A Daughter's Dream

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘I don’t need a doctor. I just need someone to be with me.’

  ‘I’m not going to desert you. You can’t stay here alone. I’m going to telephone my aunt and ask if I can take you there.’

  ‘She hates my father,’ Mary said. ‘I can’t go there.’

  ‘Let me think about it for a while. I’m going down to make you a cup of tea. I wouldn’t mind one myself.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t thinking about you. You cared about Paul too, didn’t you?’

  ‘Not in the way you did. He was a friend, a special friend, nothing more, Mary.’

  ‘You won’t leave me here?’

  ‘No, I shan’t do that.’

  I went downstairs, finding my way to the kitchen after some trial and error. At least in the kitchen there was a semblance of order, and I thought that perhaps Paul had taken care of things while he …

  A wave of grief swept over me as I felt the shock and pain of loss all over again. I had loved Paul, more than I had realized at the time. It was not the nice, safe, conventional feeling I had for Matthew, but I knew that it existed. The ache in my heart was almost more than I could bear.

  Tears filled my eyes and spilled over, and for a few minutes I sat at the kitchen table and sobbed, but then I pulled myself together. This was doing no good. Besides, I didn’t want to stay in this house a moment longer than necessary.

  As I made the tea and carried a tray upstairs I realized that the dogs had stopped howling. Had someone fed them? Perhaps a man came into do so each day without Mary knowing. She had never taken much notice of them. They had certainly gone quiet, which was a relief. Like Mary, I was frightened of the dogs.

  I went into Mary’s room and, seeing that she had fallen asleep, I smiled. I put a cup of tea on the chest by her bed in case she woke up and went out, taking my own tea downstairs to the small sitting room we had used on the two occasions I had come to the house.

  I drank my tea and then sat thinking for a long time. What was I going to do about Mary? She couldn’t stay here. The house was too big and I knew how she must feel about being here alone. But would Lainie accept her? I looked at the clock. It was nearly five o’clock. Lainie would be wondering where I was. I ought to telephone her.

  I got up and went to the telephone, picking it up and asking the operator for my aunt’s number.

  ‘I am sorry, miss, that number is engaged. Please try again later.’

  I replaced the receiver and started towards the door. I would wake Mary and risk taking her to my aunt’s. If Lainie refused to let her stay even for one night, I would take her somewhere else …

  I was still pondering the problem when the door of the sitting room opened and I saw a man standing on the threshold. My blood ran cold and I was paralysed with fear. Mary’s father! But she had said he wouldn’t be home for ages.

  His eyes narrowed as he saw me, and then he smiled – a cold, unpleasant smile that made me shiver.

  ‘What a nice surprise, Miss Robinson – or shall I call you Amy? Yes, I think that is very much better, don’t you?’

  ‘I prefer that you call me Miss Robinson, sir.’

  ‘I wondered who was in here. I thought it must be Mary or Paul – but of course it wouldn’t be him, would it? He’s dead – but you know that, don’t you? That’s why you are here. You came to look after my poor deserted daughter, didn’t you?’

  ‘I met Mary at the hospital. She was naturally upset, so …’

  ‘You brought her here. It is what you would do, of course. You are very like your mother, Miss Robinson. I liked Bridget O’Rourke, you know – until she started to interfere in my business. After that I had to teach her a lesson.’

  Without thinking, I blurted out the truth. ‘I … I’ve been told that you had my Aunt Mary murdered.’

  ‘Tut-tut, Amy. That is a terrible accusation. I was very upset about what happened to Mary Robinson. I called my own daughter Mary in memory of her, did you know that? Do you have proof that I was involved in that regrettable incident? Your father never did manage to find any, you know. I could sue you for malicious slander, my dear – but I shan’t, of course. You are much too pretty. I have far nicer things in mind for you.’

  He took a few steps towards me. I drew back with a shudder.

  ‘Please do not come near me. I am not interested in any of your plans.’

