oh — yes, fine, thanks. Got to be somewhere quite soon.’

  ‘And you’ve left half your supper.’

  ‘I’m not hungry at the moment.’

  ‘It’s like flu, it really is.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Anorexia.’

  Agnes laughed. ‘I’ve been neurotic for many years and I’ve never lost my appetite over it. I don’t intend to start now.’

  *

  At seven o’clock Agnes parked the convent car outside Millie Coulter’s house. She knocked on the door and Millie let her in.

  ‘David’s on his way,’ Millie said, ‘he just phoned.’ She had the same angular face as David, the same bright eyes. She was wearing a smart red suit, which looked odd in the everyday comfort of her home. She showed Agnes into the front room. It was similar to Florence’s, except it had a beige-tiled gas fireplace instead of a Victorian one. The two women stood in the room, both too nervous to sit down. There was a knock at the door, and then David came in. He looked pale. He smiled briefly at Agnes, and then said, ‘Let’s go, shall we?’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Agnes asked him.

  He nodded.

  ‘We should call the police first,’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘I want to know. I want to hear what happened. I must know.’

  Millie looked at Agnes. ‘It’s up to him, isn’t it? Let’s go.’

  *

  They left the estate, and drove out of the town along the valley. They could see the chimney of Allbright’s Mill receding in the distance, the lights of the town blinking beneath it. They reached the river, drove a little way along a private road, then parked. They were at a mill. Above them towered a huge old chimney, and beyond that they could see the ragged spokes of the old water wheel, still hanging on to the side of the building above the river.

  There was no lighting. The mill seemed derelict, its vast emptiness and broken windows telling a familiar story of decline and bankruptcy.

  ‘Are you sure it was here?’ Millie whispered.

  David nodded. He went up to a door, a huge chunk of oak in the side of the building, and pushed at it. It opened.

  They were in pitch darkness. The windows were dark grey squares, receding away from them into the blackness. Agnes realised they were in the main weaving shed. They stood, straining their eyes to see. Agnes put her hand on the phone in her pocket. In the silence she could hear the sound of water dripping.

  David moved forward, and his footstep echoed in the cavernous space. Nothing happened. They waited.

  ‘What now?’ Millie whispered.

  Agnes felt her skin tighten at the thought that they’d walked straight into a trap. She wished she’d argued David out of doing it this way.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered back.

  Then there was a sound. A creak of a door, at the far end of the mill floor. A strip of light appeared, so tiny it seemed to be miles away, then vanished again. Someone must have come through the other door.

  ‘So you’re here, then, David Snaith.’ It was a woman’s voice, faint, but resonating in the emptiness.

  David took a few steps towards the voice. ‘I’m here,’ he said.

  ‘And what’s it like, not to be able to see?’ The voice seemed nearer. ‘Because that’s what it was like for Mark, before he died. And for Reg. And that’s how it will be for you.’

  David stopped, and Agnes was aware of his tension. ‘So it was you,’ he said at last.

  ‘It was me,’ the voice said.

  ‘You killed my brother,’ David said, his voice betraying a tidal wave of pain and anger. Agnes touched his sleeve, fearful that he might try to attack, but he stayed where he was, his fists clenched at his side. Millie had stepped back into the shadows.

  ‘Why?’ David called. ‘Why did you kill Mark? What had he ever done to you? Who are you?’

  ‘It’s what Mother wanted,’ she said.

  ‘Who the hell was Mother?’

  ‘You know the photo. I gave it to you.’

  ‘The — the athletics team?’

  ‘You were the last. I knew what she meant, she didn’t have to tell me.’

  ‘But — Mark — ’

  ‘You were the only ones left, you boys and Reg. Ernest had gone, Ray had gone. No children, you see.’ The voice wavered slightly. ‘Only you. You boys. The line, it had to be ended.’

  ‘Because — because of my grandfather? But — ’

  ‘I promised her. After she died ... I promised.’

  Agnes was aware of movement, a hint of cold air, as someone moved through the mill from behind them.

