Ill Will

by Michael Stewart

  ‘You certainly know your scripture,’ he said. ‘It’s good to talk to another man of the cloth.’

  I thought about Joseph again, Cathy, how we had made fun of him, but now he was serving me greatly.

  ‘I was like the rich young ruler, but I wanted to be Zacchaeus. God sent Annie to me to teach me the true meaning of love. He took her from me to teach me to be loyal and patient, to be humble and to possess humility. So that I will be rewarded in heaven when we are finally both united again.’

  How these religious zealots bored me, Cathy. Scratch away the brocade and gold leaf, and what we had before us was another Joseph, thinking only of how he might feather his nest in the next life.

  More cake arrived. Emily commenced to stuff her face, cream and jam and sugar smearing her cheeks; she washed it down with great gulps of sugary tea. I could get used to this, I thought, as I reached for another cake myself. This was only what I deserved. Hadn’t I suffered enough under Hindley’s boot? I pictured you with your feet under the Lintons’ table, already accustomed to drinking from fine bone-china cups.

  ‘All is good in God’s kingdom,’ I said. I didn’t even really know what I meant by that but it was the sort of nonsense men like Jonas lapped up.

  ‘Have you served the Lord long?’ he asked.

  ‘When our parents died, we were both so grief-distraught, June and I, that we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Nothing seemed to matter any more. Nothing made sense any more. I kept thinking about their life’s work, unfinished.’

  He nodded gravely.

  ‘And what was that work?’

  ‘God’s work, sir,’ Emily said.

  ‘The orphanage, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, they were raising money for the venture up until the evening of their death.’

  Mr Bold reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a gold chain, on the end of which was a locket. He opened the locket.

  ‘This is a lock of Annie’s hair. Her hair was like silk. It shone like a buttercup in the midday meadow. Just like yours, June. Here, look.’

  He beckoned Emily over to where he was sitting on the sofa and she sat down beside him. He held up the lock of hair to Emily’s head. In fact, it was a good deal darker than Emily’s, but I didn’t correct his error. He put the lock of hair back in its place and secreted the locket in his waistcoat.

  ‘Can I hold your hand?’ she said to Jonas.

  He held out his pudgy hand and she gripped it firmly. For a moment I thought she was going to do her trick and I tensed. Now wasn’t the time and we’d agreed that we needed a different game to fix Jonas.

  ‘Annie has been watching over you in heaven, as our parents have been watching over us. She sees you. She’s watching you now,’ Emily said.

  I looked at Jonas Bold. He was sitting forward on the edge of his seat, staring at Emily, transfixed.

  ‘I have tried to do as Annie would have me do, all this time since she passed over. I have persevered with many philanthropic endeavours since then. I want her to be proud of me. That’s why I set up the medical dispensary. It is only by helping those less fortunate than ourselves that we do good in God’s eyes. This is what my love hath taught me. I want now only to devote the rest of my life to doing charitable work. My days of greed and acquisition are over. I no longer serve Mammon, I serve only our Saviour, our Lord Jesus Christ. Whose love for us was so great that He died to save us from eternal damnation.’

  ‘And Jesus said that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. But you are a godly man, Jonas,’ I said. ‘And one day you and Annie will embrace once more. Then you will be united for eternity. You two will never part in heaven.’

  I looked at Jonas. There were tears rolling down his cheeks. We sat opposite and watched him weep. We’d been right about him. He was a soft touch.

  I stood up and went over to the window. I watched the wind shake the burnished leaves and the sparrows flit from one branch to another in search of insects. I saw a throstle on the lawn, digging for a worm. He dragged one out, as thick as a rope, and gobbled it down. We had our own juicy worm sitting right here, crying his eyes out.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ said Jonas, taking out a fogle and dabbing his eyes. ‘Terribly afraid.’

  ‘You have nothing to be afraid of,’ I said.

  ‘God loves all His children,’ Emily said.

  ‘Not this one.’

  ‘That’s silly talk,’ Emily said.

