A Dark and Sinful Death

by Alison Joseph

  ‘It was how she wanted it.’

  Agnes stayed in the shade of the house, wondering where Evelyn was, and James.

  ‘If you want me to go ... ’ Joss said, but William shook his head.

  ‘No, he’ll be here soon. With his wife. They have a baby now.’

  Joss stepped backwards, as if to catch his balance. ‘William, I insist, I shouldn’t be here, it’s not for me to intrude ... ’

  ‘She loved you.’ William nudged his toe against the roots of the tree. ‘She’d have wanted this.’

  ‘But you — it’s too much to ask of you — ’

  William looked up at him. ‘Some days ago — a lifetime ago — I held my daughter in my arms. I believed — I believed that she was dead. But she lived.’ He glanced back to the house, to where Joanna was laughing with Nina and Rosie, then looked at Joss. ‘I’ve learned that nothing is too much.’

  Joss extended his hand towards Baines, then let it fall at his side again. ‘William — she loved you. In the end, she chose you.’

  William looked at Joss for a long moment. Slowly he nodded. ‘Perhaps.’

  Evelyn appeared from the rose garden, arm in arm with James. James saw Agnes and smiled at her. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, loudly, ‘I see that champagne is being served indoors.’ William stared at him unseeing, then blinked, smiled, turned back to Joss, and led the way back into the house. Joss went to Evelyn and took her hand.

  *

  The words on her plane ticket seemed to sparkle in the light of the Anglepoise lamp. Destination, Nice. Agnes stared at it for a while. Then she pulled her dressing gown around her and knelt in prayer. She found her mind was buzzing with images from the afternoon, a series of tiny dramas unfolding before her: Marcus arriving at his family home, his car drawing up outside, the car door slowly opening as he got out. Elias standing there, waiting on the drive; the two men walking towards each other, then stumbling into each other’s arms, laughing, patting each other on the back in a vague and awkward way.

  She saw Marcus’s wife Rachel, elegant in a long linen dress, carrying baby Imogen, being greeted by William, shaking hands with Joss and Evelyn. She saw Rosie, delighted at being allowed to carry Imogen around, proudly showing her to Nina like a new doll. She recalled Joss and Marcus catching sight of each other as Marcus came into the room, the dogs at his feet capering with glee, and how Joss and Marcus had stopped still, and even the dogs had paused a moment in their frantic delight, and had looked from one man to the other, sharing in their moment of recognition.

  Perhaps they’d found time alone together, Joss and Marcus, Agnes thought, trying to gather together some words of prayer. She smiled, remembering Rosie’s tantrum when they’d caught her attempting to give Imogen a ride on one of the dogs. ‘But she likes it,’ Rosie had wailed, ‘Baby wants a go on the doggie ... ’

  Agnes concentrated on her breathing and quietened her mind. She remembered what Julius had said about bringing her dilemma to God. She summoned up an image of her future life, of years spent in the service of the order. She thought about James, at the ending of his life, needing her to be there for him. The ending of his life, she thought. It seemed so final.

  An image flashed across her mind, the most enduring image of the afternoon; of the french windows, the velvet curtains dappled with the last of the sunlight; of Evelyn, standing by the window, holding Imogen in her arms and gazing at her in wonderment.

  *

  ‘What do you mean, riding?’ Agnes stood in her dressing gown, yawning. ‘You woke me to suggest that I go riding? When?’

  ‘Today. Now.’ Elias was smiling at her, leaning on the door frame of her room.

  ‘What are we riding?’

  ‘Horses.’

  ‘Very funny. Whose?’

  ‘A friend of Marcus’s.’

  ‘Marcus? We’re riding with him?’

  ‘Any objection?’

  ‘I haven’t been anywhere near a horse for several months. I’m bound to fall off.’

  ‘No you won’t. A gentle canter across the moor, it’ll be fun.’

  ‘I’ve had no breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll make you some toast.’

  ‘It’s raining.’

  ‘You like the rain.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to wear.’

  ‘Here you are.’ Elias thrust a large plastic carrier bag into her hands. ‘It’s Jo’s stuff, jodhpurs and boots.’

  ‘They won’t fit. And my shoe size is a seven.’

  ‘So is hers. Try them on.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  *

  Agnes pushed her horse on, racing ahead of the others. The misty rain against her face made her want to laugh with joy. She slowed her pace, settling into a steady trot to allow the others to catch up with her.

  ‘And this was the woman who claimed she’d fall off.’ Elias laughed.

  ‘You ride well,’ Marcus said.

  ‘Thank you. I’m not as good as I was.’