  ‘I have been told you refused my generous offer to work for me. That was a mistake, Amy. I would have been so good to you – I could make you famous and rich, you know. I have influence in many spheres, and if I used it to help you …’

  ‘I do not need or want your help, thank you.’ I raised my head and looked him in the eyes. ‘Why should you want to help me? Or is it that you were hoping to ruin me? Was it some kind of petty revenge against my parents?’

  He laughed softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

  ‘How adorable you are when you are angry, Amy. Shall I be honest with you, my dear? Yes, I think I shall. There was some element of that at the start. It amused me that you had walked into my home like a fly into a spider’s web. I told you my full name but it was obvious that you knew nothing. You were so innocent. I could have harmed you then had I wanted, but you were my daughter’s friend and it amused me to have you in my home. I knew that one day your parents would discover the truth and I felt that it would be interesting to see what happened.’

  ‘They asked me not to attend Mary’s dance, but I wanted to come. If I had known as much as I know about you now …’ A shudder ran through me. ‘Please excuse me, I have to speak to Mary and then I must leave.’

  ‘Oh, but I don’t think I’m ready to let you go yet, Amy. I am enjoying our little chat too much.’ His eyes narrowed, hard and cold. ‘Just what is it you think you know? What has Joe Robinson been telling you – or perhaps it wasn’t Joe. No, I think he is too sensible, too cautious. Mary, then …’ He looked at me intently, then nodded. ‘My foolish daughter. I fear I have been too easy with her. It’s time she was brought into line – you too, Amy. I cannot have the pair of you running round telling silly tales, now can I?’

  ‘Mary could have you put behind bars,’ I said. ‘You are an evil man, Mr Maitland. I think it’s time you were punished. You have got away with things for too long.’

  ‘And what do you intend to do about it?’ His voice was quietly menacing. ‘Foolish girl! I admired you, Amy. I would have been good to you. It is so stupid to defy me. Mary thought she could defy me. She thought she could marry her cousin against my wishes, but I think she knows now that it is not wise to carry defiance too far.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ The coldness was spreading down my spine. ‘I was told Paul’s brakes had failed … It was you! You did something to his car!’

  ‘I was in France until a few hours ago, Amy,’ he chided, a hateful smile on his lips. ‘How could I possibly have done such a thing?’

  ‘Someone did it for you,’ I said. ‘It’s the way you always do things, isn’t it? You paid someone to set fire to my father’s shop thinking he was inside and then you had the man who did it killed, because you were afraid he might talk. And you paid someone to interfere with Paul’s car because you wanted him dead. You are an evil, wicked man and I’m going to the police. I won’t let you get away with this.’

  I tried to go past him, determined that I would unmask him at last. Mary had proof of his crimes; if she knew that her father had ordered Paul murdered she would help me to put him behind bars where he belonged.

  ‘You silly bitch,’ he hissed as he caught my arm, swinging me round so that I had my back to him and his arm was about my waist. I could feel the heat of his breath, the steel of his grip. He was so strong! ‘Do you think I shall let you bring me down? A chit of a girl like you? I’ve chewed up powerful men and spat them out, and you’re less than a fly on the wall to me. I’ll teach you to defy me. I’ll have you crawling, begging me to spare you before I’ve finished – and it starts now.’

/>   He gave my arm a twist that made me scream with pain and then he sent me flying forward so that I stumbled and almost fell. I whirled round to face him, clawing at his face with my nails as I fought to defend myself. He cried out as I drew blood and then he hit me across the face, sending me staggering backwards. I fell against a table and then to the floor on my knees. He bent down and pulled me roughly to my feet, then forced me to the settee. My legs gave way as he pushed me down on it.

  I looked up at him as he stood over me breathing hard and I saw the lustful expression in his eyes. I knew instantly what he planned to do and I tried to jump up but he knocked me back, his hand chopping against my throat in a movement that winded me. I lay where I’d fallen, unable to move. I could see him unfastening the buttons of his trousers and I screamed long and loudly for help.