  ‘She’s right,’ I said.

  ‘I . . . you . . . I’ve done things.’

  ‘God forgives our sins, as long as we repent. And you have repented. Remember that God forgave those who gave their wealth away.’

  ‘My whole life now is an act of repenting. And yet, I’m afraid I do not have enough years left to repent sufficiently for the things I have done.’

  ‘God looks down and sees who you are now,’ I said.

  ‘You are good people,’ he said. ‘But you don’t know the magnitude of . . . Is God’s grace infinite, do you think? Does it know no bounds?’

  ‘Christ is a great saviour,’ Emily said.

  He dabbed at his eyes again with his fogle. He stuffed it back into his pocket.

  ‘I’m a rather fond old man. Forgive me . . . Do either of you need further refreshment?’

  ‘A cup of tea, please. Five sugars. And some more cake,’ Emily said.

  Jonas rang a bell and when the servant arrived he gave him the orders. Then he poured Emily another cup and sugared it using a silver spoon. He handed her the cup. She held it like a porridge pot and slurped greedily.

  ‘Do you require anything else?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘We three all know the pain of loss.’

  ‘Indeed we do,’ I said. ‘But we also know that we will be united with our loved ones for all eternity, when the time comes. When God chooses.’

  ‘But what of that other place?’ Jonas said, almost whispering. He looked frightened again.

  ‘It’s reserved for those who do not repent,’ I said. ‘Now, we have burdened you too long with our company and it’s time we were on our way, isn’t it, June?’

  Emily nodded.

  ‘Really? You must go so soon?’

  ‘It’s been a great pleasure. We are very grateful for your kindness.’

  ‘Please don’t go yet. There is more to discuss.’

  ‘I’m afraid we must.’

  ‘But you’ll come back?’ he said, desperation in his eyes.

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll have my driver take you both back into the village.’

  ‘Please, don’t trouble your driver, the day is fine and the walk will do us good. If God had wanted us to drive across the country instead of walk He would have fitted us with wheels not legs.’

  Jonas laughed. ‘In which case, let me give you something before you go.’

  He reached into his purse and pulled out three guineas.

  ‘This is too generous, sir.’

  ‘Buy some food for you and your sister. I won’t have you starve.’

  ‘God will provide,’ Emily said and nodded sagely.

  ‘Please, take it.’

  He pushed the guineas towards me.

  ‘We couldn’t possibly-’

  ‘I insist. Take them. It will make me happy.’

  I took hold of the coins and pocketed them.

  ‘You will come back next Sunday, won’t you?’

  I nodded. Emily nodded.

  ‘Please, I implore you.’

  Vying the Ruff

  We strid back over meadow and moor, dean and dale. We approached the edge of the forest. The leaves were already turning from green to gold and from gold to red. When we got back to our camp, I explained to Emily that we now had too much money to carry about our persons. My breeches weighed down like wet bags of sand. We dug a hiding place under the mantrap and buried a bag of coins. When we’d finished we sat back wi
th ferns as our cushion and rested.

  ‘We’re rich,’ I said.

  ‘Not rich enough,’ she said.

  ‘No, you’re right. Not rich enough to get the best education.’

  ‘We need to acquire a lot more. Legal training doesn’t come cheap.’

  ‘What do I need legal training for?’

  ‘To get what’s yours – why else would you need it? I’ve been thinking of the best way to get to Hindley, and that’s where it really hurts him.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Wuthering Heights.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘I’ve not worked that one out yet. But I’m thinking. And I need more for the shop. I don’t want some shithole. I want a proper counter and a big window. I want cloches and silver cutlery like Jonas Bold. We need to think about where you will go to get tutored.’

  ‘We’ve burned our bridges there,’ I said. ‘We can’t go back to Liverpool or Manchester town.’

  ‘True enough.’

  ‘In any case, I wouldn’t know who to ask, or even where to go.’

