Millie broke the silence. ‘It makes it better, doesn’t it, love?’ She was now quite near to Kitty, with Billy close behind. ‘It makes it better, if you’ve suffered, to pass it on. Look at David here, without his brother, living with a grief that’ll never go away. And look at you, living all your life with a mother who’d suffered as Esther did, look at how that’s written on your face. And your mother, barely out of her teens, a virgin, learning that everything that should be about love was about hate instead, and living out her marriage unable to forget. And look at my Ernest, at what he did, at how that’s brought us all here, just because he, too, thought that if you can pass your suffering on, it goes away. So he passed it on to Esther. And to me.’ She stopped, and Agnes saw her eyes filled with tears. ‘My Ernest saw things in the war, things he could hardly bring himself to tell me, the worst that men can be. He saw bloodied bits of body, they looked like meat, he said, until you recognised a bit of face and realised you were looking at one of your mates. He learned what it was like to feel a knife slip into live flesh, to see someone gasping their last at his feet — and now you know that too, Kitty. That’s what he passed on to you. And to me, he passed on all his fear and pain and anger, and he made sure I should feel it too.’ She was breathing with difficulty. ‘But you see,’ she went on, ‘he was wrong. If you pass suffering on, it doesn’t go away. And in the darkest nights, when he was still asleep but living out his terrors, he’d toss and turn, and cry out, like a child, like a young boy crying for his mother, and as the nightmare subsided, he’d be weeping, real tears, and I’d take him in my arms and rock him, and soothe him, and he’d hold me, and gradually he’d grow calm, and settle back to sleep. And I’d take his arms away from me, and lie down next to him, and know that next day he’d have shut it all away again, and he’d be back to being the monster that I had to call my husband. But I know that in those nights, those nights when he’d call out like a child, all I felt for him was pity.’ She stopped, her cheeks wet with tears.
Kitty’s eyes were strangely bright. ‘And do you expect me to pity him too?’ she said.
Millie looked at her calmly. ‘He ruined your life,’ she said. ‘It’s not for me to tell you.’
Kitty looked from one to the other. She seemed diminished, a tiny, stooping figure in the empty mill. She began to shiver, and hugged her arms around herself. She looked to Agnes, who stood, her hand on her phone; to David, who’d moved to stand next to his grandmother; to Millie, who leaned against her grandson, exhausted; to Billy, who took from his pocket a large, sharpened kitchen knife, held it out for all to see, then dropped it on the floor and put his foot down firmly on it, as the noise of police sirens broke the silence, and flashing blue lights cut through the night outside.
Billy shrugged. ‘I warned t’coppers. Told them this is where we’d be.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Bang on time.’
*
Kitty was strangely calm. The broken windows of the mill glinted with the headlight beams as she was helped into the waiting car. Agnes joined Billy in the next car, and Millie and David in a third, and they processed out of the millyard, leaving the mill in darkness once more.
‘Why did you turn her in?’ Agnes asked Billy.
‘Don’t rightly know. Seemed for the best. I’ve grown very fond of our Kitty. Known her all my life, she’s been good to me. Since her mum died, we’ve got closer, my mates rib me about it, older woman and that, in’t none of their business if you ask me. And then, t’other night, she told me, all about it. About Mark. Felt pretty bad about it then, as it were me who’d brought him there, not knowing what were goin’ on. I think she thought it made me part of it, you know, like she wanted me to tell her she was right. She hadn’t really taken in what she’d done. And Reg, she told me all about him, too. And I didn’t know what to do. In’t in my nature to turn someone over to t’coppers, but this were out of my league. And when she told me about her plans for David, I thought, better go along wi’ it, let t’coppers in on it too. She needs help, don’t she, I thought it the best way. Though, knowing this lot, they’ll try to pin it on me.’
‘I’ll vouch for you,’ Agnes said, seeing the two police officers exchange glances. ‘But they can still get you for arson.’
‘Oh, that.’
‘Yes. That.’
Billy grinned. ‘Sometimes I just feel like watching a nice fire.’
*
Once they’d been released from the police station, Agnes and David took Millie home. It was after midnight. They sat in front of her gas fire with mugs of tea. David looked up, as if he was about to speak, sighed, fell silent again. Eventually Millie said, ‘It’s funny how you can know something and not know it at the same time. If you’d asked me about poor Esther — if you’d asked me about that, all those years Ernest was alive, I’d have sworn blind I knew nothing about it. But then you came to me, and told me about Kitty. And when I put them lights on, and saw her, standing there in that mill tonight — I realised then that I knew it all the time. I knew what he’d done, him and the others. He never told me. I just knew it.’
David nodded.
Agnes sipped her tea. ‘Do you think Florence knows?’
Millie frowned. ‘I doubt it. But then again, perhaps, like me, she’ll find out she knew all along.’
‘And if she’d had children,’ David said, ‘or grandchildren — Kitty would have tried to kill them too.’ He shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe it. Mark — that she did that ... ’ he sighed, and Agnes saw that his hands were shaking.