  The grassland sloped down steeply towards a small wood, and their horses slowed to a walk to negotiate it.

  ‘I can’t take it all in,’ Marcus said, as if continuing a conversation with Elias. ‘Last night, all I could think was that Imogen has got three grandfathers. And what’s so weird, is that if all this hadn’t happened with Jo, and Turnbull — if Dad hadn’t handed over the mill — none of it would have come out, not for years.’ A low branch brushed against Marcus’s face, scattering raindrops.

  ‘I was thinking,’ Elias said. ‘About Joanna.’

  ‘She was theirs,’ Marcus said. ‘She was their reunion. I always felt she was most loved of us all, when I was little. I always felt I didn’t belong.’

  ‘So did I — ’ Agnes began.

  ‘And me,’ Elias said, and they all laughed, as their horses emerged from the wood on to a fiat plain.

  ‘Did your mother’s letter explain why she fell in love with Joss?’ Agnes asked.

  ‘No. She said she wouldn’t try and justify herself. She asked me not to judge anyone harshly.’

  ‘I suppose if your father forgave her,’ Elias said, ‘it’s not for anyone else to judge her.’

  They gathered speed into a fast canter across a field, and Agnes realised they had come out by the dry stone wall before Laithe’s Hollow. Elias had come to a halt, staring into the distance.

  ‘We can take the upper path here,’ Marcus said, ‘and go back the way we came.’

  Elias shook his head. ‘Let’s go across the Hollow.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ Marcus flashed him a look.

  They walked round by the gate, and skirted the Hollow. A damp mist clung in the air, although the rain had eased. A bird’s cry sounded through the soft silence, and looking up, Agnes saw two peregrine falcons, circling above the horses as they crossed the long grass. Then they’d left the Hollow behind them, returning to the flatter reaches of the moor. Beneath them the town was a misty blur, etched in peaks of purple and grey.

  ‘Some stories don’t start where you think they should,’ Marcus said, suddenly. ‘They always go back further than you realise. Like Joss being my father.’

  ‘Or like Kate,’ Elias said, quietly.

  Marcus glanced at him.

  ‘And — ’ Elias went on, ‘it’s never just one story. I mean, it always turns out there’s several stories, all intertwined.’ He raised his eyes to meet Marcus’s gaze.

  Marcus smiled. ‘That’s life, isn’t it?’

  The sun broke through the clouds, and Elias squinted up at it. He turned his horse and broke into a fast canter, jumping the fence ahead, racing away across the field beyond. Marcus turned to Agnes, laughing. ‘We’re not letting him get away with that.’

  Agnes leaned over her horse’s neck as they sailed over the fence. She felt lighter than air.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘All I seem to have done today,’ Teresa said, sitting down in the staff room with a cup of coffee, ‘is wipe people’s tears. All these g
oodbyes, all these endless boxes of tissues ... ’

  ‘They’re bound to be a bit bereft at the start of term,’ Colin Furse said. ‘They’re only little.’

  ‘No, I meant the parents. Poor things, sobbing their hearts out. The girls don’t seem to mind at all.’

  ‘Is Charlotte back yet?’ Agnes took a Bourbon biscuit from the packet on the table.

  ‘Yes, about half an hour ago.’

  ‘And Rachel Swann?’

  ‘Yes, she came with the first train load.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Who can tell? She smiled at me, at least.’

  ‘And Leonora?’

  Teresa checked her clipboard. ‘No, not yet.’ She looked up at Agnes. ‘Shall we panic now or later?’

  Agnes smiled. ‘I’ve got a meeting with Sister Philomena this morning. I’ll panic after that.’

  *

  At lunchtime Agnes avoided the canteen and went to her room, negotiating the corridors which were full of boxes and trunks and suitcases. She took down the photo of herself, with her hair tied back at the neck, the air of sullenness accentuated by the shades of black and white. She sat by the window, staring at her image. There was a knock at the door. Reluctantly she stood up and opened it. Elias was there, holding something large and rectangular wrapped in brown paper.

  ‘I’ve brought you a present,’ he said, coming into her room, then glanced at her. ‘You’ve been crying.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘You saw Philomena,’ he said.

  Agnes nodded.

  ‘Decision time?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘This had better be a going-away present,’ he said. She was about to interrupt to explain, but he added, ‘Or a staying-put present. Whichever is most appropriate. Here.’

  She got up and went over to it, where he’d leaned it against her desk. She unwrapped the paper.

  ‘It’s one of Joanna’s,’ Elias said. ‘A new one. Still roses, of course, some things don’t change. And candles. But no skulls.’

  Agnes saw a blaze of glowing colour, of crimson flowers, of oranges in a bowl, a candle at their side, its melted wax falling in white curves against the terracotta candlestick.