  ‘All good things to those who wait,’ Emily said. ‘For now we still have work here.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘You heard what he said. The old man is weak. His grief has weakened him further. His conscience is troubling him. Everything is set. He’s an easy target. He’s made himself fabulously rich by exploiting others. Now he has turned to God. And God hates greed but loves a sinner. All the old man wants now is to be reunited with the love of his life and reconcile his past with the Lord.’

  She was thinking along the same devious lines as myself.

  ‘Will we have time though,’ I said, ‘before word reaches Kirby?’

  ‘We only need one more week,’ she said. ‘If we vie the ruff properly, we can get at least half what is his. Then you can have his head on a pike.’

  Life in the forest was about death. Each place was a different grave. The forest floor itself was rich with decaying matter. The branches of trees breaking up and softening. Like bones turning into meal. The leaves that had turned copper and gold were falling slowly through the autumn air, making ghosts of themselves. The mushrooms were pecked and cratered by slugs and maggots. Everything was diminishing. Even the light, filtered through green and gold and copper tones, was an ageing version of itself. The forest smell sweetened and deepened. Time crept by slowly, at the pace of a snail. Summer’s heat was fading. We spent less time bathing in the pool and more time sitting by the fire. We played cards and gathered what food there was.

  I tried to keep my mind from dwelling on those who were actively pursuing us. Searching every street. Looking down every lane. Asking of our whereabouts in every alehouse. I hoped Emily was right. Kirby was a remote village, that was true, but word had travelled from Yorkshire to Lancashire, from Manchester to Liverpool. I tortured myself with thoughts of our capture, but banished the thoughts by concentrating on our card games. My game was improving and I was becoming a worthy opponent, winning as many games as I had previously lost. The nights were the hardest part.

  Emily’s nightmares were diminishing. She would still wake screaming from time to time, but I could usually soothe her and she would go back to sleep again. Then, with Emily sleeping beside me, I would spend hours unable to drift off, the night engulfing me. The blackness was all-encompassing. Whether you opened or closed your eyes it made no difference. Black or black. The colour of nothing. The deepest shade of the abyss. Black – the sky’s ink, thief of light. The mind abhors a vacuum and in the blackness horrid images filled my head. Of what the men had done. Of what pain my mother had suffered. To end her life in that way was such an act of desperation. I would hear a vixen scream but in my nightmares it was my mother, pleading for them to stop. Pleading for them not to take me. Pleading for them not to hurt her. I would hear an owl cry but in my nightmares it was my mother crying. Lost. Alone. Confused. Desperate. Around and around the images went. I would lie on my back and pray for daylight.

  Out foraging we came across a meadow of wild flowers that bloom into autumn: red campion, meadowsweet, harebell and marigold.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ Emily said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘What were Annie’s favourite flowers?’

  I smiled.

  ‘And what flowers bloomed the day after she died?’

  My smile widened.

  ‘We dig these marigolds up, roots and all, and we plant them in front of Jonas’s bedroom window, so that when he wakes and draws his curtains, they will be the first thing his eyes encounter.’

  I helped her dig them up, careful to retain their delicate root system. Then, under the cover of dusk, we walked with them to Bold Hall, climbed over the wall and crept beneath Mr Bold’s bedroom. We carefully planted the flowers. Dozens of them.

  ‘Let’s see what he thinks of that,’ Emily said.

  The following Sunday we found Jonas waiting for us outside the chapel. He was standing to the side of his coach. His big round face was cut in half by his smile when he saw us. We drove back to the estate. Jonas was in an excited condition and chattered away to both Emily and I about how our meeting last Sunday had inspired him. How his feet had barely touched the floor. How he had felt Annie’s presence in bed that evening, then again when he was out walking a day or two later, then again during the sermon. How fired up he had been in church, feeling that, through his words, he was receiving God, bringing his congregation directly in touch with divine love.

  ‘Then, a few days ago, the most extraordinary thing happened.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I said.