‘We should get you back to Joanna,’ she said to him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘Sweetie, you’re not listening to a word I’ve been saying.’ Athena’s fork was poised at her lips and she stared accusingly at Agnes.
Agnes blinked. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I mean, just because you had to track down some batty old thing in a deserted coal mine — ’
‘ — woollen mill.’
‘Whatever. Anyway, that was two days ago, and she’s all locked up now, and your artist friend is safe, and happily reunited with his girlfriend, and there I was telling you something really interesting, and you weren’t even listening.’
‘I was. You went backstage at some pop concert — ’
‘Not backstage, sweetie, I went to the party afterwards, try and pay attention, Nic’s son is working for this lighting company, and he got me a pass, I’ve forgotten the name of the band, but do you know, I’m sure I saw George Harrison standing by the bar, I was wearing my cream suit, you know the one, with the black velvet collar — you’re still not listening, are you? And you haven’t touched your lasagne.’
‘No, I’m not very good company at the moment.’
‘Poor sweetie. You still haven’t decided, have you?’
‘I’m seeing James this evening.’
‘And what will you tell him?’
‘Probably, nothing. Again.’
*
She parked the car outside James’s cottage. There was the scent of spring in the freshness of the April evening. She looked at his house, and imagined it empty. The thought was unbearable.
James opened the door. ‘I heard your car.’
She smiled as he took her coat. ‘Athena says I must give you an answer.’
‘I like your friend Athena. And I’ve never even met her.’
They sat down to chicken casserole and salad. He poured her a glass of red wine. ‘I don’t quite know how to say this,’ he said suddenly, getting up again, ‘but I thought this might make it easier.’ He handed her what looked like a slip of paper, and then sat down again opposite her, watching her.
Agnes took the paper and realised as she looked at it that it was an airline ticket, destination Nice. She looked at the date. ‘But that’s only a week away,’ she said.
‘I just wanted you to have it. That way we don’t have to talk about it any more, you can just join me here in time to catch the plane — or even meet me at the
airport, if you like, it’s Manchester ... I didn’t want to make you miserable, putting pressure on you. I’ve paid for the ticket anyway, so it’s no problem ... what I mean is, oh God, this is more difficult, and I was trying to make it easier ... ’
Agnes got up and went over to him, and rested her hands on his shoulders. ‘You’re probably the most discreet and tactful person I know. James — I understand. I’ll let you know in good time, you won’t have to hang around at the airport waiting for me, I promise.’ She put the ticket in her pocket and sat down in her place.
He sipped his wine, and then put down his glass. ‘It’s a shame the Campbells aren’t here, they’re very fond of you.’
‘I like them too.’
‘And so close, aren’t they? Do you know what Joss said, the other day? He said that Evelyn had taught him what love really means. He said that once he thought he knew all above love, but it was only through her that he truly understood.’ James glanced up at Agnes and smiled. ‘Though he can’t expect us to know what he means, two steadfastly unmarried people like us, can he?’
Agnes met his eyes, which were bright with amusement. ‘But we do know what he means. It’s not just in marriage that you learn about faith, is it? Evelyn loves Joss unconditionally, even knowing what he is, what he’s done, and forgiving him, and loving him regardless — and from that he’s learnt too, that she’s the person he must be with.’
James was regarding her with a questioning look. ‘Perhaps you know my friends better than I do,’ he said.
Agnes hesitated. ‘Some things become clear, that’s all.’
*
It was late when she returned to her room, but she picked up her phone and dialled Julius’s number.
His voice was sleepy. ‘Only you would ring me at home at this time of night.’
‘I have to talk to you.’
‘Talk away.’
‘James has given me a plane ticket for a week’s time.’
‘Lucky you.’
‘Julius, please be helpful.’
‘I am being helpful. First you phone me yesterday with tales of murderous women trapped in deserted mills, then you phone me to say you’ve accepted this plane ticket. There’s nothing much I can say. If you’ve taken his ticket, then that’s all decided, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t be cross — ’
‘I’m not cross.’
‘Just because I’ve got a ticket doesn’t mean I’m going to go.’
‘Ah, so I’m not sacked yet.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘As your conscience. I’m still in a job, then.’
‘You know I value your opinion.’
‘You know what I think.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want this whole performance again? You phone me up to ask me what to do, because you want me to tell you not to go. So I tell you not to go. And a few days later we have to do it all again.’
Agnes went silent.
‘Agnes?’
She sighed. ‘The thing is — I can’t imagine not going. What if he dies while he’s away, without me? I’ll always regret it.’
‘This is between you and your God, Agnes.’
‘And what’s He going to say?’
‘You’ll have to ask Him. You see, it seems to me that all this is about faith. Deciding to stay may well make you miserable. But it’s in the decision itself, the act of commitment, that it will become the right thing to have done.’
‘It’s a big gamble.’
‘Yes, but look at the stakes.’
‘If you met James you’d understand.’
‘It’s just as well I haven’t, then. There’d be no one left to be your conscience.’
Agnes laughed. ‘Poor Julius. It’s a thankless task. Athena thinks I should go.’
‘She always gets the fun bit.’
Agnes heard him yawn. ‘Go back to bed,’ she said.