  ‘There’s no one to help, you silly bitch,’ he muttered and then he was on me, clawing at my dress as he dragged it up over my face. There was to be no tender seduction, no kisses or lovemaking. This was meant to be a lesson, to teach me that I couldn’t stand up to a man like him, to shame and humiliate me. I felt his hand between my legs, touching me, forcing my thighs apart and then the weight of his body, the heat of his swollen penis thrusting at me and I screamed again.

  ‘Stop it! Stop it! I hate you!’

  But I was helpless beneath him. He was far too strong for me and I knew that he was going to rape me in the most brutal way possible. There was nothing I could do.

  ‘Oh, God, help me,’ I prayed. ‘Please help me.’

  But even as I prayed I knew that it was hopeless. There was no one to help me. I was alone.

  Eleven

  ‘Get off her, you filthy pig, or I’ll kill you!’

  Mary! I had forgotten Mary upstairs in her room. Her words cut through my fear like a knife through butter, giving me the courage to fight back. I pushed against him, bringing my knee up sharply and he groaned, then rolled off me and sank to his knees on the floor next to the settee. I pulled my dress down and sat up, gasping as I saw Mary. She was standing a few feet away from us, pointing a small handgun at her father. He had seen it too, and was staring at her in fear.

  ‘Get away from him, Amy,’ she told me, her voice icy cold, her manner calm and controlled. She was no longer the hysterical girl who had been on the verge of collapse when I brought her home from the hospital. ‘I’m going to kill him. He deserves to die for what he’s done. He killed Paul and he tried to rape you. He isn’t fit to live.’

  I moved away from the settee quickly. Mary’s father seemed to have recovered from his shock. He was fastening his trouser buttons, getting to his feet, a hateful smile on his mouth.

  ‘Don’t be foolish, Mary,’ he said. ‘You’re upset. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Amy and I were just having a bit of fun – and Paul’s accident was just that.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me,’ she said, her face twisted with hatred. ‘I heard everything you said to Amy. I was coming downstairs to find her and tell her I was ready to leave – and I heard you tell her what you had done to Paul.’

  ‘Mary, listen to me …’ He looked at her uneasily. ‘You thought you heard something but you’re wrong. Perhaps I was a little rough with Amy, but she deserved it. She tried to take Paul away from you – you told me you hated her. You told me you didn’t want her as a friend any more.’

  ‘That was a mistake,’ Mary said. ‘Amy is my only friend. She cares about me. You are the one I hate. I should have done this long ago, when you drove my mother to an early grave …’ She lifted her arm, pointed her pistol at his chest and fired as I screamed for her to stop.

  ‘Oh, Mary!’ I stared at her in dismay as I watched her father crumple into a heap and fall backwards on to the floor. His eyes were wide open and staring – just as I’d seen him in my dream. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘What someone should have done years ago,’ she said. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure he is.’ I could hardly bear to look at him, but I forced myself to do so. His eyes were staring at me accusingly, his expression one of horror mixed with disbelief. Mary was just standing there, apparently calm and uncaring. ‘What have you done? You needn’t have killed him!’

  ‘He was hurting you the way he hurt my mother.’ Her voice was flat, emotionless. I was revolted by her apparent indifference to what she had done.

  ‘But don’t you realize – it’s murder. You murdered him!’

  Suddenly the realization of what she had done hit her. I saw her expression change, saw the calm stripped away to be replaced by fear. Her hand trembled and the gun slipped from her fingers. She looked at me helplessly, all the arrogance and bravado gone.

  ‘What shall I do, Amy? They’ll hang me!’

  It was true, they would hang her. She hadn’t killed in self-defence but in cold blood – except that she was half out of her mind with grief. She hadn’t really known what she was doing even though she had appeared to be in control. If they didn’t hang her they would lock her away in a mental institution for the rest of her life.