  ‘When I went to my window and opened the curtains, there before me, twenty, maybe thirty, maybe more . . . beautiful, large, rich yellow flowers.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘They were marigolds.’

  He paused and waited for us to respond. But we both knew it was better for him to lead.

  He smiled. ‘Don’t you see? They weren’t there the day before. It was Annie. She’d put them there. I know it.’

  We both nodded.

  ‘I had the most extraordinary sensation this morning,’ he said. ‘When I was washing my hands. I was standing over the washbowl, the soap in my grip, looking out of the window, watching Annie’s flowers sway in the breeze, like they were waving at me. And then I felt her presence in the room. The light from the sun was striking the taps, making them sparkle. It was then that I felt her warmth behind me, and then a sublime calm. I could hear her come closer, then her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t want to spoil the moment. I knew she would go as soon as I turned around. So I stood there in my nightshirt, with the dawn sun pouring through the window, feeling the warmth of her hand on my shoulder and her sweet breath on my neck. I barely dared breathe. I knew the spiritual connection was wavering, and then it was gone. It was all over. The bridge between our world and the life everlasting had evaporated.’

  Emily rolled her eyes behind the man’s back.

  ‘Then I turned around and do you know what I saw?’

  ‘No. What did you see?’

  ‘A single white feather, suspended in a sunbeam, floating down to the ground.’

  Emily shook her head.

  ‘Don’t you see? It was an angel. Annie’s angel. I’ve been giddy ever since. I feel like a boy again. Rejuvenated by Annie’s love. I tell you, it was like when we first met – I’ve got butterflies in my stomach and I can’t stop smiling.’

  He laughed a boyish laugh and patted his wig. Emily yawned. I mostly nodded and let him prattle on; it was all favourable to our plan. I looked over to Emily and winked at her.

  When we got to the house Jonas led us into the dining room and we saw that the table was replete with sandwiches, cold meats, cheeses, fruits and cakes. We ate several platefuls of grub, glugging it down with plenty of sweet tea. Then we went back to the parlour.

  We returned three days later on Jonas’s insistence. He wanted us to have a prope
r meal, he said. By now I was becoming ever more anxious. Time was ticking by and the risk of word spreading was increasing by the day. But Emily allayed my fears, reassuring me that it would all be worthwhile in the end. We were seated at the dining table and Bold’s servant filled our plates. This time there was roast widgeon with plum sauce. Afterwards we ate poached pears and peaches in syrup.

  Jonas wiped his chops with a napkin and turned to me.

  ‘Tell me more of your life as an orphan, Adam? I’m interested to know the details.’

  So I told him a tale. It was easy to elaborate, as I had lived the truth of the story. I just had to make up the names and the places. But the feelings were the same. Afterwards, I could see that Jonas was moved by my account. He nodded solemnly and was quiet, staring up at the painting of his beloved.

  As we set off back I turned to Emily. ‘I’m getting impatient. When do I get to put my hands round his throat?’

  ‘Not long now,’ she said. ‘You’ll see. What was he talking about as we were leaving?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘A piece of music. Said it was Annie’s favourite.’

  I tried to think.

  ‘He was talking about her playing it on the harpsichord. He used to listen to her play.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve had another idea?’

  ‘Come on,’ she said, and grabbed my sleeve.

  We doubled back. We climbed over the wall and crept to beneath the music room. I took out my knife and forced the latch open. I nudged the window enough for Emily to crawl in.

  The next time we visited, Jonas was in an ebullient mood once more. As the servant ladled out the soup, he told us of the latest development.

  ‘Annie has been here again,’ he said.

  ‘In what way?’ I asked.

  ‘When I went through to the main hall yesterday morning I noticed that the music book above the harpsichord was open.’

  ‘Is that so strange, sir?’

  ‘I distinctly remember closing it. But that’s not what is strange about this tale. I called one of the servants and I asked him whether he had opened it, perhaps when he was cleaning? He was adamant. The book had been closed. But now it was open. Not only that, it was open on page thirty-seven.’