  ‘No clock either,’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is it really for me?’

  ‘I thought it was the best way of saying goodbye.’

  ‘If only the answer was in this painting.’

  ‘Perhaps it is.’ Elias hugged her, and then was gone.

  *

  Nina was standing in her office, smart in high heels, flicking through a computer print-out. She looked up. ‘Agnes, how nice — are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  Nina was looking at her hard. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Agnes sat down in a new maroon chair and swivelled to and fro.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  There was a loud swishing noise, and Agnes looked up, startled.

  ‘My new machine,’ Nina said. ‘Real ground coffee. I’m thinking of getting that bit you can add on that does frothy milk, what do you think?’

  ‘I think that would be lovely. Listen, I just came to — to say goodbye.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Away.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘I’m — I’m not sure.’

  ‘Agnes — is something wrong?’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. It’s — um — it’s fine.’

  ‘Good.’ Nina placed a cup of fragrant fresh coffee in front of her. ‘As long as you’re sure.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Nina — would it be all right if I phoned a taxi?’

  ‘Of course. Where’s the car?’

  ‘I’ve — I’ve left it at the school. It’s not mine to use any more.’

  *

  When the cab arrived, Agnes got up to leave, and Nina hugged her. ‘Don’t forget to write.’

  ‘I’ll send you postcards, to the Managing Director, Warburton Mills Inc.’

  ‘Sounds about right,’ Nina laughed.

  *

  She got out of the car at James’s cottage. As the taxi drove away, she was aware of a silence, an emptiness about the house. She rang the bell, but no one came to the door. She walked round the house, to the back door, and tried it. It opened.

  ‘James?’ she called. The house seemed to echo, as if it had already become a blank space ready for the next occupants.

  She wondered whether to check the date on her ticket, wondered whether perhaps he’d gone without her. She walked into the lounge, thinking of going straight to the airport, but then realised he was there, asleep in an armchair.

  ‘James!’ she said, overwhelmed with relief. She reached out and touched his hand. Slowly she took her hand away. She took a step backwards to a chair and sat down, still gazing at him. His posture was peaceful, his head leaning against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. In front of him stood the clock that he’d been so determined she return to her mother. Next to it was a mug of coffee, half drunk, and a plate with an apple on it, untouched. A bone-handled knife lay across the plate. The clock had stopped.

  Still life, Agnes thought. Nature Morte.

  *

  Eventually there had been the flurry of activity to deal with, the fluttering hordes of officialdom that always surround a corpse. First she’d called the Campbells, who’d called Isabel, who’d called James’s GP, who’d called the coroner, who’d sent the police.

  ‘When did you find the body?’ someone asked Agnes.

  ‘Some time this afternoon. About one o’clock, I think.’

  ‘But it’s nearly five now.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What happened in between?’

  Agnes tried to speak, fell silent. It was impossible to describe the eternity of the afternoon, the peace of the hours she had spent with James, just sitting, listening to the stillness in the room, sensing his departing presence, his farewell. ‘I had to say goodbye,’ she said.

  *

  Now she walked towards the gates of the school. The last of the sun dusted the chestnut trees with pink against the blue of the sky. She could see a figure sitting on the high wall by the gates. As she got nearer, she could see the hair tied back at the neck, the huge suitcase at her feet. ‘You came back, then,’ Agnes said.

  Leonora nodded. ‘You too?’

  ‘Me too.’

  Leonora jumped down. She looked at the tears that welled in Agnes’s eyes, but said nothing. She picked up her suitcase in one hand, took Agnes’s arm in the other, and they began to walk up the drive.

  ‘Too late in the day, you see,’ Leonora said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For running away.’

  Agnes nodded. The birds in the trees called to each other in the gathering dusk.

  ‘Elias will laugh,’ Agnes said.

  ‘Makes a change.’

  They strolled towards the school. Leonora stopped to rest her bag. She looked up at the sky. ‘Tomorrow, maybe,’ she said. ‘It’ll be a fine day tomorrow. We won’t take much, just what we need.’

  ‘Just a small suitcase each.’

  They reached the steps. Leonora tightened her grip on Agnes’s arm as the front door slowly closed behind them.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Craven Yarn Services of Keighley, and the sister, staff and pupils of New Hall School in Chelmsford, and St Mary’s School in Shaftesbury. I would also like to thank Cllr Irene Ellison-Wood and Cath Rowen of Keighley. Lastly, I wish to thank Mike Fieldon of the Leeds Probation Service, and PC Cliff Ashton of West Yorkshire Police.

 

 

 
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