*
When she walked into Nina’s office next morning, Nina got up and gave her a hug.
‘I wondered how you were,’ she said. ‘Coffee?’
Agnes surveyed the office. ‘It looks different in here.’
‘Yes, I made a few changes.’ Nina found mugs and a jar of instant coffee. ‘As someone who’s on the board of the mill, I decided to arrange my office accordingly. No more personnel files, for example.’
‘You’re right, it’s much clearer.’
‘And I’m choosing some nicer furniture. Patricia’s going to have the office next door, we’re going to coordinate our colours.’
‘And the others?’
Nina handed her a mug of coffee. ‘What others?’
‘David? Jo? Marcus — aren’t they on the board too?’
‘Jo’s sticking with her decision not to take her share. David’s not interested, we’ve got to find a way to buy him out. Marcus — we don’t know. There’s a party at Baines’s on Saturday, you’re invited, we’re going to talk to him then.’
‘But — you mean, Marcus is going to visit his father?’
‘Yes.’ Nina frowned. ‘Any reason why not?’
‘Well — yes — I mean, no. I don’t suppose so.’
Nina stirred some sugar into her coffee. ‘I have to say, I was very glad when Jo and David bowed out gracefully. Too many artists around. We’d have the whole mill turned over to modern sculpture and Hockney, like everyone else around here. Terrible nuisance when you’ve got a business to run. I’ve got my eye on uniforms,’ Nina added.
‘Uniforms?’
‘Polyester suiting. Corporate identity, you see. All these banks, building societies, all those poor girls have to wear the same stuff. And it changes every year. It’s a huge market. All we have to do is the maroon with grey fleck this year, the grey with blue fleck next year — and all my sales team has to do is sell the stuff. And armies.’
‘Armies?’
‘Middle East, that’s the hottest area these days.’
‘Nina, you’re joking.’
‘Joking? No I’m not.’
‘But — armies?’
‘Chill out, Agnes, I’m only dressing them. I’ve never yet heard of anyone winning a war just because their army got the nattiest rig.’
‘Yes, but — ’
‘It’s trade, Agnes. Look at this area. Look at how it’s going down the tubes. What good is my conscience if it means my own next-door neighbour starves?’
Agnes stared at her.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘Well, um — yes. S’pose you are.’
‘Nina, how about those lovely maroon chairs — ’ Patricia came into the office clutching a catalogue, then stopped. ‘Agnes — how lovely to see you.’ She kissed her lightly on both cheeks. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you, but your school doesn’t seem to know where you are most of the time.’
‘No, I’m playing truant these days. But the girls are back next week, then I’ll have to show up.’
‘I wanted to invite you to Daddy’s on Saturday, about four, for tea, we don’t want Jo to get tired, just a nice restful do, maybe use the garden if this lovely weather lasts. Even Marcus is invited, although Jo saw him yesterday, and he was a bit upset.’
‘What about?’ Agnes looked up, her cup halfway to her lips.
‘Oh, something about an old letter that Daddy had given him, something from our mother. Anyway, can you bring Elias? I’d love to see him again.’
‘I’ll try. And, I wonder if I might suggest someone else you should invite?’
*
On Saturday afternoon, Agnes knocked at the door of Elias’s flat. He opened the door to her. He was wearing a white shirt that looked expensive, and a dark green silk tie.
‘Why are you laughing?’ he asked, going to get his coat.
‘I wasn’t laughing.’
‘You look just as silly.’
‘I don’t.’ Agnes glanced at her black jacket and trousers and cream silk shirt. ‘I look just right.’
/> ‘These are my best clothes.’
‘I’m just not used to it, that’s all.’
They went to the car. Agnes started the engine and pulled out on to the road. ‘Patricia will be glad about the weather,’ Agnes said. They drove away from the town, across the moors which were shot through with vivid green and gold in the afternoon sun.
*
The living room was transformed. Half the furniture had gone, and the floor was newly polished, the curtains drawn back. There were french windows open on to the garden.
The dogs ran back and forth effusively, and when they saw Elias they jumped up at him in delight.
‘Elias ... ’ Patricia came over and kissed him.
‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ he said.
‘I thought priests were supposed to tell the truth,’ Patricia laughed. ‘Joanna, Elias is here.’
Joanna was lying on a couch by the window. She was wearing a velvet turban and a deep blue dress. David was sitting by her. He stood up and came over to Elias and Agnes, and hugged them both.
‘Where’s your father?’ Agnes said to Joanna.
‘He’s out in the garden, under the apple tree. Some people arrived, I don’t know who they are.’
Agnes glanced towards the window. ‘They’re early,’ she said, walking past Joanna’s couch and out into the garden.
William Baines was staring at the ground, scuffing the sparse blades of grass with his foot. Next to him stood Joss, who had his arms clasped awkwardly behind his back.
‘ ... I gave him the letter,’ Agnes heard William say.
‘He — he knows?’
William nodded, and looked at Joss. ‘I respect ... You could have told him. You could have sought him out. You didn’t. I respect that.’
A Dark and Sinful Death Page 32