  ‘Her life was ruined,’ the voice was saying, ‘Father could never forgive her, even though she was innocent, even though it was all the fault of those bastard so-called — ’

  ‘Heroes?’ Millie’s voice rang through the mill, and suddenly all the lights came on. Millie was standing by the door, her hand on the mains switch. David was standing some feet in front. Beyond him, a long way away at the other end of the mill, stood the diminutive figure of Kitty Hanson. Agnes turned to see Billy Keenan, who’d appeared next to David, and who now looked from Agnes to Millie, trying to hide his surprise behind a look of cool amusement. He had one hand in his pocket, and Agnes realised he must be armed.

  ‘Is that what you were going to say?’ Millie walked towards Kitty. ‘That my old man was a hero, along with Reg and Ray? A war hero, returning to the mill in glory, full of tales of bravery?’

  Kitty stared at Millie open-mouthed.

  ‘Or,’ Millie went on, ‘or were you going to say that my husband raped your mother? Just because she had what folk said was a German name? So he raped her, with his two best mates, in the jungle-crazed twilight world that they shared. Is that what you were going to say? Go on, then, say it. Tell us all about it. God knows I know enough of that man’s brutality to last the rest of my life. But go on, we’re here to listen.’

  Kitty was standing quite still, looking from Millie to David to Agnes, blinking.

  ‘Because if you’re not going to, I will.’ Millie took a few more steps towards Kitty. Billy hovered behind her, uncertain, his hand still in his pocket. ‘I’ll tell you,’ Millie went on, ‘what it was like living with a war hero, because I lived it, day after day after day. Those lads went off to war, three cheerful boys, and came back as three battle-scarred, half-insane, brutalised men.’

  Kitty was breathing hard. She spoke with difficulty. ‘Afterwards, Mother had to see them every day, she had to work next to them, after the — after it happened. At first they were off work for months, and she could forget, for a while. But then they were allowed back, no blame, no fingers pointed at them, to say what they’d done, what terrible terrible thing they’d done.
The fingers pointed at Mother instead, because she was the woman, and the eyes, staring, everywhere she went, the eyes looking at her, saying, she’s the one, she’s the one they ... ’ Kitty stopped, gulping air. ‘All the rest of the time in the mill, she had to see those men, watching her, looking at her, knowing what they knew of her. It destroyed her, those eyes on her. It destroyed us all.’

  ‘But why make Mark pay?’ David said. ‘Why make us pay?’

  ‘Because I paid. I paid a hundred times over. And my mother, God rest her soul, paid a thousand times over, ten thousand times over, re-living what your grandfather and Reg and Ray did to her, having to see them in the mill, day in, day out. There was no justice, not in them days. No tribunals, nothing. She spent the rest of her life, knowing what they knew, watching them watching her. Sordid, shabby, dirty, bastards.’ She paused for breath. Her face was pinched, expressionless. ‘After her death, I didn’t know what to do. And I was going through her things, and I found that photo. With those marks. And then I knew what I must do, I knew what Mother was trying to tell me I must do. Reg, I wanted him to be first, but then I heard about Mark and those birds, up at Morton’s Crag and I realised it would be easy, up there. And I read about it, and pretended to be from that society, the bird one, and phoned him up, and warned him that his birds were in danger. And then I waited up on the moors. And then Billy here gave him a lift. It was easy. Reg was easy too, because he knew me. You were more of a problem, particularly once the police started their hullabaloo about it all. And then you were never alone. I got Billy to phone you about your paintings.’

  Billy shifted uneasily on his feet.

  ‘How did you do it?’ David’s voice was clear. ‘And why — and how — his eyes — ’

  Kitty smiled. ‘I was alone. Billy was nowt to do with it, were you, love? He was just the driver, he didn’t know what I was going to do. He just dropped him off. Then I came up behind him, I knew where he’d be, there’s a place that’s just right for looking at the birds, and I knew he’d go there, and once he was there, kind of wedged against the rock, I came up behind him with my rope, and a knife ... took him by surprise, you see.’ Her fingers made little jabbing movements in the palm of her hand. ‘And all the time I was thinking of Ernest, and Ray, and Reg, and what they did to Mother, they shut her in a storeroom one day, it had been building up for months, the taunts, the jeers, and she ignored it, and they got worse and worse, that’s what she told me, and then one day they shut her in, and they took turns, she told me all about it when she was dying, she hadn’t told a soul, she’d lived with the whispers all her life. Dad didn’t want to know, she had to tell someone, didn’t she?’ Two spots of colour had appeared on Kitty’s cheeks. ‘It ruined her life,’ she said.