  My mind was working frantically. If Mary hadn’t threatened him with the gun her father would have finished what he’d set out to do. What he had done to me was bad enough. I had suffered the humiliation but not the pain of rape. A part of me was sick to my stomach and wanted to give way to hysterics, to cry and scream and abandon all responsibility, but another, saner part of my mind had taken over, carrying me on as if I were somehow outside looking in. None of this was real. It was just part of a bad dream and soon I would wake up. But it wasn’t a dream and I had to look after Mary, because it was obvious that she wasn’t capable of doing anything for herself.

  ‘No, they won’t hang you,’ I said. I was the calm one now. Mary was staring at me helplessly, her whole body shaking with fright. ‘Not if I can help it.

  I knelt down beside Philip Maitland and took the white handkerchief from his top pocket, then, holding it with the cloth, I picked up the gun and began to wrap it carefully.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going to take this away and get rid of it.’

  ‘It’s his gun. I took it from his bedroom.’

  ‘Throw a few cushions about, and knock a lamp to the floor. We have to make it look as if there has been a fight.’

  Mary nodded, moving like an automaton to do as I said. She was almost like a wooden puppet on a string, obeying me with no will of her own. I knew that I was the only one who could get us out of this. Left to herself, Mary would just stand there until someone came and found her.

  ‘You said you’d packed a bag?’ She nodded, seeming lifeless, as if she didn’t care. ‘Good. We’ll take it with us. You’ve got to get away from here. You haven’t been back to this house since we left the hospital together. Don’t forget that, Mary.’

  ‘But someone may see us …’

  ‘We’ll just have to hope that they don’t.’

  ‘Why are you doing this for me? You’ll be an accomplice.’

  ‘I already am. Besides, what do you think it would do for my reputation if this got into the newspapers? Everyone would think I had brought it on myself. I should be branded a whore. They might even think we planned the whole thing together.’

  ‘But where shall we go?’

  ‘To my parents’ house,’ I said. ‘My mother has never turned away anyone in trouble yet.’

  ‘But they will hate me. I heard what he did to your family …’

  ‘They hate your father, not you, Mary.’

  I prayed I was right as I took hold of her arm and steered her from the room, but I couldn’t think what else to do. I was barely holding myself together, fighting the panic that threatened to sweep over me.

  We carried the small bag Mary had packed between us. She had wanted to telephone for a taxi but I wouldn’t let her.

  ‘You weren’t here, remember? No one will notice us on the tube. Just try to act naturally.’

  I had
made her put on a dark coat and wear a scarf over her head. It was getting dark and there was rain in the air. Everyone seemed in a hurry to get home that night. There were people about but they scarcely glanced at us. Why should they?

  Mary was too shocked to speak and I was nearly as bad. The gun was burning a hole in my pocket. I was tempted to throw it into some bushes as we made our way to the tube station, but I told myself not to panic. I wasn’t sure why I had brought the gun away. Something at the back of my mind had warned me that it might be used against Mary if I had left it there.

  I was trying not to think about what had happened in that room, to forget the horrible, humiliating experience of attempted rape. The fear and the shame were locked away somewhere at the back of my mind. They would come back to haunt me when I was alone, but Mary’s future was more important. We had to make up a story that would satisfy the police if they asked questions.

  It was just like a part of the nightmare that had haunted me for so long. My heart raced every time someone glanced our way and I was terrified that we would be denounced as murderers, but of course no one knew that we had left a dead man lying on the floor in Mary’s house. I felt sick and frightened, my mind still reeling from all the shocks it had received that day.

  What kind of a girl could kill her own father in cold blood?

  Paul had told me she could be ruthless, and yet I could still find it in my heart to pity her and I thought I understood what had made her this way. She was an emotional, highly strung girl and for years this hatred of her father had been building inside her. Paul’s death – and her father’s part in it – had pushed her over the edge. I wasn’t sure she was quite sane. She needed to see a doctor but I knew she would never agree.

  I became more and more nervous as I approached my parents’ home. What if they were angry because I’d brought Mary there? Supposing they refused to have her in the house?

  My father was sitting in a wooden rocking chair by the fire when we went into the kitchen, and my mother was pouring tea into two cups. There was no sign of my brother.